Donna met Dad at Carlitto's. The tiny restaurant was sandwiched between a bright, bustling floral shop and a dark, dismal gun shop - like a neutral nation between two opposing forces. Mom didn't care for Carlitto's. She called it “morbid and constricted.” She also didn't like its location, which was in the original township and meant the place had poor parking. Customers had to park in the lot below, then walk up the hill and through a small park that was just across the cobblestone street from Carlitto’s. Donna's parents called Carlitto’s “a hole in the wall” but only one parent said that affectionately. The place had seating enough for only a dozen people - three tables, which made Carlitto's a great place to go on nice days when customers could sit across the street at the park, which regulars like Mike and Donna McCormick did.
When you walked through the doorway of Carlitto's, you were greeted like long lost family even if you'd been in the day before, or never before. So when Donna pushed open the front door and the bells tied to the door handle announced their arrival, they were met by the familiar scent of freshly baked bread sticks and the merry voice of Mr. Giovanni.
“Ah! Greetings Mister McCormick and daughter McCormick.” Mr. Giovanni radiated with the glow that comes from being a middle aged, overweight, moderately-successful small business owner whose pride goes into everything from his pastries to his patrons.
“Hello, McCormicks!” From the kitchen came the sing-song greeting of Mrs. Giovanni, followed by the clattering of dishes.
“Greetings Josepe and Allegra,” Dad hollered back.
“Sit, sit, sit, McCormicks.” Mr. Giovanni indicated toward a table. Dad shook his head.
“It’s a nice day, Josepe. Donna and I will sit outside in the sunlight.”
“Si,” Mr. Giovanni chortled. “Sunlight!” He grinned broadly and extended his fleshy arms in a gesture of welcoming.
“Tomorrow,” Dad said with a mix of pride and remorse, “Donna becomes twenty-one years old, and another day away from being my little girl.”
“Dad,” Donna giggled. “You know even when I'm sixty I'll still be your little girl.”
Dad wrapped an arm around her, leaned in and kissed her forehead. “So, Josepe, we are here for a delicious meal -”
“- On the house!” Mr. Giovanni winked at Donna.
Dad was surprised. “Well, thank you Josepe, but it's not
necessary-“
“Bah,” Mr. Giovanni pushed the very idea away and chuckled, which made his chin flesh jiggle. “This is a special day for a special girl. Anything at all you want, McCormicks. You are my favorite customers.”
Dad and Donna smiled warmly, because everybody knew all the Giovannis' customers were their favorite. Right now, that meant them.
“It smells delightful in here, Josepe.” Dad breathed in deeply. “What do you and your lovely wife have simmering in the kitchen?”
“Well, Mister McCormick,” Mr. Giovanni put his hands on his hips. It made Donna think of a samurai warrior instead of an apron-clad chef. “Today our special is Involtini di Pollo al Proscuitto.”
Donna looked to Dad for help.
“Chicken with Ham and Veggies,” he said triumphantly while Mr. Giovanni nodded in satisfaction.
“Very good, Mister McCormick. The language of love does not deceive you.”
Dad sighed. “The language might not, but the act does.”
“Ah, love is a road with many bumps along the way. But a good meal fixes everything.” He patted his round belly and laughed. “Love has been good to the Missus and me!” He winked. “So what shall it be for Mister and his lovely daughter today?”
Dad ordered first. “I'll take the special, Josepe. And a glass of red wine to suit.”
“Very well. And what may we prepare for Miss Donna?” Mr. Giovanni lifted his bushy eyebrows at her.
“Do you have anything with beef?” Donna asked.
“But of course, this is Carlitto’s!” Mr. Giovanni's chin jiggled again. “Would you like beef raviolis, or -?”
“I'd just like beef.”
Mr. Giovanni frowned. “Miss comes to Carlitto's, known worldwide to be the most exquisitely delightful sin a person may tantalize their taste buds with, and she wants a plate of plain beef?”
Donna shrugged. “Well, on second thought, maybe not plain.”
“Oh good,” the relief in Mr. Giovanni's voice was clear. “How would Miss like the beef prepared?”
“With a side of spumoni, please.”
Mr. Giovanni looked desperately toward Donna, and then toward Dad. “Wouldn't Miss rather enjoy her spumoni as a delightful dessert?”
“No, thank you,” Donna smiled. “I'd really like the beef and spumoni served together, if it's not too much trouble.”
“I suppose,” Mr. Giovanni lifted his eyebrows again, “if it is in our kitchen then it can be on your plate, Miss. Like family, we are.” He stretched out his beefy arms and jabbed at Dad, who stared at her like she'd just sprouted an extra head.
“Thank you. Oh, and one more thing?”
“Si, Miss?”
“I'd like the beef raw.” Both men looked at Donna as if she'd just asked for a platter full of live rattlesnakes. “And with lemon,” she added.
Mr. Giovanni spoke in an apologetic tone. “No raw, but perhaps it can be rare, Miss.”
Donna smiled politely. “As rare as possible, please. Rare enough that maybe a good vet could bring it back to life.”
“Certainly.” Mr. Giovanni tried to chuckle but wound up looking sharply at Dad.
“And with honey drizzled on top?” she added.
Mr. Giovanni cleared his throat. “What would Miss care to drink?”
What she really wanted was the juice from about sixteen jars of anchovies, but was afraid to ask, given the concerned looks over something as simple as raw beef.
“Italian soda, I guess.”
Mr. Giovanni gestured jovially. “Fine then. Thank you, McCormicks. I will soon return with your beverages.” Mr. Giovanni smiled politely before shuffling to the kitchen. He looked back twice at Donna, his brow lowered then spoke quietly to his wife. Soon, muttering, mumbling, and “shushing” wafted from the kitchen, in between the clunking of pans and sizzling of oil. The aroma of garlic and marinara sauce drifted from the kitchen and Donna wiped her lower lip, which was wet with drool.
Dad whispered. “Raw beef and spumoni, Donna? Really?”
She shrugged. “I'm pregnant, Dad.”
“You're a pregnant human, not a rabid dog.” Dad frowned and motioned for her to wipe her lip.
“Oh,” she giggled. “Sorry.”
Mr. Giovanni stood in the kitchen doorway and cleared his throat again.
“The plates will be prepared shortly,” he announced.
“We can hardly wait for the food, Josepe,” Dad hid his horror well behind the mask of his professional, high-paid lawyer disguise.
Since it was in the off-hours between lunch and dinner, and no other customers crossed the threshold of Carlitto's, Dad and the Giovannis freely engaged in small talk while the meals were prepared. Mrs. Giovanni shouted from the kitchen – something about Mr. Giovanni's bunions. Mr. Giovanni complained about the rising price of risotto. Dad exclaimed about the shame of such things. Donna stood in utter silence, watching Mr. Giovanni make his way around the restaurant with a bleach-soaked cleaning rag in one chubby hand and a stack of place mats in the other. There was something about his sauce-splattered apron...the crimson smears off-set against a creamy white background…that made Donna salivate more. She repeatedly sucked in so as not to upset Dad any further.
Eventually, two plates of scrumptious looking food were presented. Dad's plate looked scrumptious, anyhow. Donna's resembled something a dog might be fed from the scrap heap. She could tell Mr. Giovanni was embarrassed to have such a display cross his counter, but Donna salivated at the sight of it anyway, which didn't go unnoticed by Mr. Giovanni.
“I'm really hungry,” she sh
rugged.
With plates and glasses balanced on a tray, Dad strolled across the cobblestone street to the park. Donna was right beside him, picking her nails and barely containing the urge to grab the plate of beef and swallow it whole. They sat at a warm, sun-drenched table and participated in small talk for a few minutes. Dad's face contorted just a little when Donna dipped the rare meat in spumoni. Then she sucked loudly and swallowed large pieces without even chewing.
“Mr. Giovanni and his wife don't look a day older than they did all those years ago when we first came here,” Dad tried to keep his voice from giving away his disgust at his daughter’s slurping and grunting. “Maybe their food has some kind of anti-aging quality. I hope you're enjoying...yours.”
“Mmmmmm,” Donna agreed. Dad examined her empty plate and sighed when she licked it.
“Donna, we need to talk.”
“I know, Dad.” She swallowed a sip of Italian soda and shuddered. “Yuck!”
He scoffed. “You usually love that stuff.”
“Well, I don't love it today. It's horrible.”
“And now, rare meat is delicious to my daughter who, the last time I checked, was only satisfied if her burger was well-done enough to double as a rock.” Dad rubbed his chin. Donna looked at her cleaned plate and then at Dad's, which was still quite full. She plucked a piece of ham from it and popped it in her mouth. She did the same with a thick chicken chunk. Dad pushed the plate to her. “Go ahead, honey. I'm not very hungry, for some reason.”
Donna's eyes lit up. “Are you sure?” He nodded. “Thanks, Dad. Do you think Mr. Giovanni could make me a take-out order of spumoni and cheese raviolis? It would make for a wonderful snack later on.”
“Donna, you're scaring me. What is the matter with you?”
She gulped a large sip of Italian soda, which didn't taste quite so bad now that it was washing down vegetables. “Nothing’s the matter, Dad. I'm just pregnant.”
“Well,” Dad snorted. “I'll be the first to admit I've never been pregnant, but I have been around women who were. None of them exhibited...such cravings as this.” He pointed toward the wiped-clean beef and spumoni plate.
“I'm sorry, Dad. But please understand -”
“Honey,” Dad sighed in exasperation. “I understand you're dating a man whose effect on you is disturbing. I also understand that he apparently has friends who are willing to go out at night and cover up his violent doings, who don't quite get the paint color matched right when they repair a fist-sized hole through an exterior wall. Now, I understand that you're an adult, so I can't forbid you to date a man who seems to have a strange hold on those who have anything to do with him. But what I do not understand is how your mother and I raised you to give up your future and possibly your safety to be with such a man.”
Donna shook her head. “That's so unfair. You haven't even met Hunter yet.”
“Honey, a fist through the wall should make it clear why your mother and I feel worried over your choice.”
“Dad, please.” Donna brushed her finger along the second empty plate and licked it. “You're just going to have to trust me on this until you meet Hunter. He's not violent, not toward me, anyhow.” Dad eyeballed her harshly. “He loves me deeply and we're going to have a baby.”
Dad offered a look that felt judgmental. He had yet to meet Hunter, but already had his mind made up. Well, who was he to take the word of his cheating wife over his own daughter? Donna was about to ask him, but just then, the stout form of Mrs. Giovanni in her apron and hair net tromped outside the front door and stood under the red and white checkered awning at the entrance of Carlitto's.
“Miss Donna,” she called. “Would you come up here, please? The Mister and I have a special dessert for your birthday.” Donna shrugged at Dad, secretly glad for the interruption. Maybe he was glad, too, because he grinned sadly and waved her on.
“I'll stay here. I need time to think,” he mumbled.
Donna picked up the empty lunch plates and made her way up the hill to the restaurant where she was sung a boisterous, off-key round of “Happy Birthday” and given burly hugs from both Giovannis.
“This is for you,” Mrs. Giovanni held a cake that smelled like Christmas and looked divine. “It's Italian Rum Cake.” Donna wasn't sure she'd ever had Italian Rum Cake, but it sounded absolutely perfect. “Go ahead now. Make a wish.” Mrs. Giovanni's fleshy arms goaded her on. Donna smiled, closed her eyes and made her wish.
I wish that Hunter, our baby and everybody else in the house, plus Mo, stays safe from Stephen.
She blew out the candles.
“It was a good wish, yes?” Mrs. Giovanni winked.
“It's exactly what I need right now.”
Mrs. Giovanni nodded in satisfaction. “Now let us cut the cake. How big of a piece do you want?”
Donna chuckled. “I could eat the whole thing.”
Especially if it was dipped in goose liver pate frosting...
Mrs. Giovanni giggled and winked at Donna. If she hadn't known better, Donna would've thought Mrs. Giovanni was participating in Hunter's favorite trick of mind reading. Mrs. Giovanni gave the knife to Mr. Giovanni. He hummed Happy Birthday and sliced the cake.
“Miss Donna,” Mrs. Giovanni placed a plump hand on Donna's wrist and spoke in a serious tone. “Please, we have a gift for you.” She opened Donna's hand and placed something in it, then clamped it closed. “Do not look yet. This is for safety, so put it in your pocket. When you need it, it will be ready for you.”
“I don't understand,” Donna glanced at her closed fist. “Safety?”
“Si, for you and for your baby.”
She gasped. “How do you know about my baby?”
“Raw beef and spumoni are common cravings. Only a desire for anchovy juice is missing. But never mind, dear,” Mrs. Giovanni patted Donna's arm. “That will come later. It is all typical of a mortal – vampire pregnancy.”
“How do you know -?”
Mrs. Giovanni pulled back her lip to reveal a fang. “And my husband, too.” She motioned toward Mr. Giovanni, who hummed and sliced and doled out cake pieces on plates. “Josepe! Stop making noise and show her your fangs.”
“Huh?...oh. Si.” He looked up, tilted back his head, curled his upper lip and displayed a fang with a chunk of basil stuck to it. Then he went back to slicing, doling and humming.
“You two,” Donna stumbled, “are vampires? All this time? I mean, since I was a kid?”
“Si,” Mr. Giovanni chuckled. “Much longer than that, Miss.”
“And we know Steffano,” she spat on the floor.
“Steffano?” Donna shook her head. “Do you mean Stephen?”
“Si. That creature killed our only child.”
Donna's hand flew over her mouth to cover a gasp. Was there no end to Stephen's torment?
Mr. Giovanni spoke. “When Steffano was Turned many, many, years ago, Miss Donna, he took a special dislike to those who he thought had betrayed him.” Mr. Giovanni placed the knife tip against his forehead and tapped. “Steffano was never right in the head. He hated the Missus and me because we were parents to the one who broke his stone-cold heart. He killed her and Turned us so we could watch her die.”
“Lifetime after lifetime,” Mrs. Giovanni added. Both Giovannis looked straight at Donna.
“Oh, that's terrible!” Then it slowly sunk in, and Donna legs buckled. Mrs. Giovanni had to steady her.
“Please, sit.” Mrs. Giovanni motioned for Mr. Giovanni to pull over a chair, which she pushed Donna in and then leaned over her like a mother hen. “You did not think it was by accident that you chose to come here today, do you, Miss? Breathe deeply, please.”
“You,” Donna gulped, “are my parents?” Mrs. Giovanni brushed a tear from Donna's cheek with a handkerchief she pulled from the pocket of her apron. The handkerchief smelled like sausage and bread.
“We were your parents, Miss Donna,” Mr. Giovanni jiggled his jowls. “Now, Mister
and Missus McCormick are your parents. They have done a fine job in raising you. We are so proud.”
“But...”
It can't be.
“Si, it is.” Mr. Giovanni cleared his throat. “Sorry, Miss Donna. Sometimes my mind reading skills get the better of me.”
Mrs. Giovanni gave him a curt look. “Well, you had best get the better of your mind reading skills quickly, husband. You don’t belong in mortal heads and you know it.”
“Wh-what was my name?” Donna broke in.
Mrs. Giovanni smiled. “My dear, it was Vittoria.”
Mr. Giovanni interjected. “In English, this means 'Victory'.”
“And,” Mrs. Giovanni added, “'she who conquers'.”
“Vittoria,” Donna said it out loud, quietly. “What a beautiful name.”
“For a beautiful girl,” he winked.
“Were my toes ugly back then?”
“Sweetie, no.” She patted Donna's knee. “They are not ugly toes. They are goddess toes.”
“That's what my grandma said.”
“Your grandma was right,” Mrs. Giovanni gestured upward. “A goddess watches over you.”
“Protects you,” Mr. Giovanni finished then motioned impatiently. “Now, Miss Donna. Please place the gift in your pocket.” Donna stuffed the item in the back pocket of her jeans without looking at it.
“Be safe, child,” Mrs. Giovanni said. “The baby within you holds special purpose - to destroy the Monster.”
“The child must survive,” he emphasized.
“Si.” Mrs. Giovanni vigorously nodded. “The Prophecy tells that the child conceived of the vampire Warrior and mortal Warrior will destroy the Arch-evil Monster.”
“The Prophecy? I thought it wasn't unraveled yet.”
Mr. Giovanni explained. “Miss Donna, it is not completely unraveled, but some parts are clear. The Prophecy tells of the male Warrior and female Warrior who give birth to the child Warrior. You are the mother of that child.”
Donna giggled despite the shock of all her new knowledge. “I'm afraid you have the wrong female. I'm a computer geek, and apparently, a bit of an artist. But I'm not a Warrior.”
Mrs. Giovanni spoke emphatically. “You are. The time has come.” She stared in Donna's eyes. “A mother knows.”
“The Warrior child of both bloods will destroy the Monster,” Mr. Giovanni said.
“Blood cannot kill blood,” Donna implored. “And Stephen is Hunter’s brother, so the Prophecy can't be fulfilled by Hunter's child.”
“No, Miss Donna,” Mr. Giovanni shook his head. “The Monster spoken of is not Steffano. It is Michaelo.”
“Michaelo?”
“The one you know as Mayor Michael St. James. The child portends Michael's Ultimate Destruction. So the child will be much-sought – the Monster will want him dead. You must be careful.” Mr. Giovanni pointed toward Donna's pocket.
“Word travels quickly at night in the shadows, my dear.” Mrs. Giovanni said.
Mr. Giovanni nodded. “Your enemies will learn of the child you carry.”
“Stephen already knows.” Donna looked to them, desperately.
“You must trust nobody,” he instructed.
“Except us,” she patted Donna’s shoulder, which made her jump. “You can trust us. The mister and I are on the same side as Hunter.”
“We were so happy when he moved to town and we found him shopping,” he said.
“Shopping?” Samee said Hunter hated to shop.
“At the vampire store,” Mrs. Giovanni replied.
Donna frowned. “Vampire store? What does it sell? Blood transfusions...high octane sunscreen?”
“Si, yes.” Mr. Giovanni said.
His wife lightly punched his arm. “Do not lie to her, Josepe. Mister Howie does not sell transfusions.”
“But he does sell sunscreen. And we are lucky,” Mr. Giovanni pointed. “His store is right next door.”
Donna raised an eyebrow. The flower store?” They shook their heads. Donna's eyes widened. “The gun store?” They nodded in unison. Donna shook her head. “I would've expected a vampire supply store to be...different. Maybe neon strobe lights and Goth kids trying on fangs.” Instead, the store the Giovanni's referred to was dingy, with barred windows and cobwebs. It reminded Donna of a morgue. Plus, she’d never seen it open. It was just dark, atrocious and foreboding.
I’m not sure I like the idea of my Eternal Partner doing his grocery shopping there.
Mr. Giovanni's arms flailed excitedly. “It's a wonderful store, Miss Donna.”
“And not just for vampires,” Mrs. Giovanni added. “Demons and minions shop there, too.”
“Oh…”
“All sorts of Underworld people!” Mr. Giovanni grinned ear-to-eat. “Mister Howie builds, repairs and sells weapons designed specifically for combat against Underworld forces.”
“Weapons,” Donna muttered. “How...nice.”
“And sunscreen pills,” Mrs. Giovanni added with a broad grin.
“They are specially formulated for vampires,” he said. “But they are very, very expensive.”
“And rare.”
“So,” Donna spoke slowly as the puzzle pieces clicked together. “This Mister Howie guy is the one who hoards those sunscreen pills Hunter carries around?”
“Si,” they nodded in union again.
“Well then,” Donna replied. “Mister Howie is an asshole.”
“Hush!” Mrs. Giovanni frowned. “Mister Howie is a hero.”
“He is her hero,” Mr. Giovanni mocked his wife. “Superhero, like with a cape. She swoons.”
“I swoon because he lacks this.” She shook her husband's jellyfish belly.
“Bah!” He shooed her away and turned to Donna. “Mister Howie eats like swine, and for this, my wife finds him handsome.” Mr. Giovanni tossed his arms up in mock despair. “What's a fat, handsome, Italian vampire to do? But, listen, Miss Donna. Mister Howie is the only merchant on this side of the earth from whom vampires may purchase SPF 12000. Right here, next door to us. How lucky are we?” Both Giovannis grinned and watched Donna pointedly, apparently waiting for an answer.
“Pretty lucky?” she said with trepidation.
“Si,” he nodded vigorously. “Very lucky. There are others in the world who have sun protection products, but they are lesser quality.”
Mrs. Giovanni's tone became somber. “I've heard of a vampire who took one of those cheap pills and became dust after only one second.” she tsked. “Such a shame.”
“Let that be a lesson to you, Miss Donna,” Mr. Giovanni examined her solemnly. “It does not pay to skimp on sun protection or ammunition. This is why Mister Howie is such an asset. He has both.”
“And weapons!” his wife cheerfully added.
“Okay,” Donna nodded. “But...” She wasn't sure how to continue. But there stood the Giovannis, like a pair of plump pigeons perched on a wire waiting for bread crumbs. “You two own a restaurant and prepare food, which is something vampires aren't generally known for doing well.”
“Food was our passion while we were mortal,” he patted his belly.
Her head tilted. “Why should a Turn change that?”
“I suppose it shouldn’t. But what I’m getting at is this - you have a nice life here. Why get involved with weapons?”
“Ah,” Mr. Giovanni said. “You do not understand why some Underworld inhabitants use weapons against other Underworld inhabitants. Someday soon, you will. Then you will appreciate why there are special ways to kill the undead.” He searched Donna's eyes and she swore there was regret in his own.
“Mister Howie has the latest technology in those ways,” Mrs. Giovanni beamed. “But, Miss Donna, it is not just for the Underworld that he provides his services. Mister Howie was a weapons contractor to the mortals during each World War. He supplied guns and ammunition to famous war leaders.”
“What side was he on?” Donna asked.
??
?Side?” Mr. Giovanni shook his head and sprouts of fine, gray hair flapped about like feathers.
“Was he on Hitler's side, or ours?”
Both Giovannis stared blankly, so Donna tried again.
“Did he supply weapons to the Nazis?”
More blank stares.
“Which mortal side did this Howie guy supply weapons to?”
That made the Giovannis look at each other then burst into laughter so hard that it sent waves of vampire belly-fat flopping. It took almost a full minute for the laughter to die down, but when it did, both Giovannis wiped away jovial tears while Donna folded her arms and bit on her fingernails.
“What's so damned funny?” she asked.
“Miss Donna,” Mrs. Giovanni explained. “Mister Howie supplies to the side with money.” She took a deep breath and wiped away more laugh tears with the edge of her apron. “Mister Howie is crazy but, he's not daft.” She looked at her husband. “Can you imagine Mister Howie taking up sides with mortals?” The Giovannis chortled and snorted until more tears ran from their eyes.
“He's crazy?”
“Oh, si, Miss,” Mrs. Giovanni assured Donna. “Mister Howie is not like us.” Both Giovannis smiled wide. A disturbing image entered Donna's mind...the sweet, corpulent couple keeping sentry over a rack of sausages, poking the meat with AK 47 barrels and shooting at anything that tried to sneak a bite.
“Is that where my gift came from? The crazy guy who supplied weapons to Nazis?”
Mrs. Giovanni tried to reassure. “Not just Nazis, Miss. And the gift he made is magical. It is a stake with which to find the very heart of a particular vampire.” She spoke low. “It was designed especially for you by Mister Howie's intuition.”
“The crazy guy's intuition designed my stake?”
“Mister Howie's weapons intuition is very strong.” Mrs. Giovanni promised. “With that tool, created by him just for you, you can pierce the heart of a vampire with extreme precision simply by willing the instrument to do so.”
“It can kill mortals too,” Mr. Giovanni said. “Please be careful.”
“But,” Donna argued, “it's so small.”
“Not when you need it to be big.” Mrs. Giovanni winked and giggled. Mr. Giovanni scoffed, but it was half-hearted.
Dad strolled in. “What's taking so long up here?” He peered at Donna through his lawyer-glasses. “You look pale. Are you okay, honey?”
“Um…” Donna looked hopefully to Mrs. Giovanni.
“Your daughter is merely learning the tricks of the trade to being pregnant,” she winked at Dad. “Girl talk. All about cravings and sex. You see?”
He saw. And it worked like a charm. Dad blushed and didn't ask one more question about it. Donna smiled gratefully toward Mrs. Giovanni, who nodded back knowingly and blew a kiss.
They shared the rum cake, which Mrs. Giovanni assured was safe for Donna to eat in her condition because the alcohol had cooked out. When regulars crossed the threshold of Carlitto's, Mr. Giovanni greeted them with a jocular, “Celebrate this Miss's special day with us, on the house!” Before long, the cake had disappeared, Donna had been sung “Happy Birthday” five more times and it was almost 6:00 pm.
“Oh no,” she exclaimed. “I have to go.”
“Why all of a sudden?” Dad asked.
Donna glanced toward Mrs. Giovanni for more help.
“Si, Mister McCormick,” she implored. “Your daughter looks tired. She needs rest. Pregnancy hormones, you see?”
He swallowed hard and then tried to pay for the meal, but Mr. Giovanni waved him off. They thanked the Giovannis, both of whom winked knowingly at Donna. The McCormicks left just as the sun's base touched the horizon. Before heading down the cobblestone street, Donna peered through the window of the gun shop. It was called Howie's Gun Shop.
Not surprising, but that’s where what makes sense ends.
She thought she caught a glimpse of a tall, ominous shadow looming by the doorway. She blinked, looked again and the shadow was gone.
Dad walked with Donna to Hunter's car.
“What is this?” he asked in a surprised tone when she stopped at the driver's side door.
“A Ferrari.”
“I see that,” he sounded exasperated. “What I mean is where did you get it?”
“It's Hunter's.”
Dad studied the car then he studied his daughter. “What does this boyfriend of yours do for a living?”
“He's independently wealthy.”
“Of course.” Dad's brow furrowed. “Honey -” Donna's phone rang.
“Hold on a second, Dad.” She held up an index finger. “It's Hunter...Hi sweetie,” she said in the phone.
“Where are you?” Hunter was abrupt.
“I'll be home soon. We're just over here at Carlitto's.”
“Next to the gun shop?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you clear out there?”
Donna chuckled. “It's not that far away.”
“I don't care,” his tone darkened. “Get home before the sun sets.”
“I will. I love you, Hunter.”
“I love you, too.”
Donna clicked the phone shut then turned back to Dad, whose glare was chilly. That’s when Donna remembered. Hunter's voice and Mo's had one quality in common: Projection.
Dad’s fists clenched and so did his jaw. “Your boyfriend knows where the local gun shop is and he demands you to be home at a certain time. I don't like this one bit.”
Donna sighed. “Dad, you just don't understand. And right now, I don't have time to explain it.” The sun dropped quickly and an evening chill crept in. Stephen would soon be gathering strength and the last thing she wanted to encounter was another evening with that twisted bastard in it. She looked sympathetically at Dad. “I understand your concerns and I'm sorry that now is not the time to discuss them. But you should come over and meet Hunter. You'll love him.”
“Donna -”
“Dad, I really have to go.” She shrugged apologetically, entered the car and buckled up. “Thank you for your concern. I love you.”
Dad leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I love you, too. Happy birthday, hon. Things just seem extraordinary for you right now. And I guess I can't stop you from making your own mistakes.”
Donna giggled nervously. “I guess not. Bye.” She started the Ferrari and sped out of the parking lot, glancing in the rear mirror to see Dad still standing there, watching. Guilt pierced her like a knife.
The last person I ever wanted to let down is Dad.
She turned her gaze away from him, faced the sunset, and tried to race it home. She could have made it, if not for the cop that caught up with her a half mile from Autumn Lane. The stupid police car pulled out from behind a clump of trees, its lights flickering against the woods.
“Shit,” Donna pulled to the side and waited. The cruiser lights continued to pulse in Donna's rear view mirror. No cop emerged for several minutes. Donna got increasingly agitated and felt the flashing lights bringing on a migraine.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she muttered. Dusk dropped in like an unwanted house guest and finally the officer exited her car - a pink-faced, pudgy woman who sauntered toward Donna at a maddeningly slow pace. Donna almost jumped out of the Ferrari and dragged her over.
“May I see your driver's license, registration and proof of insurance please?” the officer said in a flat tone.
“Here,” Donna handed over the information.
The officer scanned the items for several moments. It required the use of her flashlight to read them. Donna wondered what would happen if she explained that an evil vampire was hot on her trail, and could we please finish this up at the house.
“Do you know why I stopped you, Ms. McCormick?”
Donna's parents had trained her to never admit guilt without the benefit of legal counsel, so she looked up innocently and answered. “No, Officer, I don't know why y
ou stopped me.”
The officer raised an eyebrow and a smile flickered across her face despite the dull appearance in her eyes. “I clocked you at 77 in a 35 zone, miss.”
Donna shrugged, stayed cool and didn’t say anything.
“Hold on one moment, please.” The officer handed back the license, insurance and registration, strolled to the patrol vehicle at an even more maddeningly slow pace than before. She got in the car and called somebody. Donna's phone rang.
“Where are you?” Hunter sounded stern.
“About twenty seconds from home.” Donna chewed on a thumb nail. “I got pulled over by a cop. I was speeding in your car. I'm sorry.”
“You need to come home. Now.”
“I know,” Donna rubbed her temples. “It’s just that this officer is frustratingly slow. She's kind of an airhead too. She didn't take my license back to check for outstanding warrants. She just seems to be sitting there -”
“Get out of there.”
Donna remembered her father’s lawyerly advice: Never leave the scene of a pullover.
“I can’t get out of here,” she replied. “It’s against the law.”
“Damn it, Donna.” She heard a storm brewing in his tone. “That cop is a minion who’s probably just told Stephen to come get you.”
“Oh no,” she swallowed hard. “What if you're right?”
“Of course I'm right,” he snapped. “Stay on the phone with me, sweetheart. I'll be there in a minute.”
A minute would give Stephen all the time he needed to get there, too.
How can Hunter expect me to just sit still when I have wheels under me?
Donna turned the engine, revved it and peeled out. The phone fell to the floor. She looked back nervously, anticipating the police vehicle’s siren blare and a chase to commence. The officer’s car didn't budge. Donna felt clammy. I almost landed in Stephen’s clutches again.
She got the Ferrari up to 80, took a gut-wrenching turn at Autumn Lane then defied death by plowing at the driveway at a screeching 65. She slammed the brakes and popped open the garage door with her hands burning and shaking. Her heart thundered back into her chest just as darkness settled in.
“Good Lord!” she exclaimed. I didn’t know I had it in me to drive like that. Donna wiped sweat from her brow with one shaky hand and with the other, pushed the remote to close the garage door.
It shut half way then stopped and re-opened.
“Hunter?”
He didn't answer. Donna pushed the button again. The same thing happened.
What is it all of a sudden with me and garage doors?
She found her phone on the Ferrari’s floor, pushed Hunter's number then walked to the garage door.
“A-ha,” she nodded and then kicked a tree branch out of the way. “You're the culprit.” She whirled around and pushed the button a third time. A thick hand with icy fingers wrapped around Donna's wrist and pulled her out to the darkness. She tried to scream but Stephen's other hand quickly gripped tightly around her throat. She dropped the phone at the very moment Hunter answered.
“How dare you taunt me twice in one lifetime,” Stephen hissed in Donna's ear.
Mrs. Giovanni's words came to her; “you can pluck to the very heart of a vampire with extreme precision simply by willing the instrument to do so.” Donna reached back with her free hand and pulled the stake from her back pocket. She envisioned the stake surging clear through to Stephen's shrunken heart and plunged it at his chest. But before she could actually do it, he slapped her hand away. The stake flew from her grip and rolled to the ground.
“I can read your mind, pet.”
So much for the crazy gun guy's instincts.
Stephen's hold around Donna's throat tightened. Her vision darkened and sounds became muffled. Her heartbeat thumped against her eardrums, slower, slower as she drifted in and out of consciousness.
“Hey, Stephen!” somebody yelled. “It's dinner time and we've got a stake on the grill just for you.” The voice was familiar, but it was also fuzzy. Donna couldn't hear well with her heartbeat thumping against her head. Stephen's grip loosened. He looked behind Donna. She fell to the ground, gasping for oxygen. Seconds later, a roar erupted from Stephen and he fell forward with an enormous thud, landing on top of Donna's legs. She was too weak to pull him off but as Stephen's lungs collapsed, hers filled.
“Donna!” Mo yelled. “Are you okay? Please, be okay. Please!”
Donna tried to reassure Mo that she was, but no sound came out. Another female spoke. It seemed familiar, too.
“Mo, she's fine. She's coming back. Stop screwing around. Let's get her inside.”
Somebody grabbed Donna under the armpits, while somebody else lifted Stephen's hulking carcass off her legs. Then Donna was pulled back to the garage. The voice she didn't recognize kept repeating, “Breathe, girl breathe,” and “that's right, you'll be fine.” She was the one who held Donna by the armpits. Mo had pulled Stephen off her. She trotted to the garage, punched the door button and the garage door started to close.
“Wait!” said the voice attached to whoever had dragged Donna in. “Don't close it yet.”
“Why not?” Mo snapped.
“I have to check something.”
Mo shrugged. “Make up your damned mind. First it was, ‘stop screwing around’, and now it's, ‘stop being so efficient’. Sheesh, whatever.” She pushed the button again to stop the door, and at that moment flames burst from right outside it. All three women screamed, even Donna, albeit hoarsely.
The kitchen door flung open. Dante, Trent and Samee ran out to the garage.
“What just happened?” Samee yelled.
“Holy crap,” Trent exclaimed.
Donna slowly sat up and looked behind her. The person who had dragged her inside was Mo's bartender friend from The Dark Side, the superhero in sensible business attire.
Liz?
“Stephen just incinerated,” Liz said to Trent and Dante.
“Did you see his eyes?” Dante asked.
She shook her head. “I didn't get a chance.”
“Damn.” Trent leaned against the wall.
“That is certainly unfortunate,” Dante sighed.
“What?” Mo asked. “What's unfortunate?” Nobody said a word. Mo turned to Liz. “Why did Dante say it's unfortunate that Stephen burst into flames?”
“Because we didn't get to check his eyes,” Liz answered.
“So what?” Mo persisted.
“So we don't know that Stephen is really dead.”
“Are you kidding me?” Mo's voice pierced the room like an arrow. “I got that asshole directly in the heart with the super-high-tech-stake-thingy you gave me. It went all the way through, just like you said it would if I focused. Well, I focused on killing the rotten, blood-sucking bastard. No offense to the rest of you blood-suckers,” she glanced at Trent. “Don’t tell me we don’t know if the rotten bastard's dead. I know damned well that piece of shit is dead.”
Liz's gaze darted from Trent to Dante, and back to Trent.
“He did seem quite finished off,” she assured them. Then she pointed to Donna. “I dragged her inside. Maybe I should've checked his eyes first, but she was pinned under him. I had to get her safe. It's just that...” Liz trailed off.
“It's just that, what?” Mo barked.
“I had that stake made for you. It was handcrafted to kill a specific vampire.”
“Great,” Mo grinned. “Then it worked. See? No problem.”
Liz shook her head. “The vampire it was made for wasn't Stephen.”
“All these damned vampire rules,” Mo groaned. “Okay, what does it mean that the stake wasn't made for Stephen?”
Dante burst in. “Love, any stake can kill any vampire, but stakes crafted by Howie are marked to protect certain people.”
Mo's fists balled up. “But I killed him. So it's like you said. Any stake can kill any vampire.??
? She glared at each vampire in the garage. “I don't see why this should be so damned complicated.”
That's when Trent spoke up. “It just means that your aim is absolutely perfect, even without Howie's technology. It's rare for a mortal.” He winked at Mo. “Maybe you should become a vampire killer.”
Liz shot him a “shut up” look, which Trent didn't notice.
“Thanks,” Mo beamed. “If this whole journalist career path doesn't pan out, I might take your advice.”
Donna cleared her scratchy, sore throat. “Mo, what are you doing here?”
“Happy early birthday,” she continued to smile.
“Mo just saved your life.” Liz's smile exposed a perfect pair of fangs.
Hunter, breathless, arrived from the darkness. He rushed to Donna’s side. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
Mo snickered. “Yeah, freak monster. She's fine. We somehow managed without your assistance.” Hunter glared at Mo then helped Donna up and escorted her inside. Everybody else followed and gathered around the kitchen table. Donna’s shaky legs buckled as she fell in a chair. Hunter brought her a glass of water.
“For those of you who don't know,” Trent looked at Mo, then Donna, then back at Mo where his gaze lingered, “Vampire incineration happens when one dies from being impaled. It signals the Ultimate Death.”
“What's the Ultimate Death?” Mo asked.
“Exactly what it sounds like: Final. No chance at return. That's the plight of the vampire. When we lose our battle with undead life, it's forever.”
“So,” Mo said, “Stephen is dead then. Ultimately.”
Trent shook his head. “Things aren't always that simple in the dark realms.”
“Of course not.” Mo rolled her eyes.
“Incineration,” Dante said, “is the result of a vampire dying. It's also the result of a vampire being called back by his or her master.”
“Master?” Both Mo and Donna asked in unison.
“Some vampires, just like some mortals, sell their soul for a higher cause,” Trent said.
“Or at least what they consider to be one,” Dante added.
“The whole soul black-market thing,” Donna added. “But how could Stephen sell his soul when he doesn't even have one?”
Trent looked at Mo as if she'd been the one to ask the question. “Stephen probably promised those girls he'd let them live if they sold him their souls.”
“He didn't though,” Samee mumbled sadly.
“But,” Hunter said, “If he tricked them into believing their lives would be spared, then he'd have a lot of soul capital to negotiate with.”
“So?” Mo sounded irritated.
“So if he took those souls and offered them to Michael for something only Michael could give him -”
“Like what?” Mo folded her arms and pushed her chair away from the table so she could rock on the back legs.
“World domination is a much sought-after prize,” Dante stated firmly. “It's been used to buy souls for eons, love.”
“Is that what happened?” Donna asked, horrified. “Stephen took the souls from those poor girls and traded them for world domination?”
“It's a distinct possibility,” Dante said. “We just don't know for sure.”
Liz spoke up. “That's why it's unfortunate that I wasn't able to look in Stephen's eyes before the combustion.”
“We don't get it,” Mo shook her head. “What would Stephen's eyes have to do with anything?”
Trent explained. “The eyes of the vampire with an Underworld master become empty, black pits right before that vampire combusts. But there are precious few moments to see it since, as you've just witnessed, combustion happens quickly.”
“Why don't we look at this logically?” Liz paced the room. “What are the odds of Stephen's master calling him back at the exact moment Mo impaled him? Even if he was called back, it would've probably been too late. Stephen's heart was pierced. I heard it burst.”
“And I felt it,” Mo said.
“Are you sure?” Hunter asked. He sat between Samee and Donna, an arm over each of them.
Mo stared sharply at Hunter, her eyes narrowing. “Are you calling me an incompetent vampire killer? Because I can try again with another vampire just to make sure I got it right.”
Trent grinned. “You're spunky.” Mo blushed. Donna didn't think she'd ever seen Mo blush. Then Mo giggled like a little girl. Donna was certain she'd never heard Mo do that, even when she'd actually been a little girl. Trent winked at Mo then added boldly, “Let's see if Mo's really as bad an aim as you think she is, Hunter. Let her stake you.”
Hunter hissed at Trent and Trent hissed back.
“Stop it!” Samee snapped. “I'm getting tired of you two having hissy fits. You're on the same side.” She crossed her arms and pouted.
Hunter grumbled. “If he wouldn't be so ungrateful -”
Trent growled. “If he wouldn't be so overbearing -”
Samee pushed back her chair. It made a loud scrape across the kitchen floor. She stood up and put her hands on her hips. “I swear, sometimes I'd like to rip the shutters off every window in this house.” She whirled around and thudded up the stairs, muttering something about how could her roommates be older than dirt and simultaneously act like such babies. Her bedroom door slammed shut. Several moments of awkward silence in the kitchen were finally interrupted by another giggle from Mo as she and Trent exchange coy glances.
Dante cleared his throat. “Samee experienced a horrific thing yesterday. Is it too much to ask that we remain peaceful for a few days, out of respect for her?” He scooted back his chair too, gave Hunter and Trent harsh glares and then left to check on Samee. Several more moments of silence followed Dante's departure. Trent sat with his arms folded, shuffling in his chair. Hunter glowered at the floor, Liz stared off in space. Donna chewed on her nails and frowned at Mo.
Hunter finally spoke. “I'm going to bed. Care to join me, Donna?”
Donna shook her head. “Not just yet. I want to talk with Mo for a minute.”
“Suit yourself.” He kissed her cheek, hissed one more time at Trent, scooted back his chair and left.
“Is it always such a party around here?” Mo rolled her eyes then twinkled them in Trent's direction.
Donna sighed. “Liz, Trent. May I have a moment alone with Mo, please?” The two shifted looks. Liz shrugged.
“Sure, I'll make some phone calls and check on the club's activity.”
“I'll work on the basement, since I don't go to bed in broad nighttime, unlike some vampires.” The last sentence was directed upstairs.
“Because you have nobody to go to bed with,” came a snarl from the landing. Trent made a mocking face then tromped downstairs. Mo's gaze followed him.
“I'd go to bed with that one,” she whispered and indicated toward the basement stairs.
“Melissa Bently, stop talking like that.” Mo made a disgusted face because Donna had used her full name. Then she protested in that high-pitched voice Donna knew as her defensive one.
“I was just kidding around.”
Donna stared starkly. “Aren't you already in a relationship with somebody? A mortal somebody? Somebody with whom you're going to have a baby?”
Mo shrugged. “I guess.”
“Why all the puppy-dog eyes at the blood-sucker?”
Mo rolled her eyes. “I’m not making puppy-dog eyes.”
“I know you saved my life out there and I'm forever grateful. Maybe that's why I'm trying to understand what's going on here.”
“It must be the pregnancy hormones.” Mo patted her belly, which did indeed look a bit bigger than it had the last time Donna had seen her.
“Pregnancy hormones are making you hot for vampires?”
I know how that is. But she wasn’t about to admit it to Mo right now.
“I know, but...” Mo shook her head wildly, sending sprouts of hair into a wild frenzy. She looked helplessl
y at Donna. “Trent is so alluring.”
“Shhhh. They have extra-sensitive hearing.”
Mo's eyes widened and she whispered. “Do you think I'm under his vampire spell? You know, one of those mind control things? Because honestly Donna, vampires aren't usually my type.”
Donna chuckled. “Your mind is just like the rest of you, uncontrollable.”
Mo kicked at the table leg and whined. “What should I do?”
“Take your mind back and set it to the task of becoming a family with Jamie and the baby.”
Mo grimaced. “Do you have to put it that way?”
“What way?”
“Calling it a task.” Mo shuddered. “That just sounds so...task-like.”
“It's how things go, Mo. You grow up, get married and have a normal life with a normal family.”
Mo scoffed. “As if that’s what you’re planning to do with the damned blood-sucker - have a normal life. I’ve got news for you, Donna. It’s never going to happen.”
It was like a punch in the gut. Mo’s right. Things will never be normal. Donna shoved away that thought.
“Just stop peeling Trent with your eyes,” she implored. “He's not a banana.” In the living room, Liz chatted on her phone. It caught Donna’s attention. “How's Liz involved in this? Does she work for the Organization?”
Mo scrunched up her nose. “Organization? Like the mob? Hardly. Liz works with me at the newspaper. She's also half owner of The Dark Side.”
“I thought she was a bartender there.”
“She is, but she's an owner too. Her fiancé, Bruce, owns the other half.”
The boulder and the superhero own a teen nightclub together. Why am I not surprised?
Liz strolled back to the kitchen. “I heard my name. Is it okay for me to come back in?”
“Yeah,” Mo sounded relieved.
“Bruce says the club's making bank tonight.” That made Liz smile.
Mo pulled a lipstick tube from her back pocket and applied some. Then she fluffed the spikes in her hair and peered toward the basement.
“I was about to tell Donna how you and I teamed up,” she said.
Liz dragged a chair back with her foot then plopped down hard in it, crossing her arms and splaying her long, thin legs. Donna wondered if these were habits she'd picked up working at a bar.
“It all started,” Liz began, “when Mo brought this book on vampire history in to work and started obsessing on things undead.”
“I didn't obsess,” Mo protested.
Liz's gaze met Donna's and they laughed.
“I just take a keen reporter's interest,” Mo explained.
“A keen reporter's interest with a side of obsession,” Liz said to Mo then she turned back to Donna. “So there was Mo, searching out vampire information on the internet and in books. I must admit, she started to connect the dots with amazing accuracy. It didn't take her long to have just enough knowledge to be a danger to herself.”
Donna nodded. “Mo's like that sometimes.”
Liz snickered. “She doesn't know when to stop.”
“It's almost uncanny how she can find a doorway to trouble where others would just see a brick wall,” Donna said.
“Or,” Liz added, “how she'll fall in the rabbit hole where others would simply tiptoe around it.” Donna and Liz chuckled.
“Hey,” Mo protested. “I'm in the room, you know.”
Donna reached over and hugged Mo. “It's okay. We love you just the way you are.”
“And besides,” Liz shrugged. “We're not laughing at you, we're laughing with you.”
“Except I'm not laughing.” But then Mo chuckled.
“Anyway,” Liz went on, “Mo used amazing skills of deduction to come to a conclusion that most people would dismiss as crazy.” Liz smiled at her. “Mo didn't give up when things got creepy, like most mortals do. Most mortals say, 'nobody will ever believe me,' or 'the whole world will think I'm crazy.' Mo didn't care who thought what. She plowed right through and got her facts straight. Well, most of them. She even pulled me aside a few days ago and confided that she thought the city was being run by a vampire. She also said she intended to prove it.”
“I knew I was right,” Mo piped in, then added with a snort, “so much for obsession.”
“But here's the problem,” Liz said. “If Mo kept on her course, two things were guaranteed to happen. First, Mo would wreck her journalistic reputation. Nobody reputable in journalism gives vampire hunters any clout. Second, Mayor St. James could've put a hit out on her.” Liz studied Mo's face for a moment. “In fact, he still might put out that hit, especially now that you've done in Stephen. The mayor has substantial political clout.”
Mo jumped in without considering the depth of Liz's words. “So that's when Liz showed me her fangs, which also explained her weird work hours.” Mo chuckled. “Isn't that great, Donna? We finally get to have a girl vampire on our side.”
Donna sat back and crossed her arms. “How did any of this lead to you guys being here tonight?”
“Mo was convinced that part of what your mom said was true,” Liz explained. “She was worried about Hunter's temper, having experienced its effects first hand.”
“I don't like your blood-sucker,” Mo charged in. “And I don't mind saying so.”
Liz sighed. “You might as well face it, Donna. Hunter doesn't make a particularly good first impression.”
Mo scoffed. “Nor does he make a particularly good second, third, or fourth impression.”
“Mo insisted she come here tonight and spy -”
“- through the windows, which in hindsight was a bad idea,” Mo indicated toward the shuttered windows, “Because Freakenstein has everything in lock down.”
“It's a vampire thing,” Liz said gently. “Not so much a Freakenstein one. That's even true for me and I'm dark skinned.”
“More pigment means longer sun exposure times?” Mo asked.
Liz winked. “I can withstand the sun's rays far longer than any of the guys in this house.”
“I knew it.” Mo enthusiastically pounded her fist on the table. “You're better than them.”
“How long?” Donna asked.
“How long, what?” Mo tilted her head at Donna.
Liz answered. “I've experienced the sun for almost three minutes without protection. Of course, my eyes were shaded and I didn't dare remain any longer. My skin had started to tingle, which is the first symptom of dust piling.”
“Dust piling,” Mo chuckled. When she realized Liz was serious, Mo sucked in her breath and shut her mouth.
“I can actually be outside and drive short distances in broad daylight, so long as the windows are up and when I get to my destination, I run inside quickly.”
“Like at work,” Mo said.
Liz nodded. “With sun protection pills, I've been out in the midday sun for over ten minutes. But it's not lollipops and sugarplums. Those pills are expensive and even with them a vampire is weak in the daylight. Weaker than a mortal. Just remaining upright can become a chore.”
Mo looked in Donna's direction. “Wow, Donna. You're a sun worshiper. How's that going to work out between you and blood-sucker?” Donna gave her a hard look. She had no idea how it would work out.
Or on which side of the family fence Hunter and my baby's sun sensitivity will fall.
Liz cleared her throat. “Mo intended to spy on Hunter. Luckily, she told me her plans and I tagged along. I had a feeling that Mo alone in vampire territory as an unarmed mortal wouldn't bode well for her. I gave her the stake -”
“- And she told me not to lose it unless it was straight in a vampire's heart.”
“As it turns out, my feeling was spot on. I was just wrong about who the intended victim was.” Liz raised an eyebrow toward Donna.
“Thank you,” Donna told her. “And thank you, Mo. You both saved my life.”
Mo shrugged. “Your blood-sucker's not the only one who
can keep you alive.”
Dante quietly came downstairs and leaned against the doorway. Donna looked up.
“How's Samee doing?” she asked.
“She's well.” Then Dante sighed. “Upon occasion, Hunter and Trent do not enjoy the same ideas on things. When that happens, it can get ugly for all of us.”
“Speak for yourself,” Mo chuckled. “It's entertaining for some of us.”
Dante observed Mo, his expression amused. “You're going to be excellent at whatever you do with your life, love.”
“Thanks,” Mo grinned proudly.
Dante turned toward the back door. “Good night, loves. I'm going for my walk. It's that time of year when the dead and the living co-mingle amidst much celebration.” He winked and then was gone.
Liz spoke first. “Don't you guys just want to pant and drool when he says 'love'?”
Donna grinned. “Yeah.”
“You both need your eyes checked. The one downstairs is hotter.”
“And you'll stay out of that particular hot kitchen,” Donna pointed a warning finger.
Mo rolled her eyes then turned to Liz. “Hey Liz, Bruce isn't a vampire, is he?”
Liz shook her head, which made her dangling feather earrings smack against her lovely, long throat.
“How are you two going to handle that kind of relationship?” Donna asked. “He'll age and you won't. What will you do?”
“I don't know,” she looked down. “Bruce wants me to Turn him. But...”
“But what?” Donna anxiously asked.
“Forever is a long time to avoid the sun,” Liz looked hard at Donna.
Trent thudded up the basement stairs then stood in the doorway, grinning and scanning the room. “I was wondering which one of you lovely ladies might be willing to help me with a chore downstairs.” He turned to Mo, who looked desperately at Donna, who returned the look with one that could kill quicker than a stake through the heart.
“Um,” Mo muttered, “I'd love to. The problem is...”
“The problem is,” Donna jumped in, “she has to go home. It's past her bedtime. Unlike a vampire, she does need to sleep at night.”
Trent's expression dropped. “I understand.” The two gaped at each other like puppy pals being taken to the pound in separate cages. Everybody said goodbye and Trent lingered in the front doorway, watching Liz and Mo walk to the Sentra, but he especially watched Mo.
Donna tapped Trent's elbow. “I'll help you with whatever needs done in the basement.”
“It's okay,” he shrugged. “The job involves lifting, and you're pregnant.”
“So is Mo,” Donna replied.
His eyes widened. “She is?”
“In fact, she's further along than I am.” He shook his head and muttered that he couldn't believe it. Donna smiled. “Now that you know she's pregnant, Mo's not quite as alluring, is she?”
“No,” Trent's tone was dazed. “She's even more so. To me, nothing is more beautiful.” He watched the Sentra's tail lights until they disappeared from view. “I met Mo once before, in Spain. Her name was Consuela and I loved her instantly. She reminds me of Mara, but different. Mara was bold but she didn't speak her mind with quite the conviction Mo does.”
“I see,” Donna said gently. “But you do know Mo has James, Jamie. Whatever that guy's name is.”
Trent stuck out his tongue. “I saw that dumb blob at The Dark Side. He doesn't deserve such a charming creature as Mo.”
“Mo's about as charming as a bull in ballerina slippers.”
Trent's eyes twinkled. “Indeed. She's a feisty goddess amongst mere mortal women. No offense to your mortalhood, of course.”
“Of course.” It’s hopeless. Donna shook her head, rubbed her temples and headed toward the stairs. “I'm going to bed now. Good night.”
“Before you go, I'd like to say something. It's good to see Hunter with you again. He's a bear to be around when you're not. You make him much more manageable for the rest of us. He's lucky to have you.” Trent grinned and his eyes shined. “We all are.”
“Thank you, Trent.”
It pains me to admit, but I can see why Mo is so taken with Trent.
chapter twenty three