To Catch a Vampire Read Online Free PDF Page B

fucking valet, lady.”
    “Right,” I mumble. “Sorry.”
    While my rude helper sets up the ramp, I put the suitcases in the back of the van. Effing heck, this duffel is heavy. Do we have an atom bomb in there or something? I swear, carrying something that weighs as much as you do in stilettos should be an event in the Olympics. When I manage to get the bag in the back of the van (giving Magilla Gorilla a brief view of Victoria’s secret, no doubt), I wipe my brow with a sigh. I spent half my flight here on my makeup and hair, and it’s ruined in three minutes. Well, he can get that coffin in all by himself, thank you very much. I climb into the passenger’s side, turn the key, and crank up the AC. Aah, much better.
    Five minutes later, Mr. Grumpy secures the coffin, and we’re on our way out of the airstrip. The man turns on the radio, and Shania Twain belts out “Any Man of Mine,” a personal favorite of mine. Up until age eight I moved up, down, and sideways across the Southwest, so tunes from Tanya Tucker and Garth Brooks became my lullabies. I’ve always loved country music, even when people make fun of me for it. Southern Californians do not listen to country music. Boy bands, yes; Johnny Cash, no. With Shania’s help, I calm down a little. Well, as calm as someone who’s riding with a perfect stranger going to an unknown destination with a vampire asleep in the back can be. Okay, nervous again.
    “We’re going to the Dauphine, right?” the man asks.
    “Um, right,” I say.
    The man pauses then says, “Too rich for my blood. Hear they got silk sheets or some such shit.”
    “Wouldn’t surprise me,” I say, inwardly rolling my eyes. Oliver would pick the hotel decorated by Hugh Hefner.
    “First time here?”
    Crud, personal questions. I have no idea if this is Mrs. Smythe’s first time in Dallas. What if Oliver or George or whomever mentioned something over the phone when arranging this? Wing it. No other choice. “Yeah. We’re just here to visit some friends. Vampire friends, not my friends. I have no friends here, right, because I’ve never been here before.” Shut up! “Is it nice?”
    “No better, no worse than anyplace else.”
    Not a glowing endorsement. “So, you pick up a lot of vampires?”
    He scoffs. “You must be new. Lady, the V word is forbidden. They’ll cut your tongue out if you use it to outsiders. Literally.”
    Oh. Not even to the hotel, and I’ve made a faux pas. “I will definitely remember that, thank you.” We ride in silence for a few seconds, except for Brooks & Dunn, but I’m not good with silence. “How’s the party scene here? Oliver, that’s my husband, says it’s wild.”
    “How the fuck would I know? I don’t associate with you people. Besides picking you up, I want nothing to do with y’all.”
    “I’m sorry? You people?” Okay, now I—I mean Mrs. Smythe —is offended. “A bit judgmental, aren’t we? You don’t seem to have a problem taking money from ‘us people’.”
    “Taking money is one thing lady, fucking ’em and getting gnawed on like a bone is another.”
    My mouth drops open. “Just shut up and drive, jerk-off.” That was Mrs. Smythe swearing, not me.
    He shuts up and drives. Good boy.
    A long fifteen minutes later, we pull into a residential area of antebellum mansions behind brick and metal fences. High houses with columns holding up balconies and wraparound porches are surrounded by perfect lawns of emerald green grass with lush trees and the odd fountain. This is not the Dallas I knew. Not a trailer park in sight. We turn the corner on Dauphine Street to find more of the same. The van stops at one of the more hospitable gates. Ivy covers half the metal fence. The gorilla rolls down his window, allowing a gust of hot air into the cool interior. He reaches to the call box, pushing the red button.
    “Yes?” a man says over the intercom a moment later.
    “Dropping off Smythe.”
    “Password?”
    “Daffodil.”
    The box