My, What Big Fangs You Have

A Vegan Vamp Christmas Story

Cate Lawley

Summary

Christmas dinner with the family has never been so strange. Evelyn is convinced her daughter’s sudden weight loss and new liquid diet are a sign of a serious illness or worse. She’s going to get to the bottom of the mystery before the dessert course no matter how far it stretches her parenting skills or dents her reputation as the perfect hostess.

Join Evelyn, her daughter Mallory, and their close friends for this heartwarming Christmas story set in the Vegan Vamp world.

Chapter One

S

ometimes a woman has

to pressure her child. Sometimes apply guilt. Sometimes it simply takes more than that. What was that saying? Walk softly but carry a big golf club?

My husband had always been the golfer in our family, though he certainly hadn’t walked softly. But he was gone, and though I could hardly celebrate the fact that he’d died—that would be heartless—I could celebrate the fact that the cheating oaf had died before either our divorce was finalized or he’d changed his will.

But his absence meant that I was the golfing parent now. It wasn’t a role I felt suited me. I’d always been more of a tennis player. But suited or not, it was time to pull that club out. I dialed my daughter’s number.

Praise be, the child answered. At least she wasn’t so far gone as to duck my calls. “Mother, how are you? I don’t have long to talk.”

“Mallory, darling, one should always have time for one’s mother.” I let a slight edge sharpen my voice. “And it has been—oh, let me see—how long has it been since I’ve set eyes on you, darling?”

A tense silence followed my question. Naturally. Tense silences occurred when one’s child hid from her mother—for months.

“Mallory? Are you still there?” I tapped the phone. “The line’s gone all quiet.”

A beleaguered sigh followed. She must think I was going deaf in my dotage. Well, I was neither in my dotage nor going deaf. “Yes, Mother, I’m still here. And I know it’s been a little while since we’ve gotten together. Work has been…”

“What was that? Work’s been demanding? What is it that you do, now that you’ve changed careers? I’m not sure you’ve ever been clear on that point, sweetheart.”

Mallory had been rabidly avoiding dispensing any information about her mysterious new job, and the opening had simply been too good to pass up. Not to imply that a mother-daughter relationship was a battle. Certainly not. It was more a protracted war in which two parties fought, sometimes together, sometimes apart, against the rest of the world.

“Ah, my job, I…um, I was doing some client work, and then—”

“Client work? What type of client work?” Pressure applied, and now for the walk back. “You know what, darling, that’s all right. I’m in a bit of a rush myself. Maybe we can discuss your job later.” And then that big golf swing. “At Christmas dinner. I know you wouldn’t miss Christmas dinner with your widowed mother.”

Reference to my widowed status might seem extreme, but adding a touch of guilt was always wise when dealing with naughty children. I examined my manicure. I really must start bringing my own polish. The new line of products the salon used wasn’t holding up. And it wasn’t like I participated in any particularly strenuous or arduous tasks. Tennis and yoga certainly didn’t count. Although, I suppose life had gotten a little more physical of late with my gentleman friend. What that man could do with his—

“All right. Yes, Mother, I’ll see you at Christmas dinner.”

“Lovely!” I paused for effect. “And we can be thankful that you won’t be coming down with that flu bug that’s been going around, since you already had your nasty little run-in with it over Thanksgiving…isn’t that right?”

I could almost hear her teeth grinding.

It’s never pleasant to be caught in a lie. It served the little reprobate right. Shame on her for skipping out on Thanksgiving dinner with her closest living relative. That had been when I still believed the never-ending excuses. I’d brought around soup, for goodness’ sake! The ungrateful child had told me to leave it on the porch. What a way to behave. I’d raised her better than that.

Finally, she said, “I’m sure I won’t be sick. You’re right, I’ve already had the flu that’s going around. About that… You know, I lost a bit of weight when I was sick. So, I, ah, I’m a little thinner than the last time you saw me.”

Since I was as certain my child hadn’t contracted the flu as I was of the inauthenticity of Buffy Segal’s new four-carat ring, my suspicions were immediately aroused.

Not that my daughter couldn’t stand to lose a few pounds. Mallory wasn’t exactly round. She was what we used to call pleasantly plump, which had been code for “could probably lose ten or fifteen pounds and look better.” But nowadays it wasn’t considered acceptable to criticize weight, and I would never want my lovely girl to think she was failing in any way…even if she could stand to shed that little extra she carried around.

If not that fake flu of hers, then what had caused her weight loss? Hm. I supposed I’d have to skip it for now. Wouldn’t want to get a hasty retraction for Christmas. “Well, then all the more reason to enjoy a lovely five-course Christmas dinner with your mother.”

“Ah, and about that, so I’ve taken up a new diet…”

I waited. This should be good. Mallory did not diet. Not to fit into that special dress. Not to catch that elusive man. Not to increase her energy. Not to shame her slightly pudgier peers. My child liked to eat.

“Anyway, I might not be able to eat much, so don’t go to too much trouble, okay?”

Hm. And then a thought dropped right into my head, a terrible, nasty thought. Drugs. My daughter had become a drug addict. She was doing meth and didn’t want me to see that she’d ruined her lovely teeth and was wasting away. How long did one take meth before losing one’s teeth?

“Darling, are you sure you’re all right?”

A long-suffering sigh practically tickled my ear.

She really must think I was deaf.

“I’m fine, Mother, really.”

The threat of drugs still loomed, so I wasn’t so sure about that. But if she skipped out on Christmas dinner, my new gentleman friend and I were going to have a long chat. As my daughter’s roommate, he’d been quite insistent from the beginning that we keep those particular boundaries intact.

He didn’t discuss Mallory with me, and I only occasionally used my womanly wiles to get information out of him.

“Oh, sweetheart? I’ve invited Jefferson to join us for Christmas dinner. The poor dear doesn’t have any family to celebrate with.”

My daughter muttered, “Of course he doesn’t.” Then, in a brighter tone, added, “Do you mind if I invite a friend to even the numbers?”

And my heart soared. Every good hostess knows that even numbers implies an even mix of gentlemen and ladies. My daughter had a gentleman friend! I could barely contain my excitement, and it would explain so much. After taking a breath, I said, “Of course, Mallory. You’re welcome to invite whomever you choose. I wouldn’t wish anyone to spend Christmas alone.”

I hung up—and then I pulled out the champagne. With a quick glance at the clock, I added a dash of orange juice. There, perfect for a midmorning libation.

“My daughter has a beau!” Finally!—but I would never say such a thing aloud. Not even in the privacy of my own home. I would, however, toast her future happiness.

When I was done celebrating—no mother wants a life of loneliness for her child—I looked at the phone in my hand. I might not be a golfer, but I’d gotten a few good swings in.

Now if only all the signs were pointing to this new gentleman friend—and not, God forbid, meth—then everything would be just fine. I’d have to get to the bottom of that particular mystery.

I was up to the challenge. This was my daughter, my only child. For her, I would climb mountains, so solving a little mystery was certainly manageable.

I’d even cook a Christmas dinner that met whatever strange new diet she was claiming to be following. We’d all have a fabulous dinner, while I rooted out the cause of all the recent changes in Mallory’s life. And I promised myself that if it wasn’t this man, if it was drugs, I could handle it.

I could. I would. I loved my daughter, and whatever was going on in her life, we’d get through it.

Chapter Two

Five days later

C

hristmas dinner was going

to be a disaster.

Months of on-and-off dating and not once had Jefferson’s special dietary requirements arisen. I couldn’t believe that we’d never shared a meal. We’d attended many events—soirees, award banquets, charity dinners, social luncheons. So many events with food, and yet he never ate a bite. How had I not seen that?

Then I smiled. I knew how. He’d claim to be watching his figure and then give me one of those looks that was just suggestive enough to tell me that he’d happily exit for a private interlude in the library, and all without being so crass as to leer.

The man had a talent. Many talents, I amended, when I considered the occasional side room we’d shared at events. A dark corner for a little hanky-panky, an isolated room for a little more. A sigh escaped my chest. It might not be love, but it certainly was a rather advanced case of full-blown lust.

Jefferson was delectable. The things that man could do made my insides quiver like so much lightly set custard.

And he could dance like a dream. He didn’t complain about being kept waiting (a woman must always look her best), was always suitably attired—except for that beard that he refused to shave, but at least kept nicely trimmed—always handled the ordering and the check, and always drove and maintained his car as a gentleman should. He might be ten years younger than me, but that sort of thing wasn’t nearly so gauche today as it had been a few years ago.

And then there was his body. His gorgeous body. Unlike so many men in my circle of acquaintance, he hadn’t spread more around the middle the longer we’d dated. In fact, Jefferson had initially been, ah, “less than fit” would be the more delicate phrase. But the longer I’d known him, the fitter he’d become. And now… I clasped my hand to my chest. Now, my Jefferson had the body of a Norse god.

He sounded almost too good to be true. But he was real, and he was mine, every delicious, lickable inch of him. And there were many inches to lick. I fanned my face.

What had I been dithering over? I glanced at the pen and paper in front of me. The dinner menu. Yes, dinner. I fanned myself again. So the man had a few dietary foibles. The whole package was worth the trouble.

If only my daughter would reveal the constraints of her own diet, I might be able to plan a proper meal.

A warm glow suffused me. Mallory, dieting! I never thought a man could bring about such a change. But then a darker thought intruded again—perhaps it wasn’t a man, but drugs. Surely it wasn’t drugs.

I’d been reading up on addictive behaviors and the signs of drug abuse. It was chilling reading.

But there was nothing to be done until I saw my daughter with my own eyes. Then I could decide how best to tackle the problem. A little bit of that warm excitement burbled in my chest again: maybe, just maybe, she was in love. And not a drugged-up junkie.

Chapter Three

Two days later, Christmas Eve, late afternoon

“D

arling! You’re so thin.”

I immediately regretted the comment. I’d always been thinner than Mallory, and she’d perceived that as an unspoken criticism. And for that to be the first thing I said on opening the door—shame on me. “The dress you’re wearing is very flattering. It’s a beautiful choice, sweetheart.” I kissed her cheek, but her shoulder was tense under my hand.

“You look lovely, Mother.” Mallory met my gaze and held it for a heartbeat before brushing past me.

Something was different. She always said I looked lovely. She was a good girl, and I’d raised her with a modicum of manners. But this time—I felt my eyes burn a bit—this time she meant it.

Much as I peeked around the front of the house at the drive, I couldn’t spot her date.

She glanced over her shoulder and caught me checking. “It’s just me. My friend Alex drove separately. He’s running late.”

She looked rather put out by the fact. Especially considering that she was calling him a friend. Not her boyfriend. Not even her date.

I shut the door then tipped my head. “Work? On Christmas?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.” She seemed to consider the question then nodded. “It might be. Alex does some work as an emergency responder.”

That conjured all variety of possibilities. Firefighter? Paramedic? Not Mallory’s usual type, but whoever could hold my daughter’s interest must be fascinating, whatever he did. And there were all those calendars with all those bulging muscles, so maybe he was interesting in that way.

“When are you expecting Wembley?”

“I really don’t understand why you call him that, dear. His name is Jefferson.” I patted the back of my French twist. “I’m sure he’ll be here shortly. Jefferson is always on time.”

“Okay. I just wondered, because he left our place at least a half an hour before me.”

I could feel my cheeks tingle. Most certainly I could expect a lovely arrangement for the table or a festive bouquet for the credenza in the hallway. Jefferson always did the right thing. I was sure that was what had detained him. I’d expected them to arrive yesterday, and I hadn’t any idea where he might be retrieving them, because no florist was open the afternoon of Christmas Eve.

As Mallory hung her jacket in the coat closet, her lips twitched. “I thought you didn’t approve of women dating younger men. When Francesca had her fling with that twenty-nine year-old, you thought she’d lost her mind.”

“Not her mind, dear, her sense.” I touched my neck and hair again, only recognizing the fidget after I’d already ascertained that it was as neat as it should be. “Besides,” I added in an airy tone, “I haven’t a clue about Jefferson’s age. It hasn’t come up.”

Mallory started to cough. She covered her mouth and gasped for breath. Maybe she was coming down with something. Maybe she truly had been sick before. Maybe her immunity had been shattered by all the drugs she was doing. Oh, God.

I rubbed her back, trying to sneak a closer look at her mouth when she lowered her hand. Some of the pictures I’d found online, oh my, appalling.

When she caught her breath, she said, “Wow, Mom, no need to look so worried. I’m fine. I’m not getting sick, I just, ah, I swallowed wrong…or something.” Her voice trailed away to nothing, and she averted her eyes.

That girl was hiding something, and before she left tonight, I was going to find out what.

The ring of the doorbell had me switching to hostess mode, so it would have to wait—for now.

When I opened the door, I discovered a slightly disheveled, very tall man on the doorstep. No, on second glance, not disheveled. He had more than a shadow of scruff, perhaps a week’s worth of beard, but he was attired as one ought to be for a family Christmas dinner. Slacks, a button-down shirt, a beautiful tie, but no jacket. He simply had a rakish air about him that his refusal to shave reinforced.

My warmest hostess smile in place, I extended my hand. “Hello. I’m Evelyn Andrews, Mallory’s mother. Welcome to my home.”

He accepted my hand and shook it with exactly the right amount of pressure, neither so briefly as to slight nor so long as to be forward. “Alex Valois. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

That voice. If my daughter wasn’t interested in this man, she should be.

“Please come inside.” I opened the door wider and gestured for him to enter.

“Thank you for having me. I appreciate being included in your family dinner.” He handed me a bottle of wine as he crossed the threshold.

Hm. Perhaps they’d just begun to date? Those didn’t sound like the words of a man in a committed long-term relationship. “You’re more than welcome, Mr. Valois—”

“Alex.”

I nodded. “Alex. We’re both very happy to have you. And thank you for the wine.” I glanced at the label then looked again. Alex Valois had expensive taste in wine.

Before I could impress—with some subtleness, of course—how welcome a man was in my daughter’s life, at least so far as her mother was concerned, the doorbell rang again.

With a touch on his shoulder, I pointed to the bar. “Please, help yourself.”

He removed his coat and handed it to Mallory, and I had to peel away my attention from shoulders that had been revealed as surprisingly broad and the lovely shape of his derriere. It was always delightful when a man could fill out a pair of pants nicely.

After depositing the bottle of red wine on the credenza, I opened the door. The doorway was filled with a gorgeous bouquet of white, green, and a pinch of red. Now that would have to go in the hallway. It would make the entryway smell lovely for days. I accepted both the bouquet and a kiss to the cheek before ushering Jefferson inside.

“Mallory, darling, take Jefferson’s coat while I put these in a vase. Aren’t they gorgeous?” I leaned closer as I passed by. “And your friend Alex brought a divine bottle of red.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Jefferson asked.

I paused en route to the kitchen and gave him a very pointed look. If he couldn’t interpret the clear signs of “not now” and “speaking will result in your castration,” then he was blind.

“What have you done now, Wembley?” my daughter asked.

“Ah. You two should consider speaking about—” My daughter’s glare derailed him, and after a substantial and quite noticeable pause, Jefferson said, “Things.”

Mallory flushed, and I noticed, not for the first time this evening, how impeccably she’d applied her makeup. She looked ten years younger. “I don’t want to talk about things, Wembley.”

Jefferson’s gaze darted between the two of us, and I caught a calculating look in his eye that wasn’t at all familiar.

“All right,” he said, nodding and looking much too agreeable. “Just so you’re aware of your mother’s concerns and the possible stress that she’s under—” Surely he wouldn’t dare, but I tried to catch his eye, just in case he would. He ignored me and continued, “I’ve refused to answer her questions about a burgeoning drug problem she’s concerned you might have.”

My hand flew up to pat my perfectly coiffed hair, and I knew the small gasp I heard was my own.

Talented tongue and magical hands notwithstanding, I might just have to kill that man.

Chapter Four

T

he kitchen

and a vase for the flowers called. Mostly because I couldn’t face my daughter. What if I were wrong and this terrible pall had been created for nothing?

Worse—what if I were right?

And for this shadow to be cast so blatantly over a holiday meal—I was going to kill Jefferson. I had never known him to be so insensitive, so inappropriate. I shoved the drawer that had contained the florist scissors with too much force, and it closed with a sharp thud.

That man. Months we’d spent together. He knew how important my daughter was to me. He knew she and I hadn’t been close lately. I could throttle him.

I started to split the stems, but my hand was shaking, so I dropped the scissors.

And where was the handsome devil? He should be here apologizing, begging my forgiveness for his terrible lapse in judgment.

Rummaging through the shelves, I found the perfect vase, and then made myself spend the next several minutes tweaking the flowers until they were just so—plenty of time for him to come and check on me. Plenty of time for him to formulate a heartfelt apology.

But when I’d placed one particular white rose in its fourth and least attractive position, I realized the terrible man wasn’t going to apologize. And I was going to have to face my daughter at some point.

So I tidied up the mess, found the perfect place for that innocent white rose, and picked up the arrangement.

Time to face the music.

When I returned to the formal living room, I found the three of them gathered tightly together, looking for all the world as if they were plotting something nefarious.

A truly terrible thought occurred. It was drugs, and they were all in it together. Jefferson’s income was a mystery—a lady did not inquire when the information was not offered—and he was my daughter’s roommate. He claimed he enjoyed the company, but the house was really very small for someone with his income.

And this Alex Valois, he and Jefferson knew each other long before Mallory had come into the picture.

Mallory’s reluctance to discuss her new work, her roommate who could afford his own home but continued to share hers, a gentleman friend who also had mysterious employment…

That was it. Alex, Jefferson, and Mallory were manufacturing and selling drugs. And Mallory must have gotten hooked, hence all the weight loss.

My daughter and drugs. My eyes burned.

“Mom?” Mallory saw that I’d returned and left her little band of drug-manufacturing thugs. “Don’t get upset. It’s not at all what you’re thinking.”

I willed the tears away. This was Christmas. Christmas Eve dinner was not a place for tears and confrontations. For which Jefferson should be thankful. I targeted him with the look of impending doom.

“We’re not discussing this now. Right now, we’re having Christmas dinner.”

The table was set, the food already prepared except for a few final touches—if one could call it food. Maybe drug dealers and druggies had strange food cravings? Or bizarre dietary needs?

I decided to forgo the preprandial niceties. Aperitifs might be de rigueur, but that involved making small talk…with a bunch of drug dealers. Much better to have a table of food between me and them.

“Please, have a seat in the dining room. Mallory will show you the way. I’ll just be a moment in the kitchen.” I didn’t consider myself a particularly cowardly woman, but one was allowed a graceful retreat when entertaining possible criminals. Or so I assumed. I’d only ever hosted the one, and Alan Smith-Sanderson had been suspected of a white-collar crime—fraud, perhaps?—at the time. Not at all the same thing.

Once in the kitchen, I took a few deep breaths, patted my hair into place, and served up the soup course. The first soup course. Who ever heard of multiple courses of soup? It really wasn’t done. But a good hostess does not question the needs of her guests, she simply accommodates them.

Before loading them on the serving tray, I peeked in on the individual servings of vegan fondue that were baking in the oven, and turned the temperature down.

Vegan fondue—who would have thought? But Jefferson had given me the name of the cheese to use, a neighbor had provided the recipe, and the test batch had been surprisingly edible.

It was time to return to my guests and serve the soup. I was going to put a good face on this if it killed me. I stopped to catch my breath as panic hit. For all I knew, this could be the last Christmas I had with Mallory on the outside. My little girl could be incarcerated this time next year.

That thought could not enter my head or I’d ruin Christmas dinner by crying.

As I returned with the serving tray of soup, I heard Alex say, “You should tell her. You only have a certain amount of time left before—” He stopped abruptly when he saw me enter.

Alex immediately stood, took the tray from me, and placed it on the side table. What drug dealer was ever so polite? Though I didn’t have much of a pool for comparison. I gestured for him to have a seat and served the soup. And as I sat down, I said, “Apple and squash soup. I hope you enjoy it.”

There were murmurs of appreciation all around the table, which I accepted with a smile. But Alex’s comment wouldn’t fade away. It kept tapping away in my mind. Mallory only had so much time…limited time…weight loss…a special diet.

And then I realized, and the world fell out from under my feet. “Oh my God. It’s not drugs. You’re dying.”

I couldn’t breathe. I was fifty-nine and losing everything. My little girl was dying.

Chapter Five

“M

other! I’m not dying.”

Mallory turned to Alex and said, “I told you this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come.”

Now that caught my attention. My eyes narrowed. “Not come to Christmas dinner? When you might not”—my breath caught on a sob—“when you might not be here next Christmas?”

She was breaking my heart all over again. And just when I’d seen a spark of connection—oh, I wanted to cry. This was the worst Christmas ever, worse even than the year we hosted Edward’s corporate Christmas party and the neighbors had erected a giant glowing snow globe in the yard. My mother must be turning over in her grave in shame.

“Mom.” Mallory knelt next to my chair. She took my hand—the one that wasn’t clutching my linen napkin and dabbing at the tears slowly leaking from my eyes. “Mom, listen to me. I’m not dying. I’m not sick.” She sighed. “Not exactly. Well, sort of.”

I hiccuped. I knew it. She was sick. Why else all the liquids? And vegan cheese? My nose wrinkled involuntarily. No one ate vegan cheese because they wanted to. Did they? Although the trial run of the fondue had been quite tasty…

“I might have kept things from you in the past, but I don’t lie, not about the important things. I never have.” She squeezed my fingers. “You remember what I said when you talked to me about Dad? You were worried that your marital problems were having some kind of horrible effect on my life, so you sat me down to talk about what was about to happen.” A look of amusement crossed her face. “Even though I was well into my thirties.”

A watery chuckle escaped my lips, taking me by surprise. Even with the threat of a serious illness in my daughter’s future, I still found that conversation surprising and funny. That had been the first hint at my daughter’s deeply buried and little-used sense of humor.

I dabbed at the corners of my eyes again. “You gave me a top-ten list of reasons to leave your father.” I peeked up at her. “You know, I still have that list.” I smirked as I recalled numbers three and seven, relating specifically to physical attributes of Lawrence and his latest floozy—Candy.

“See. I was brutally honest then, and I’m being honest with you now. I’m not dying. Not today, and”—she shared a glance with Jefferson—“probably not for a very long time. Are we good? Can I go eat the rest of that fabulous soup you made, preferably before it’s cold?”

I sniffed. “It’s quite tasty chilled, actually, though with the weather what it is, warm is so much better.” I sat up straighter. “Of course. Please, go eat your soup, honey.”

But I wasn’t comforted. Well, perhaps I was a bit, but only a little bit. If death wasn’t immediately in the offing, then maybe it was drugs and incarceration that I had to worry about. Or some terrible, lingering illness. Maybe she wasn’t going to die immediately, but would waste away over a course of years?

She finished her soup and asked if she might help herself to seconds.

My eyes narrowed as I agreed she might. Perhaps not wasting away, but something was wrong with my daughter.

As I tried to get my breath—my daughter was not dying—I peered at the mysterious Alex. So Alex had told Mallory to fess up to her mother. Handsome, excellent taste in wine, met minimally acceptable standards for appearance and attire, not flat broke (the wine had been quite expensive), and encouraged open lines of communication with her mother. Oh, Mallory needed to keep this one…so long as he wasn’t the head of some drug cartel.

When she returned with a second bowl for both herself and Alex, I found I’d only finished half of my own. Nothing to do with the soup, which was quite tasty. There might be something to this vegan diet, if one did the appropriate research and knew the right people to ask. Suzanne from two doors down had given me this and another recipe that had vied for a place on the menu. I hadn’t even known Suzanne was a vegan, but apparently she’d joined the ranks not long after one of her teenage children had started refusing to eat anything that came from an animal.

I set down my spoon. I just couldn’t finish the soup—tasty or not. Not when I didn’t know what in the world was happening with my daughter. I excused myself to check on the vegan fondue, and returned a few minutes later with the tiny pots of faux cheese. I hoped it was filling enough to warrant its place on the menu as the entrée. We only had a light consommé and dessert drinks to follow.

After serving the individual pots, Alex and I used the tiny toasts and various vegetables arranged at intervals across the table to dip into the fondue. Jefferson and Mallory ate it much like a soup. Could my poor little girl not eat any solids at all? I’d thought that a mild exaggeration when she told me.

What little appetite I had left fled as I tried to parse the puzzle of my daughter’s illness. What could possible cause such odd symptoms?

I glanced up to find Jefferson sending Mallory critical looks interspersed with intense interest in his fondue.

Finally, Mallory caught his eye and, with her lips pinched, shook her head.

Jefferson set aside his fondue and pushed his chair back a few inches. Looking between me and Mallory, his face took on a grim cast, and my heart did an erratic little hop-skip in my chest.

Jefferson closed his eyes, muttered something to do with Odin, then said, “Oh, please put everyone here out of their misery, Mallory, and just tell the poor woman.”

And my daughter growled. Right there at the dinner table, like a heathen with no manners.

I frowned at her. “Mallory—”

“Mom, I’m a vampire.”

I blinked at her and shook my head. “Pardon me?”

My daughter, who until this moment had only shown signs of anxiety and mild obsessive-compulsive order, said once more, “I’m a vampire.”

My sweet little girl wasn’t dying.

She was bonkers.

Chapter Six

“B

ourbon milk punch for dessert, anyone?”

To heck with the consommé. I needed liquor. I looked around the table, waiting for replies.

Jefferson and Alex both nodded, so I turned to Mallory with my hostess mask firmly in place. “It’s made with almond milk, darling. Would you like some?”

She was pinching her lips together, something I recognized from her childhood. She used to do that when she had a secret. This could not be good. Not if there was still more to tell.

How did one have one’s child committed? Maybe Alex would know. He worked in that field, didn’t he? Although—I peeked at Alex and Wembley from under my lashes as I pretended to fold my napkin. They both looked much too sanguine, given Mallory’s revelation. Were they involved somehow with her delusion?

“Wembley’s a vampire, too!” Mallory blurted, then blushed a fiery red and mouthed, “I’m sorry,” to Wembley.

Group delusion? Prank? They were all on drugs right now?

I set my napkin to the side of my barely touched fondue. “I’ll just go fetch those drinks, why don’t I?”

For the life of me, I couldn’t meet a single eye in the room. I slipped out of my seat and made a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

I loved my kitchen. It was a place where I was in control. It was modern and tidy. The fixtures gleamed. Everything had its proper place.

Where was the proper place for a daughter who thought she was a vampire?

And didn’t vampires drink blood? Maybe those were last-century vampires. Maybe the vampires of today were juicers, hence Mallory’s liquid diet preferences.

I retrieved a tea towel and my lavender water. After liberally spritzing the towel, I sat down at the kitchen table, leaned back, and covered my entire face with the scented towel. I just needed a moment of lavender-imbued silence to contemplate the situation.

I wasn’t hiding. A good hostess would never hide from her guests.

Several slow and measured breaths later, I removed the towel. I was hiding, and it was lovely. But I couldn’t hide forever, I had guests.

I needed to approach this problem in a calm and logical fashion.

Set up an evaluation for Mallory with…who was that man that Suzanne’s other daughter, not the vegan one, started to see when she had her breakdown? Dr. Dinmeyer? Or was it Dinmann? Whoever, Suzanne swore by the man. I’d get his information from her after Christmas. But what to do today? Now?

And with relief, I realized I knew exactly what to do. I’d told my guests I was fetching drinks, and that was exactly what I would do.

For the moment, I needed to prepare those drinks. I could work on the problem as I prepped. I snuck a sip, then another. Maybe things would look better after I just finished off this one drink.

When a strategy didn’t present itself after I’d finished my second milk punch, I decided that additional information was required. I needed to find out if my daughter was dangerous. How far from reality had she stepped, and what were these delusions pushing her to do?

Maybe it was all quite harmless, like a personality quirk. Great-Auntie Lula had always been a bit eccentric, and while there had been whispers, she certainly had never been committed…so far as I knew.

Or maybe it was a lifestyle choice. This was the twenty-first century, and embracing different lifestyles was what one did. Vampirism didn’t seem to quite fit that category, but I hardly kept up with all the latest trends.

Drinks prepared and my third milk punch long gone, I headed back to the dining room with my investigative hat on and the drinks tray in my hands. As I passed the lavender-scented tea towel on my way out, I gave it a final wistful glance.

I’d wanted to know what was happening with my daughter. And now that I knew, I was glad. Not that she’d lost her grip with reality, of course, but glad that the problem was out in the open. We could start to deal with it.

Or not.

Because the dining room was empty when I returned. Empty. As in, no guests present. They weren’t all just crackers, they were heathens.

Should I look for the wayward bunch of vampires? Except Alex hadn’t been slapped with the label. Mallory had only indicated Jefferson in her group delusion. Alex had gone along with it, but…

Oh, I was tired. I was too old to keep up with the trends kids followed these days. That was my last hope, that this was some kind of trend. Otherwise, I didn’t see any other way. Mallory would have to be committed.

And then they trooped back in the room, the whole lot of them—and an extra one.

“Hello?” I rose to my feet in dismay. This small family event had just completely spiraled out of control. Strangers were appearing uninvited at the dinner table.

The tiny blond woman was wearing an appalling Christmas sweater and a very put-upon expression. “I’m sorry to intrude, but these idiots seem to have created an unpleasant situation”—she turned to glare at the threesome—“and thought I might be able to help.”

My eyebrows climbed. “Are you a vampire as well?”

She hesitated then said firmly, “No.”

A whoosh of relief swept through me. Small favors. Now if she’d just explain what she was doing in my home—

A hopeful look crossed her face when she saw the drinks. “Is that milk punch?”

“Yes, with bourbon,” I replied with my best hostess smile. Even uninvited strangers should be made to feel welcome—at least, that seemed best until I sorted out who she was and what exactly she was doing in my home. “It’s the vegan variety. Would you like a glass?” When she seemed unsure, I prompted her to have a seat. “Please. Mallory will fetch you a glass.”

Mallory didn’t hesitate. It was like she grew wings, she was gone so quickly.

Before seating herself, the woman said, “My name is Star, ah, Stephanie Kawolski, and it’s kind of you to have me. Especially so unexpectedly.” She shot Wembley and Alex a nasty look.

Once I sat down, Alex and Wembley both took their seats again. “So, why are you here, Stephanie? I’m sure you have Christmas plans of your own.” I glanced at the sweater.

She glanced down and grinned. “A gift from my children. I’ve actually already eaten dinner with my family. With small children, we schedule early, so I was just wrapping up when these buffoons called me.”

“So why are you here?” I asked.

Stephanie looked at Alex. “Yes, Alex. Explain to the very kind woman why I’ve gate-crashed her quiet family evening.”

Except it was Wembley who spoke. “She’s here just in case things go amiss. We wanted to be sure that someone who was especially gifted at…ah, counseling was on hand if you didn’t take things well.”

This woman was no counselor.

“What in the world are you up to, Jefferson? What have you gotten my daughter involved in?”

He raised his hands. “I met her afterward. She was already—”

“I was already a vampire when Wembley met me, Mom.” Mallory entered the dining room and placed Stephanie’s drink in front of her. “They’re quite good. Mom found a great milk substitute.”

With a quick, sweeping glance, I found that Stephanie seemed unsurprised by the announcement, Alex was watching me like a hawk—what did the man think I might do?—and Jefferson…Jefferson was so immersed in this fiasco that I wasn’t sure I cared what he was doing.

A vampire—what would that man come up with next? I blinked at him. Looked again. Blinked. “Jefferson, are those fangs?”

Chapter Seven

G

iven the circumstances,

I was proud of myself.

I didn’t faint. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even scream. I was the perfect hostess…in my mind, at least.

In reality, I wasn’t entirely certain what I did.

“Mom?” Mallory held my hand and was tapping it.

It wasn’t as if I’d passed out—had I? “Darling, I’m fine.” I clasped her hand between my own.

“Are you?” Mallory asked. Then she sniffed. “Mom…how much milk punch have you had?”

“Oh, really?” I shooed her back to her seat, and Alex, as well, when I found him hovering on the other side of my chair. “You ask me how much I’ve had to drink after you tell me that you’re not dying but you’re sick, and, oh, by the way, you’re a vampire?” I shot her a narrow-eyed look. “You may not criticize my drinking habits.”

Stephanie chuckled. “Mrs. Andrews—”

“Evelyn, please.”

“Evelyn, I might adore you.”

At which point my other three guests turned to stare at her. It seemed apparent by their response that Stephanie did not often declare her adoration.

“That’s so kind of you say, Stephanie. Would you like some consommé? Or perhaps some fondue? Vegan, of course, but it won’t take a moment to reheat.”

Stephanie grinned broadly. “No, I’m still full from my family dinner, but thank you so much for asking.” She turned to Alex and Jefferson. “Well, boys, what do you have to say to Evelyn?”

I glanced at Alex, but my gaze rested on Jefferson. Much as I peered, I couldn’t detect those fangs I was certain I’d seen before.

“Our sincerest apologies for surprising you with an unexpected guest,” Alex said.

Jefferson nodded. “Of course, yes. Although Sta-Stephanie is handy in a crisis, and we weren’t entirely certain how you’d react to—”

“Your fangs?” I asked. When he didn’t deny it, I knew that what I’d seen was real. With a stiff smile directed at my daughter, I said, “And Mallory, do you also have fangs?”

There. I’d said “fangs” twice now without flinching or hysterical laughter. Mother would be proud.

“I do, but they’re much smaller than Wembley’s,” she said, looking oddly chagrined.

My lips twitched, but since my thoughts were hardly appropriate, I wouldn’t share them. I couldn’t help a quick glance in Wembley’s direction, and caught one of his patented, heated come-hither looks.

My cheeks tingled, as did some other parts of my body. The man was so deliciously naughty. And perhaps…a vampire. That was certainly something to explore in more detail. After the dinner guests had gone, naturally.

I clasped my hands together in my lap. “All right, Mallory.” I steeled myself. Seeing my lover with fangs was one thing, but my child… “Let me have a look.”

An appalled expression crossed her face. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m your mother, darling. I’ve seen you in the buff, ill, and completely out of sorts. I can handle fangs.” I pursed my lips primly, then added, “Tiny fangs, you said. I’m sure they’re barely noticeable.”

And when they appeared, I had to remind myself that my daughter had expressed some sensitivity concerning her newly acquired fangs. I pressed my lips together. I would not smile. I would not. But then I did, because there were just so adorable. Especially compared to Jefferson’s much, um, larger set.

She covered her mouth with her hand, and when she removed it, her fangs had disappeared. Just like Jefferson’s. “Happy?”

“No need for sarcasm. Now.” I clasped my hands firmly together. “You need to tell me everything. Every single bit of it. And if you leave any important parts out, I will know. I am your mother, and I always know.”

Stephanie and I shared a look of mutual understanding. She was a mother. She knew exactly what I was talking about.

It turned out that my daughter had met a man, just not the romantic catch I would have hoped for her. She’d crossed paths with a predator who had infected her. As she told me how that had happened and what had followed, I did my very best to be strong. But my poor little girl—

“Mom, don’t cry. I’m fine. Really. Aren’t I, guys?”

Everyone around the table agreed that, indeed, my daughter was doing quite well. But I still gave her a hug.

With my arms around her, she patted my back and said softly, “And he’s dead. He’s gone.”

The surge of satisfaction I felt was enough to banish my tears.

After I’d taken my seat again, I asked, “What about the blood?” That seemed an important question.

“No blood. I’m a bit of an anomaly there. No blood—it actually makes me really sick, even the smell.”

I nodded. That made sense. “You always were squeamish about blood.”

Mallory shrugged. “And I guess I still am. Also, no solids, and so far nothing but plant-derived foods.”

“But you’re saying that’s not typical.” A mother did try to avoid using the word “normal,” and in the case of vampires, that seemed particularly wise.

After a resounding agreement from all present that, no, that was certainly not typical, I directed my attention to a certain vampire who had a lot of explaining to do. I pasted a pleasantly inquisitive look on my face. “And you, Jefferson? Do you consume blood?”

Jefferson squirmed in his chair, just like a schoolboy. “I might.” One stern look from me, and he said, “Yes, but it’s all very civilized these days. No murdering or rampaging.”

He might have added “anymore,” but I was a lady, so I pretended not to hear.

“Hm.” Morbid curiosity had me wondering about the logistics, but how did one ask such a question delicately? Where were the lines of etiquette drawn when discussing how and from what sources one partook of blood?

“Go on, Mom. I know you have questions.”

Again, how did one ask such a question delicately? One didn’t. One simply asked. “Do you use the bagged or the fresh variety?” I frowned. Would I need to start stocking blood? Perhaps a second refrigerator in the utility room…

“Bagged contains preservatives, and that doesn’t really…” Jefferson’s gaze locked on my face. He cleared his throat. “Ah, fresh is best.”

Alex intervened before poor Jefferson could entirely insert his foot into his mouth. “What Wembley means to say is that there’s a bottled version. Collected by donors and then stored in stasis bottles.”

“Stasis bottles? That sounds very high-tech.” I considered space and hygiene concerns.

Mallory fidgeted. “More witch-tech than high-tech”

“Witches. There are witches?”

Mallory nodded.

“Now that’s exciting.” I’d always had a secret fascination for witches. And there was the neighbor down the way who practiced Wicca. Was there a connection between Wicca and Mallory’s witches? But back to the blood, because one must be prepared at all times for guests. “So about these stasis bottles, should they be stored in any special way? Perhaps a dedicated refrigeration unit?” I tapped my finger on the table. “I’m thinking a small unit in the utility room. Oh, perhaps warmed? Do I need special equipment to heat it?”

The scent of garlic made my nose twitch, and I looked up to see my daughter crying. And the more her tears ran, the stronger the scent became.

“Sweetheart, is it possible, I hate to ask, but…” I leaned close and whispered, “Darling, do your tears smell like garlic?”

She sniffled and wiped her face. But instead of answering me, she said, “Mother, I love you.”

“I know, honey. I love you too.” Silly girl, as if there was anything she could do—or be—that would make me love her less.

I did let loose a discreet sigh of relief. No need for that appointment with Dr. Dinmann, thankfully. I would have to do some reorganizing to find the perfect spot for these stasis bottles of blood, but that seemed simple enough. And a better juicer. The one I had simply wouldn’t do. There’d be a lot of juicing happening at the house now.

A few questions still buzzed around in my head. For example, if not vampires, what exactly were Alex Valois and Stephanie Kawolski?

With a smile, I turned my attention to the pair of them. “So, tell me more about yourselves.”

I’d get to the bottom of it. After all, they were my daughter’s friends. Best to know exactly who she was spending her time with.

I caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye, and realized her tears had left red marks down her face. I leaned close again and whispered, “Darling, I think you need to powder your nose.” I nudged her. “Literally.”

She laughed. “Yes, Mom, I imagine I do.” And she quietly left to do just that.

Epilogue

M

y daughter,

a vampire. Heavens, who would have thought? I grinned as I rinsed the last of the dishes. Certainly not Suzanne, down the road. Oh, Lord—or her father. No telling what Edward would have said. That man could be so rigid. I’d never go so far as to say I was thankful he’d passed on, but perhaps to be thankful he’d missed this particular stage of our daughter’s life wasn’t so terrible.

I removed my gloves. I’d forgotten how relaxing washing dishes could be. With the cleaner on holiday for the next few days and so much of the dinnerware not dishwasher safe, it had been unavoidable. But dishes for five people, that was only a moment’s work in any event.

The milk punch was looking inviting. Perhaps—no, that wasn’t quite what I was craving. I started to towel-dry the last bit of dampness from the dishes.

My daughter a vampire—and Stephanie a witch. She’d been only too happy to exchange numbers with me. I was certain the charming woman felt surrounded by people wholly unlike herself. My daughter, newly turned. And Jefferson had hardly been at his best this evening.

Ah, Jefferson.

I’d decided to send him home. It wouldn’t do for him to think he could betray a confidence without some repercussion. Though he had been attempting to bring my daughter and I closer together… No, sending him home had been the right choice. It did feel as though I’d punished myself, but that simply couldn’t be helped. Jefferson and I could explore his, ah, vampireness some other time.

Stacking the last of the dishes, I decided on the red that Alex had brought. I was feeling the need to indulge, and for whatever reason, red wine sounded divine. And the man had excellent taste in wine.

Alex was a mystery. He seemed to exude a kind of self-contained confidence, short of arrogance, but intense. And not a word as to what he was. Not a vampire or a witch, if there were such a thing as male witches—or would that be a warlock? But his silence on the topic had been noteworthy.

I wondered if Mallory knew that her date—and yes, Alex had most certainly been her date—had a shared history with the now happily married Stephanie Kawolski? It was impossible to miss, if one knew what signs to watch for. And I most certainly knew those signs.

That might make the furtherance of my acquaintanceship with Stephanie slightly awkward, but I liked her. We might not be so very alike, but I sensed a possible friend and perhaps an ally in this world that my daughter had entered.

I’d give her a call next week. Perhaps she could sneak away for brunch or a manicure.

I sat down at the kitchen table with my glass of red (it was truly divine) and my laptop. I’d just have a quick look at that juicer that Suzanne bought recently when her vegan daughter went on a juicing kick. Or was that the other daughter? The one that saw the psychiatrist?

Oh, and what was the brand of that adorable little fridge that the Nelsons had in their bar? That would fit perfectly in the utility room. Also a microwave…

I hope you enjoyed this peek into Mallory’s world through her mom’s eyes. If you’d like to read more about Mallory’s adventures as a vegan vampire, the series begins with Adventures of a Vegan Vamp.

About the Author

When Cate’s not tapping away at her keyboard or in deep contemplation of her next fanciful writing project, she's sweeping up hairy dust bunnies and watching British mysteries. Cate writes and lives in Austin, Texas (where many of her stories take place) with her pack of pointers and hounds. She's worked as an attorney, a dog trainer, and in various other positions, but writer is the hands-down winner.

Cate writes paranormal cozies (Vegan Vamp Mysteries & Death Retired) and romance (The Goode Witch Matchmaker & Lucky Magic) as Cate Lawley and paranormal (Lost Library) & urban fantasy (Spirelli) as Kate Baray.