He Was An Almighty Vampire. Right?

 

“YOU MARCH RIGHT IN THERE and knock ‘em dead!”

Stacy Thompson drew in a deep breath and stared at her best friend in the entire world, Dixie Abbot.

Dixie Abbot Murphy for the past two years and four months, since they’d come to Moonchuckle Bay because of a prediction. Dixie had actually found her Lifemate. That’s what the Las Vegas psychic at the Hemlock Hotel had called it when they’d first arrived in town. She’d also said Stacy’s Lifemate wasn’t in Moonchuckle Bay then, but would be.

Stacy hadn’t waited around in town for him. But if Dixie’s happy marriage to Michael was any indication, perhaps she should have.

“I don’t have much experience at this,” she said. “Why would they hire me? I’m a school counselor now. I’ve got nothing impressive.” Panic nipped at her edges. Why would they hire her? Seriously.

“You got a degree in psychology with double minors in music and interior design. That is hardly nothing.” Dixie smiled at her in encouragement. “Stacy, you’ve been composing songs as long as I’ve known you. Since we were in elementary school together back in Wamego.”

As in Wamego, Kansas, home of the Oz-themed life, with an OZtoberfest celebration, Yellow Brick Road Bike Ride, Oz Museum, Oz Winery, and Toto’s Tacoz. Again, seriously.

Dixie’s brand new silver Toyota Avalon engine hummed while Stacy looked out the passenger window, up at the fancy office building of Moonchuckle Bay Studios.

Dixie took her hand. “Hey, you can do this. Who composed the wedding song for Amanda’s wedding? And the theme song for our annual girls' night out in Vegas each year? What’s not to love about your composing skills?”

Dixie’s voice was gentle and teasing. “Snap out of it, my friend. You are going in there. I already gave my recommendation for you, and they’re ready to like you. Go. And we’ll go to lunch afterward. Anywhere in town you like.”

“Okay,” Stacy said, straightening in her seat and picking up her portfolio. “I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. Now go. Get out of my car. Now.”

Stacy laughed. “Thanks. I’ll call you when I’m finished.”

“And I’ll have run my errands by then and come get you for lunch.”

Stacy climbed out of Dixie’s car and shut the door. With a wave, her friend circled the car and headed back out of the studio lot.

Shaking her head and still feeling butterflies in her tummy, Stacy forced herself to smile — just as a big hairy man walked by and smiled. “Good morning, beautiful.”

That made her smile for real. Okay. A big hairy man thought she was beautiful. Things were looking up already. With a chuckle, she headed for the building.

She could have just sent her music portfolio online, but she wanted to visit with Dixie, so she’d driven into town from Salt Lake City, where she’d been working. She was excited to see Dixie, but Dixie and Michael were so happy together that it made her wistful. It wasn’t like she hadn’t dated. She’d dated lots of guys, but no one that rang her bell.

She wanted a guy who was crazy about her.

And, since she wasn’t going to find that perfect guy who was crazy about her any time soon, it was extra important that she land this job.

The one she had barely any credentials for.

Yeah. That job.

 

 

“Ms. Thompson? Ms. Rossi will see you now.” The receptionist — her name tag said Cindy Perez — motioned to a woman standing by her desk in the center of the lobby of the Moonchuckle Bay Studio offices. “Ms. Nash will show you up to Ms. Rossi’s office. Mr. Diesel is already there.”

She’d already memorized the studio’s owners and employees. Bianca Rossi Gladwell was co-owner with her two brothers, Leo and Orlando Rossi, Fiona Nash was Bianca’s personal assistant, and Mr. Diesel — she hadn’t been able to learn his first name — was the composer of the studio’s new Love Bites romantic-comedy line, which was doing gangbusters. Ms. Rossi-Gladwell was the genius behind that line.

Stacy stood, butterflies still swirling in her stomach. Fiona Nash reached out a hand. “Welcome to Moonchuckle Bay Studios, Ms. Thompson. This way to the elevator.”

She gave the put-together woman a small smile as she shook her hand and followed her. “Thank you, Ms. Nash.”

Fiona led the way and pushed the elevator button. When the doors opened, she motioned for Stacy to step inside.

A man drew near, but Fiona put up a hand. “Use the other elevator, please.”

The doors closed behind them, and before the elevator moved, a woman’s voice came through an intercom. “Who is requesting admittance?”

“Fiona and Ms. Thompson, who is here to meet with Ms. Rossi and Diesel.”

Stacy looked up and caught sight of a tiny camera in the top corner, so the person behind the voice must have been able to see them.

The elevator rose and stopped again. The doors opened, revealing a spacious room with a large conference table toward the back, behind a seating area of couches arranged around a fireplace. Doors opened off this large room, and Stacy guessed those were offices.

Fiona motioned her to one of those doors and opened it. “Ms. Thompson is here.”

Ms. Rossi’s name was on the door. She went by her professional name of Bianca Rossi, though in social situations she would hyphenate and be Rossi-Gladwell.

This was it. The next thirty minutes would determine if she got a job pursuing her dream here at Moonchuckle Bay Studios, or went back to her school counselor’s office to finish out the year after her week off for spring break.

The butterflies fluttered wildly, and she forced herself to keep a smile on her face as she entered.

In an instant, she saw the office was filled with what looked like fancy souvenirs from worldwide trips — a rectangle of wood on a shelf, a Grecian-type urn on the credenza with two drums on either side of it. Paintings on the wall of the Statue of Liberty, an Italian villa near the ocean, and other landscapes. A carved jade necklace was displayed on a stand.

But what really caught her eye was a glass case displaying several Oscars and other prestigious awards and statues.

Stacy pulled her gaze back to the people inside the room as Fiona closed the door, and then it was just the three of them. Game time.

Stacy stepped forward as Ms. Rossi stood gracefully and circled her desk, putting out her hand. “Ms. Thompson, so good to meet you.”

The woman’s hand was cool, and she looked like a model playing a CEO, sleek in a black dress and heels. She had to be older, but looked in her thirties, with full black hair pulled back, and startling blue eyes.

“Thank you for making the time to see me. I’m honored,” Stacy said, attempting to come across cool yet respectful.

Bianca motioned toward the man. “This is Diesel, our new composer for the Love Bites line here at Moonchuckle Bay Studios.”

Stacy knew that Love Bites was Ms. Rossi’s baby, and she’d fought to bring some paranormal romance into the studio that specialized in monster movies. The line had taken off, and now Ms. Rossi was staffing it more fully.

Mr. Diesel was tall and muscular and looked a lot like the actor, Mark Wahlberg. Which meant he was good looking and tough, all at the same time. He stood about six-four and put out a large hand. “Ms. Thompson.”

She smiled at him, delighted to meet the man she might be assisting. “Mr. Diesel, it’s a pleasure to meet someone so musically talented.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, so she guessed she pleased him with her words. “Just Diesel.”

“Oh. Yes, Diesel.”

“Have a seat, please.” Bianca Rossi didn’t go back behind her desk, but sat beside her. Diesel took the seat on the other side.

“You brought your portfolio, I see,” Diesel said.

She handed him a thumb drive. She’d already sent her resume through Dixie, who apparently had some pull in this town because of Michael’s family, prominent attorneys who had clients at the studio.

“You composed for a documentary?” Diesel asked, slipping the thumb drive into a laptop and starting the music playing.

“A short one. Twenty minutes. A nature documentary.”

They stopped talking as they listened to her sample. Short and sweet. She knew directors and producers weren’t likely to listen to more than fifteen or twenty minutes of samples, and hers was extra short at ten minutes.

As the silence — except for her music — stretched out, she thought she might pass out.

Finally, Diesel turned off the music and turned to her. “What brought you to composing music for films?”

“I love movies and I love composing. I have since I was a kid. I was writing music in junior high.”

“What movie score has influenced you the most?”

“ET. I loved that music.”

He nodded. “You don’t have any film experience other than the documentary.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. No video games, no university educational programs, no commercials, no short films, no film trailers. “No, sir, I do not, but I am willing to learn from you.”

He tipped his head and sniffed, looking puzzled. “What are you, exactly? You smell like ... a human, maybe?”

Was he being funny? She didn’t know, so she just smiled. “Most people would agree with you.”

Bianca said, “Diesel needs an assistant. That is an entry-level position, and you would be handling things for Diesel so he can focus on composing. You might not get to actually compose on your first movie, if you got the job. Maybe not for a while. Would you be willing to do that?”

“Yes, ma’am, I would.”

“Ma’am takes me back to older times,” Ms. Rossi said with a sigh, then shook herself. “We’ll get back with you, Ms. Thompson. Ms. Murphy gave you a glowing recommendation and we have your contact information.”

 

 

Walking past the magic mirror in the Murphy Law office, Beckett Robertson paused. The sight of fangs in his mouth still felt surreal, even after two years.

His friend and mentor, Jack Murphy, had invited him to a meeting of vampires.

Vampires. The word still surprised him.

He glanced at his fangs in the mirror again, shook it off, and made his way back to the conference room.

The door was open and Jack waved him inside. Seated around the table were his sons — Michael, Isaac, and James — and his daughter, Julia, newly married to her cowboy beau.

Unexpectedly, there were two werewolves present, as well. Sheriff Samuel Winston sat alongside Dr. Walter Clemmons, a world-famous expert in paranormal history.

The first tingle of nervousness hit him. What was up?

“Come on in, Beckett,” Jack said, and motioned him to the seat beside Julia, the only empty seat at the table.

He sank into the seat. “This looks serious.”

“It is,” Julia said, handing him a familiar-looking envelope. “You received another letter from Yolanda Yates.”

A chill ran through Beckett. The woman who had turned him against his will two years ago had gone to prison for ten years. She’d been sending him letters weekly — letters he’d burned without reading.

He didn’t take the envelope. “Burn it.”

She nodded and handed it to her father. Jack passed it to Michael. “Would you, son?”

Michael stood and walked the letter to the gas fireplace, which he lit. Opening the grate, he slipped the envelope into the flames. With a puff of flame, the paper burned to ashes in just moments. Turning the flame back off — it wasn’t needed in March — he sat at the table again.

Suddenly chilled, Beckett wished the flame was still on.

“Have you read any of her letters?” Julia asked him, sympathy in her eyes.

“No,” he stated flatly. He looked around the table. “Something’s going on that you’re not telling me.”

Jack nodded. “Samuel, you explain.”

The sheriff frowned. “I wanted to tell you in person, Beckett. You know I’ve attended each parole hearing for Ms. Yates, along with Jack, and we’ve argued against her release. The prison officials agree with us and want her to stay in prison for the full ten years.”

Beckett nodded.

“Except it didn’t work out that way.” The sheriff shook his head. “I’m sorry to inform you that Ms. Yates escaped from prison this week.”

Yolanda was out? His entire life had been changed — ruined — and she had served two lousy years? “What? How?”

“The Council refused to give me the details,” Jack said, sounding grim, “but assured me she had been rehabilitated. They don’t feel she is a danger to you any longer.”

“We don’t agree,” the sheriff said, “so we’re taking measures to keep you safe.”

Still stunned, Beckett said, “She’s out. And she wants me.”

“It will be in tonight’s Carpe Noctem News. I didn’t want you to read it there.”

Julia patted his hand. “At least you don’t have a Lifemate. If you did, she’d probably be in a great deal of danger. So you’ll be spared that, at least. And these men will keep you safe. I have faith in them.”

“As you work from home,” Sheriff Winston said, “we’ll concentrate our efforts there. I’ll keep some men on stakeout at your house.”

Beckett created code and apps from home. He had also created an incredibly popular video game. His business had grown popular online and he was making a lot of money. A lot of money. Think Facebook big. Big deal.

But that didn’t satisfy the need he had to get his life back.

Unlife felt endlessly meaningless.

And it wasn’t like his money was going to do him any good with Yolanda on the loose and hunting him down. She’d been obsessed with him before, turning him to be her slave forever.

“Buck up,” Jack Murphy said, but kindly. “You’re a vampire now. She can’t hurt you again because you’re as powerful as she is. Plus our community will rally around you.”

Moonchuckle Bay had been his safety zone. It was safe there. Beckett could keep his head down and do his computer work. Beckett Enterprises work was what would keep him sane.

The sheriff reminded him, “She’s had aversion therapy, but it doesn’t always take. So be aware of your surroundings at all times.”

Beckett nodded. “Thanks.”

Jack was right. Yolanda couldn’t hurt him now. He was an almighty vampire.

Yeah, right. He was more like a toddler vampire, just two years old, but he was a vampire nonetheless. He’d even graduated from a blood-only diet to foods a few months ago. He could handle this.