Vulgarian Vamp (A Wendy Darlin Comedy Mystery Book 5) by Barbara Silkstone

Author:Barbara Silkstone [Silkstone, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-07-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

“I’ve been alone in a crowd my entire life and yet I’ve always felt a connection to someone, something. I thought it was my religious calling. Now I wonder if it wasn’t my very own brother reaching out to me,” Bram said.

Mina flitted off the ground, floated to his cheek, and gave him a peck. I wasn’t experienced with vampire facial expressions but I could have sworn she was jealous of Bram’s affection for his brother.

I turned away before she could see the confuzzlement on my face.

Bram appeared to possess a poetic and yet accessible manner. Roger shared the accessibility but the poetic gene was lost in his scientific mindset.

Kit hung our dresses in the wardrobe. The gowns were no worse for the schlep, the wrinkles falling out as he closeted them. Aside from the missing tooth and the haunted look in my eyes, I was going to be a stunning bride.

The Downton Abbey hat sat primly on the dresser. My red bow shoes were on a chair by the door.

Kit would sleep on the sofa; Roger and I would take the bed.

“I am really tired. I missed my pregnant lady nap and I’m starving. Let’s eat something, anything, then conduct a short rehearsal and call it a night.”

“I was going to save these for tomorrow, but under the circumstances …” Squirl opened her sack. It was loaded with her teeth-breaking biscuits. I shook my head frantically as Roger reached to grab one.

“We checked the abbey’s larder. There is a case of Spam in the cupboard,” Bram said, the faintest glimmer in his eyes. “The monks loved Spam. We ate it every Sunday. Not much else.”

A sigh of resignation escaped my lips, whistling through my tooth socket. I was glad we weren’t getting a wedding write-up in the New York Times.

Following an afternoon of corking dead monks, the wedding party dined on Spam and red wine.

The dining room was Danish Modern sleek. Not only had the monastery been hit by a blood-sucking comet, but it had evidently survived an attack by a low-budget Scandinavian interior decorator. Light oak tables staged in a U-shape provided room for at least fifty guests. Simple religious murals in shades of blue and gray depicted the lives of saints from floor to ceiling.

A small built-in food service window the size of a microwave wedged in the wall to the left of the tables. Mina explained that was how she sent food from the kitchen to the dining room. Women, even vampire women, were not allowed to enter a room where the cloistered monks gathered.

Roger and I sat at the head of the table. Bram and Mina sat to Roger’s right, Kit and Squirl to my left. Renfield sat by himself at the very end of the table, hermit-like. The postulants, John and Paul served the Spam.

I looked down at my plate with a single slice of Spam and got the giggles. I imagined Roger and me coming back for our fiftieth anniversary and reenacting this scene finishing the leftover Spam, which would still be eatable.

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