“What did you do?”
“Me?” She made big kitten eyes at me. That hadn’t worked since she was five and told me Dad said she should take the carton of ice cream over to the neighbor kids who were sick with chicken pox.
Turned out Dad had not said that, there were no sick neighbor kids, and Jean could down an entire quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream before Myra and I could finish chasing her around the block.
“Why did you drag me out here?”
“For the sunlight. Fresh air. Popcorn.”
“Jean.”
“Just get in the truck. We can go back now.”
“What did you do to my house? Oh, gods, you didn’t move me out of it did you? Like take all my stuff to an underground bunker? Or some weird vampire-proof yurt?”
She paused with the door open and squinted at me. “If we had either of those things, yeah, I’d probably lock you in one. But we don’t. The yurt idea has merit. Tourist attraction? Vampire camping. Vamping?”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing big. We might have modified a couple teensy little things.”
She ducked into the truck and started the engine.
“What things?” I slammed the door and buckled up. “What things, Jean? What did you modify on my house?”
That house meant a lot to me. It wasn’t much, but it had been my family’s before it became mine, and I didn’t want anyone changing it just because I got attacked by a vampire.
“You hosed it down with garlic and holy water, didn’t you?” I groaned. “I will never get the stink out of the place.”
Jean snorted and made a totally illegal U-turn to head north.
“You spread goofer dust on my roof?”
“Seriously? Goofer dust?”
“You sprinkled salt over the thresholds and window sills?”
“Would that even work?”
“Not on vampires.”
“We didn’t hose, spread, or sprinkle anything, you big baby. Your house is fine.”
“Myra’s behind this, isn’t she? Because if she is, forget those other things, she’s probably installing an electric fence around my property. Oh, gods. Think of the seagulls. So many dead beach chickens.”
“Getting warmer.”
I groaned again and leaned my head against the window. After some time, I muttered, “It’s one bite. One little bite. I don’t need to be wrapped in cotton.”
The muscle at her jaw tightened and so did the corners of her eyes. “Yeah, we’ll see. And you can stop whining now. We’re here.”
Myra’s police cruiser was parked next to my Jeep in the gravel driveway. A van was also parked in front of the empty vacation house across the street. QUICK BROWN LOCKS was painted over the image of a fox with a key in its mouth jumping over a dog sleeping in a lock-shaped dog house.
Our local locksmith, who also happened to be both a reformed thief and an elf.
“You called Brown? You let him in my house?Brown? You do know I’m the police chief, right? And he has a record? And he’s in my house?”
“‘Thank you, my stunningly gorgeous little sister.’ Besides, this has been a long time coming.”
