“We are suckers for pampering,” Stark said dryly. “Of course, these councilmembers are naïve and new to vampirism, some as young as a century. Can you believe that? It will be like having kindergarteners ruling the world. They will binge and feast in the lap of luxury while the rest of us are given scraps and gardening sheds to sleep in.”
Oh, the humanity.“But Charlie said there were vampires on our side. Can’t we go to them and push back?”
“Charlie was human. He did not understand that he was being manipulated by Roman’s followers. All of those leaders they gathered up were on my side.”
I hung my head. So the brains for the moonshine were coming from the good guys—if there was such a thing in vampire world.
“This can’t be happening.” I’d thought the situation was bad before, but this was way worse. I had to do something. No more sitting on the sidelines. No more wishing and hoping things would magically work out. I was ready to fight. For real this time. “I’ll do whatever it takes, but that bill can’t pass, and Roman can’t take over.”
Stark zipped up from his chair and took my hand, startling me. “I am glad you said that, Masie, because we only have one move left.”
I hated to ask. (A) I didn’t trust him, and (B) if the move was legit, it couldn’t be easy. Nothing up until now had been.
“Which is?” I asked.
Stark grinned.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“You are crazier than a leprechaun at a hat sale!” I spouted.
“Masie, even you can see this is the only option despite its low probability of success.”
“There has to be a better way,” I said.
“If so, I do not know of one.”
“Vampires are not going to just—” I threw my hands in the air “—rise up and do what I say.”
“They are your loyal followers.”
“But I’mnotAnna.” How many times did I have to say it?Really, ya’d think the man had done gone lost his ears.
Stark shook his head. “You asked me to be honest, so I will. YouareAnna. In a way. You are her great-great-great-great—I lost count—granddaughter.”
I lifted a brow. He had to be pulling my leg. “I don’t remember any Treehuggers in my family, errr…tree.”
“It isTrehueger. And I can prove you have her blood running through your veins.”
He pulled out his cell and tapped away. “There. You see.” He showed me the screen. “It is the marriage license of Isabella Trehueger and Ralf Küchleiter.”
“Cooch looter?” I said.
He repeated Küchleiter with a German accent, as if it would make a difference. “It is the German variant of Kicklighter. Ralf was a well-known experimental beer maker who turned to distilling whiskey when he came to the US in the early 1800s. Apparently, his pine needles with limburger cheese beers were not such a hit with the settler crowd.”
“Shocking.” I crinkled my nose. “Welp, I’ve never heard of him, and you could’ve just made up that certificate.”
He pointed to the web address on the screen. “Except that this is a record from the government archives in Schmedeswurtherwesterdeich.”
“Smeckle whittle douche?”
He arched a condescending brow. “Your German is atrocious. I hear the entire country groaning as we speak.”
I rolled my eyes. “What’s your point?”
“If you ask your uncle Jimmie, he will tell you that it was your great-great-grandfather Ralf who developed the flaming hot whiskey recipe you sell today. There is even a sprinkle of pine needles in your mash.”
Jimmie always said the family recipe had been handed down for generations. He’d kept it locked inthe safe, and when I took over the business, he finally allowed me to have a look. Yes, we used a small amount of pine needles along with a ton of cinnamon and a few hot chili peppers to up the kick. Add to that some serious sugar and high alcohol content, and you had our Kicklighter Flaming Hot Whiskey.
