Page 82 of Just the Pool Boy at Vampire Mansion

“Oh, uh, hi.”

“I heard about the thing next door.” She’d said the last part from the corner of her mouth, trying to make it sound secretive, but instead drew attention to it, so her friend raised his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah, that.” I’d tried not to think about the events at the Briar house a few days previous. Nothing had been on the news, and the cops hadn’t been knocking down my door, so I figured it was all good. “Hey, so . . . the salt?”

“Yeah, Theo said you salted the neighbor. Nice.”

“I have you to thank for that. How did you know salt was his weakness?”

Fleur leaned on the bar. “I didn’t, it was just there, this whole time. Salt, salt, salt. Like a voice in my head.”

I knew all about voices in heads. “Well, thanks. I think you helped me realize what needed to be done.”

“I have a new one now,” Fleur said, her expression turning troubled. “But it’s weird. Just a name . . . Tabitha. I don’t remember if I should know the name or not.”

“Tabitha?”

“Yup, I wake up with Tabitha in my head. No idea who she is, but her name is in me.” She brightened again and downed her drink. “Free bar. Want some more?”

I showed her my wine glass, still half full. “I’m good. Have you seen Theo?”

“No, but he’s supposed to be here, and his mother is annoyed he’s not.”

An annoyed Geraldine was probably best avoided. “He’s not in the pool house?”

She shook her head. “Too many people out here, he said, before it even got like this.” She nodded toward the upper rows of windows on the main house. “I think he’s sulking upstairs. He’s been quiet since . . . the neighbor incident.”

“Oh.” That didn’t sound good. I’d expected him to be happy now his neighbor had been dealt with and Jay’s murderer brought to vigilante justice.

“You should go find him. He always brightens when you’re around.”

I hadn’t spoken to him since the night at the Briars’. We hadn’t texted. He’d called, but . . . I’d let it ring out. I’d needed my space to adjust. But I should probably have checked in with Theo before now. He’d gone through a lot too. And the whole transition thing must have been a huge change. “How’s he been these last few days?”

“Quiet.” Her smile fell. “He’s always such fun. I don’t like when he’s quiet.”

“Yeah, me neither.” I told her I’d see her later and headed back inside. Theo had given me the tour of the house, but he hadn’t showed me his room. I was going to have to try and figure it out. Or . . .

I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted him.

Hey, it’s party time. Where you at?

Hey, Freckles. Come up

Sure thing, Fangs. Where’s your room?

He texted me directions, which as it turned out, I’d definitely needed. The house was insanely huge and the layout old and illogical. I eventually found the room, after several staircases and junctions, and after stumbling on one very amorous couple in a hallway.

Theo opened before I’d finished knocking. He leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze raking over me. His jeans were slung low, somehow defying gravity while clinging to his narrow hips.

“Sure you trust me enough to come in?” he asked.

I almost laughed, but while his smile said he was joking, his eyes called his mouth a liar. “C’mon.” I wore my own sheepish smile in the hopes it would break any buildup of ice from the past few days. “That was a high-stress situation. You can’t blame me for waving a piano leg at you when you had your fangs out like I was on the menu.”

He rolled his eyes and somehow made the gesture go all the way down his body as he turned away, leaving the door open.

His room was three times the size of my entire apartment, bigger maybe. I stepped inside, and it just kept on going. Bed area, couch area, TV area. Basically, a whole apartment for sleeping in. A fancy black and gold guitar hung on the wall. I’d had no idea he played, or maybe it was just for Instagram. Expensive clothes hung off most places—draped over the couch, pooled on the floor, hanging off a treadmill that hadn’t been used in a while, if ever. An empty vodka bottle on the nightstand. A wall of framed magazine covers, all of them him, and across from the bed, a mirror big enough to be a problem.

He sauntered toward the windows, where the noise from the outside party filtered up. His shirt hung off his shoulders and halfway down his arms. He didn’t look dressed for a party, but the unhinged look was all him.