Page 93 of Just the Pool Boy at Vampire Mansion

Geraldine Witherborne. Mother of the year.

Tabitha clicked her fingers, and the door of the car at the bottom of the steps opened. The man who climbed the steps had the same dull-eyed, empty expression as the rest of the staff at the Briar house. He also carried a wicker gift basket, the type with leather straps and buckles.

“A gift,” Tabitha said.

“Oh, how delightful,” Geraldine said, with zero delight. “Theo.”

Theo took the hamper and handed it straight back to me. I took it, because the other option was to stand there like an idiot, which I was already doing, but there was always room to be more of an idiot.

It seemed I probably wasn’t needed, so I took the gift basket inside and set it down on the nearest sideboard in the entrance hall, next to a vase of flowers taller than me. While the Witherbornes chatted with their new neighbor, I flicked open the buckles on the basket and lifted the lid.

Most people put gifts in gift baskets. Or maybe a quiche. Or wine. Packet of cookies, perhaps.

This one had a severed head.

I slammed the lid shut and looked around. Nobody had noticed. A little group of people chatted by the hat stand, drinks in their hands. A few more wandered through the hall, pay me no mind.

Maybe it hadn’t been what it looked like. The sunken eyes, hollow cheeks. My mind had been messed up lately, talking to itself. I’d probably projected some kind of post-traumatic stress trauma onto the contents of the basket. I gripped the edge of the lid, lifted it an inch, and peeked inside.

No, that was definitely a head without a body. A shriveled, prune-like, head.

Jeremy’s head, in fact. In all of its weird monsterness. Wherever his body had ended up, Tabitha had found his head. Or she’d been the one to take it from his neck?

I shut the lid and gently paced my hands on top, holding the lid closed.

Well, this was a . . . development.

The Witherbornes were still on the porch steps, chatting with their friendly new neighbor, and I knew, without any doubt, whatever the Briars wanted wasn’t over. It had only just begun. And now they’d sent the big guns, in that sweet old lady. Tabitha. Fleur had known. Fleur had seen this coming, somehow.

The Witherbornes were all in danger. Which meant Theo was too. I didn’t care about Bentley, or Geraldine, or even Leander. But Theo?

My gaze snagged on his back, the line of his shoulders, his messy hair I’d had my hands in not so long ago, and I knew what I should do. I knew what new Owen would do. He’d walk away. I’d already taken the fall for one bad guy. Was I really going to do it again?

Of course you are, because you’re a sucker for the lost, lonely, misunderstood types.

I breathed in, buckled up the gift basket, left it on the sideboard, and returned to the porch steps. “Uh, Theo, can I borrow you for a second?”

Geraldine shot me a glare of sharp annoyance, but Theo didn’t hesitate. He grinned and followed me back inside.

“Briar, obviously related, what does she want?” he muttered.

“Well, she’s answered one question.” There was no easy way of doing this, so I unbuckled it and lifted the lid.

Theo lunged and slammed the lid shut. “Fuck, Owen. That’s a head.” He whispered that last part, leaning in close to me, shoulder to shoulder, head bowed.

“Yeah.”

“What do we do?”

“Hand it back.”

“I can’t . . . it’s a gift.”

A gift of a head. “Hand it back nicely?”

He gulped, pursed his lips and breathed in. “Alright. Yes. That is definitely what I should do.” He picked up the basket, then shoved it at my chest. “You do it.”

“What?” I backed up. “I’m not touching that.” It didn’t matter that I’d already carried it in here.