Page 4 of You’re So Vein

“They’re my bestsellers.”

“Too bad vampires don’t eat baked goods.” Celeste takes a second piece of birthday cake. “But maybe there’s an angle here. I could change my menu and make Glazed and Confused the new late-night dessert hot spot. Maybe I could even get a liquor license…”

Argh, no, don’t take his side! Augustin always does this. He makes some absurd policy that only benefits him, and instead of calling him on his bullshit, everyone congratulates him for being so sensible and clever. Why am I the only one who sees through him?

This late-night shopping is all for his benefit, I’m sure!

But there’s no point trying to convince my friends. They may have been temporarily annoyed, but they’re just as taken with Augustin Durant’s “charm” as the rest of the village. For members of the Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven – our book club that’s investigating a series of vampiric murders in the village – they’re too easily taken in by Augustin’s easy smile and empty promises.

I can’t believe he’s going to be mayor instead of Papa.

As Beth and Celeste mull over how they’re going to manage the month-long shutdown, I fiddle with the broken pieces of plastic on the table in front of me – what remains of the remote-controlled helicopter I got the twins for their birthday.

They’ve been dying to fly it all day, but Mamma said not in the hospital. (Probably wise.) So then they wanted their mother, my younger sister Preeti, to take them to the park, but she said she doesn’t know how to fly the helicopter. I tried to show her how simple it is, but she said the remote control didn’t fit in her hands and left the room to drink tea and gossip with the other aunties who have taken over the hospital waiting room, leaving me to deal with all the kids. Even though it’s getting dark, I said I’d take them to the park, so Mamma can visit with Papa in peace. Of course, they crashed the helicopter into a tree within ten minutes of getting it airborne. Now, in addition to the large cooler filled with leftover party food (and wine – essential if one has to make it through a day of hospital visiting with screaming sugar-laced children), I’m now carrying several bits of helicopter I’ll have to figure out how to put back together.

But it’s fine, I can do it. I’m good at mending things. It’s kind of my whole personality.

Madam MacGyver can fix anything broken, solve any conundrum, and make any problem go away. I’m not going to deny my abilities, because when I went away to join the RAF, my family fell apart. It’s a good thing I decided to come back and fix everything, or they’d be completely lost.

My Madam MacGyver talents come in handy in the Nevermore Coven, too. I’ve always got a creative idea to help solve a mystery (they’re not all good ideas, to be fair), and I’m the one who drops everything when Beth’s stuck in an overly ambitious yoga pose or Isis locks herself out of her shop.

Immediately, my brain whizzes through all the problems in front of me, searching for solutions. My nephews will make it home without slide-related head injuries, I’ll figure out a clever way to keep my friends solvent, fix the toy helicopter, avoid flying at night, and keep my business afloat—

Hang on a second.

“Is that…” I squint into the gloom. A shadow emerges from the woodland path that leads along the edge of the village. It’s a figure dressed head to toe in black. Fear flares within me because skulking around in the shadows is peak vampire-killer behaviour, and we still haven’t caught the vampire who has been killing people in the village. This psycho bloodsucker has already drained Danny O’Hare (no great loss), my friend Winnie’s cheating ex, Patrick (no one is crying), and the vampire Alyra, who died right before she could tell my friend Arabella something important about the killer (irksome and way too close to the plot of an Agatha Christie).

What if the killer is coming for the boys?

Panic pushes against my ribcage. The shadow steps beneath one of the floodlights illuminating the playground, and my fear turns to rage that flares hot against my skin.

I recognise that stupid, handsome face.

“Augustin Durant!” I yell, waving my phone. “What do you think you’re doing with this text?”

He winces, spins on his heel, and stalks back towards the woods.

“Oh no, you don’t.” I leap to my feet and run after him, birthday cake clutched in my hand. “Don’t you run away from me like a Byronic hero late for the orgy. You don’t get to send every shopkeeper in Argleton this absurd message and skulk off into the shadows. Turn around and face me.”

He hesitates, one foot dangling in the air, then whips around to face me. Tonight, he’s wearing a long peacoat that accentuates his broad shoulders and billows around him like a Victorian villain, and an expression of disdain mixed with mild panic, which is a face he seems to reserve only for me.

“You tell him, Komal!” Beth yells.

“Give him hell!” Celeste adds. “Hi, Augustin!”

“Good evening, Ms Lucas, Ms Duncan. Councillor Ahuja, I am on my evening walk,” Augustin says irritably. “This is my private time. If you want to discuss village matters, either wait until the next council meeting or make an appointment—”

“You can’t tell every shop owner in the village to change their hours by text message.” I stomp right up to him, my non-cake hand curling into a fist. “You need to talk to them individually, and come up with better solutions. What about the shopkeepers who want to be involved in village life after they shut up for the evening? I run the tourism office, and the tourist buses leave the village before six. No one is buying tours on their way to the pub. Why can’t the work crews do the job in the evenings? We could compensate them with overtime—”

“The council doesn’t have the budget for overtime.”

“Because you mismanaged the funds!”

“I did no such thing.” His jaw ticks. “And before you bring up the sunshades again or pretend that your anger isn’t about your own business, consider that this will give others who live in the area, who can’t shop during the daylight, the chance to be involved in village life. And what on earth are you eating? It smells like a unicorn with a sugar addiction met an untimely end.”

“It’s birthday cake.” I tear a huge chunk off and chew it right in his face. “There’s something whimsical about absolutely tearing into a sugary cake and feeling warm all over, don’t you agree? But of course you don’t agree because your life is devoid of whimsy—wait a second, what do you mean by ‘others in the village who can’t shop during the daylight’?”

He can’t be talking about vampires, can he? Because he’d be right. Damn him! The only shop in the village that has hours and products specifically for vampires is Beth’s Zen and Tonic, with her evening vampire facials, yoga classes and beauty treatments. But that’s because no one else is supposed to know that vampires exist, so how does—