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Vampyra sees me getting closer and straightens, tucking her phone into the pocket of her dress. Her expression shifts back to that warm, professional smile, but I saw what was there before she put the mask back on.

I take a breath and force a smile.

Time to see what my first suspect has to say.

CHAPTER 8

The twinkle lights strung through the trees at the edge of the festival grounds are doing their best to give the Country Cottage Inn that spooky magic this time of year practically demands. And Vampyra Vex is standing right underneath them waiting for me.

Duchess trots beside me with her tail held high enough to qualify as a personal opinion.

I don’t trust fog, Duchess mutters as she marches through another cloud of blue mist. If you have to manufacture mystery, perhaps you don’t have enough to begin with.

“It’s atmosphere,” I whisper.

It’s air with trust issues.

Fish and Sherlock got waylaid by the buffet table. As soon as Sherlock saw an entire cupcake fall to the ground he abandoned all pretenses and got to work as the self-appointed cleanup committee. Fish said the field mice were taunting her and she’d be back once she taught them a lesson.

The mist from the fog machines has drifted this way, far from the main crowd, and it’s cooler here, quieter, with just the distant hum of music and laughter from the revelry in the distance.

The fun house, the rides, the corn maze, the hayrides—fall is in full bloom and so is this season of terror. Spooky mood music bleeds through the speakers with the sound of creaking stairs, ominous organ music, and the occasional high-pitched scream that raises the hair on the back of my neck.

I can’t believe hoomans pay good money to be frightened, Duchess muses. I provide that service every morning at five o’clock and nobody appreciates my artistry.

“Ella seemed to appreciate it,” I mutter.

It’s true, they were both up before the sun, doing their best impressions of a rooster.

I look over and marvel at the woman of the hour. Vampyra Vex has somehow become even more striking as the evening wears on. Her deep purple corset still puts everyone else’s to shame, and the crimson velvet choker at her throat makes her dark curls look even richer beneath the twinkle lights.

“Heck of a panel,” Vampyra says when I reach her. “How are you enjoying it, Bizzy?”

“Let’s just say it was very illuminating,” I say with a tiny laugh.

“Illuminating is the right choice of words.” She nods. “That woman asking about the sexy vampire candle? Talk about smart marketing. I can hardly wait to get my hands on them.”

“That’s my sister.”

“Seriously?” She grins. “Tell her I want one. The candle, not the marketing strategy. Though I wouldn’t say no to that either. I’ve yet to turn down a vampire who ended up in my boudoir.”

“You and Georgie, both. But I’ll let my sister know.”

Fangs are always a warning sign, Duchess mewls as she does her best to hide behind my legs. So are capes.

I bite down on my lip as I nod to the woman. “I’m so sorry about Clawdia. I can’t imagine losing someone you worked so closely with for years.”

She pushes off the tree she’s been leaning against. “Thanks.” She blows out a breath skyward and it comes out in a plume of thick white fog. “We were complicated, but yeah. It’s a lot. It’s heavy, it’s dark, and it’s pretty darn horrible.”

Complicated is one way to describe it, Duchess says, taking a seat behind my feet. Clawdia kept a shoebox in her closet labeled Enemies. And she was dangerously close to needing a second shoebox.

I nearly inhale my own tongue before clearing my throat at the suspect at hand.

“I agree this is all pretty horrible,” I say. “But that toast she gave—it was sort of brutal, too.”

Vampyra laughs, and it doesn’t sound bitter. “Oh honey, that’s just how we operate in this industry. You develop thick skin or you don’t survive. The audience eats that stuff up. Rivalries and enemies, it’s all for show.” She pauses. “Though I’ll admit, Clawdia took it further than most people.”

“How much further?”