“Jettie Early, meet my boss, Gilbert Wainwright,” I said. “Mr. Wainwright, my late great-aunt Jettie.”
“Charmed,” he said. I noticed he didn’t offer to shake her hand, an effort to avoid calling attention to the fact that she was noncorporeal.
“Jane’s told me so much about you,” Jettie said, smiling sweetly. “I’m so glad she’s found such a wonderfully interesting person to work for.”
“Well, she is a pleasure to have at the store,” he assured her. “She has revolutionized our filing system.”
“She said you didn’t have a filing system before she was hired,” Jettie pointed out. My gaze shifted from my aunt to my employer. Did Aunt Jettie just giggle in a coquettish manner, drawing a suspicious look from my dead step-grandpa? Mr. Wainwright chuckled again and adjusted his suspenders.
My dead aunt was flirting with my boss. My dead aunt who was practically engaged to my dead step-grandfather. And my boss appeared to be flirting back. This could go nowhere good.
They started talking and realized they’d gone to high school together. They were in the last class to graduate from the original Half-Moon Hollow High before Milton “Firebug” Chambers burned it to the ground. They reminisced about Mr. Allan, the math teacher who spoke in the third person; the design of the first-ever Half-Moon Howler mascot costume; and Milton’s multiple failed attempts at burning the school down before he got it right. Mr. Wainwright asked Aunt Jettie about her demise and how the “tunnel of light” appeared to her. Jettie laughed uproariously and told him it was more like a tornado. Eager to catch every detail, he asked Jettie to meet him at his office sometime, where he could interview her properly.
Grandpa Fred was not pleased. Fortunately, he couldn’t solve this problem as he did when Grandma Ruthie drove him crazy during his living Christmases: drinking buttered rum until he was near comatose, forcing my dad and I to cart him, Barcalounger and all, out to the car.
It’s awkward introducing two groups of friends. It’s even more awkward when one of those groups decides not to like the other. While Mr. Wainwright was thrilled to be acquainted or reacquainted with the supernatural beings, Jolene had taken an instant dislike to Andrea. A few minutes after the two of them gingerly shook hands, Jolene pulled me into the kitchen to whisper at a decibel far below human hearing that she didn’t trust her.
“I trust Andrea,” I said. “She’s been a really good friend to me. You’re just used to being the prettiest girl in the room, and having someone who remotely rivals your blinding hotness is throwing you off your game. And we don’t have to whisper. Andrea’s perfectly normal hearing is not going to pick up this conversation.”
“I’m just sayin’ one girl to another, I think you need to watch her around Gabriel,” Jolene said, grabbing a hunk of cheddar and chowing down. Around the cheese, she said, “A lot of girls, especially wounded human girls, go for the whole mysterious, dark-haired guy with the full lips, piercing soulful eyes, cheekbones you could slice a ham with—”
“Maybe I should watch you around Gabriel,” I said, eyeing her warily. “I think we should get back into the living room with your lovely canapés before everybody else figures out that we’re talking about one of them.”
“You’re right, I’m bein’ silly,” Jolene said, watching Zeb try one of Mr. Wainwright’s cigars, then get pounded on the back when he started to choke. “I just want everybody to be as happy as Zeb and me.”
“Lovebirds on amphetamines couldn’t be happier than you two,” I said, linking arms with her.
She sighed, leaning her head against mine. “I know.”
I lingered and watched the party from the kitchen doorway. Someone, mercifully, had dug up a Nat King Cole CD. Even over the bluesy cheer, I could hear Andrea and Zeb chatting about the merits of being the only “normals” in the room. They didn’t consider Mr. Wainwright to be normal. Jolene swept in and marked her territory by kissing Zeb’s cheek and pulling him away from Andrea. Gabriel and Mr. Wainwright discussed Gabriel’s library and its shocking lack of information on freshwater sea monsters, until Dick distracted Gabriel by mentioning all of the parties they used to attend at River Oaks. Gabriel sent a furtive look my way. I think he offered Dick money not to reminisce further. Mr. Wainwright then engaged Dick in adamant conversation regarding the sales of were-pelts on the black market. Dick was smiling at him in a way I didn’t normally see. It was almost tender. And it was weirding me out.
“Please, in the name of Christmas, don’t let Dick try to sell him anything,” I asked, looking skyward.
Fortunately, Andrea passed by in her slinky black party dress, and Dick’s attention shifted gears. Mr. Wainwright grinned as Dick trailed after her. He made eye contact with Aunt Jettie, rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Young people.” Aunt Jettie gave a girlish giggle, which got Grandpa Fred’s back up.
Andrea heard Mr. Wainwright’s side of the conversation and tapped me on the shoulder.
“Is Mr. Wainwright talking to himself again?” she asked.
“Nope. Aunt Jettie. I think he might have a little bit of a crush going. This is going to be a big shock for Grandpa Fred. This may be the love triangle that undoes the fabric of our universe.”
She cringed. Gabriel sauntered my way, offering me a punch cup of an imported dessert blood called Sangre.
“You throw a great party,” Gabriel said, nodding at the happy crowd.
“God bless us everyone,” I said, grinning. “This may actually be the best Christmas ever. People I love. No pressure. No drunk cousins fistfighting on the lawn.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s an interesting story that I’ll ask about later.” He cringed before calling across the room, “While we’re on the subject of families, Zeb, can you tell me why your mother has been leaving me increasingly threatening voice-mail messages? She plans to put her foot, among other things, up several orifices.”
“I honestly don’t know,” Zeb said. “It’s possible she just dialed a random number. Sometimes she leaves those messages for strangers.”
“I think I know,” I said, sighing. “Zeb’s mama seems to think you’re the only obstacle standing between me and Zeb, true love, and some sort of Precious Moments wedding extravaganza.”
Zeb seemed stunned but not nearly as disturbed by this as I was. He smiled at me with that weird, glazed-over stare, which was becoming way too familiar. I moved closer to Gabriel, twining my fingers through his. “You might want to keep your doors locked during the day, Gabriel. Also, cover your butt, because what she has planned would sting a little.”
“I don’t think Mama would actually do anything,” Zeb assured me, his voice low and soft.
“Easy for you to say,” I told Zeb. “It’s not your orifices at stake.”