“He always said he would make appearances after death. I thought it was part of his wild ‘creatures of the night’ talk. Then, after the Coming Out, we found out that creatures of the night actually exist, so my mind opened a little bit.”
“Is it open enough to handle vampire wills?” I asked. “Because I’ve got some grabby relatives.”
He handed me his card. “Give me a call.”
“So, how do we go about this?” I asked. “I wasn’t allowed to attend any of my step-grandpas’ will readings.”
“Well, I need y’all to sit down and have a listen. I think you should know that Gilbert changed his will quite recently. When an elderly man changes his will to include a group of recently acquainted young people, it can be of some concern for someone in my profession. But Gilbert spoke very highly of you, and he wasn’t the type to gush.” He cleared his throat and used an official voice. “The will goes something like this. ‘I, Gilbert Richard Wainwright, being of sound mind and body as defined by the commonwealth of Kentucky’—a lot of legalese y’all are more than welcome to look over later, so we can skip to the good part—’do bequeath the following items to my loved ones:
“ ‘To Zeb Lavelle, I leave a copy of Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were, plus the entire stock of self-help guides related to inter-were-species marriage.’ “>“I’ve been calling you all evening,” he said, coming behind the counter to check me over for obvious contusions and stab wounds. “Normally, there’s a reason for your ignoring me. What’s going on?”
“Mr. Wainwright’s dead,” I said, tongue slow and heavy. I held myself together for a total of two seconds before bursting into hysterical tears again. Gabriel wrapped his long arms around me, and I suddenly didn’t care where he’d been or what he’d done. The important thing was that he was there, at that moment, when I needed him.
“Was it one of us?” he asked.
“Oh, no, completely natural. It was a heart attack,” I said, my eyes welling up again. “He was an old man. He said he lived a good life …”
Gabriel pressed me to his chest and let me sob there, until the front of his shirt was soaked. “Better?” he asked.
“No,” I said, wiping at my nose. “I must look a mess, which is really the least of my concerns right now. I’m not one of those women who are beautiful when they cry.”
“No, you’re not,” Gabriel agreed.
“So rude.” I smacked him.
“See, you feel better now that you’ve hit something.”
“I don’t know why I’m crying so much.” I sniffled. “It’s not as if I lost him. I mean, he’s happy as a clam, staring through his hands. He’s thrilled that he’s dead. Why do I feel this way?”
“If I suggest a theory, will you get angry?”
“Well, you’ve pretty much guaranteed that I will now.” I blew my nose.
“So much about your life has been unstable. You lost your aunt Jettie, your job, your life as you knew it. Mr. Wainwright and his shop became a touchstone of normalcy. It was somewhere you could go and know what to expect when you walked through the door. Now you can’t hold on to even the smallest shred of your former life or the shaky sense of security you’ve developed.”
I stared at him. Having someone inside your head is offputting.
“No, that’s not it,” I said. “Not it at all. I hereby revoke your license to play armchair psychologist.”
“What can I do to make you feel better?” he asked. I shrugged. “Happy Naked Fun Time?”
I laughed, a rusty sound that made my throat hurt. “You know, sometimes I forget that at the heart of things, you’re still a guy.”
“Well, let me remind you.”
“We need to call Dick.”
“I think we should leave Dick out of this.”
“Because—oh, God, it hardly matters now. Dick is Mr. Wainwright’s great-grandfather.”
Gabriel sank onto the couch. “Dick had children?”
“A son, that we know of. His name was Albert. He was Mr. Wainwright’s grandfather.”
“Dick had a child?”
I stared at him. “Did I break your brain?”