Falling for Fangs

“Well, they did make a lot of them. But it was in the 18th Century. In Wales,” Tilly admitted. “So might be a little tricky to source.”

“Antique dealers?”

“Probably the way to go,” Tilly let out a sigh. “I don’t know if you have any connections, but—”

“I do, actually,” Maxwell just so happened to be acquainted with a large number of antique dealers. It wasn’t like you could just buy an antique Faro scorekeeper on eBay, after all.

“Well, that’s a start. You’ll tell Chloe?”

“I’ll call her now,” Maxwell said. “Thanks for this.”

“Thanks for depositing that first payment,” Tilly went on, sounding like she was grinning. “That’s going to get me to the Falls Festival.”

“I take it that’s a good thing?”

“Very,” Tilly assured him. “I’ll keep working on the rest, okay?”

“Thanks, Tilly.”

Maxwell was about to call Chloe when another thought came to him. He may as well drop by the office, he thought. It was after seven, but he was sure she’d be there. And it wasn’t like his day was especially busy.

Once he had unpacked his trunks of his most treasured possessions, put a few books on the shelves, and installed an enormous wine fridge to store his newly sourced ethical blood, Maxwell had found he had too much time on his hands.

So why not drop by Crowley Lake Realty?

The lights were still clearly visible through the glass window when Maxwell parked his Range Rover in front of the office, and he could just make out the figure of Chloe at her desk, typing furiously away as she chewed the lid of a pen. Did she ever stop, he wondered?

He knocked on the door gently. It might have been unlocked, but it was only polite. Chloe looked up, startled, but she smiled when she saw him. And if that made Maxwell feel good, that was his business. It wasn’t a crime to enjoy being smiled at by a beautiful woman.

“Hi,” Chloe said as she opened the door. “Don’t tell me you want to sell the Sanguis Estate already. I might actually tell you to find someone else.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Maxwell followed her into the office and settled down in one of her very squashy armchairs.

“I wouldn’t,” Chloe smiled again. “Even if it was an absolute bugger to sell.”

“Tilly called,” Maxwell said. “With the next thing we need for the ritual.”

“Another plant?” Chloe’s face fell.

“Not that bad,” Maxwell assured her. “It’s a knife. But apparently, it’s hard to get.” He explained to her about the 18th Century Iron Works. In Wales. Why Wales?

“I’ll talk to Jim and Cecil,” Chloe said after a moment’s thought. “They’ve got suppliers all over the world.”

“Who are Jim and Cecil?”

“They own Crowley Lake Antiques,” Chloe told him. “Just down the street. We work together a lot. Sometimes they lend me things for styling houses, and I send plenty of clients their way. They haven’t let me down yet.”

Maxwell found it hard to believe that small-town antique store owners would be able to track down this particular rare object promptly, but he didn’t like to disagree. “Right,” he said instead. “Well, I suppose you can ask them.”

“I’ll get it,” Chloe assured him. “Might have to make up a story about why I want it, though.”

“You could tell them the wealthy eccentric who just bought the Sanguis Estate needs it,” Maxwell winked, and Chloe laughed that pretty laugh of hers.

“They’ll be dying to meet you if I say that,” she said, standing up and stretching her back. Maxwell knew she wasn’t doing that for his benefit. It must be painful, hunched over a computer all the time. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how her dress clung to her body as she stretched, the fabric pulled tight over her breasts and bottom. It was a nice bottom, just as he had thought it would be. An image flashed into his mind of his hands cupping Chloe’s nice bottom, possibly minus the dress and—

Chloe was looking at him with a strange expression. And shit, he had been staring.

“That’s a nice dress,” he said quickly. It wasn’t even untrue; the black dress hugged her curves perfectly, though covered far too much of her decolletage for Maxwell’s taste.

“Thanks,” Chloe said, smoothing her hands over her hips. “I made it, actually.”

“You made that?” Maxwell was surprised.

“Not everyone can afford couture,” Chloe teased. “I started working when I was 13,” she went on. “Babysitting, mostly. And I still couldn’t afford decent clothes, but I was pretty good at sewing classes at school, and the teacher let me bring in things I bought from the second-hand shop and alter them once I had finished making a pillowcase or whatever the rest of the class was doing.”

“You’re very talented,” Maxwell said. “I wish I had a useful hobby.”

“Well, I suppose that could be a useful hobby,” Chloe pointed at the cards Maxwell was shuffling. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it.

“I enjoy it,” Maxwell shrugged. “I’m arranging a poker night on Friday, actually. Mixed human and paranormal company. You should come.”

Chloe made a face. “I can’t, I’m—”

“Working,” Maxwell finished her sentence. “How can you be working on a Friday night?”

“Because I’ve got six showings on Saturday morning,” Chloe shook her head. “I can’t imagine I’d be much good for that after a poker night. Especially not one you hosted.”

“You might be right,” Maxwell agreed. “But it would do you good to have some fun. But I don’t suppose you play.”

“Of course I know how to play!” Chloe looked indignant. “A pack of cards was one of the only things Jesse and I had, growing up. So we taught ourselves.”

“Okay then,” Maxwell began to deal out two hands. “Show me.”