Page 39 of How to Stake a Vampire
I lowered my brows. Bo was right. This couldn’t be a coincidence.
“Why would a vampire be carrying a pamphlet for a funeral home?” Gavin asked, puzzled.
“Maybe he was going to check it out for himself?” Detective Johnson asked with a grimace. “You know, make future arrangements?”
“Vampires are known for being organized like that,” Victoria confirmed.
“You’re certain it was Pinevale?” Samuel asked the cats.
“We can read,” Bella said with wounded dignity. “And there were pictures. You know, coffins, flowers. Morbid-looking graves.”
Pearl was watching the cats with narrowed eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling us.”
I blinked, surprised.
For a moment, the three Persians looked like they were going to deny the claim. They gave in to Pearl’s stringent stare and huddled together for a whispered conference.
Bella finally spoke. “The man who attacked our master. He smelled wrong.”
Samuel stilled. “Wrong how?”
“Like—like old things. You know, museums and dusty books. And power.”
Truffles wrinkled her nose. “Dark power.”
We traded wary looks. That wasn’t ominous at all.
“I think we should attend Lord Chudwell’s funeral,” I suggested.
Didi nodded. Barney clenched his jaw.
Detective Johnson raised an eyebrow. “Stakeout?”
“Oh, I like those,” Gavin enthused, nostrils smoking.
“I don’t,” Bo complained.
Samuel frowned and rubbed his chin. “It would be better if some of us attended as guests.”
“That sounds eminently sensible,” Victoria agreed.
“I can add you to the guest list,” Quincy said where he was still propping up a green Betsy.
“We would appreciate it,” Samuel said gratefully.
“Anyone else think this funeral is doomed?” Bella whispered as we turned to leave.
“Probably,” Coco agreed.
“Definitely,” Truffles corrected.
At that point in my life, I had no idea exactly how true their predictions would turn out to be.
13
DEATH BECOMES HIM
Pinevale Funeral Parlorloomed against the gray sky amidst the otherwise pleasant, middle-class landscape of west Amberford. It was the epitome of a business that catered exclusively to the undead: old, imposing, and about as cheerful as spending a night in a graveyard.
