Page 56 of Dead & Breakfast
Arthur leaned in to read over his shoulder.
Hey there, Theo. It’s obviously been a spectacularly weird night, but we wanted to say thanks for your help and hospitality.
“There. That ought to do it.” Sal hit send.
“Do what?” Arthur twisted his expression into a grimace. “I really don’t think—”
Salvatore held up a finger to silence Arthur. “Wait for it…”
A new message arrived.
You’re very welcome.
“There it is.”
“Do you really think that’s going to be enough?You’re welcomeisn’t exactlyOh yes, please do come into my house.”
“Yes, but it’s notnotthat.”
“I’m not sure that’s in the spirit of the thing.” Arthur didn’t understand everything there was to know about their curse, but he did know that most of the rules around vampiric existence had been set forth by fae, notorious for their legalese. In fact, he was fairly certain it was the fae who’d first invented such standard practices as fine print and terms and conditions. Messing with a fae curse was tempting fate in more ways than one.
Salvatore just shrugged. “I mean, the vibe is right.”
“And we’re comfortable relying on vibes?” Arthur made a face. “It’s not exactly the most enthusiastic reply…not very potent with welcoming energy.”
“Mm, yes, the LaCroix of invitations.”
“If you end up powerless and fatigued because of this, you’ll have to find someone else to nurse you back to health,” Arthur grumbled.
“Why, Arthur. That’s not very husbandly of you. What happened to for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and all that?”
Arthur sniffed. “No, I don’t mean it like that—I mean because I’m coming with you. We’ll both be out of commission if this goes awry. So, are you sure?”
Salvatore shrugged. “No.” Then he turned the handle. Arthur expected it to be locked, but he supposed if anyone could live the small-town dream of a community where locked doors weren’t required, it would be a werewolf.
As Sal pushed the door open, darkness and silence met them on the other side. Arthur pressed a finger to his lips and Salvatore nodded before taking Arthur’s hand in his and stepping across the threshold.
Nothing happened. There was no electric shock, no immediate energy crash, nothing.
Arthur blinked, taking in Theodore’s living room with his excellent vampiric night vision, which remained unaffected by entering the house with only the barest hint of invitation. His gaze traveled over a mauve sofa, a TV mounted to the wall, bookshelves, a weirdly lumpy armchair—
The lamp beside the armchair clicked on, revealing Theodore himself sitting there in a matching set of corgi-print pajamas, face blank as he stared at them. There was a tray with a teapot and three cups beside him, all of them steaming.
“Oh,” Salvatore said breezily, “this isn’t where we parked our bike. Sorry for the mistake, we’ll be going now.”
“Come in, have some lavender tea,” Theodore said. “I insist.” His tone left no room for argument.
If he really was an attempted murderer, they had to tread carefully or risk becoming his next victims.
“Well, if you’re inviting us, I suppose we can’t say no.” Sal slowly lowered himself to the ground from his two-inch hover.
“I thought I already invited you.” Theodore waved his own cell phone, screen bright.
“I, well, we certainly didn’t—” Arthur began.
“It’s fine.” Theodore chuckled. Maybe that was a good sign. “I heard you bickering through the door.”
Arthur was about to protest—bickering was hardly the word for it—but Theodore gestured him toward the sofa and offered him a bluebell-patterned teacup.
