this out?” Wanda took Casey’s hand between hers and rubbed, warming the frigid tips of her fingers.
“O-okay.” Her ears seemed almost surprised at what her mouth had just agreed to. Casey rolled her head on her neck to loosen her stiff muscles while stalling for a moment to rationalize. On a somber note, what choice did she have? Wanda was right on all counts, and if— if what they said was true, it explained why they weren’t running around calling on the Lord and throwing holy water at her. If what Nina had shown her was real—really real—it was only another piece of evidence to back up their story.
Wanda’s smile was determined. “Okay. So let’s put our heads together.” She turned to her friends. “She’s obviously not vamp or were because none of us can levitate or shoot flames from our fingers. Though, Nina, you can fly.”
Bet that’d piss Superman off.
Hold up. Fly? Nina could fly. Panic began to rise once more, and it was all Casey could do to force it to back down.
“Yeah, but I can’t hover like she does. She’s been up there forever like the Goodyear Blimp, Wanda. Did you guys see her eyes when she had her back up? Dudes, they glowed—red.”
Marty gasped, nodding her head. “Yeah, they did. Oh, Jesus . . . maybe she’s possessed? It was sorta shades of Linda Blair. The only thing she didn’t do was spin her head around.”
Casey blanched. Of all her fears in this lifetime—being mugged, losing a limb, dying a long, drawn- out death—she’d never considered possession had the kind of potential to make all those other things seem like frolicking on a white, sandy beach.
Wanda nudged Marty. “Stop. You’re freaking her out. We’re just talking this out, Casey. Don’t panic—”
Wanda was interrupted by the buzz of Casey’s intercom. “Miss Schwartz?” a deep baritone called.
“Shit,” Casey whisper-yelled, “that’s Roosevelt. He’s the doorman downstairs. Damn it, damn it, damn it, if Lola and Lita are at it again, I swear, I’ll kill them. Wanda, press the button and let me answer him, please. Hurry, before he calls Mr. Castalano.” Oh, Christ on a skateboard, if he woke up her boss, the shit would fly.
Wanda zipped to the door and pressed the black button. Casey called out, “Yes, Roosevelt? Is everything okay? Is it the girls?”
“Right as rain, Miss Schwartz,” his ever-so-slight Southern drawl assured.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“There’s someone here to see you.”
To see her—or someone pretending they were here to see her but really wanted to see one of the “blonde-tourage?” The twins had pulled that crap on her more than once, using her name to sneak someone upstairs. It better not be that rapper with the gold teeth, or, given the op, she’d set more on fire than just his hair. “Who?”
“A man. A big man, Miss.”
“A man?”
“Thass what I said.”
“What man?”
“A big one.”
She sighed. “His name, Roosevelt. What’s his name?”
“He says his name is Clayton Gunnersson.”
Nina ran to the door, pulling Wanda’s finger from the button. “Clayton’s here?”
“You know him?” Casey asked.
Her glossy head dipped. “Yeah, he’s my husband’s best friend. Oh, shit. Maybe something happened to Greg?”
Casey’s eyes sought Nina’s. “How could he know you were here?”
“Grab your panties again, fruit cup—vampires can read minds. It’s sorta like a GPS, and if we need to contact each other for help, we send out a signal. A brain wave or some crazy shit, and if Clay’s here, it’s urgent. Unless you’re mated, vampires don’t send out signals unless shit’s going down, or it’s an emergency.”
Concern riddled Nina’s features, prompting Casey to ignore the surreal nature of one more paranormal detail and urge Wanda to let her tell Roosevelt to send this Clay up. “Send him up to the back elevator so he won’t disturb anyone, please.”
“Yesssss, ma’am, and you have a right fine
“O-okay.” Her ears seemed almost surprised at what her mouth had just agreed to. Casey rolled her head on her neck to loosen her stiff muscles while stalling for a moment to rationalize. On a somber note, what choice did she have? Wanda was right on all counts, and if— if what they said was true, it explained why they weren’t running around calling on the Lord and throwing holy water at her. If what Nina had shown her was real—really real—it was only another piece of evidence to back up their story.
Wanda’s smile was determined. “Okay. So let’s put our heads together.” She turned to her friends. “She’s obviously not vamp or were because none of us can levitate or shoot flames from our fingers. Though, Nina, you can fly.”
Bet that’d piss Superman off.
Hold up. Fly? Nina could fly. Panic began to rise once more, and it was all Casey could do to force it to back down.
“Yeah, but I can’t hover like she does. She’s been up there forever like the Goodyear Blimp, Wanda. Did you guys see her eyes when she had her back up? Dudes, they glowed—red.”
Marty gasped, nodding her head. “Yeah, they did. Oh, Jesus . . . maybe she’s possessed? It was sorta shades of Linda Blair. The only thing she didn’t do was spin her head around.”
Casey blanched. Of all her fears in this lifetime—being mugged, losing a limb, dying a long, drawn- out death—she’d never considered possession had the kind of potential to make all those other things seem like frolicking on a white, sandy beach.
Wanda nudged Marty. “Stop. You’re freaking her out. We’re just talking this out, Casey. Don’t panic—”
Wanda was interrupted by the buzz of Casey’s intercom. “Miss Schwartz?” a deep baritone called.
“Shit,” Casey whisper-yelled, “that’s Roosevelt. He’s the doorman downstairs. Damn it, damn it, damn it, if Lola and Lita are at it again, I swear, I’ll kill them. Wanda, press the button and let me answer him, please. Hurry, before he calls Mr. Castalano.” Oh, Christ on a skateboard, if he woke up her boss, the shit would fly.
Wanda zipped to the door and pressed the black button. Casey called out, “Yes, Roosevelt? Is everything okay? Is it the girls?”
“Right as rain, Miss Schwartz,” his ever-so-slight Southern drawl assured.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“There’s someone here to see you.”
To see her—or someone pretending they were here to see her but really wanted to see one of the “blonde-tourage?” The twins had pulled that crap on her more than once, using her name to sneak someone upstairs. It better not be that rapper with the gold teeth, or, given the op, she’d set more on fire than just his hair. “Who?”
“A man. A big man, Miss.”
“A man?”
“Thass what I said.”
“What man?”
“A big one.”
She sighed. “His name, Roosevelt. What’s his name?”
“He says his name is Clayton Gunnersson.”
Nina ran to the door, pulling Wanda’s finger from the button. “Clayton’s here?”
“You know him?” Casey asked.
Her glossy head dipped. “Yeah, he’s my husband’s best friend. Oh, shit. Maybe something happened to Greg?”
Casey’s eyes sought Nina’s. “How could he know you were here?”
“Grab your panties again, fruit cup—vampires can read minds. It’s sorta like a GPS, and if we need to contact each other for help, we send out a signal. A brain wave or some crazy shit, and if Clay’s here, it’s urgent. Unless you’re mated, vampires don’t send out signals unless shit’s going down, or it’s an emergency.”
Concern riddled Nina’s features, prompting Casey to ignore the surreal nature of one more paranormal detail and urge Wanda to let her tell Roosevelt to send this Clay up. “Send him up to the back elevator so he won’t disturb anyone, please.”
“Yesssss, ma’am, and you have a right fine
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