Chapter Sixteen
SIXTEEN
When Ben opened his eyes, there was something on his nightstand.
He blinked away sleep, trying to orient himself. It was the morning after the Annex opening, and by the sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtains, he’d slept later than usual. The light caught the petals of a handful of black-eyed Susans near his head, their roots encrusted in dirt.
He sat up, forehead furrowed. There was only one person who could be responsible, but why had Eleonore ripped them out of the ground to leave next to his bed? And where had they come from?
There was a piece of paper next to the yellow blooms with one word written on it: CONGRATULATIONS.
“Oh,” he said softly, rubbing his chest where a sweet ache had started behind his breastbone.
Eleonore had given him flowers.
Sure, she had done it by invading someone’s garden, then sneaking into his room in the dead of night—which was a bit unsettling considering her long career as an assassin—and crumbs of dirt were now spread over his nightstand and the surrounding floor, but it was the thought that counted.
Why shouldn’t men deserve flowers as well?
She’d been indignant about the injustice, but he’d shrugged it off at the time. He ought to have known she wouldn’t leave it at that. Eleonore was a vampire succubus of action, for better or worse. She had discovered a wrong that needed righting, and so she had done it as quickly and aggressively as she did everything else.
He was beginning to suspect that beneath her prickly exterior, Eleonore was rather…sweet.
Ben picked up the flowers and cradled them close, not caring that he was getting his T-shirt dirty. He inhaled, taking in the fresh, sweet, earthy smell. His eyes grew blurry.
“Ridiculous,” he whispered, rubbing away the tears that were tempted to fall. They were just flowers, nothing to cry over.
But they were his flowers.
He remembered how Eleonore had looked when he’d given her flowers as an apology gift. Baffled at first, then surprised, and then she’d clutched the vase like a dragon hoarding treasure, hesitant to put them down even to eat.
He understood how that felt now.
Ben slid his feet into slippers and padded into the living room, where Eleonore was glued to the television, mouth agape. “Good morning,” he said. “What are you watching?”
“An interview show full of horrible people,” Eleonore replied. A mug of blood sat before her, steam wafting upward. “Can you believe this man cheated on his wife with the nanny while she was cheating on him with the gardener and none of their combined thirteen children are his?”
Ben took one look at what was on TV and hurried over to block her view. “Oh, no, no, no. This is not good content to represent modern times.” He considered. “At least, I hope not. But these shows are staged, anyway.”
“It’s fake?” Eleonore frowned. “They shouldn’t pretend it’s real, then.”
“Wait until you discover The Bachelor .” It was Gigi’s guilty pleasure, which Ben had been forced to watch with her the season a werewolf had been looking for love. She’d tried to convince him to apply, but that had been a hard no. Dating one person was daunting enough—dating multiple people on camera would be a nightmare. The only possible redeeming feature was that it would all be scripted—no matter what Gigi thought, he could not be convinced otherwise—which meant he wouldn’t have to come up with witty conversation or smooth compliments on his own.
Eleonore turned the TV off, then turned to face him. “You found your flowers.” She looked expectant, if a bit wary. Worried about what he would say?
Ben was still hugging the flowers to his chest. “I did,” he said. “They’re wonderful. Thank you, Eleonore.”
She shrugged, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Someone has to rectify the world’s injustices.”
Her smile hit him in the chest. It was soft and genuine, and he took it as a sign that she was coming to trust him. It was a trust he would always do his best to honor.
Ben busied himself trimming the stalks and finding a vase from the hall closet. Then he set the flowers on a bookshelf by the front window where the light would catch their petals.
The sight of a plastic-wrapped bundle on the driveway sent him hurrying out. The Glimmer Falls Gazette had arrived, likely containing a review of Eleonore’s performance and hopefully some good words for both Gigi and the Emporium’s expansion. He ripped the plastic off on his way back in, and his sensitive nose twitched at the crisp, appetizing smell of newsprint paper and ink.
“Surprise Mayoral Development!” was the headline on the front page. Beneath it was a photo of Gigi onstage at the Emporium. Ben skimmed the article, which introduced the new challenger for Cynthia Cunnington’s position and detailed a few campaign promises. The article didn’t take sides—with Gigi an unknown and Cynthia quite frankly terrifying, Ben hadn’t expected it to—but it was a decent write-up Gigi ought to be pleased with.
Columnist Artemis Crumpet was the reporter responsible for updates on local events and venues, and Ben fist pumped when he saw “Local Spotlight: Ben’s Plant Emporium” featured in her weekly column.
Ben’s Plant Emporium, long a destination for those green in thumb, has expanded both its venue and appeal. An adjoining café termed the Annex now offers coffee, tea, wine, beer, and scrumptious sandwich and pastry options. The opening night was raucous and delightful, and this reporter was surprised to see the christening of a small stage that will host theatrical performances. Far be it from me to review the play at hand—Cornelius Crabapple has the details of that—but it’s safe to say that, having witnessed a performance I never could have anticipated and have no words to describe, I’m excited to see what wild happenings Emporium proprietor Ben Rosewood plans to host next.
Ben grinned as he skimmed the rest of the piece, which touched on a few specifics of the new menu and praised the Emporium’s Annex as a great addition to the local gastronomic scene.
“What are you reading?” Eleonore asked.
Ben had been so absorbed he hadn’t moved past the front door. “The local newspaper,” he said. “They’re discussing the Annex and Gigi’s campaign.”
Eleonore was at his side instantly, but this time Ben wasn’t as badly startled as usual. Her vampire hyperspeed was becoming routine. They still needed to address the ceiling-crawling she’d debuted during her performance, though, which he hoped she never did late at night when he wasn’t expecting it. “Is the performance review in there?” she asked.
“I’m looking for it,” he said, flipping pages.
Eleonore was nearly standing on his toes, so impatiently was she scanning the paper. Her arm pressed against his, and he could smell the conditioner she’d used on her long red hair— his conditioner, he thought with an odd sort of pride—and the naturally sweet spice of her skin. His pulse kicked up a notch. Eleonore slid a glance up at him, undoubtedly able to hear or sense his heart rate, but thankfully didn’t say anything.
“Here we go.”
“A Bold New Talent” read the headline.
Gentlefolks of Glimmer Falls, I bear exciting news. In an era when our entertainment options are often limited to reality television reruns or the same goddamn musical year after year—no offense to the talent of our Glimmer Falls Theatre Guild, which is of high caliber but should really consider saying “Goodbye” to Dolly—our city has been blessed with an art piece so unique, so daring, so visceral, we have not seen its like before. Experimental theatrical performer Eleonore Bettencourt-Devereux, a vampire succubus of mysterious origins, unleashed a fury of a performance onstage at Ben’s Plant Emporium and Annex last night. It is impossible to fully explain the show’s appeal in words—some things must be experienced to be understood.
“This is great,” Ben said. The photo accompanying it had been taken in the interpretive dance section before she’d dumped the bucket over her head. Eleonore had been captured midmovement: her fake-blood-streaked torso was twisted, her hands outspread and head flung back as she balanced on one leg. Starbursts of light shone from the sequins, and her hair trailed behind her like a fiery banner.
She looked…joyous.
“He really did like it,” Eleonore said wonderingly. She tapped the page with one fingernail. “See here? He says I am ‘beautiful and fearsome to behold’ and ‘a true original.’?”
“You are,” Ben said. “In every way.”
Eleonore looked up at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky. Her green eyes were bright with feeling, and a pretty pink flush crested her cheeks. “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever gotten,” she said in a hushed voice.
Ben felt dizzy looking at her. She’d already been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but happiness gave an ethereal glow to her features. His stomach dipped, and every inch of his skin seemed to light up at once. He was hyperaware of the soft press of her arm against his and the way one of her long, waving locks tickled his skin; he fancied he could even feel the shift of molecules in the air as she exhaled.
Oh.
Oh shit.
Ben had been single for a long time and was, historically, rather dense about women, but he could tell when he was about to be in a boatload of trouble. No one had caught his eye in years, yet here he was, tumbling headfirst into infatuation with the scariest, strangest, most captivating woman he’d ever met.
Ben swallowed hard. “I’ll need to compliment you more often, then,” he said in a rough voice.
Eleonore’s gaze flicked to his lips so quickly he might have imagined it. “Compliments aren’t mandatory.”
He huffed in amusement. Practical, blunt Eleonore. “I know,” he said. “Neither are flowers.”
The silent message hung between them. They had both given each other flowers, not out of obligation, but because they’d wanted to. Because they cared.
Eleonore’s lips curved in a secret smile. “You know, I think—”
Whatever she was thinking was lost, though, because his phone rang suddenly and shrilly. It was his house phone, which only his family had the number to—“A landline , Ben? In the era of Our Lady Taylor Swift?” Themmie had mocked when she’d found out—which meant someone had tried to call his cell phone first and wanted to talk to him badly. “Sorry,” Ben said, forehead furrowing as he hurried for the receiver. “No one calls that number unless it’s important.”
When he picked up, he’d barely started to say hello when Gigi’s voice burst over the line.
“Cynthia Cunnington wants to meet me. What do I do?”
His sister thought this was important enough to interrupt his…flirting? Was that what he’d been doing?
Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you think you’d get through the whole campaign without seeing her? She probably wants to set up a debate.”
“Not a debate,” Gigi said. “She wants to meet me alone in an abandoned warehouse on the south side of town. In an hour.”
“Oh.” That admittedly didn’t sound great. “Maybe it’s an informal meet and greet, since you’re her only opponent.”
“Yeah, and maybe she’s going to murder me where there are no witnesses.”
“She’s not going to murder you.”
“She might .”
“Who is committing murder?” Eleonore asked from right next to Ben, where she had arrived with her usual abruptness.
Ben put his hand over the receiver. “Cynthia Cunnington wants to meet Gigi in an hour,” he told Eleonore. “She’s nervous about it.”
“Oh my God,” Gigi said so loudly anyone within five feet of the phone could have heard her. “Do you have a woman over at your house?” She sounded scandalized and delighted, and Ben groaned, knowing the news would spread to his parents and then the rest of the Rosewood-Levine clan with shocking rapidity.
“Give me that,” Eleonore said, snatching the phone from his grasp.
Ben blinked as Eleonore launched into a series of terse questions. Where was the meeting? Was Gigi worried for her safety? Had Cynthia Cunnington murdered many people before? No? Well, that was no guarantee she wouldn’t start now.
“Tell her you’ll be happy to meet but will be bringing security,” Eleonore ordered. She handed the phone off to Ben without waiting for a response. “I’ll go sharpen my knives.” She disappeared into the spare room.
Ben gaped after Eleonore until a burst of sound from the receiver reminded him Gigi was still on the line.
“That was Eleonore, wasn’t it?” she asked. “Are you sleeping with her? Does she moonlight as a security officer?”
Ben winced. “I’m not sleeping with her, not that it’s any of your business. And no, not to my knowledge, but she seems to have volunteered herself for the task.”
Gigi made a shrieking noise. “I knew you were into her.”
“Shhhh.” He had no idea how sharp vampire hearing was. “It’s not like that.”
It was totally like that. It was also almost certainly one-sided.
“Yeah, sure.” He could almost hear her eye roll. “We’ll talk more about this verrrry interesting development later. I need to pick an outfit suitable for meeting my new enemy. Are you part of my security detail, too?”
The alternative was letting both Gigi and Eleonore confront Cynthia Cunnington, the ice queen mayor of Glimmer Falls, alone, and neither werewolf curiosity nor Ben’s natural protectiveness would allow that to happen. Cynthia wasn’t a killer, but she wasn’t exactly nice either. “Obviously,” he said—even though the first and only time he’d interacted directly with Cynthia had resulted in him being harangued and insulted before Cynthia had magically blasted Oz across the Emporium and destroyed one of Ben’s plant displays. He swallowed hard. “Wear shoes you can run in, okay?”
“Sure thing,” Gigi said. “Lycaon, now I’m actually excited. See you and your totally-not-girlfriend Eleonore soon! I’ll text you the address.”
She hung up, and Ben sagged against the wall, feeling like he’d been churned up and spit out by two tornadoes in a row. What vindictive deity had saddled him with so many domineering women?
His lips twitched. And why wasn’t he remotely upset about it?