The Vampire's Mail Order Bride

“You will?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. Thank you for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome. Have a great day.” Delaney hung up and deflated. Being “on” for her job as a server was one thing. Pretending to be someone else was exhausting.

The next few weeks might kill her. If Rastinelli didn’t do it first.

She cranked on the radio, pulled out of the rest stop and put her mind back on her driving. Captain Underpants shifted to take advantage of a two-inch sliver of sun and fell asleep.

Three hours later, Delaney took the exit for Nocturne Falls. Nerves from being this close to her destination raised her heart rate and her temperature. She cracked the window to let in some fresh air as she passed a large pumpkin-shaped sign that read, Welcome to Nocturne Falls – where every day is Halloween.

Really?

The speed limit dropped to thirty-five, which was just as well because she couldn’t help but slow down when she hit the main drag.

She’d never seen a town like this in her life.

The general color scheme of everything—signs, buildings, benches and a tourist trolley with the word Summer Spooktacular emblazoned on the side—seemed to be black and orange, with purple and green coming in a strong second. Hot pink and midnight blue weren’t far behind in third.

Metal brackets in the shapes of cobwebs angled off the street lamps. Some of the buildings were deliberately slanted to look rickety. A large fountain with a man-sized gargoyle front and center decorated the beautifully landscaped park that made up the large main square. Through the trees, the gargoyle actually seemed to be moving. Animatronics maybe?

She shook her head in disbelief. This place was kitschy and crazy but in a very cool way.

The voice on her navigation app urged her to make the next left, but she kept driving just to check the place out. The businesses had names like Misty’s Boo-tique, The Hair Scare (which didn’t exactly instill confidence in the final product), The Ice Scream Shop and Hats In The Belfry. There was a bar called DOA, which apparently stood for Drinks On Arrival, a beer and hot dog joint named Franks-n-Steins and a diner dubbed Mummy’s whose slogan was “Our food is to die for!”

“Are you kidding me?” But tourists mobbed the streets. It was May, months away from Halloween, but even so a few of the adults and almost all of the little kids wore costumes. There was something cheesy but charming about it. “Cappy, this place is like Willy Wonka does Halloween.”

Captain sighed in perpetual feline boredom and shifted to cover his face with his paw.

“Thanks for chiming in.” She made a U-turn at the next light just to shut her navigation up. She followed the prompts, winding through the back roads (who knew Georgia had hills? Mountains? Whatever.) until she came to a community called Ravenswood.

She turned into the development as another of the Summer Spooktacular trolleys was pulling out. Apparently, this was part of a tour.

After the town, nothing should surprise her, but the neighborhood looked like it had been designed by a Hollywood set maker. Most of the houses, all Gothic or Victorian, resembled the precursors to some really good haunted mansions.

The homes were intricate, immaculate and beautiful. Sculpted topiaries ala Edward Scissorhands dotted the manicured yards.

“This is like Stepford meets the Addams family. Who built this place? Tim Burton?” Cappy had no response. She followed Poe Avenue to Hitchcock Lane and made the turn.

A stand of tightly spiraled evergreens blocked her view for a second as she pulled into the long drive of 19 Hitchcock Lane. Then she saw the house. Estate. Mansion. Whatever. It was too big and too grand and too ivy-covered to be just a house. Everything about it, from the toffee-brown brick, vanilla-white columns and trimmings to the gorgeous arched windows and slate roof, was fairy tale perfection.

“Wow,” she whispered.

Captain Underpants snored.

His lack of enthusiasm didn’t ruin the moment. Then she realized that she hadn’t showered in almost twenty-four hours, meaning she still smelled like garlic (one of the unfortunate side effects of working at Rastinelli’s), and that the man who owned a house like this might not even let her bring her Captain inside. Well, it wasn’t like she was actually here to marry him, was it? So who cared if he thought she was gross? But if he was some weird anti-cat guy, she’d make a big fuss and tell him the agency had promised pets were okay.

Although she would like to stay long enough for things in Brooklyn to cool off. If cooling off was actually a possibility.

She parked beneath one of the massive shade trees that bordered the property, then flipped down the mirror on the visor and took a look. “Yikes.”

She finger-combed the waves around her face into submission, pinched her cheeks for color, wiped off some of yesterday’s mascara that had melted under her eyes and sighed. It was what it was.

She looked at her still sleeping companion, who was clearly on the verge of caring. “If he won’t let you in, we’re bugging out. Promise.” She kissed Captain on his silky head. “Be right back.” No point in waking him if they weren’t staying.

She got out of the car and trudged up to the house, straightening as she reminded herself she was Annabelle Givens, resident of upstate New York, not Delaney James, Brooklyn resident on the run from the mob.

As she walked up the steps to the impressive wraparound porch, the door opened and a man stepped out. “Hallo, miss. Can I help you?”

Okay, so Annabelle’s perfect match was a little older than Delaney had imagined. He was silver fox handsome in the way of Mark Harmon or Pierce Brosnan, though, so it wasn’t going to be a hardship to spend some time with him. Especially not with that swoony British accent. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">