assure you, it’s no joke—well, there will be humor in the stories. The Penny Dreadfuls are entertaining stories, not dreary, socially meaningful tracts targeted toward women’s book clubs.”
“Glad to hear it,” Robin said, still uncertain. “I suppose.”
Sheyenne drifted closer. “And who’s going to write it?”
“We already have a ghostwriter,” Mavis said, still delighted. “And that’s why we’re here.”
I raised my eyebrows. “A ghost writer? Really?”
“Actually, she’s a vampire,” Mavis said. “An aspiring writer who’s thrilled to be part of the project. We can’t put her name on the cover because it’s going to be told in first person, and the readers have to think it’s truly written by ‘Dan Shamble.’ But we’d like the ghostwriter to speak with you, shadow you on a few cases, listen to the way you talk, pick up details. It’s the best way to get a sense of realism.”
“That wouldn’t be appropriate,” I said, although I couldn’t give an actual reason why.
Robin, with her legal expertise, did that for me. “Our cases are confidential, Mavis. Our clients remain anonymous unless they choose to go public. Having an observer would breach the attorney-client privilege.”
“And there is an element of danger in our investigations.” I plucked at my sport jacket to show the stitched-up holes. “I’ve been shot and disassembled myself.”
The sow sat down on the carpet with a loud snort, and Mavis was obviously disappointed.
Sheyenne, always business oriented, looked on the bright side. “We think it’s a delightful idea, Mavis, but if Howard Phillips Publishing is going to sell our stories, Chambeaux and Deyer will have to receive some sort of compensation.”
“Compensation?” Mavis said. “Well . . . of course. But these novels are merely inspired by the work of Mr. Chambeaux and Ms. Deyer.”
“And without that inspiration you wouldn’t have much of a book series.”
“No, I don’t suppose so.”
Sheyenne looked over at me with an appreciative smile. “I’m not suggesting a cut of the royalties, because your books could well generate additional business for us. . . . I was thinking of your own special skills. What if you were to perform a regular restorative spell on Dan? Once a month or so, just to freshen him up, keep him in good shape. And emergency fixes, as needed.”
I rolled my shoulders, bent my reattached arm. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
“Restorative spells are rather difficult, and they require a great deal of preparation. They take a lot out of us.” Mavis looked down at her sister, who snorted a lengthy sentence. “Oh, but if we need to do an emergency fix, I suppose that means something exciting must have happened.” She ran her eyes up and down my form. “We would like to keep Mr. Chambeaux fully functional.”
“If I stay fit and mobile, then I can keep working on new cases,” I pointed out.
“Or, as we call them, sequels,” Mavis mused. “Very well, it’s a deal. If you can find time for us, and our ghostwriter, in your schedule, then we’ll agree to perform regular restorative spells. Just to keep you limber and intact.”
“All right, but work comes first,” I said. “The cases don’t solve themselves.”
Alma snorted, and her sister jotted down notes. “Ooh, that’s a good line.”
CHAPTER 20
The Pattersons were a cute couple, a nice couple. They had been married for six years and were still very much in love; I could tell by the way they treated each other—not sappy public displays of affection you’d see from a gushing new couple, but with an obvious sense of partnership. They moved together, finished each other’s sentences, were very much on the same page.
As they came into the Chambeaux & Deyer offices after scheduling a first-available appointment (Sheyenne fit them in at the end of the day), I could see they were upset and nervous. My heart went out to them immediately—mixed couples never had an easy time of it.
Walter Patterson was a vampire, and his wife Judy was a werewolf, one of the full-time hairy-faced lycanthropes.
“I’m fed up with this crap!” Walter said. “It’s not right, and I’m sick of turning the other cheek.”
Judy leaned forward, nuzzling his pale cheek in an attempt to calm her husband. “We were told that Ms. Deyer might be able to help us. We don’t have a lot of money, but we thought the nature of our problem would interest you.”
Robin said, “Your message said something about discrimination?” She led them to the conference room, and I tagged along. The Pattersons seemed eager to tell their story to as many