Wolf at the Door - By MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,7
a hyena for ten minutes. Then they’d disappeared into her bedroom for . . . uh . . . never mind.
He swiped nonexistent dust off the coffee table in front of the squat black-and-white TV, circa 1950 (Gregory liked his antiques, and Boo didn’t give a shit), and thought about his living situation. Despite the lack of a plasma TV and windows not curtained in dark brown, it was pretty sweet. He couldn’t believe he was considering leaving. Well. Considering considering leaving.
Who are you kidding?
Good question. He stayed for the reason he stuck with anything in his life: he needed a kick in the ass to get going. So far, kicks in the ass were in short supply. Worse: if not for the third-wheel thing, it would likely never occur to him to move out. His roommates were the most feared vampire slayer (not that Boo would ever, ever refer to herself as such) in the history of time, and a dead comedian who lived (so to speak) for the slayer.
What could compare? Honestly? A corner office at Grate and Tate? The newest toy from Steve Jobs, the iAll? Regular sex with Uma Thurman (provided he could overlook the manhands and man-feet)? To quote a sage of the age, “Shyeah!”
Also, they had a view of Wollaston Beach. A tiny sliver of a view they could only enjoy during high noon with clear skies on Thursdays, but still. Water view! In Boston!
So he stayed.
“I’ll live here until I die,” he announced.
“Which, if you don’t stop breaking rule eleven, will be later this evening.”
Edward did not have a heart attack, or jump back, or even flinch. Although he never heard Gregory coming, years of cohabiting with a dead guy had given him a flinch-free poker face.
“Nothing’s going to make me move out,” he announced.
Gregory yawned and headed for the kitchen.
“Not one thing.”
“So, who asked you to leave? We found this place together, you, me, and Boo,” Gregory said mildly. “No reason not to make use of it as long as you like. Half of it is yours, after all.” He opened the fridge, withdrew several oranges, plugged in the juicer, and began shredding orange after orange. Edward had never seen anyone fonder of fruit juice. Maybe it was a vampire thing.
“My place is here.”
“All right.”
Edward yawned, showing too many teeth that were too big. He was a tall, lean man with a tendency to slouch, Columbo style. His dark blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, though he occasionally clipped it savagely short. Or cop short, which made sense, as he’d been a member of the BPD in the years leading to his death.
“You realize you get this way every several months.”
“Do not.”
“You need a woman, my friend.”
“Tell me about it.” Problem number thirteen: the only women he met were off-limit coworkers and psychotic vampires. On the occasion he met a perfectly nice, good-looking, intelligent woman, his lifestyle freaked them out. Frankly, if it didn’t freak them out, it would have freaked him out. And to be fair, he hadn’t been trying terribly hard to hook up. Chalk it up to more of his ennui. Or sheer laziness.
“Where’s Boo Bear?”
“Dare you.” Gregory stopped chugging his orange juice long enough to point at him. “I dare you to call her that to her face.”
“It would sure solve a lot of problems,” he said glumly. He slipped into one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and propped his chin up on his elbows. “What, is she out on recon?”
“Stop that. I loathe pop culture gibberish. And yes, she is researching Amanda Darryn for me.”
“The Black Widow.” Like the villain played by Joan Cusack in Addams Family Values. Except this one had been getting married, vacuuming bank accounts, and killing her husbands for a hundred fifty years.
“Soon to be The Staked Widow.” Gregory had disliked being murdered and returning from the dead. He coped by honing his routines and tracking down really, really bad vampires. As a former cop, his contacts and data access were inspiring. He had hired Boo to slay a local vampire who specialized in murdering third graders. Boo had been pissed, then intrigued, then horny. Cue the happily ever after theme. “Would you like to come? Perhaps you merely need to get out of the house.”
“So there’s another vampire to kill next week. A flood of the undead.”
Gregory snorted. “That’s the spirit. And I stand by what I said: you need a woman.”
“You say that about everything wrong