The Real Werewives of Vampire County - By Alexandra Ivy Page 0,50

naturally. We’d start with simpler questions.

Francine’s fingers shook as she checked her diamond earrings and smoothed her hair behind her ears.

I could feel the magnetic pull of the connection as I drew closer to her.

“Why are you such a bitch?”

She laughed. “Because I can be.”

Of course. I’d forgotten how straightforward it was for bullies like her.

“What do you know about me?” I asked.

“I know you don’t belong here.” She fixed on me then, as if she could see straight into me. “I don’t think you belong anywhere.”

The truth stung.

“Tell me a secret about Sunny.”

She considered the question. “Nina hated her.”

That surprised me. “Nina?” Sure, I’d only known her for about two minutes, but she didn’t seem like the hateful type. Or maybe she was just drunk.

“Why?” I prodded.

“Sunny was blackmailing her.”

Some friend.

Francine stared out past me, toward her party. “You’d think Bliss would have been the blackmailer. She’s had money problems ever since her dead husband left his money to the dog.”

“What?” I hadn’t met Bliss yet.

Francine glanced at me. “And by dog I don’t mean someone like you. He left their fortune to Chi-Chi the Chihuahua.”

“Poor Bliss.” I didn’t even know her and I felt sorry for her.

Francine shrugged. “She gets by.”

And, if I was reading between the lines right, it also meant Bliss would never eclipse Francine, which seemed to be a requirement for being a Predator.

“Introduce me to Bliss,” I said, scanning the designer crowd, as if I could somehow pick her out.

“No problem. I’ve been dying to show her what a train wreck you are,” Francine said, making me instantly regret my truth powers.

My head throbbed, the pain moving down my neck and into my shoulders and back as I pushed deeper into Francine’s mind.

I didn’t need the vulture’s approval. At least she didn’t know I was investigating.

She smirked down at me and I braced myself. Hopefully my initial questions had gotten me into her head enough, because I needed to know. “Did you kill Sunny McCarty?”

Francine tossed a lock of gleaming hair over her shoulder. “A massive Gothic chandelier killed Sunny.”

She was resisting. It seemed she’d dish out anyone else’s dirt, but there were barriers up when I aimed directly at her.

I regrouped and hit her again. “Were you behind the falling chandelier?”

“That would be impossible.” She pursed her lips. “The chandelier fell from the ceiling.”

Just shoot me now. I was running out of juice and she was playing semantics.

My head pounded. Dang. Most of my subjects would at least elaborate a little. Francine was going to torture me for every sliver she gave me. “Did you rip down the chandelier?” I pressed.

“According to the rumor mill, the chandelier was cut,” she said, her voice breathy with meaning, or perhaps the strain of avoiding my questions. “I’d say it was a planned job. You cut all but one wire and then ... Snip, snap.”

Oh geez. My temples rang and the patio began to spin.

“Did you have anything to do with Sunny’s death?” I shrieked.

She blinked. “No.”

Finally. I wanted to curl up and sleep on the patio. “Then why?” Why had she made this so difficult? “Are you holding anything back?”

She leveled a predatory smile. “Yes.”

“What?” I grimaced. I couldn’t hold the link any longer. I let her go and with a crack, I felt our connection break.

My power shot back into me like a rubber band snapping. “Ow.” I clutched my head and fought a wave of nausea.

I was going to have a massive hangover from this one.

Francine felt it, too. She stared at me, rubbing at the spot above her ear. “What did you do?” she asked, the words coming slowly.

She squared her shoulders, regaining her trademark control. “Never mind.” She brushed past me and back to her party.

I could barely walk straight as I made my way through the partygoers, who were at this point almost giddy with anticipation. The vampires would be arriving soon. I could tell we had some werewife hopefuls in the house tonight.

Run, I wanted to tell them. Run and never look back.

“Nina,” I nearly ran into her.

“Whoa, girl,” she said, steadying me. “I see you had some of the sangria.”

“I’m looking for Bliss,” I said.

I didn’t know how I was going to question her. The pain in my head was growing worse and worse. I’d pushed myself too hard back there with Francine. But I couldn’t help it. The woman’s mind was a brick wall.

“Bliss had to cancel,” Nina said. “Oh yeah—excuse you,” she added sarcastically as a