Page 10 of Fish and Chip

“Oh, honey, they can and they do,” Eulla Bell assures us. “I once saw Salem flirting with the neighbor’s tomcat. Batted her eyes at him for a solid hour, then hissed at him for looking back. The girl’s got standards, just like her mama.”

We all give a quick laugh at that one.

Belladonna’s smile turns razor-sharp. “Speaking of standards, Eulla Bell, Salem’s not the only one who appreciates a good tomcat, is she? Though I hear your taste runs more toward married strays these days.”

The temperature drops about twenty degrees, and I can’t even blame Maine.

Eulla Bell glares at Belladonna, her smile still plastered to her pretty little face. “Oh, hon, I don’t borrow what ain’t mine to keep.”

I knew I liked her.

She leans in toward the witch. “You say something like that again, sugar, and I might just have murder on my mind. Of the fictional variety, of course.”

And there it is. I grunt without bothering to give Dexter so much as a glance. We’re both pretty committed to a murder-free holiday season around here, starting with Halloween. But judging by tonight’s guest list, we may be the only two.

“Of course you would,” Belladonna says coolly to the woman. “You’re a killer at heart.”

Eulla Bell nods to the group. “Lovely meeting y’all. I’d better go mingle with the readers. Some of them have come from miles away just to see us.” She sweeps off into the crowd with Salem in her arms, the two of them every inch the Southern vampire belles they came dressed as.

“Well.” Felicity offers a warm smile our way, then a decidedly pained version to Belladonna. “I think I’m going to need some carbs to get through the night. It’s been a long day. And it’s going to be a longer week.”

She disappears toward the dessert buffet, and I’ll admit, I’m tempted to follow her lead. Carbs are basically my love language. Although, she seems a little peeved, so I decide to give her some space.

Everyone at this shindig seems to be running on fumes and grudges. Here’s hoping the carbs hold out for all our sakes.

Someone calls for Belladonna, and soon she’s swarmed by a countless number of fans, all of them demanding her autograph, her time, and her expert opinion on the best way to murder a spouse. For their own books, they assure her. It makes me wonder just how many life insurance policies were adjusted ahead of this seminar.

“Well,” Georgie says, eyeing the dessert buffet and then scanning the crowd, “I came here for two things—sweet treats and men. And in case you’re wondering, they’re one and the same. So far I’m batting fifty percent, and that’s better than my last three relationships combined. Do you think if I rub those poison apple tarts all over my body, a hot werewolf will come out of the woodwork and take me back to his pack?”

“You’re a tart all right,” Ree says, shaking her head. “If you keep saying these things out loud, I’m going to have to put you on a leash.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to do it,” Georgie shoots back. Then she freezes, her gaze snagging on a broad-shouldered man across the hollow wearing a werewolf costume and, more importantly, no shirt under the open flannel. “Well, hello, full moon,” she purrs. “Ree, hold my churros. This is a two-hand situation.”

“You don’t have any churros,” Ree balks at her bestie.

“Then let’s go fix that first.”

The two of them take off for yummier pastures, and heaven help that werewolf. He never stood a chance.

Dexter leans my way. “Excuse me while I have a quick chat with my mother about a few things. Namely, telling the truth.”

“Good luck,” I tell him as I take Fish from his arms. “I’ll be stuffing my piehole with some of those spooky-looking cream puffs. I’ve never met a calorie I didn’t like.”

“And that’s one of the things I appreciate about you. Save a bite for me,” he says with his lids hooded just a notch as he starts to take off.

“That sounds like a threat,” I call after him, only half joking.

“And it’s a threat I intend to make good on.” He winks before disappearing.

I stand there a beat too long, holding a cat and reconsidering my stance on threats that sound like propositions. On second thought, I fully approve.

I’m about to wander off myself when Cupcake prances over, a white standard poodle currently glowing an odd shade of pink under the moody lighting.

Josie! Cupcake barks in her thick Southern drawl. Have you tried those graveyard dirt cups? That mousse went down easier than gossip at a church potluck!

“I’m on my way to try one now,” I say as I give her curly little head a pat.

Cupcake would be Savvy Sparrow’s cute not-so-little pooch, and the four-legged love of Chip’s life.