Dead End Dating - Sucker for Love Part 10

"I meant literally. Flames. Smoke. Burning flesh."

"I get the picture." Boy, did I ever.

"If you managed to find a track record for this guy, I'm sure Merle has picked up the trail, as well. Don't worry," he added.

"My cousin knows how to handle a rogue warlock."

Ash sounded so confident that I actually believed him. Really. These guys were professionals. They knew what they were doing and I should just sit back and let them do their thing. Esther was in good hands and I had absolutely nothing to worry over.

Life was normal.

Great.

Fan-friggin'-tabulous.

I powered off the computer and peeked into the living room. Rob was on his third bottle of cold blood. Killer had decided to hump my faux fur pillow. And the Giants were getting their a.s.ses kicked.

Yep, normal, all right.

I kept up the normal facade for the next two days. But by the time Tuesday night rolled around, I was back to freaking out. Rob was still rooming with me. Killer had ruined all my throw pillows. Ivan had canceled his appointment (and the sizeable check he 'd written to DED). And I hadn't heard one word about Esther.

The only thing that had gone right (in theory, at least) was Mia 's date with Harmon. They'd played Scrabble and drank hot cocoa and he hadn't even held her hand.

They were in celibate heaven and headed for date number two tonight.

"Are you sure there are no more messages?" I asked Evie as I perched on her desk and rifled through the stack in my hand.

"Just the four from your mother, the two from Mandy, five from Nina Two and one from a guy who wants to sell you Amway."

She shoved a few file folders into a kick-a.s.s Marc Jacobs hobo bag and powered off her computer. "Oh, and Tabitha called. She said the guy you fixed her up with last night had blond hair. She doesn't do blonds."

"I know that but they were a perfect personality match."

"Obviously she's more into looks than personality. She said she hopes that prospect number two is more her type."

I had my doubts. He was a redhead, but he did meet the very specific height and weight requirements.

"Did you tell her the third time's a charm and the first two are just warm-up dates?"

Evie nodded. "I also offered her a free dozen donuts and a coupon for Starbucks."

"And?"

"She said she'd rather have the right man." Evie stabbed a b.u.t.ton on her computer and the screen went blank. "Don't forget to call that new client-Jonelle So-and-so. We promised we'd call her with details for the first match."

"But I haven't made a match yet."

"Not yet," she smiled, "but the night is young. You have an entire half hour before she expects your phone call." She grabbed her purse. "Gotta run."

"Hot date?"

"I'm playing Bunko with my uncle Harrington."

"How old is he?"

"Too old for Jonelle," she said as if reading my mind. "The woman didn't look a day over thirty in her profile pic."

Make that six hundred and thirty. "She said she likes older men."

"Uncle Harrington isn't an older man. He's an old man. Complete with Depends and cataracts and an infatuation with Wheel of Fortune." When I didn't look discouraged, she shrugged. "Oh, all right. I'll ask him. But you can't send them dancing. He farts every time he makes a sudden move."

"No dancing," I vowed. I slid her a pencil and note pad. "Write down his phone number and I'll do the rest." After suckering Evie out of her uncle's digits, I spent the next fifteen minutes convincing Jonelle why an Audrey Hepburn film festival would be the way to go for her first encounter with Harrington Dalton the Third.

Movies are romantic.

There's no need to talk. To touch. To interact in any way, shape or form.

"So why is this the perfect date?" she finally asked me.

"Because there's no pressure. You're relaxed. He's relaxed. It's the recipe for success." And a flatulence-free interlude.

A little more convincing and she finally caved. After that, I checked on Mia 's date-they were drinking milkshakes and watching Seabiscuit-and then spent a half hour working on a few matches for other various clients.

At least I tried to work, but I kept thinking about Esther and how much she'd wanted to settle down and how she'd entrusted her faith, hope and dreams (and Visa card) with yours truly.

I gave up the matches and pulled out the business card Ash had given me. Punching in the phone number, I settled back in my chair and waited.

"Sorcery and tax evasion," a woman announced after the third ring. "How can I help you?"

"I'm trying to reach Merle Ambrose's office."

"This is it. Merle's the head honcho here, but he's got two a.s.sistants who handle the overlapping departments."

"How in the world does sorcery overlap with tax evasion?"

"Sugar, I haven't met a wizard yet who didn't try a wiggle spell on his 1040 every now and then."

"A wiggle spell?"

"You know, a little incantation and some effective animal sacrifice to wiggle out of paying the bottom line. So what are you calling about?"

"A missing warlock."

"That would fall under Mickey's jurisdiction. He's Merle's right hand in sorcery. I'll transfer you."

Fifteen minutes and five Barry Manilow songs later (courtesy of XM's All Barry All the Time), I heard a slightly irritated "Yes?"

"Mickey?"

"That's the name they gave me."

"I'm calling about the Mordred Lucius case."

"Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving this case?"

"No. I just wanted an update on how things are going. Esther-the kidnapped vampire-is a close, personal friend of mine."

"I'm afraid I can't help you. We don't give updates. We just collect information."

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Ambrose." "Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving the case?" he repeated.

"I already said no."

"Then you have no reason to speak with him."

"But-"

Click.

Sonofab.i.t.c.h.

I tried once more and crossed my fingers that I might get someone other than Mickey.

"Mickey here."

Have I mentioned that I'm not exactly the luckiest vampire in the world?

I cleared my throat and took my voice down a notch. "I'd like to speak with Mr. Ambrose."

"Who may I say is calling?"

"Countess Lilliana Guinevere du Marchette." Okay, so the only thing even remotely good about being French royalty is that I could occasionally play the countess card. I tried for my most commanding tone. "I need to speak with him at once. I command thee," I added for effect.

"Would that be about a particular case he's working on?"

"Yes." I cleared my throat. "Correct."

"Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving the case?"

"Not at this time."

"Then I'm afraid I can't-"

"Help me," I cut in, my voice losing the regal tone. "Yeah, yeah. I know the spiel. I just thought you might cut me some slack.

My friend is in desperate trouble and-"

Click.

I punched in the number again and went through the motions until I reached Mickey again. "I'm Lil Marchette. I'm calling about the Mordred Lucius case." I decided to throw in a little bribery to tip the scales in my favor. "And I'd be more than happy to donate two free matches to anyone who spills their guts about Esther's predicament."

"I don't date, Miss Marchette."

"A man with your charm? I'm shocked."

I could practically see his finger poised on the disconnect b.u.t.ton. "Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving this case?" came the preprogrammed voice. "No? Then I'm afraid I can't-"

"Yes," I blurted. "I've got info. Lots of it."

It's one teensy lie. Get over it. "Hold please," he finally told me after a stunned moment.

Now, that was more like it.

I leaned back in my chair as Barry launched into a lively rendition of "Copacabana." He'd just reached the final chorus when the music ended and a thick British accent echoed in my ear.

"Merle N. Ambrose. How may I be of service?"

My heart gave a double thump and excitement zipped through me. "This is Lil Marchette," I started, my voice dying as two important things registered in my brain: 1) a dial tone blared in my right ear where I held the receiver to my head, and 2) there was a strange tickling on the back of my neck, which indicated that something or someone was standing right behind me.

I bolted to my feet and whirled. The chair tumbled backwards and the edge caught my s.h.i.+n. Pain zipped through me and rattled my teeth.

"What the ...?" I scrambled for words. "Who the ...? How the ...?" Focus, Lil. I shook away the vibrating pain and drank in the man standing in front of me.

He was short and pudgy. He wore a red fleece suit and running shoes and reminded me more of Santa Claus than a timeless, all-powerful warlock. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes twinkled. "Merlin?"

"That's Merle N." He held a finger to his lips. "I like to keep it separate; otherwise, someone's liable to put two and two together. Don't want the SOBs beating down my door, now, do we?"

For a wizard flying below the radar, he was a little off the mark. "It still sounds like Merlin when you p.r.o.nounce it out loud," I pointed out.

"On paper it keeps up the charade well enough. I don't put in too many personal appearances. Knock, knock," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Not Excuse me. You're supposed to say Who's there? It's a b.l.o.o.d.y joke." His eyes twinkled and I fully expected him to belt out a Ho, ho, ho. "Don't you like jokes?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then say 'Who's there?' Knock, knock."

I rubbed at my s.h.i.+n. "Okay, I'll bite. Who's there?"

"Dot."

"Dot who?"

"Dot's for me to know and you to find out." He started to laugh. His stomach heaved and shook with the effort. "Wait, wait,"

he finally managed after several loud, boisterous seconds. "I've got an even better one. Knock, knock."