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 Real Vampires Know Size Matters

Glory St. Clair - 10

by

Gerry Bartlett

Acknowledgments

Size doesn’t matter to Glory, but in the book business, it can be a factor. I owe so much to the size of my fantastic street team, whose members are out there spreading the good news about the Real Vampires series both online and in the trenches every day. You know who you are. Thanks so much!

Also, I have a sizeable support system in place and couldn’t have gotten this book done without it. My wonderful editor, Kate Seaver, has always believed in this series, and I really appreciate that. The team at Berkley does such a super job, from the illustrator Chris Long, who cooked up such a fun cover this time, to my copy editor, Mary Pell, who knows my series better than I do. What a great experience I’ve had here!

My superstar agent, Kimberly Whalen, always has my back. I’m so glad she understands contracts and fine print, because I’d sure hate to tackle them.

Finally, my awesome critique partners suffer with me through every step of creating a book. Thanks to Nina Bangs and Donna Maloy for the long lunches and shopping orgies necessary to keep my writing muse fed. You guys are priceless and irreplaceable.  

One

We’d been invaded.

You can do this. Suck it up. Attack. Use your powers. Instead I leaped up on the sweater table, shaking and screaming along with the mortals in the shop. No. Get down, Gloriana St. Clair, and face the enemy.

Weapons, I needed weapons and I sure as hell wasn’t using my fangs this time. I glanced around. The two women perched on the chair next to the dressing room were no help. Their shrieks could have broken glass. Three more women crouched on the counter in front of the cash register. More mortals, totally useless, though one swung an umbrella at the horde.

I tossed a sweater at one. Stupid. Didn’t even slow it down. I was a failure. A wimp. I couldn’t quit shaking and couldn’t force myself to get off the table. If a god from Olympus attacked, I’d be right in his face, toe-to-toe. Or another vamp. Bring him on. But whoever had planned this had found my weakness. I thought I heard one right there, on the table, and moaned, horrified.

Mice! Dozens of them. Even Achilles had his heel thing. Glory St. Clair has hers. I don’t like anything that’s creepy or crawly. Now my reputation and the business I’d built from nothing were in shreds along with my pride. Would you shop where you saw mice? I’d have joined the stampede for the door myself if there’d been time.

My clerk Lacy, a were-cat, was running around like a starving woman at an all-you-can-eat buffet in kitty heaven. She whipped past me with a smile on her face, making sounds too gross to think about.

“Oh, God, there’s another one!” The brave soul on the counter with the vintage umbrella slashed at the floor, knocking a mouse toward the door. That got the logjam there cleared with a chorus of screams.

I heard a smack near my feet. “Lacy, what the hell are you doing?” I gagged and realized I was going to have to whammy every mortal in the place.