22. About A Vampire - Argeneau.pdf

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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
An Excerpt from Always
About the Author
By Lynsay Sands
Copyright
About the Publisher
One
“C
rap,” Holly muttered, staring down at the sheaf of papers she’d just stepped on. The small disc
stapled to the top corner told her that it was the paperwork for one of their clients. It included the burial
permit, the coroner’s certificate, the application for cremation and the coversheet with the client’s name
and info . . . and it should have been given to John Byron when he arrived to start his shift at 4:30 that
afternoon. Obviously, it hadn’t. This bundle must have fallen off her desk at some point that day.
Holly continued to stand there for several seconds, simply staring at the bundle. She didn’t even remove
her foot, because once she did, she’d have to do something about it . . . like take it to the crematorium . . .
and she really didn’t want to go down there. Not at this hour. Making the trek during the day was one
thing, but it was just past midnight now. She’d have to make her way through the graveyard to get to the
building that housed the chapel; the columbarium, where the urns rested; and the crematorium, where the
bodies were stored and waiting for their turn at the retort.
Retorts is what the owner of Sunnyside Cemetery, Max, had called them when he’d given her the tour the
day she’d started. He could call them what he liked, but retort was just a fancy word for the oven where
they burned the bodies.
Shuddering at the thought of the coffins shelved in the cooler, Holly closed her eyes briefly. A popular
game here seemed to be to freak out the new worker with tales of the “ovens.” Jerry, the day technician,
and John, who took the evening shift, as well as her boss, Max, and even Sheila, the receptionist, had all
told her one horrific tale or another. But the most memorable was John telling her how the coffins burned
away first and the corpses sometimes sat up inside the oven, muscles contracting in the heat and mouths
agape as if screaming in horror at their doom. That image had stuck with her, convincing Holly she really
didn’t want to be cremated. In fact, she’d decided dying was to be avoided at all costs if possible.
Sighing, she opened her eyes and peered at the papers, wishing she could pretend she hadn’t seen them.
After all, in the normal course of events, she wouldn’t have found them until morning. She shouldn’t be
here now except she’d got home after work, made dinner and looked for her purse to get her blood tester
to check her sugar levels, but hadn’t been able to find it. Thinking she’d probably left her purse in the car
and not wanting dinner to get cold, she’d decided the blood test could wait. Of course, by the time dinner
was finished, she’d forgotten all about it . . . until she was brushing her teeth before bed. She’d been
halfway done when she’d remembered.
Pulling on her trench coat over her pajamas, Holly had hustled out to the car in her slippers to retrieve
her purse . . . only it hadn’t been there either. That had stymied her briefly, and she’d stood in the cold
garage for several moments, trying to think where it might be. She’d had it at work when she’d paid
Sheila for lunch, Holly recalled. She then tried to bring up a memory of slinging it over her shoulder as
she left work, but instead remembered that her hands had been full of tax forms and receipts . . . no purse.
Holly hadn’t noticed at the time because her car keys had been in her coat pocket.
After wasting another few minutes debating whether she could just skip testing that night, she’d slouched
with resignation and got in the car to drive back to work. Missing one test once in a while wasn’t that bad,
but skipping two in a row wasn’t good. Besides, the cemetery was only a ten-minute drive from her home.
It simply wasn’t worth risking a diabetic coma.
Of course, Holly thought now, if she’d realized that coming back would mean having to make a trek
through the graveyard—​in her pajamas no less—​she might have risked the coma.
Grimacing, she bent and snatched up the papers. There was nothing for it, she would have to drop them
off before heading home. Otherwise, the cremation wouldn’t happen until tomorrow or the next day, which
could be a problem depending on when his ser​vice was scheduled to take place.
Clasping the papers firmly in one hand, Holly slung her purse over her shoulder with the other. But as
she headed out of the office, she couldn’t help thinking that life would be a lot easier if she were a little
less conscientious. Being a responsible type person was really a pain in the ass at times, she thought as
she stepped outside and dug her keys out of her pocket.
The funeral home key was easy to find despite the dark night; it was on its own ring. It was also shiny
and new, though that was hard to tell in this light. She’d only received it last Friday. It was now Monday.
Why did a brand-​new and temporary employee have a key to the company? The answer to that was simple
enough: because her coworkers weren’t as conscientious and responsible as she was. During her first
week there, Max hadn’t shown up much before noon even once, and Sheila, the receptionist who also
happened to be Max’s daughter, had been late three times. The apple really hadn’t fallen far from the tree
with those two.
On Friday, after twiddling her thumbs in the funeral home parking lot for over an hour and a half for the
third morning that week, Holly had let some of her irritation show when Sheila finally arrived. She’d also
suggested that perhaps she should start later in the day rather than waste her time and their money sitting in
the parking lot waiting. Sheila had what she considered to be a better solution—​she’d gone out and had a
key made for her. Now Holly could get in on time.
She’d like to believe that it was her conscientiousness and responsible nature that had led Sheila to give
her the key, but knew the truth was it was pure laziness and convenience. So long as Holly had a key and
could open the office on time, Sheila could be as late as she liked. The other woman had proven that
today, when she hadn’t shown up until lunchtime, and then it was with lunch for them both that Holly
hadn’t wanted but had paid her back for her half anyway.
Holly locked the door and turned to glance toward the crematorium, only to pause and frown when she
couldn’t see the building. It was the fog. It had made driving here something of a pain, but she’d forgotten
about it while in the building. Now, she found herself staring into the misty darkness surrounding her and
felt a little shiver of anxiety shimmy its way up her spine.
She was in a graveyard on a dark and foggy moonless night. This was way too much like a scene from a
horror movie. Any minute decomposing corpses would begin to claw their way out of the ground and drag
themselves toward her, lured by the scent of fresh flesh.
“Get a grip,” Holly muttered to herself.
The sound of her own voice in the night was a bit bracing, but not enough to make her move in the
direction of the crematorium.
Holly shuffled her slippered feet briefly, and then sighed and turned to unlock the door again. Perhaps
there was an umbrella or something in the office that she could carry with her. Having a weapon, even a
mostly useless one, might help boost her courage for the trek ahead.
When a quick search of the offices didn’t turn up an umbrella, a cane, or a flame thrower to fend off
those imagined zombie corpses, Holly resorted to grabbing a large pair of scissors she spotted sticking
out of the pencil holder on the reception desk. She hefted them briefly, considered their size and then
decided they would do. She probably wouldn’t need anything anyway. She was just being a ninny, but felt

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