You’ll Understand When You’re Dead: Broken Heart Vampires Book 12 Read online

  You’ll Understand When You’re Dead

  Broken Heart Vampires Book 12

  Michele Bardsley

  To my Viking

  I love you always.

  To my Best Friend, Renee who helped me with this novel in too many ways to count

  I love you, BFF!

  * * *

  “We know a little about a lot of things; just enough to make us dangerous.”

  ~Dean Winchester, Supernatural

  The psychic and the vampire…

  When vampire Natalie Haltom starts receiving an influx of ghost suitors, she can’t seem to escape their amorous attentions. And with a ghost cow chasing her everywhere in town, she’s having the worst week ever.

  Vedere psychic Matthew Dennison has moved to Broken Heart to escape the Vedere legacy and to start a new life as a psychic for the vampire queen. He manages to rescue Natalie from a persistent date-happy spirit by announcing his engagement to the beautiful vampire.

  Just another day in Broken Heart with lonely ghosts, zombie dance-offs, spellcasting teenagers, wedding-planning fae, Little People fertility rituals, and maybe, just maybe, a vampire and psychic finding forever love.

  Prologue

  “Your mother is going to kill us,” whispered Jenny Matthews. “If my parents find out, they’ll kill me, too.”

  “This from the girl who hid a zombie in a tree house?” Kimberly Haltom punched her best friend in the shoulder.

  “Larry isn’t a zombie anymore.”

  “Details!” Kimmie waved off her friend’s concerns. “And, we’re not going to get into trouble.” She dragged Jenny up the porch stairs and to the front door of the two-story house.

  Tilda had recently moved to Broken Heart, Oklahoma and had become the ward of the Stinson sisters, who ran the Three Sisters Bed & Breakfast. She had fascinated Kimmie right away with her goth appearance and her mature sophistication.

  “What did you tell Tilda?” asked Jenny nervously.

  “That my mom needs a push in the right direction. She’s lonely. She needs a man.”

  “I thought you were a feminist.”

  “I am. Except when it comes to my mom. Let’s go.”

  “Look, I know Tilda’s related to the witch sisters. But she’s our age. What do you think she’s going to do?”

  “Something awesome.”

  They sat in Tilda’s room, an ode to black, and as the teen put it, the “dark forces.” Kimmie thought that sounded exciting, but Jenny was more skeptical.

  “You don’t call up demons, do you?”

  “I don’t mess with Satan’s minions,” said Tilda, her kohled eyes wide and her voice a dramatic whisper. “My powers are derived from what dwells in nature.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  Jenny had been raised with paranormals since she was nine, so it was hard to impress her. Kimmie had only been a vampire’s daughter for three years, ever since her mom, Natalie Haltom, came home dead. Kimmie had been born and raised in Las Vegas, Nevada. Her parents divorced when she was thirteen. As if that hadn’t been traumatic enough, three months later her mom became a bloodsucker.

  She didn’t really know how it happened.

  One night, she was rousted out of bed by a paranormal private detective named Ash, with her weird eyes and spiky hair and scowling expression, and told to pack one bag. Kimmie later learned that Ash had rescued her mother from some kind of vampire gang, or whatever, and had called in Queen Patsy to vampify her. It was that or death, and Kimmie had been all for the vampire thing. Living without her mother was not something she could think about, especially after the way her dad had abandoned them.

  Anyway.

  She and Mom moved to Broken Heart, where vampires could actually eat real food—because of some pixie spell or whatever—and her mother, who’d been a caterer in her old life, had gotten a new start as a vampire baker.

  Mom didn’t date, spending all her time either baking new confections with names like Bloody Good Cupcakes (this was like a lava cake except thickened blood oozed out instead of chocolate) and Wolf ‘Em Down Delights, which the werewolves loved. Because dogs, whether domestic or wild or shifter, wanted treats.

  “Did you bring what I asked?” Tilda’s big eyes stared at Kimmie unblinkingly.

  “Yeah.” She opened her purse and took out the blue silk bra. “You sure this is gonna work?”

  “If we want to draw men to your mother’s life, we must start with the basics.”

  “So you’re going to put the juju on her bra?” asked Jenny.

  Tilda spared Jenny a haughty look. “Spells require direction.”

  “Then I guess it’s good we’re directing ‘em right at Mrs. Haltom’s boobs.”

  “Jenny,” hissed Kimmie, “shut up.”

  Jenny pressed her lips together.

  Tilda put the bra in the middle of a white circle she’d drawn on the wood flooring. Votive candles, in a range of colors and scents, ringed the outside. She sat down and held out her hands. Jenny sat to her left, Kimmie to the right, and they joined hands.

  Tilda took a deep breath and said, “Let us begin.”

  For a moment, all they heard was the snap of the tiny flames and the melodramatic heaving breaths of Tilda. Excitement fluttered in Kimmie’s belly. She had to believe she was doing what was best for her mom.

  “I am now in tune with the spirits and the dark elements of nature,” intoned Tilda. “Tell them what you want.”

  “I need my hand back,” said Kimmie.

  Tilda popped open one eye. “You can’t break the circle.”

  “But I wrote it all down. I don’t have it memorized.”

  Tilda sighed. “Fine. But don’t take too long. The broken circle offers a portal to the other side, and we don’t want spirits coming through.”

  Kimmie let go of Jenny’s hand and dug around in her front jean pocket. She pulled out a torn piece of notebook paper.

  “Natalie Haltom is one hot mama who needs excitement in her love life. She’s gorgeous and smart and bakes awesome cookies. Respondents should be good-looking, and it helps if they’re dead.”

  “One hot mama? That’s lame,” said Jenny.

  “She’s right,” said Tilda. “Super lame.”

  “Besides,” said Jenny, “what if you get some toe-sucking perv or a stake wielding Van Helsing wannabe?”

  “That’s why we’re being specific. Hel-lo, dead guys only.”

  “Why can’t we hook up your mom in the normal way?”

  “Jenny, we live in Broken Heart, the capital of weird. There is no normal here. Besides, anyone mom sleeps with, she’ll be tied to for a hundred years, so he has to be a nice, decent guy.”

  Tilda raised a thin-plucked brow drawing attention to her silver eyebrow ring. “Are you finished with your request?”

  “Yeah. I guess so.” Kimmie shoved the paper back into her pocket, hoping she got it right, and took Jenny’s hand again.

  “We ask the spirits to grant the request of this vampire’s daughter so that her mother might find eternal love. Or at least, love for the next century.” Tilda exhaled, rolled her eyes back in a dramatic display, and intoned, “We now close the circle to the otherworld and thank the spirits for their help.”

  Tilda opened her eyes and let go of Kimmie and Jenny’s hands. “Help me blow out the candles. My aunts will freak if they know I’m casting.”

  Jenny shook her head. “This is not going to end well.”

  Kimmie hoped her friend was wrong.

  Chapter One

  “Excuse
me.”

  Matthew Dennison looked around, but only saw the green field stretching before him. Other than him, the only other occupant in the field was a cow—albeit a dead one. He idly wondered why there was a ghost cow trying to munch on the dew-laden grass. Though he’d only lived here a couple of weeks, he found that in Broken Heart, Oklahoma, they freshly stocked the crazy every day. The neighborhood where he’d settled was nestled at the bottom of the hill behind the oak tree. He’d gotten into the habit of walking up to this parcel of farmland to enjoy the first part of the evening. The crickets chirped merrily.

  Matt inhaled the sweet scent of honeysuckle and fresh air as he readjusted his position under the huge century-old oak tree. His rear end tingled from sitting on the rocky ground. Stars dotted the night sky, and he’d spent a pleasant few minutes simply staring at the beautiful sky above him. The wind ruffled his too long hair, and he pushed it back.

  “Seriously. Are you ignoring me?”

  Well, it wasn’t the dead cow talking. Maybe it was another spirit—one that sounded distinctly like an irritated female.

  “I don’t see you,” he said.

  “Try looking up.”

  Matt did as directed, his gaze searching the thick branches of the oak. He spotted a very much alive woman clinging to the massive trunk. She was dressed in a pink T-shirt, whitewashed jeans, and sneakers. Her silky chestnut locks were pulled into a ponytail. Defiant brown eyes dared him to ask why she was stuck in a tree.

  He liked a good dare. “Why are you in a tree?”

  “I’m hiding from the cow.”

  Matt jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You mean the dead one?”

  “You can see ghosts?” she asked. “I thought that was only a Family Amahté ability. And I know you’re not a vampire.”

  “I’m a psychic.” A powerful one. Formerly of the Vedere clan, Matt had walked away from the only family he’d ever known. Discovered at the age of eight in the New York City foster care system by a Vedere psychic, Matt had been whisked away to the group’s compound in upper Connecticut.

  The woman studied him, and he suddenly felt self-conscious. “I take it you’re an Amahté vampire?”

  “Yes.” She blew out an unnecessary breath, which meant she probably hadn’t been a vampire for very long. “There are apple trees on the other side of the field. Since I’m baking pies today, I thought it would be nice to get some fresh apples. Then Hell Cow showed up.”

  Matt waited for the rest of the story. When she went mute, he asked, “Are you afraid of cows or just cow spirits?”

  For a moment, she stared at him, and then she sighed. “My vampire power has a quirk,” she said. “Ghosts have physicality for me. They’re as real and solid as you are, and that one—“ She stabbed finger toward the bovine. “—bit me on the ass, and then chased me up this tree.”

  Matt looked at the cow. The creature was still munching on grass, although not really, because ghosts didn’t need sustenance.

  “Jump down,” he said. “I’ll catch you.”

  The idea did not thrill her if the expression on her face was any indication. Matt craned his neck. Maybe she was just in pain from a wayward branch poking her backside.

  Finally, she said, “All right. I’ll jump.”

  Matt obligingly opened his arms, but she didn’t loose her death grip from the limb. In fact, she looked as if she were contemplating staying in the tree. A man of action, he reached up, grabbed her ankle, and yanked. He heard an ominous ripping sound, the scrape of her shoe against the bark, and then a scream worthy of a horror-movie heroine.

  She plummeted from the tree. Matt managed to catch her, but he was thrown off-balance and tumbled backwards. As he fell, he wrapped his arms around her and held on tightly to protect her as he smacked into the ground. Matt sucked in a breath. Grass tickled his face. He hoped he hadn’t damaged any vital organs. And he certainly hoped the rocks impaling him hadn’t punctured his flesh. The woman, whose head had rapped his chin during the fall, lifted up and glared at him.

  “Quit copping a feel.”

  His hands flexed automatically on her nicely rounded jean-clad buttocks. Matt obliged her request. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—er, grab you.”

  “Yes. Well.” She rolled off, stumbling to her feet. Matt watched as she smoothed back the sweaty curls loosed from her ponytail and straightened her dirt-splotched shirt and torn jeans.

  He got to his feet, dragging in deep breaths, and cursed the ache traveling up his spine. He rubbed a sore spot on his thigh. “My name is Matt Dennison,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

  Her grim expression eased, and when she unpinched her lips, he was surprised to see she had a nice, full, kissable mouth. She dusted off her hands and offered one to him. Her grip was dainty, feminine, and surprisingly firm. “I’m Natalie Haltom. Thanks for the rescue.”

  He executed a courtly bow. “I’m glad to be of service.”

  “I’m glad we didn’t end up in the emergency room.” She smiled. Wow. She really did have a nice mouth. “I’m giving up on the apples.” She eyed the cow at the far end of the field then her gaze flitted over him. “I’ll see you around, Matt.” She turned around, presumably to go home, but Matt didn’t want her to go. Not yet.

  “You’re going to let the cow win?” he asked.

  She faced him again, her expression resolved. “Uh … yeah. Totally.”

  “I’ll get the apples for you.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I have some fresh strawberries. I’ll make tarts.”

  “I love tarts.” Actually, Matt had no idea if he liked them or not because he’d never had one. But he wanted her to stay. It had been a while since he’d dated, and she was the first woman since Vera, his ex and the reason for his recent move to Broken Heart, to engage his interest. Not to mention his hormones. The basic, primal part of him wanted her in bed. Now.

  The cow mooed.

  He saw Natalie’s eyes widen. Then he heard clomping sounds. He looked over his shoulder and saw the cow running toward them, head down.

  Natalie yelped, and whirled around, running toward the neighborhood where he lived. The cow galloped around him, but as it passed the oak tree, it turned misty and then disappeared all together.

  “Natalie!”

  “Later,” she screamed.

  Okay, then. He watched Natalie clear the wooden fence that blocked off this land from the neighborhood and head down Brooker Street. Broken Heart was a small community. Exactly the kind of place he’d wanted to start a new life. And it appeared that the charming vampire Natalie lived one street over from him.

  After she went into a one-story Ranch house painted a light green, Matt looked up to the sky. The stars winked at him, and he smiled.

  Natalie took a quick shower and changed into a new pair of jeans and a T-shirt that said, “Bakers Dough It Better.” She eschewed shoes and padded into the kitchen, the tiled floor cool on her bare feet. When she’d died, thanks to her ex-husband and his boss AKA cult leader, her last thoughts had been about her daughter Kimmie.

  And also killing her ex-husband.

  Because, really, what an asshole.

  As she started putting together items to make strawberry tarts—maybe with some O blood sauce drizzled on top, her mind wandered to the hot psychic with muscles like steel. He was eight kinds of yummy. It’d been ages since a man had touched her anywhere, much less her rear end. Her butt had tingled all the way home.

  New people—and she used that term lightly—moved into Broken Heart all the time. It was a thriving community of paranormals that included vampires, werewolves, werecats, fairies, zombies, and, apparently, psychics.

  The Vederes were a big deal, at least for the paranormal powers-that-be, because they saw the future and created prophecies. She supposed they did other things, too, but nothing that trickled down to the middle-class vampire. Her death had been about baking and parenting.

  The doorbell rang.

  Crap. She could
only think of two people who might visit her at this time of night—her neighbors, the Smiths. They were nice people, or rather nice fae, and she generally enjoyed their company. They were old—like a couple thousand years old—but they only looked like a couple in their early seventies. Bettie Smith loved gossip more than anything, and Natalie could only hope Bettie hadn’t seen her running down the street like a full-on idiot. If she had, the entire town would hear about it, only by the time Bettie was done embellishing, Natalie would be naked or on fire or both.

  Natalie scuffled to the door and peered through the peephole. Red roses blocked the view. Wait. Roses?

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “It’s me, pumpkin. Your true love.” The voice was male, unfamiliar, and coming from someone hidden behind the flowers.

  “You have the wrong house.”

  “This is Natalie Haltom’s home, is it not?”

  “Yes.”

  “These are for you, my adored one.”

  She slid the chain lock into place and opened the door. “Who are you?”

  “Jerry Freid,” he said. “I’m answering your call, honeybuns.”

  “I didn’t call anyone.”

  The roses parted to reveal a dough-faced, balding man whose height left him breast level to her. “Can I come in?”

  He was a ghost. The only difference between people and spirits who lived on the earthly plane was that the ghosts had a soft white glow around them. Otherwise, with her ability to physically touch spirits, she would have a hard time figuring out who was alive, dead, or undead.

  “I know a good afterlife counselor,” she said.

  “I’m here for you,” he said. His expression had turned stubborn. “You didn’t already pick someone, did you?”

  “Pick someone for what?”

  “For love.” He peered around her. “Will you let me in?”

  “No.” Inviting ghosts into your home made it especially difficult to get them out. They were territorial, and one temper tantrum from a spirit could level an entire room in five minutes. So, no, Jerry was not coming into her home. She undid the chain and stepped onto the porch, shutting the door firmly behind her.