Lifestyles of the Rich and Undead Read Online Free Page A

meds?” Her eyes shimmered with gentle curiosity.
    “Of course I know I’m a Dark One,” I snapped, annoyed and at the same time strangely pleased that she wasn’t afraid of me. “I’ve been one almost my entire life. You are not a Beloved, however.”
    “I am,” she said, looking down at her feet. “Hullo. Is that your cat?”
    “No. Don’t talk to him.” I scented the air. The lodge, like the Abbey itself, was a damp, mildewed, crumbling relic of grander times. The air was redolent with the smell of molds, wetness, and the leavings of various small animals that had claimed the lodge for their own. Tattered bits of wallpaper moved gently in a draft from a broken window, the walls streaked with equal amounts of grime and quiet despair.
    And yet, despite the odors of the decaying building, the scent of sun-warmed lilacs lingered, stirring something deep in my belly.
    “If you were a Beloved, I would know,” I told her.
    “Is something wrong with his mouth?” she asked, making little chirruping noises at Johannes until—as I knew he would—the massive cat leaped onto her knees and purred at her, his eyes half-closed.
    “Yes. You are not a Beloved.”
    “I thought so, because most cats don’t have one lip pulled up so a fang shows all the time. Was he hurt or something?”
    “No, it is simply how he is,” I answered, wanting to simultaneously shake her and kiss her.
    Her gaze assessed me. “He’s not your cat, but you know he wasn’t hurt?”
    “No, he is not my cat. He simply lives with me and accompanies me wherever I go. That is all. Why is a Guardian pretending to be a Beloved and a nun?”
    “Why is a Dark One abducting innocent people?” she countered.
    I leaned over her in an attempt to intimidate. “Why did you climb over the fence when the signs clearly state that your presence is not welcome?”
    She blinked those lovely soft gray eyes at me. “You’re the one who put up the signs? Did you also chain the gate closed? We thought it might be the local authorities, although Teresa did show the police the documents the estate agent sent her, but you know how it is with Czech officials—they do love their paperwork—and Teresa figured she must have missed dotting an i or crossing a t.”
    “I am Czech,” I said with much dignity.
    “Really?” She tipped her head to consider me, not in the least bit intimidated by me, dammit. “You don’t sound Czech. You sound British, like me. Who are you, exactly?”
    “My name is Gray. Grayson Soucek, if you were going to ask, and I suspect you were since you seem to ask everything else that occurs to you.”
    She giggled, and the sound went straight to my groin. I ignored the tightening sensation, grimly reminding myself that not only was she trouble, but even assuming she wasn’t really a nun, she was a housebreaker or, at best, a squatter, neither of which I intended on tolerating.
    “Hi, Gray, I’m Noelle. I’ve always been naturally curious, and I found out a long time ago that if you don’t ask questions, you won’t learn the answers. I like your name, and it does sound Czech, but what are you doing here? And why have you abducted me? Why do you have a cat who isn’t your cat? And why don’t you think I’m a Beloved?”
    You don’t smell like one.

UNDEAD SUBLET
    BY MOLLY HARPER
    There it was again!
    The soft thump down the hall had me sitting up in bed, blinking into the black quiet of my room. My sleep-blurred brain tumbled to George, his stories about poor, lovelorn Mr. Lassiter and the possibility that said deceased bachelor could be wandering around my house in spectral form.
    This was what I got for going to bed so early. My internal clock was all wonky. Thoroughly chastised and toting Tupperware and a bowling ball–sized chunk of monkey bread, I’d found myself back in my house with nothing to do. No dishes to prep. Nothing to chop or sauté. No pans to wash. No knives to sharpen. The highlight of the evening was falling