“Who the hell is this guy?”

Brian jumped. His gaze landed somewhere behind Parker. “Holy fuck. You have a ghost?” His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and if Parker didn’t know better, he’d swear Brian was checking out a seriously hot man.

Could Brian see Greg?

“Can you hear him?”

“Sure. Sensitives and psychics run in my family, and ghosts happen to be my specialty. No wonder Mayor Ibanescu sent me. He knew I’d fit in perfectly.”

“Mayor who?” Since when did the mayor care so much about his resident vampires? “So. Who are you, who the hell is Mayor Ibanescu and what the fuck is going on?” That last was roared loud enough to shake the windows.

Once Brian’s eyes uncrossed, he explained. “Okay. Maggie’s Grove was founded over two hundred and fifty years ago by people from, believe it or not, Transylvania. Cliché, I know, but I swear it’s true.”

“Uh-huh. Pull the other one. I thought most of the people who settled in Maryland were French, Dutch and English, Mr. Cunningham.”

“They were. Mostly. But we had a few…special immigrants—ones with, shall we say, special needs? Maggie’s Grove was founded to harbor them, and in time it became what you see today, a town made up almost completely of supernaturals. We have vampires, werewolves, doppelgängers, psychics, witches, dryads, elementals—you name it. I think the only thing we don’t have are mermaids. And somewhere on the edge of town I hear there’s an actual dragon shifter, but that’s nothing but a rumor. I mean, really.”

“Dragon…shifter?”

Brian snorted, amused. “Who could believe it, right? Those guys are nothing but myth.”

Parker damn near strangled on his laughter. A dragon shifter. Good grief.

Brian shook his head. “And humans like me of course.”

“Of course.” Parker was fascinated. “How does that work? I’d think there’d be problems with humans and supernaturals living together so openly.” This was the only place he’d ever heard of where the humans were not only aware of the supernatural in their midst, but actively welcomed them. Most supernaturals avoided outing themselves to humans, lest they find themselves being hunted by Van Helsings. The hunters delighted in bagging vamps, weres and fae. Van Helsings firmly believed all supernaturals were threats to humanity, whether or not they were. No one wanted to tangle with Van Helsings.

“We protect you, you protect us. We work together as a community. The dryads take care of the forest. The elementals help with various projects, depending on their temperaments. I know a fire elemental who works as a firefighter.”

“And the humans?”

“We take care of you. For instance, every vampire gets a Renfield, paid for by the township. We make sure the daytime side of things is covered, that blood is provided as needed, that sort of thing. In exchange, the vampires become security guards, cops—just about any job that has a night shift. Heck, one of the nighttime librarians is a vampire.”

It certainly wasn’t Steve, the only librarian he’d met so far. Steve’s heartbeat had been healthy, unlike his own. “I’m a botanist.”

“A vampire botanist?”

People needed to stop laughing at what he did for a living. So it wasn’t a normal occupation for the fanged set, but president of the Bela Lugosi fan club had been taken. Besides, capes made him look like a complete spaz. “I work at The Greenhouse.”

Brian winced. “Ouch. Mollie Ferguson is a hard-ass when it comes to that place.”

“I know.” He rotated his shoulders, still sore from the effort to get the display done on time. “Listen, I’m not sure my having a Renfield is such a good idea. I mean, where would you live?”

“Here. With you. We’d set up a Renfield apartment for me so I wouldn’t be in your hair twenty-four-seven. Trust me, you aren’t the first vampire who arrived in town without one, and you won’t be the last.”

“I’m not sure I like this.”

“Well, as his last Renfield, you can fill me in on how to take care of Mr. Hollis, maybe fill in some of his history for me.”

Parker panicked. No way. Greg would have way too much fun with that. “Greg!”

“Last Renfield? Oh hell no. I’m no Renfield!”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I assumed… So who took care of him before he came here?”

“I did.”

“Oh?” One of Brian’s brows rose. He folded his arms across his chest as he stared at a spot somewhere to the left of Greg’s urn. Parker could swear the man saw Greg. “So how are you not a Renfield, then?”

It was like watching a cosmic train wreck. How the hell was Parker supposed to stop Greg when he couldn’t even see him?

“I was a witch, damn it!”

Brian’s eyes lit up with reverence and sexual interest. “Ooh. They make the best Renfields.” He sat forward, all puppy ears and eyes. “Can you tell me what I need to know? Please?”

“Well now.” He could practically hear Greg’s metaphysical hands rubbing together, his ego thoroughly stroked. Parker listened to the sound of his privacy shattering like a glass baking dish dropped from ten stories. “I think I can fill you in on the care and feeding of the world’s only vegetarian vampire.”

“Veg—did you say vegetarian?” For the first time, Brian seemed unsure of himself.

“Yes, he did.” Parker’s head collapsed against the back of the couch. “For the love of the Goddess, Greg.”

“How did that happen? And why aren’t you dead of starvation?”

Parker closed his eyes as Greg filled Brian in on his curse and the folly of not listening to his “Renfield.” By the time Greg was done speaking, Brian was making notes on his PDA and nodding furiously. “Want our witches to take a look, see if they can remove the curse?”

Parker froze. “Can they do that?”

“Sure. It’s one of the things we do, take care of each other.” Brian poked at his PDA again and closed it with a snap. “There are no guarantees, but it’s worth a shot.”

Parker wasn’t sure what the ultimate price of that caring would be, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll double-check the witches for you. I won’t let anyone send you to a dark practitioner.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. We have some around town, but they’re watched constantly. I’m not sure they’d bother with you anyway, other than to mock you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Brian’s eyes gleamed, and Parker knew he was being laughed at. “But the grays and the whites might be willing to look at it for you.”

Parker almost asked what the hell that meant but decided at the last minute he didn’t want to know. Besides, he could always ask Greg later, when the Renfield wasn’t around. “Let me think about it.”

Brian nodded and made another note. “All right. So can you fill in your turning history for me? I have to file the temporary Renfield paperwork with the township.”

Good grief, there was paperwork?

“You mean you don’t know about Parker and Jessica—”

“Don’t say it, Greg.” Parker sighed as the ghost laughed. Every time Parker mentioned his dame’s name, Greg lost it. It wasn’t her fault someone had named a cartoon after her. “I was turned in 1811 by Countess Jessica Le Lièvres, a noblewoman on the run from Napoleon—or so I thought. To her I was just a handy snack shack while she hauled ass across the continent. We spent almost a year together before she decided she wanted to keep me and turned me.”

“Wow. I’ve heard of more brutal turnings, but that one?” Brian whistled.

“It wasn’t that bad. Once we left France, we had a wonderful time. We went to Rome, Venice, Austria and even visited Russia. Jessica took care of me, taught me everything I know. Our relationship ended on good terms. I send her Christmas cards every once in a while.”

“How did you meet Greg?”