The Vampire and the Ink of Doom (Dreadful Vampire Mysteries Book 1)

  THE VAMPIRE AND THE

  INK OF DOOM

  PIPER ALEXANDER

  Table of Contents

  Also by Piper Alexander

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Also by Piper Alexander

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Also by Piper Alexander

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  DREADFUL VAMPIRE MYSTERIES

  The Vampire and the Ink of Doom

  The Vampire and the Prince of Roses

  The Vampire and the Silent Knight (coming soon)

  Prologue

  “Rise and shine, sleepy-head.”

  “Are we there yet,” I asked sleepily, refusing to open my eyes until I knew there was a good reason to.

  I heard laughter, followed by a voice filled with an equal mixture of humor and irritation.

  “Oh, she is not going to be happy about this.”

  My eyes immediately snapped open, sleep all but forgotten. Ever since leaving home, Anthony had been stubbornly – and childishly, in my opinion – silent about our destination, and the reactions from my sisters didn’t exactly give me warm, fuzzy feelings.

  I blinked my eyes against the sun beaming through the windshield to see a sign.

  Welcome to Transylvaniatown,

  the friendly little town filled with tricks, treats, and all kinds of things that go bump in the night.

  Home of the oldest haunted cemetery in the Unites States.

  I blinked again, sure I was seeing things. “Transylvaniatown?”

  I looked over at Anthony, positive he was playing some elaborate joke. He looked back at me, his shaggy mop of curly brown hair as unruly as ever, his hazel eyes sparkling behind wire-rimmed glasses. “It’s the perfect place, letting you venture out into the world without worrying about anyone discovering your secret.”

  I groaned. “That sounds like my father talking.”

  Anthony shrugged. “He did sort of suggest this place.”

  My sister, Pita, continued laughing in the backseat. “Of course he did,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “This is so him.”

  I looked out the window as our huge black SUV drove down Transylvaniatown’s main street, looking at the houses and businesses as we passed by. It was a small town, with a population of maybe twenty-five-hundred, but there was a lot of early morning traffic on the roads and sidewalks.

  “It’s a tourist town,” my other sister, Paige said.

  “Yep,” Anthony agreed. “Lots of traffic in and out of town, making it hard for anyone to stand out.”

  That was true. The crowds didn’t exactly rival Times Square on New Year’s Eve but it looked like the little town was a popular destination spot. And as much as the name made me want to roll my eyes, I could see why it was so popular.

  Transylvaniatown was a town like no other, and that was apparent as soon as you drove past the city limit sign. All of the buildings along the main street were gray with black trim, with sharp, twisty-turny angles that would make Dr. Seuss and Tim Burton proud. The roads were cobblestone and all the Victorian-era-styled streetlights up and down the sidewalks were adorned with decorative metal cobwebs.

  The spooky theme was continued with the street signs, which were topped with tiny little metal bats, and the street names themselves reflected the town’s colorful identity, with names like S. King Drive, Poe Boulevard, and Lycan Lane.

  Anthony pointed to a bright orange tent that we were driving by with a sign that read Witch Hazel’s Produce. “Look, Penny. A farmer’s market. Fresh veggies.”

  I rolled my eyes. As if me and my sisters needed fresh vegetables. I watched as a short woman with bright curly red hair, wearing a pointy witch’s hat, stepped out of the tent, glaring at us.

  “It looks like the circus is in town,” Paige said.

  The woman held up her hand, one finger extended.

  “They brought an angry clown,” Pita added.

  Anthony chuckled. “Just wait until you see the house.”

  I turned and looked at him. “House?”

  Anthony grinned “Don’t worry. You’ll love it.”

  I started to say something really mean and ugly. Anthony had stumbled upon us while hiking through Transylvania, and it seemed like perfect timing since my sisters and I had decided to move to the United States at about the same time. We were looking for adventure. He was looking for adventure. It was a perfect fit. But that didn’t mean he knew us well enough to know what we liked.

  He pointed towards the top of the hill we were driving up. I followed his finger and gasped.

  At the top of the hill, overlooking the whole town, sat an old gray and black Victorian home, built in the Second Empire Victorian architectural style. The second-floor and third floor bedrooms on the right and left of the house featured covered balconies, with the center windows having gingerbread gables over them. A covered chimney was positioned a little left of center towards the middle of the house.

  “Oh my gosh,” Pita squealed… making me wince since she did it right in my ear. “Look,” she said, thrusting her arm over my shoulder, pointing excitedly.

  I couldn’t help but chuckle when I saw what had her so excited. Right over the third-floor bedroom on the left, an iron weathervane rose into the sky. It had a decorative vampire bat sitting on top of it.

  The front yard did its bit to add to the haunted house feel, with a tall tree, bare of leaves, standing tall, pointing its leafless branches towards the sky like bony fingers accusing the heavens of some crime.

  Adding to the perfectly creepy scene was an old cemetery on the other side of the driveway.

  “Wow,” I whispered, a huge smile on my face.

  “It’s beautiful,” Paige said.

  “I would like to nominate Anthony as our official spirit animal,” Pita said, “because this dude gets us.”

  Anthony chuckled, his cheeks turning a cute shade of pink. “Well, I did have a little help.”

  Of course he did. Another one of our father’s ever-so-helpful suggestions.

  “Nine bedrooms,” Anthony said. “Three bathrooms, one on each floor. An attic and a cellar, and there are two smaller cottages behind the main house.”

  He pointed at the cemetery. “And that is the oldest most haunted cemetery in the United States.”

  “Perfect,” Paige said.

  “We’ll take it,” Pita added.

  I sighed, still smiling. Apparently I didn’t get a vote, but they were right. It was perfect.

  Pita held up her hands, framing the scene between her fingers and thumbs. “I can see it now. The Dreadful Inn.”

  “What,” both Paige and I asked at the same time.

  Pita’s grin grew wider. “This town is a vacation spot, and I didn’t see a bed and breakfast as we were driving through.” She waved her hand towards our new home. “This place is perfect for it. What else are we going to do with all that room?”

  I looked over Paige and Pita’s shoulders at the coffin in the back of the SUV. There was one family member who hadn’t had a chance to give
an opinion yet. I was sure it would be an interesting one, probably requiring many glasses of wine.

  I looked back at the house. If the creepy town needed a creepy B&B, this was the perfect place for it. I nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  “What about Granny,” Paige asked, as if suddenly remembering our sleeping passenger in the back.

  “Well, you know how she is about change and new things and… well, just about everything, but we should be able to convince her that this is a good idea.”

  I really should’ve known better.

  Chapter 1

  I sipped my coffee as I watched the early morning sun slowly peek through the trees. Ordinarily, this would be bad for someone like me since I’m a vampire, but the sunstone ring glowing on my finger kept me from getting the world’s worst case of sunburn ever. The ring was a gift from Daddy when Paige, Pita, and I decided to venture out and see the world.

  Daddy happens to be known to most of the world as Dracula, and let me tell you, Bram Stoker got most of it wrong. Daddy Drac is nowhere near being the monster he’s depicted as in that horrible book, although he does tend to be a bit controlling and over-protective.

  What does a real vampire look like? Well, it's not like you'd have an irresistible urge to reach for a crucifix if you saw me. There's no outlandish widow's peak calling attention to itself, and thanks to my ring, I don't even have pale skin.

  No, I look like a regular twenty-four year old, although I'm really a lot older. How much older? Honestly I don't know. I quit counting after I turned a hundred.

  I have long brown hair that goes down to the middle of my back, brown eyes, and a pretty smile that shows no hint of fangs… unless I want to show them.

  Oh, and that crucifix thing? Doesn’t work. Just another thing Stoker got wrong.

  Paige joined me at the window, the golden rays almost making her long blonde hair seem to glow, her sunstone necklace protecting her the way my ring protected me. Pita’s supernatural sunscreen was a pair of earrings.

  “Going to be a busy day today,” Paige said. “You going into town to do the shopping?”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “Don’t forget the coffee.”

  I chuckled, as if there was a chance of that happening.

  Shopping and running assorted errands were usually handled by me because Paige wasn’t a people person and Pita was too much of a people person, having no problem with striking up a conversation with anyone she encountered, and sharing things that didn’t need to be shared with strangers. Like the fact that we were vampires.

  “With the rooms that are already reserved, we’ll be booked solid tomorrow if everyone shows up," Paige said.

  I glanced at her. “That’s a good thing. Why do you sound worried?”

  She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, her pale blue eyes filled with a mixture of terror and humor. “Because a certain someone has been on the warpath lately.”

  The words had barely left her mouth when a tiny blob of black fur zoomed over my shoulder.

  "Heads up," a tiny voice squeaked. "She's coming."

  I looked over my shoulder in time to see Peter Vincent, my pet fruit bat, zip through the door that led to the kitchen, the one place she rarely ventured out of fear of being put to work.

  Yes, I can understand what my bat says. I'll get back to that in a little bit.

  “Why didn’t someone wake me?” a voice yelled from the top of the stairs. “I know it’s a busy day today. Lots of people coming. It’s time to unleash the hounds.”

  Paige grinned.

  "Why are you grinning," I asked.

  "Because it's your turn."

  I groaned. “Seriously?”

  Paige nodded.

  Eight months ago, when we first moved here, Granny Mags wasted no time in telling us how much she hated the place. Six months ago, when the Dreadful Inn opened, she didn’t hesitate to remind us that she hated the place, adding in that vampires opening a bed and breakfast was a stupid idea.

  It only went downhill from there.

  Granted, living in a place called Transylvaniatown did take a little getting used to, but it was possible to get used to it. And you had to admire the people.

  Once upon a time ago, it was just an ordinary town like any other, but then the area fell on hard times. In order to survive, the townspeople decided to transform the town into a tourist attraction with a supernatural theme, hoping to make use of the fact that they had the oldest cemetery in the Unites States.

  It was a gamble that paid off, with Transylvaniatown now being a top tourist destination for anyone who enjoyed the creepy and the macabre. Granny should’ve felt right at home, and sometimes I suspected that she only hated it because coming here wasn’t her idea.

  Bracing myself for whatever Granny might have planned, I sat my coffee cup on the window ledge, ignoring Paige’s shocked gasp. She was frantically reaching for a coaster as I turned towards the stairs, looking up to see Granny Mags carefully making her way down, her wooden cane clutched in one gnarled hand, her clear blue eyes shining out from behind wire-rimmed glasses. As usual, her white hair was up in a tight bun and her weathered face wore its perpetual scowl. I had once told her she should try to smile more often. She tried it and I quickly told her to stop. A smile on Granny Mags’ face looked creepy.

  When her feet finally reached the ground floor, Granny nodded to herself, a look of smug satisfaction on her face, pleased with herself for a job well done. When we first moved here, we had mentioned letting her have the first-floor bedroom so she wouldn’t have to worry about the stairs, but she had shot that idea down real quick.

  “I’m not even nine-hundred years old yet,” she had yelled, waving her cane about as if she were about to hit someone with it, which she wasn’t beyond doing. “The day I need to be coddled by fang-babies like you is the day I need to meet the sun.” There was no more talk about putting her on the first floor after that. She did, however, agree to a bedroom on the second floor while the rest of us had rooms on the third level.

  Granny Mags. How best to describe her? Mr. Stoker wanted to include her in his book but Granny told him that if she appeared in his ‘little story’ as she called it, she would… well, let’s just say there’s a very good reason why you didn’t read anything about Dracula’s mother.

  In a nutshell, Granny was evil. There was just no way to sugarcoat it. She was also the price of freedom. Daddy Drac was worried about his little girls venturing out into the big bad world so Granny Mags was given the job of chaperone, and nobody did it better. Granny could kill fun without even trying.

  It didn’t occur to me until much later but shackling us with a chaperone released Daddy from those same shackles. Maybe Mr. Stoker was onto something after all when he painted Dracula as a monster.

  Granny glared up at me, making her four-foot stature seem much more intimidating than it should’ve been. “You let me sleep late on purpose.”

  “No, Granny, I’d never –”

  “Shush,” Granny yelled as if she were still on the second floor. She swept her cane through the air in a wide arc, forcing me to jump back out of the way, and then headed towards the back door in the kitchen. “No time for your excuses. I have to unleash the hounds.”

  I glared at Paige as she fought to keep from laughing out loud and then ran after Granny.

  The door banged open as Granny entered the kitchen like a tornado determined to destroy everything in its path. Peter Vincent made a frightened squeak and shot through the open door before he could get trapped in the kitchen with her.

  “There’s no need to unleash the… hounds, Granny. The side door to the garage is left open and they come and go as they please… and you know the guests love them.”

  The ‘hounds’ Granny referred to were actually three wolves she had custom-ordered from Transylvania a few weeks ago. They looked fierce but were actually the biggest bunch of fur-babies you could imagine. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that they w
ere harmless. Someone was going to get the best Father’s Day card ever.

  Granny stopped at the back door and frowned, which was impressive since she had already been frowning to begin with. I had learned early on that she had multiple levels of frowning. She was also a pro when it came to glaring.

  “I just don’t know what’s wrong,” she said, exasperated. “I thought maybe they needed time to adjust to the new climate but it’s been two weeks and they still act… lovable.” It looked like that last word hurt.

  For a second, I forgot myself – it must’ve been the sad tone in her voice – and reached to hug her. She jerked back as if I were attacking with a wooden stake. “What are you doing?”

  “I was…” I ran my fingers through my hair, suddenly nervous. “I was going to hug you.”

  Granny made a face like she had bitten into a bitter lemon. “What’s gotten into you, girl?” She made a shooing motion. “Go away. You’re being weird.”

  “Fine,” I said, heading for the kitchen door, “But remember this is a bed and breakfast. We actually want people to come here.”

  Granny sniffed arrogantly. “You want people to come here. I’m an old woman and just want to be left alone so I can enjoy my golden years in peace.”

  I rolled my eyes. Thanks to Mr. Stoker and Hollywood, everyone was under the impression that vampires were immortal. We’re not. We just live a really, really long time. And Granny would probably outlive us all. She’d probably still be kicking when the sun burned itself out, flipping the bird as the great star fizzled into nothingness.

  As the kitchen door swung shut, I heard her muttering something about a few bodies in a tree doing the trick. I shook my head, refusing to take the bait. I knew she was joking.

  I hoped she was joking.

  Chapter 2

  Thirty minutes later, I was walking down the main street of my little town, enjoying the sights of my home away from home.