Free Dead If I Do by Tate Hallaway Page A

that,” I muttered. I knew he didn’t. Previously, he had a tendency to break into my apartment on a regular basis. “Please come in, Daniel Parrish,” I said. “But only tonight.”
    He snorted, “A caveat, I see.”
    “Like any of it matters,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “You don’t really need an invite. Do you?”
    Parrish gave me an I’ll-never-tell-you smile. Cradling his hand, he stepped in the door. He looked around the room slowly, no doubt taking in the multitude of books and expensive furniture. “Well,” he sniffed, plopping himself down on the suede sofa. “Isn’t this cozy?”
    Yeah, he was jealous. He might have the accent, but Parrish was never aristocracy. In life, he had been a carriage robber, a highwayman. I could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes as his gaze calculated the value of each object in the room. The books must have baffled him. I’m not sure Parrish had ever learned to read beyond a sixth grade level, if that. Barney, who had always been fond of Parrish, came out from wherever she’d been hiding and plopped herself down in his lap. He reached down with his uninjured hand to pet her. She purred loudly.
    Benjamin rustled the curtains. He might have decided to let Parrish stay, but apparently he wanted me to know that if Barney liked Parrish, he most certainly did not. I shook my head at the absurdity of the ghost ’s rivalry with my cat. “Let me see your hand,” I said to Parrish.
    Parrish offered me his hand. The skin of his fingers and palms had puffed up and seemed weepy and wet. His hand was an angry red mess. “I’m afraid to touch it,” I said.
    The door opened. Cold air rushed in, and I looked up to see Sebastian frowning at the tableau of me kneeling before Parrish. I stood up quickly, despite how guilty it made me look. Before Sebastian could even open his mouth, I said, “I can explain.”
    Sebastian’s eyes strayed to the shards of broken vase on the rug, and his frown deepened. His jaw flexed, but he turned to hang up his coat. “Okay,” he said.
    “Teréza was here,” I said. Touching my cheek where Teréza’s fingernails had scratched, I continued quickly. “She attacked me and burned Parrish with her magic.”
    “It’s true,” Parrish said, standing up. “I’d come to congratulate you both on your upcoming nuptials.”
    “I’ll bet you had,” Sebastian’s voice was tight with anger.
    Parrish ignored his tone. Though he closed it, Sebastian stood at the door with snow melting on his boots. I hadn ’t moved either. I held the gauze and tape outstretched in my hands as if to say, “Here’s proof my intentions were innocent.” Parrish was the only one of us who managed to look the least bit comfortable. Though he cradled his injured hand close to his chest, the other stroked Barney. She stood on the arm of the couch and bumped her cheek against his knuckles, undaunted after having been dumped off his lap when he’d stood up suddenly.
    “The zompire is quite the creation,” Parrish said. “Yours, I take it?”
    “The what?” Sebastian said, looking to me for explanation.
    I was about to answer, when Parrish said, “Zompire. Or do you prefer vambie?” A bit of an evil smile quirked at the edge of Parrish’s lips as he spoke. “I take it you had some trouble turning that one?”
    “It’s no joking matter,” Sebastian snapped.

    “No, I imagine not,” Parrish said. “An undead wife makes marriage a bit complicated, doesn’t it?”
    “That’s none of your business,” Sebastian said, taking a step forward. “And we were never married.”
    “Ah, so the child is a bastard,” Parrish said casually, as though he were remarking on the color of the curtains. Sebastian momentarily started, as though slapped, but then quickly regained his composure enough to offer a wry smile that implied he might be inclined to agree, but he wasn’t willing to give Parrish the point. “Keep my family out of this,” he said. “You’re