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“I need to go,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that sounds worried.

She sets Duchess down gently, crouching to give her one more scratch. “You be good for Bizzy, okay?”

She’s scared of something. Or someone, Duchess says as she shudders.

Vampyra straightens and looks at me. “Like I said, if you really want to know what was going on with Clawdia I’d talk to Miss Kitty. She knows more than I do.”

“About what?” I try again to garner something specific out of her.

“About what Clawdia was really doing. And be careful, Bizzy.” She starts walking toward the festival grounds again. “I have a feeling whoever did this isn’t done.”

I watch her disappear into the darkness, and I’m left standing there with three pets and about fifty new questions.

Why do I get the feeling that woman is running from something? Fish mewls.

I wish she was running right back this way, Duchess gives a sharp meow. That woman knows her way around a fur coat. I do miss my daily massages from Clawdia. Bizzy, do try to keep up.

“I’ll do my best,” I say.

Fish swishes her tail. We all know Ella outranks you in that department, Bizzy. Don’t worry, Duchess, we’ll hop in her crib later. The tiny hooman’s hands are small, but her pat-down is the best in town. I’ve fallen asleep mid-inspection on more than one occasion.

Can we go back to the food now? Sherlock asks with a quick bark.

I scoop up Duchess and start heading back toward the festival.

Vampyra had a motive. She admitted losing a major deal because of Clawdia. But she also pointed me straight toward Miss Kitty, which either means she’s innocent and trying to help, or she’s setting up her next scapegoat.

I’m almost back to the panel area when I hear the commotion.

Lots of loud voices, even more laughter, and the distinct sound of someone shouting.

I round the corner near the refreshment table and stop cold.

Georgie is standing on top of a hay bale with her corset askew, her wig listing dangerously to one side, and her rubber snake held high above her head like she just won a wrestling championship.

There’s a crowd gathered around her. Half of them are laughing, half of them look scandalized, and Mom is trying desperately to pull her down while a woman in the front row is shouting something about keeping her paws off her husband.

“It was for educational purposes!” Georgie bellows, waving the snake like a weapon.

“He did not volunteer!” the woman shrieks back. “And you keep your fangs to yourself, you batty hussy!”

The word batty could be literal or it could be figurative at this point. Georgie does have an unfair number of bats dangling from her wig. And she is, well, a little batty on occasion. Okay, fine. On all occasions.

Morticia is standing nearby with her clipboard, looking as if she’s aged ten years in the last five minutes. And somehow, I believe this to be true. In fact, I have a feeling I’m about to age rapidly myself.

I’m about to intercede when I spot the man in question. He’s middle-aged, red-faced, and looking deeply embarrassed. I piece together what must have happened pretty quickly. Georgie tried to demonstrate how to seduce a vampire using a random man from the audience, and it got physical. Not inappropriately, just enthusiastically enough that his wife is now threatening to call security—and perhaps a lawsuit.

“Georgie,” Mom hisses, yanking on her arm. “Get down.”

“Red, I’m making a point!”

“You’re making a scene!”

My mouth opens, but before I can say something I spot an odd sight.

Macy’s candle booth is absolutely mobbed.

There’s a line at least twenty women deep, all of them clutching cash and credit cards, and Macy is behind the table grinning her face off. Jordy is next to her, working away, and according to the signage I can see that the Sexy Vampire and Supernatural Threesome candles are flying off the table.