Blood Stain: Book Three of the Blood Type Series (complete)

A Test

Smoothing out non-existent wrinkles from the cranberry colored linen tablecloth, she took a step back, observing her work with an overly critical eye. "You know these parties are a big deal, Blake. The pillars of the community will be here."

She readjusted the silver stag statuette posed regally in the center of the table, turning it a fraction of an inch so that it caught the light just so on its brilliant metallic antlers, and then arranged a garland of greenery around its hooves, as though it could have been taking a leisurely stroll through a winter forest.

"Put this over there, will you?" I took the tray of assorted gourmet candies and petit fours from her, holding my breath against their nauseatingly sweet odor.

"Nothing you ever do is less than perfect, Mom."

She gave me a look.

"What?" I said. "I'm serious."

"Well, thank you for noticing," she said, sparing me only half her attention as she fit a pair of unlit tapers in the glazed Christmas tree candle holders.

"How many people are you expecting anyway?"

My mother hosted these events as a means of hobnobbing with the town's most influential, thereby scoring new clients and expanding her network in the process. I didn't know whether to pity her unrelenting drive or admire her business sense.

"A hundred, give or take," she said with a deep sigh of exhaustion. "They'll come and go as they please so we won't have all of them here at once, thank goodness. Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy are the guests of honor."

I balked, my hand stilling on the sprig of mistletoe that had yet to find a home. "Since when do you have guests of honor at your parties?" I was aware the entire Abernathy family was planning to attend this evening, but being the center of the festivities was taking things a little too far, in my opinion.

"They know people," my mother replied. "And when you work on commission . . ." She shrugged her shoulders unapologetically. "Besides, they're our friends. I thought it would be a nice gesture."

"Since when are they our friends?" I said. "The last time they were here for dinner, you told me Mr. Abernathy gives you the heebie-jeebies."

"I don't believe I have ever uttered the word heebie-jeebies in my life."

"You know what I mean."

Except for Thomas, the Abernathys most definitely were not our friends. If my mother knew of Conrad Abernathy's true intentions—what he had already put in motion—she would be appalled. Or dead.

"Is John coming tonight?" my mother asked, interrupting my morbid thoughts.

I glanced at her sharply, recognizing that disapproving tone of voice. "Yes," I said, slowly drawing out the word. "Is that a problem?"

"Well . . ."

"I thought you liked John?"

"I love John," she said, only too quickly. "I think he's fantastic." She went about with her fussing, not meeting my eyes as she repositioned this and rearranged that. "Only, don't you think his being here will make things awkward?"

I followed her around the room. "Why would it be awkward?"

"I was just thinking about, you know, Zach. . ." she said, her words trailing off. I knew what she was getting at. As much as she liked John, she couldn't forget about my ex-boyfriend.

"Don't worry about Zach," I said, fixing a drooping strand of lights on the Christmas tree. "He understands we're just friends. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's moved on."