Blood in Her Veins (Nineteen Stories From the World of Jane Yellowrock) by Faith Hunter Page A

longer until I earned enough to buy the Harley I lusted after.
    I tucked my money into the inside pocket of my jeans beside the red lipstick I favored. I French-braided my hip-length hair into a careless plait and tucked it into my leather jacket where it wouldn’t be in the way or get windblown too badly. The jacket was used, purchased at a consignment store, and it still reeked of the last owner, at least to my sensitive nose. I’d tried spraying it with deodorizers, but nothing worked. If I took down the vamp I was gunning for and earned the bounty, I had promised myself a brand-new leather riding jacket. That and two real vamp-killers to replace the less than perfectly balanced main-gauche a local smith had modified with silver. Last, I adjusted my gold nugget on its double chain for riding. The necklace was my only jewelry.
    I looked over the small efficiency apartment I had rented, making sure I was leaving nothing important behind, and locked the door after me. I helmeted up, keyed on the Yamaha, and headed out of town. I had a gig hunting down a suspected young rogue vamp that was terrorizing the inhabitants outside of Day Book, North Carolina. But first I was stopping off at a local restaurant to pick up a small tracking charm that would let me follow the whacked-out vamp through rough country, and to pay the balance of the cost to the earth witch who’d made it.
    I parked the Yamaha in front of the herb shop and eatery, and entered. Seven Sassy Sisters’ Herb Shop and Café, owned and run by the Everhartsisters, had a booming business, both locally and on the Internet, selling herbal mixtures and teas in bulk and by the ounce. The shop itself served high-quality brewed teas, specialty coffees, daily brunch and lunch, and dinner on weekends. It was mostly vegetarian fare, whipped up by the eldest sister, water witch, professor, and three-star chef, Evangelina Everhart. Carmen Miranda Everhart Newton, an air witch, newly married and pregnant, ran the register and took care of ordering supplies. Witch twins Boadacia and Elizabeth and two wholly human sisters, Regan and Amelia, ran the herb store and were waitstaff. I was looking for Molly Meagan Everhart Trueblood. Names with moxie seemed to run in the family.
    I took a booth at the big window overlooking the city and ordered my usual. I had just discovered eggs Benedict, and a double order would just about keep up with my caloric requirements until lunch. Regan tilted her red head and said, “Honey, if I ate like you, I’d be bigger than a house. Hey, we got us a new Himalayan oolong. It’s a semifermented Nepal tea; Evangelina says it combines the characteristics of a high-grown Darjeeling and a soulful oolong.” She rolled her eyes and tapped her order pad with her pencil. “But you know Evangelina. She can wax poetic about tea better than most anybody.”
    I didn’t really know Evangelina; the eldest witch sister wasn’t exactly a warm and cuddly kinda gal, and since I lack a lot in the way of social skills, we hadn’t hit it off. Though Evangelina hadn’t yet come right out and said so, I could tell she had strong reservations about the friendship developing between Molly and motorcycle-mama me. I had stepped in between Mol and a group of ticked-off witch haters at the Ingles grocery store and we had become casual friends—a little closer than acquaintances, but not bosom buddies. Well, not yet. Maybe someday. I could hope. I liked Molly.
    I ate the delectable eggs Benedict and drank the totally fabulous tea, sipping my third cup with my eyes closed so I could enjoy all the delicate flavors—the flowery, fruity aroma; the clean, smooth taste on my tongue. I wasn’t a rich woman, but the quality of the tea was well worth the price, at four bucks per half an ounce of dry leaves. My appreciation of the tea went a long way to endearing me to Evangelina, who was watching me through the diner-style