Mercy's Danger: Montgomery's Vampires Trilogy (Book #2) (Montgomery's Vampires Series) by Sloan Archer Page B

like he’d just sucked on a lemon. “I don’t know what she was thinking when she designed it. It nearly ended her career!”
    The Smokescreen debacle Leopold was referring to was rather hideous. No, ridiculous—hideous and ridiculous. I was only trying to be polite by showing my devotion to Seraphim’s designs. I was no fair weather fashionista!
    Still . . . The collection was bizarre: mesh face coverings and tight wool fuchsia pantsuits reminiscent of body condoms with sleeves, like the mutant offspring of a fencing uniform and wetsuit. It was the epitome of high fashion gone horribly, horribly wrong. Not surprisingly, the trend never caught on. Not a single knockoff was fashioned (and you know a trend must be bad if mass retailers don’t deem it worthy of producing knockoffs). Not only was Smokescreen uncomfortable, but it was also expensive. Most of the pieces were crafted by hand—like the abominable Plexiglas headpieces—which had been reflected in the collection’s price . No offence to Seraphim, but I didn’t need to spend five grand to look like a crazy person when, for a few bucks, I could as easily wear my pajama bottoms and slippers to the grocery store and send out the same message.
    I said to Leopold, “I still can’t believe you know her.”
    “Yes, Phimie and I go way back.”
    Robert snorted. “I bet.”
    Ignoring Robert, Leopold commented, “Your timing is rather fortunate, Mercy.”
    “Oh?”
    “Our dear Seraphim is going to suffer an unfortunate accident next month.”
    “No!” I squawked. “So soon?”
    “You told her?” Leopold accused Robert.
    “Your secret is safe with me. As long as Seraphim hands over the clothes.” I smiled wickedly and then winked to show that I was joking.
    “Did she decide to go with the paparazzi death?” Robert asked with hope.
    “No,” Leopold said. “Fire.”
    “Fire? That’s a new one,” Robert commented. “Her home?”
    “Her design studio in Chelsea. She’s going to stage it to look like arson to make the whole murder angle fit.”
    “With all her clothes in it?” I clucked. “No!”
    “This is where your fortunate timing comes in. Seraphim needs to liquidate her supply to prepare for the fire. She happened to contact me a few weeks ago—I hadn’t talked to her in months prior to that—so you’re in luck, Mercy.”
    “That is good timing,” I agreed.
    “I got lucky, too. I was looking to staff a new butler, and here came along Seraphim with Edgar’s information. She’s the one who recommended him.” Leopold was thoughtful for a moment. “Sometimes the universe provides, doesn’t it?”
    “When did you get so Zen?” Robert teased. “Next you’re going to try to align our chakras.”
    “And it’s no trouble than Seraphim’s, uh, fitting me with clothes?” I asked. I wasn’t exactly sure how I should phrase the question since I wasn’t clear if the clothes would be given to me or if they were just on loan during my stay in London. How mortifying would it be if I assumed the frocks were mine only to have them repossessed? That would be a great way to repay Leopold’s hospitality, wouldn’t it, shoplifting his friend’s couture?
    And what was it with vampires and designer fashion? They loved it—Marlena and her closet full of gowns worth more than the average suburban house, and Michael giving me a bunch of outfits on my last day at Dignitary. He did try to murder me in the car on the way home, but still. And now Leopold was arranging this meeting with Seraphim—not that I was complaining.
    “Of course the clothes are yours to keep, Mercy! What did you think, Seraphim was going to let you borrow them and then come strip them off your back?”
    “I never . . . How did you know that’s what . . .” I sputtered.
    Robert tapped his forehead.
    “That’s right!” I exclaimed. “Robert mentioned that you could read minds. I can’t believe I forgot!” I’d been around vampires so often that sometimes their