Fangs and Fennel (The Venom Trilogy #2)(11)

“Have a good Monday, Roger!” I wiggled my fingers at him. “Maybe you should have your will updated?”

I actually watched the color drain from his face. He swayed on his feet, his eyes rolled back until the whites showed, and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud. No one even tried to catch him.

I shrugged, fought the immediate feeling that I was going to hell for lying (damn my Firstamentalist upbringing), and started forward again, focusing on each step in front of me rather than what I was leaving behind. Problem was, it was a Monday. And it looked like it was out to make sure I knew it was an epic Monday.

One step out of the courthouse and I saw her. What was she doing here? I couldn’t believe it was mere coincidence; even I wasn’t that trusting. More likely it had something to do with Roger.

Fat-nosed Colleen Vanderhoven, the woman who’d been my biggest competitor, she’d even set up her own bakery two streets over from Vanilla and Honey six months after my opening.

Worse than that, she told people my food and goods were contaminated with salmonella, that I stole her recipes, that I’d taken several of her employees from under her, and that I’d even stolen her branding when it had been the other way around. None of it was true, of course, but rumors were a terrible thing to disprove. I’d had to do free taste tests, had the health inspector in weekly checking things, and had to pay my employees more to keep them from running to her with my recipes. All of which had taken its toll and had amounted to even more time spent at the bakery than was truly needed.

She’d offered to buy me out at least once a month since I’d opened. She wanted what I had: a stellar location, a solid customer base, and well-trained employees. I always turned her down, but the last few times she’d gotten aggressive and told me she’d take me to court for slander.

Which was rather rich coming from her.

“Colleen.” I snapped her name, whatever upset over the loss of my case against Roger gone in the sheer volume of anger I held when it came to the woman in front of me. “What are you doing here?”

She blinked up at me, her mouth opening. “I have a business meeting here. I’m buying a business. The seller is eager to sell, said he didn’t want to wait one second more than he had to.” Her way of speaking, duplicating what she was saying over and over, grated on me as much as the thought of her buying Vanilla and Honey.

I knew it. Damn Roger and his greed. No doubt he’d met with her within hours of me first contracting the Aegrus virus weeks before.

“Don’t you think for one second you’re going to get my bakery. Do you understand me? Not for one honey-puffed sssecond,” I snapped, struggling over the last s.

She blinked washed-out blue eyes up at me that were so sunk into her face, she reminded me of a pig more than anything. She scrunched up her narrow lips, only adding to the image. The fact she’d recently dyed her hair bright pink to match her shop’s colors did not help her out.

“Who are you exactly, and why would I want your bakery?”

Of course . . . she wouldn’t recognize me. Only those who’d loved me before my change would recognize me through the new look.

“Alena Budrene. And you are negotiating with Dingle Nuts Roger for my bakery, aren’t you?” I put a finger against her chest and reminded myself to go easy. I didn’t want to kill her.

Well, maybe I did a little bit.

Her eyes lit up. “I heard you got turned into a supernatural. Impressive. Certainly better looking now, though I suppose that won’t help you, will it?” She gave me a smug smile. “Since we all know you can own nothing on this side of the Wall. Nothing at all. I look forward to negotiations with Dingle Nuts. His stupidity works in my favor.” She laughed in my face.

I closed the distance between us until we were nose to nose. I had to give her credit; she didn’t back down, though a bead of sweat started at her hairline and slid down her face.

“That is my bakery, and I am not giving it up.” The words came out hard and clipped, nothing like my normal sultry tones.

She held up an envelope and pulled out a piece of paper I knew all too well. The deed to my bakery, lease agreement and all. At the bottom I could see my signature, and she flapped a note attached to it. “You’re right, he is a dingle nuts. He sent this to me in good faith, asking me to meet him here for finalization of the deal. And we both know that whoever holds this holds—”

I snatched it from her and stepped back before she could even register that I’d moved. Thank God for the reflexes of a snake. I cringed. Strike that, I doubted God wanted anything to do with me now that I was a heathen Super Duper.

“And what are you going to do now? You don’t have keys.” She dangled the keys in front of me, and I took another step back. I wasn’t going to take them; no doubt she had spares.

“Ever hear of a locksmith? They can do marvelous things, like changing locks, you pink-haired, fat-nosed amateur wannabe baker.”

She gasped. I knew that last was a low blow, but I was ready to fight dirty. She clenched her fist over the keys.

And took a swing at me.

A sudden thought hit me before she did. I didn’t exist, not to the human world, so did that mean I couldn’t be charged if I hurt her?

The thought was there and gone in a flash, plenty of time for me to consider how I was going to react with my reflexes. I grabbed her fist and clenched down hard on her curled fingers, hard enough her bones ground under my grasp.