Sex and the Single Vampire (2 page)

“Allegra,” he said, his eyes dark with torment. “Help me. You are my only hope.”

I reached out to touch him, to push a lock of his hair off his forehead, to reassure him that whatever it was he needed, I would do, that I wouldn’t let him suffer any longer. I would send him on to eternal rest. As my fingers touched his heated skin, I woke up, gasping for air, sitting bolt upright in the bed in my hotel room, shivering despite the fact that I had cranked up the heat just before I settled down for my nap.

“What the … Oh, no, now I’m dreaming in the daytime?” I reached for the carafe of water that I keep at my bedside. I’ve found that while water can’t wash away the foul taste night terrors invariably leave in my mouth, keeping hydrated is an important part of limiting the length of my nightly trial.

Faint whispers of the dream stayed with me as I showered, brushed my teeth, and dressed in a pair of black wool pants and white silk blouse. I frowned at myself as I pinned my ordinary brown hair out of my eyes, and applied the minimal makeup needed to appear in public without frightening small children or the elderly. There were dark smudges under my eyes, making my skin look bruised.

“It’s going to get a lot worse if I start dreaming during
the day, too,” I told my reflection. The Allie in the mirror didn’t look any too happy at that thought. I knew how she felt—sleep was precious enough; if the only time I had to catch up on what I missed each night was taken from me, I’d be a walking zombie in just a couple of days.

I poked around the hotel room for a bit, tidying up my bag of tricks (the digital voice-activated recorder needed new batteries, a bottle of holy water had come loose from its cocoon of cotton and was banging up against the thermal-imaging video recorder, and the EMF (electromagnetic force) counter was almost out of its leather case, which would have scratched the front of the ion analyzer). I strapped the motion detectors down firmly, double-checked that the infrared nightscope was secure, and replaced the damaged ultrasonic emission detector with the updated version I’d bought that afternoon.

“Too bad none of this stuff seems to really work,” I told the bag sadly. It declined to answer me. I plopped down on the floor beside it, glancing at the clock. There was still an hour to go before I had to head out.

“No time like the present, I suppose,” I said as I plucked a thick piece of chalk from the bag. “It can’t hurt to give it another shot. What’s the sense in being put in a haunted hotel room if you don’t get to see the ghost?”

Clearing my mind of everything but the vision of an open door, I traced a circle before me using the chalk. The circle would hold the ghost after I Summoned it, until I either Released it to its next existence, or grounded it into the here and now.

That was the theory, anyhow. I hadn’t actually ever successfully Summoned a real ghost, although I did have a nasty run-in with a chill wind in a mansion on the Oregon coast that was supposed to be haunted by a timber baron. Still, as Anton was the first to tell me, a draft does
not a ghost make, which left me more than a little desperate. My job with UPRA was at stake, and although I knew England was just teeming with spiritual activity, thus far the ghosties had chosen to stay away from me.

A bit jadedly I intoned the words traditionally used to Summon ghosts.

“It’s not going to work,” I told my toes as I finished the invocation. “It never works. I’m going to have to go home without one single successful Summoning under my belt, and that’ll be the end of my short and less than brilliant career as a regional Summoner. Stupid English ghosts. You’d think the least they could do is to show up for an out-of-town visitor!”

I fingered the vial of dead man’s ash that I brought with me just in case. Dead man’s ash, for those of you who don’t dabble in Summoning, is created by burning tree limbs that have fallen over a grave—there’s no actual dead man in it, although I like the colorful name. A witch once told me she’d had great luck using dead man’s ash, so I opened the bottle and sprinkled a little of the gray ash out onto my palm, repeated the words of the Summoning as I held it over the circle, then released it with the mental image of a door slowly opening to allow all of the possibilities.

The air within the circle shimmered a little. I squinted at it, waving away bits of ash that were wafting out of the circle and straight toward my nose. Was it just the ash, or was there something forming in the circle?

The air was definitely shimmering, although ever so faintly. I batted at a few more bits of ash that were drifting toward my face and wondered if I should sprinkle more dead man’s ash. The air within the circle pearlized, gathering itself as if it wanted to form into something, but couldn’t make up its mind just what that was.

I took in a deep breath preparatory to repeating the
words of the Summoning, and ended up sneezing out a bit of ash that had made its way into my sensitive nose.

A small, disgruntled-looking three-legged gray-and-white cat stood in the circle, glaring at me with yellow eyes. My jaw hit the floor as I realized I could see right through the cat’s hazy body to the bed behind it.

The skin along my arms and back tightened, the hair on my neck standing on end as I realized what I was looking at—a ghost! “I did it! I’ve Summoned a ghost! Oh, my God, I can’t wait to tell them back at the office. You, little kitty, have just saved my job!”

I bounced up and down as I beamed at the cat. “My first ghost, my first real live ghost.”

The cat twitched an ear at my voice, and sat down to lick its hindquarters.

“Well, okay, you’re not alive, but you’re a ghost! A ghost cat! Who’d have thought this room was haunted by a cat? This is
so cool!”

I reached into the circle to see if I could feel any sensation around the cat, but it wavered and broke up like a bad TV picture.

“Oh, right, I can’t break the circle unless I ground you first.” I crawled over to my bag, rooting around in it until I found my notebook. “This is just so amazing! I can’t believe I did it! A ghost! Anton is going to be pea green with jealousy. Okay, pussycat, just sit tight there and I’ll ground you so you can leave the circle. Let’s see … um … grounding, grounding … ah. Here we go.”

The procedure to ground a Summoned spirit was pretty straightforward: Summoned beings were, by the very nature of Summoning, bound to the person who called them. Grounding them simply meant that they could not slip off to any other plane of existence without the Summoner first Releasing them.

“The forces of life shine strong within me,” I told the
cat. It looked unimpressed at my prose and continued to lick its rear end. “The power of death binds you to me. Until death overtakes life, you will heed my command. By my words, you are thus bound.”

It was short and simple, not much to it at all, but as I spoke the words and traced protective symbols on my left hand and over my right eye, the figure of the cat slowly solidified until it looked like a translucent gray-scale picture of a cat licking its butt. I reached my hand into the circle, and was delighted to note that the cat’s image didn’t shimmer in the least. “At least I know the grounding works,” I told it as my hand scooped through the cat’s middle. Other than a slight tingling of my fingertips, the ghost cat felt like … well, air. Slightly tingly air.

“Pictures!” I shouted, scrabbling in the bag. I pulled out my digital camera and snapped my fingers a few times until the cat looked at me. Its ears flattened back at the flash, but I got a few shots before it stood up and hobbled off to investigate my shoes. “They are just
not
going to believe this back home,” I mumbled as I looked at the back of the camera at the images I’d just taken. The cat was faint and a bit fuzzy, but clearly visible. I could have hugged it, I was so happy.

I was busy with the ion analyzer when the alarm on the clock went off. “Drat it all! Carlos will be waiting for me.” I chewed my lip and looked back at the cat. It had limped over to a chair and curled up on a pillow, turning its back to me as I used every machine I had to record its presence. I wanted to stay and continue recording it, but it had taken me three months’ worth of begging and pleading e-mails to arrange for a local representative of the Society for the Investigation of the Paranormal to show me one of the most haunted spots in London. I couldn’t cancel.

I got to my feet and collected the lighter version of the dark glasses I wear during the day. A quick look in the
mirror confirmed what I had known—my eyes hadn’t changed during the miracle of the Summoning. I glanced one more time at the cat, but it was apparently sleeping. According to the rules of Summoning, it shouldn’t be able to leave without my Releasing it, but maybe there was an expiration date or something that meant I had only a little time with it.

“Just stay put, kitty, and I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can,” I told it as I shoved my glasses on and grabbed my purse. The Do Not Disturb sign swung from the door handle as I closed the door and headed downstairs.

The guy slouched over a magazine at the reception desk was the evening clerk; I recognized him from the last couple of nights when I had slunk out of the hotel on my ghost-hunting missions.

“Hi. I’m in room one-fourteen. I’m going out for a bit; will you take any messages for me? Oh, and I left some equipment out, very fragile and expensive equipment, so I don’t want anyone going into my room.”

“Not a problem,” the clerk said without even lifting his eyes from his magazine.

I hesitated a moment, then decided to throw caution to the wind. “Um … I’ve heard that the room I’m in is supposed to be haunted.”

He looked up at that, frowning at my dark glasses.

“Eye condition,” I told him with a wave at my face. “My eyes are … uh … sensitive.”

“Oh.”

“Do you happen to know anything about room one-fourteen? Who it’s supposed to be haunted by, that is?”

His frown deepened. “If you’d like another room—”

“No, no, it’s not that; the room is fine. I was just curious about the ghost that’s supposed to haunt the room. I love history, you see, and thought there might be an interesting story connected to the room.”

“Oh,” he said again, his gaze slipping down to his magazine. “Supposed to be an old lady and her cat. Died in the room in a fire.”

“The old lady or the cat?”

He shrugged and moistened a pudgy finger to turn the magazine page. “Both.”

“Ah. When was that, do you know?”

He shot me an annoyed look. “What’s it to you, then?”

It was my turn to shrug. “Just casual interest.”

He eyed me suspiciously for a moment, then returned to the magazine. “I heard the old lady died sometime during World War Two. This hotel was blitzed. Everyone made it out but her and the cat.”

Interesting. I wonder why my Summons drew only the cat and not the human ghost? Maybe I didn’t use enough dead man’s ash. Or perhaps I just didn’t have enough strength to Summon a more complex spirit as a human. Former human.

I nodded my thanks to the desk clerk and limped off to find a cab. When you have one leg shorter than the other, riddled with scar tissue that has defied even the most dedicated of orthopedic surgeons, you hesitate to spend long hours on your feet, let alone walking anywhere that can easily be reached by a comfy cab. I used the short cab ride out to the building located near the Southwark Bridge to muse over whether or not the successful Summoning of a ghostly cat meant I’d have luck at the haunted inn.

“Maybe just a smidge more dead man’s ash,” I mused aloud before realizing the cabdriver was giving me a worried look in the mirror. I smiled in what I hoped was a suitably reassuring manner and kept the rest of my musings to myself.

Ten minutes later I limped around to the back of a tiny old building dwarfed by a nearby sports complex. About three hundred years ago the small building had been an
inn, but had most recently been used as headquarters for a trendy decorating shop. Now it was empty, reportedly due to the unusual and unexplained “phenomena” that was connected with the inn’s distant past. A thin man of medium height stood shivering by the door, waving his flashlight at me as I hobbled up.

“There you are, thought you’d never come. I’m freezin’ my arse off here!”

“Sorry. I take it you’re Carlos?”

The man stomped his feet, nodding as he pulled out a key and unlocked the door. “I can only give you twenty minutes. There’s a show everyone from SIP is going to, and it starts at ten.”

“A show?” I asked as I followed him into the building, pulling the ultrasonic emission detector from my bag and flipping it on. “What sort of a show?”

Our footsteps echoed eerily as we walked down a corridor paved with broken flagstones, our breath little white clouds of air that puffed before us. I sniffed, then blew out a disgusted breath. The air was thick with stink from the nearby Thames—the whole building clearly suffered from damp, long fingers of mildew creeping up the wallpapered walls. In addition to the smell of a musty, closed-up building, the sharply acidic note of rodent droppings made it clear that although humans might shun it, four-legged residents found it an entirely suitable abode.

“It’s not really a show, per se, more of a test for psychics. It’s sponsored by a very powerful medium, Guarda White. She’s holding nightly Summonings for a week, trying to assemble a group of proven psychics. Everyone in SIP is mad to try out for a spot on her team.”

It sounded like a bunch of hooey to me. Dedicated Summoners did not perform in theaters for the amusement of the masses. Still, Carlos was my host. It probably was best I not ridicule his excitement.

“Why is she assembling a team of psychics?” I asked as we climbed a dark staircase. I had my own flashlight out now, my sunglasses pushed up as I alternated between scanning the ground in front of me for debris and checking the walls of the common room that stretched before us. The ultrasonic detector was quiet. I paused long enough to pop it back into the bag and pull out the ion detector before hurrying to catch up with Carlos.

“… creating the greatest team of paranormal investigators that Britain has ever seen. It’s all pure research, of course, the team being sent out to hot spots to locate and verify entities and disturbances. The team will be paid from a private fund set up by Mrs. White.”