The Care and Feeding of Stray Vampires (12 page)

Sipping coffee, I went outside to retrieve my dented box and immediately started to sneeze violently. I groaned, wiping at my watering eyes.

Pine pollen.

I could stand the scents and sheddings of almost every flower out there. But every spring, when the pine pollen blew so thick it formed a sickly yellow film over every standing surface, I went running for the Benadryl. It was supposed to be particularly bad this year because of high winds. I was adding allergy meds to my mental shopping list when I turned back to the door and paused. Just outside my front-porch window, there were two shoe prints outlined in yellow dust. I turned to look at the window opposite the door, and there were two more prints under it.

Had Joe tried to peek in through the windows to see if we were home for the delivery? That wasn’t like him. He generally just tossed packages against our door and ran.

I shook off the sense of foreboding that rippled up my spine. I was being silly. I had my phone back; almost 75 percent of the things in my world were right again. Shaking my head, I plugged the new phone into my bedroom charger and dialed the activation code. It rang almost immediately, a dull, robotic buzzer noise, rather than my personal ringtone, “Flight of the Bumblebee.” I was going to have to reprogram it. Frowning,
I hit the call button. Before I could get the receiver to my ear, I heard, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”

“Gigi?” Before-school volleyball practices had created an obnoxiously alert early bird in my sister. How she was able to function, much less perform coordinated acts of athleticism, at this hour had always been a mystery to me.

“You were supposed to call me!” she cried. “Days ago! Your cell’s been useless. And every time I call the house, I get the machine. Are you OK? Did he hurt you? Did he bite you?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m sorry. My schedule has been so screwed up.”

“Not good enough. Remember that time in St. Louis you caught me sneaking back into the apartment after Shelley Pearson’s party and you yelled so loud that Mr. Baker came running over because he thought you were being murdered? It’s time for payback.”

“I’m sorry, Gigi.”

“Well, why don’t you address that to 123 Suck It Lane, in care of Mr. Shushy McShoveit,” she retorted.

“Remind me why I didn’t send you to boarding school. One of the scary ones with knee socks and hazing.”

“I worry about you, too, you know,” she grumbled. “It’s not a one-way street.”

“I know.”

“When can I come home? Sammi Jo’s mom is understanding, but she’s making comments about starting a tab for me. That can’t be a good sign.”

I mulled that over. If Gigi continued to stay with Sammi Jo’s family, people would start to talk. Besides that, if the Council members returned and found that Gigi had essentially moved out, Ophelia would know that something was wrong. Better that Gigi return home and continue her schedule as normal. Besides, it didn’t seem as if Cal was going to be a threat to her safety. He’d had plenty of time to attack and drain me, and so far, his advances were of a more “naked” nature. He seemed to view Gigi as some sort of annoying accessory.

“I think Thursday should be OK. How’s school? Did you get your AP history test back yet?”

She huffed. “Don’t think you’re going to act like everything’s all normal and use my AP history test—which I aced, by the way—to distract me from the wounded hunk of hotness you’re ‘nursing back to health.’ How’s it going? Are the howler monkeys howling? I could put off coming home for a day or so if you make it worth my while … say, two weeks without dishwasher duty?”

“Gigi.”

“Hey, I just want to make it clear. I’m happy for you and all, but I do not want to hear any UNFs coming from your room. I’m a young, impressionable girl.”

“UNFs?”

She snickered. “Yeah, universal noises of fu—”

“How do you even know words like that?” I yelped.

Gigi cackled like a madwoman on the other end of the line. “I know what your substitute curse words really mean. I know what you’re capable of.”

“In other words?”

“I learned it by watching you!” she cried, in a bad imitation of a drug-awareness campaign that was popular when I was a kid.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, smart aleck. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I hung up the phone, got dressed, and padded down the stairs. I was surprised to find Cal sitting at the breakfast bar, typing on his laptop. He had several notebooks and scraps of paper spread out in some order that I’m sure made sense to him.

His skin was pale but without the waxy pallor of the last two days. His eyes were bright and clear. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt extolling the virtues of the Who, which fit so well that it could be considered pectoral porn. He was sipping blood from a mug that Gigi had painted for me on Mother’s Day the previous year. It was covered in little bumblebees and said, “I Heart My Big Sister.”

I was getting used to having another adult in the house at an alarming rate. Even if I was technically taking care of him, it was sort of nice having Cal around. I felt like the burden of being the designated grown-up had been lifted from my shoulders a bit. I’d been on my own for so long, making all of the decisions. I liked the fact that if the water heater exploded or the zombie apocalypse started, I would have someone who would take my survival scenarios seriously.

And yes, I do realize that was a broad range of scenarios.

Cal glanced up but didn’t stop typing as he murmured, “Morning.”

“Morning. Going to bed?” I asked, feeling blindly for the coffee supplies.

“Just about,” he said, stretching his arms over his head.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as I heated a packet of Type A for him in the microwave.

“I thought we agreed that you won’t start every conversation like that.”

“I don’t know how else to start conversations with you. All other subjects lead to veiled insults and the threat of projectile vomiting.”

His lips twitched, and he set aside his laptop, giving me his full attention. “I am feeling much stronger, strong enough to continue my investigation. I’ve spent the last few hours going through your books, writing e-mails to contacts in the medical field, and inquiring about my symptoms and what botanical compounds could be responsible.”

“There are vampire doctors? Isn’t it sort of a moot point for you guys?”

He crossed the room and leaned against the kitchen counter while I assembled my morning cup of “liquid stupidity tolerance.” He said, “There are vampires who used to be doctors in their human days. Their input is very valuable.”

“That makes sense,” I said, glancing over his shoulder at the pictures stacked in front of him. A woman’s body flayed in horrific Technicolor glory, her face so mutilated she barely seemed human. I shrieked, stumbling back against the counter. Cal started, closing the file over the
bloody images, and turned to me. His hands gripped my arms, keeping me upright.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, willing unwelcome images to leave my brain. Cold, gray cement-block walls. Polished stainless-steel tables dully reflecting fluorescent lights. The sound of Gigi weeping softly outside the swinging hospital door. My mother’s dark hair glittering with broken glass. The morgue attendant had to cover her left side with a sheet. As the scent of bleach and disinfectant seeped into my lungs, I ended up on my hands and knees, retching over the wastebasket.

Standing on shaking legs, I reached into the junk drawer for a handful of M&M’s. My hands shook as I popped them into my mouth, meaning that I lost a few to skitter across the floor under the stove. The crackle of the candy shells against my teeth drew me back into reality. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and let the sweetness of chocolate coat my tongue.

Blowing out a breath, I tried to focus on anything else. “Is th-that what—w-was she attacked by one of the poisoned vampires?” I stammered as his face swam in front of mine.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, shoving the folder into a stack of papers. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Who was it?”

He tucked the stack of paperwork into his laptop case. “A blood surrogate named Katie Rigsby. She was the first attacked. I don’t believe the culprit had the dosage quite right yet. You can see the hesitation marks in the bite
wounds. The vampire in question didn’t want to do this, tried to stop. But eventually gave in.”

I glanced away, wiping at my cheeks. “Wait, Katie Rigsby? I knew her, in passing. I saw her at the Council office once or twice. She was a nice girl, one of those naturally sunny personalities. Wait, Katie died in a car accident last spring. The newspaper said she fell asleep at the wheel, driving home from a party. I took a potato casserole to her mother at the visitation!”

Cal nodded. “After documenting her condition, the Council’s ‘public relations committee,’ led by Mr. Crown, made it appear as though Ms. Rigsby died in a car accident. This is what they do to cover up a problem within the vampire community. You should know as much as anyone that vampires can be brutal and cruel.”

“But you’re not that way,” I insisted. “You could have hurt me, several times, but you haven’t even tried.”

“I can be just as bad as any of them, Iris. I’ve killed people, many people over the years. The young, the old, the rich, the poor, sinner and saint. That’s who I am, Iris. Whatever emotional attachment you may be forming to me, it should stop now. It’s not good for you, and it will mean nothing to me if it keeps me from getting what I want.”

I straightened, shrinking back from him, the taste of chocolate turning bitter in my mouth. So, that’s how it was. Clearly, my help didn’t mean anything to him. The rapport I thought we’d established, the time we spent together, didn’t even make us friends. I was, apparently, cannon fodder, destined to be used as a human shield if Cal was in danger. Mortification flushed through me,
warm and watery. I’d become so lonely that I looked to an uninterested vampire for friendship. How sad was that?

I cleared my throat, clenching my teeth against the tremble in my voice. I steadied my hands against the counter, shying out of his grasp. “Don’t let Gigi see that, OK? Keep the files somewhere she won’t be able to find them.”

“I will,” he said, pulling back at my clipped, businesslike tone. “I’m afraid I’m going to need further assistance from you.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t have all of the information I need here. I grabbed what I could on the way out the door. I need you to go to my house later today and pick up some of my files.”

I frowned. “I’ve got a full day scheduled already. I’ve got to make up for the time I’ve already missed at work.”

He leveled his gaze at me. I swear, the only thing that could have made his stance closer to my secret naughty boss fantasies was a loosened necktie and collar. I shook my head, hoping to rid my traitorous brain of those useless sentiments. “I think I am paying you enough that I can comfortably command your attention for a week. Whether that attention is at home or in more remote locations.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but references like that make me sound … less than virtuous.”

“Few prostitutes are paid twenty-five thousand dollars a week for their services,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Clearly, you’ve never been to Vegas,” I retorted. He shot me a withering glance, which I blithely ignored. “Why can’t you just go yourself?”

“Because I prefer not to burst into flames?” he retorted archly. “The house is probably being watched, and I don’t want anyone to see me. If you’re seen going in, you can explain it away, say you lost something at the house while you were dropping off the contracts and needed to retrieve it.”

“I don’t like it,” I grumbled.

“I don’t, either. If there was any other way, I would suggest it.”

We stared at each other, stalemated. It wasn’t a terribly unreasonable request, really, unless the house was being watched and I ended up in vampire jail. And refusing could mean mucking up Cal’s investigation and stretching his stay at my house past a week. While he hadn’t exactly been a nightmare guest, I wanted him gone. I wanted my quiet, predictable, pre-Cal life back, with schedules, routines, and a lack of confusing sexual tension. I wanted to be the normal, non-risk-taking non-vomit-target I once was.

I blew a breath, ruffling a hank of curly hair that had fallen in my eyes. “How much longer do you have until you have to go to sleep for the day?”

He closed his eyes, as if checking some internal gauge. “About twenty minutes before I start to feel fatigued. At full strength, I’m a bit better at staying up during the day than I used to be. It takes age and practice. And for some of the young ones, large amounts of caffeine. But honestly,
unless it’s a dire emergency, there’s no real point.”

“I’ll go by the house in the afternoon, when you’ve had some time to rest. I’m going to talk to you on my phone the entire time, so if I have trouble finding your files, you can help me look … and so I don’t get home only to have you tell me you just remembered that you want your bunny slippers. Will you actually wake up, or will you pull the typical male ‘oh, babe, I guess I didn’t hear it ring’ thing?” I asked, frowning at him.

“I take it Booty Call Paul is a heavy sleeper?” he asked, smirking at me. It was nice to see him smiling from simple mirth. Of course, it was mirth at my expense, but I was willing to let that go for now.

“There’s blood in the fridge, and my numbers are on a list by the phone. I’ll be back before you wake up tonight,” I told him. “I’ll call you when I get to your house.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, revealing the barest hint of a dimple on his cheek. “Try not to trip over any of your clients today.”

“I’ll do my best,” I muttered as I walked out the back door.

—

As usual, I ran the errands scheduled for the day—a case of blood at Mr. Rychek’s house, cat food for Ms. Wexler, a meeting with a photographer who was thinking about expanding into vampire ceremonies.

And I deposited some of the rather large wad of cash Cal had given me as a “retainer.” That was unusual. I felt like I was walking around with a target on my back, carrying that much money around. There was a
possibility that the Council was watching my accounts following their visit. So I put half of the money into Gigi’s college fund, which was in her name, and made a double payment on the home-equity loan. The loan payments were reasonable enough that making several increased payments over time wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows. The rest would be kept in my sock drawer for emergencies … or to lure Chick Webster to the house the next time we had a midnight plumbing disaster.