The Care and Feeding of Stray Vampires (16 page)

I protested, “But you could have, I don’t know, followed him to his deathbed and turned him.”

“You think a six-foot-four bearded vampire in a stovepipe hat with a striking resemblance to the recently assassinated president could have gotten around unnoticed?” he asked.

“I hate it when you make sense. So, did you have a family before you died? Children?”

“My wife was expecting our first when I sailed away. My son was half grown by the time I would have returned from war.”

“Would have returned?”

“How do you get me to talk so much about myself?” he wondered.

He plucked at the bedspread with his fingers. Most vampires didn’t reveal this sort of information to humans, preferring to keep exactly how old (read: powerful) they were close to the vest. But it seemed that he couldn’t deny me. He rolled onto his back, fiddling with the binding of my paperback. “Vampires cannot resist a
good battle. There’s too much confusion to notice when a man goes missing, never to be heard from again. Humans regard wars with regret or reverence. Some vampires remember them as particularly enjoyable feasts. As the war lagged on, we heard rumors of battalions being picked off from the far reaches of the battlefields, of bodies disappearing from the aftermath while the surgeons searched for survivors. By the Night of the Horse, we’d attracted quite a swarm of the undead. The realization that the battle was coming to a close whipped them into a sort of ‘last call’ frenzy. They took all stragglers, anyone who had his back turned. I survived all those years of war, only to be dragged into the bushes while I was relieving myself after the gates of Troy were breached.”

I gasped in horror. That was almost as bad as the story of Jane’s turning, which involved her being stranded on the side of a dark country road, mistaken for a deer by the town drunk, and shot.

“I don’t know why my sire chose to feed me his blood rather than simply leave me to die. I only remember waking up, buried in sandy soil, and clawing my way to the surface. I ran rather wild that first year, slaking my thirst wherever I could, feeding on some of my former brothers-in-arms as they attempted to march home. If another vampire hadn’t tracked me and taken me under her wing, others might have destroyed me just to prevent me from calling attention to myself. ”

“Did you ever see your family again?”

He shook his head. “I thought about going back to visit after I adjusted to my new life. But I didn’t want
to take the chance that I would hurt them. Years later, I learned that my son was healthy and strong, married, with three sons of his own. My wife had remarried and had more children. They were fine without me.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“But I prefer to think of it that way. It’s easier than picturing them suffering.”

“Sounds like being a vampire sort of sucks, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

“We’re in a dangerous situation, Iris.” He was plucking at the bedspread again, choosing his words carefully. “You saw that today, I think. Next time, you may not be so lucky. I will do everything I can to protect you, but you could be hurt. If you were in a condition from which you could not recover, I need to know whether you would want to be changed.”

I blinked owlishly at him. I’d never been able to come up with a definitive answer to the question every human had asked himself or herself since the Great Coming Out.
Would you want to be turned?
Clearly, there were advantages—immortality, near-indestructibility, and, let’s face it, increased hotness. But could I survive on blood for eternity? Did I want to live that long? What about Gigi? What about my business? Could I stand only seeing my gardens in moonlight?

And there were considerations besides Gigi and how she would be affected. Because so many humans said yes when asked whether they’d want to be turned, the Council had established a strict protocol for turning that required mutual consent, sire fostering, and about a dozen
safeguards. If the Council decided that the transformation was done too hastily or that the sire wasn’t giving the newborn the proper supervision, it could “take custody” of the newly risen vampire. The sire could be fined heavily or, in cases where turning was forcible, subjected to the Trial, the vampire definition of overkill. If the Council decided to retaliate against Cal for his less-than-aboveboard dealings with them during this escapade, it could decide to destroy both of us.

Cal seemed insulted by my pregnant pause. “You’ve never craved immortality?” he asked, tilting his head as his eyes swept over my face. “You spend your life serving vampires, and you have no desire to become one of them?”

“I don’t serve vampires,” I snapped. “I provide a service for them. There’s a difference.”

“Fine, you spend time in the company of vampires, but you have no urge to live as one of them? Aren’t you afraid of growing old? Getting sick? Dying?”

“I’m supposed to do all of those things. It’s natural.”

He asked, “But what about Gigi? If your time came, would you leave her alone?”

“So, it would be better to put her in danger while I’m a newly minted vampire, trying to figure out my bloodlust? Besides, if I was a vampire, I could lose her. And then, if by some miracle she stays with me, I get to watch her grow old while I stay the same … If something happens to me, do your best to save me. If I rise, don’t leave me alone with Gigi until you’re absolutely sure I’m in
control. Even if she has to go live with Jane and Gabriel for a while.”

He muttered, “Good to know that you don’t find my condition so objectionable.”

I chuckled, eager to change the subject. “You do realize that there are some people who don’t believe that the Trojan War actually happened, yes? They think that Homer made the whole thing up to hawk his poems. Can you imagine what you could do to set history straight with just a magazine interview? Are there many vampires out there as old as you?”

“Yes. Homer, for instance, is almost as old as I am,” he said, bemused laughter edging his voice.

“You’re telling me that the guy who wrote the
Iliad
is a vampire?”

“Yes, and he has been writing all these years. He makes a very nice living out in Los Angeles, working on television shows.”

“If you tell me that Homer wrote for
Two and a Half Men
, I will throw myself out of that window.”

He chuckled. But I noticed that he did not answer.

“So, where will you go, after you finish here?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Where do you live? Where’s your home?”

He pushed an unruly strand of hair from my face. “I don’t have a home. I move from place to place, wherever I’m needed. I’ve lived all over the world.”

“Isn’t that sort of lonely?” I asked.

“I happen to like my life,” he said, rather haughtily. “I
like living in places where a greasy spoon isn’t considered the hub of local commerce and social interaction. I like being able to walk out after ten
P.M
. and know that something besides a gas station will be open. When I’m done here in this wretched little armpit of a town, I will leave and never look back.”

“You know, we tried putting ‘Welcome to our wretched little armpit of a town’ on the city-limits sign, but we couldn’t get approval from the Chamber of Commerce,” I drawled, nudging him with my elbow as I swallowed the last of my drink. I winced at the biting burn of vodka slipping down my throat.

He burst out laughing, so loudly that I almost didn’t hear the muffled knock at the front door. But Cal’s ears pricked up, and his head swung toward the stairs. The next knock was louder, more forceful. I peered over at my alarm clock. It was almost ten. Only one person would be knocking on my door this late on a weeknight.

I groaned. I forced myself up from the bed, but Cal hopped up with surprising speed, considering his week. “I don’t think you should answer that. What if you were followed home after all? That vampire might have followed your scent if it was strong enough.”

“I have a pretty good idea of who it is, and trust me, it’s better if I just go get rid of him quickly,” I said. Cal’s brow folded in confusion. “I just need you to stay up here, out of sight.”

“You know, you need to make a decision regarding which areas of the house I am allowed in,” he said dryly. “Your indecision is very confusing and could lead to
more incidents in which I see you gloriously naked.”

I rolled my eyes as I stalked toward the door. I stopped and smirked at him over my shoulder. “Gloriously?”

“Spectacularly. Deliciously. I can come up with several more adverbs while you’re downstairs.”

“You’re just trying to distract me from the continuing crappiness of this day.” Rolling my eyes, I cursed the existence of confusing, flirty vampires while I trod downstairs. “I will be watching from up here!” Cal stage-whispered.

“Not necessary!” I whispered back.

“At least look through the peephole before you open it!”

I opened the door, and when I saw that lazy, confident smile stretched across my former lover’s face, I groaned. Paul was here now, after months of radio silence, when I had a vampire in the house. I must have been a serial killer in a previous life to deserve this. Or one of those people who invites you to dinner but will only feed you after giving an Amway sales pitch.

“Paul.” I opened the door, just halfway.

“Hey there, how’s my Petal doin’?” Paul said, giving me a sweet, crooked grin. I groaned again. He was using the “I was hoping I could borrow a cup of sex” voice. He knew I had a hard time resisting that voice. He was not playing fair.

The use of “Petal” had me wincing. Gigi would give me hell if she heard him use that nickname, which, sadly, had worked on me once upon a time. Since Cal was staying put, I squared my shoulders and faced Paul full on.
I had to be strong. I had to put a permanent end to this weird thing of ours. I had to keep Paul from seeing the smirking vampire hanging on my stair landing.

“Paul—”

“I’ve really missed you,” he said, tilting his head and giving me a crooked grin. “I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately.”

“Paul—”

“Haven’t you missed me?” he asked. “Aren’t you goin’ to invite me in?”

Why was he not noticing that so far, I’d only said his name?

“This isn’t a good time,” I told him.

“You’ve said that before.” He chuckled as he tried to step past me over the threshold.

“No,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder and holding him in place. It was a far more effective tactic with Paul than with Cal, since Paul didn’t have superstrength. “I can’t. I told you, it’s not a good time.”

He caught the way I glanced over my shoulder toward the stairs. He slid his hand around my wrist, his fingers shockingly warm after my having dealt with Cal for the last few days. My arms relaxed by degrees. “Are you OK? What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” I insisted, stepping back out of his reach. “I told you, it’s just not a good time.”

“Are you sure nothin’s wrong?”

“Fine,” I promised. “I’m just working a lot, tired, you know?”

“You always have worked too hard.” He chuckled. “I
could come in, make you one of my famous cheese omelets.”

“They’re famous because they’re the only thing you know how to cook.” I laughed, remembering the breakfast attempts that had resulted in Cajun-style “blackened” waffles. “And no, thanks. I appreciate the offer, but Gigi’s gone out with friends. I’ve got the house to myself, and I’m just going to go straight to bed.”

Paul’s eyes lit up, and I realized that I’d taken the exact conversational route I should have avoided. He thought I was about to issue an invitation. Oh … fudge.

“Well, that’s good news,” he said, taking another step inside the doorway, backing me inside. “Because I was hoping we could ‘catch up.’ ”

“Catching up”—another Paul code phrase, meaning “panties optional.”

I was spluttering an excuse when I felt a wintry hand slide around my waist. I tensed, and Cal’s smooth, honeyed voice said, “As a matter of fact, she’s busy at the moment. And if you don’t mind, we’d like to continue where we left off.”

I turned to find Cal smirking down at Paul. And he was shirtless. Shirtless, barefoot, with the top button of his jeans undone. Between that and my rumpled pajamas, it looked like Cal had just rolled out of bed to see why it was taking me so long to bring back the whipped cream and the padded handcuffs. It took all the dignity I had not to slap my palm over my forehead.

Suddenly, I wished I’d consumed a lot more vodka.

“Who the hell are you?” Paul’s tanned face flushed
beet red. His wide brown eyes narrowed at me. “Iris, who is this?”

I stammered. “I—that is—uh, I—”

“I’m Cal.” The vampire grinned and slipped his arm from around my waist to extend his hand to Paul. I noticed that he didn’t drop his fangs … and he had adopted a softer version of our bluegrass drawl. His body language had relaxed, and he seemed to be intentionally moving at a slow, almost jerky pace. He was playing human bumpkin—pale human bumpkin but human all the same.

Looking at Cal’s hand as if he’d been offered dead squirrel à la mode, Paul spluttered, “Iris, honey, what the hell is going on?”

“Paul, I told you, it’s not a good time.”

“You’re seein’ someone else?” he exclaimed. “But you didn’t tell me.”

“Technically, I’m not seeing you,” I said, reluctantly adding, “right now.”

His cheeks flushed, as if he had just realized that this whole thing was playing out in front of a shirtless stranger.

“Paul, I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” He grimaced. “That’ll teach me not to call first, I guess. Really, I’m lucky this hasn’t happened before.”

It took me a moment to absorb his full meaning, before I cried, “Hey! That’s not fair!”

“You’re right,” he mocked, his hands up in a defensive position. “I’m just a little upset. I mean, it’s not every day
you come over to your girlfriend’s house to find out she’s shacked up with a caveman.”

I scoffed. “Girlfriend?”

“Caveman?” Cal repeated, equally offended.

I pulled at the door before Cal could lumber after him. “I think it’s time for you to go.”