LostLoves Books Copyright © 2012 by Phoebe Matthews Cover Design Copyright © 2012 by LostLoves Books

This is a work of fiction. With the exception of well-known historical personages, any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Valentine Vampire

I saw Adele in her white dress and pearls with a fancy clasp that she was wearing in front

where it sparkled against her skin.

I knew I shouldn't be admiring anything about Adele. But it was hard to keep my eyes off that

heart-shaped face, those bright eyes, that full mouth.

"New necklace?" I asked.

We were dancing, being careful to keep some distance between us, playing it as though dancing

with her was part of my job.

"They're real geunine came-out-of-an-oyster pearls," she said. "The diamonds in the clasp are

real, too. He's starting to push me."

My stomach did a clutch. Maybe Adele wasn't my girl, but I was working on it. And I didn't

have any good ideas how to change the situation.

Those pearls had cost plenty. Hammer always wanted everyone to know he was a big spender.

That's all Adele meant to him, a showcase for his cash. He had a wife somewhere but she was as

old as he was, not that that mattered. What mattered to the mob was to keep their families well

separated from their business. The Capone crowd weren't friends. They were gangsters tied to

Capone and they spent their evenings hanging out at the club where I worked. It was their second

home.

They talked too loudly. They kidded and insulted. They brought their current girlfriends and let

their cronies see what success could buy them.

On Sundays they did the same thing for the neighbors, marched the family to church, showed

off the kids in their fancy clothes and the wife in her big fur coat and her diamond rings.

I could understand their pride of ownership of the family.

Somehow I missed the pride of girlfriend part. I assumed it was easy come, easy go.

Eleanore had warned me.

"Kid, dance with the girlfriends and give 'em a treat, but never dance more than one dance with

the same girl."

Eleanore was the club's songbird. She'd been there since prohibition started in 1920 and the

private clubs opened where you had to know a password to get in. In Chicago Al Capone and his

rival, Bugsy Moran, made their fortunes supplying the illegal liquor.

Eleanore made good money. She had her own dressing room and long breaks between

appearances. She had a voice like dark chocolate. It slid through a man's soul. She also had her

own gangster who owned the club and draped her in jewelry and every man in the place knew it

and knew how to dream about her without actually approaching her.

Me she treated like a kid brother so that was okay.

"Dom, honey," she told me more than once, "when you dance with Adele, don't go letting your

hands stray. Or your eyes, either. Understand?"

I did and didn't. Adele wasn't actually Hammer's girl, not yet. He was a big lug who earned his

name. Adele was a hat maker and really clever with a needle, but she got paid by the piece and

times were slow. Like everyone, she had weeks when she couldn't come up with the rent for the

room she shared with another girl in a boarding house. To make ends meet she starting coming

around to the club with a couple of her girlfriends. They'd get men to order them drinks which

were supposed to be expensive liquor but were really cold tea and me and the other waiters knew

who was who. We filled their orders The bartenders split the cost of their fake drinks and saved

the money for them.

That's as much as I could do for Adele.

So I stuck with Eleanore's rules and danced once each evening with Adele and when my back

was to Hammer, I'd let my eyes meet hers and I'd smile at her and she'd smile back and I'd

squeeze her hand and maybe rub my other hand very gently up her spine and maybe let one

finger touch the satin skin above the edge of her dress.

"Getting fresh, big boy?" she'd tease.

"Will if I get the chance," I'd kid back. I could smell the perfume in her soft dark hair and it

made me a little crazy.

Sometimes her face would go scared and I'd know Hammer was watching so then I'd twirl her

away from me and maybe do a fancy dip. When the song ended, I'd take her back to her table,

nod to Hammer, and turn away to dance with one of the other girlfriends before it was my time

to go onstage. The girls all liked to dance with me. I wasn't any heartbreaker but I was a great

dancer.

Eleanore wanted long breaks between songs. She liked to go to her dressing room and put her

feet up. In between, to keep the customers from getting restless, I'd do one of my tap dance

routines on stage. I didn't get paid.

"You should," Eleanore told me. "You dance as well as any professional."

Maybe so but jobs were scarce and I made good tips as a waiter. I didn't want to get tossed out

on my ear. The pay for entertainers was better, of course, but tap dancers were hanging around

every club to get work. I was twenty. I had all my life to get rich. For now I was glad to make

enough to cover the rent at a rooming house.

As for me dancing with the girlfriends, for most the customers that added value. It kept their

girlfriends from whining at them to dance.

The club had an okay dance floor in front of the stage, surrounded by tiers of tables. The piano

player was called Sugartime and I never knew his real name, but between him and the man on

horn, they could back up Eleanore with sob songs and me with jazz and they could keep the

music going in between. During those breaks in the show they turned down the stage lights and

had a mirror ball spinning. It shot out reflected light that glittered through the constant cloud of

smoke.

We had had our dance that night, me and Adele, with our fingers twined and our eyes locked.

We'd done a lot of whispering, trying not to move our mouths. Once I'd managed to dance us

behind the hat check stand and I'd done a quick kiss on her pretty lips.

Adele said, "Watch it, buster," and then she gave me a quick kiss back.

We knew better than staying out of sight for more than a minute. I whirled her back onto the

dance floor. Maybe I was grinning too much. I couldn't help it, not with Adele's kiss warm on my

mouth. The expression on Hammer's face when I returned Adele to his table was nothing at all,

not a hint of what he was thinking. He had about as much expression as a brick wall. Usually he

smiled at Adele. I should have been suspicious.

A girl named Libby, little blond fluff who'd been stepping out with a thin nosed guy called

Rabbit for the last few months, whined at him, "Come on, honey, you never dance with me."

I started to move away to take orders from the next table when Rabbit reached out a long arm

and caught me. "Hey, kid, twirl her around till she's dizzy."

She giggled her way into my arms. People at the next table glared at me, but they were nothing

more than people. They weren't part of the Capone crowd. If I ignored Rabbit to wait on them,

one of us would end up with a split lip and it would probably be me. I held out my arms to Libby

and danced her around the floor. She did a lot of oohing and cooing, said things like, "Make your

fortune, honey, and then come looking for me."

"I'll never be rich enough for a high class girl like you," I said because I knew that's the kind of

talk she wanted.

Those gangsters knew less about romancing their girls than I did and they were all twice my

age.

I went from fox-trotting Libby to serving a tray of drinks to a table to waltzing Tricia to doing a

quick onstage tap to carrying another tray, all the time thinking that as soon as Eleanore showed

up I'd duck out to the alley for a break and a smoke. That pearl necklace had me worried. Adele

was right. It meant trouble.

She was something else, our Eleanore, black sequins from her throat to her toes, her face a

mask of white powder, her eyes shadowed by long, heavy lashes, and her hair piled on top of her

head and held in place with diamond studded combs. She was all makeup and jewels, perfect as a

portrait and I wondered what she really looked like away from the lights. I'd never seen her in

daytime. Or had I? Had I passed her on a sidewalk and never guessed the lady with the plain face

beneath a neat little hat and every other inch of her hidden in a wool coat and cotton stockings

and low-heeled shoes and white gloves, was the glamourous Eleanore?

Soft fingers touched my hand. I glanced around, expecting one of the other girlfriends and

regretting I hadn't moved faster toward the alley door.

"Dominic," Adele said. "I have to get out of here now." Tears shone in her big brown eyes.

It wasn't the smartest thing I ever did. But I did it. Even if I'd stopped to think about it, I still

would have done it.

I pulled her into my arms for a hug. And then I remembered we were in view of the tables and

so I turned the hug into a dance step, twirling her slowly, moving back, moving closer, while we

whispered to each other.

"What's wrong, Addie?"

"He's mad at somebody. Something bad is going to happen. I heard part of it but I don't know

what it means. I need to get away."

"What can I do?"

Her voice was as soft as snowflakes falling. "Take me home with you?"

If she'd asked me to lie in the street and let her walk over me, I'd have done it. But take her

home? "I live in a rooming house. One room. I'm not allowed to have guests. Believe me, I'd be

happy to sleep on the floor and let you have the bed. If I could. I can't."

"Oh no." She squeezed my fingers. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Would money help? I've got my tips in my pocket, maybe twenty bucks worth. "

She shook her head. "Don't worry. I'll be all right."

Her face went dead scared. Before I could stop her, she slipped away from me and did a wide

circle of the dance floor before turning back toward Hammer's table.

I ducked out through the alley door. The alley was dark and empty. The air was icy and smelled

of coal smoke. When I leaned my back against the brick wall I could feel the winter cold through

my jacket. What I needed was time to clear my head and figure out what to do. She was scared of

Hammer and I didn't blame her. Handing him back the necklace could end her up dead. So could

calling a taxi and heading home. If he was figuring on pressuring her in the next day or two, she

needed to get out of Chicago.

Great plan except I knew she didn't have any relatives to go home to. She'd told me that much

about herself. And it wasn't as though she was my girl. I couldn't say, "Let's move to another

town, you and me, and maybe get married?"

We'd reached the stage of an occasional kiss. I could have gone on kissing her forever but I

didn't know how she felt about me. When she was hustling drinks Adele flirted with everyone at

the club. That was before Hammer started noticing her. Maybe I was just one more guy to her,

nothing more.

I pushed a cigarette between my teeth, leaned down and cupped my hands around the match

flame to protect it from the Chicago wind. The match never reached the cigarette. A beefy hand

pushed a silver lighter between me and the match and the lighter flame caught the end of my

cigarette. I tried not to flinch. I did the deep inhale and let smoke drift slowly out the side of my

mouth. It earned me a few seconds to plan my reaction.

Looking into the man's face, I recognized him. A hanger on, one of the crowd who played

second fiddle to Capone's mob. "Thanks." I managed a one word answer without letting my

voice shake.

"You the kid called Dominic? Hammer wants a word with you."

Nodding was the best I could manage. I took another drag, let it burn its way down and back up

my throat, and then followed him inside. If I'd thought I could outrun a bullet I might have taken

off.

Instead I followed the stooge all the way to Hammer's table. Adele wasn't there and I was

relieved. Maybe she'd thought of someplace else she could go.

"Dominic, right? That your name?" Hammer asked. His voice was as flat as his face, no hint of

what was going on in his head.

"That's right," I said.

"Yeah, I've watched you tap dancing, kid. Here's the deal. I've got a friend opening a new club.

He's looking for entertainers. I mentioned you and he said you should come around."

When I stared without speaking, he added, "Bigger bucks than you make here, kid. You

interested?"

Eleanore had told me the same thing, that I could make more money on stage than carrying

trays. What she hadn't been able to tell me was where I could get a job. Sure she was the boss's

woman. And about the time she asked for favors for me, he might not like it.

A lot of stuff went around in my head. I suspected Hammer's offer was tied to Adele. He must

have seen her find me for a second dance. Maybe he figured that if I took a job in a different

club, that would be the end of me seeing her.

My reason for taking a job would be a lot different. If I worked someplace else and could bring

in steady pay, I could maybe afford an apartment. And then who knew? Maybe I'd be able to

help the girl. Was I falling in love? No, I wasn't falling. I was already there.

It was 1929 and I was twenty years old and the girl of my dreams needed my help and if I had

more cash in my pocket maybe I could do that. Maybe I could save her.

"That's real good of you, sir."

"Okay, kid. Here's what you do. My friend is auditioning tomorrow. He's working out of a

warehouse this week while his club gets decorated. You free tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's fine, sir. I have to be back here by six tomorrow afternoon, though."

"He's doing tryouts in the morning. Don't be late."

"No, sir."

He told me the time and address and I spent the rest of the evening worrying about who'd be

playing the music for my audition or would I have to dance to my own humming? I am not a

singer. I'm great at keeping the beat but I sing off key. Would that matter?

When I saw Eleanore in the hallway behind the stage, I told her about the chance Hammer had

offered me.

"A new club? Where is it? What's the owner's name?"

I felt like an idiot. "Don't know. Around here, I guess. At least, the auditions are in a warehouse

a few blocks from here. The club could be someplace else."

"Strange I haven't heard about it. I wonder who? They're a bad lot but they have the money,"

Eleanore said more to herself than to me. She added, "Dominic, if this is on the level, it could be

a break for you. You have the makings of a great performer. But keep your eyes open with these

people."

"Maybe you should come with me," I blurted. I could use a little backup, maybe advice about

which routine to do.

"I wish I could, dear. Unfortunately I have appointments all day tomorrow. New dress, new

song, a new show for St. Valentine's night. We're expecting a big crowd."

The hallway was dark enough that she couldn't see me blush. What was I thinking? I sounded

like some little kid wanting to hide behind his mama. I tried to smooth over my dumb request.

"I'll be here early to help."

She gave me a wave over her shoulder as she hurried up the stairs to the stage.

The place was packed and I spent the rest of the night rushing between tables. My mind spun

with plans as I tried to decide which of my routines to use and what to do if there wasn't a piano

player at the tryout.

There were a couple of scares with a doorman and a bouncer running backstage to the boss's

office which usually meant they suspected a raid. I'd been caught in a couple raids and sat in jail

until the next afternoon when the club's lawyer bailed me. If that happened tonight, I'd miss the

audition. As I rushed an order to a table I glanced over at Hammer's table and saw it occupied by

a new group and did that mean Hammer knew about a raid? Wouldn't be the first time they'd

been set up by Bugsy Moran, then got tipped off and did a fast flit, leaving the rest of us to deal

with cops and customers.

Over by the hat check stand I saw Adele pulling on her coat. She was with a couple of her

girlfriends. She gave me a wave and a smile and then left. The Capone gang must have had a job

to get to. That meant Hammer wouldn't be bothering Adele tonight.

Whatever the problem with the bouncer and the boss this time, it didn't end in a raid and I got

back to the rooming house in time to catch some sleep. Nerves kept me awake until almost dawn

when exhaustion dropped me into a deep sleep. I woke up groggy, checked my clock and saw I

was running way late. I did a dash through the bathroom down the hall, found an almost clean

shirt in my closet, and ran top speed down Clark Street toward the 2100 block. I did wonder if I'd

find there was no such address and that the whole story of a new club looking for entertainers

was Hammer's idea of a joke.

I slowed down across the street from the address to catch my breath, straighten my jacket,

brush my collar, pull out my comb. It couldn't be smart to walk in looking overeager and out of

breath like some rube.

The building didn't look like much. It was about the size of a garage and had a name on it in

faded paint. It was part brick, part wood, with windows streaked heavy in dust, nothing anyone

could see through.

An auto pulled up, big long expensive one, and three men got out. They wore business suits.

Were they the men opening the new club? As I stepped back into the shadow of a nearby

building, they turned and looked up and down the street, then walked into the warehouse. They

had that tough look that meant gangster. All right, that's who controlled the speakeasies and

smuggled the liquor and as long as prohibition lasted, that's who I had to deal with if I wanted to

work.

Maybe there were more people inside. I didn't know. What I did know was that the next arrival

was a black Cadillac touring car. Chicago police. I could see the siren and the rifle racks. Four

men got out and two were in uniform. I stayed put in the shadows, figuring maybe they were

bent and doing a deal with the new club owners. One of them turned to check the street. I didn't

know his name. I knew his face. I'd seen him at Hammer's table at the club and what was he

doing dressed up like a Chicago cop?

The whole situation was beginning to smell. After the cops went through the door, I hurried

across the street and ducked along the side wall of the warehouse, planning to do some

eavesdropping. Maybe the cop costumes were part of an act to control job applicants. With an

open call there would be a line around the block. I hadn't seen anyone else coming down the

street. If this was private, there might already be a few dozen people milling around inside. There

should at least be a lot of talking going on.

I leaned against the wall and listened.

The world exploded.

It could have been fireworks or a busted gas line or anything, but what it was was gun shots, a

lot of them. There was that rat-a-tat-tat that meant machine gun. I heard it, didn't believe it,

stayed standing near a closed door. Any fool would have flattened himself to the ground. Any

fool but me.

Shots made it through the door and through me. I felt fire burning in my chest. My mind went

numb and I slid slowly down the wall, trying to grab it. If I stayed here they'd come out and find

me, whoever they were. I'd been set up by Hammer. That much I knew. I was supposed to be

inside that warehouse getting killed right along with whoever else was in there.

Around me everything turned to shadow shapes. With my hands on the wall I pulled myself

upright and staggered around to the back of the building. I dragged one foot after the other and

made my legs keep moving.

I was a dead man walking, step after step, refusing to fall, until I made it past buildings, across

an alley, around a corner, and finally to an empty lot where the weeds were waist high. There I

collapsed, face down. I tried to roll over. Couldn't. My body stopped but my mind kept going.

Blood was seeping out of me. I could feel it soaking into my shirt and through my coat and

pooling warm and wet on the icy ground.

Smoke and lights and Adele, those were my thoughts as I lay dying. I saw her in her white

dress and pearls, the real kind, with a diamond clasp that she wore in front where it glowed

against her smooth skin. I remembered her satin fingertips touching my hand.

From far away I heard the noise and shouting, people running down a nearby sidewalk. It went

on forever, cars screeching down alleys, sirens wailing. I drifted in and out of consciousness

vaguely aware the sky was going darker. Or this was dying, this slow descent into the black.

"Be careful." Those were the last words I remembered. Eleanore's warning. Eleanore's low

voice. I heard her in my mind. And I felt Adele's hand touching my face, brushing back my hair.

Had she ever done that? In my dreams, yes, I think I'd dreamed about her touching me that way.

Her light voice said, "He's here! Hurry! He's alive! We need to get him to a hospital."

Strong fingers pressed against my throat. Eleanore said, "It's too late. He's dying."

"No! No, he mustn't! It's my fault! Please help me. We need to find a doctor." Adele's voice

went on and on and I heard Eleanore telling her to be quiet and Adele begging and I wanted to

tell her it wasn't her fault. She was crying and finally Eleanore said words that made no sense to

me.

"All right, dear, help me and we'll take him to my place. I will do what I can."

I felt strong hands roll me over. Lift me up. Arms went around me, supporting me. I couldn't

help at all. I managed to open my eyes enough to see tears streaming down Adele's sweet face.

Above her was the night sky. I'd been in that weedy lot all day lying on frozen ground. My mind

went in and out. I was aware of being put in a car and taken out again and carried up stairs and

stretched on a bed.

Adele leaned over me. Her face was a blur. I tried to say her name but my mouth wouldn't

work. And my eyes wouldn't stay open. I lay in darkness listening.

"Can you save him? Will he live?"

"I'll try. I can't promise. Go into the other room. There's nothing I can do with you here."

A door opened and closed.

I felt Eleanore's breath on my ear. She whispered, "Dominic, I don't know if this is what you

want. I wish you could tell me. That girl may not be getting what she wants, either. Ah well, life

is full of risks and I did promise her I would try."

Pain continued to circle through me. I could hear myself moaning. I tried to stop. A brave man

wouldn't moan. The women deserved better. I didn't want them to know I was suffering. I tried to

be quiet but the moaning continued. And then it stopped. Everything stopped. I felt it. I felt my

breath stop, and the pain, and for a second I felt my heart stop. It did a heavy thump inside my

chest and then it stopped.

Eleanore leaned over me, her hand on my face turning me toward her. She whispered my name

before she pressed her lips against mine. I was surprised by the coldness of her mouth.

I couldn't move or speak or anything at all other than lie there feeling her kisses. A lightness

spread through me and then warmth and then an unspeakable joy.

Her hands turned my head and her cold mouth pressed against the side of my neck.

My last memory was of the sound of the door opening. And of Adele screaming.

I woke free of pain but aching with hunger. When I opened my eyes, Eleanore was there.

"Are you hungry?"

All I could manage was a gasp.

"Of course you are," she said.

She pressed her wrist over my open mouth. Heat and liquid flowed down my throat. It spread

through me. Warmed me. Comforted me. Strengthened me. I found myself sitting up and

gathering her into my arms.

Laughing, she pushed away from me. "I do believe you'll survive, but you're hugging the wrong

woman."

I stuttered an apology.

She put a fingertip over my mouth to stop me. "We have more important things to discuss."

Lowering her hand, she pressed a handkerchief against her other wrist and that's when I saw

small drops of blood on the cloth.

"What have I done? Did I bite you? Oh sweet Lord, how could I?"

"No, no, I cut my wrist myself. Now do hush, Dominic, and listen to me. Do you know what a

vampire is?"

Until that moment I had believed vampires existed only in fiction. They were as real as

Burrough's Martians, figments of creative writers' minds. I stared at her, at the whiteness of her

skin and the slender delicacy of her hands and then I remembered drinking her blood. Drinking

her blood. Blood had been the liquid that flowed through me making me warm again.

"Eleanore, what am I?"

"The same as I am. You died and I brought you back. Would you have preferred to die?"

Outside her apartment the city roared past, cars and streetcars and people shouting in the dark

of night. From the next room I heard sobbing. Later there would be time to find out what I was.

Right now all that mattered was Adele. "What will happen to her?"

Eleanore shrugged and gave an odd laugh. She called out, "Come in here, Adele."

Poor Adele, she looked almost as pale as Eleanore except for the bright flush high on her

cheeks. Her eyes were red with weeping.

She ran to me and held out her arms, as though she was going to hug me. Instead she fell to her

knees beside the bed and hid her face in her hands. "I didn't know, Dom, I didn't! I never

realized, I never meant --"

"Oh, do stop the wailing, Adele. What's done is done. He won't expect you to stay around. You

can catch the next train."

"Catch a train? Why?" I asked.

"Because Capone's boys ambushed Moran's boys in that warehouse. Moran will want revenge.

The club is an easy target. And Hammer almost succeeded in including you in the death count. If

Moran doesn't catch us all first, Hammer will be looking for you and Adele."

"All right. We'll all leave town."

"Umm, it's not exactly that simple," she said and then she explained to me the effect of daylight

on a vampire, rather along the lines of tossing a match into a pile of dry straw.

Adele let out a little shriek and clapped her hands to her mouth. But she didn't leave. She stood

there pretty as a picture, her hair a mass of windblown waves around her heart shaped face. I

wanted to hold her and stroke her and tell her everything would be all right. But it never would

be.

Trains ran day and night. However, as Eleanore explained, we could hardly count on getting off

a train before sunrise, hiding for a day, boarding the next train at sunset, and so forth. The stops

weren't planned for vampires. We'd be between towns at the wrong times.

It was time for me to admit to myself that I had to let go of the only girl I'd ever loved. I said to

Eleanore, "I need to give Adele enough for a ticket. I have about twenty bucks on me."

Eleanore unbuttoned the collar of her dress, reached in and came up with a small roll of bills

which she held out to Adele. "The faster you leave the safer you'll be, dear. I can give you the

name of a friend in St. Louis. She'll help you find work and a place to stay."

Adele, who had always seemed so gentle, turned an angry glare on us both. Next she would

stamp her foot, I thought. I was wrong. Instead she shouted, "No! I am not leaving without

Dominic. We go together or we don't go."

There had been stories in the papers about the women on board the Titanic who refused to

leave their men. That's the look she had. If I couldn't leave Chicago, she would stay. And

Hammer would find her. I didn't have a lifeboat to offer.

I asked, "Eleanore, could we hide in the sleeping compartments on the train? Are the curtains

heavy enough to keep out light?"

"Those sleeping cars have beds that pull down from the wall. The porters fold them up during

daytime."

"Could we travel in a trunk?"

"And be tossed around with the luggage?"

We argued back and forth, trying to think of a solution. None sounded possible until Eleanore

snapped her fingers.

"Wait! I know a coffin maker."

Adele and I looked at each other, thinking Eleanore must be going mad.

"I would, wouldn't I, the same as you might know a furniture maker. Bedroom furniture. I don't

actually like coffins but I have friends who swear by them. I could have two coffins loaded on

the train for shipment to my friend in St. Louis and we could sleep in them during the day. They

are always light proof when closed. The problem is there won't be time to get the locks reversed.

They are built with locks on the outside but no way to lock them from the inside. Nothing would

prevent anyone from lifting a lid."

"I could lock them," Adele said. "From the outside."

Eleanore and I stopped talking and stared at her.

She gave a shrug. "I could come with you on the train and before dawn we could all go to the

baggage compartment and you two could get in the coffins and I could lock them shut."

"Could you? And you wouldn't be afraid?" Eleanore asked.

"No more than you." That stubborn chin jutted out. "After all, I will be the one with the keys."

Eleanore gave her a searching glance and then she turned to me. "If this is the way we are going

to play it, why stop at St. Louis? Why not go all the way to San Francisco? No one will be

looking for us there."

"And you have a friend in San Francisco," I guessed.

"I have wanted to join him but couldn't think how to do it. If you trust Adele with your life, I'm

willing."

I gave Adele the smiles I'd had to hide when we danced in the club. And then I pulled her into

my arms and gave her a few kisses. Her eyes flew open. And then snapped shut. And she

crumpled in my arms.

Clinging to her, pressing her face into my shoulder, I stared over her head at Eleanore. My

panic must have been obvious.

She gave an airy wave of her hand. "That's the second lesson, right after warning you about

daylight. Unless you've fed recently, your kisses will put a girl to sleep. It prevents her from

feeling your fangs sink into her neck."

"My fangs!" I ran my tongue across my teeth and merciful Heaven, I had fangs. "I am not going

to sink them into Adele!"

"That's wise," Eleanore said. "You don't want to use your lover as your main food source. She'd

be dead within the year. Your third lesson will be how to hunt."

Perhaps it was as well that Adele had fallen into a deep sleep. We left her on the bed while we

went off to visit the coffin maker. He assured us he could have the coffins on the next night's

train. What he couldn't do in that amount of time was reverse the locks. He didn't seem surprised

by the request. Apparently vampires were among his steady clientele.

When we got back to the apartment, Adele was still asleep.

"Time for a hunting lesson," Eleanore said.

I tucked the bedspread around Adele and left a note on the nightstand saying we'd be back

soon. I would have kissed her but I was afraid I might put her to sleep indefinitely.

We had another two hours until dawn, time enough, Eleanore assured me. We went back out

into the freezing night. What she taught me was that a vampire needs two or three donors a night,

with a light feed from each. They sleep, dream, wake up happy with no clear memory of why

they are happy. Or a vampire can stick to one donor and end up with a dead body to get rid of.

As I positively did not want to ever do that, I paid attention to all her instructions. It was an

unusual Valentine night.

We both slept away the day in Eleanore's apartment while Adele did a list of daytime chores.

She took the roll of bills and bought our tickets on the train scheduled to leave an hour after

sunset and then she shopped for valises. She packed one for Eleanore and left the other two

empty. We had agreed it would be risky for her to return to either of our rooms. Hammer might

have one of his flunkies watching.

"We can sell that horrid necklace in San Francisco and buy ourselves new clothes," she said.

"And have rent for a real apartment where we can have our own Victrola and dance whenever we

want."

That answered the big question in my mind. I wasn't the only one in love. And now that I'd

been on a hunt and wasn't hungry, I was able to wrap my dream girl in a hug and go right on

kissing her until Eleanore reminded us we had a train to catch.

The three of us boarded the train and found the luggage car and located our coffins and tried the

keys to be sure they fit.

Adele tucked them into her purse.

We spent the night in the lounge car holding hands. I made a lot of conversation to cover up the

things I wasn't ready to say. Because at some moment in the future I would have to explain to the

girl of my dreams about my need for hunting. I would have to tell her about kissing strange

women who meant nothing to me.

Maybe the time to tell her would be after we were in San Francisco and she no longer had the

coffin keys.

END

EXTRA: a second story about Dominic.

Dominic first appears in the novel Vampire Career, published by Dark Quest Books. This story, told by Eleanore, takes place more than eightly years later and was originally published in the anthology Steampunk Widow and More.

Retired Vampire

by Phoebe Matthews

Earning a living is such a bore after a thousand years, which is why I decided to retire.

Actually, any job is a bore after the first year, but more so now than in the past. During my first

few hundred years a man accepted the responsibility for the woman of his choice. Being a

vampire, incapable of contracting nasty things like smallpox, I was always someone's choice.

Yes, before you ask, I knew George Washington, not as a close personal friend but we did meet

at a few parties. He was a macho sweetie, about what you would expect from a general who

turned rebel and led the troops, won the war, then led the nation. Washington was tough with

men, I am sure, but always courteous to ladies. And even quite neat in a time when good

grooming couldn’t be counted on, but that may have been Martha's influence. She ran a spotless

house, a place with candles gleaming through the rooms, highlighting the well-polished

furniture.

Decades later I did attend a gathering at the Lincoln home and I regret to say, none of the above

applied. It was a dark and dusty place filled with dark and dour people. But I digress.

About the whole beauty attracts rich men theory, nowadays beauty merely attracts. It doesn’t

guarantee benefits. For years I worked nights, usually as a bartender, where my looks did bring

in good tips. But my last several lovers were such moochers, I finally gave up that angle and

decided the single life was less bother. It insured me all of my own income and all of the closet

space in my apartment. No more stupid sharing.

To avoid unwanted attention, I went ahead and aged, let myself get gray and grandmotherly,

arranging my long straight hair in a knot and adding clear eyeglasses with rhinestone frames. The

name Mary Brown was another good choice. Plus, I discovered an easier way to gain a modest

income.

If by mistake I accidentally attract a rich widower who is looking for a mature woman, I can

again learn to live with rich.

Which brings me to Willie Dean, my landlord and next door neighbor, a plain man, the kind

you say hello to in a hallway and ten seconds later totally forget what he looks like. There was a

time I would have thought that a pity, a sign of a dull personality, but a few little bits of things

about Willie tweaked my curiosity. After so many centuries there is not much that does. But

Willie did. There was something oddly acerbic about him, as though he preferred to be disliked.

Or did he merely prefer to be ignored?

Recently we met in the entry, me going out and him coming in. He made a comment about the

late hour and I gave my usual reply.

"I work a swing shift. It pays more."

"Yes, you would," he said and I was out the door and walking down the street before I thought

about what he’d said. He hadn’t asked where I worked. What did he mean, yes, I would? Would

what? Prefer to work at night because I was a night person? Or prefer to choose higher pay over

convenience? He didn’t know me or my finances.

Another time, again late, we passed in the hallway and I said, "Good evening, Mr. Dean.

Terrible night. Pouring outside."

"Good night for a stakeout," he said, and turned into his apartment and closed the door.

The word stake may not bother others but it terrifies a vampire. I might have assumed he meant

steak out, referring to a barbecue, if it hadn’t been raining.

And so I must admit I tried to set him up. I’d done it to dukes and colonels and pretenders with

fair success when I looked young and sexy. Now I waited for Willie Dean with nothing but my

wits to aid me. When I heard his door open, I walked briskly down the hall, exactly timing

myself to join him as he stepped out.

"Oh, Mr. Dean! How lucky. We can go out together. Last night there was a stranger in the

garage. I’m sure he doesn’t live here. I’ll feel much safer with you escorting me to my car."

He gave me such an odd look, I do believe he would have darted back into his unit if I hadn’t

slipped my arm through his.

"Do you always drive your own car?" he asked.

"It’s the one problem with swing shift. Riding buses really isn’t safe."

Without saying another word, he walked me out the door and to my car in the open garage

under the building. I chattered about the lack of lights on the sidewalk and the hazards of an open

garage. Willie Dean said not one word until I opened my car door and slid into the driver’s seat.

Then he leaned down, made his odd comment, stood and walked out of the garage and along the

sidewalk and out of sight while I sat clutching the steering wheel. What he said was this.

"Which of you was in greater danger?"

Which of who? Was he referring to my invention of a stranger lurking in the garage? Here I

am, looking small and frumpy and a poorly preserved sixty something, and Willie Dean

considers me a greater danger than a male trespasser?

My night job is what puts food in my mouth. Directly. No need at all to deposit a pay check and

draw out money and stop at a grocery store and carry home bags of groceries, although I have

done that in the past in this uncivilized century. Modern men expect their women to do the

shopping and the cooking. The servant supply shortage is not only inconvenient, it very nearly

makes life impossible.

When I was a young charmer, and I was a young charmer for many centuries, each man who

chose to live with me was a partial food supply and delighted to do so after an evening of

flirtation and dancing. But who wants to flirt on a nightly basis with the same person? No, in a

more elegant age both I and my benefactor had other lovers. For him it was a way to satisfy his

desire for variety. For me it was a way to obtain a plentiful blood supply without over using any

one donor.

Now the only men who understand the need for multiple partners are either unethical

philanderers or they are members of my blood line.

When I returned home that night and opened the door, there he was, one of the troublesome

young ones, waiting for me, sprawled gracefully on my couch.

"Dominic. What is it you need now?"

He’s handsome in his way, dark haired, slim, beautifully dressed, a bit too pale but it gives him

an aura of mystery that attracts human women. Vampires don’t attract each other. At least, not

the ones I’ve known.

He gave me his lazy smile. "Eleanore. A pleasure to see you again."

At little more than one hundred years, Dominic lacks polish. "I haven’t used that name in years.

I’m Mary now."

"Mary? Ah."

"And penniless. I have nothing more than a late husband’s Social Security."

"Really? You actually married someone? How late is late?"

I sank down beside him on the couch and pulled off my shoes and wiggled my stockinged feet.

"The problem with aging is that it seems impossible to do on the surface only. Can you imagine,

Dominic? I actually get a touch of arthritis on cold nights."

"The husband, Mary. Tell me about him and why you married him. Rich, I suppose."

"Don’t be silly. I didn’t marry anyone. Twenty years ago I chose a death notice in a paper and

filled out forms to claim I’d once been married to him. In small ways this is a very civilized

country. Divorcees can claim benefits."

"Weren’t you already receiving benefits for someone else?"

"Of course, dear." I stretched my legs and my knees did an annoying pop. "My previous

persona would be well past one hundred by now. Time to expire and reappear as a sixty

something named Mary."

"A sixty what? Sixty thousand?"

I slapped his hand. "Don’t be rude. Besides, that was twenty years ago and so according to

government records, I am now approaching ninety."

He sighed. "You’re right, I am already finding my existence complicated and not the thrill I

once thought it would be. Safe houses turn unsafe. An empty house in commuting distance from

civilization is soon occupied or else torn down. Which is why I am here. Can you put me up for a

few days?"

Over day guests are not a thing I encourage, but here he was and of my blood line. "How many

days?"

"Until I find a place."

"I thought you shared a house with a group."

"Yes, well, I did. In rural areas. You know how that is. We frequented the same places too

often and became known as unreliable drifters."

"Really? Why?"

"People who pick up a different partner every night get labeled in areas of low population.

Cities are so much easier except for the housing problem. It’s hard to find deserted property.

Rents are enormous. Plus nowadays landlords want references and daytime interviews."

"Your only choice here is the couch."

Dominic doubled over until his head almost touched the floor. He pushed aside the skirt on the

couch and peered underneath it. "Tight, but it will do. How about your locks? Anyone else have

a key?"

"Of course not. The only possible problem is the landlord," I said and told him about Willie

Dean. "He has never so much as knocked on my door. Still, there is something odd going on. Be

sure to slide the bolts and check the windows before you turn in. And now I am off to bed."

"But there’s a good two hours to sunrise!"

"Another problem with aging." I grasped the arm of the couch and pushed myself upright. "I

seem to need more rest. Go ahead and watch the television, if you like. The sound won’t bother

me. Have you fed tonight?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good. I wouldn’t want you bothering the neighbors."

He made some comment. Young men always do. I ignored him, went to my room, changed into

my flannel nightgown and slid under my bed. It was the closest thing to a coffin I could manage,

with the mattress mere inches above me. I've been told that some of the newer vampires sleep on

top of beds but I have never been able to adjust.

The window shutter was always closed, of course, and the floor length bedspread was dark

enough to keep out any glimmer of electric light from the front room.

I dozed and woke several times in the next two hours, changed position on the thick pad

beneath my bed, and when I intentionally listened, the sound of the television was clear. But he

was a good boy. He kept it low. With dawn I literally slept the sleep of the dead.

When I woke at sunset I took my usual time, dressing slowly in what was most comfortable,

pausing to give my feet a good massage before pulling on warm sox. I checked my purse, to be

sure there was still cash and there was, enough to see me through the week. By the weekend I

would need to stop at the ATM. Each week I squirreled away one fourth of the rent and each

month I put the money in an envelope marked From Mary Brown, Apt 2A and slid it under

Willie Dean’s door. Rent and gas for my car and an occasional clothing purchase in a late night

mall were my only expenses.

By the time I completed my evening ritual Dominic was up and dressed. Cell phone in hand, he

paced the front room.

"I’m not sure," he said in the direction of the phone.

It always amuses me to watch young people press their phones against their faces, the actual

speaker area halfway between ear and mouth. Technology is baffling. I remember phones that

required a person to lean within a fraction of an inch, one's mouth almost touching the receiver,

but then, before that, we sent servants to deliver messages and before that we saddled a horse and

before that, oh well, it is of no importance. Today is where I exist.

Dominic, who is really the gentlest of boys, sounded angry. "No, I understand. The decision in

yours. No. Not tonight. Oh. Perhaps. Let me call you back."

Glancing at me, he forced a smile and then reached inside his jacket to drop the phone in a

pocket. "I will never understand them."

I patted his shoulder. "Do you know, my dear, I remember hearing those same words from Lord

Byron. I suspect the phrase started with a caveman and before you ask, no, I do not go back that

far."

That broke his mood and he laughed. You’re telling me men have not understood women since

the world began."

"Or at least since men and women began. What’s her name?"

"Zoë."

"And she wants to have an affair with a vampire."

"She is having an affair with a vampire. Me."

"Oh, I see." And I did. That explained his sudden appearance on my doorstep. "How long have

you been living in the neighborhood?"

"Not long, Eleanore."

"Mary. Mary Brown. Your auntie, in case you run into any of the other tenants. But try not to. I

work at being invisible. All they know about me is my name."

"Sorry. Yes, I’ll remember. Zoë and I have been together about six months. We lived in

Portland. We came up here two weeks ago. She had a job interview."

"And did she get the job?"

"They had a number of applicants. They won’t make a decision for another week or two. It’s a

job she really wants."

"Oh dear. She must be a bundle of nerves, poor girl."

"Yes, she is. While we wait, we’re living in a motel and you know the problems. It adds strain

for her, making up reasons why the maid can’t clean the room during the day. That sort of thing.

She had an apartment in Portland, which meant I locked myself in the bedroom and she went off

to work during the day, but in a motel, well, she’s learning of all the difficulties of living with me

and she doesn’t like it."

"Why don’t you break off, if that’s what she wants. You’ll find someone else."

"It’s not that simple." He collapsed back in the chair, dug around in his pockets for cigarettes

and lighter, and looked up at me. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Of course not. Tell me about the girl."

As neither of us is capable of developing lung cancer, we both smoke. Vampires sink their

fangs into humans for nourishment. Unfortunately, our memories remain full of the pleasures of

eating and drinking more flavorful things. We must make alternate choices. We chew our

fingernails or our knuckles. We smoke.

Dominic offered me a cigarette and then whipped out a Ronson lighter, a lovely little piece

with a faux wood surround, probably forty years old. I have cast iron ashtray stands at both ends

of the couch. They have glass liners and handles for easy carrying and they date back to the

1920s when everyone smoked. It’s become a favorite vampire hobby, collecting and using a

variety of smoking paraphernalia.

He leaned back and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "I might as well tell you, the

problem is mine. I am in love with her. I know she will eventually leave me. Lovers always do.

They want something permanent and I understand that, but I thought Zoë and I would last for a

few years. I get really tired of temporary arrangements."

So young. Give the boy another century and he will realize that all arrangements are temporary.

There was no reason for me to tell him.

"Dominic, dear, why not take her dancing, or whatever it is you two like to do evenings, and

then spend your days here? I’m sorry I can’t invite your lady friend to move in but I haven’t the

space."

Plus, I had stopped living with humans years ago and was much the happier for it. Existing

around their schedules was such a strain.

"You’ll tire of me, too."

Oh, he was on a downer, truly depressed, and though I hadn’t intended to say it, I did. "You’ll

be gone most the night. I’ll be in bed before you return. If you remember to lock up in the

morning and I only see you in the early evening, we can muddle along for a while. Can you leave

most of your clothes with her?"

"I suppose so. That is, if she still wants me in her life."

"Oh, I think she will. If you’re only there at night." His girlfriend and I would both have what

we wanted. She could let the maids clean and I could keep my closet space.

We left the building together and wouldn’t you know it? On the way out we met Willie Dean

coming in. He stopped and stared at Dominic and then he stared at me and I should have let the

little creep think I had a toy boy. However, tweaking his curiosity was something I tried not to

do, and so I introduced Dominic as a visiting nephew.

"From where?" Dean demanded.

"I’m up here on a business trip. I live in Portland," Dominic said.

"What sort of business are you in?"

"Electronics."

When we were outside with the door shut behind us, I had to ask. "Did you make that up,

Dominic? About electronics? Or do you really know how to use a computer?"

"Don’t you? I’ll teach you, if you like. I swear computers were invented for us. Very flexible. I

have a netbook in my suitcase. I can work from anywhere and at any time."

I drove east from town and dropped Dominic where he asked, near a restaurant that had a

separate bar. "Looks posh," I said.

He laughed. "Posh? One seldom hears that word any more."

"All right. Expensive."

"Would you care to come in with me, Mary?"

I looked him over. He wore a neat dark suit and a silk shirt. His hair was styled. His wrist

watch was expensive. He was obviously doing well. On the other hand, I lived on a Social

Security check and bargain shopped. I wore my straight gray hair long and twisted into a bun. It

saved me the expense and the bother of finding a hairdresser with late night hours. As my whole

purpose in aging was to avoid notice, that suited me.

I would be far too visible in a fancy bar.

"No, you have a good feed and then stop by and have a chat with your young lady, dear. I’ll

leave a light on."

He’d cab his way back to wherever she was staying. They did that, the young ones, hopped in

and out of cabs. They had lived through one or two depression eras at the most. I had lived

through hundreds.

My restaurant choice was a Target store where I carried in two shopping bags, turned around

and carried them back out. They were full of books. When I saw a lone man get out of his car in

the parking lot and walk toward the entrance, I stumbled. He stopped and stared and for a second

I was afraid I was actually going to have to do a complete collapse and end up sitting on the cold

pavement. But then he hurried forward and caught my arm to steady me.

"Are you all right?"

"I think I’ve turned an ankle. These bags are so heavy."

"If I carry them to your car, can you walk?"

"Would you? How very kind of you."

It was my usual nightly routine. He carried the bags. I opened the car trunk. He put them in. I

walked around to the driver’s door and opened it.

"Oh my goodness!" I exclaimed loudly.

He closed the trunk. "What’s wrong?"

"Well, the light doesn’t come on. Shouldn’t the light come on? It always does when I open the

door."

The man was obviously someone’s well trained husband. I’d known that when I sighted him.

"You may have bumped the switch to off. It’s easy to do."

"There’s a switch?" I slid into the driver seat.

He laughed and came around to the passenger side door and opened it and pointed. "Sure, it’s

right there on the dashboard."

"Where? Oh honestly, I am so stupid about cars. This is my husband’s car. Mine’s in for repair

and why don’t they put everything in the same place in all cars?"

He slid in and reached over and flipped the switch and nothing happened because I had

previously removed the bulb from the ceiling fixture. So he slid further into the passenger seat

and tried the switch several times.

"That’s odd. You must have a loose connection. Well, as long as your headlights are working

you’ll be okay."

"That’s so kind of you," I said and while I was saying it, I caught his face between my hands in

a firm grip and before he could blink, I gave him a solid kiss.

There are a variety of approaches, each familial. That’s how it is done in my bloodline. When

we are hungry a kiss from me, or from Dominic or from any of our line, acts like a sleeping

potion. The man had a fraction of a second to look startled and then his eyes closed and his head

dropped sideways to his shoulder, exposing the flesh above his jugular. With centuries of

experience behind me, it took me less than three minutes to shoot my fangs into him, take a safe

amount of his blood and not a drop more, leave a little saliva on the puncture wounds to instantly

seal them, and I was out of the car. I closed my door, walked around to the passenger side and

glanced at the parking lot. There was no one watching. But possibly someone was in hearing

distance?

I said loudly, "Is that knee bothering you again? Come on, Eddie, I’ll help you. You can lean on

me."

With my arm firmly around him, I stood him up and supported his weight. That’s how strong

vampires are. He did a sleep shuffle. I found his key chain in his pocket, pressed the remote, saw

the lights flicker on his car, headed to it, and within another minute I had him settled behind the

wheel. The seat belt kept him from falling. He was sound asleep.

The whole maneuver took ten minutes. I thought of him as the appetizer.

From there I drove to another mall to find my entree and after that I spotted a lone man

weaving down a side street and so I had a nice bourbon flavored dessert. All three men would

wake with vague memories of a strange dream and no memory of me.

When I returned home, I met Willie Dean in the hall.

"Where did your nephew say he worked?"

Not so much as a polite hello. I bent over my apartment doorknob to insert the key. "He didn’t."

"I noticed. Takes after you."

His door clicked shut behind him.

I frowned at the empty hall.

Inside my apartment I changed into my flannel nightgown and flannel robe and fluffy slippers

and then I plunked myself down on the couch and sat with my feet up on a footstool. Picking up

the remote, I turned on the television. It was nothing but commercials. With the sound down, the

flickering light from the screen was as much light as I wanted. If I’d been human I would have

poured myself a drink. Instead I pulled a smoking stand into easy reaching distance and lit a

cigarette.

Willie Dean owned the building. He could evict me, possibly, if he wanted to. There was at

least one empty apartment upstairs and so he wouldn’t want to, plus, I paid cash. He struck me as

the sort to cheat on his income taxes.

Did he know I was a vampire? Did he know I would not do anything that would require me to

appear at a police station or in court during the day?

He often asked about my job and I always did a vague wave of my hand and mumbled

something about working swing shift. I never said where. For reasons of his own, he didn’t insist

on an answer. He simply did an occasional repeat of the question. Why? Worrying about Willie

Dean was giving me a headache.

The sound of a key in the lock brought me out of my funk with a squeak of surprise.

Dominic stuck his head inside. "Mary? Sorry, did I frighten you?" He came in and closed the

door. "I would have knocked but I presumed you’d gone to bed."

I glanced at the clock. "Good grief. It’s two hours to sunrise and you are absolutely right. I

should turn in."

"Were you waiting up for me?"

"Oh no, dear. I was worrying about someone else."

"That’s not good. Anything I can help you with?"

"Not unless you have some magic way to dig out information about people." I told him about

Willie Dean and added, "There’s something odd about him."

"He mentioned a stakeout? That sounds as though he thinks you work for law enforcement."

"At my age?"

"He may consider your age a clever disguise for an undercover agent. The guilty suspect

everyone."

"What would the man be guilty of?"

Dominic sat down beside me on the couch, gave me a hug, took the cigarette out from between

my fingers and added it to the overflowing ash tray in the smoking stand. "Now, Mary. First, I

am going to empty this thing and second I am going to open a few windows. Why don’t you go

off to bed and let me worry about Willie Dean."

"I don’t want you to worry. No point both of us worrying."

He gave me one of his nice smiles. "The difference is this. I have a way to worry that might

provide answers."

As my head was far too muddled to sort out what he meant, I took his advice and started toward

my bedroom. And then I remembered that I wasn’t the only one with a problem.

"Were you able to talk to Zoë, dear?"

"I phoned. She said she was too tired to see me tonight."

"I’m sorry."

"I’ll try again tomorrow night."

As there was little I could do besides sympathize and assure him he was welcome to the couch,

I reminded him to lock up and then I went to bed.

The next evening Dominic was again awake before me, up and dressed and waiting. He had an

odd little smile on his face, as though he was extremely pleased with himself.

"You are right, Mary. There is something strange about Willie Dean. A puzzle. Do you like to

solve puzzles?"

"I’ve never been very good at them. Tell me what you learned. And how."

After we arranged ourselves, me on the couch and Dominic in the chair and the smoking stand

between us, we each took that first inhale of the evening, savored the flavor and watched the

smoke drift slowly toward the ceiling. He kept me waiting, savoring that, too. The young do

enjoy teasing. Then he leaned forward, elbows on knees, and grinned.

"For starters, one can find almost anything on the internet. What I found was that your Willie

Dean has a wife whose address is the same as his and yet you said he lives alone."

When I first moved to the building I had walked down the hallways in the dead of night and

listened. Vampires can hear the beating of a heart and when very hungry, even the flow of blood

in veins. Since then, coming and going, without trying, I continued to hear the heartbeats. I could

hear them clearly on my way out of the building to hunt and could hear them faintly when I came

home filled.

"I know exactly how many people inhabit each apartment. I know when there is a visitor and I

know when one of them is out. There’s no wife in his place. I would have heard her."

"I believe you. And that is the puzzle. Because she not only is listed at this address, she co-

owns the building with him. It’s all in city records."

"You found this out on the computer? I’ve been here four years. I suppose she might have left

him before I moved in. If there was no divorce, she might live elsewhere but still co-own the

building."

"We’ll never know unless we look."

"Look where?"

"Come along, Mary." Dominic stood up and caught my hand, helped me to my feet and led me

into the hallway. "Dean left a few minutes ago."

Yes. Willie Dean’s heart was not beating anywhere in the building. His beat was distinctive,

slightly irregular. "He goes down the street to one of the fast food places every night."

"Good. We should have a minimum of a half hour. Possibly more."

To my surprise and also dismay, Dominic went to Willie’s door, knelt in front of it, inserted a

small instrument in the keyhole, and before I could ask what he thought he was doing, he opened

the door. "Hurry. I’d like to be done and out of here before he returns."

"But why? We aren’t going to steal anything, are we?"

I have been many things but never a housebreaker. My greatest theft was a box of jewels from

a man who owed me far more, therefore it wasn’t a true theft. It was the balancing of accounts.

And it was centuries ago and the jewels are long gone, sold to buy my passage to the colonies.

"Would Watson question Holmes? Oh, do get in here." Dominic closed the door quietly behind

me. "Where’s the desk?"

The air in the room smelled stale. Looking around, I could see why. Dust everywhere.

Newspapers piled in corners. A soiled sweater draped over the back of a chair. A worn pair of

houseshoes kicked off in front of the couch. A dried up half bowl of cereal left next to the TV.

"I’m right. No woman lives here."

"And the puzzle is becoming more interesting by the second." Dominic seated himself at the

desk and went through the drawers. A mound of papers covered the top.

"What is all that mess?"

"Rent records. We don’t care about them." He swung around and held up a check book and a

sheet of paper that folded in on itself to form an envelope.

"I’ve seen something like that."

He grinned. "Of course you have. It’s a yearly statement of benefits from Social Security.

Here’s his and yes! Here’s hers. And the amounts match."

"Match what?"

He handed me a check book. "Wherever the woman is, her payments are automatically

deposited to a joint checking account along with his."

"Well, they would be, wouldn’t they?"

"The statements from both Social Security and from the bank show this address for her. You

say you haven’t seen her in the four years you’ve lived here. So where is she and why is he

collecting her payments?"

I gave him a long look. Dominic was a sweet boy and if Zoë didn’t know that, she was a fool.

"What you’re telling me is that Willie Dean was probably an abusive husband. She ran away and

left everything behind, knowing that if she transferred her Social Security payments he might be

able to trace her. What you’re looking at is income abandoned by a desperate woman."

Yes, that horrid little merchant owed me every jewel I took with me when I fled England, but

there was no point explaining my past.

Dominic found an old envelope in the pile of papers and copied off several numbers. "You may

be right. I have everything I need. Come on, Mary. I’m getting a bit peckish."

He was careful to reset the lock when we left. And then I drove him to another posh place,

dropped him off, and went looking for new hunting grounds for myself. It was one of those

nights when nothing went easily. The humans all seemed to be traveling in groups. I circled

parking lots endlessly before spotting prey, and then several turned out to be waiting for friends

who arrived before I reached my target. But eventually I found dinner.

When I returned home I was surprised to discover Dominic already there. I wasn’t surprised at

his speed. This night anyone could have completed a hunt more rapidly than I had. The surprise

was a lovely redhead seated on my couch, her long legs crossed, her long fingers wrapped

around a carryout cup of coffee.

"Oh dear," I said.

"You must be Mary."

"You must be Zoë."

Dominic was sitting yoga style on the floor, a small computer balanced on his legs. He glanced

up and waved a hand to point at each of us. "Mary, this is Zoë. Zoë, my auntie Mary."

"Yes, dear, we’ve figured it out all by ourselves," I told him.

There was an expression on the young woman’s face that had love written all through it. Those

two were a matching pair. In her eyes I saw the same edge of unhappiness tinged with doubt. So

she and Dominic had in common a desire to be together and a fear that what they wanted was

impossible. I felt millenniums old.

"Now pay attention, both of you," he said, his face lit by the screen he was staring at. "Nora

Dean has a birth record and a marriage record but no death record. Her medical records at the

HMO end five years ago with no further information. And there are no records of any living

relatives I can trace. I went back to the beginning, starting with the birth record. Both parents are

dead. There never were siblings."

"She ran away. She probably changed her name. I told you that."

"Which means your Mr. Dean is continuing to collect her income. There’s no record of her

having other income, pension, savings, anything at all. She’s a dead end."

"Dear me. Dominic, are you thinking she is living on the street?"

"Or truly dead?"

As the conversation didn’t seem conducive to romance, I decided the two of them needed alone

time. I did a yawn which wouldn’t fool Dominic but did fool his lovely friend. "My dears, I am

too tired to think about it. You’ll excuse me if I turn in now."

I almost reminded him to call a cab for Zoë. Surely she wouldn’t want to stay past dawn in an

apartment with two dead bodies. And would she know to lock up? But they were adults and I

was behaving like the age I had let myself become. From the looks on their faces I presumed

Dominic would shut down his computer and work on improving his lovelife.

Excuse me for being incredibly thick headed. Instead he did a bit more searching and found a

driver’s license photo of Nora Dean and showed it to me right after the next sunset.

Over that first delicious smoke of the evening he explained a bit more about the beautiful Zoë.

"She started out majoring in theater and studied acting for a while. She had several good parts

with small productions before switching to stage management. If she gets the job here, it will be

a step up from her position in Portland."

"I’m sure she is brilliant," I said.

"That’s not the point. Listen to this, Mary. In one of her plays she acted the role of an old

woman. She is expert at the makeup, posture, voice, that sort of thing."

"Where are we going with this?"

Dominic ground out his cigarette and leaned toward me, his expression intense. "I’ve been

thinking. To pull off this con against the government, is it possible the wife is dead and Willie

hid her body somewhere?"

"Con? Oh dear." I was living off the Social Security of a man I’d never met, using credentials

that put my age close to ninety. I could pass for mid sixties but not much more. If anyone

actually investigated me, I would have to leave town in a rush and start all over somewhere else.

"It would explain why he says such odd things to you. He thinks you are an investigator."

"Renting an apartment for four years to catch him at theft?"

"No, he imagines your move here was innocent but that you recently began to suspect him,

either of fraud or of disposing of his wife."

"Dominic! Is it possible you are next going to suggest digging up the basement?"

He laughed and visibly relaxed. "Far too much work, my dear. I have no purpose other than

curiosity. My problem is that I hate giving up on a puzzle. What Zoë and I decided is this. Zoë

says that with a wig and makeup she can make herself look a lot like the driver’s license photo of

Nora Dean. And the license gives her height and weight. Zoë is about two inches taller but she

says that’s not a problem. She can slouch and appear shorter. We’re thinking if she knocks on

Willie Dean’s door, his reaction could be interesting to watch."

"Oh, he’ll surely know she isn’t his wife."

"Let me explain staging, Mary."

He didn’t need to. I stood in the hall the next evening and watched. As soon as we heard Willie

go out, Dominic dragged a stepladder to the hallway and loosened all but one of the bulbs in the

ceiling fixtures.

Zoë came prepared. I would never have recognized her as Zoë. She did indeed resemble the

photo, with a gray wig of short tight curls above false eyebrows. Heavy makeup made her cheeks

appear rounder, her nose wider, her mouth smaller. The lines looked natural that ran through fake

sagging skin. She was good, knew how to hunch her shoulders and add forty years to her age.

She walked up and down the hall, getting the feel of the space. "What should I say when he

opens his door?"

"Hello, Willie?" I suggested.

"We don’t know the tone of her voice. Or if she had an accent. Maybe you should simply stand

there, staring at him," Dominic said. "Let him do the talking."

Dominic and I were standing in front of my apartment when we heard the front door open.

Dominic flapped his hand at Zoë, signaling her to stay where she was, on the far side of Willie

Dean’s apartment and halfway down the hall. The one remaining overhead light was directly

above her, It was a three bulb fixture and Dominic had removed two of the bulbs. One thin shaft

of white lit the top of her gray hair and created odd shapes of light and shadow on her face.

We backed into my apartment and Dominic closed my door. We stood silently listening to the

uneven beat of Willie Dean’s heart and to his footsteps. His footsteps stopped.

We knew what he saw, the shadowed eye sockets, the ridge of light on the cheekbones, the

darker shadows beneath her nose and chin. The overhead light drained color, creating a gray and

white image.

We heard his sharp breath. We clearly heard what he muttered. "Damn you, you’re dead."

Yes, that’s what Zoë had reminded me of, standing in the staging Dominic had created. Hidden

under the disguise, she resembled a zombie in a horror film.

Dominic edged open the door.

We could see Willie Dean, his back to us. A paper box from the fast food restaurant dropped

from his hand, hit the floor and popped open. The remains of a meal fell out.

His heart raced. He made an odd whimpering sound. And then he collapsed to a crumpled heap.

Zoë let out a shriek.

Dominic ran down the hall, did a flying leap over Willie, caught Zoë, and pulled her back to

my place. Upstairs a door opened and someone called, "What’s going on down there?" Another

tenant came out of the apartment at the end of the hall, and then more and more doors opened

and people started rushing around. They bent over Willie and shouted to each other about

phoning 9-1-1.

We closed my door.

"What happened?" Zoë looked terrified.

"His heart stopped."

"Ohmygod, did I kill him?"

"No. No! Of course not. Darling, it’s not your fault. Come on, let’s get you out of that costume

before the police show up." Dominic hugged her and petted her and led her into my bathroom

and left me shivering.

He was right. A death brings more than an ambulance. It brings the police, swarms of them

hurrying up and down the hallway talking to everyone. Had anyone seen Mr. Dean when he

collapsed? What had they heard? Was anyone else in the hall with him? I could hear the

questions through the door.

From the bathroom Dominic called, "Turn on the TV. We need sound."

With no idea what he meant, I did. Dominic raced over to me, pulled the pins out of my bun

and finger combed my hair into long messy strands around my shoulders. Next he rushed in and

out of my bedroom, helped me tie my flannel bathrobe over my clothes and told me to kick off

my shoes. I did. He grabbed them and tossed them into the bedroom.

"Remember, if asked, you are home alone."

A few minutes later a policeman knocked on the door. I opened the door, saw all the milling

people and realized what Dominic thought I should do.

"Oh my goodness, what’s happened?"

He said there had been an accident and had I heard anything?

"I was watching a show. I’m sorry, let me turn it down. I have to put it on high because I don’t

hear as well as I used to." Maybe I wasn’t as good an actress as Zoë, but I knew the right lines.

"Should I come out? Oh where did I leave my shoes? Give me a minute and I’ll find them."

"That’s all right, ma’am. The hall is already crowded. You stay where you are."

He only asked one or two more questions.

By the time the hallway finally emptied and Willie Dean’s body was removed and everyone

had returned to wherever they came from, Dominic had calmed Zoë. She came back into the

front room and joined me on the couch.

"I feel terrible," she said. "Do you think I frightened him to death?"

I said, "Oh dear."

Dominic said, "He frightened himself to death. He knew she was dead."

"But there’s no record of her death. So how did she die and where is her body?" I asked.

"Willie Dean’s last words were 'Damn you, you’re dead.' That’s as good as a confession."

"You think he killed her and hid her body?"

"Of course he did."

I had to agree with him. There was no other explanation for the missing wife and the check

books and the deposits and the lack of any public record of her death.

We hadn’t killed Willie. He’d killed himself. And possibly I should feel a wee bit guilty about

taking advantage of the situation. But after all these centuries, I don’t waste my emotions on the

wicked.

The three of us discussed the possibilities and came up with the only workable plan for two

people who could not make daytime visits or phone calls to public offices. Armed with Nora

Dean’s ID, Zoë dressed up once more to visit a mortuary to order Willie Dean’s cremation. They

were extremely helpful, even filling out the forms to have copies of the death certificate mailed

to her.

Then Zoë phoned the Social Security office using her own voice and explained that her Aunt

Mary Brown had died and benefits should be stopped. Next she phoned using a frail old lady

voice, identified herself as Nora Dean, and explained that her husband had died and as his

benefits were greater than her own, she would appreciate receipt of the larger benefit.

Dominic searched Dean’s desk one more time and found Wills signed by Dean and his wife

leaving everything to each other. Again disguised as Nora and armed with all the paperwork, Zoë

did all the adjustments that had to be done in person. Dominic took care of changes that could be

done with his computer. He will mark deceased on my tax return this year and that will solve the

problem of anyone looking for ninety year old Mary Brown.

Nicest of all, I need no longer go out alone at night. Zoë got the job she wanted. Dominic

gutted Willie’s apartment and rebuilt it, turning it into a charming love nest for the two of them.

Very handy.

Dominic remains the same boy I have known for almost a century. Zoë, on the other hand, is an

absolute treasure. She cut and permed my hair into a short mass of curls. Next she went shopping

and came back with a different style of eye glasses, shoes, clothing. She totally changed my

appearance.

"Now, if you meet any of the tenants in the hallway, they won’t ever guess you were once Mary

Brown," she explained.

Such a dear girl. In four years, no one in the building had ever seen me except Willie Dean.

That’s because he intentionally lay in wait for me. The new disguise allows me to return to old

hunting grounds with no fear of being recognized, not that I will ever say so to Zoë. She knows

Dominic and I hunt. She prefers not to think about it.

Bank statements and government mail for Nora Dean do get left in their mailbox at 2C but as

we see each other every night, it’s no bother. Should anyone official ask, the owner gave her old

apartment to young relatives and now she lives next door in the apartment vacated by the death

of Mary Brown.

Well, honestly. no one is going to ask. After more centuries than I will ever admit, I am good at

updating my existence.

END

Turning Vampire series Vampire Career

Vampire Disaster Vampire Escape

Vampire Lust The first two novels are available now in print and ebook. Here is the first chapter of

Vampire Career

by Phoebe Matthews

Turning Vampire Novel 1

Vampire was never my career choice.

I was born with a severe heart defect and spent my childhood in hospital beds and waiting

rooms, surrounded by dull green corridor walls and the smell of disinfectant. What the specialists

told my parents is unknown to me. They tried to protect me from the truth, always saying that

after the next treatment I would be a normal girl. When I reached my teens, my parents took me

on tours of college campuses near our Seattle home and encouraged me to think about a career.

On my sixteenth birthday they gave me a snazzy little sport car. I had always been too frail to

walk more than a block or two. The car allowed me to drive myself to school and around town. I

think that was the year that I began to believe that I could be independent.

What is it about getting behind the wheel of a car and having all that control? Making quick

decisions. Shall I go to the library or shall I stop at the beauty parlor and get my hair cut?

Maybe those decisions seem trivial to people who have made them all their lives. They

weren't trivial to me. I had always been too frail to use public transportation, or to walk any

distance by myself. Until the day I had my own car, my parents drove me everywhere.

With my own car I was free to change my destination without asking the driver if that would

be convenient. Free to change my mind. Free to think I was a girl who had a future to plan.

College. Yes. All at once, I believed it was in my future. And, maybe a boyfriend?

The boyfriend wish was a secret I hardly dared admit to myself. The boys at school were

polite to me. They held doors and sometimes asked me about assignments. I was an “A” student.

I was also frail, so weak that after walking short distances, my posture sagged and I limped. My

hair and complexion were as faded as I felt. Most of the time, the other students really didn't see

me as they hurried by to join their friends.

I knew I was daydreaming when I thought about having a boyfriend. It wasn't going to

happen. But I daydreamed, anyway. TV shows featuring teen romances were my favorites,

watched whenever I had the TV to myself. As for novels, I loved them all, from Regency

romances to the modern Young Adult collection at the library.

When I graduated from high school, I was still not well. But at eighteen I was an adult. That

didn't mean much to me as I wasn't waiting for the day I could declare my independence. My

family was functional, consisting of myself and my two parents who loved me.

Apparently, my age meant something to others.

A specialist made that clear when he looked me in the eyes and said, “Georgia, you might live

for another year. Possibly two. I think you are old enough to make your own decision about what

you want to do with that time. If your dream has always been to see Paris or to lie on a beach in

Hawaii, you should do it now.”

That was the day I grew up. I thanked him for his advice. Then I drove my little car out to a

mall, found a space in a far corner and cried for an hour. I was so angry at my parents, I wept

myself sick. Why had they lied? Why had they let me hope? Hadn't they known?

And then I realized that they had always put my happiness in front of their own. They had

given up their own dreams for me, never taking the chance of leaving me in anyone else's care.

And that's when I quit crying, grew up, and did exactly what the specialist suggested. I made my

own decision.

Naturally, I had read the latest novels and seen movies about vampires and so when I made

my choice, I knew where to look. Within a hundred miles of my home in Seattle was a place

made famous by rumors of vampires. After thinking through all the future choices open to me, I

picked the only one that might actually be possible.

At eighteen, I was off to college.

The college I chose was a small one on the Olympic Peninsula, closer to the ocean than to

Seattle. It wasn't a college my parents had taken me to see, or even thought to suggest. What they

had in mind, I realized, was something close to home so that they could reach me quickly.

Considering my choice, I needed to distance myself from them.

I did computer searches to locate a studio apartment for rent within easy driving distance of

the campus. I made all the arrangements on-line.

And then I told my parents, “The sea air gives me energy. I always feel better when we visit

the ocean beaches. I will miss you, but I need to try being on my own.”

“I don't like you living so far away,” my mother said.

“It's time for me to grow up, Mom.”

“Yes, but is it time for us to grow up?” Dad teased. “How are we going to get along without

you to tell us what to do?”

Neither of them had the heart to say, Georgia, you need to stay near us because you are dying.

Perhaps they were still lying to themselves, believing that the doctors were wrong and I would

make a miraculous recovery.

In the end, they agreed to my choice.

Their only request was that I wear one of those electronic locket gadgets that can summon a

local emergency service with a touch. No doubt they expected a phone call any minute to inform

them I was in a hospital ER or in a morgue. But like the doctor, they wanted me to have as much

happiness as I could find. Unlike the doctor, they kept up the pretense to me and to themselves

that I would have a long life.

“Georgie, darling, we'll go with you and help you settle in,” my mother said.

With both cars packed, my mother drove me in my car, and Dad followed in his car. We

drove from the city skyline of tall buildings to the country skyline of mountaintops and forests.

When we reached the Olympic Peninsula, we entered another world. At first, the road ran

straight and inland, with glimpses of the water in the distance beyond communities of low

houses. Then it curved toward the sea and cut so near it, we could smell the saltwater. On the

other side of us, the Olympic Mountains rose sharply above their forested slopes to touch the sky

with their snow-tipped peaks.

Dark firs towered above us, casting long shadows across the road. Fog drifted through the

branches, pale, shimmering and carrying the clean scents of fir and sea.

If I hadn't been so afraid of what I had to do, I would have hugged myself for joy at the beauty

of it.

We found the apartment building easily. My parents were relieved to see that it was on a

pleasant street with neat front gardens and convenient parking. The apartment itself was small

and clean. Of course my mother busied herself adding bright linens while my father checked the

plumbing and appliances to be sure everything worked. Then they looked up phone numbers for

a housecleaning service and a laundry that did pickup and pointed them out to me.

“I can keep one room clean,” I protested.

“You'll have enough to do with college studies,” Mom said. “Let someone else clean the

kitchen and bath for you. And don't try to do any lifting by yourself. That's what laundries are

for.”

“If your money runs low, phone me,” Dad said. “My bank can do an electronic transfer the

same day.”

After they hung up my clothes and shelved my books, they lingered, hugging me. I fought

back tears. I would never see them again. I knew that. They suspected it, but for different reasons

than mine.

“We can drive over any time you want company,” my mother said.

“I know,” I told her. “And I would like that. But, Mom, you've always been with me, doing

everything for me. I have to learn to handle my own problems.”

“We're so proud of you, Georgie,” Dad said. “Promise us you won't overdo it. If you feel the

least bit tired, you phone.”

Every day of my life I'd felt tired. I said, “If I need you, I'll phone. I promise. And I'll email

and tell you all about my classes.”

It's not as though I had choices. Well, I did, of a sort. I could choose to die or I could choose

to not die.

After they hugged me goodbye and reluctantly left me, I drove to the campus to meet with the

counselor. I told her, “I have a heart condition that leaves me with very little energy.”

She flipped through my folder and nodded. She had my medical records, dummied down to

the level I had always been given. Inoperable condition kept under control with prescriptions and

regular treatments. Nowhere on that record would anyone have written: Will probably drop dead

within the year.

“I've picked a light schedule of classes four mornings a week. I hope that's all right. If that

goes well, I can add more hours next semester.”

“Very wise plan to pace yourself,” she said. “By next semester you'll know how much you

can handle.”

“Yes, that's what I thought. And also, sometimes I need therapy for my back. This way, I can

make medical appointments on Fridays and Saturdays.”

“I can see you have thought this through carefully, Georgia. Let me know if there is anything

I can do to help you.”

She had already done everything I needed from her. She'd approved a schedule that set me

free.

As I walked out of her office and into the long hallway toward the exit, I passed a young man.

He wouldn't notice me. No one ever did. But I noticed him.

He was standing on a ladder reaching up to a ceiling light fixture with a screwdriver in his

hand, his head tilted back so that all I could see of his face was the bottom of his chin. Hanging

around his hips and dragging down his jeans was a belt heavy with an assortment of tools. His

reach pulled his tee shirt up and left a wide stretch of tan skin bare, from his navel to his ribs.

Staring is rude, of course, and I wasn't thinking. I simply stopped and stared. That body could

have been on the cover of one of my paperback romance books.

That's when I heard him laugh. He had a low, friendly laugh. I should have kept walking.

Instead, I continued looking up as he bent his face down toward me and I saw that he was

laughing at me.

“Hi. You okay?” he asked.

As usual, I felt weak. Or maybe I felt even weaker than usual. He had the loveliest brown

eyes, that warm color of brown sugar. “Yes, of course.”

“You almost bumped into my ladder.”

“Did I? I'm sorry.”

Again, he flashed that grin at me. “Not your fault. I'm the one with the ladder blocking

traffic.”

Embarrassed, I nodded and walked past the ladder and down the hall. He had laughed. He

must have seen me staring at his body.

“Nice to meet you,” he called after me.

Turning back, I watched him tilt his head upward again to look at the ceiling fixture he was

repairing. His light brown hair matched his tan. Broad shoulders, muscular arms, narrow hips--he

glowed with health. He was the sort of boyfriend I had dreamed about when I still believed I had

a future.

Now I had no illusions. If I stayed and talked to him, he would be pleasant, and speak politely

the way people speak to children and invalids. That's how men always treated me.

Not that it mattered any more. He was not at all what I needed to find.

That weekend I packed a small overnight bag, put it in the trunk of my car, and drove along

the coast road.

Most of the Olympic Peninsula is filled by a National Park and National Forest. The Olympic

Mountains rise above snow level. Between the mountain range and the ocean are rain forests and

parks with hiking trails and campsites. At the western edge, the breakers of the Pacific Ocean

crash onto long beaches.

Scattered between the forests and the beaches are small communities. Originally they housed

the families of people working in the fishing or lumbering industries. Over the years the towns

spread to accommodate summer tourists.

To all that natural beauty was added the usual tourist attractions: restaurants, gift shops,

taverns, and hangouts catering to a variety of interests.

After checking into a tourist motel, I combed my dull, limp hair, put on a little lipstick, and

dragged my weary body to a hangout that I'd heard was popular with college students. If the

rumors were true, that made it the place to meet the type of person I needed to find. Time to hang

out.

It was one of those places that couldn't decide what it wanted to be. At one side was a bar that

offered snacks and drinks. Against another wall were pinball and shuffle board games.

Mismatched tables and chairs circled an open bit of floor. At the far end on a small bandstand,

five musicians shattered the sound barrier with their renditions of country western.

Possibly I could survive the music for an hour before collapsing beneath decibels. The food

was beyond trying. So I ordered a coke and a bag of chips and settled into a corner to watch the

crowd.

There were pretty women everywhere, healthy women with glowing skin and bright smiles,

their eyes scanning the room. Like me, they were obviously hoping to meet men. Were they

looking for the same sort of man that I was? I was small and thin and pasty white and my weak

back gave me a twisted posture, nothing that had ever caught the attention of the boys at school

at any time in my life.

I sat there, sipping coke, nibbling on the chips, and wondering if I had made the right

decision. Perhaps I should have asked my parents to take me to Hawaii for the last months of my

life, after all. Perhaps the rumors of vampires were a fantasy created to attract more tourists.

“May I sit here?” asked a deep voice.

I didn't quite catch his words over the noise of the band.

The man bent toward me, his hand on the back of the empty chair at my table, and repeated

his question. Pale skin, dark hair, handsome face, and secretive smile. Dressed all in black, he

looked my age except for the smile. There was something old and a bit too confident about his

smile.

I nodded, unsure what to say.

“Or perhaps you would like to dance?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I never have.”

“You've never danced? Then you must, of course you must.” He reached out a long thin hand

to me.

Eighteen years of hospitals had made me used to following strangers, within the confines of a

populated building, to new and often unpleasant experiences. At least in this case I knew where

he intended to take me.

Imitating the actresses on TV shows, I held out my hand. I was half afraid my back would

give out and shoot pains through me before I could stand. It did that sometimes and then all I

could do was sit down again.

Instead, he pulled me up so quickly and gently I didn't quite realize what was happening until

there we were on the dance floor.

With his lean, hard body pressed against me and his arm around my waist, he actually held me

up. I felt as though I was floating. For a moment he bent down to my level and brushed the side

of his face against mine, and that was definitely a new experience. It made me a little nervous to

feel his cool skin and smell the subtle scent of cologne.

He was incredibly strong. That was a good sign. Of course, I was such a weakling, most men

seemed supernaturally strong to me.

We twirled and spun and slowed to drifting, surrounded by the steady rhythm of the music.

For a few moments I felt like I was on a cloud.

When my feet touched the floor, I stepped back enough to look up at him. His eyes were as

dark as his hair and as old as his smile. He kept his arm firmly around me.

“You're new here,” he said.

I explained about attending college and then, because I really did not have months to waste on

this project, I told him my name.

“I'm Dominic,” he said. That seemed correct--slightly foreign, slightly old-fashioned.

When he talked, I stared at his teeth. They looked like normal teeth, what I could see of them

in the moving shadows cast by the strobe lights. He surprised me by staying with me the whole

evening, despite a parade of women who tried to cut in on us.

“My turn with Dominic,” was the line.

Each time he'd say, “Sorry, love, not now,” and whirl me away.

Those other women continued to flirt, even after they found other partners. They would dance

past us and lean toward Dominic and make clever remarks and roll their eyes as well as their

bodies.

“Save a dance for me,” each would say.

He answered each request with a silent smile. And so I wasn't surprised when he led me back

to the small table in the corner. What did surprise me was that he pulled out the other chair and

sat down.

“Where are you staying tonight, Georgia? May I drive you home?” he asked.

If the circumstances had been different, I might have tried for a romance. I'd never

experienced romance, not with my medical problems. True, I'd read every word I could find

about Elizabeth Barrett Browning and had a secret dream or two in my heart, but I was smart

enough to know that she had not been on her deathbed, plus, a Robert Browning is a rare

occurrence.

Might as well tell Dominic the truth. “Are you a vampire? Because I am looking for a

vampire.”

He grinned then and sorry to say, I didn't see any pointy teeth.

“A vampire? Why would you think that?”

“This area is famous for vampires,” I said.

“Georgia, you've been reading romance novels.”

I nodded. “But I've also done considerable research on the internet.”

“And you found websites that promised you vampires in this neighborhood?”

“Something like that.”

He pressed his cool fingers over mine. “And you've heard that a vampire can give you the

most romantic experience of your life.”

“I'm not looking for romance.”

He sat back and stared at me, startled. “Then what is it you want?”

“I want to be turned.”

He really did sound shocked. “Turned? Turned into a vampire? But, Georgia! You have to die

for that to happen.”

“I know.”

“Well, and afterwards, when you're turned, you can never go out in the sun. You can't eat real

food. You can't go home because if you do, no one will understand. Or if they do, they will no

longer want you in the family. Believe me, there isn't a normal family around who wants a

vampire sleeping in a box in the basement all day.”

“I know all that.”

“Vampires drink blood! Have you ever tried to drink blood?”

“No. But I will if I have to.”

“Eeew.” He looked away from me and I thought that he would leave.

Had I misjudged? Except for the lack of fangs, he looked typecast with the dark hair and

white skin and cold hands and those very old eyes in his smooth young face. Plus, when we were

dancing I had put my raised hand on the side of his neck. Years of experience as a patient had

taught me the exact sites of pulses. He had no pulse.

There was no way to politely say that I thought he looked more like a vampire than anyone I

had ever met.

“Do you know any vampires?” I asked quickly.

He drummed his fingertips on the table top. He tapped his shoes on the floor. He frowned and

shook his head.

“Why, Georgia? Is there a reason?”

“Of course there's a reason. I am dying. And I am only eighteen. Somehow that seems

premature to me.”

That stopped him. He stared and stared and I thought he might sit there speechless until dawn,

although if I was right and he was a vampire, he'd have to leave before dawn.

Finally he said, “Tell me your whole story.”

And so I did. He watched, his face perfectly still, not giving away a thought. But he kept his

dark eyes on me and I knew he was listening to every word and making a decision.

I'd been right all along. Dominic was a vampire.

“For more than a hundred years,” he admitted. “In all that time, I've never turned anyone.”

“You know how, don't you?”

“I never hurt anyone,” he explained. “When I take blood I am very tender and romantic and

gentle. Are you sure you wouldn't like romance? No? With a century of experience, I can kiss

you to the edge of ecstasy so that when I draw blood, you won't feel it. And I am always careful

to limit the amount. I would never leave you weak or faint.”

“I'm weak and faint most the time, anyway,” I said. “And as for drawing blood without pain,

I've had blood drawn for hospital tests hundreds of times and it always hurts.”

“Ah. I can insert a tooth more gently than a nurse can insert a needle. Isn't that odd?”

“Terrific if it's true,” I said. “So how do you do the first part, the dying part? Do I have to wait

until I die naturally? What if you aren't around?”

“That won't work at all,” he said. “When the heart stops on its own, bringing back life is

usually impossible. No, to be successful, I would have to drain you until you took that last

breath, and then I would give you enough of my vampire blood to bring you back to life and turn

you.”

As that sounded like a solution to me, I asked him when he would like to do this.

“Georgia, do you think I take appointments? I am not a monster!”

Apparently vampires have rather tender feelings about some things. A century of experience

hadn't hardened him the way I'd thought it would.

I explained my pain and my failing heart and my dreams and I kept on talking. In the end he

said what all my doctors had been saying for years.

He said, “Very well. I can't make any promises about the results, but I will try.”

He explained the procedure, which sounded like pre-op talk, and he set a time for the

following night. As my life had been one long series of appointments, I knew I was lucky to find

a specialist and get in for treatment so quickly.

The next day seemed endless. I drove to the nearby ocean beach to enjoy a last day in the pale

sunlight slanting through the overcast. It sparkled on the crests of the long waves as they rolled

toward the shore. In that final moment, each wave peaked and the light turned it to green glass

before it curled in on itself and broke and shattered on the sand. The water drew back with a soft

hiss to meet the next incoming wave.

I wanted to run along the beach and feel the ocean swirl around my ankles. I wanted the sun

in my eyes. I wanted to soak in its brilliance and feel its heat because after today, I would never

again see the sun. That seemed to me the greatest loss in becoming a vampire.

But when I opened the car door, the wind blew it shut. I fell back against the seat, gasping.

For a long time I sat in my car in the parking lot, with the window down a few inches so that I

could smell the freshness of the sea air and listen to the breakers.

A few tourists walked upon the sand, their coats billowing out around them, hair blowing

across their faces. Occasionally a couple wandered by, stopping to embrace while the ocean

spray flew around them.

If I did manage to get to the beach, I knew the wind would knock me over and someone

would have to carry me back to my car. Instead, I rested against the seat back and sat facing the

windshield and watched the sun weave its way through ribbons of clouds until it reached the

horizon.

When the sun was gone and the sky faded to darkness, I turned the key and pressed the gas

pedal and drove to a fast food take-out window to pick up a meal. After that there was nothing

more to do than sit in the small motel room watching the TV, another long wait for an

appointment, but at least I didn't have to spend it in a fake leather chair in a waiting room. Too

tired to really enjoy my last meal, I picked at the hamburger and took a few sips of the

milkshake.

Had he changed his mind? If he had, that was his choice.

Did I have the strength to go again and search again for someone else to help me? I was so

tired I would have wept, if I'd had enough energy to do so.

End of Chapter 1

***

The first two novels in the Turning Vampire series are available now in print and ebook.

Check the webpage http://phoebematthews.com for order information for all Phoebe Matthews

titles.