La Vida Vampire Page 3

  He scratched his jaw. “I don’t know. Could be chance, if he’s really following the Frenchies. Could be a change in tactics. Even a shot at getting publicity for his cause. Tell you one thing. I’d watch my back, if I were you.”

  Janie patted my arm. “At least you’re forewarned now. I wouldn’t lose sleep over him.”

  Janie is ever the optimist, and I grinned. “You’re right. Hey, those sweet ladies tipped me forty dollars to share with you. How about a drink at Harry’s? We can work on the report while we unwind.”

  Mick grimaced. “No offense, Cesca, but if you’re drinking blood—”

  “No, no,” I interrupted, “I don’t drink in public unless it’s sweet tea. But I do like crunching ice. Will that bother you?”

  “Ice?” Mick blinked. “You’re kidding.”

  Janie, who’d caught a snack with me a few times, gurgled a laugh. “Why would she kid, Mick? Geez. I can go out for a while, but not to Harry’s. The ghost in the bathroom creeps me big time. How about Scarlett’s?”

  The musty smell upstairs at Scarlett’s where the bathrooms are creeps me, but I don’t have to use the facilities often, so I agreed.

  We strolled south on St. George, then took a right on the side street Hypolita, chatting about the cute little boy, the Jag Queens, and Gomer. Mick and Janie both thought Gomer was too much a caricature, but none of us had a clue what the man might have been up to. Then I asked if the wiseguys were really mobsters, and Mick told me I watched too much TV.

  He may have a point, but I won’t give up my mystery shows. Or HGTV.

  Scarlett O’Hara’s is plain fun. Good food and drink (when I nibble or sip any of it) and live entertainment nightly, so the place was usually packed with tourists and students from Flagler College right down Cordova Street. The exterior is cypress and cedar, and the two now-joined buildings dated roughly from 1865. The coolest thing? Three palm trees grow right through the floorboards where you walk up the steps.

  Seats in the rustic outdoor oyster bar were taken. We peeked inside at the Gone with the Wind movie posters and portraits of Scarlett and Rhett, but Mick wanted to smoke, so we snagged a table on the porch when four men in business suits left.

  Our waitress, Cami, appeared almost immediately to scoop up her tips, wipe down the tabletop, and hand us menus. A pert twenty-something and very slender in her black slacks, black rubber-soled shoes, and a wine-colored T-shirt with a white Scarlett’s emblem, she’d waited on me a lot when I came in with Maggie and Neil. She always put a little sweet tea in with my ice but never offered to serve blood. She knew I didn’t drink in public, because I’d told her so.

  “Hey, Cesca, where’s Maggie? Off with that hunk of hers?”

  “You got it. These are friends from the ghost tour company.”

  Cami acknowledged them with a smile and took Mick’s order, a pint, Black & Tan. Janie considered a decadent chocolate dessert but went with a drink, a mudslide. I nursed my glass of sweet tea and ice as we worked on the incident report and leafed through the tourists’ names and addresses, trying to match them with faces. Laughter and music swelled and ebbed, but it was quiet enough to converse on our corner of the porch, and I was enjoying myself.

  Until Cami approached us with a bottle, a glass, and a nervous frown. I recognized the label, my favorite brand of artificial blood. What the heck?

  She shrugged her apology. “Sorry, Cesca, but a couple inside sent this to you.”

  Starbloods bottles are tinted tan so the contents aren’t in-your-face obvious. Still, I whipped my shawl off and around the bottle as she handed it to me before Mick or Janie could be grossed out. It was cold and still capped. Good for Cami.

  “That couple, they wouldn’t happen to be speaking French, would they?” I asked, knowing I wouldn’t like the answer.

  She nodded. “They’re sitting at the fireplace table.”

  Janie tensed next to me. “Is a guy with a scar on his jaw in there, too?”

  “Yeah, and he’s driving the waitstaff crazy. Won’t sit down. Keeps pacing and getting in our way. Why?”

  “The lone guy is a troublemaker,” Mick told her, then turned to me. “Want to get out of here, Cesca?”

  I was tempted, but he still had half a pint left, and Janie had her drink.

  “Naw, I’ll go talk to the newlyweds for a minute.” I used my best shucky-darn tone, made like it was no big deal, and felt Janie relax.

  I didn’t, and I tensed even more as I approached the front porch entry door. Through the glass I saw Stony standing at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed, his back to me.

  I clenched the Starbloods bottle with both hands, my shawl trailing around it, and bit my lip. I could blow by this jerk with just a touch of vampire speed if I knew how to turn on the power. Open the door, slip past him, nothing to it. Maybe it would work.

  I took a breath, thought speed and zip, I did it. True, I stumbled when I put on the brakes to avoid knocking over a waitress, but I reached the table by the fireplace where the newlyweds sat without flattening anyone.

  I gave the couple a bright false smile. “Hi, are you enjoying your meal?”

  As inane as asking about the weather, I know, but my manners are ingrained.

  “Oui, very much,” Yolette answered. “But I see you do not drink your blood. Why?”

  “Much as I appreciate the gesture, I don’t drink in public.” I smiled again to remove any insult. “Thank you anyway. I’ll be sure your waitress takes it off your bill.”

  “Wait!” Yolette sprang from her chair and slid an arm around my waist.

  She smelled faintly of fresh blood, and my stomach turned queasy. Did she have a cut? If so, I didn’t want to be blamed for it, especially when someone bellowed behind me. It sounded a lot like Stony’s voice, but Yolette’s caressing hand was scarier.

  “Mon amie,” she said, even as footsteps shook the floorboards. “Why do you not drink with your good friends? Surely they cannot be offended if they are intimate with you.”

  “Uh, intimate?” Language barrier alert. She couldn’t mean—

  “But of course. Vampires bring such spice to lovemaking. Etienne and me, we often have vampire lovers.”

  Yikes. She did mean.

  I stood mute. Stony hovered two feet at my back, making froth-at-the-mouth sounds. Yolette’s hand kneaded my waist. I felt faint and wanted to disappear, but flinched when Etienne laughed, harsh and startling.

  “Ah, Yolette, I think this little vampire is an innocent. See? She blushes.”

  “C’est vrai? Truly you do not share a bed with your friends?”

  “No,” I blurted, and meant hell no.

  “We would welcome you then.” She moved her hand from my waist—finally!—but lifted it to caress my cheek. “We could teach you so much, d’accord, Etienne?”

  “Oui,” Etienne said, his voice rich with speculation as he eyed me like I was the rarest dish on the menu.

  Stony moved then, jerking me sideways by the arm so fast a mortal would’ve had whiplash. Though his fingers dug smack into the same spot on my right arm where he’d grabbed me earlier, I kept both hands on the Starbloods bottle. Points for me.

  Stony stuck his face close to Yolette’s. “I’m warning you, I’ll see you dead before you screw a vampire in my town.”

  “Is there a problem, folks?”

  I turned to see Larry Hardy, the night manager, a smile in place along with his business suit and name badge, but his narrow gaze measured the scene.

  Etienne rose from his seat and waved a languid hand. “Non, non. C’est a mere misunderstanding.”

  Yolette tossed her hair and stamped a foot. “Quel problème! This man,” she pointed dramatically, “he follows us and he threatens me just now. I demand he be removed at once.”

  “Sir?” Larry’s tone made Stony let me go and back up.

  “All right, I’m leaving.” Stony glanced from Yolette to Etienne to me. “But you remember what I said. I will be watching.”


  Larry followed Stony out to the oyster bar, I guess to be sure he left. I turned to Yolette and Etienne. I didn’t like their game, but maybe they were in true danger.

  “I need to rejoin my friends and finish our paperwork, but you ought to file a report with the St. Augustine police.”

  “Oui, perhaps we will.” She paused. “But tell me, have I offended you, ma petite?”

  “You surprised me.” An honest understatement.

  “I suppose you do not wish to be our lover while we are here?”

  That’d be a big ten-four. I put it nicer. “No, but have a nice honeymoon.”

  I didn’t need vampire speed to flag down Cami, return the bottle, and have it deducted from the newlyweds’ bill. I paid our tab, too, while I had Cami’s attention, because I wanted to call it a night.

  “What the hell happened in there?” Mick demanded when I stepped back out on the porch. “Stony damn near knocked over three people on his way down the stairs.”

  “He threatened the French couple,” I answered, dropping into my chair.

  “Not you this time?” Janie asked.

  “Not directly.”

  “You’re rubbing your arm again,” Janie said with concern. “We need to add your injury to the form.”

  “Cesca.” Mick’s hard edges showed in his face and clenched fists. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  Embarrassing as it was, I spilled it. “The bride, the newlywed bride who was wrapped around her groom all night? She propositioned me.”

  “Huh?” they said in unison.

  “My reaction exactly.” I rubbed my temples. “Seems the happy couple is into sex with vampires. I never quite got whether she meant solo or ménage à trois or both, but Stony heard every word and went ballistic.”

  Janie’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Damn, Cesca, what did you do?”

  “Other than mumbling incoherently? Not much. After Stony threatened death to vampire lovers, the manager escorted him out. I told the couple no thanks and split.”

  Mick’s lips twitched. Was that a grimace or a grin fighting to break out?

  “Let me get this straight,” he said, his voice slightly choked. “The Frenchwoman put the make on you for some vampire nooky? Seriously, you?”

  I nodded.

  He burst full-out laughing.

  Janie punched his arm. Hard. I swear my own arm throbbed in response. “What’s the matter with Cesca?” she demanded. “She isn’t attractive enough to be propositioned? Is that what you find so funny?”

  “No, no, not at all.”

  “Then what are you implying?”

  “That she’s not the type to roll in the hay with…just anyone.”

  “You mean I don’t roll in the hay at all,” I said and waited as Janie turned wide eyes on me. I shrugged. “It’s true. I haven’t, uh, had much experience.”

  “You have nada experience,” Mick corrected. “Most vampires bed hop as fast as they can move. They’re sensual, they’re—”

  “Too sexy for their fangs?”

  Mick grinned. “Pretty much. Your sexuality meter is on dead stop. Pardon the pun.”

  “Thanks for the brutal honesty, Mick. I’ll remember that on your birthday.”

  “It’s almost a year away.”

  “I have a long memory.”

  “So do I.” Janie gave him laser eyes. “How come you know so much about vampire sex antics?”

  His gaze darted away then back. “I worked as a bouncer in a bar in Daytona. About fifteen years ago before vampires became a protected species. The vamps who hung out there were a wild bunch.”

  “Wild with you?”

  Mick laid a hand over Janie’s. “Never.”

  “Hunh, like I care.” She slipped her hand from under his and homed in on me again. “Ignore him, Cesca. You’re plenty sensual and sexy. You don’t have a hot honey because you’re discerning. But I can fix that. The hottie part, I mean.” She grinned and rubbed her hands together. “I know these guys who’d love to take you out. There’s Max Malone—”

  “No, Janie, stop,” I interrupted, gripped by a full-on fix-up terror alert. “Look, it’s nice of you to offer, but I’d rather be staked than go on a blind date.”

  “My friends aren’t that bad,” Janie huffed.

  “Of course, they aren’t,” I soothed. “I’m sure they’re great, but where can these guys take me? As little as I eat, going for drinks or dinner is a waste.”

  “That’s for sure,” Mick said. “You’d give new meaning to the term cheap date.”

  “Mick, you’re not amusing,” Janie snarked and turned back to me. “Cesca, I see how it could be awkward, but a movie isn’t out of the question. Or dancing.” She frowned. “Then again, people tend to work up a thirst when they dance.”

  “Right, and how many movies can I see without dying of popcorn envy?” I do love the aroma of fresh popcorn.

  “Hmmm. You need a guy who’s creative about dates.”

  “I don’t need a guy at all. Really. I’m busy every night.”

  “But I’d like to help you find someone special.”

  Janie looked so crestfallen, I took pity. “Tell you what. If I decide I have the time and interest in dating, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Can’t ask for more than that, Janie,” Mick said jovially. “And, Cesca, since you’ll need to sleep in, I’ll hand deliver the incident report and the tourist list when the company office opens in the morning.”

  “Sure, Mick, thanks,” I said, suppressing a chuckle at his eagerness to repay me for getting him out of a double date.

  He went so far as to pat my shoulder as we left Scarlett’s, and since Mick never touches me, the gesture was huge—like kissing my feet in public.

  We split up on Cordova, Mick and Janie heading north to Mick’s car, me heading south for Maggie’s condo on Cathedral Place. I took all of five steps before the impact of what just happened hit me.

  No, not my near escape with a fixup.

  Mind reading. Telepathy.

  Holy guacamole, I’d read minds tonight. Not just those of the overexcited tourists. I’d seen men’s names form in Janie’s thoughts and read Mick’s gratitude to be off the double dating hook. Not just his face, his mind. Heard the thoughts in his own voice tone and pattern.

  My psychic abilities were like water in a sieve this close to the dark of the moon. For over two hundred years it had been that way. Could they return to normal after all this time?

  Nah, probably not. Not for good, anyway. Best not to wish for more out of my afterlife when I already had so much.

  THREE

  Among other provisions, the Vampire Protection Act required me to live within five miles of my sponsor. I could’ve rented an apartment, but they aren’t as easy to find as one might think. Then there’s the whole vampire-daytime-resting-place protection issue, and, well, the quickest fix to my unique housing need was to move into Maggie’s penthouse guest room.

  Maggie lives in the old First National Bank of St. Augustine building, circa 1928, right in the heart of the colonial part of the city. The building, now housing another bank and various professional offices on the lower floors, is across the street from the Plaza de la Constitución. The plaza is a public park opposite the Bridge of Lions, and it’s been a gathering place virtually since the city was founded in 1565.

  The city fathers never held with skyscrapers, so the whole bank building is only six floors high and just the top two were converted to condos—three of them on the fifth floor. Maggie has the entire sixth floor, a modernized loft-esque space with amazing views of the bay, the lighthouse, the old fort, and even snatches of St. George Street and the city gates.

  Maybe it was the result of my confrontations with Stony and the newlyweds—and the blind date scare with Janie—but I was drained. My nice, normal afterlife had taken hits of excitement I didn’t like. I would’ve loved to crawl into bed and watch a movie marathon, but I couldn’t. Not if
I wanted to keep up with my online classes. Then again, studying would put me squarely back in my routine, and that was a good thing.

  Design was my class del día, or del giorno as my papa would’ve said. Interior design tonight, exterior design tomorrow. Specifically, matching landscape plans with architectural styles. Neither was a college-level course. I couldn’t enroll in college until I finished my GED. I was on track to do that, but in the meantime I indulged my HGTV-discovered love of architecture and design by taking the lecture and project classes offered through continuing ed.

  In addition to the old Victorian, Maggie was also restoring the carriage house cum cottage on the back-of-the-house grounds for me. She wanted me to decorate my own space, and I would, but Victorian and other ornate styles weren’t my thing—not like they were Maggie’s. Now, give me Frank Lloyd Wright, Art Deco, Art Moderne, or midcentury modern, and I’m drooling. Lost in lines and curves and colors.

  I was two blocks from the condo, thinking about the Craftsman-style cabinet I was designing for class, when I heard muffled footsteps behind me. Stony? Didn’t smell like him, no menace in the air. The hinky honeymooners? No pheromones or fresh blood stench.

  I stood still, and an essence wafted around me. Faint in the fingers of the fog, but there. It wasn’t a fragrance. It was almost a touch. A ghostly touch, yet not a ghost. It could be only an overpowering memory. Or it might be what—or rather who—sprang to mind.

  Shape-shifter. Specifically, Triton. My friend from the time of our childhoods until the day I insisted he leave town to escape the vampires.

  Shifters had been hunted to extinction, logic argued.

  No, the werecreatures—the true lycanthropes—were dead. Those not slaughtered outright had died from contracting a virus engineered to kill them. The virus hadn’t harmed humans, and it hadn’t harmed other shifters.

  Magical shifters lived on.

  Two things were sure. I hadn’t felt that kind of magical energy scrape my skin in centuries, and I didn’t know what I’d do if it were real. Correction, if Triton were real and right there behind me.

  I walked faster. Not at vampire speed, just faster. The soft plopping sound of steps got closer. Probably a runner. A guy on the Flagler College track or tennis team. So why didn’t he pass me? The footfalls seemed to keep pace with mine. Now that I listened harder, they sounded odd for a human. Sounded more like an animal, and smelled like—