Seducing the Vampire

by Michele Hauf

  “I…I think I do.” And how odd was it to converse with one if she was for real? This was a moment he’d dreamed about. She did look a bit like Vampirella. But seriously? “You are for…for real? You bite people? Did you kill Madame Nesbitt?”

  “Kill? No. Jamais. Just in a swoon,” the woman offered.

  “A swoon. Right. Like a sort of unconscious compliance introduced by you taking blood from her. Oh, hell, what am I saying? Don’t come any closer. I…I don’t think I taste good.”

  “I have no fight with you. And I am sated for now.”

  “Sated. That’s good. Maybe. Uh, wh-who do you have a fight with? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Salignac,” she said firmly. “And Ian Grim.”

  “Okay. Two guys. But not me, right?”

  “No, not you.” She knocked on his door. “Inside?”

  Steve stumbled through the door and before he could slam it shut the vampire walked in.

  “I thought I had to invite you in.”

  “You did. Down in the street.” Hell, he had invited her inside. Idiot!

  “Okay, lady, wait. Stop right there.” She took directions. A dribble of blood stained the Wolfman’s cheek.

  A vampire? It was all a joke, right? One of his classmates was going to get it on Monday. Probably it was Sydney. She was always making fun of him for his paranormal interests. And she was in the drama club so she would have access to makeup and props.

  “Whew. That’s got to be it.”

  Flicking on a light verified the woman was naked. And filthy from tangled, bloody hair to dirty toes. It was as if she’d crawled from a grave. And, dude, she did not smell fresh.

  “Sydney really worked some magic on you.”

  “Magic.” The woman hissed. “Grim will die.”

  “Okay, lady, here’s the deal. This is a great act. But on the slightest chance it isn’t, and you took a bump to the head when that bastard beat on you, I’m going to call the cops. I’m not sure anymore who the victim is and who needs to be put behind bars. But we gotta have a rule.”

  “Rule?”

  “Yes, a condition you must follow while you are in my home. Just in case, you know, you really are a vampire.”

  She nodded, understanding.

  “All right, so the rule is…”

  She leaned in, waiting.

  “No biting Steve.”

  “No bite Steve,” she repeated. A drool of blood trickled down her chin.

  Steve’s stomach lurched.

  “Right. No biting Steve. Steve is nice. Steve—” he pointed to himself “—is the guy who’s helping you, right?”

  “Steve help Viviane. Steve good.”

  “Yeah, but not good like in good to eat, but good like in helping. Your name’s Viviane? That’s pretty.”

  The bloody smile ruined any dreams about making out with a sexy Vampirella.

  “I need a shirt. And you need pants.”

  “Pants?”

  “Yes, sweatpants, or something. You stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  He dashed through the living room and closed his bedroom door. Frantically he pawed through the stack of dirty clothes mounding in the corner. But he didn’t care about stupid clothes.

  “A vampire? Right, Steve, you need to call the mental ward for yourself. You may fancy yourself a cryptozoologist, but you’re not stupid. Any mythological monster can easily be explained through historical epidemiology and research. Vampirism developed during the plague times. They weren’t vampires, but everyone thought the chewing dead were going to come after them and suck their blood. Vampires do not exist!”

  He dug deeper into the clothes pile and pulled a black turtleneck over his head. The last time he’d washed it he’d dried it too long. He’d never get the hang of the French washer and dryer. Now it hugged his skinny ribs and his hard nipples popped up like beads. Embarrassing, but necessary protection.

  Eyeing the bedroom furniture he cursed the lack of bedposts, or even a bed, for he had but the mattress on the floor. Nothing that could be used as a wooden stake.

  The lightbulb flickered on over his head. “I have garlic in the kitchen.”

  Working through the garlic myth in his brain he conjured historical research that it had once been used as a mosquito repellent. Mosquitoes sucked blood, and thus, people once thought it would work against vampires.

  “Stupid.”

  But still.

  Swinging out of the bedroom, Steve noticed Viviane wandered his messy living room, examining the television, running her hand over the open laptop. She tripped on the pizza box from two days ago, and landed on the couch, hands first, flashing Steve her pale, dirt-smeared backside. He’d forgotten about the pants.

  She turned and sat, grimacing and tugging down the shirt, which went to her thighs.

  “Sorry.” Steve gathered the pizza box and shoved a stack of Warcraft discs aside with his sneaker. “Late night studying. Exchange student. I’m from Iowa. So, you live in Paris long?”

  She nodded. “This is Paris?”

  “Yep. Always has been. Your accent is different from the locals though. Where did you come from?”

  “Paris.” She tilted her head, as if watching something flicker close to her cheek. “It is different.”

  Looking over the counter and lifting books and food-crusted plates and a dirty pair of boxer shorts, Steve roamed for the cell phone. He clasped the garlic clove, which crumbled to dust on his palm. And when had he ever made a home-cooked meal for himself?

  Swiping the garlic dust over his forearms, in case it did ward off vampires, Steve swung a hip around the side of the counter. “So. Viviane.”

  Viviane the vampire? Steve, you are screwed.

  “So, I’m looking for the phone. Then I can call the cops for you. Send you on your way. Oh, hey, don’t touch that.” He jumped around the counter and carefully removed the USB drive from her fingers. She displayed the small bird happily. “That’s a bird. But what kind?”

  “Hummingbird. He gave it to me.”

  “He?”

  “You smell.” She winced, then yawned. “I’m hungry. Need—”

  The door buzzed and Steve shot upright. “Don’t freak,” he said urgently.

  Wide blue eyes merely stared at him. Steve had a thing for blue-eyed girls with dark hair. They were so otherworldly.

  Otherworldly? No kidding.

  Was she wondering what his blood tasted like? He clutched the turtleneck. How to keep a hungry vampire satisfied without losing a pint?

  “I think that’s Jack. My friend. We study together. I’m going to see who is at the door,” he said slowly and a little too loud, as if she were deaf.

  As usual Jack never waited for an invite. The door opened and Steve’s three-hundred-pound friend charged through, dropping a fresh box of chocolate croissants on the counter and heading for his favorite easy chair with the duct-taped arms.

  A curious, half-naked woman met Jack in the living room.

  “Dude!” Jack’s astonishment lit his round face like a Christmas tree. “Where did you find her?”

  “Behind the trash bin. Uh, Jack, I don’t think you should get too close to her.”

  “Why? She’s wearing nothing but a shirt. Dude! Your favorite shirt!”

  “Hungry.”

  “Oh no—” Lunging to rescue his friend, Steve tripped over a stack of textbooks.

  A half-gnawed croissant went flying. Jack’s hefty bulk slammed against the wall, knocking the Bela Lugosi figurine from an overhead shelf. Viviane fixed her teeth to his meaty neck.

  Landing on the living-room floor, Steve groaned a weak protest. “Viviane!”

  “Not Steve!” she sputtered, drooling out Jack’s blood. With a happy grin, the vampire again latched onto Jack.

  Steve muttered, “Mercy.”

  Jack gurgled a strangely satisfied cry, like a happy, sexual kind of noise.

  Then his friend collapsed on the floor.

  Scrambling
upright, Steve splayed out his arms. “What did you do that for?”

  Viviane wiped blood from her lips and shrugged. “Hungry.”

  “But, but he’s my friend.”

  “No bite Steve.”

  “You really are a vampire, aren’t you, lady.”

  VIVIANE THE VAMPIRE SAT in the tub. Steve had drained the dirty water once and now poured warm water over her hair, helping her soap it with the shampoo he got at the discount drugstore down the street. It was weird, but Steve felt like she needed to be taken care of. Despite the fact she was a bloodsucking vampire, she had been through something awful, and needed a kind touch.

  Jack was still out cold in the living room. He wasn’t dead. Steve had checked for a pulse to be sure.

  “So, Viviane.” He poured clean water over her hair to rinse out the shampoo. “Where did you come from?”

  “Below.”

  “Below? You mean—” he swallowed “—from the grave?”

  “No, not Les Innocents. Below this city.”

  “Oh. Oh? You mean like the catacombs?” Paris was a virtual web of underground tunnels. Steve had once partied in them at an all-night rave. “Seriously? You live underground?”

  “Not living.” She shook her head. “Forced. Grim.”

  Yeah, that would be grim. Another pour of water rinsed the suds from her shoulders.

  “Someone forced you underground? Uh…how long have you been down there?” To judge from the dirt on her it had been a while.

  “Can’t decide. Lost track of time. No day or night. All darkness. Too long. Now the city is different.”

  “How so?”

  “No horses! The buildings are the same but not. People in strange clothing. I…feel the same. Only hungry.”

  “Well, you can’t have been below for long. What do you last remember? I mean, was it winter? Summer? It’s summer now.”

  “Summer. Very pretty. Flowers were blooming in the Tuileries.”

  “Yes, I sometimes have lunch in the royal gardens.” He handed her the soap, but it slipped through her fingers.

  “Marie Antoinette had given birth to her third child,” she said with a sigh.

  “Marie Antoin—” Steve chuffed. “That was in the eighteenth century.”

  Viviane fluttered her blue gaze. “Yes.”

  “No way. That would make you like two hundred some years old.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “Time? You mean the date? It’s the twenty-first century, lady. Oh, wait.” He stood. A glance out the doorway saw Jack was moving. “Oh, man, you guys got me good.”

  He marched out to the living room and gave Jack a hand up. “Dude, that was classic. Where did you find her? She’s such a looker. I really believed she bit you.”

  “Bit me?” Jack slapped a palm over his neck. Blood colored his fingers. “What the hell?”

  “You can stop the act. I know I’m being punk’d. That fake blood is amazing. What is it? Corn syrup and red food coloring? But what did you add to make it smell so real?”

  “Dude, I am not punking you. And that bitch bit me? Why didn’t you warn me? She’s like a vampire or something.”

  It was rare Jack didn’t opt for a joke right away.

  Steve rushed to the bathroom. Viviane stood outside the tub, dripping onto the ripped Metallica floor mat.

  Over his shoulder, Jack whispered in admiration, “Dude, she is so naked. I don’t care that she bit me.”

  “Grab a towel,” Steve said, and when Jack stood stupidly unmoving, he shoved his friend aside and grabbed the biggest towel he had, which was frayed all around the edges. He held it before her. “Wrap this around you. Seriously? The eighteenth century? Like with the big wigs and the goofy tights on the men?”

  “Steve.” Sad blue eyes entreated. They were like two pieces of sky, but rained on. “You tell me true? Twenty-first century?”

  “Yeah, it’s been, like…two hundred and thirty years since Marie Antoinette was queen. France doesn’t even have kings and queens anymore. Have you been underground all that time?”

  “I was bespelled by Ian Grim,” Viviane said. “And Constantine, he…” She swept a hand before her loins, indicating something Steve had suspected of the guy in the alley. “I will kill Grim! And I will find Constantine and rip out his heart.”

  Jack exchanged raised brows with Steve.

  “Yeah, cool. And go you with the dramatics, and all.” Steve put up a placating hand. “But listen, you gotta be careful, Viviane. This is a new world. People don’t take kindly to vampires running around biting them. It’s gonna get you locked up. Or something worse.”

  “So the world has not changed.”

  Steve led Viviane into his bedroom, and between he and Jack scrounged up sweatpants and a clean Jekyll and Hyde T-shirt.

  “People don’t believe in vampires, Viviane,” Steve said, as he stepped back to look over his handiwork. She looked pitiful, but she did work the shirt. 36C, he guessed, and then chided himself for the lascivious thought.

  “It is the same, then,” she offered sadly.

  “Yes, but if you go around biting people, you will be arrested and put in jail.”

  “No.” Viviane shoved past both men and rushed out into the living room. “No more confinement! I want freedom!”

  “SHE’S GOING TO ESCAPE!” Steve shoved Jack ahead of him and grabbed his jacket. “Come on, man, we’ve got to go after her.”

  “I don’t know, dude.” Jack studied his neck with a fingertip. “I think we should let the bloodsucker go. Since when did you develop a death wish?”

  “Jack, are you dead?”

  “No.”

  “Right.” Steve slapped the bite marks on the side of Jack’s neck, and his friend yelped. “She could have killed you, but she didn’t.”

  “But she’s, like, insane. Living underground for centuries. And now she’s risen to stalk those who have betrayed her. You heard her. She’s going to kill someone sooner or later. And I don’t want it to be me. I think I’ll sit this one out.”

  “Fine.” Steve opened the door and started hurrying down the iron stairs.

  The guy was no longer behind the Dumpster.

  “He must have got up and wandered off.” At least Viviane wasn’t killing. Yet.

  Where would a vampire who was familiar with the city two centuries previously go? The Louvre? The Seine? Notre Dame?

  The closest landmark was the Arc du Triomphe up the street. No, that was after her time.

  “Viviane!”

  A black Mercedes squealed to a halt across the street. The door opened and a man charged out from it.

  Turning and tripping on the curb, Steve lunged forward in an awkward sprawl. He was tugged upright and slammed against a brick wall.

  “Where is she?” the man demanded.

  Big and muscled, a gray chunk dashed through his short black hair. He reminded Steve of thugs on television shows. Thugs who twisted necks and broke bones.

  His dark eyes tracked Steve’s face and down the front of his shirt. “You called her name.”

  “V-Viviane?”

  “Yes, you have seen her?”

  “Dude, I don’t think we’re talking about the same lady here. There are lots of chicks in this town called Viviane. It’s a spat with me and my old lady, you know.” Why was he protecting her? “C-could you let go of me?”

  The man relaxed his grip and Steve’s feet hit the ground.

  “It is the same Viviane,” he said. His French was a little different than most of the accents Steve had heard. Similar to Viviane’s French. “You must tell me where she is. Now!”

  “Chill, dude. In case you weren’t paying attention, I was calling to her because I don’t know where she is. And the longer I’m delayed…”

  “Yes? What will happen? She will be lost? She will what?”

  “Dude.”

  “My name is Rhys Hawkes. Did she say that name to you?”

  “No, but she wasn’t exactly coher
ent all the time. Listen, I don’t think you know what sort of chick this Viviane is. If you did—” Slammed against the brick again, Steve bit the edge of his tongue. “That hurt!”

  Rhys slapped his hand aside Steve’s face and roughly shoved it to the right. He examined his neck. So maybe the guy did have a clue. Why else the interest in his neck? Unless—

  Steve kicked and scrambled against his attacker, who held firm. “Not another one! We have a strict no-bite-Steve rule.”

  “Your name is Steve?” The man leaned in so close Steve winced and wondered if that were aftershave or some kind of vampire pheromone that would put him under a spell and make him beg for the bite. “Steve, how long have you known about Viviane? Did you find her?”

  “She sort of found me. She’s a vampire and you are, too!”

  The man grinned, but Steve did not see fangs. Only smug satisfaction. “I won’t bite you. Promise.”

  Despite his dangling status, Steve exhaled in relief.

  “But I will tear your head from your neck if you do not become forthcoming this instant.”

  “I don’t know anything! I don’t know where she is. I brought her to my place, and she took a bath because she was all bloody and naked—”

  “She had no clothes?”

  “No, but don’t worry, dude, I didn’t touch her. She’s, like, dangerous. She bit my best friend.”

  “Did she kill him? Is she…mad?”

  “She’s definitely some kind of angry. Oh, you mean insane. Maybe. I think she’s been out of the loop for quite a while, if you ask me. But I held a conversation with her. I think the blood makes her sane. Anyway, I was going to keep tabs on her but she walked out. She needs help, man. That’s all I know.”

  Rhys dropped Steve.

  He knew he was going to regret getting too friendly with the muscle-bound thug, but he couldn’t help himself. This was a cryptozoologist’s dream come true. He had to take advantage of it.

  “So,” he asked casually, but tugged up the neck of his turtleneck, “how do you know this chick?”

  Rhys turned and scanned the street. “She’s my lover,” he said over his shoulder. “Was my lover. I believed that she was murdered over two hundred years ago. I was wrong.”

  “Sooo, you’re going to take over looking for her now? Awesome. Glad to leave you to the task. I’ll just be going—”