by Gayla Twist
“Here,” the man said as we approached a suite of rooms that were barely discernable in the snow. “You can take shelter here until this storm calms down.”
“Where’s here?” I asked. The snow had buried any point of reference.
“My rooms,” he said as he struggled to yank open the door.
I hesitated for a split-second. I knew it was stupid to go into a stranger’s rooms. Heck, sometimes it was even stupid to go into the rooms of some dude that you knew. But this guy had led me to safety and the storm was pretty extreme. Besides, I had to remind myself, I had the strength of the undead. If he tried to attack me, then I had a much better chance of defending myself than when I lived in the mortal world.
“Please,” he said, noticing my hesitation. “For me to do anything untoward, would be…” He thought it over. “Would be absurd.”
“Okay.” I said. It could have been a lie, but he seemed pretty sincere. I stepped inside, with him following behind me. “Thanks for getting me out of the snow.”
“You’re perfectly welcome,” he said as he struggled to close the door again. “Couldn’t have you lost in the storm when we’ve only just met,” he said with a shy smile after throwing the bolt.
My clothes were caked with ice and it immediately started to melt. “I hate to make a mess in here,” I said, frowning at the floor.
“Go ahead and use the bathroom,” he said, gesturing to a door off to our left. “There’s fresh towels and maybe even a robe. I haven’t touched a thing in there so it’s all clean,” he assured me. “I’ve been using the bath adjacent to my bedroom.”
“Thanks.” I decided to take him up on the offer. I couldn’t exactly just stand there, leaving puddles on his floor.
After locking the bathroom door, I climbed into the tub before shucking off my coat and slithering out of my lingerie. It was the right thing to do; I managed to contain most of the ice. Bending to the side, I ran my fingers through my hair, sloshing handfuls of slush into the tub.
What would Dorian say if he knew I was standing naked in the bathtub of a complete stranger? Of course he’d had a naked woman in his room, so he didn’t have much room to talk. Still, I needed to let my maker know where I was so he wouldn’t worry. Plus, for safety. Somebody needed to know I was there. Just because I was a member of the undead didn’t mean I could be completely careless.
I came out of the bathroom in a well-tied terrycloth robe and a towel wrapped around my head. My hair wasn’t really wet, but I figured this was the least appealing way to present myself. “Do you mind if I use your phone?” I asked. “I need to let my maker know where I am.”
“Of course,” the man said, gesturing toward the phone on a table. “You don’t want anyone to worry.” He had shed his snow-covered jacket and was now spreading towels across the entrance way floor.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” I picked up the receiver, but heard no tone; the line was dead. I replaced the receiver back in the cradle.
“Something wrong?” he asked, glancing up at me from where he was crouching.
“The phones aren’t working,” I said. “I guess they got taken down by the storm.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he told me. “You’re free to stay here as long as you need. Just wait for the weather to die down a little and you can head back to your rooms.”
“How did you even think to look for me?” I asked, perching on the edge of a chair. It seemed strange that he would be out walking around in such a fierce storm.
He stopped mopping the floor. “Well, the truth is,” he said, after clearing his throat. “I’ve been hoping to have some time alone with you, so this is all rather fortuitous.”
A lightning bolt of alarm shot through my body as I took in the fact that he was standing between me and the bolted door. “Oh?” I was willing to fight him, but I hoped it didn’t come to that.
“Nothing like that,” he quickly assured me. “If you’ll just hear me out, you’ll realize how absurd anything like that truly is.”
“Oh… kay,” I said, only relaxing enough to note that I had no choice but to go on a little faith.
“You see, Haley,” he said, and I knew for a fact that I hadn’t told him my name. He got to his feet and crossed the room to sit in a chair opposite from me. “This may come as a bit of a shock to you, but I’m your dad.”
Chapter 7
Haley
“You’re my... what?” I stammered.
“Father,” he supplied. “Or Dad, if you prefer the more familiar.”
“That’s impossible,” I insisted. “My father’s dead. He died before I was born. Or maybe right after. I don’t know the timing, but I know that he’s dead.”
“I’m dead,” the man pointed out, appearing slightly amused, his hazel eyes twinkling. Brown hair, hazel eyes, he did have the stats to be my dad.
“How did this happen?” I asked, struggling to take it in. I had lived my whole life without a father, so it was quite the change to wrap my head around suddenly have one, especially an undead one.
“Your mother and I had a romantic relationship,” he told me. “It’s ended before I knew she was with child.”
There was a bit of a hiccup to his story. “Yeah, but vampires can’t have kids,” I reminded him.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “That’s what everyone thinks. But, I mean, look at you. You’re the spitting image of me, but in girl form. So, I guess we actually can.”
“Um… Did it ever occur to you that maybe my mom had sex with a mortal after you two broke up and that’s how she ended up pregnant?” I hated to state the obvious and hurt the guy’s feelings, but my mom being my mom, it wouldn’t have surprised me if she… didn’t exactly lie to a vampire, but got a little confused with her timeline. That was one of the many reasons why she was currently in a facility for people who weren’t exactly on a first name basis with reality.
My supposed father folded his arms and frowned at me. “I find that highly unlikely.”
“Then you don’t know my mom,” I told him. “The whole time-space thing isn’t really her strong suit.”
The man frowned some more. “Has she become worse? I mean, is she very bad now?”
Well, he knew my mom was a looney, which was a point in favor of him being my dad. “She has her good days,” I mumbled.
“Does she like the um… the facility where she’s staying?” he asked.
I gave a small shrug. “She doesn’t hate it.”
“I don’t think my relationship with her helped her any,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I mean, I know she was happy she had you. But besides that, I don’t think me being a vampire — or just knowing about the existence of vampires — was a good idea for her mental health.”
“Was she crazy when you got together?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head some more. “I would never take advantage of someone who was mentally unstable. When I knew her she was more like…” he considered his words. “More like a charming eccentric.”
“It’s a fine line,” I grumbled. It was like the difference between an avid collector and a hoarder.
“She was so lovely,” the man said. “And just so accepting of my condition. I guess that made me willing to overlook some of her more extreme quirks.”
“Quirks,” I grunted. I had been in and out of foster care for my entire life because of my mother’s quirks. But maybe this dude was right. Maybe she’d just been a bit eccentric and then having a relationship with a member of the undead pushed her over the edge.
“I’m Randolph, by the way,” he said, stepping forward and extending his hand. “I’ve known who you are but it sounds like your mother hasn’t said much about me.”
“Hi…” I said. After some hesitation, I reached out and shook his hand.
The next thing I knew he had his arms wrapped around me and was giving me a giant bear hug. “I’m just so happy to finally get to meet you.”
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“Uh…” I said, starting to squirm. I wasn’t used to be hugged. At least not by anybody who wasn’t Dorian.
“Sorry.” Randolph released me immediately. “I’m sure this is all a bit much for you, but for me it’s just…”
“Yeah,” I said. But for me, it was awkward. And a little overwhelming.
“Did your mother seriously never tell you anything about me?” he asked, sounding a bit incredulously.
“Not much,” I had to admit. “She said you were dead. But that’s about it.”
“So she never said anything about me being a vampire?” he asked, looking me straight in the eye.
“No.” I shook my head, easily meeting his gaze. When you grow up in foster care, you learn how to sell a lie. The truth was, the last time I saw Mom, right before Dorian and I left for our trip, I told her that I had become a member of the undead. Actually, she kind of guessed it and she was very accepting about my condition right away. That’s when she said something seriously wacky which was, “Your father was a vampire, you know.” At the time, I thought she was just saying it to be nice, or messing with my head — with my mom it was hard to know which — and she said it completely casually, like this was a story from my youth that she’d told me a dozen times. But somehow telling my “dad” that little piece of information didn’t feel right. Not without knowing him better.
“So…” Randolph made a face that showed a small amount of confusion. “How did you think she was paying for her care?”
“Beats me.” There was a lot about my mother that I found confusing and frustrating. I had learned that the best way to preserve my own sanity was to not worry about details like how she could afford to stay at a high end mental health care facility while she couldn’t afford to put food on our table whenever she was deemed sane enough to be released into the wild for a short period of time. Usually just long enough to uproot my life and drag me someplace new.
“There’s so much I don’t know about you,” Randolph said, gesturing toward the loveseat in the main room. “Please sit down. We might as well get to know each other while we wait for the storm to settle. Can I offer you some refreshment?”
“Yes, that would be nice,” I told him, choosing to sit on a chair instead. I wasn’t used to having a dad and I really wasn’t ready to start getting comfortable. “Where did you meet my mom?”
“At a party.” He filled a goblet from a carafe, handed it to me, and then filled one for himself. “Where did you meet Dorian Vanderlind?”
“At a party,” I told him.
“Cheers.” Randolph said and we touched glasses. I waited for him to take a sip of his before I drank from mine. Not that I thought my own dad would try to Cosby me, but I was used to looking out for myself.
“Please tell me more about your life,” Randolph said. “I’m ashamed to admit that I know painfully little.” He leaned toward me a bit and added, “I hope you believe that I wanted to know everything about you. But your mother thought it would be best if I stayed away. And, given the circumstances…”
I wanted to tell the jerk to go to hell. I’d had a lousy childhood. I’d spent years being bounced from foster home to foster home, broken up by short spans of living with an unstable woman who was always teetering on the edge of sanity. There were plenty of nights when I went to bed with barely anything in my belly and I had to prop my bed against the door to keep whatever foster dad who was standing in the hallway from coming in.
And here was this man, my supposed father, staying at a resort so exclusive that a week-long stay was the equivalent to a middle manager’s salary for the year. It was fine for him to claim that he honestly wanted to know me, if only my mother hadn’t told him to stay away. But that was a pretty lousy excuse when I was being called foster trash by my classmates because I had to buy all my own food and clothing. Up until the point where I actually died, my life had pretty much sucked.
I open my mouth to tell this supposed parent what a jerk I thought he was for abandoning me, but instead I found myself answering his question. I told him about my life, my lack of friends, and my adventures in foster care. I told him about how I’d lost my virginity to some jerk, and how Dorian had become my maker. I didn’t want to tell him so much personal stuff, but I found myself unable to stop babbling. If he asked a question, then I felt obligated to answer it. And I also found that I was incredibly sleepy. I longed to close my eyes like I used to do when she was mortal.
The next thing I knew I was curled up on a cozy little ball with a pillow under my head. I rocketed out of the chair with no idea how much time had just passed. “What time is it?” I demanded and only afterward did I notice that Randolph was stretched out on the couch with his eyes closed.
“I don’t know,” he grunted, rolling over. “Sometime in the morning, maybe.”
“But why did you let me sleep?” I asked as I scanned the room. I didn’t have my phone with me and I desperately wanted to know the time.
“Sleep?” he asked, sleepily. “Vampires don’t sleep.”
“Well, I think I just did,” I informed him. And it seemed like he was doing the same.
“I think it’s just the storm,” was his reply. “Listening to the rain always made me sleep hard when I was a child. Maybe it’s the same with blizzards, or something.”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “I have to get out of here. I have to go back to my rooms.” Dorian was probably worried that I was trapped somewhere for the day. And I was, for that matter.
“Call the front desk,” my father said with a yawn. “Maybe they can bring a box or something, to roll you back to your suite.”
Snatching up the phone, I put it to my ear, but there was nothing; the line was dead. “Great,” I muttered to myself. “Just great.”
“Haley,” Randolph said, propping himself up on a forearm. “Don’t act so stressed. There’s a storm. We were chatting and we lost track of time. Surely your maker can’t get angry with you for spending time with your own father.”
I wasn’t exactly concerned that Dorian would be angry. But I needed to know what had happened between him and that Elaina chick. Plus, I didn’t want him to have to wonder what had happened to me. Also, I was unclear what had happened to me. Did I really fall asleep? Like mortal sleep? That didn’t even make sense. But Randolph seemed to be just as sleepy. He had no trouble closing his eyes again after fluffing up one of the couch’s throw pillows.
But I couldn’t relax; I was up and pacing the room. If someone had told me a few months ago that my father was alive – so to speak – and that he was rich, and that he’d always thought about me, and that he was eager to spend time with me, then I probably would have been thrilled. And it wasn’t that Randolph didn’t seem perfectly nice. But there was just something about the whole situation that left me uneasy. He didn’t feel like my dad. That might have had something to do with the fact that I had no idea how it felt to have a father. But there was something else to it that just didn’t sit right.
I don’t normally think about rifling through other people’s things, but I couldn’t help but notice that the master bathroom had two doors, one that led to the living room and one that led to Randolph’s bedroom. I needed more proof that the guy was my dad besides the fact that he knew that a couple of my mother’s eggs were cracked.
So, after checking that Randolph was still drowsing on the couch, I slipped into the master bathroom, closed the door, started the shower, and then slunk into Randolph’s bedroom to have a look around. I don’t even know what I was looking for; I sincerely doubted he had old love notes from my mom or a faded photograph. I just felt like there had to be more to the story than that he’d met my mom at a party. I tried to remember if he’d given me anymore details, but my memory felt all fuzzy about the night before. There must have been something in the drink Randolph had handed me. But seeing that he also seemed to be feeling the effects, I couldn’t exactly accuse him of anything.
I quickly went
through the bedside table and bureau drawers, but there was nothing of interest beyond the usual personal items of a traveler. I wondered where he kept his wallet. That might reveal more. Plus there was a closet I had yet to search.
“Finding everything you need?” I spun around to see Randolph standing in the doorway.
“Uh…” was all I could stammer as my brain frantically searched for an excuse. But there was no excuse; I couldn’t exactly say I was searching for fresh towels.
“I don’t blame you,” he said, casually entering the room and taking a seat on a chair. “It all seems pretty improbable; a man magically appears in your life, claiming to be your dad. And in Antarctica, of all places. Would it help if I told you that I followed you here?”
“That helps a little,” I said.
“I don’t know how else to prove it to you, Haley. I pay for your mom’s facility through a trust. Is that right?” He rubbed his chin. “Or maybe it’s through a money order. I’ll have to ask my accountant.”
“You could just ask my mom,” I pointed out.
“That’s true,” he said with a smile. “As long as you don’t think seeing me would upset her. I know she can be fragile.”
“She could probably handle it,” I said. After all, she took the news that I was a member of the undead without batting an eye.
“The phone lines are working,” Randolph told me. “If you’d like to make a call.”
The words were barely out of his mouth before I was dashing past him, diving for the phone. “Dorian Vanderlind’s rooms, please,” I said to the operator.
“Please hold,” said an efficient female voice. A moment later she came back on the line. “I’m afraid I can’t connect you.”
“Why not?” I asked, feeling my heart jump into my throat.
“Mr. Vanderlind has checked out.”
Chapter 8
Dorian