I wore the minimal makeup required of women to look “professional,” for my job. I wasn’t going to win any beauty pageants, but I was pretty enough. The bruise from being punched in the jaw had healed and I no longer had to slather foundation over my face to cover it. My blond hair had gotten longer since I’d turned mortal, it still made me do a double take. I wasn’t used to having hair that grew. The similarities between me and Dumpster Girl were there, sure, but that part had to be coincidence. Didn’t it?
“There are a lot of blondes in their early twenties around.”
“There are lots of restaurant dumpsters in which one might dispose of a body,” Caz countered.
“Touché.”
I finished my drink and got the waiter’s attention so I could pay the check. A phone buzzed and I reached for mine, but it was Cazimir’s. He typed a reply to the message with a single finger, taking a whole minute to hit only a few keys. Then he stood and put his phone back in his pocket.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
Cazimir waved a hand, dismissing the question before turning to go. I would have yelled and demanded he come back and explain, but I doubted it would have done any good and I didn’t want to make a scene. Still, it was kind of a dick move to eat and run off without any explanation.
I didn’t know why I expected anything else. At least I’d get my apartment to myself for a few hours.
Chapter 3
The next night, the restaurant was packed, and reservations were full. If people had heard about the body in the dumpster, it had apparently only added to the intrigue and appeal, but I didn’t think many of them had. I’d checked the local news and found nothing except a small note in the police blotter, buried on the local newspaper’s website.
It was a Friday and it was also the beginning of our annual Oyster Week, which meant the Le Poisson kitchen smelled like a fish market, salty and briny as an oceanfront property.
I was at the server stand, entering desserts into the computer for a table of four, when Max sidled up to me, grinning. It was the first time I’d seen a genuine expression on his face all night. He could play “cheerful waiter, happy to serve” for his tables, but behind the scenes, his face had been almost blank except for the haunted look in his eyes. Seeing that dead woman had really hit him hard.
“What?” I asked.
“You have a friend at the bar.” He winked.
Oh, dear god. Possibilities raced through my mind, none of them good. “Who?” I asked.
“Not sure, but she’s pretty.” He bumped me in the shoulder playfully before heading into the kitchen.
I took a deep breath, hit send on the order, and then stepped out onto the floor, leaning just far enough out to see the bar. I expected Lark or Neha, but none of the people seated at the ten bar stools looked familiar. And then I noticed the pale sheen of a woman’s skin, the fluid motion of her arm as she carefully brought a martini glass to her lips at a very deliberate normal, human pace. I swallowed. I didn’t know her, but she was very obviously a vampire. Well, obvious to me. Most people, like Max and Kevin, the bartender, would think she was pale because she hated the sun and chalk up any oddities in her movement to tricks of the light or something. People are good at seeing what they want to see.
I slipped back behind the server station, heart racing. The fact that she was here the night after an exsanguinated body had been left in our dumpster could not be coincidence. Especially because the sun had only just set and that meant either she’d risked traveling with it still up (difficult, as direct sunlight could make her burst into flames) or she’d been waiting in a shelter very close by.
I swallowed uneasily and grabbed my desserts from the pass.
It didn’t matter that a cold, calculated killing machine was at the bar waiting for me. I still had cheesecake to serve and table fourteen needed their check.
An hour later, my section had cleared out for the night. Jasmine had called out today so another busser, a guy whose name I didn’t know because he usually only worked brunch, reset the tables. I double-checked the sidework sheet to make sure all of my nightly side tasks were done, lest I face the wrath of the morning crew.
Le Poisson only opened for brunch on weekends, but most of the morning staff was an entirely different set of people. They liked to bitch and moan that the night staff hadn’t left them properly set up. It didn’t matter how many tubs of rolled silverware we left for them, it was never enough. The last thing I wanted tomorrow was for Eric to read me a nasty note left by the day shift because I’d spaced refilling the salts or something.
And, if I was being honest, I wasn’t too keen to find out why Mrs. Vampire was waiting for me.
“So, who is she?” Max asked, leaning around me to check the sidework list also.
“No one important,” I said.
Max gave me a hard, disappointed look that weirdly reminded me of Sean. “Come on, Henri, I tell you all about my love life.”
“She’s not… I don’t even know her, Max. She’s probably one of my new roommate’s old pals.”
“You got a roommate? In that one-bedroom? How does that work?”
Shit. This was the problem with trying to have work friends. You got comfortable and starting telling them things, and soon you had to answer questions.
I thought of Caz, loafing on the sofa and watching the Magic Dragon Insta-Cooker infomercial three times in a row last week. Not fucking well. “He’s an old friend and needs somewhere to crash temporarily. He’s sleeping on the couch.”
Max tsk’d and shook his head. “What happened? Bad breakup?”
I thought of Aidan viciously jamming the syringe full of the Cure into Cazimir’s shoulder. The sheer hatred in Aidan’s eyes, seeming to burn there even after Caz broke his neck and his corpse fell to the floor. “Yeah,” I said. “It was really nasty.”
Max nodded sagely. “Been there.”
I went through my credit card slips to make sure I’d entered all my tips into the computer and double-checked that our shift had rolled enough silverware to avoid the wrath of the Saturday morning shift, before heading to the locker room. I switched out my heels for sneakers and grabbed my purse. Then I snuck out the back door.
I was not surprised to find the vampire woman waiting for me outside. The bar stayed open as long as there were enough patrons there to warrant it (and on a Friday, there were usually enough people hanging out to keep it open until midnight at least), but I’d seen her watching me collect slips from my last tables.
The fact that she’d guessed I’d do my best to slip out past her wasn’t a surprise. It was annoying, but at least I could get this confrontation over with.
“Who are you?” I demanded after the kitchen door slammed shut. We were next to the dumpster where the body had been left. The crime scene techs and police had come and gone. I still shuddered when I looked at it and pictured poor Jasmine opening it up to dump the kitchen trash, only to find a dead woman.
The vampire smiled enough to show fang. “I’m Eva,” she said.
“Why did you kill that woman, Eva? Because if you were trying to scare me—”
“What woman?” she asked. She furrowed her brow slightly. I watched her, but she didn’t so much as glance toward the dumpster and she looked genuinely confused. That didn’t mean much. Most vampires learned to be damn good actors.
“The one you drained of blood and left for me to find.”
Eva looked sickened by the thought. “I don’t… I’m not… I don’t kill people.”
I reassessed my impression of her. She wore a tight black skirt and a teal blouse. A string of pearls hugged her throat. She was pretty enough, with short brown hair in a pixie cut, and strappy black heels. She didn’t wear a cross and her clothes were new and expensive, the kind of outfit bought at department stores that made me feel like a thief as their staff followed me around, able to smell the lack of money on me. She definitely didn’t look like most of the Weepers I’d met, who were usu
ally bedraggled and unkempt, like rags were some kind of uniform.
“You’re a vampire,” I said.
She smiled sadly. “Yes. But I’m not a killer. I can’t even kill animals. I drink from blood bags.” I winced at the slur used to demean mortal groupies, and she made a face when she realized why. “I mean, plastic blood bags. I would never call a person something so heartless.”
I stared, trying to find words. She was not at all what I had expected when Max had pointed her out. “You’re a Weeper.” It spilled out of my mouth without permission from my tired brain.
“I don’t like that term.” She glanced down at her feet before looking me in the eye. “But you could say that. And you are the Sun Walker.”
“Please tell me no one is calling me that.”
“But you are!” She reached out and touched my cheek. I reflexively pulled back. I didn’t like to be touched by strangers. The press of her fingertips on my skin lingered and made me uneasy. “You’re a miracle. A living, breathing, human miracle.” Tears actually welled up in her eyes. I had to try my hardest not to roll my own eyes in response.
“I’m the victim of an experiment I did not agree to participate in,” I said flatly.
She shook her head and swallowed. “You are so lucky. When I first heard the stories, I didn’t believe it. But then stories of a Second Restoration began circulating and I had to see it for myself.”
I started to ask what the hell she meant by “Second Restoration,” but then I realized she was talking about Caz. That made sense. I’d been a vampire long enough to form some connections with the immortal community. Vampires weren’t as solitary as they liked to pretend and though I tended to keep to myself, I had stopped into the odd supernatural haunt in my travels, and I’d made a few appearances at the Factory while living in Seattle. We’re loath to admit it, but vampires like the company of our own kind. Well, their own kind. Whatever.
Cazimir, though, had thrown himself into the spotlight within supernatural circles. He’d built his version of a castle, crowned himself king, and pretended that if he insisted hard enough it would give him some kind of authority among vampirekind. That may not have worked, but it had earned him notoriety and a measure of respect. Enough that his being transformed back into a human being had been a bigger splash in the vampire news pool than when the same thing had happened to some vampire who had sucked at making friends.
And, let’s face it: one vampire being turned mortal again was a fanciful story. Two meant there might be some merit to it after all.
“Well, gaze upon me,” I said sarcastically, throwing out my arms so she could see me in my full black-slacks-white-shirt waitress glory.
The kitchen door swung open, and Max and another server, Megan, came out. Max winked at me as they walked past to the street and out to Megan’s car. Megan gave me a not-at-all-subtle thumbs-up. I groaned. I wished I had a real love life to tell these gossipmongers about so they didn’t interpret every conversation with a stranger as exciting.
Eva and I watched them go. Then I turned to the vampire.
“Look, I’m tired, and hungry, and my feet really hurt, so if you could tell me what you want so I could get going, that’d be great.”
Eva frowned. “I want the Cure, of course. What else?”
“I don’t have the Cure,” I said. “It’s gone. Someone destroyed it.”
Actually, Aidan had stolen at least five vials of the stuff, and as far as I knew, he’d only used two. But I had no idea where that little bastard might have hidden the remaining three. Somewhere in Caz’s Factory, probably, and that wasn’t a lion’s den I planned to storm anytime soon.
Eva’s face fell, but then she shook her head fiercely. “No. That can’t be. I came all the way from New York, where stories of the Miracle Sun Walkers—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“—are making their rounds among my friends. We’re excited. I’ve come to get the Cure and prove it is possible after all.”
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “The other vampire who was stuck with the Cure? He wouldn’t call it a miracle. And for that matter, neither would I. We weren’t given a choice.”
“No, but you were given a great opportunity!”
I was too exhausted for this crap. She sounded exactly like Neha, which only pissed me off more. It wasn’t an “opportunity” if it was forced on me against my will. “I don’t have anything for you,” I said. She opened her mouth to speak again, so I cut in with the rudest thing I could manage: “And I don’t have time for Weepers.”
It was rude as hell, but I was beyond my limit.
Weepers is a derogatory term for the vampires who can’t hack it and whine about the injustices of being made a monster, even though most of them begged and pleaded to be turned in the first place. They tend to see themselves as carrying a heavy burden and often want other vampires to play along. I’d never had much patience for them. Immortality isn’t for everyone, and I could understand how some people felt becoming a monster had been the wrong choice. That didn’t mean I wanted to hang out with them.
I turned and headed for my car in earnest now, no longer caring if she saw it. She’d found me at the restaurant, I reasoned. She could find me elsewhere if she was determined enough. I hoped she wasn’t. Of course, if she went on a quest to find the second “miracle,” it would lead her right to my doorstep anyhow. That miracle was probably lying on the sofa right this moment, watching late-night talk shows and lamenting the cruelty of a world that would make him alive in the time of pizza rolls and distressed jeans.
Eva followed me out to the street. I did my best to pretend I didn’t notice.
“Please,” she said, and it was so goddamn pitiful I almost turned around. Almost. But I couldn’t help her become human any more than I could help Cazimir or myself become vampires again.
“I can’t help you,” I said. When I drove by five minutes later, she was still standing there, looking lost. But I hadn’t been lying: I had nothing to offer her.
Chapter 4
I parked on Twelfth Street, a few blocks down from my place, in front of a house that had a rainbow flag waving off its porch. I locked my car and then saw someone in my periphery as I turned to head up the hill.
A figure stood across the street on the sidewalk. Their arms were folded over a black hoodie sweatshirt, the hood drawn up around their face.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up and fear buzzed in my veins. The figure didn’t move. They were so still that I knew they were a vampire. Few human beings could remain perfectly statue-still for any extended period of time.
With the hood covering their head, casting shadows across their eyes, I couldn’t be sure we were having a staring contest, but it sure felt that way. I was unable to look away or move until I willed myself to step forward into the street and toward my stalker.
The vampire stepped backward in one swift motion, and their hood came off their head, falling back over their shoulders.
It was not Eva, as I’d half-expected despite how unlikely it was. Vampire speed meant they were fast, but they couldn’t sustain it long enough to keep up with a moving vehicle.
This vampire was so bone pale his skin looked blue in the streetlights. He had high cheekbones and a mop of dark hair. His eyes were cold and bored into me with the intensity of a laser.
“Who are you?” I demanded, trying to sound authoritative and not terrified. And then the vampire was gone. Just like that. A blur of motion and then the street was empty again.
Fear drained out of me, leaving me shaky and frustrated.
I continued up the hill toward my building, looking over my shoulder more than I was comfortable with.
On my block, I found a different kind of horror: police, everywhere. Police cars were parked in front of my building and the buildings surrounding it, lights flashing red and blue.
A small cluster of them were gathered around a body on the sidewalk, between my apartment bui
lding and the house next door.
Terror rose in my throat, and I searched for any sign of the vampire in the crowd. He’d gone the other direction but that didn’t mean anything for someone who could move that fast.
And then another chord of horror resonated through me as I thought of Cazimir, despondent and brooding. Possibilities raced through my mind as my heart slammed into my ribs. Had he done something idiotic, like try to end it all? Because I was not ready to have the only other victim of Neha’s serum become a splatter on the sidewalk.
I made my way towards my building. A police officer stopped me.
“I live there,” I said, pointing to my building. “What happened?”
The officer wasn’t that old, but she had a look in her eyes that reminded me of Max, like she’d seen too many horrors.
“That building?” she asked.
“Yes, that one,” I said, trying to rein in my frustration and not sound like I thought she was stupid. She was just doing her job after all. “What happened?”
“Someone passed away,” she said, like a parent to a child who no longer wants to discuss the topic at hand.
I swallowed. “Oh god. Who?”
“Still sorting that out.” She glanced over her shoulder again. “Come on. I’ll walk you inside.” She gestured me forward with two fingers, like talons, and walked me to the building door. When I looked over my shoulder to get a better look at the body, she cleared her throat.
I ignored her and took a good look. It wasn’t Cazimir. It was a woman with dark hair and an angry red mark like a necklace around her throat. Relief washed over me. The only other person sharing my cursed existence wasn’t dead, and the victim wasn’t a blonde like me. Both things were good, even if the situation wasn’t.
“You know her?” the cop asked while I shoved my key in the door.
“No,” I said. She was mildly familiar, like I might have seen her around, but if so, I couldn’t have said where. “I don’t think so.”
Bloodless (Henri Dunn Book 2) Page 2