Hotter Than Hell

by Kim Harrison

  But she felt herself smile broadly, happily. “It was good.”

  “And the gentleman?”

  “He won’t remember me.”

  “Good,” Alette said, and smiled. “Welcome to the Family, my dear.”

  She went back to the bar once more, a week later. Sitting at the bar, she traced condensation on the outside of a glass of gin and tonic on the rocks. She hadn’t sipped, only tasted, drawing a lone breath so she could take in the scent of it.

  The door opened, bringing with it a cold draft and a crowd of college students. Chris was among them, laughing at someone’s joke, blond hair tousled. He walked right by her on his way to the pool tables. Flashed her a hurried smile when he caught her watching him. Didn’t spare her another glance, in the way of two strangers passing in a crowded bar.

  Smiling wryly to herself, Emma left her drink at the bar and went out to walk in the night.

  MOONLIGHT BECOMES YOU

  Linda Winstead Jones

  CLAIRE PRESSED HER BACK TO THE WALL AND listened to the footsteps. When she was certain her prey was moving away from her, not toward her, she leaned forward to peek around the corner and watch him walk down the dimly lit hallway. Watching her neighbor walk away was not exactly a chore. Not in those jeans.

  Too bad he was a vampire.

  When he turned the corner and was out of sight she stepped into the hallway proper and silently followed in his footsteps. It sounded crazy, she knew that, but there were too many coincidences to ignore. He never went out in the daytime. He was much too pale, as if he had never seen the sun. He always wore black. Even those jeans he seemed to favor were a faded shade of black. She never saw him bring home groceries of any kind. Yes, he was lean, but the man had to eat something. He was definitely mysterious, and the one time he’d caught her eye she’d been sure he was hypnotizing her, even though the glance had lasted only a few seconds. Or maybe one full second.

  Just last week she’d found an inexplicable dusting of dirt in the hallway outside his door. Dirt! This apartment building was surrounded by concrete, and the amount of dirt she’d seen was small but more than what would’ve been brought in on someone’s shoe. Maybe it was some of the dirt that lined his coffin, or—gross—the remains of a dusted enemy vamp. When she’d gone back to check the dirt more closely to see if it looked like potting soil or bone dust, it had been gone. Someone had disposed of the evidence.

  One night not so long ago she’d been awakened by an absolutely unearthly howl that had sent chills down her spine. She wasn’t sure if it had been a victim’s plea or a monster’s cry of victory, but the sound had been memorable and unnatural.

  There was yet another telling clue that all was not as it should be. Marlie James from the second floor had a new cat. The feline Houdini was tough to contain and very often ended up wandering throughout the building. Fluffy wouldn’t come to the third floor. Marlie had walked up once with the cat in her arms, but before she’d reached her destination Fluffy had screeched and escaped her owner’s arms and run down the stairs. Animals knew. Animals sensed danger when humans did not, and Fluffy obviously sensed danger on the third floor.

  Claire’s apartment shared a common wall with the newest resident of the complex, here on the third floor of this less-than-magnificent but relatively trendy apartment building in downtown Atlanta. He played music often. Apparently he didn’t care for popular tunes, but was stuck in the forties. Claire recognized some of the songs he played as those her grandparents had favored. Obviously her neighbor had been turned into a vampire in the forties, and he was still drawn to the music of the era in which he’d been human. What other explanation made sense?

  Claire didn’t jump to conclusions without checking as many facts as possible. She’d done an extensive search on the Internet and found almost nothing about her neighbor. Simon Darrow, that was his name, had lived in four places in the past three years. Before that, nothing—that she could find, at least. That in itself was odd. The man hadn’t popped out of thin air! True, she wasn’t a detective and she didn’t have access to every useful Internet site, but still, she should’ve been able to find more.

  It didn’t help Darrow’s case that he’d moved into the building right before people from the neighborhood started to disappear. Charlie on the first floor, who everyone knew hit his wife when he drank too much. The often-obscene panhandler who’d been a regular on the southeast corner for as long as Claire could remember. That punk who’d robbed old Mrs. Bernard and gotten off with a slap on the wrist. All of them gone in a mere six weeks. Just gone. The people who’d disappeared would not exactly be missed, but she couldn’t allow that to cloud her judgment.

  Add the insignificant detail that Claire had been reading quite a few vampire novels lately, and it all made perfect sense.

  The common belief was that vampires didn’t exist, but Claire knew to the pit of her soul that there was more to the world than most people realized. Granny Eileen had spoken often of ghosts and were-beasts, of vampires and curses. There had been a time, a span of several years in fact, when Claire had chosen not to believe the tales her grandmother had spun so effortlessly, but in the past few years it seemed that her eyes and ears had been opened. Legends had to be based in fact, and it wasn’t her fault that most people had to deny that fact in order to survive from one day to the next.

  Her overactive imagination didn’t hurt matters at all.

  It was obvious that something was going on with her neighbor, and like it or not, vampire made sense. The dirt, the howl, Fluffy, the missing people…yes, it made perfect sense. No one would believe her if she didn’t collect proof.

  Claire walked down the hallway on quick tiptoes, hoping that when she glanced around the next corner she’d catch a glimpse of her neighbor as he made his way to the stairwell. The elevator was out of order once again—no surprise there—and to reach the stairs she and everyone else on her end of the floor had to walk two and a half short hallways. Down the hallway, right, and then right again before reaching the stairs.

  She wouldn’t follow her subject outside, she hadn’t entirely lost her mind, but she had decided to keep a detailed record of his comings and goings as best she could. One never knew what small detail might be helpful.

  When she reached the corner she flattened her back to the wall as she had before, and she listened. She heard nothing, but then her neighbor did have an easy step, even in those heavy black boots he usually wore. Another vampire trait, she supposed. The easy step, not the boots. Maybe he was floating an inch or so above the floor, since he didn’t know anyone was watching. She leaned slowly forward to take a glimpse down the hallway…

  And found herself nose to chest with her vampire neighbor.

  Claire caught and held her breath, as her heart threatened to break free of her chest. There was no way she could outrun him, whether he was a vampire or not. That meant she’d have to wing it. First, she had to regain the ability to breathe.

  “Are you stalking me?” he asked, a touch of humor in his deep voice.

  “I…you…of course not.” Claire managed a tight smile. “I lost an earring. I thought maybe I dropped it earlier this evening, on my way in after work.”

  “Too bad. I was rather hoping I had a pretty stalker.”

  Yes, there was something unnaturally hypnotic about his eyes, which were such a dark brown they were almost black. She could feel herself being sucked in by those eyes. That had to be a vampire trick.

  He thought she was pretty?

  The man, who was taller up close than she’d imagined he would be, offered his hand. “Simon Darrow. I live next door to you.”

  After a moment of paralyzing fear, she put her hand in his and shook. “Claire Murphy. I know.” His hand was oddly warm, for someone who was possibly undead.

  He released his grip and leaned casually against the wall. “So, what does this earring look like?”

  “What earring?”

  “The one you lost,” he said
, that hint of good humor remaining in his hypnotic voice.

  “Oh, yes.” This was the perfect opportunity for her first real test. Since arriving at her suspicions about her neighbor she’d been wearing a small gold cross all the time. She slept in it, showered in it, wore it when she went to the gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She grabbed the cross between her fingers and held it up so he could see. “It matches this. A tiny little cross with a teeny diamond chip in the center.”

  Simon—quite an old-fashioned name, eh?—didn’t touch the cross, but he didn’t recoil, either. She had to judge that test as inconclusive, since she wasn’t quite ready to leap forward and press the cross against his forehead to see if he began to smoke or howl in pain. He turned away from her and searched the dingy carpeting, his eyes scanning the faded fibers. Claire pretended to do the same, though her eyes often flitted to her neighbor. Oh, he really was studly, more so up close than from a distance. His dark hair was shaggy and a tad too long but was not completely neglected, and he had a very finely sculpted masculine jawline. The body, as she had already noted, was not bad at all. She took it all in, appreciatively and as surreptitiously as possible.

  “I don’t mean to hold you up,” she said after watching him bend over to examine what turned out to be a piece of lint. “I imagine you have somewhere to be.”

  “I’m not working tonight.”

  “You work at night?”

  “Not much call for jazz musicians during the day. The club’s closed until the weekend. Some sort of plumbing issue.”

  Her head crept up slowly so she could once more check out his face, which was much more interesting than the old carpet. Simon Darrow wasn’t pretty—his features were too masculine to be called pretty—but his face was definitely fine. “You’re a musician?”

  “Piano. I have a small electric keyboard at my place, but I practice while you’re at work so I won’t disturb you.”

  A considerate vampire. “I’m sure I wouldn’t mind hearing you practice,” she said, determined to be no less considerate as she took a couple of unnecessary steps and her eyes scanned the floor for a nonexistent earring. This was an opportunity she could not let slip by. “So, if you’re not playing tonight, where are you headed?”

  “Just out to grab a bite,” he answered.

  Interesting choice of words. “Oh, really?”

  “I thought I’d check out that sandwich shop down the street.”

  “They close at seven so you’ve already missed them, and to be honest their food is better at lunch.”

  “I’ll find someplace else, then.”

  This was a golden opportunity that might never come again. She had her neighbor right where she wanted him, and he had no idea that she suspected his secret. “Maybe you can…” she swallowed hard and gathered her courage, “have dinner with me.”

  “I knew it,” he said in a lowered voice touched with gentle wit. “You are stalking me.”

  “I am not,” she protested. “You’re new to the building. I’m simply adhering to the Southern Women’s Code, Section One, Paragraph Three. Feed Thy Neighbor. I could make spaghetti,” she said before he could argue again that she was stalking him. “And garlic bread.”

  He didn’t sneer at the garlic bread any more than he’d sneered at her cross. Hmm. Maybe she was wrong about him. Even though she was drawn to Simon Darrow in a way that had to be unnatural, and there were a number of unanswered questions about him and his life, and Claire knew to the pit of her soul that there was more to the night than what made the newspapers and the evening news, her neighbor might be exactly what he appeared to be. A man with a mysterious past who’d had the misfortune to move into the building just when people in the general area started disappearing and someone spilled dirt in the hallway.

  “I love spaghetti,” he said. “But I’m meeting some people later so I really should get going.”

  Her heart sank a little. “Okay. Maybe another time. I don’t want to be in violation of the Southern Women’s Code.”

  “Heaven forbid.” He smiled, and it was very nice.

  Claire decided to take a chance, one more time. “How about tomorrow night? About seven?” Normally on Tuesdays she went to the gym after work, but it would really be no chore to skip a workout. Wouldn’t be the first time. She held her breath and waited for another refusal, another excuse.

  “Sure.” Simon glanced down at the carpet one last time. “I’m sorry to say I don’t think we’re going to find your earring.”

  “Yeah,” Claire sighed. “Me neither.”

  Claire didn’t expect Simon for about an hour. Her homemade spaghetti sauce was simmering, and the garlic bread was ready to be popped into the oven. The pasta would go on at the last minute. After changing her clothes three times, she’d settled on an outfit that made her look at least three pounds lighter. The slightly snug black shirt showed off her boobs—the advantage of carrying a few extra pounds—and the knee-length skirt was flattering and comfortable. It was pretty without being an obvious date outfit. There were very cute open-toed shoes with high heels that made her legs look better than they really were waiting close by, but she’d save those for the last minute, like the pasta.

  Giving in to her curiosity, she opened the door to her apartment and slipped into the hallway, tiptoeing on bare feet to Simon Darrow’s door to press her ear to the wood.

  Was he in there? She knew he wasn’t working, and since she was feeding him in less than an hour he couldn’t be out looking for supper. Unless he needed supper of a different sort…

  If he was in there he was being very quiet. Why didn’t she hear him practicing on his portable piano or showering or just moving about in his apartment? She held her breath and closed her eyes, listening for signs of life. Maybe he wasn’t in at all. Oh, if he stood her up she would never forgive him! Not that this was a date, or anything like it.

  “I knew you were a stalker.”

  Claire’s head popped up and she found her vampire neighbor standing in the hallway, one hand behind his back, that smug and yet undeniably appealing smile on his pale face. Why did he continue to hold his hand behind his back? Was he carrying a knife, or maybe even a short sword? Not that vampires needed such weapons.

  She had to think fast. Again. “I heard an odd noise,” she said. “I thought maybe you’d fallen and…and…couldn’t get up.”

  His smile faded very quickly. “Do you think someone’s in there?” The hidden left hand popped around as he reached into his pocket with the right. Instead of a knife or a sword, he held a very pretty bouquet of mixed flowers. “These are for you,” he said absently, all but thrusting them at her.

  Claire took the flowers…not that she had any choice considering the way they were shoved at her chest…and carried them to her nose while Simon opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside, worried about a burglar he wouldn’t find. Vampires were known to be very romantic, at least in the books she read, but she would’ve expected the flowers to be blood red or starkly exotic. Instead they were springy and bright and very much not reminiscent of the undead. It had been a very long time since any man—or whatever—had given her flowers.

  “What kind of sound was it?” Simon called from inside his apartment.

  Flowers in hand, Claire stepped into his apartment through the door he’d left wide open. When Mrs. Tillman from across the hall opened her door to peek out—nosy old woman—Claire closed the door to Simon’s apartment. She didn’t miss the disapproving glare from her stodgy neighbor.

  Claire’s eyes scanned the main room, which was laid out much like hers but was decorated very differently. Simon had a state-of-the-art CD player, but no television, at least not in this room. A couple of comfortable chairs, but no sofa. Blinds instead of curtains. Framed antique album covers instead of family pictures or art. The lines were stark and clean, and he used little color in his decorating scheme. There were no mirrors, not that many men would hang mirrors anywhere but the bathroom.

&nb
sp; There was no coffin in sight, but of course he’d keep that in the bedroom, if he had one.

  “What kind of noise?” he asked again.

  Claire rose up on her bare toes and dropped down again. “It was just kind of a thud. You know, now that I think about it the sound probably came from upstairs or downstairs. My mistake. Sorry.”

  Simon glanced into the bedroom and the bathroom, and then returned to her with a very skeptical expression on his face. “Everything appears to be fine.”

  Claire shrugged her shoulders and glanced back to the kitchen, which like hers was open to the main room. It was clean and uncluttered and probably for the most part unused.

  “You are so odd,” he said as he walked toward her.

  “I’m not odd,” she said defensively.

  “You’re definitely odd,” he argued. “Don’t get me wrong, I like odd girls. Ordinary girls are boring and predictable. I have a feeling you’re neither.”

  Her life was both predictable and boring, but she wasn’t about to share that information with Simon. Not now.

  “Thanks for the flowers,” she said, trying desperately to change the subject.

  He took the bouquet from her hand and tossed it onto the closest chair. The blooms looked so out of place there, so wonderfully bright against the black leather. “No more games, Claire. What do you really want from me?”

  She opened her mouth, but did not get a chance to speak.

  “No more lies about lost earrings or noise from the apartment, no more quotes from the Southern Women’s Code. What do you really want?”

  She could defend herself and swear she had not lied, but those eyes of his…they would see. Somehow he would know. “Honestly?”

  “Please.”

  She licked her lips and listened to one thud of her heart before answering, “I don’t know what I want.”

  Simon moved in closer, hovering in her personal space, stealing her breath and making her heart pound even harder. He leaned toward her, his mouth heading directly for her throat. Something in her wanted to back away and clap her hand over her vulnerable artery, but another part, a deeper part, wanted to lean into him, to meet him halfway.