We left things on such bad terms, and at an impasse.
That second chance she asked of me seems to have fizzled out, officially expired.
God, I hate loose ends. I hate doors left open to invite in more upset and pain. I have to contact her. I have to officially break up with her. But when is the right time? And how can I drum up the fortitude to do it when my heart is already shattered?
Finally, it's Friday morning, and I've never been more grateful for the end of the workweek in my life.
I stand behind the counter in the shop, taking a sip from my to-go coffee cup as I juggle my cell, calling up Mia's number and then chickening out—again—before I can force myself to press send.
I wince a little as hot liquid burns my mouth; the phone clatters out of my hand, sliding onto a pile of mail. At the same moment, the store telephone begins to ring. For a nerve-wracking moment, I think it must be Mia calling.
But then David ducks his head out of the back office doorway. “Courtney, there's someone named Gustav on the phone for you.” He holds up the cordless. “Didn't say what he was calling about.”
I put down my coffee and wave my hand in front of my mouth, eyes watering, as I accept the receiver from him. “Thanks, David,” I say around my burnt tongue, and then I blink a dozen times and clear my throat.
“Hello? Professor?” I say into the phone.
“Ms. Banks?” His accent is thick, German, and his voice is deep. “Apologies for my delayed response, but I would be very pleased to send that book to you. You will wire me the money, yes?”
“Yes! Yes, I will. Thank you. Um...” I hop onto my stool and open up the laptop. “Did you send me the information I need to wire payment to you?”
“It is coming to your email, even as we speak,” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice. “I was very...interested as to why your client would desire such a book, Ms. Banks, I must confess.” He harrumphs for a moment. “I am an expert on alchemical texts, you see, and Maximinus' work is not well known, though it was revolutionary for his time. And, quite frankly, still is.”
I log in to my email account and scan for the message from Gustav. It's there, right between an email from Azure about the concert and a spam email alerting me to the presence of sexy naughty hot single local guys.
“He was a revolutionary? How so?” I ask absentmindedly, as I scribble notes onto a legal pad.
“Well, Maximinus was attempting to create a substance that looked, behaved, and even tasted like blood—without using animal or human materials.”
I drop my pen, heart pounding.
A blood substitute...
“Hold on a second.” I swallow and shift the phone to my other ear. “You mean... This guy was trying to make blood that wasn't actually blood?”
“Simply put, yes,” says Gustav, with an almost audible shrug. “Or so his biographers claim. There are detailed descriptions in the book, actually, about his scientific methods. Apparently, he had some success in his endeavor, but no one, to my knowledge, has attempted his experiments since.”
I listen, rapt, my mind racing. The successful creation of synthetic blood would... Well, it would change the world. On top of revolutionizing the medical industry, it would rewrite the futures of human- and vampirekind.
My arms are covered in goosebumps. I'm playing the middleman to history here. My voice sounds excited, wired, when I say, “I'll get back to my client right away with the information you sent me. I should expect the wire transfer to occur today. She—my client—is very eager to get this book in her hands, so I hope that you'll be able to ship it quickly.”
“Wonderful! Wonderful. I will do this.” Gustav chuckles softly. “It was a pleasure, Ms. Banks. A pleasure.”
And, just like that, the line goes dead.
I'm too stunned for extended small talk right now, anyway.
I grip the counter, stare down at the wire transfer details I scribbled onto the notepad.
If Lare could do this, if she could really do this impossible thing...
Vampires wouldn't have to drink real blood anymore. The taboo would be irrelevant, eradicated. And if it wasn't real blood they were drinking...well, then, wouldn't vampires be just like us? Living creatures who must ingest specific nutrients to survive?
The senseless hatred would have to stop, or lessen significantly, as the differences between us decreased. Wouldn't it?
I shake my head, pick up my cell phone and the legal pad, angling toward the back office. David is done filing in there and is now whistling somewhere between the shelves of the shop.
I need to speak with Lare right away.
I dial her number, excited about the book but also—truthfully—excited for this excuse to speak with her again.
We haven't talked since our lunch date. She's busy with her work at the lab, and she is, understandably, stressed out over the kidnappings. As much as I've longed to call her, and see her, I've resisted the urge to initiate contact, because I don't want to further complicate her life by entangling her in my complicated life.
And honestly? I was reluctant to talk to her again before I'd broken up with Mia.
There's just...something about Lare. And something about me when I'm around Lare. I wanted to have a clear conscience the next time we spoke—no guilt, no self-imposed restrictions...
But, unfortunately, I'm a shaking-in-my-boots coward and am still, technically, in a relationship with Mia.
Lare answers on the second ring.
“Courtney.” Her voice is tired but warm. I can hear her smiling against the phone. “How are you?”
I smile, too, feeling a hot rush move through my limbs and flush my cheeks. “I'm doing well,” I tell her. I'm doing well now, I think. “Listen, Gustav just called me. Finally. I have the wire transfer information—”
“Oh, magnifique,” she says, and then she takes down the details as I relay them, but she seems distant, distracted. I can hear background voices on her end of the line, as if there are multiple people in the room with her. Maybe I interrupted her during a meeting. After Lare takes down the final number from me, she says quickly, “Just one moment, please.”
More muffled talking while I wait, tapping my pen on the legal pad anxiously.
“Courtney?” says Lare at last. Her voice sounds different now, more relaxed, open. And the other voices are gone. “Are you still there?”
“I'm here.”
“Sorry. I had to move to a different room. I am really so glad that you called.” Her tone is soft, velvety, but then she sighs—a weary sigh, as if she's bone-deep exhausted. “It has been a terrible week, ma belle. So, so terrible.”
Ma belle. My high school French is rusty, but I can guess at her meaning; a delicious shiver courses through my veins.
Focus, Courtney.
I narrow my brows and shake my head. “What's happened? What's wrong? Are you okay?”
“Another of my co-workers has gone missing,” she tells me tiredly. “That makes three. And everyone at GLT is afraid they will be next.”
“Oh, my God,” I whisper. “I'm so sorry.” My stomach twists as I bite my lip. “Do you think you're in danger?”
“At this point,” says Lare, her voice quiet, subdued, “the targeted victims have been human. But the circumstances are odd. No ransoms have been requested—which makes it all the more...puzzling. I am friends with the latest victim's wife, so I'm about to leave work to spend the day with her, to try to console her, if I can.”
“God, Lare...” My lungs feel as if they're being pinched; every breath takes a concerted effort. I wish I had words of comfort to offer. I wish I could think of some way to help. I can't imagine what Lare and her co-workers must be going through. I am certain that, if the employees at Banks' Books started disappearing, I would be a wreck, a disaster.
I would be useless and petrified with fear.
The fact that Lare is still functioning astounds me.
Admittedly, there isn't anything about
Lare that fails to astound me...
“On an unrelated note,” she begins, a small ray of brightness edging her tone, “I would... I would like to see you tonight, if you're available.”
Open-mouthed, I pause, computing her carefully chosen words: I would like to see you tonight, if you're available.
Lare wants to see me. Really see me.
This isn't an apology, like our impromptu lunch date, or a freak coincidence, like her bandaging my knife wound during the storm.
This is different. Something new.
“Yeah, you should really think it over. I'm not sure I'll be great company,” she laughs self-deprecatingly.
I glance at the calendar tacked to the wall as I tap my fingers on the desk.
The music festival is tonight. Mia and I had planned to go to it together, but after our argument and this subsequent stalemate, I don't expect her to show up for the concert. She never wanted to go in the first place; she was only placating me.
Still, I can't invite Lare to be my “date.”
“Um,” I sigh, trying—vainly—to untangle my thoughts. I feel as if my head is full of knots. My hair actually is full of knots; I rake a hand back through it, grimacing and chewing on my bottom lip.
“There's this music festival going on tonight. It's called Vampire Rock Fest, imaginatively enough. A portion of the ticket proceeds goes toward funding vampire awareness, and my best friend is performing...” I'm babbling now, so I shake my head, cut to the chase. “It'll be fun,” I say weakly, “and...I think you should check it out. Azure—that's my friend—her music is great.”
“Oh...well, thank you for the recommendation, Courtney.”
There are other voices talking in the background on her end of the line again; I can make out something about investigation and get to the bottom of this.
Lare's tone is detached, formal, but regretful as she says, “I hope that I'll see you later.”
“I hope so, too,” I start—but the dial tone interrupts me.
Lare has already hung up.
That was...abrupt.
I sigh heavily, staring at the disconnected phone in my hand.
After a few moments, I wander out of the office and see David sweeping the floor—for the third time today. I'm about to tell him he can go home early—it's been a slow, customer-less afternoon—when I step alongside the counter and notice his backpack lying on the floor.
More specifically, I notice the SANG brochure sticking out of the front pocket of his backpack.
Immediately, my eyes flick up to David, watching him as he sweeps nonexistent dust bunnies and whistles that slick, too-catchy tune.
I'd like to believe someone shoved the brochure into his hands, that he didn't read it, that meant to throw it out.
That he's not allied with a hate group.
But I don't know what to believe about anyone anymore.
Chapter Seven: Vampire Kiss
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, tugging at various hems uncomfortably.
With my blonde hair and skin-tight black clothes, I feel like Sandy after her cool-girl transformation at the end of Grease—except that Sandy really was cool, and I'm just faking it, wearing my cool little sister's borrowed clothes.
I haven't worn a skirt this short since I was in elementary school. And I've never worn fishnet stockings in my life. The zippered tank top is sexy but so form-fitting that I feel as if I'm laced into a corset.
Seriously, are clothes supposed to hurt?
Doesn't matter. I'm running late, and I'm out of options. With a shallow sigh, I dig around in the back of my closet and drag out an old shoe box, a souvenir from my grunge phase. Smiling wistfully, I blow the dust off of the lid and open the box up. Inside, there they are—my black military-style boots, bought from an army surplus store for ten bucks when I was in eleventh grade.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and pull on the boots, lacing them up tightly over the fishnet stockings. When I stand up, the boot heels make satisfying clomps on my bedroom floorboards.
Back in front of the mirror, I pull at my hair, drawing it up into a high ponytail and tucking an errant curl behind my right ear. I apply some dark eye makeup, along with a little lip gloss and a spritz of my favorite perfume, a musky scent called Rendezvous.
The woman who stares back at me from the glass is unfamiliar, a stranger, though her gestures perfectly mirror my own. Is that really me? I shake my head at my reflection, heart beating too fast. I feel strange, like I'm playing dress-up. Surely everyone will see the bookworm hiding behind this goth-Cinderella makeover...
I glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand and swear. Azure's performing early in the set, and according to her text, she's scheduled to go onstage in about forty minutes. I'll be lucky to find a parking space in forty minutes, let alone run to the venue in time to catch her whole show.
“Be good, Colette,” I tell my cat, patting her fluffy head as she stares up at me with wide, unblinking, judgmental eyes, as if to say, “You're really going out of the house in that? Really?”
I grab my purse and keys and lock the front door on my way out. The sunset in the west is throwing a gorgeous shade of purple onto the clouds overhead. Tearing my eyes from the sky, I fall into my car, jam the key into the ignition and turn it.
And nothing happens.
No sputter. No shudder.
Nothing.
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no... Come on, you hunk of junk, not tonight.” I try the key again and—again—no luck.
My car is as silent as a toy Matchbox.
“Oh, no, no, no, no,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to the steering wheel.
Think, Courtney.
Nearly everybody I know is at the concert. It's unlikely that any of them would hear my SOS phone call over the blare of live music.
As a last-ditch effort, I shove the key into the ignition again. This time, the engine sounds as if it's being crushed by a trash compactor, and the screech of metal-on-metal makes my ears ring. I bang my fists on the steering wheel with a growl of frustration.
Then: “We've got to stop meeting like this,” comes a soft, velvety voice just beyond my open car window.
Lare.
And when I shift my gaze, when I see her silver eyes flashing, her full lips curving, and her sweet, enormous dog pushing his nose over the edge of the door, trying—and succeeding—to lick me with his long pink tongue, my tension melts away, replaced by something else, something much more pleasant: a liquid rush of warmth, peace, calm.
God, I'm happy to see her.
“Just another day in paradise.” I sit back and offer her a wry smile. “How are you doing, Lare?”
“I'm very glad to run into you,” she says, her voice a low purr of satisfaction as she plants her hands on her hips and flicks her mirrored gaze to my steering wheel. “This guy giving you trouble again?” She pats the side mirror and lifts a brow.
“A lot of trouble.” I sigh, then toss my keys into my purse. “I was about to leave for the concert, but the engine refuses to start.” Staring toward the offending hood, I bite my lip. “It kind of sounds like it's about to self-destruct.”
“Well...one might suggest that our meeting here and now was fate, then.” Lare tugs Van Helsing away from the door as I open it and step out. The fluffy beast bounds forward, shoving his nose under my hand, licking my wrist. I chuckle, ruffling the fur behind his floppy white ears.
I breathe out and glance up, meeting Lare's shining eyes. The sun has sunk below the horizon, so the sky has darkened to charcoal gray above our heads. We're standing between streetlamps, in shadows, but somehow her eyes still seem to glow. “Fate?” I ask in a small voice.
“Well, I was finishing up Helly's walk and was about to get ready myself.”
“You mean—”
“Oui. I planned on attending the concert, too. I could use the distraction.” Her eyes, bright just a moment ago, now look haunted. Hunted.
I swallow. “Is everyt
hing all right?”
“Ah...” Lare blinks, shakes her head, tousling her coppery hair over her shoulders. She refocuses her stare, lingering over my lips. “It would be a pleasure to drive you to the concert, ma belle.” As she gazes at me, her eyes soften again, and the worry lines creasing her forehead begin to fade away. “Would you like that, to go with me?”
“Yes. I...really would. Thank you, Lare,” I say quietly, holding her rapt, steady gaze. I'm nervous, unsure of what to do with my hands, so I keep petting Helly's head and ears, and he leans hard against me, his tail thwacking the backs of my fishnets-clad legs.
“Well, good.” Lare's smile is a sunrise; it makes me feel new and warm, down to my very last atom. “Then that's settled.” She turns, tugging Helly behind her on his leash. “Come in with me while I get ready, Courtney. I won't take more than a moment, I promise.”
I walk alongside Lare to the front door of her house, holding tightly to my purse strap, my boots clunking over the stones. With a barely suppressed shudder, I remember the sight of Mia standing in my front yard, stabbing an angry finger toward this house, ordering me to avoid all contact with Lare.
Lare's car had been in the driveway then, but it was raining, pouring. Surely she hadn't seen, hadn't heard. I hope... It was a humiliating scene, yes, but—more importantly than that—it was motivated by a brand of blind hatred that shakes my flimsy faith in the human race. A hatred that could have deeply hurt Lare.
A hatred that destroyed, once and for all, my relationship with Mia.
Lare holds her front door open for me, and I duck my head as I cross over the threshold, feeling Lare's warm presence at my back. She unclips Van Helsing's leash and sets the great animal free; he turns around immediately and sits down in front of me in the narrow hallway, tongue lolling out of his mouth. I have no choice but to pay his toll, petting him to persuade him to let me pass. He gazes up at me with big, brown, adoring eyes.
“What a good boy.”
At my words, he begins to pant, the perfect picture of canine contentment.
“Stop flirting with our guest, Helly,” Lare laughs softly. To me, she says, “Come in, come in, please—and make yourself comfortable.” She aims toward a room branching off from the main hallway, gesturing for me to follow. I inch around Van Helsing with a chuckle, tracing Lare's footsteps. But when I pause in the doorway, my mouth goes dry.
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