by Lynne Murray
The only sign that he’d been in the shed for seventy years was a big, slightly sunken square on the cement floor where the crate had stood. I couldn’t believe he would just leave like that. Where could he go? His rich old lady friends were like Aunt Reba, too feeble to take him in.
Who could he go? You couldn’t put him in a studio apartment or Lucy would have taken him in a heartbeat—even if I gave her hell and Jack refused to make her a vampire, she would have been glad to have him just for the leverage.
There had to be others. Damn it, for all I knew the other vampires had a coffin relocation program. He purposely blocked me from entrance to the vampire world. He was probably laughing at me now for all my vain threats to try to get him to cooperate. Let him laugh. Now I had no way to find Jack.
But I intended to find the others, one way or another.
Chapter 32
Kristin Marlowe’s typed notes
August 7th
Vi sat through the doorbell as if she was too tired to stand, so I went to let Bram in. I felt an unexpected surge of relief to see him on the doorstep, looking as whimsically gallant as he had in Larry’s parlor. “You are a really good person to help us,” I said as I led him down the hall.
“I’m the lucky one,” he said with a smile. “If you’ve got a real vampire, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime for me.”
Vi greeted Bram so quietly that her voice was barely audible. “I’ve got all your books.”
“Thank you, I’m flattered.”
“The Natural History of the Undead is my favorite. It’s there.” She pointed to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on either side of her old fashioned fireplace, and subsided into exhausted silence.
“Ah, the fact books and the so-called-fact books.” Bram smiled at both of us. Vi didn’t seem to notice. We I exchanged a glance over Vi’s head.
“We had a rough night,” I said. I poured him some coffee, which he drank black as he looked around Vi’s sunny front room, the window looking out over Clement Street.
He put down his coffee cup and went over to examine the shelves. “Vampires on one side, psychology on the other,” he said. “That’s an intriguing split.”
“The psych books are mine and Vi writes vampire novels. You may have seen them—Violet Semmelweis.” I gestured to the row of books.
“Forgive me if I haven’t read them. I think I have heard of you, but I’m concentrating on the interviews I’m doing. There’s so much vampire fiction that I can’t begin to keep up with it all.”
Vi waved her hand wearily. “Don’t worry about it. You’re not really the target audience for vampire romance.”
Bram came back but didn’t sit down. “Thanks for the coffee. I’m awake now and ready for vampire action. Oops. What have we here?”
“My roommates,” Vi said with a smile as her long-haired tuxedo cat, Ariel, came out of hiding with his short, twisty Manx tail waving back and forth like a flag. The orange-striped cat, Sly, joined him, walked up to Bram, and sniffed his pants leg.
“Hey, I haven’t seen your cats all night, Vi. Do you think they hid while Sir John was awake?”
“Sir John?” Bram asked.
“Our vampire guest.” I felt flustered. “Aside from being a vampire, he says he’s Sir John Falstaff and that Shakespeare modeled the character after him.”
Bram laughed. “Multi-delusional, I like the guy already. But you say the cats didn’t.”
Vi nodded. “I think he wasn’t a cat person. But they seem to like you.” Vi introduced each cat.
Bram leaned down to politely offer an outstretched hand, which each duly sniffed, He also nodded when I pointed out the shaggy tail sticking out from the armchair, where Hamlet thought he was safely hidden. “Er, how many cats do you have?”
“Well, there are the three you see at least some part of, and two that are invisible.”
“Um.” He tilted his head skeptically. “These invisible cats. Are they here now?”
Violet laughed. “They’re a feral mother and daughter. They hide in the closet or under the bed. They don’t trust strangers. Hell, they don’t trust me very much—yet.”
Bram must be a pretty good interviewer, because Vi seemed to be reviving from her exhaustion. “What are the names of the cats that are hiding? Or do feral cats have names?”
“They know some words like ‘food” and “N-O.’ But just for my own sake I call the feral mom Lady Macbeth and her daughter Juliet. Lady Macbeth hisses when I try to get near her, and Juliet is very shy and hides behind her mother.”
“Hasn’t met her Romeo, I guess.”
“Being spayed, she’s not out there looking.”
There was a pause and Bram instinctively broke in—which was good, because Vi was about to start explaining about the deceased felines whose ashes and pictures lined the mantelpiece—all of them black cats, and from the pictures they could almost have been the same cat, although the ashes testified otherwise.
“So where is this vampire?”
“He’s in the guest bedroom.” Vi led the way and we followed her into the dimly lit room that was almost completely filled with the bed and the huge crate next to it.
“He said that the sunlight burned him through the blinds, and all this dust started rising when the dawn hit him. He asked us to drape this over his casket.” I cautiously picked up the edge of the heavy material.
“Maybe if we hung that cloth over the curtain rod to block the light,” Bram suggested.
“Makes sense,” I said.
It took all three of us to haul the cloth up and heft it over the valence above the window. The room got darker. “If he starts doing that disintegration thing again, we’ll drop it right back over the box again.”
Bram raised the lid and stared down at Sir John’s impassive, unbreathing corpse. He reached in and felt for a pulse. He shook his head. There was a faint hiss and visible particles began to rise from the box like a dust storm.
“It’s the light—put the lid down!” I yelled.
Bram let the lid fall, and we all hastily pulled the drape down and put it back over the case.
Bram backed away a few feet. “And you say he was alive until dawn?”
“Very much so.”
“If I came back at dusk, you’re saying he would rise?”
“That’s what he did the first time I saw him,” I said. “Unless we’ve damaged him by letting the light get to him. Maybe we shouldn’t have taken the drape off.”
Vi shook her head at me and turned to Bram. “She’s co-dependent even with vampires. Did he get enough blood? Perhaps she should help him pick out a better coffin.”
“Vi!” I started to laugh. “Let’s just remember who invited him to store his coffin here.”
Bram laughed too. “Is there somewhere around here where we could have breakfast while you tell me the whole story from the beginning?”
Half an hour later we were sitting at a table in a place on Geary that had home fries and good coffee and telling Bram the whole story. I did edit my romantic woes with Hal to make me sound a little less pitiful. After the part about how he died at dawn and was stiff as a board five minutes later, all of us sat in silence.
“I’ve been studying this for nearly twenty years, and up until an hour ago I would have said that this existed only in people’s fantasies,” Bram said. “I want to see this guy when he gets up.”
“Oh, we want you there too,” I said.
Vi nodded. “Please.”
Bram looked at us solemnly. “You aren’t expecting me to put a stake through this man’s heart, are you?”
“No, no!” Vi and I were horrified.
“We like him,” Vi said.
“But we don’t know what to do about him,” I added.
“Whatever it is, it doesn’t fit with any single syndrome.” Bram took out a small metal case with a notebook and pencil and made a list. “First of all he was red-faced and he didn’t have any of the symptoms of porphyria—people wi
th that have to stay out of direct sun, but they get burned, not disintegrated. As far as the full-fledged rigor, there is a cadaveric spasm. When someone dies violently, struggling, it depletes the oxygen in the muscles and they contract instantly, rather than taking two to eight hours for rigor.”
“There was that shuddering of the whole crate,” I mused. “He might have been dying violently.”
“I’ll definitely come back this evening just before dusk.”
“You won’t tell anyone though, please!”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t pass up this opportunity for the world. Let me give you my cell phone in case your guy wakes up during the day. Most distracting.” He winked at me. “I probably won’t be much use in the interviews I have to do today.”
I put his cell number on speed dial on my phone and we all sat silent for a moment. Bram looked from me to Vi and back again. “We should all consider what we’ll do if the old guy doesn’t rise this evening. What if he just he stays dead?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not sure what I’m hoping for.”
“Kris!” Vi said, “I like Sir John.”
“Yeah, but he’s literally a bloodsucker, and that makes us his dinner.” I held up a hand. “I’m too tired to argue. But thanks, Bram, for giving us your expert opinion.”
He smiled that crooked smile. “An opinion based on no real experience. But I’m very interested to see what happens tonight.”
Bram walked back toward Larry’s place. Vi went up the steps from Clement Street to her front door. Bram did bring a rational mind to this situation. That was sorely needed.
“Vi, are you sure you want to sleep with him in the next bedroom?”
She looked down at me from her front porch. “I’m so tired, I’m asleep on my feet already.”
“Keep the phone near you and call if anything weird wakes you up.”
“I think we’re safe during daylight. If we’re not, screw it. I’ve got to sleep.”
I had to get some rest before my first client arrived at one o’clock.
My message light was blinking and I played back a call from Mina, firing me as her therapist and telling me never to try to contact her again. I couldn’t blame her. I felt awful, but too tired to let myself contemplate it further.
It wasn’t until I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror washing up that I realized I hadn’t told Bram about the bite marks on my neck. How could I leave that out?
Chapter 33
Mina Murray’s Digital Journal
August 7th
Hal left a dozen voicemail messages on my phone at work and home. I counted. He knocked on my door, but I didn’t answer. I found flowers and an apology card outside the door later. I managed to avoid him for two days. The second day I hung around the office till nearly six, hoping to avoid him. But Hal was waiting outside the building when I finally did leave for the day.
“We have to talk, Mina. Why did you just leave me with no word? I found the ring on the dresser. Why did you break up with me? What’s wrong?”
“I followed you to Kristin’s place that night.”
That stopped him. He stared at me—those brown eyes that I had trusted so deeply. “Why?”
“Maybe because I thought you were doing something behind my back. And guess what? You were. You were cheating on me with my own therapist. That is so, so sick. I told her that when I fired her.”
“Mina, I need to talk to talk to you.” Homeward bound Financial District people flowed around us—not the full flood of rush hour. Hal flinched as a man brushed past him and muttered in annoyance. “Would you please come for a drink or some dinner?”
I didn’t say anything. I’d never heard Hal this upset before. For some reason it made me feel calmer.
“Mina, I swear to you I meant to break it off with Kris as soon as I met you.”
I turned away. “But you just never got around to it. Bullshit. You just didn’t expect to get caught.”
He moved to block me from leaving. “Please, don’t go. Listen to me. I need you so badly. You’re the only person who can save me from this. Just give me a chance to explain.”
People walking past on the sidewalk slowed down as they passed by, glancing our way.
“I can’t imagine what you could say that would make me forgive you.”
Hal lowered his voice and moved closer to whisper. “We can’t talk about it here. That thing in the shed that you were so afraid of—it’s gone.”
I was confused. “Where did it go? Lucy said you were going to threaten to kick it out?”
“You wanted it gone. It’s gone.” Hal pulled me over close to the building, out of the flow of foot traffic, and knelt down on the sidewalk in front of me, keeping hold of my hand. “I swear to you, Mina, the moment I first laid eyes on you, I loved you. Remember how I came up to you on the sidewalk. It was right outside of Kris’s gate?”
“Of course I remember the first time we met.” I started to cry. “You’re saying you were on your way to see Kristin?”
“I was on the way to spend the rest of my life with you—I just didn’t know it yet. I didn’t know she was your therapist. But Mina, I fell in love with you that moment. From the first time I saw you, it’s always been you.”
A huge shadow fell over us. It was the security guard from the building. His name was Rafe. He always flirted with me. He’d probably enjoy telling Hal to get lost. “Is this guy bothering you, Mina?”
I looked down at Hal. His eyes were pleading. Somehow having the power to get him in trouble with Rafe made me feel better. I sighed. “No, Rafe, it’s okay. But thanks for paying attention.”
“Just doing my job.” He gave Hal a hard look. “Let me know if you need help.” Rafe went back into the building, but I could see him hovering near the glass door.
“Let’s go somewhere quiet to talk,” Hal said softly, getting to his feet. “I really need you. I’m all alone now and I don’t know where to turn.”
He was hard to resist when he begged. I made him get up and we went to dinner. The least I could do was let him explain.
Chapter 34
Kristin Marlowe’s typed notes
August 7th continued
When I got back home I lay down to nap and woke up, shuddering after less than an hour. Fear and exhaustion kept me in a daze. So I got up and took a container of yogurt over to the computer to check my email. Someone had answered my personal ad. Right. Romance. I closed the email program without reading it. I didn’t delete it, though. Maybe tomorrow I’d feel like reading it. If our little experiment with Sir John didn’t land us in jail or worse. Bram had a good point about preparing our strategy in case Sir John did not arise at dusk. Policemen take a dim view of unidentified corpses lying around the apartment all day. I’d have to amend the ad—Accused murderess, former licensed psychologist seeks soul mate.
I went looking online for information about this Oldcastle person Vi mentioned as Shakespeare’s model for Falstaff. I printed up the relevant parts and put them in a folder. The historical record didn’t offer any answers that I could see, no connections with vampires.
If it hadn’t been for Sir John’s death and instant rigor mortis, I might have imagined that he was simply a very well-informed English history buff who was operating an elaborate con or possibly living out a delusion. But there was no denying what happened in Vi’s back bedroom at dawn. That froze my theories cold.
Then my first client arrived and the rest of the afternoon was spent drinking coffee and forcing myself to stay awake and pay attention to other people’s problems.
Vi called in late afternoon and we had soup and sandwiches together. She was so excited about Sir John that it scared me. She didn’t seem to see any down side.
“He’s a treasure trove of stories,” she said. “I could get half a dozen books from the stories he’s told me so far.”
“I just wonder how safe it is.”
“He’s harmless, can’t you see?”
; “I’m not so sure about that.”
Bram showed up at around sunset, bringing a black bag and a small tape recorder.
“What’s in the bag?”
“I brought my vampire killing kit.” The way he ducked his head when he said it telegraphed his embarrassment. “You know, with the stake and holy water and all.”
“Maybe you should put that away. He’ll be awake—”
Too late, a strident coughing announced Sir John’s arising.
Chapter 35
Sir John Falstaff’s words
on black digital recorder, undated
Times I awoke awash in blood and slaughter and thought I was back in battle. But it was just mine hosts. They fed on blood, pain, life force and death. My natural gift to charm fascinated them. They could not learn from me, and everything I learned from them took longer, flavored by their cruel sport. Once I dug out the truth beneath their games I had the lesson and could make my own way.
A hundred years to perfect the illusion of life. To come and go invisible, unnoted and untouched by creatures that stalk the undead. A hundred years to learn debauchery by proxy. A chance encounter in a tavern and I find myself maligned as a glutton, coward and a drunkard. I who have not tasted ale firsthand in nigh 600 years.
But now, the drape pulled aside, I greet a new dusk and the ladies have a male companion.
“Good evening, Mistress Kit and my Hostess Violet. Some new blood, I see.”
“I’ll be damned.” the man says.
“I hope not so, but you must better know the state of your own soul.” The man has many a gray hair on his head, yet I can taste his awe.
“I saw you dead, stiff and unbreathing in the coffin this morning.”
“If you look in my coffin after dawn, that is what you must expect to see. Now, after dusk, you see me live and breathe and hasten out into the world to break my day long fast.”