“A vampire! You’re kidding!” Patsy gasped.
“I wish I was. He just kind of pounced on the woman, fangs flashing, and blood everywhere, and then she collapsed and he had blood all over his mouth. It was horrible. I never, ever want to see anything like that again. Man alive! I need a drink!”
A half hour later, Barbara the hypnotherapist left, but only after giving me her card and telling me she wanted to interview me at length about my regression session.
I said nothing, just nodded, not wanting to remember the horrible scene.
“What really gets me is that the whole bit with me being run down and killed didn’t bother me,” I told my friends as we sat over a couple of bottles of wine. “But that man, that vampire . . . brrr. I’ll never forget the look on his face as long as I live. It was like he was in hell. I’ve never seen such anguish before, and then he was just on her, biting her. Urgh. It was terrible.”
“What did he look like?”
I thought, trying to separate the last images of him from the earlier ones. “Tall. Muscular. Dark hair. Green eyes. Squarish chin. Handsome, really. The kind of guy if you saw him in a mall, you’d do a double take.”
“Sounds like my neighbor,” Patsy said, getting to her feet.
“You have a handsome neighbor you’ve been keeping from us?” I asked her.
“Well, I don’t see him very often. He works at night or something—I never see him during the day. But he’s gorgeous, really gorgeous. He likes to swim in the nude.”
“We’re your oldest friends,” Terri said. “You owe it to us to share gorgeous men who swim naked.”
“How,” I said, my mind slightly muddled because of the wine, “do you know he swims naked?”
Patsy hiccuped. “If you happen to be at the east side of my fence pruning the hedge, there’s a bare spot where you can see into his backyard, and the pool.”
“I wanna see,” Terri said, tipping over.
“You have had way too mush wine, misshy,” I said, pulling her upright. “But I agree. I want to see the naked gorgeous neighbor.”
Patsy glanced at the clock. “Normally I don’t see him until closer to midnight, but a little fresh air will do us good. Tallyho, ladies!”
“We’re off to get a fox,” Terri said, giggling as we clutched each other and staggered after Patsy, who carried a bottle of wine with her, pointing it toward the backyard.
It took a good ten minutes to get to the spot Patsy had mentioned, but only because we all had to troop back into the house, one by one, to use the facilities.
“Sucks having a tiny bladder,” Terri said, wobbling slightly as she returned to where Patsy and I were lying on the grass, sharing the last bottle of wine. “C’mon, let’s go find that neighbor.”
There was no one in the pool.
“Dammit,” I said, clutching a tree that stood next to the neighbor’s house.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” Patsy said. “Maybe he’ll be out later.”
“Antimacassar,” Terri said, taking a swig off the bottle.
“Huh?” I asked.
“I think she means anticlimactical,” Patsy said with great precision.
“Ah. Gotcha. Well, hell. I’m all keyed up to see a gorgeous guy.”
“I know!” Terri said, heading for the house. “Let’sh peek in the windows to see him.”
“Ter!” Patsy said, her voice hushed as she ran after Terri. “That’s illegal.”
“No it isn’t,” she insisted. “He’s your neighbor, right? That’sh not illegal to look in a neighbor’s house. You ever hear of Neighborhood Watch? We do it all the time. It’sh good. C’mon. Let’s peek.”
“Somehow, that makes sense,” I said, following the pair. “I think it’s because I’m drunk.”
By the time we found a window that wasn’t curtained, and which looked in on what appeared to be a living room done in shades of cream and white, Patsy had to pee again, and was urging us to return to her house.
“What’sh the big deal?” Terri asked, having some difficulty navigating the one step that led up to the doors.
“He’s my neighbor! I don’t want him pissed at me.”
“It’s not like he’s going to know we were here,” I pointed out, admiring the intricate tile laid in the entryway.
“He’s going to know I was here if I leave a big puddle of wee,” she said, her legs crossed as she did a little hopping dance. “Let’s go back home. I really have to go!”
“OK. I don’t see him anyw—hoo! I see him!” Terri plastered herself to the glass on either side of the double front doors, loudly jabbing the glass with her finger. “Look! Do you see? Oh, baby, you’re right. He is gorgeous, although he’s not naked. Hey, he’s looking this way. I wonder if he can see us.”
“It’s night outside,” I said, waving my arms around to show her the night. “See? Black. Night. No one can see us. We’re like ninjas. Except for the wee puddles.”
The door opened, light spilling out from inside, the silhouette of a man clearly visible. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice deep and alluring with a slight German accent.
“I have to wee!” Patsy wailed, clutching at herself. She shoved the bottle at me and pushed past the neighbor into his house.
“Second door on the left,” he directed her. She ran in the direction he was pointing.
He turned back to us, but I couldn’t see him clearly, what with the light behind him. “Is there something I can do for you ladies?”
“Pats said you like to swim in the altogether,” Terri said, looking hopeful.
“Ah. Well, I’ve had my swim for the day. Is there anything else?”
He stepped out of the doorway and onto the entryway, straight into the light cast by a standing yard lamp a few feet away.
I dropped the bottle of wine, pointing at him as my skin tried to crawl away.
“What’s wrong, Cora?” Terri asked, weaving slightly. “You look like you’re going to barf.”
“Vampire,” I said, the word coming out as a croak.
The man, who had been reaching out to steady Terri, suddenly whirled around to look at me.
“What?” Terri asked, wobbling her way down the lone step.
“Vampire,” I repeated.
The man narrowed his green eyes at me. “Who the hell are you?”
“VAMPIRE!” I screamed, and suddenly, the world started to spin, and a great big black hole opened up at my feet, and I fell into it.
The last sound I heard was that of Patsy. “Oh, thank you, Alec. I really didn’t want to wee on your lovely tile work. What’s Cora doing on the ground?”
Dear Readers,
Lest you be freaked out by the excerpt that follows—and I know right now some of you are looking worried at even the mention of doing such a thing—let me reassure you that even though the excerpt from It’s All Greek to Me is (gasp!) a contemporary romantic comedy, there are more Dark Ones and dragon books coming.
Why, then, you might be asking yourself, did I suddenly run amok and write a contemporary? I can answer that in two words: my muse. Or, rather, three words: my pesky muse. She had an idea for a book that would poke a little gentle fun at some romance novel stereotypes, and I learned long ago to listen to her when she insists we write a book.
While I’m on the subject of upcoming books, let me add a note about the Dark Ones in particular. I know many of you are hoping for another Ben and Fran book, and I want to reassure you that they have a significant part to play regarding the situations brought to light via the previous Dark Ones book, In the Company of Vampires . They may have to adopt secondary roles for the next book, but they will, indeed, be present and looking for some answers.
Katie MacAlister
The man in front of her was crazy. That, or he was having some sort of an attack—one that involved dancing up and down and gesturing wildly, all the while talking a mile a minute, his words tumbling out with such speed, they all ran together into one dense, uninte
lligible stream.
Not that Harry could have understood the words even if he had been speaking slower. She stood up from where she’d been seated on a wooden lounge, enjoying the peace of the balmy Mediterranean night. “The temptation to say ‘I’m sorry, but it’s all Greek to me,’ is almost overwhelming—you do realize that, right?” she asked the man.
He continued his dancing-gesturing-babbling routine, this time adding a peculiar plucking motion with the hem of her linen tunic.
She glanced around, wondering if she’d misunderstood. “Am I not supposed to be here? Is this garden off limits to us? Derek said it was the garden area on the other side of the house that was for guests only. Did I get that wrong?”
The little man—and he was little, at least a good ten inches shorter than her solid six feet—evidently grew distressed at her inability to understand, and grabbed her wrist, hauling her toward the massive bulk of the house.
“Is Timmy in the well?” she asked, a little smile curling her lips before her gaze moved from what must surely have been one of the servants to the house itself. “Only house doesn’t quite cut it as a description, does it? It’s more like a palace. Houses don’t have wings—palaces do. And I defy you to find a house sitting by its lonesome on its very own Greek island. No, sir, this is a palace pure and simple, and although I’m sure you have a good reason for dragging me to it, I should point out that the only people who are staying in its palatial confines are guests, and I’m with the band. We have the little bungalow on the servant end of the island. Hello? You really don’t speak a word of English, do you?” Harry sighed.
The man continued to drag her through a very pleasant garden, filled with sweet-scented flowering Mediterranean shrubs unfamiliar to her, attractive hedges, and pretty neoclassical statues. The night air was balmy, the heavy scent from some flower mingling with the sharper and, to her mind, more pleasing tang of the sea. It was everything she imagined a rich man’s private island paradise should be. Well, with the exception of the wizened little man attached to her wrist.
“I couldn’t just sit quietly somewhere? ” she asked the man, whose fingers were locked like steel around her wrist. “I promise that I won’t bother anyone. I don’t think I could—I’m so jet-lagged, I can’t even think straight. Look, that’s a nice little bench right over there in the corner next to the statue of the guy with a really big winky. I won’t be in anyone’s way. I’ll just go sit and contemplate his gigantic genitals, and all will be well.”
“Harry!” A man appeared suddenly at a window, hanging out of it and waving frantically. “There you are! Hurry!”
“Derek, what are you doing in the house?” Harry thinned her lips at the sight of the young man. “You said we weren’t supposed to go near it while the guests were here.”
“That doesn’t matter now! Hurry up!”
“If you think I don’t have anything better to do than to fly halfway around the world to bail your butt out of trouble because you can’t follow a few simple rules—”
“No, it’s not me.” He pulled back inside the window. “It’s Cyn! She’s been attacked!”
“What!” The fury in her bellow took the little man still attached to her wrist by surprise, for he dropped her hand as if it was suddenly made of fire. Adrenaline shot through her with a painful spike—adrenaline and a fury that almost consumed her. She leaped forward, easily hurdling the low stone balustrade of a patio area as she bolted for the nearest entrance to the house, wrenching open a pair of French doors. She didn’t stop to apologize to the small group of people standing around a pool table, racing around the men and women in elegant evening clothes, making a beeline for the door that was bound to lead to a central area of the house.
The little servant trailed her as far as a marble-tiled corridor, where he veered off to who knew where. Harry didn’t care—her mind was blank except for the horror of the words that kept repeating in her head. It’s Cyn! She’s been attacked!
“Harry, thank God—” Terry emerged from a side hall, gesturing toward a curving staircase, his face tight with worry. “We didn’t know where you were. She’s up here.”
Harry ground off a good layer or two of enamel as the pair of them leaped up the seemingly endless stairs, one distracted part of her mind finding it ironic that now, of all times, she should be thankful for her height and long legs. “What happened?” she managed to get out as they crested the stairs, and Terry pointed to the left.
He cast her a worried look, but said nothing. Derek almost collided with her as he burst out of a room. “In here! Harry, you have to do something! The bastard . . . he . . . he . . . !”
“I’ll kill whoever it is,” she ground out, her blood running icy at the thought of whatever atrocity had occurred. She shoved Derek aside and entered the room, her breath ragged, her heart about ready to leap from her chest. She’d heard the phrase “seeing red” before, but had never thought it could be taken as literal. For a few seconds, though, she swore everything in the room had an ugly red tint to it. It was obviously a bedroom; a quick glance took in the usual occasional chairs, a large bureau with matching wardrobe, and a big bed swathed in some sort of filmy draperies that fluttered in the breeze drifting in through open French doors. Her attention narrowed to the bed as she dashed to it, immediately taking into her arms one of the two huddled, sobbing figures there.
Dimly, she was aware that there was another person in the room, but his identity faded to insignificance. “It’s all right, Cyndi. I’m here now,” she said, her fury rising as the younger woman sobbed onto her shoulder. “You’ll be OK. We’ll make whoever did this pay.”
“He’s evil! He’s horrible!” Cyndi pulled back, tears spilling over already red and bloodshot eyes. She was naked, a sheet clutched to her bare breasts, her face unmarked but blotchy from the tears. There were some nasty-looking raw marks on her neck and chest, but it was the petulant purse of her lips that suddenly chimed a warning bell in Harry’s brain.
“What happened? Did someone attack you?”
Cyndi drew in a long, trembling breath and glanced over Harry’s shoulder. “Yes. Well . . . more or less. He dumped me, Harry. Dumped me!”
Harry blinked for a few seconds. “He what?”
“Dumped me, cruelly and . . . and . . . viciously. I came up to his room, and I thought we were going to hook up, and everything was going along very nicely, and before we could get down to, you know, really doing it, he told me to leave. Just like that!”
Harry passed a shaking hand over her eyes. Slowly, her heart rate dropped back to reasonable levels “So you weren’t attacked?”
“Verbally I was. He told me that he didn’t want to have sex with me, and that I should leave because he wanted to sleep.” Cyndi gestured at the bed. “If it’s not verbal abuse to entice someone to your bed, and get them naked, and then kiss them all over before telling them to leave, I don’t know what is!”
“He enticed you?”
“Yes! Not so much in words, but he looked at me several times tonight, and a woman knows what that look means,” Cyndi said with a peculiar lofty coyness. “He wanted me. So I came up here, and then everything was really nice until he went totally crazy and told me to leave. That’s just not right, Harry. It’s traumatizing! You have no idea how traumatizing it is to have fabulous sex and then be told to leave because someone wants to sleep. I’m not a slut! I should sleep here, too!”
Harry took a deep, deep breath to keep from strangling the young, self-centered girl in front of her, reminding herself that her whole purpose in being there was to watch over the kids and see that they came to no harm. Her eyes lit on the red marks on Cyndi’s chest, and a little spurt of anger burned in her stomach.
She turned, moving aside the hovering forms of Terry and Derek. Amy had moved to cling to the latter, her eyes huge and wary. A man leaned drunkenly against the wall, dressed only in a pair of obviously hastily donned pants, the waistband undone, his face slack and devoid of emotion as he
watched her walk toward him. He was a little taller than she was, obviously of Greek ethnicity, with dark eyes and hair, and what in any other circumstance would have been a classical sort of beauty that she would have to have been dead not to appreciate.
“I don’t know what the hell you did to her to leave those marks, but I feel it’s important to point out that she’s only eighteen years old. Couldn’t you have gotten her out of the room without touching her?” she asked, fighting with the need to yell at both Cyndi and the randy stallion before her. He had to have been a guest at the party for which the band had been brought out at great expense to entertain, but at that moment, Harry couldn’t have cared less if he was the owner of this vast palace of sin—she just wanted to get Cyndi out of there without any further drama.
“I—” The man blinked at her, swallowed visibly, and shoved himself away from the wall to take a step forward. “The little bint threw herself at me. She was in my bed, waiting for me. I didn’t screw her, if that’s what you’re all hot and bothered about.”
“Bint!” Cyndi roared, and would have lunged at the man but for the sheet in which she was still tangled. “You bastard! I’m not a bint. Terry, what’s a bint?”
“I don’t care who tried to seduce whom—you should have known she’s too young. You’re just lucky she’s legal. And obviously you were playing a bit too rough if you left those sorts of marks.”
“I’m wounded!” Cyndi cried, grasping at that thought. “He hurt me! He’s a beastly, horrible man who hurt me and abused me! I think I may faint.”
“You’re not hurt, you little—” The man wisely bit off the word as Harry frowned. “I didn’t hurt her.”
“Oh my God, I’m bleeding!” Cyndi cried in a dramatic voice, and clutched at Terry. “I need to go to the hospital!”
“Look, this has gone far enough. I just want you to promise to stay away from Cyndi for the rest of the weekend, OK?” Harry said with an attempt to take control of the situation.
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