Yes. Oh hell yes. Whatever we should get down to, we definitely should get down to it right now.
“Before we begin, I want to make sure the agency informed you that I am a Vampire.”
“Yes. They were very clear about that.”
“Though I always explain I am as human as anyone and they have nothing to fear from me, some people are skeptical as to my assurances.”
“Not me,” I lied. Hell, at this point, I’d take a job at Kill All The Dolphins or Mothers Against Pristine Forests if it would get me a steady paycheck and benefits.
I must have had that fight-or-flight look in my eyes (I learned a long time ago I can’t play poker; my expression gives me away every time) because he raised his hands, palms toward me like a mime trapped behind an invisible wall. His impromptu gesture gave me a clear view of his ring finger, which was devoid of a band of gold. Again my heart fluttered.
“I apologize,” he said. “I can see the Vampire thing really does bother you. And then there’s Leech. She is a bit—”
“Yes,” I rushed, blinking away his potent effect on me. “She is.”
He shrugged. “You wouldn’t know it to look at her,” he insisted, “but Leech has a great sense of humor. Very droll.” Raising his brows, he nodded emphatically. “She’s a riot at a party.”
Uh-huh. A lynch party.
“Let me just cut to the chase,” he said, setting my resume aside. “I don’t know how much the agency told you, but Leech is my current housekeeper-slash-secretary-slash-factotum and she’s leaving. The timing for me couldn’t be worse, so I need to replace her as soon as possible.”
“Timing?”
“Yes. She’s leaving in less than a week. Whoever I hire will have to learn Leech’s household duties and the rest very quickly.”
The rest? “The rest?” Just as I was relaxing a bit, there went my nerves again.
He waved his hand dismissively. “I have a houseful of Hollywood types who arrived yesterday and since I can’t be with them the whole time they’re here, Leech was to see to their comfort and continue running the household.”
“And that would be my job.”
“Yes.” He sat back in his desk chair. “Have you ever worked as a housekeeper?”
“Not professionally.”
“Secretary?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Admin or personal assistant?”
I considered my views regarding lying on job interviews, but since I’d basically been self-employed since graduating college, in truth, I was not only not qualified for this job, I wasn’t qualified for any job.
Leaning forward, I gave him a wide smile. “See, here’s the thing. I’ve kept my own house, typed business letters, and done the work an admin would do, if I ever had one. If you’ll give me a chance to prove myself, I’m sure you’ll see I learn quickly, work hard, and am efficient.”
He eyed me for a moment, then said, “You’re a published author.”
“Yes. Was. I was an author.”
Editors aren’t buying cozy mysteries, Steph. Bookstores aren’t stocking them, and readers aren’t reading them anymore.
I don’t know if a writer can acquire post traumatic disorder by losing her publishing house, but I have to say, my agent’s crushing words lived on in my memory, replaying inside my head just as surely as if I’d witnessed a train wreck.
What happened to my fans?
They’re a dying breed, Steph. Literally. Your readership has generally been, um, ladies of a certain age, and one-by-one they’re passing through the Pearly Gates into the Hereafter… which apparently does not possess a Barnes and Noble.
“Mrs. Gabriel?” Dr. Mercilus’ voice penetrated my reverie, bringing me back into the moment. His blue eyes narrowed on me. “Are you okay?”
I straightened in my chair. “Yes. Fine. Thanks.”
He studied me for a moment, then seemed satisfied I was telling the truth and said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t believe I’ve read anything you’ve written.”
Based on my last royalty check, you’re not the only one, pal.
I smiled and said lightly, “Oh, pshaw. No apology necessary. So many books; so little time and all that.”
“May I ask what it is you write?”
I licked my lips. “Um, I wrote cozy romantic mysteries.”
He picked up a pen and pad from his desk. “You write under your own name? Can you suggest a couple of titles so I can give you a read?”
My heart jolted. He wanted to read one of my books?
Oh.
Oh, no.
Chapter 3
10:30 A.M.
Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m sure someone such as yourself wouldn’t find my stories very interesting. They’re mostly for women, you see. They’re romances and—”
“Men like romance.”
Silence. I think I blinked, but I can’t be sure. I know I averted my gaze, looked down to study my fingernails.
To my bowed head, he said softly, “I… like romance.”
I raised my head, prepared to respond, but the words died in my throat before they’d even formed. Many days, I’m the queen of brilliant comebacks, but apparently not today.
Mercilus pushed his glasses up on his nose. “You were going to give me a couple of titles?”
Normally, I love talking about writing and how I came to be published, about my plots and why I chose them. But I didn’t want to talk to this man about any of that, and I certainly didn’t want him reading my books.
Every insecurity I had began gnawing away at my already-face-down-in-the-dirt confidence and my lost sense of literary self-worth.
Few men read romances; fewer men got them. He would open my book, flip through the pages. Fluff, he’d think. Typical bodice ripper. Yawn. Hardly worthy of his time.
I knew that’s what he’d think; it’s what they all thought.
I’m not sure why I cared what he thought, though, only for some reason, it became very important to me I have his respect.
“My first book was Magnolia McMurder,” I stated in a so-you-want-to-make-something-of-it-buster? sort of way. “It’s about a retired Southern schoolteacher who teams with a former district court judge to solve a series of killings at the senior center where they live. And in doing so, they, um, you know… fall in love.”
I carefully watched his response, and had to give him credit—without so much as a smirk, he jotted down the title. “Sounds charming.”
“Thank you. Uh, let’s see. Next was Arsenic and Hemlock and Strychnine, Oh My.”
“That one’s about poisons, I trust?” He smiled into my eyes.
“Yes. A retired bookkeeper and a former tax auditor team up to solve a series of killings in the small town where they live. And in doing so, they, uh, you know, like in the other book, fall in love.”
“How many books have you published, Mrs. Gabriel?”
“Ten. There are, I mean, there were ten.”
We sat quietly for a moment, then he said, “Just so I’ll know basically where you are with this, could you tell me what you know about Vampires?”
I considered his question. Mentally, I began preparing a bulleted list.
“Okay,” I began. “A vampire used to be a regular person who was bitten by a vampire. Once you’re bitten, you become immortal and are referred to as The Undead, but since you’re actually dead, you can’t be killed in the usual way.”
I raised a brow and looked at him for verification. He gave none, but simply said, “Please go on.”
Blowing out a breath, I said, “Yeah, like, vampires are immortal as long as they have a constant supply of fresh blood, so they’re always looking for victims, either people or animals—wolves seem to be a popular choice. Vampires can only come out at night because sunlight makes them shrivel up into humanoid prunes. Victims are helpless against their physical and mental powers, but a person can hold a vampire at bay by using the sign of the cross, either a little one dangling on a neckla
ce, or two crossed candlesticks. Ice cream sticks would probably work, too, though I’d be nervous trying that one out.”
Across from me, Mercilus’ face remained interested, but unreadable.
“Garlic,” I went on, “seems to keep them at arm’s length, as it does most of the men I’ve dated. They sleep in coffins that contain dirt from their homeland—vampires, not the men I’ve dated…” I paused, tapped my jaw. “Mostly.”
“Anything else?” he said, his eyes curiously bright.
I tilted my head and let my gaze wander to the window. “Hmm, yes, a couple of other things,” I mused. “They can turn into bats in order to fly through large screen-less bedroom windows carelessly left open, while nubile young women in flimsy nightwear lay sleeping with their necks and cleavage exposed. Vampires are either Nosferatu ugly or Hugh Jackman handsome, depending on whether the heroine is supposed to be repulsed by the vampire or have lots of sex with him.”
“Interesting,” was the doctor’s only response. “I can see you’ve given this a great deal of thought.”
I shrugged. “Not really. Everything I know about vampires I learned in the movies.”
“Ah.” Tenting his fingers in front of his chin, he said, “Those stereotypes are what this docudrama is intended to dispel.”
“The Hollywood types?”
“Yes,” he said. “A film crew, to be exact. I only agreed to let them use my home in the hopes that their docudrama might further my cause.”
“Your cause?”
He shrugged in such a way that showed his frustration. “For many years, Vampires have tried without success to end people’s fear of us. To make it clear we are not the blood-sucking monsters portrayed in books and movies, and therefore are not a threat to anyone. When the director approached me and asked me to relate my own personal struggle, I agreed. He thought using the Mausoleum would make the perfect location for such a film, which is why I need to find a replacement before Leech departs.”
Departs? Interesting choice of words.
“May I ask,” I ventured, “why Leech is de… leaving?”
He seemed to cast about for the right words. Then, “It’s a bit complicated, so just let me say that every few years, she must return to her homeland for a period of time in order to perform rituals necessary to her health and continued longevity.”
I was confused. “Do all Vampires have to do that?”
“Leech isn’t a Vampire. She’s a member of a larger, more diverse grouping generally known as Creatures of the Night.” He flashed those pearly-whites again. “Vampires are in a class by ourselves.”
I’ll say.
Still a bit confused, I asked, “How many kinds of Creatures of the Night are there?”
“Dozens,” he said. “They include gnomes, demons, succubae, and zombies, generally thought of as useless, blood-sucking parasites.”
“So Leech’s homeland is Transylvania?”
“No. Washington, D.C.”
“Ah.”
He relaxed back into his chair. “Did the agency tell you the job is a live-in position?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
“Room and board are supplied in addition to a monthly salary. Your evenings and weekends are free, unless there’s a function that requires your presence. Such events are pretty rare, though.”
“I see.” I did see, but I still had one big question that needed answering. “The agency assured me,” I began cautiously, “and you have reassured me that I am in no danger, however, I’m sure you can understand my trepidation. Vampires have a really, really, really bad reputation.”
A flash of irritation crossed his features. “Let me just say that, while Vampires have existed for many hundreds of years, the traits attributed to us such as you described came directly from Bram Stoker’s imagination, and are a complete fabrication. It was—and is—fanciful fiction, nothing more.”
“But there is such a place as Transylvania.”
“True. But Stoker never actually went there. Originally, he was going to set his story in Austria, but when he looked at a map of Europe, he decided on Transylvania as being more exotic, remote, a place where a character such as Count Dracula might have existed.”
Well, that was interesting, but it still didn’t answer my question. “You are a Vampire, though, yes?”
He blinked a few times, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “True, Mrs. Gabriel. But Vampires are an ethnic group in the same way as Slavs or Hispanics or Celts. Stoker’s book condemned us forever, though I’m sure that wasn’t his intent. He simply wanted to write a thrilling story. He wrote many other books, but Dracula is the only one people remember.”
“Vampires aren’t The Undead?”
“The Undead was a term coined by Stoker. He was a sickly boy and didn’t even walk until he was seven. To entertain him, his mother told him stories of the plagues and where some people who were thought to have succumbed and were even buried, awoke and climbed out of their graves at the last minute, thereby seeming to come back to life from death. Those sorts of stories and images would have had a powerful effect on Stoker’s imagination.”
“How do you know all this? You seem to have a truly deep knowledge of the topic.”
“Yes, well, as a victim of constant ridicule and persecution, I made it my business to find the truth, and now this docudrama should share the truth with the whole world.” Watching me, his eyes were curiously bright. “Have I set your mind at ease, Mrs. Gabriel?”
No. “Yes. Thank you.”
Like I said, I needed a job and I needed it now.
He stood. “Well, I think we’re done here.”
Slowly I rose to my feet. This interview was obviously over, and I was still unemployed. But before I could thank him for his time, he interrupted me.
“Mrs. Gabriel, I find you to be neat, clean, smart, personable, dedicated. You are desperate for a job—don’t deny it—and I am equally desperate for a housekeeper. If it works for you, it works for me. You’re hired.”
Wha-th-fu…? Hired? Me? Now? Just like that?
Stomping down on my urge to let go with a nervous giggle, I said, “It definitely works for me. Thank you. I won’t let you down. I promise.” I felt tears sting my eyes, and blinked them away. “When would you like me to start?”
“Now,” he stated. “Today. This minute. Can you?”
“Oh, um, yes. Well, almost. I just have to arrange for my mother to be cared—”
“Bring her.”
I looked up, my brows lifted in surprise. “Bring her? Bring her where?”
“Here,” he said. “I understand she’s ill and needs looking after. Forgive me, but I spoke with the agency earlier to find out why someone with your abilities was applying for a job in which she had no professional experience. So, as far as your mother is concerned, we have plenty of room and this way, you won’t be worried she’s not being properly cared for.”
Just who was this guy? Where had he come from? Was he too good to be true? Dear God, he wasn’t planning on making a meal of me and my mother? The agency had a signed contract that clearly stated Dr. Mercilus would not feast on my blood, but what about my mother’s?
Oh.
Oh, dear.
Chapter 4
11:30 A.M.
Before I could think on it further, he said, “I’ll send my men to bring whatever you need for you and your mother. You both will be perfectly safe here. I give you my word.”
I searched his deeply blue eyes for any signs of duplicity. I saw none, but instead, was once more overcome by that dreamy, languid feeling. Any reservations I had died on my lips, unspoken. All I felt was an odd sense of peace and well-being.
“‘Kay,” I murmured. “Mm-hmm. Sure. You betcha.” I yawned, covering my mouth with my hand. “Honestly, I’m neither bored nor sleepy, so I don’t know why… ”
“You need not explain.” His tone was soft, and though I didn’t know why I felt such lethargy, I got the distinc
t impression he did. He cocked his head and seemed to study me, but made no further comment other than to continue with, “We can work out the details, go over your responsibilities, and do the employment and tax form paperwork when you return. It looks as though it may snow tonight, so the sooner you get back and settled in, the better.”
Either through timing or some subtle signal, there came three knocks on the door and it opened. The current housekeeper virtually floated into the room.
Dr. Mercilus stood and turned to me. “The address on your resume is current?”
I nodded.
“Superb. My men will put the remainder of your things in our storage shed.”
“Oh. Um. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
He smiled as his eyes met mine. “You can expect Igor and Wolf in about an hour.”
Igor and Wolf? No. Really? Igor and Wolf?
I didn’t know whether to laugh or wet my pants.
“Leech,” he said to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Gabriel is now in my employ. She and her mother will be taking up residence here later today. Please have rooms readied as soon as possible.”
The woman’s brows arched only slightly as she stabbed a look into her employer’s eyes. With a quick glance in my direction, she cleared her throat. “As you vish, sir.”
“By the way,” he added, his lips curving into a wry smile. “I was just informing Mrs. Gabriel what a great sense of humor you have.”
Dead silence reigned while they stared at each other. Finally, Leech nodded. As though she were reading the yellow pages aloud in search of a root canal specialist, she pronounced, “I am more fun den a barrel off monkeys.”
“As you escort Mrs. Gabriel to the door, why don’t you tell her one of your jokes.” Turning to me once more, he said, “I have arrangements to tend to. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Stephanie. May I call you Stephanie?”
“Yes, of course.” And may I call you whenever I need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? “Thank you so much for this opportunity, Dr. Mercilus. I’ll do a good job for you.”
Shadows in the Mist: A Paranormal Anthology Page 2