The Vampire Next Door

by Ashlyn Chase

  “…and my son-in-law,” Sly added as he ascended the stairs silently.

  Jules startled. “Where did you come from?”

  “More importantly,” Sly said, “where did she come from?”

  Lily flushed bright red. Jules thought he saw a wisp of steam waft from her ears.

  “This is our new tenant, Lillian Chou. She goes by Lily. And, Lily, this is Sly.”

  Eventually, Lily recovered enough to nod in acknowledgment and asked, “So, Mr. Falco lives in the building?”

  “Yes, in the penthouse. You might not see him very often,” Sly said.

  Jules shifted his weight from foot to foot. “He rides the elevator to the first floor and exits out the back usually. But if a lot of people come and go all the time, he’s more apt to be discovered and recognized, and then his nice private home could become a media magnet. Just do me a favor and keep visitors to a minimum.”

  “My clients come one at a time, and I try not to have too many, but I do work from home. I hope that’s not a problem.”

  “No, it shouldn’t be as long as they don’t hang around in the hallways.”

  “Aw, no.” She laughed. “They never hang around.”

  “Good,” Sly said.

  “Everything should go well then. Where do you want your suitcase?”

  “In the bedroom is fine.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lily.” Sly waved and left as silently as he’d come.

  Jules lugged the bag to the bedroom and set it next to the queen-size mattress. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it. I just wanted to welcome you to the building.” He stuck out his hand, and she looked at it hesitantly.

  Eventually, she took it in her hot fingers and gave it a quick shake. Cripes, she’s scorching. And he didn’t mean that in a good way. Jogging across the hall, he couldn’t wait to plunge his hand into his cool saltwater tank.

  * * * *

  Morgaine felt immensely better. Stronger. Her panic attack had lasted only five minutes. Sometimes the attacks went on for half an hour and she felt like she was dying. Sweating, chest pains, the whole nine yards. Just now, even with the stress of invading a vampire’s lair, her symptoms were fairly mild and short lived.

  She stood, lifted her canvas bag, and said, “For Sly.”

  Gwyneth nodded. “For Sly.”

  They marched over to the vampire’s apartment again. Morgaine set the bag down and fished out what she needed. She handed Gwyneth the candelabra and a stake. She set the camera on the stoop and grabbed the flashlight and matches, plus a powder meant to unlock doors.

  Gwyneth stood to the side while Morgaine positioned herself in front of the lock. She shook some of the powder into her hand, then blew it right into the keyhole. Standing, she closed her eyes, muttered her incantation, and heard a soft click. The door opened a couple of inches on its own.

  “I’ll be jiggered,” Gwyneth whispered.

  Morgaine put her finger to her lips, tucked the small plastic bag of powder into her pocket, then picked up the camera, turned on the flashlight, and crept inside.

  Gwyneth followed silently.

  Morgaine repeated the process at the door just inside, the one they had determined would lead to the vampire’s basement lair. After that door softly clicked open, Morgaine took the matches and lit Gwyneth’s candelabra.

  Gwyneth pointed to herself and then to the door, meaning that she wanted to go first. Morgaine shook her head.

  Gwyneth nodded frantically, as if insisting.

  Morgaine finally acquiesced and stood aside. She supposed Gwyneth didn’t want to be mowed down like the last standing pin in a bowling alley in case Morgaine decided to run. Paralysis was more likely. If she lost her nerve again, Gwyneth might have to yank her out of there. Don’t think about that. Think about Sly. This undead asshole wants to mess with my possible, maybe, future boyfriend. Well, screw him!

  Morgaine took the first few steps down to the basement apartment. The air was warm, unlike Sly’s unheated place. Other than hers and Gwyneth’s quiet footfalls, all was silent. At the base of the stairs, an opening to the right revealed a tiny European-style kitchen. All of the appliances and counter space lined one side. She bypassed that and continued down the hall until thick carpet replaced the hardwood under her feet.

  Her flashlight highlighted certain spots, but when Gwyneth’s candelabra entered the room, Morgaine saw the entire luxurious living room. They stood on a large, expensive-looking Oriental rug over dark hardwood floors. Gothic decor was evident, along with a touch of elegance. The room boasted Victorian velvet-covered furniture—not imitation stuff, either. Morgaine recognized the large, round ottoman as similar in style and quality to the one in the private sitting room at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.

  Anger boiled under her skin to think about this jerk living in opulence while Sly had hidden behind a wall in a cold cellar for years. Even now, Sly lived a Spartan existence by comparison, but he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps she shouldn’t have encouraged him to move into the first-floor apartment after all. Maybe this guy wouldn’t have discovered Sly if he’d stayed in his hidey-hole. But that was a moot point. He had located him, and Sly wouldn’t run from his daughter’s building—even for his own self-preservation.

  Pictures. She needed pictures to remember the layout when all three of them returned to stake Sly’s stalker. If they could find and bottle the cure for Sly’s vampirism.

  Morgaine found the light switch and flicked it on. She quickly took several shots of the apartment from the back all the way to the front door. A small corridor led back to two closed doors. Probably the bedroom and bath. She hoped a camera flash or turning on a light wouldn’t wake the undead. Probably not, but the anxiety she was trying to ignore invaded the pit of her stomach and she wanted to run.

  She looked to Gwyneth and pointed to the back entrance. Gwyneth nodded and turned around. As Morgaine was passing the kitchen, something caught her eye. A map of the city on a bulletin board. She crept closer to take a better look. Pins were stuck in a few places, most of them near or on their block. Then she saw something else. A slip of paper with hearts all over it, pointing right at their corner.

  Dear Goddess. I knew I might not be the only one who liked Sly, but I never thought my competition would be a vampire!

  Suddenly thoughts of losing Sly to her cousin paled in comparison to what a vampire might do to take him away from her. Prickles crawled up the back of Morgaine’s neck. She zoomed around Gwyneth, forgot about hitting the light switch as she passed it, and tore up the stairs.

  * * * *

  In Morgaine’s apartment, the witches uploaded the pictures of V. Malvant’s lair to Gwyneth’s laptop. They’d show them to Sly as soon as the sun went down.

  “Don’t y’all need to call your friend in New York about that wine he makes to cure vampires?”

  “I’ll call Mikhail now.” Morgaine flipped through her Rolodex. “How’s the new mash coming?”

  “I’m sorry about gittin’ the recipe wrong the first time. It should be ready for the still tomorrow. I’ll check it afore I pour it.”

  “Good. If he can tell us the secret ingredient, we can try it in the very first batch!”

  “Provided it don’t have to ferment all over agin.”

  Morgaine located the number and picked up her phone. “What if it’s some kind of special grape? We can’t mix whiskey and wine.”

  “No, but we could drink the whiskey and make brandy next time.”

  “Figures you’d want to drink the whiskey. I thought you were going to let Sly sell it to make some rent money.”

  Gwyneth whapped herself upside the head. “Oh, yeah. I forgot that part. I just got my mouth all set for a taste.”

  “Well, you can taste it. In fact, we both should just to be sure it doesn’t burn our throats like rocket fuel.”

  “Don’t be silly. It goes down smooth as honey.” Gwyneth rubbed her hands together. “Just like Daddy used to make. It should be, leas
t ways. I’m using his recipe. There’s just one part I didn’t tell Sly about.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You gotta burn a piece of wood and toss it in at the end to get the right color.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Sly about that?”

  “Because he’s a vampire, and they don’t like wooden stakes or fire. I figured he could do without knowin’ that part.”

  Morgaine stifled a snicker. “As long as you don’t sharpen it to a point and light it on fire under his nose, I’m sure he’ll be okay with it. I think the sun’s gone down. You want to check on the mash while I call Mikhail?”

  “You trust me to be with Sly alone?”

  Morgaine’s jaw dropped. “Shouldn’t I? I thought you wanted me to pursue—”

  “I do. I just didn’t know if you’d be jealous anyways. I promise I won’t try nothin’.”

  Morgaine remembered what Sly had said about Gwyneth and smiled. “It’s fine. I don’t have a problem with it.” Thank goodness. That’s one worry I don’t need.

  After Gwyneth left, Morgaine dialed Mikhail’s number. She hoped it didn’t matter what time of day she called since he probably used his own wine cure. The phone rang three times before he picked it up and said, “Hello.”

  “Mikhail?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I hope you remember me. We met in Baltimore. My name is Morgaine.”

  “Morgaine! The goth witch. Of course I remember you.”

  She chuckled. “Good. But I’ve changed my look. I’m not doing the goth thing anymore.”

  “Really? What do you look like now?”

  “I went back to my natural blonde hair and pink lips. I still wear some black though. Witches usually do.”

  “Yeah? Why’s that?” Mikhail asked.

  “It’s the culmination of all colors. Very protective. Pulls in energy rather than reflecting it out like light colors. Plus, I like it.”

  “That’s reason enough. Are you in the city? Can we get together and catch up?”

  “Uh, no. I’m living in Boston now. But I’d love to catch up over the phone. How’s everything with you?”

  “Fine as wine,” he said and chuckled.

  “Speaking of wine, I specifically called to ask about your wine that cures vampirism.”

  “Vampire Vintage? It’s not a cure, Morgaine. It’s more like temporary relief from sun sensitivity and blood lust.”

  “Well, that’s what I meant.”

  “Okay, so what did you want to know about it and why?”

  “I need it for a friend of mine.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Uh… maybe? We’re both interested.”

  “Hey, that’s a start. So, you’re okay with dating vampires?”

  “Yes… well, nice ones.”

  “If only I’d known that back in Baltimore.” He chuckled.

  “Are you still single?”

  “Nope. Happily committed. It’s quite a story. You should come down sometime and meet her.”

  “I—uh… I don’t leave the apartment much.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I have a home business.”

  “Really? What are you doing these days?”

  She giggled. “I’m a phone-sex actress.”

  He let out a loud burst of laughter.

  “Hey, come on. Is it that hard to believe? I’ve been told I have a nice voice.”

  He cleared his throat. “Oh, you do. I was just surprised, that’s all. Has Internet porn cut into your business at all?”

  “Yeah, somewhat. We also used to have a landlady who hated the noise. Some of the guys like us to sound like we’re having the best orgasms of our lives.”

  He chuckled. “Give me an example.”

  “Of a typical call? I thought you were in a committed relationship.”

  “Not a call. Just let me hear your orgasm act. It is just acting, right?”

  “Of course. I’ll tell you what, I’ll trade. I need to know the ingredient in your wine that cures vampirism.”

  “Oh, Morgaine… I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, it would be bad for business, but even more importantly, it’s impossible to duplicate.”

  Morgaine’s hopes sank like the Titanic. “Really? Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure.”

  Morgaine mustered her resolve. She couldn’t give up on Sly that easily. Maybe if she got hold of a bottle or two, she could reverse engineer the formula.

  “So, how much do you charge per bottle?”

  “It’s pretty expensive. I doubt you’d be able to afford it if your business isn’t doing well. How well off is your boyfriend?”

  Morgaine groaned. “Worse off than me.”

  “Really? That’s unusual for a vampire. We’re usually stinkin’ rich since we learn ways to accumulate wealth over the centuries. Does he have a gambling problem?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. Actually, he’s quite young in your terms. He lives simply and considers crime fighting his contribution to society. There are precious few jobs for the absolutely nocturnal.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. So he probably has to take advantage of others to get what he needs. Be careful, Morgaine. I wouldn’t want to hear he’s using you.”

  “I’m sure he isn’t. We’ve been friends for years. If he was going to do that, it would have happened by now.”

  “I’m sorry to hear he has financial problems, but isn’t his maker helping him?”

  “That’s another problem. His maker is an asshole. He killed Sly’s wife, and he almost prevented his daughter from being born during the attack. That’s a long story. Let’s just say his maker is after him for his own selfish reasons, and Sly will never forgive him for what he did.”

  “Understandable. Well, chances are… Sly is his name?”

  “Short for Sylvestro.”

  “Ah, well, don’t worry. He’ll find a way to make some cash. Then with some smart investments…”

  “That’s why we were hoping you’d tell us what the secret ingredient is. My cousin knows how to make moonshine, and we’ve set up a still. Sly figured he could sell the moonshine for more if we could adapt your recipe, and instead of making wine, we’d make whiskey. He can still just tend the still and sell it as is.”

  “Smart. Unfortunately, it won’t work. But I wish him the best of luck. Hey, since you brought up the idea of bargaining, maybe you can trade your talent as a witch for a case of my private stock. I have a little problem, but you may need to come to New York to handle it.”

  Fear sliced through Morgaine. “New… New York?”

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m offering an entire case of Vampire Vintage for it. I know it’s inconvenient.”

  Inconvenient? That’s an understatement. With this friggin’ agoraphobia, it’s damn near impossible!

  “Morgaine? Are you there?”

  “Uh, yeah. Why would I have to come to New York?” Please, Goddess, let him be wrong! Let it be something I can do from here!

  “I need you to remove a curse from my warehouse. A vampire who practices black magic managed to get in and hex the place. I’ve had all kinds of workplace accidents, and there’s nothing stopping him from coming in again. Do you know how to undo all that?”

  “A whole case, huh?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How much would that ordinarily cost?

  “About ten thousand dollars.”

  “Yikes!”

  “It’s well worth it to me.”

  Shit. She did have to go there. At least she knew how to remove hexes, and now she even knew how to reseal doors against vampires. “I, um… I’ll see if I can get someone to take over my calls for a little while. It’ll depend on that.” Among other things.

  * * * *

  Chad and Morgaine “sat” together at her kitchen table. More to the point, Morgaine sat while Chad hovered. Sometimes being nothing but spiritual energy was damne
d inconvenient.

  She stared in his direction but her eyes didn’t focus on his. “Chad, I know you have good reason not to leave the building, but do you think I’m lame for having agoraphobia?”

  “Does it matter what I think?”

  She sighed, sounding resigned. “I guess not. If feeling stupid cured our fears, I’d be bulletproof by now.”

  “Come on, kid. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You have lots of strengths.”

  She had developed her psychic sense well enough to see him. Or a shadowy version of him. That was a welcome change from people staring at the ceiling when they spoke to him. As if he was on his way to heaven but had bumped up against the ceiling and stayed there.

  She smiled sadly and shrugged. “I guess so. There are certainly things I can do that would be impossible for average people, so why should I be upset when everyone and his brother can do something I find difficult?”

  “It’s not that you can’t, Morgaine. You know you can. It’s just a matter of psyching yourself up for it. Look how you managed to get to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum last spring.”

  “Yeah, that’s because I thought I might be able to crack the FBI’s cold case and there was a five-million-dollar reward egging me on. Besides, it was right in our own backyard—relatively. New York is a hell of a lot farther away.”

  “So? The point is you did it. You had to go with a trusted person, but at least you always had a friend like that willing to help. I doubt anyone I know on the other side, or wherever most dead people go, cares enough to come back for me.”

  “I wish I knew more about the other side so I could help you, Chad. I tried, but…” She tossed her hands up.

  “I know, and I appreciate that. To be honest, you know more about it than anyone else since you can communicate with spirits.”

  “It’s been frustrating for me too. Usually all I have to do is tell a spirit to go into the light, and off they go.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple. I think a lot of it depends on the spirit. Maybe they have to be welcome over there and, at the same time, want to cross over. After all, Reginald didn’t leave the museum when you tried to get him to go.”

  “True. If anyone wouldn’t be welcome somewhere, it would be him. Too bad that beautiful art museum is haunted by such a nasty-ass ghost. But you’ve changed. You should be able to cross over if it depends on good behavior.”