by J S Hazzard
“No matter how close a friend she is, you cannot tell her about this. Also, since I assume she’ll be curious about your trip, it would be wise to have a story prepared.”
I winced at the thought of dodging Amy, who would no doubt be dying to hear everything. And then it hit me. “Oh shit.”
Ian glanced around in alarm. “What? Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I said impatiently. “However, is there any chance you might have a turkey roaster somewhere in this place? Or perhaps some decent fabric scissors?”
Ian’s eyes lit in comprehension. “You told your friend you were going scavenging and she made a wish list.”
“You’ve got it.” I smiled ruefully. “I know I can’t tell her the truth, but it’s hard to come up with a suitable story in which I can’t find anything she asked for.”
“A turkey roaster and fabric scissors?” Ian became abruptly business-like again. “Anything else?”
I reeled off the rest of Amy’s list from memory, and Ian nodded. “I’m sure I can find a few of those items before you leave. There is no point in your raising suspicion if it can be avoided.”
Under different circumstances I would’ve laughed. “That’s the least of my worries when it comes to people being suspicious. Even with Luigi gone I only have a week at most before someone raises the alarm regarding Nicky’s absence. He has several valuable deliveries scheduled soon.”
My words triggered another memory and I did laugh, bitterly, as I remembered Nicky saying how important these deliveries were. “As if all this crap wasn’t enough, without those deliveries, Gigi will come home to a ruined business and no funds for his old age.”
Ian probed delicately, “Do you have enough information on the deliveries to make them yourself?”
I wondered whether he’d lost his mind. “The delivery manifest is locked in the truck, but I don’t know how to drive, and even if I did, that would hardly help hide Nicky’s absence. If anything, my making his deliveries would make it more obvious.”
With an aggrieved sigh, Ian heaved himself up. Since he normally stood like he’d sat on a tack, it was safe to say his weariness stemmed solely from dealing with me.
“I’ll help you make it all work,” he said. Then he walked to a door and opened it. “My friend will be arriving shortly, but I have a lot to do beforehand if we want to pull this off. I’ve programmed the necessary rooms to accept the fingerprint of your right index finger. Why don’t you finish last night’s movie before you go to bed? I’ll be in my office.”
I tried to speak, but he kept going.
“If there is an emergency, the button below each scan pad serves as an intercom, but I would hear any problems before you could call anyway.” He left before I could remind him I’d slept all day and wasn’t the least bit tired.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I didn’t bother trying to open the door Ian had used, as I realized I’d been dismissed. Instead, I found my way back to his bedroom, and more importantly his bathroom, which I needed desperately.
This bathroom looked nothing like the one in the guest quarters, for which I was grateful. Instead, like all of Ian’s private rooms, color was king—in this case crimson and copper. (I had detected a preference for jewel tones and metal accents in his décor.)
The bathtub rose from the floor in an elegant oval, finished in hammered copper to match the sink basin. The room also sported a fireplace with etched copper panels along the far wall, and a copper wall sculpture that climbed the two opposing crimson walls—flowering vines with hummingbirds and butterflies.
Maybe—okay, probably—it was only because Ian had suggested it, but I felt no desire to watch movies. In addition to being necessary, a book and a bath would make for a better distraction. A quick investigation of Ian’s bedroom yielded an ancient Lord of the Rings, which looked perfect. Not only did I love the story, but focusing on fictional angst appealed to me far more than focusing on my own.
As in the bedroom, the fireplace lit at the touch of a button, making the room almost uncomfortably warm. To compensate, I filled the tub with cool water. Admiring the glow of the flames, I hung my clothes from a trio of copper hooks and slid into the bath, quickly swept up in Hobbiton and Bilbo’s one hundred and eleventieth birthday.
Time passes differently in a cool tub, maybe because you don’t get that moment when you realize your water has cooled. I’d read several chapters—the hobbits had just met Tom Bombadil—before noticing the dial on the wall beside my head. A similar switch in the white bathroom had activated the tub’s jets, but this tub had none.
With a shrug, I returned to Frodo.
I lasted three more pages. After a brief assessment of the possibilities, I reached up and turned the dial. Then I gave an involuntary yelp as the copper wall sculpture came to life on either side of me, sending arcs of water above my head.
Propelled by hidden jets amongst the copper vines, water slid down the opposing walls into cleverly hidden drains. Interspersed between the jets were flickers of flame crowning clusters of leaves in place of flowers. At the same time, the switch dimmed the copper chandelier so the firelight reflected off the moving water and the copper used generously throughout the room.
It was spectacular, a fantasy of fire and water.
I’d lifted my hands to applaud when the voice I’d almost managed to forget interrupted my enjoyment.
“In case you didn’t realize, that Tolkien you’re about to drop in my bathtub is a first edition.”
I jolted hard, causing water to slosh over the sides of the tub and drench the clothes I’d left hanging nearby. The apparently precious book went sailing out of my hand and was nipped neatly out of the air before it crashed into one of the fountains.
Annoyed, I twisted to address my intruder, only to remember my lack of attire and hurl myself back into the water without even a washcloth to hide beneath. Great.
I told myself everything looked red here and my flaming face might blend in.
Sure it would.
Ian waited patiently until my powers of speech reasserted themselves. “Have you never heard of knocking? Why are you here?” I locked my arms over my chest, for what it was worth. After all, he’d already undressed me last night.
His face set itself in stubborn lines. “I heard you cry out. I said I’d be listening.”
“I most certainly did not!”
“Did too.” He remained implacable. “When you turned on the fountains.”
I ground my teeth and fought for any scrap of dignity. “My apologies. I was simply admiring them and didn’t mean to pull you away from your work.” A large red towel landed in the tub, but at least it provided coverage.
“No matter,” Ian said, “I nonetheless consider the trip worthwhile.”
At first I thought it was a lewd compliment, but his next words punctured that idea. “After all, you may not have needed rescuing, but Mr. Baggins and his friends clearly benefited from my assistance. Here, I’ll run these wet things through the dryer for you.” On that parting note he tucked the book inside his jacket and left the bathroom as silently as he’d entered, leaving me with an ill temper and a soggy towel.
Without my clothes I had no choice but to wrap up in the towel and drip my way into Ian’s bedroom, which he’d thankfully vacated. Unfortunately, a brief glance around the room reminded me that my duffle bag was still in Nicky’s truck.
Not wanting to walk around in a dripping towel, I turned and opened the double doors to Ian’s closet. Everything hung in pristine rows—suits and trousers on the left, shirts and sweaters on the right—all on padded leather hangers. A bathrobe would have been ideal, but I didn’t see one.
The suits were out of the question, so I studied the shirts. Four dozen white dress shirts might be overkill, but at least Ian could spare one.
I shrugged into the shirt and checked the mirrors lining the closet doors. Then I put the shirt back. It wasn’t quite sheer, but I couldn’t wear it with
out a bra. In deference to my lack of undergarments, I pulled on a black sweater instead. The v-neck slouched off my shoulder, but at least it wasn’t obscene.
Addressing my lower half proved more problematic. I didn’t have to try Ian’s trousers to know they’d be both too wide and too long. I couldn’t imagine Ian in shorts or sweatpants, but with sixteen drawers along the rear wall, I figured the odds were in my favor.
After a quick inner debate about privacy I eased the first drawer open. Of course, it contained Ian’s underwear and I slammed it shut, but not before realizing every single pair was blue. To each his own, I guess.
The second drawer contained paperwork and I lost my nerve. Underwear is one thing, but papers are personal. To heck with shorts—Ian’s sweater was nearly a dress on me anyway. Even without underwear it would provide sufficient coverage to find my way to the laundry room.
Of course, I became turned around and accidentally entered the living room I’d been trying to avoid. The expression on Ian’s face when I walked in was one of reluctant amusement—or possibly straight-up reluctance. The expression of the vampire sitting beside him was closer to utter shock, which manifested in a blatant stare.
Ian had apparently neglected to inform his guest of my presence.
With another of those blurs that took him across the room in a fraction of a second, Ian stood before me. “Aurora, I thought you were going to bed. I’m glad you found something in my closet.”
His greeting had been spoken in perfect tones of comfort and welcome—like a porcelain teapot wrapped in a cashmere tea cozy—but the words had gushed out in a blurt. For some reason his nerves gave me a nasty sense of satisfaction.
“One, I wasn’t sleeping because I just woke up; and two, it’s not like you left me much choice—you took my clothes. Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”
My voice rang as cool and crisp as if I appeared half clothed in front of random vampires every day—assuming Ian’s guest was a vampire. Without seeing him move, I had little to judge by, seeing as the new arrival looked nothing like Ian.
After twenty-four hours with Ian, I’d concluded that his ability to appear flawless at all times was simply one of his many annoying qualities—one his friend didn’t share. While Ian fit my image of a perfect city vampire, this man looked as though he’d be more at home on a beach. Or possibly a construction site.
His size formed a large part of my initial impression, though I’m not sure why, since he was still sitting. Maybe it was his lazy sprawl that draped one leg insolently over the arm of the sofa as if it simply wouldn’t fit anywhere else. After only a day, I already knew Ian would never sprawl.
Also, in contrast to Ian’s charcoal leather trousers and moss green sweater, the new guy wore threadbare jeans and a tattered flannel shirt over an equally scruffy t-shirt featuring two cartoon skunks. The male skunk looked enraptured as the female pushed him away in panic. It stated, “You cannot help but love me,” which I assumed was somehow meant to be funny.
Even their coloring couldn’t have been more different. The newcomer’s skin was a bronze only shades lighter than the gold-streaked brown of his hair and the amber of his eyes.
Despite the fact that his hair needed brushing and his clothes ought to be burned, his confidence was almost palpable—easily the most vampire-like thing about him.
Skunk-shirt and I stared at each other until, with an expression I can only describe as amused, he turned his stare on Ian.
In comparison, Ian looked exasperated. “Aurora, I’d like you to meet Keanu Banks. Keanu, this is my long time blood benefactor and recent acquaintance, Ms. Aurora Strong.”
Since my initial meeting with Ian had involved slamming into a wall, I’d yet to learn the protocol for vampiric introductions. As nothing else came to mind, I tentatively offered him my hand.
Keanu leaned forward as though standing would take too much effort. He took my proffered hand gently; but, instead of the handshake I’d envisioned, he whisked me onto the couch beside him with less effort than I’d need to flip a coin. Judging from Ian’s resigned expression, he found nothing alarming in this behavior and I barely had time to blink before Keanu began pelting me with questions.
“Did the vampire you’ve referred to as ‘Eggplant’ say anything to you? What did she look like? Did she look familiar? What was Nicky wearing when you last saw him?”
The questions came so quickly I could barely understand them, and all I could think was, I’m not wearing underwear! My panic must’ve shown because in an instant I was at the far end of the sofa with Ian firmly wedged between us.
“Keanu…” Ian’s voice held an unmistakable warning note, and I was quick to protest.
“Really, it’s okay. I’ll answer anything if it’ll help find Nicky.” I scooted forward on the couch, tugging at the hem of Ian’s sweater and clamping my legs together like an iron vice. “I don’t remember Eggplant saying anything. She didn’t even notice me at first. She was concentrating on Nicky.” I took a moment to think back, but I was almost certain she’d been silent until she snarled.
“As far as her appearance, I know I’ve never seen Eggplant before. Ian has footage of them leaving which might be more accurate than my memory—”
“The outdoor security footage records in black and white, Aurora,” Ian said gently. “Anything you can tell us about Eggplant might help.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.” Frowning, I closed my eyes to better focus. “Well, I nicknamed her Eggplant because her entire outfit was dark purple vinyl, or possibly patent leather. It might not show in black and white, but she had matching streaks in her hair. The rest of her hair was even darker than Ian’s, with that blue-black gloss to it, you know?”
“Did you see her eye color? Was there anything distinguishing about her?” Keanu spoke carefully, possibly fearing another reprimand from Ian.
“Her eyes were dark brown, almost black, but her plastic clothing and striped hair sort of overshadowed everything else. She was all… tight and purple…” My voice trailed off as it hit me.
“Wait a minute!” I lit up as my decade of friendship with Amy kicked in. “Her outfit fit like a second skin, but she could still run in it and ride a motorcycle? That defies both nature and mass produced clothing. Those clothes and boots were custom made, which gives us two possible ways of tracking her.” I smiled grimly. “She even left a boot print.”
Keanu looked relieved. “That’ll help. There can’t be too many places who do that level of custom work, especially for the boots.”
Ian stood and smoothed his pants. “I might be able to help there. Nothing in Niagara Falls qualifies, but there are several places in both Toronto and Manhattan that I’ve used before. Excuse me for a moment. I’ll see about making a list.”
I barely refrained from rolling my eyes as Ian strode from the room. Of course Ian wore bespoke clothing.
Keanu nudged me with his elbow and grinned, clearly on the same wavelength. Then he cleared his throat. “And what about Dominic?”
This was an easy one. “Nicky looks like a younger version of Luigi, with different coloring. His eyes are brown, lighter than Eggplant’s but darker than yours. Same for his hair—not blackish brown, but not blondish brown either. Brown like chocolate.”
“And his clothes?” Keanu prompted. “I’m guessing they won’t help us track him, but it can’t hurt to know.”
“He wore jeans, dark blue but very worn at the knees and held up with a crude leather belt made by the saddle guy in his square. He had no shoes, because we’d taken them off in the entryway—hey! That’s where my shoes are!”
Keanu chuckled. “I’ll see about fetching them once we’re done.”
“Thank you. Also, if you can find Nicky’s truck, the duffle bag with the rest of my clothes is in there.”
“No problem. What about the rest of Nicky’s clothes?”
“Oh, sure. Plain white t-shirt worn under a brown canvas jacket,” I said somewhat distra
ctedly. My mind was elsewhere. “I’m sorry if this is rude to ask, but why did Ian call you for this?”
Keanu looked surprised. “I’m sworn to do anything Ian asks of me, but more importantly, Nicky is my benefactor. No vampire could search for him more effectively than I.”
“Oh.” Talk about dimwitted. In a situation with two benefactors and two vampires, it should’ve been obvious, but Keanu’s words had sparked a new curiosity. “Why would you do what Ian asks? How long have you known him?”
Keanu grinned. “I do what Ian asks because I choose to. And I’ve known him almost two hundred and fifty years.”
“I only met Ian yesterday,” I contributed in hopes of keeping him talking.
“That’s absolutely fascinating.”
Keanu did look intrigued, but the last thing I wanted was to talk about me. I’d done enough of that yesterday.
“Well, I know most patrons never meet their benefactors, but I’m sure your friendship is a great deal more interesting.” Then I snapped my mouth shut as Ian re-entered the room and sat between us again.
Keanu glanced at Ian and I realized he was silently requesting permission to answer. When Ian nodded almost imperceptibly, Keanu continued.
“Any friendship lasting a couple centuries has its moments,” Keanu said cautiously. “We met right after I was converted.”
I sat up straighter. “Wait, you’re only two hundred and fifty years old? But that would mean that—”
“That my conversion was illegal, yes.” Keanu finished my sentence. “I was born in Los Angeles and my human mother had sworn fealty to a vampire politician named Mariana Rodriguez.”
I cocked my head at the term fealty.
“This was before the blood banks were operational,” he explained a bit self-consciously. “Wealthier vampires kept human servants that doubled as sustenance. I was raised in Mariana’s household with her biological daughter from before she had converted—a vampiric nineteen year-old named Violeta. Mariana had her converted perhaps sooner than advisable. Violeta was a—”