by Holley Trent
She’d made a promise to Sarah. Could she tell Malcolm the gown was missing without revealing that Sarah had appeared to her? She’d have to.
But first, she needed to visit Pat.
She wasted no time getting to Retro Mania. Pat was waiting for her at the front door, her arms crossed over her considerable bosom.
“Thought you’d never get here.” Pat pulled Abby inside and flipped the closed sign on her front door. “You’ve got a real problem.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what you know,” Abby said, “or how you know it.”
“Look, sweetie, there are some things best left unexplained. You’re dealing with enough paranormal activity as it is. Someday, I’ll clue you into mine, but for now, let’s shed some light on your problem.” She took Abby’s hand and led her through a velvet curtain at the back of the shop. Abby had never been in the bowels of Pat’s store, but she knew it was where her friend conducted fortune readings and séances.
Pat motioned for Abby to sit at a round table in the middle of the room. A large crystal ball in the center swirled with smoky activity.
“This could be a movie set.” Abby scanned the walls, covered in shiny red wallpaper flocked with velvety fleur-de-lis. “Can you say ‘stereotype?’” Abby suppressed a chuckle.
“Don’t laugh. My clients expect the full monty, and I’m not one to disappoint. I could do what I do anywhere, as long as I have my crystal ball, but it’s more believable with trappings.”
With no windows in the room, Abby blinked to adjust her eyes to the dark. “So, this is where you conjure spirits?”
“Yeah, this is my playground, but we’re not inviting anyone to participate today.” She nodded to the crystal ball. “That’s my portal. I’ve talked with Sarah.”
Abby gripped the edges of the table. “I’ve talked with Sarah, too.”
“I know. Do you have any idea how special that is — for a ghost to communicate directly with a human?”
“No, I don’t know much about the spirit world, but Sarah was wonderful.”
Pat winked at Abby. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve been talking with her for years.”
“Okay, Pat. It’s time to ’fess up. What, exactly, are you?”
She shrugged. “I’m just your basic witch, with some gypsy thrown in for philosophy.” She placed her hands on the crystal ball, sparks flew, and the room lit up with a candlelight glow.
Abby scooted back in her chair and sat tall.
“That was just theatrics,” Pat said, and then laughed. “We’ll dispense with that.” She removed her hands from the ball, but the glow in the room remained. “Here’s what I think is going on.” Pat leaned forward. “Sarah’s glad that Pamela took the gown.” She closed her eyes briefly, nodded, and then continued. “See, Malcolm’s always felt guilty about Sarah’s death, and she wants him to move past his guilt. She thinks if he can rescue the gown, he’ll feel at least somewhat absolved.”
“She truly was an amazing woman.” She shook her head. “But Malcolm doesn’t even know the gown’s been taken … yet.”
“Yeah, but you’re going to tell him.”
Abby’s heart hiccupped. “I will … tonight.” This was not a conversation she looked forward to.
• • •
Abby slid across Malcolm’s living room floor in her stocking feet, emulating his glide while waiting for his return from a late class. She jumped when the click of the front door heralded his homecoming.
“Stressful day?” He approached her and touched her cheek.
“Pamela took Sarah’s gown,” Abby said quickly, before she lost her nerve. She turned her face away from Malcolm’s touch, unable to face him. Her cheeks burned with her confession.
“What?”
“Pamela came to see me today, and she noticed the gown on my desk. I told her it was an heirloom, and that I was going to try to replicate it for the play. I guess she thought it was valuable.”
“It is valuable … to me.” Malcolm took Abby’s chin and stared intently at her.
“Oh, God, I know that. I’m so sorry.” Tears welled in her eyes, and her heart lurched.
Malcolm took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed her eyes. He bent his head and looked at her through his eyelashes. “And why did you need to replicate the gown?”
“I didn’t really.” She sighed. “I took the gown to my office because it inspires me, and I can feel Sarah’s presence through it.” Did I say too much?
Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. “Abby, this obsession with Sarah needs to stop.”
“I didn’t think it was an obsession … exactly.”
“You have to stop comparing yourself to her.” He took Abby’s hand and pulled her to the wing chair. He pushed her gently down to sit, and then he knelt in front of her, between her knees. He placed his hands on her thighs. “I’m going to say this once, so listen to me carefully. I’ve lived a few generations longer than you, and I’ve had a lot of time to mull things over. I’ve witnessed the abolition of slavery and women getting the vote. I read The Feminine Mystique when it was in galleys.” He grinned. “I used to be a chauvinist. The man Sarah fell in love with is not the man I am today. And as for Sarah, though I loved her deeply, she wasn’t as independent as you are.”
He squeezed her thighs, and desire engulfed her. She was ready to chuck the talk and make love right there on the floor, but she had to finish this thread. “How can you say that? She was so strong.”
“She was certainly brave. She didn’t run from adversity, but you are more proactive.” He moved his hands up her thighs and massaged her crotch with his thumbs. “You create your own cyclones.”
Abby moaned at his touch. She was putty in his hands. “Before we ravish each other, I have a couple of things I need to say. One, what should we do about the gown? And two, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m the right woman for you.”
Malcolm smiled. “In that order? All right. First, don’t worry about the gown. I’ll get it back. And second, I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses.” Malcolm moved his hands to the top of her tights, pulled them down her hips, off her feet, and threw them behind him. He unzipped his pants, unleashed his manhood, and pulled her hips to the edge of the chair. Pushing the thin strip of her panties aside, he eased his fingers into her dampness.
She gasped as he bent one of her knees up and rammed into her. He thrust deep, and then deeper, clutching her buttocks. She surrendered to his timing, closing her eyes in ecstasy and riding the wave until they collapsed together.
Chapter Fifteen
Several evenings later, Abby sat in Malcolm’s kitchen, studying his statue-like presence across the table from her. She supposed it was his vampire ability to be so still, but she sensed he was silently reminiscing. “You’ve shared a lot about your life with Sarah, but I don’t know how you met.”
Malcolm got up from the table and walked to the window above the kitchen sink. He looked across his farmland and said, “We met at the Harvest Ball. The year was 1862, and I was home on furlough. I’d been a professor before the war.” He looked over his shoulder at Abby. “In those days, the college was called Pennsylvania College. But I didn’t teach history then. I taught mathematics.” He turned back to the window. “When war broke out, I was immediately called up. My education at West Point included a specialty in cavalry.”
“And you still love being on a horse.”
Malcolm returned to the table and sat down. “Yes, I do. Horses are intuitive, and I suppose they have filled a void for me. Relationships with people are far more complicated.”
Abby leaned forward in her chair. “All those years you kept to yourself. Why did you choose me?”
He smiled. “You have a spark of determination that I find irresistible.”
“You mean I’m stubborn?”
“More like unrelenting. You hold on and never let go to accomplish your goal. That is a quality I admire. If you insist on comparing yourself to Sarah, you are more than her equal in that regard. I’ve seen the way you’ve tackled this play, and I’ve watched you coach the student actors. You have fire in your belly, and that’s a trait I’ve lost.”
“Malcolm, you were the most inspiring professor I ever had, and your passion was contagious. If I’m a good teacher, it’s because you set the bar so high.”
Malcolm ran his hand through his hair. “After Sarah died, I didn’t care about anything, but as I continued to walk this earth in my altered state, I wanted to honor her memory. We had both experienced the horrors of war, so when I started teaching history, my main objective was to make students see that war is never the answer. Robert E. Lee once said, ‘It’s a good thing war is so terrible; lest we enjoy it too much.’ If mankind can’t learn from history, we are doomed to repeat our mistakes. I was at a low point immediately after September 11, and that was precisely when you came to my office as a student. I had completely lost faith in mankind’s ability to peacefully coexist.”
“Leave it to me and my perfect timing.” Abby rolled her eyes. “I thought I’d offended you, though I couldn’t figure out how. You practically grimaced when I said you’d made a difference in my life.”
“Actually, I cherished what you told me, but I wasn’t ready to accept it. You’d seen something in me that I no longer saw in myself.”
Abby touched Malcolm’s cheek. “People give education a bad rap, but it’s our first line of defense. There will always be wars, but you’ve given countless students a more accurate context for thinking about war. And I’ll bet you’ve nurtured a pacifist or two.” Abby smiled. “Like me.”
“How did you become so wise?”
Abby leaned forward, elbows on table. “You inspired me.” She chewed on her lip. “I feel honored that you’ve told me about your past, but I still don’t know how you became a vampire.”
Malcolm cupped her elbows in his hands. “I’ll tell you — soon.”
Chapter Sixteen
The play’s premiere was fast approaching, and Malcolm needed time to think. Leaving the theater after rehearsal, he checked to make sure there were no spectators, and then launched into the night sky. He could have morphed to bat form, but it was less taxing to maintain human form while airborne. As he pierced clouds and glided toward the moon, he considered how much more free his life had become since he met Abby.
She’d enabled him to exercise his true nature through this play, and he had to admit the experience was therapeutic. Some days in rehearsal, he was so into his role he longed to dispense with living undercover. Even just a rapid move across the stage would provide the audience with some real shock value. It might be worth the sweet smell of their fear.
Oh, God, what was he thinking? He’d spent countless years taming his base desires and hiding his true self, but underneath his human exterior was still a vampire itching to display some fang. Would Abby ever understand that? Probably not, unless he made her a vampire. He picked up speed, soaring at the idea … to have her with him through eternity. But he would never coerce her. That would have to be her decision. He hadn’t told her how he was turned, but he would soon. If she could accept that, perhaps she would join him.
Sarah had loved him as a farmer and soldier. He’d had no supernatural abilities to entrance her. He offered her everything he had, and that was enough for her. Since he became a vampire, he knew he could easily lure any woman, but he wouldn’t use his hypnotic wiles on Abby. Though he’d kept his instincts in check, he had to wonder what attracted her … the flawed man or the vampire?
• • •
Abby gnawed on a fingernail, and then slapped her hand away from her face. The stage crew was a few days behind with the backdrops, and she wanted everything to be perfect. She’d arranged for the head of the theater department at NYU to attend the dress rehearsal in hopes of a scholarship or two for her students.
She paced the empty theater, arriving an hour ahead of the cast to double-check the sets. Yesterday, when the plywood moon fell from the boom light and almost conked the female lead, Malcolm had swept her out of the trajectory just before it plunged to the stage and broke into smithereens. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she had to wonder whether Pamela had loosened the moon. Although none of the cast had commented on the extraordinary speed of Malcolm’s reaction, another malfunction like that might set them pondering about his super-human reflexes. Some days, he seemed dangerously vampiric.
Abby looked up at the tangle of wires and cables that crisscrossed the ceiling of the theater, out of sight of the spectators. A catwalk that suspended a string of stars swayed eerily above her head. Her students had done an amazing job on a shoestring budget. She hoped NYU would be impressed. The glittering stars, clapboard moon, and chiffon ghosts were effective, but with a real vampire as the star, Malcolm’s presence overshadowed any props. She’d almost deep-sixed the dry ice the first time he glided across the stage. His uncanny grace didn’t require a foggy backdrop, but then she decided that the fog might help disguise the glide.
She shivered, recalling the previous evening in his arms. He didn’t often nick her neck in the heat of passion, but last night when his teeth graced her throat, he’d punctured her skin with his razor-sharp fang. He immediately sealed the wound with his velvet tongue and later apologized for getting carried away, but Abby had loved the surge of warmth the act sent to her core, spreading like elixir through her bloodstream.
The slam of the stage door jerked Abby out of her thoughts.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Kyle approached her, script in hand. “That scene where our vamp trails his tongue down the virgin’s neck is not working for me.”
“You must be joking,” Abby said. “It’s perfect.”
“There’s not enough tension. I’m not sensing her fear.”
Abby shrugged. “She’s enraptured, sucked in by his charms.”
“Nah, it’s too quick.” Kyle rubbed his chin. “I don’t think she should cave until he sinks his teeth into her neck. I’d like to see her be stiff, and then when he bites her, she can melt into him.” Kyle reached for Abby’s hand. “Here, let me show you.” He tossed his script to the floor and stepped into Abby’s space, entwining his fingers in her hair. She immediately stiffened. “Yeah, that’s good. See how your shoulders screwed up under your ears?” With his other hand, he pressed his hand into her back and brought her close.
“Kyle, I don’t think we should … ”
His lips were at her ear, nibbling, and then the hand that had been at her back went south. She raised her hands to push against his chest.
“Am I interrupting something?” The echo of Malcolm’s baritone bounced off the concrete walls.
Abby’s heart kicked into overdrive. She sprang away from Kyle. How much did Malcolm see? Running her hands down her corduroy jeans, she said, “Kyle was just demonstrating how to build tension in the first bite scene.”
“There’s plenty of tension in that scene.” Malcolm eyed Kyle with a look that could bore holes in wood.
Kyle’s Adam’s apple quivered. “I think the virgin should display more fear.”
“She senses what’s coming,” Malcolm said. “She’s apprehensive but not fearful. She wants to be bitten.” Malcolm turned his gaze to Abby. His eyes glowed red. “All women do.”
Abby took Malcolm’s arm. “Malcolm, you need to calm down.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Is someone getting jealous?” He acted tough, but his voice trembled.
Abby’s heart beat in her ears. Before Malcolm could answer Kyle’s question, she blurted, “Don’t push it, Kyle.”
Kyle picked up his jacket and headed for the exit.
When Abby heard the door shut behind Kyle, she looked at Malcolm, whose eyes remained a glowing red. “He has no interest in me. If he did, he would have made a play long ago.”
Malcolm balled his fists. “He was trying to rile me, and it worked.”
“How is it you showed up just as the shark was circling?”
“I feel you, Abby. It’s like radar. If you’re in trouble, I’ll know it.”
“Wow, that’s better than 9-1-1.” She smiled. “But I wasn’t really in trouble with Kyle.”
“Perhaps not, but what he did was … disturbing.”
“How could you possibly be jealous of Kyle?” She ran her fingers down his arm and captured his hand, which was icy cold. “Malcolm, your hand is freezing.”
“I’m agitated.”
He’d turned so white, he almost glowed.
Abby let go of his hand and pressed her fingers to his cheek. “Sometimes I worry I’ve pushed you too far, like I’ve cracked your cocoon.”
Malcolm flexed his fingers. “I’ll be all right.”
“You say that, but you’re tapping the floor to beat the band.” She grabbed both his hands in hers. “What have I done to you?”
Chapter Seventeen
Over the theater’s sound system, Abby listened to the clashing cymbals of Grieg’s In the Hall of the Mountain King. The clanging built to a crescendo that would sync with the play’s climax. She just hoped Malcolm’s antics didn’t overshadow the intense music. She was terrified he might reveal himself for what he truly was. In his role as the Gettysburg Vampire, he’d unleashed a side of himself that had been sequestered for one hundred and fifty years, and he seemed to be enjoying the experience a bit too much. Then there was the incident with Kyle, where a sudden streak of jealousy got the better of Malcolm, making his eyes flash crimson. With tomorrow’s opening just a bite away, it was time for a heart-to-heart.
As usual after the evening rehearsal, he’d left the theater first. Then, she joined him at his house after she made sure the students had all left the theater.