A Girls Guide to Vampires

by Katie MacAlister

  He reached a hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a purple stone. I stared at it, a chill skimming my spine. "It's a rune."

  He nodded.

  "An amethyst rune."

  He said nothing.

  "Just like mine."

  His eyes glittered with dark emotion.

  "You found it on her body?"

  "Yes," he said, the word stark and bare in the warmth of his bedroom.

  I shook my head. "It's not mine. It can't be mine. I was reading them earlier, before she was killed. It must be from another set."

  "I asked Paal. He only had one set of amethyst stones. He sold it to you."

  I was still shaking my head, hard now. "No. It can't be mine. I was using them." I looked up from the stone to search his eyes. "I didn't kill her, Raphael."

  He closed his fist around the stone and pulled me to his chest. "I know you didn't, baby. I didn't mean to give you the third degree, I just had to ask." His kisses were very, very sweet and apologized better than any words could. He put his mouth to my ear and growled in a low, husky voice, "I don't want you to leave. I need you."

  Another tear spilled over at the pain caused by his sweet words. "But not enough to trust me with your secret?"

  His arms tightened around me until we were pressed tightly together. "Ah, baby, I wish everything was different so I could explain it to you, but this is important."

  I tipped my head back so he could see the pain in my eyes. "And I'm not?" I asked in a whisper.

  "You're the most important thing in my life," he said softly, his eyes glowing. "It's because of my feelings for you that I need you to trust me and not ask me for answers I can't give."

  "You want my trust but won't give me yours, is that it?" I asked, pushing back on his chest until we were separated.

  "That's it," he answered, his gaze holding mine.

  I looked at him for a long time, outwardly calm, but inside, hurt and anger were mixed up with love and the desire to give him what he wanted. I thought about what he meant to me. I weighed my love for him against a lifetime of never mattering as much to him as he did to me.

  I picked up my clothes. "I'm sorry, those terms aren't acceptable to me."

  "Joy—"

  I turned my back to him and pulled on my clothes, tears streaming down my face as I tied my shoelaces. He didn't say a word, not one blessed word, not one word to stop me from leaving him. Once I was dressed, I paused and stared at his belly tattoo. I didn't want to look in his eyes. I didn't want to see the truth mirrored in them. I didn't want to see how unimportant I was to him.

  "Thank you for a lovely evening. I hope you have fun doing whatever it is you are doing. I hope the police don't find out whatever it is you're hiding. I'm sure you'll understand if I decline any further invitations to your little love nest. If you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way now."

  "Baby, look at me."

  The endearment almost broke me, but I fought the desire to throw myself in his arms and swallowed back my misery. "I'm not your baby. Goodbye, Raphael. Have a nice life."

  He walked me back to my hotel without saying another word.

  Despite the fact that I had been up most of the night, discovered a body, and been grilled by the police for two hours, I didn't sleep. Having had my heart crushed by the man I loved more than anything else kept me wide awake. I tossed and turned in my cold, lonely, Raphael-less bed and alternated between a pity party to end all pity parties, and fury that he could treat me in such a callous fashion. In between the two extremes, the voice of reason popped up and pointed out that if I really loved Raphael, I would support him rather than damning him for whatever it was he was unable to share with me.

  I told the reasonable voice to get stuffed.

  I tried contacting Christian twice more before the sun crept up out of the mountains, but either he wasn't receiving me or he had chosen to ignore me. I wished there was something I could do to convince him to answer me, but if there was one thing I'd found in recent days, it was that vampires didn't like to be pushed around.

  Roxy looked surprised to find me breakfasting at our usual table next to the window. The sun was out, indicating it was going to be another glorious day weather-wise.

  "You look like hell," she said, sitting down and grabbing a breakfast roll from the basket, tearing off a piece, and stuffing it into her mouth. "Where's your better half? I figured you guys would be shacked up together until all hours making little Raphaels and Joys."

  I grimaced. "No. That's all over with."

  She stopped in mid-chew, then gave a big swallow. "What do you mean it's all over with? It can't be all over with, I just decided to give you my blessing. What happened?"

  I shrugged and looked back out the window. Nothing had changed out there; it was still the same tranquil scene. Birds flew overhead, people got into cars and drove away, late-blooming flowers bowed and dipped their heads in the wind. Everything was the same. Everything but me.

  "Joy?" Roxy put her hand over mine, her voice worried. "Honey, what happened? Last night Raphael looked like he couldn't wait to get back to you."

  I willed myself not to cry. I'd done enough of that during the long night, too. "He wouldn't tell me his secret."

  She frowned. "What secret?"

  "He has some secret, something to do with the police and his past. I think he was convicted of some crime and never really cleared. Dominic knows about it, and is using it to keep him with the fair. I asked Raphael about it, but he said he couldn't tell me. He could tell Dominic, but he couldn't tell me. He doesn't trust me, Roxy. I don't matter enough to him that he can trust me with some stupid secret about his last job."

  "I don't believe for one minute you don't matter to him. I've got eyes, babe. I can see how he looks at you, and it is not the look of a man who's simply using the closest dipper to drink from the well. He's crazy about you. Serious crazy, too, which is why I changed my mind and decided that you two were perfect for each other."

  "But his secret—"

  She waved his secret away with a bit of breakfast bread product. "Have you told him every little secret in your life?"

  "No, of course not, but this isn't little, this is something big, something serious, something that's affecting him now and will no doubt continue to affect him in the future. I wouldn't keep something on that level secret from him."

  She nodded. "You're a woman. He's a man. Women don't mind asking for help with a problem, while men take it as a slight to their character if they can't deal with everything themselves. Besides, you both kind of jumped into this relationship quickly. Sometimes trust takes a bit of time to build. I'm sure he'll change his mind about not telling you whatever it is he's hiding if you're patient with him and don't do anything rash."

  "Rash like telling him I didn't want to see him again?"

  She stared at me, jam dripping off the spoon she was applying to her roll. "You didn't!"

  I nodded.

  "Oh, geez." She slathered the piece of roll and popped it in her mouth. "Well, we'll deal with that in good time. We'll take the most important things first."

  "Raphael is the most important thing to me," I objected.

  "I know that," she said indistinctly around a mouthful of roll. "I meant important things as in stuff we must accomplish in order for you to be able to get Raphael where you want him—by the short and curlies."

  I pushed my cup of coffee away untasted. "Roxy, I don't understand a thing you're saying. What things are you talking about?"

  She wiped her jammy hands on a napkin before ticking the items off on her fingers. "One, we find out what Raphael's secret is."

  I stared at her. "Have you heard anything I said? He wouldn't tell me."

  "We won't ask him." She smiled complacently. "Two, we determine who killed Tanya."

  I rubbed my forehead. The headache I had been nursing ever since I got up was building. "Christian killed Tanya," I said very slowly, enunciating clearly just in case she couldn't hear
and chew at the same time.

  She waved her roll—her third roll—at me. "I don't buy that. Christian doesn't seem to me to be the type to kill someone."

  I stared at her. "Roxy, he drinks people's blood to survive. He can kill people without touching them. He's lived for more than nine hundred years, and he's been turned down repeatedly by the one woman who he thinks can save him. Of course he's the type to kill! You're just letting the fact that he's Dante sway your judgment."

  "Geez, you really don't have faith in anyone, do you?"

  That stopped me dead.

  "You don't trust Raphael when he asks you to, you believe a man who's only showed you kindness and given you information that could be used against him is a murdering bastard, and you don't give me credit for seeing a few things you're too blind to notice."

  "I'm sorry, Rox, I didn't mean to imply that you aren't seeing things clearly. I just—it's just that Christian didn't share his visions with you. They weren't nice, Roxy. He's a very, very powerful man, tormented and in constant battle with himself. It's because of the blackness I've seen within him that I know he is capable of killing."

  "Has he been anything but gentle with you?"

  "No, but he thinks I'm his Beloved."

  "Exactly. So why would he take the chance of angering or sickening you by ruthlessly killing someone, knowing full well that you'd guess he was responsible for it?"

  I stared at her in surprise. I hadn't thought of that. Surely Christian must realize I'd know if he killed Tanya.

  Roxy nodded as the understanding dawned in my eyes. "If you're right and he can feed on anyone he wants, it only makes sense that he'd do so away from here, somewhere you wouldn't hear about it. Killing Tanya just doesn't make sense."

  I rubbed my forehead again. "All right, if that's the case, then who did kill her? And don't tell me it's Raphael, because I won't believe it."

  "Well, he did have both the opportunity and the motive."

  "What motive?" I asked, bristling against my will at the slur on his character.

  "His secret, whatever it is. Which brings us back to the list. Once we find out what his secret is and clear him of murdering Tanya, we will know what to do about Dominic."

  "Dominic?" I tried to follow her convoluted reasoning. "You mean about him blackmailing Raphael?"

  Something occurred to me as I spoke the words. Dominic had a fight with Tanya the day before she died—he might fill the role of murderer. "Or about Tanya's murder? Or both?"

  "Hmm. Dominic as murderer—I suppose it's possible." She shrugged and reached for my pot of coffee, pouring herself a cup and adding an unhealthy dollop of cream. "Doesn't matter; either way, we get Dominic off Raphael's back. If he's the murderer, he goes to jail. If he's not and we figure out Raphael's secret, we apply a little judicious blackmail pressure of our own."

  "What sort of blackmail pressure?" I asked suspiciously.

  "Who knows? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. You want that last roll?"

  I stared at it, not seeing it. Raphael's face loomed large in my mind. "OK. I guess. I'm game."

  "Either he's worth fighting for, or he's not the one for you," Roxy said sagely, buttering the roll.

  I met her gaze as her words clicked into place. "He's worth fighting for."

  "I thought you'd see it that way. Let's get a little breffy under our belts, then we'll tackle item one."

  "You've already eaten enough rolls for two people," I pointed out.

  "A girl needs her strength when she's saving her best friend's romance, not to mention uncovering mysterious secrets and solving a murder."

  "You sound like an overgrown Nancy Drew," I smiled.

  "I always liked Nancy. You can be my George."

  "Oh, hell," I said, looking over her shoulder.

  "What? You want to be Bess instead? That's OK with me, but I always thought Bess was a bit of a wet blanket."

  "No, it's not that."

  "Don't tell me you want to be Hannah Gruen? Wasn't she elderly? Well, OK, you can be her, but don't be saying things like 'Lawks a-mercy, Miss Nancy' to me."

  I nodded to the man in the doorway and rose from my chair. "Will you stop? Inspector Bartos and that flunky of his are here. Eat up, Nancy. I think we're about to be grilled by the coppers."

  The bar was closed at this time of the morning, which evidently made it a good place for the local cops to interview people. There were four tables set up at opposite corners of the room, each occupied by a policeman. People from the fair staggered in through the outer door, lining the hall, their eyes blurred and red from being short-shifted in the sleep department.

  A policewoman with a little black moustache held up a hand to stop us as she consulted a list. She said something and waved me forward, but stopped Roxy before she could enter the bar.

  "Looks like you're on your own, George," she called out to me as I entered the bar. "Don't be so stubborn that you don't call Ned Nickerson for help if you need it. I'm sure he'd help if he knew you needed it."

  Calling Ned, AKA Bob the Pigheaded, was not going to be a problem, I reflected as I stepped into the bar. He was standing near one of the tables with Inspector Bartos, arguing in a low but vehement voice. Whatever he was saying did not go down well with Bartos, because the latter was shaking his head and looking like he was wishing he could shut Raphael up. I wondered whether Raphael had volunteered to speak to them or if they'd had to drag him in, then lectured myself for having so little faith in the man with whom, even if he did drive me up the wall with his refusal to dish with the truth, I was madly in love.

  Inspector Bartos spotted me and managed to get a word in to Raphael. I decided the best defense was a strong offense and, raising my chin, marched over to where they both watched me. "Inspector Bartos, Raphael. You wanted to see me?" I asked Bartos. "I told you everything you could possibly want to know last night, several times, in fact. What do you want now?"

  Not even Nancy Drew's brash best friend George would address a police inspector in such an arrogant tone, but I was just about at my limit, and it wasn't even lunchtime. Inspector Bartos didn't seem to be offended, however. His voice was mild as he said, "Mr. St. John was just giving me the benefit of his advice, Miss Randall. If you would wait at that table, I will be available in a very short time."

  "Mr. St. John is very good at giving advice," I told him, ignoring Raphael looming over me. "It's taking it that sticks in his craw."

  "Joy," Raphael growled at me in warning, taking my hand.

  I took it back. "Unless you have something to confide in me, I don't believe we have anything to say to each other."

  His eyes turned molten. "We damned well do." He grabbed my head and laid his lips on me so quickly, so hard and fast and full of unspoken demand, that I just stood there and let him kiss me. "Don't give up on me," he said in a low voice, his eyes burning me as his thumb brushed a line along my jaw. He looked over my head to Inspector Bartos. "You're making a mistake, Bartos. I can prove what I've said. If you'll just contact the Heidelberg police—"

  "It is my mistake to make, you agree? Contacting the German police won't be necessary," Bartos told him. "You will remain available for interview."

  Raphael's jaw tightened, but he nodded, then looked back at me. His thumb teased my lower lip. "Remember what I said," he warned me, then dropped his hand from my face and left the bar.

  I stood brainless, bemused, so madly in love that I could just lie down on the floor kicking my heels and having a hissy fit over the way things had turned out, but we Randalls are made of sterner stuff. Raphael gave me much to think about, but unfortunately—"I am ready for you now, Miss Randall," Bartos said behind me.

  I watched through the window as Raphael strode across the parking lot, heading back to the meadow. He looked so tired and frustrated, I wanted to cradle his head against my breasts and make everything all better.

  "Miss Randall?"

  Two policemen passed Raphael on their way in to the hote
l. He literally stood head and shoulders above them, the very embodiment of masculinity. I sighed. He certainly was perfect, if you were willing to overlook the fact that he was pigheaded and stubborn, had difficulty trusting people, and didn't want to need anyone.

  "Miss Randall, the morning is passing. If it would not be too troublesome, I would like to conduct your interview now."

  Raphael disappeared from view. I turned to look at Bartos, not really seeing him. The conversation Raphael had with Bartos was very interesting. Had he volunteered advice? About the murder in Heidelberg? Perhaps he had decided to come clean with the police regarding his past… then again, the way Bartos demanded he remain available for interview was not a sign the police viewed him as innocent.

  "The chair is very comfortable, I assure you. And the table is a fine example of local craftsmanship. If you would just seat yourself, I believe you will agree."

  What did Raphael mean about not giving up on him? What kind of a demand was that for him to make of me? He'd given up on me even before we had a chance, hadn't he? And just what did give up mean? Ha! I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to fawn all over him, telling him how marvelous he was no matter how terribly he treated me. How dare he expect me to stay devoted to him, consumed by thoughts of him, thinking of him to the exclusion of all else?

  "Miss Randall, my wife is expecting me home for dinner this evening. Shall I tell her otherwise?"

  Well, I wouldn't do it! I just wouldn't! If he wanted a devoted slave, a groupie, he could just look elsewhere. I had too much self-respect to turn myself into a doormat just so his manly ego could stomp all over it. Give up on him, ha!

  Inspector Bartos sighed, his moustache ruffling with the force of it. I blinked and realized I had been staring at him. "What? Did you just ask me to dinner?"

  His lips compressed to a hard line. "Have you returned to us?"

  "Returned? What are you talking about? I've been standing here waiting for you. Are you ready now?"

  He looked like he wanted to sigh again, but shook his head instead. "Yes, I am ready for you. If you will please sit?"

  The interview didn't cover any new ground. I didn't understand why they wanted me to go over my actions the night before again and again, but figured maybe they were waiting for me to suddenly crack and admit I killed Tanya, or make some glaring mistake retelling my story that would indicate I was lying through my teeth. I did neither.