by Gayla Twist
I realized with a shudder that I was going to have to get Jessie’s gift on the eve of Christmas Eve. I really hated the idea of fighting my way to the mall with all the other panicked shoppers, but it looked like I didn’t have a choice.
The sky was already dark as I pulled up to the cemetery at exactly ten to six. The tall iron gate was wide open, and the extra guards were gone. I could see a man in a staff uniform sitting in the small stone building that served as the information center. Pulling my VW up as close as I could to the door, I parked and went inside. “Hi,” I said, smiling at the man, who seemed a bit surprised to see me. “I was at the Colette Gibson funeral this afternoon, and I left a large black umbrella by my chair. Do you know if anyone turned it in?”
He was a very broad man with a bald head who looked like he did a lot of sitting. He shrugged his shoulders. “Nobody gave nothing to me.”
“Great,” I grumbled, letting my shoulders sag. Eighty-five bucks out the window. “Oh well. Thanks anyway.” I turned to head for the door. Not only did I owe the home eighty-five dollars, but I had wasted gas driving over to find out.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ll check around for you.” He picked up the phone and dialed. “This is gonna take a minute.”
My hopes were not up, but it didn’t hurt to check. As I waited, I strode over to the window. I could tell by the ripples in the glass that the panes were probably original from when the old stone building was first built. I wondered if they had electricity back then. It made the world outside look a bit blurry in spots. I could see the parking lot, but a couple of the few remaining cars appeared as smeary blobs. If I moved my head slightly, those cars came into focus and others appeared smudged like someone had dragged a thumb across a still-damp oil painting.
As I shifted about, playing with the optical illusion the old glass created, I was able to focus on one very distinct vehicle in the parking lot. It was an antique limousine, probably from the thirties or forties. I knew absolutely nothing about cars, but that was my guess. It had running boards and looked like a car that gangsters would be hanging off of in an old black and white movie—if the gangsters happened to be very, very rich. There was only one family I knew of anywhere near Tiburon that could afford such a vehicle. I was hurrying for the door when the man at the desk called out to me, “For some reason, nobody cleaned up from the Gibson funeral yet. Your umbrella might still be there.” He gestured in the general direction of the graves. “You got to hurry up, though. We’re gonna close soon.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I said, dashing out the door. I headed straight for the fancy limousine. The windows in the back of the vehicle were all tinted. I could discern that the front seat was occupied. In fact, it looked very crowded, but I was willing to bet it was filled by only one man.
“Viggo?” I asked, tapping on the driver’s side window.
The door opened and the tallest man imaginable hauled himself out of the car. “Good evening, Miss Aurora,” he said with his faint Eastern European accent. I thought he was pleased to see me, but sometimes it was hard to tell. “It is getting late. Vhat are you doing back at the cemetery?”
“I forgot an umbrella and it turned out to be an expensive umbrella, so I came back to try to find it.” He just nodded, his face inscrutable. After several seconds, with him adding nothing more to the conversation, I asked. “Why are you here?”
“Mr. Wanderlind wanted to come to the funeral, but as you know this was not possible. He asked me to load him in the car and then wake him when it was dark.
“Jessie’s here?” I asked, doing a bad job of keeping the eagerness out of my voice.
Viggo nodded again. “He has been here since it started to get dark. I think he feels wery bad that he could not attend the service.”
I had to force my legs not to immediately hurry in the direction of Colette’s grave. I was mad at Jessie for blowing me off, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to see him. “Does he …” I stammered. “I mean, do you think he wants to be alone or … do you think maybe I could …” I waved a hand vaguely toward the headstones.
“I have never known Mr. Vanderlind to not want to be with you,” the giant said.
I felt my heart skip a beat, and a warm glow crept over my body. This was the effect even a secondhand comment about Jessie had on me. “Okay, then I guess I’d better go find him.”
“Let me escort you,” Viggo said in his deep, booming voice.
“That’s all right. You just relax,” I said. “I know where it is.”
“No,” Viggo said, with such conviction that it left no room for argument. “There is a killer loose in Tiburon. A man so sneaky that even Mr. Wanderlind can’t find him. I do not trust for any young person to be alone. Not now.” He started walking with me down along the path that wound its way toward Colette’s grave, Viggo’s one long stride matching three of mine. “Mr. Jessie has not said anything to me, but it is my opinion that the man who is snatching the children must be a wampire.”
A shiver ran up my spine, and I couldn’t help but glance around the cemetery. “Do you really think so?” I asked with a gulp.
Viggo gave me a solemn nod. “I believe it is the only way that there could be no clues and no evidence to follow. I think there must be a member of the undead who has moved into town to feast.”
“But why teenagers?” I asked. “Why target kids in high school?”
“I am sure their blood must taste better than that of a vagrant,” Viggo said in a matter-of-fact tone. “A young child does not have much blood. A teenager is almost fully grown, but the blood is still fresh. Maybe that is why.” And giving it some additional thought, he added in an offhanded way, “Or maybe it is someone with a grudge against the Wanderlinds who is trying to make trouble.”
I was definitely glad Viggo had decided to escort me across the graveyard. He had a lot of experience around vampires, so if he thought that was who was snatching teenagers off the street, then I tended to believe him. I had to wonder if Jessie harbored the same suspicions and was concealing them from me for some reason or if he was just in denial.
We turned off the path and started heading over a slight rise. I didn’t know if it was something natural in the land formation or some type of landscaping the cemetery had put in years ago for aesthetic appeal. When we reached the top of the rise, we could see the chairs and flowers still arranged around the Gibson family plot. “I shall vait here to give you some privacy,” Viggo said, stopping by a large marble urn.
“Thank you,” I said, giving his arm a quick squeeze before continuing across the lawn.
“My pleasure,” he said in return. “Shall I tell Gloria that you said hello?”
“Oh.” I felt a flash of embarrassment for not having asked about her. “Yes, please. How is she, by the way?”
“We are both very happy thanks to you, Miss Aurora. We can never thank you enough for vhat you did for us.”
“I’m glad it’s all working out,” I assured him. He’d thanked me so many times that to thank me again was really unnecessary. And it was Jessie, after all, who had bought out Gloria’s debt from the Csorbo family. I wasn’t sure that leaving one vampire family to work as a servant for another was much of an improvement, but at least Gloria got to be with the giant she loved.
At first I couldn’t see Jessie amongst the small clutter around the grave. I wondered if I’d missed him and he’d flown home, forgetting to tell Viggo. As I drew closer, I spied the umbrella on the ground where I’d left it, so that was at least a good thing. I bent to pick it up, and when I raised my head, I saw a figure dressed all in black standing by the grave. “Jessie,” I breathed in a voice just audible above a whisper.
Chapter 17
When I said Jessie’s name, he didn’t turn to face me, but I could tell from a small movement of his head that he knew I was there. I stood perfectly still for a few seconds, wondering if I was intruding. He looked so forlorn, his long coat flapping around his legs, his hair bei
ng ruffled in a cold wind that had picked up as night fell. He had one hand stuffed deep in his coat pocket; the other clutched a bouquet of white roses.
“I didn’t know the traditional flowers for mourning,” he said, still not turning in my direction. “Lilies maybe. I thought it was something white.”
“The florist would have probably known,” I told him.
Jessie slowly shook his head. “No, I didn’t want to bring a stranger into my grief.”
“The roses are lovely,” I told him, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I’m sure Colette would have appreciated them.”
He looked down at the bouquet, seemingly surprised to find it still clutched in his hand. “I can’t remember her favorite flower anymore,” he said, bending to place the roses reverently against the new headstone. “I thought I would always remember everything about her, but some of the details are starting to fade.”
“Wildflowers,” I said without hesitation. “She loved wildflowers.”
Jessie jerked up to a standing position, staring at me. In a few quick strides he was directly in front of me. “How do you know that?” he asked, his voice both demanding and urgent.
“I …” I stammered, surprised by his behavior. “I remember you told me she used to pick flowers for your brother. The one with hemophilia that your family made up so you could get blood donations.”
“Oh,” he said, his eyebrows pulled down into a dark V of disappointment.
“And I dream about them sometimes,” I added in a hesitating voice. “The flowers, I mean. When I have those recurring dreams. The memories that aren’t mine. Most the time I dream of the woods from the night Colette died.” Jessie flinched a little, and I fought back the memory of it being him who pushed me into the pit at the building site. “But sometimes there are nice dreams. I’m in a pretty dress; the sun is shining; and I’m gathering wildflowers. I’m really happy and …” I remembered the dream I had right before Mom woke me up to tell me that they had discovered Colette’s body. “And sometimes you’re there.”
“That couldn’t possibly be me. She must have been with somebody else. I can never enjoy the sunshine again.” He shook his head. “Never.”
“No, it’s definitely you,” I assured him. “I don’t think it’s so much a memory of you as it’s her daydream. One she used to have about you.”
“Are you saying …?” This time Jessie’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, making a tepee. “Do you really think that you and Colette …?” He took my face in both his hands and stared into my eyes, searching for a glimmer of somebody else. “Do you think she’s you?” he finally asked. “I mean, did you used to be her?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, turning my eyes away and feeling a painful stab in my heart. He didn’t love me. He only cared for me in the hope that I was somehow the reincarnation of his lost love.
Jessie released me and let his head hang. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was an unfair question to ask. I just get so confused sometimes. You are so much like her in so many ways, but also completely different.”
“It’s okay,” I told him, reaching out to press him on the forearm. I loved Jessie with every fiber of my being, but Colette would always be the specter standing between us. It was something I had to accept.
He stood there, staring at his boots, grief pressing down on him. “Do you think it’s a betrayal?” he wanted to know.
“What?” I asked, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice even though my heart was breaking.
“Me loving you the way I do?” he said softly, still not looking up. “Do you think if Colette knew that I loved you it would hurt her?”
I went from the verge of despair to sheer joy. “You love me?” I stammered. “Even though I’m not Colette?”
Jessie finally raised his head and looked deep into my eyes. “How can you even ask me such a thing?” he asked. Stepping forward, bridging the small gap between us, he wrapped me in his arms and then sank to his knees, the side of his face pressed against my chest. “I love you so desperately it makes me feel guilty, as if I’m being disloyal to Colette.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to fight them away. I inhaled deeply, trying to commit the moment to memory. I wanted to tattoo it on my brain so it would be there forever. He loved me. He loved me as much as I loved him. I couldn’t blame him for still loving Colette. We all had a past, and Colette was part of his. It would be weird if he’d just stopped loving her after we met. I didn’t want to erase her from his life. But I did want him to love me passionately because that was the way I loved him.
When I found my voice, I said, “I think Colette would want you to be happy. Everything I know about her makes me think she was a kind and generous person. She wouldn’t want you to be miserable for an eternity. She’d want you to find happiness.” A few teardrops leaked from my eyes and splashed onto his hair.
“You make me happy,” he whispered, his words muffled in my bosom. “You make me the happiest I’ve been in eighty years.”
I bent my head and pressed my face into his dark hair, not feeling the cold wind that was whipping across the cemetery, not thinking that I had to text my mother and tell her all was well, just savoring a perfect moment with the vampire I loved.
A melodious ringing of bells brought us to our senses. We both looked up. “Mr. Wanderlind,” Viggo said, crossing the lawn quickly with his lengthy strides. “I think that is the signal vhen the cemetery vould like to close.”
We quickly broke apart, and Jessie got to his feet. “Thank you, Viggo,” he said. If vampires could blush, I swear he would have been blushing.
“Shall you escort Miss Aurora home, or vill you be needing my services additionally this evening?” the giant asked.
Jessie glanced at me and immediately understood the eager look upon my face. I really, really, really wanted to be escorted home. “I’ll escort Miss Aurora, Viggo,” he said. “You may take the car back to the castle.”
“I was hoping to take Gloria out for dinner and a late movie,” Viggo said, a question left hanging in the air that I wasn’t quite picking up on.
But Jessie understood. “Oh, well then, of course, you must borrow the car, by all means. Have to treat your lady right,” he said with a small smile while reaching for my hand to give it a squeeze.
“Thank you wery much, Mr. Wanderlind. Good night, Miss Aurora,” Viggo said with a rumble before turning and striding off back toward the parking lot. I felt sorry for any lingering visitors who might encounter him in the dark. It would be startling. He really was surprisingly massive.
As soon as the giant was out of hearing distance, Jessie released a small chuckle. “Poor fellow. He’s too big to fit in any of the modern cars. Quite honestly, I think my mother would be happy to get rid of the old Rolls, but I don’t know how Viggo would get anywhere if we did.”
The bells chimed again. “Are you ready to go, or would you like another minute?” I asked. I really needed to text my mom.
“I would like a few more moments, if you don’t mind,” he told me.
“Of course,” I said, immediately heading away from the grave. “I’ll just wait for you over here.” I pointed vaguely toward the edge of the chairs. I began to wonder if they were going to be left out all night.
Pulling out my phone, I turned my back to Jessie to give him some privacy. I texted my mom a quick message. “Found the umbrella. Am safe. Heading home in a minute. Might have Jessie over if that’s okay.”
My mom must have been staring at her phone at that exact moment because she answered my message almost immediately. “Lock your doors. Can he come over tomorrow instead? I’m tired.”
I was disappointed, but I couldn’t blame my mom for being tired. It had been a long and emotionally draining day. “Okay,” I texted back before slipping my phone back in my bag. Or at least trying to put it in my bag. I somehow missed the opening completely, and my cell slipped out onto the damp, mushy grass.
Snatching it off the ground, I immediately started rubbing it on my skirt to dry it. The lawn wasn’t super wet, but still, best to be careful. I really couldn’t afford another one. When I looked up again, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. It was the weird old man again, the one I had caught a glimpse of the other evening while driving home through the snow. He was standing in between the tombstones, staring at me, with a look of pure disgust etched across his face. There was something else about his appearance that didn’t look right. He was old and wrinkled but also somehow young. He looked like when a special effects artist puts old-age makeup on a young person. You can always still see a youthfulness underneath.
There was something else odd about him. A distinguishing characteristic that I hadn’t been able to see the other night. He had a rather ugly scar that slashed through his left eyebrow and down his cheek. It was definitely not an asset to his already sinister face.
“Hello?” I said in a tentative voice while inching backward toward Jessie. The man made me nervous, and I felt it was too much of a coincidence that I would see him twice in such a short period of time. “Can I help you with something?”
The fact that I had addressed him seemed to infuriate the old man even more. I could practically feel a putrid bile of hate bubbling out of him. I turned my head briefly to get an idea of how much space there was between Jessie and me, but in the half a second I had my head turned away, the old man disappeared. It wasn’t like he stepped behind a gravestone or anything; it was like he simply melted into the night.
Feeling more than a little frightened, I hurried over to where Jessie kneeled by Colette’s grave. I hated to intrude, so I didn’t say anything to interrupt him, but I did stand much closer than I would have if there wasn’t a creepy old dude glaring at me and then vanishing.
Jessie’s hair was tousled in the wind that had kicked up as night fell. I knew vampires didn’t really feel the cold, but the way he was kneeling there, half bent over with pain, gave the impression of him shivering against the dark. I turned my back to him again, feeling like I was an unwilling eavesdropper on an intimate conversation.
