by Rachel Caine
I took a cordial dislike to her, on principle, as she meandered her way toward the counter. Oliver, who’d been wiping down the bar, stopped in midmotion to watch her. That seemed to be a male thing, because I noticed pretty much the entire Y-chromosome population, including the table of gay boys, watching her, too. She didn’t seem that sexy to me, at least in an obvious kind of way, and she wasn’t vamping (no pun intended) it up . . . but she got attention, whether she was demanding it or not.
I wasn’t using to being the wallflower, and it kinda pissed me off.
Still, I forced a smile as I went to the register. “Hi,” I said, in my best professional welcome voice. “Can I help you?”
“I’ll take this,” Oliver said, and nudged me out of the way. He was smiling, which normally would be a bad sign, but this one went all the way to his eyes, and all of a sudden he didn’t look like a vampire who would kick your ass, ra-a-a-ar; he looked like . . . a guy. Just a guy, kind of handsome in a sharp sort of way, although too old for me for sure.
The girl smiled back at him, and wow. I mean, it knocked me back a step, and I was (a) not male and (b) not any kind of interested. “Oliver,” she said, and even her voice was cute and small and sweet, with some kind of lilting accent that made her sound exotic and mysterious. Well, for Morganville, Texas, but then, we find people from Dallas exotic and mysterious. “My dear friend, I haven’t seen you in dark ages.”
“Gloriana,” he said. “I feared the worst, you know. It’s cruel to keep us in suspense. Where were you?”
She shrugged and fiddled with the zippers on her jacket, looking coy as she shot him a look from beneath full, probably natural lashes. “After the last great war, I lost track of you, and the rest of our family,” she said. “Those I found were—not healthy. I managed to avoid contracting the disease, but I didn’t dare take the risk, so I stayed away.”
“Where?”
“Oh, you know. Here and there. Europe, Australia was quite nice; I migrated here when they were still traveling by ocean liner. Since then, I’ve been drifting. I was recently in Los Angeles, where I ran into Bobby Sansome—you remember him?—and he told me almost everyone who was anyone was here, in Morganville. He also said that he’d come here to get the cure. I thought perhaps it was safe.”
“It’s safe,” Oliver said. “But you’ll need to present yourself to the Founder. There are rules of behavior in this town, accords you’ll have to sign in order to stay. Understand?”
“Of course.” Her charming smile got even wider. “Oliver, my sweet, do you really doubt that I know the rules of hospitality and good behavior? I haven’t survived this long by preying indiscriminately on the livestock. . . . Oh.” Her sparkling eyes flicked to me, inviting me to share the joke. “Not including you, naturally. I meant no offense.”
“No?” I raised my eyebrows, and let her know the sweet face didn’t impress me. “That ’tude will get you in trouble around here.”
Gloriana gave me an honestly puzzled look, then turned to Oliver. “What does she mean?”
“She means that humans have status here.” He didn’t look particularly happy about it, but then, that’s Oliver for you. “You can’t expect civility from them. And, unfortunately, you can’t punish them for failing to provide it.”
I snorted. “Bite me, fanger.”
“See?”
Gloriana looked honestly taken aback for a few seconds, and then smiled in what I could only call utter delight. Despite my best intentions, I got a traitorous little impulse to grin back. “Really? But this is wonderful!”
“It is?” Oliver’s turn to look bemused, as if she’d suddenly started rattling on in a language he didn’t recognize.
“Of course! You know I’ve never been terribly conventional, cuz. I’d be delighted to converse with humans again on an equal basis. Most of them are terribly dull, of course, but this one looks bright enough.” Her green eyes swept over me, giving me the female X-ray of appraisal. “And certainly not afraid of controversy.”
“This one is named Eve,” I said. “And don’t check my teeth like I’m your livestock. I bite back.”
Gloriana laughed, an honest, full laugh, and I felt a shudder go through Oliver’s body next to me. I couldn’t tell what had brought that on—not fear, surely; the old dude didn’t fear anybody that I could tell. “Eve,” she said. “I’d like something to drink. Something hot and salty, perhaps in an O negative if you have it.”
Ugh, but okay, I served vamps from time to time. I summoned up the professional smile again. “Sure thing. Coming right up.”
It was only as I was warming up the blood out of the refrigerator that it occurred to me that she’d named my own blood type.
Hmmmm.
Coincidence. Probably.
• • •
Gloriana’s visit to the coffee shop was eye-opening, to say the least. I put her blood in an opaque coffee cup, with a lid, and she and Oliver went to sit down together, presumably to jaw about old times, and I mean old times. She wasn’t standoffish, the way some of the other vampires were—she said hello to people as they passed, gave them the same sweet smile, shook hands with a few.
I was pulling espresso shots for a mocha when my boyfriend came in the vampire entrance and got in the ordering line. I waved, and he winked at me. Michael is a total hottie, always has been: tall, blond, built, and shy, for the most part. He’s always been focused more on music than on the people around him, and from what he’d told me about how he’d come to get dead, that had been a real mistake. So he was trying to do a little better about connecting with people, as well as guitar riffs. He’s always been my friend, but these days, he’s a whole lot more than that.
I don’t want to be sick about it, but I love him with my life. It scares me down to the bones to think about losing him—although, in Morganville, it’s a lot more likely that he’ll lose me, given the mortality rates among humans here.
Still.
I rushed through the next three orders to get to Michael, and then took my time, leaning over the counter and smiling as our eyes met. “Hi, handsome,” I purred. “See something you like?”
“Always,” he said, and gave me just a flicker of that devastating Michael Glass grin. “And the coffee looks good, too.”
“You are suave. I’ve always said so.”
“And you’re strange. But I love strange.”
“Mmmm. Want to go take inventory with me in the back?”
“Isn’t the boss here?” Michael made a show of looking around for Oliver.
He found him. He also spotted Gloriana, who was leaning her chin on her tiny little hand, looking at Oliver with luminous, big eyes.
“Wow,” he said. This was not the thing you wanted to hear out of a boyfriend, believe me. “Who’s the new girl?”
“Gloriana,” I said. “She’s not new. She’s ancient.” I was hoping that would put an end to it; Michael wasn’t interested in hanging around other vampires, although he did it when circumstances required; he liked me, and Shane, and Claire. He liked us a whole lot better than the nonbreathers.
Until now, apparently. I could almost see the word balloon floating over his head: Should go say hello. But he was smart enough not to say it. With an effort, he dragged his attention away from Gloriana, and looked at me again. “So, you have plans for lunch today?”
“Nope. I was thinking about a smoothie.” In this coffee bar, you had to be sure you were grabbing the pureed strawberries, and not, you know, something else, but the smoothies were pretty awesome. “I could be talked into something non-food-related, though.”
“Shane’s at work,” Michael said. “Claire’s at school. House is empty. I could make you something hot.”
He said it straight-faced; that was the wonderful, wicked thing about Michael—he could deliver the most outrageous lines with utmost sincerity. It left me w
ondering if I was the only one with my mind in the gutter . . . until I spotted the amusement in his clear blue eyes.
“I’ll bet,” I breathed. “Meet you there at one o’clock, okay?”
“Not twelve?”
“I came in late.”
“Ah. I’ll keep myself occupied.”
“Hey!”
He gave me the full, devastating smile, and leaned across the counter to kiss me. His lips were cool and sweet and softer than they had any right to be, but he was gone before I could really savor it.
He’d left $4.50 on the counter—his way of saying that I should have a drink myself. Which I did, making it extra sweet and extra strong, like him.
It was only as I was sipping the drink that I realized Gloriana was staring at the door through which Michael had gone. She finally leaned over and pecked Oliver on both cheeks in a European sort of farewell, and took her cup of O to go . . . following Michael.
I didn’t like that.
At all.
• • •
One o’clock crawled slowly toward me, to the point where I checked the coffee shop’s clock against my cell phone and my watch, just to be sure. When the hand finally dragged itself to twelve forty-five, I stripped off my apron and chirped to Oliver, “Lunch!”
“Don’t you have time to make up?” he asked, not looking away from the cash he was counting for the bank bag.
“Yeah, I’ll stay late.”
“I’d rather you worked through lunch.”
“Sorry, slavery’s gone out of fashion,” I said, and hung up my apron on the old coat-tree at the end of the counter. “Gotta run.”
He grunted and waved his hand. I retrieved my purse from the locker and dashed out.
It wasn’t a long walk home, but it was unexpectedly chilly; rain clouds were rolling in, dark and ominous, and the wind had kicked up. It blew sand and broken bits of grass across the roads, rippled the leaves on the trees, and generally made walking less fun than usual. I was happy to turn down Lot Street and see my big, shiny black hearse parked at the curb. Death’s party bus. Holla.
I couldn’t wait, and broke into a jog up the walk, up the steps, across the porch, and unlocked the front door as fast as I could. Yes! I slammed the door and threw my stuff on the hall table; Michael’s keys were already there, in the candy dish. My heartbeat sped up even faster. “Let’s get the party started!” I called, and walked down the narrow hallway toward the living room.
On the way there, I passed the formal parlor room, which was basically a furniture museum; we never sat in there. Except this time I registered people in there as I passed. I stopped, backed up, and found Michael sitting in the big red velvet wing chair.
Gloriana was sitting on the settee, her to-go cup on the marble coffee table. She had her legs crossed, and seemed very comfortable.
In my house.
With my boyfriend.
“Michael?” I asked. He stood up, looking guilty and nervous, which was new for him. “What’s going on?”
“Uh . . . this is Gloriana.”
“I know who she is. I told you who she was.”
“Eve,” Gloriana said, all warmth and sweetness and apology. “I only wanted to meet Michael, as he’s Amelie’s newest child. I am a curious creature, I know. I mean nothing by it.”
“Eve, chill,” Michael said. “She just came over to say hello.”
“I see.” My voice sounded flat and pissed, even to my own ears. “That’s great. Now she can just say good-bye, too.”
“I meant no offense, most surely. Here, I’ll be going.” Gloriana stood up and extended her hand to Michael, knuckles turned up. “It was charming to meet you, Michael Glass.”
He took her hand and looked briefly confused about what to do, then lifted it very formally to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Not kissed kissed, more of a brush of his lips, but it still made me feel light-headed and sick inside. “Welcome to Morganville,” he said. “Hope to see you around.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Gloriana laughed. “After all, the sign says You’ll never want to leave—isn’t that true? I already find much to like about Morganville.” She flicked those green eyes toward me. “Eve. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Yeah. Don’t forget to take your blood with you.”
Michael gave me a look. I gave him one right back. While we were doing the silent stare thing, Gloriana retrieved her cup and headed for the door. Michael moved past me to open it for her, and handed her a big, floppy black coat and hat to throw on. “There’s an entrance to the underground a block down,” he said. “Look for the glyph. You can bring the coat and hat back later.”
“Thank you,” she said, and swaddled herself up in the sun-defying garb. She looked like a waif playing dress-up. “You are so kind, Michael.” She pronounced it French, like Meeshell. “I will return the kindness soon.”
He watched her go. I watched him watch her go, and then he shut the door, locked it, and without looking at me said, “So, just how mad are you?”
Without a word, I turned and walked down the hall, into the kitchen, and poured myself a glass of water. I wasn’t thirsty, but there was a burning pain in my throat, and besides, it gave me something to do with my shaking hands.
I heard the door open as Michael followed me in. “Seriously,” he said. “Eve, I was just being friendly. She’s new in town.”
“Oh, so the hand-kissing, that’s just being friendly? I never see you doing it to Oliver.”
“A lot of these older vamp women, it’s what they expect. They don’t shake hands, Eve.”
“Well, they need to bring their undead asses into the twenty-first century, then, because hand-kissing went out with the guillotine, didn’t it? And since when do you do what’s expected, anyway?”
Michael shook his head and leaned back against the counter. “It’s not like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I want to take her to bed, which is what you’re thinking, Eve.”
I couldn’t believe he’d gone and said that right out loud, even if I was thinking it. Not in such polite terms, though. “Then what’s it like?”
“Like I’m . . . curious. Look, she’s friendly, not like a lot of the others. I can ask her things, about being . . .” There was more color in his cheeks than normal; that was the closest a vampire could come to blushing. “About being what I am.”
“What kind of things?” I demanded.
Michael met my eyes. “Like how likely I am to lose control and hurt somebody close to me. That kind of thing. Especially when I’m hungry and we’re together.”
Oh. That hurt, in all kinds of unexpected ways; these were personal things, and it wasn’t just personal for him. I was the one who’d drawn the line with him, who’d said I was never, ever going to let him bite me, especially not that way. And it wasn’t something we talked about, not ever. Especially not with third parties who might be named Sexy Hell Kitten. “And you thought it was okay to discuss all this with a vamp you met, like, thirty seconds ago.”
“We’ve been talking for an hour, Eve. It wasn’t like it was the first thing out of my mouth.”
I swallowed. “Did you kiss her?”
“Eve!”
“Did you?”
“Jesus, of course not.”
“Did you want to?”
Michael just looked at me for a few, fatal seconds, then said, “She’s got that effect on guys, so, yeah, I guess I thought about it. But I didn’t do it.”
That didn’t make me feel any better. Gloriana would be back. At the very least, she’d return the hat and coat, and if I wasn’t here, he’d get all cozy with her again, and . . . things could happen. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Michael—I did, I really did—but . . . she wasn’t just any random chick. She hadn’t stopped in just to pay a social cal
l; Gloriana was hunting.
She was stalking my boyfriend.
“Over my dead body,” I murmured. Michael looked startled. “Sorry. Talking to myself.”
He sighed, straightened up, and crossed to stand right in front of me. He took the water glass out of my hand and put it carefully on the counter, then leaned in and kissed me, sweet and hot and hard. He braced himself with his hands on either side of me on the counter, and damn, the white fire of that just about wiped out anything else I had on my mind, including Gloriana’s sly, sweet smile, or the way Michael had looked after her when she’d gone.
He was mine. Mine.
His hands left the counter and stroked through my hair, down the column of my neck, spread out on my shoulders. My top was stretchy enough to slide down my arms under the pressure of his palms, and I shivered as cool air hit my skin.
Michael picked me up in his arms like I was a bag of air, and for a long second he looked down at my face. His expression left me breathless. “You know I love you,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I know,” I said. “But I know that can change.”
“Never,” he said, and kissed me again. “Never.”
And for a little while, as he carried me upstairs to his room, I believed that would actually be true.
Always.
Even though I felt the tangle of frustration in him when his teeth grazed my neck, and he didn’t bite.
• • •
I didn’t hear about Gloriana for three days, until Michael told me there was going to be a big to-do in Founder’s Square on Friday night to welcome the newest arrival. He had an invitation, of course; all the vampires got them. Some humans did, too, including our bookworm housemate, Claire . . . who, not surprisingly, decided that our other housemate, Shane, would be her plus-one to the party. I was kind of shocked that Claire decided to go, though; she wasn’t generally the dressed-up party type (or the dressed-down party type, come to that).
I was sorry I asked when I finally did.
“Oh, I met her,” Claire said, as we were doing laundry in the basement of the Glass House. She was sitting on the dryer this time while I dumped dirties into the washer; as usual, she was reading, this time one of Charlaine Harris’s vampire books. She probably considered it research. “Gloriana, I mean. She seems nice.”
