Last Vampire Standing

by Nancy Haddock

  The ceiling was higher than I expected, with exposed beams. The hardwood floors? Well, dusty was being generous, but they looked like oak and were solid. No obvious rot. No roof, wall, or floor cave-ins. The dingy white walls looked like salvaged wood planks nailed over drywall. I glanced at Saber’s granite face and started snapping pictures.

  Two slightly warped dark wood doors to the right of the living room were open. One was the bedroom, the other a small bathroom with filthy fixtures. I snapped off more shots of both rooms and gingerly opened the closet door. Not a bad size for a shoebox house, and no band of mutant spiders assaulted me.

  “Now back here is the kitchen. It’s small, of course, but you could expand. And here’s the fabulous porch with the view. Isn’t it perfect?”

  Though the view was marred by salt air-spotted windows, even Saber sucked in a breath at the magnificent expanse of ocean. I got photos of the grungy kitchen, the porch, and then the view.

  “Well, what do you think?” Amanda asked, her bright eyes darting between us but not with uncertainty.

  More like this was a done deal.

  “Is the view the way you remember it, Ms. Marinelli?”

  Remember it? Saber was right. Amanda had been in the sun too long if she thought I’d ever been here, and she’d completely lost her wits if she thought she could sell him on this place.

  “I don’t know what this property is priced at,” Saber said, “but I can’t afford it.”

  The agent tilted her head, a tiny crease forming between her eyes. “But Mr. Saber, you’re preapproved. You can afford to tear this house down and start all over again.”

  “Not and buy even one of these lots. They have to sell for five hundred thousand apiece.”

  “Oh, but the property isn’t for sale, Mr. Saber.”

  He blinked. “If the property isn’t for sale, why the hell did you bring us here?”

  She turned her wide, blue-eyed gaze on me. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

  “Know what? Amanda, is this place for sale, or isn’t it?”

  “That would depend on you, Ms. Marinelli. You see, you already own it.”

  THIRTEEN

  I wanted to stick a finger in my ear and wiggle it, because I must’ve heard wrong.

  “Amanda, what did you just say?”

  “I said you own these three lots and the house. Surely you got the offers to buy the land in the mail. There have been two of them in the last year.”

  I’d received a lot of offers since I’d been unearthed, all right. Offers to buy life, health, and disability insurance, refinance my nonexistent home, and win a cruise if I’d just take a short tour at a new golf course luxury condo community. An offer to buy property I owned?

  I shook my head. “No, Amanda. You must have me confused with someone else.”

  “But I don’t. My boss was the real-estate agent for one of the clients who wanted your property. She ordered an exhaustive title search, and you’re the surviving owner.”

  “Surviving?”

  I must’ve paled, because Saber put an arm around me.

  “Would you like to sit down to hear this?” Amanda glanced around the porch as if she expected a chair to materialize.

  “Just get to the point,” Saber said.

  “Well, this is a bit irregular, but do you know who Jesse Fish was?”

  “The Fish Island guy,” I said, and elaborated for Saber. “When St. Augustine changed hands from the Spanish to the British and back to the Spanish again, Jesse Fish acted as a quasi real estate agent and arbitrated land ownership claims. He also supposedly owned most of Anastasia Island and parts of the downtown area besides.”

  “Not supposedly. He did own the island by virtue of a Spanish land grant conferred in 1795.”

  “Jesse Fish died in 1790,” I said.

  “Really? Well, his son must’ve received the grant.”

  “The point, Amanda?” Saber reminded her.

  She drew a deep breath. “In 1798, a Jesse Fish sold one hundred acres of Anastasia Island to Patrizio Dante Marinelli.”

  My vision blurred, and a buzz chainsawed in my ears.

  Patrizio Marinelli. Papa? I shook my head, hoping it would clear. The buzzing only grew louder.

  Amanda went blithely on. “The title was in Mr. Marinelli’s name as well as yours, with full rights of survivorship.”

  “Do you mean to say that Cesca’s father bought this land for her?”

  Amanda shrugged. “Back then, women didn’t own land.”

  “We understand that, but how could the land still be hers? She was just eighteen. That’s over two hundred years worth of taxes that had to be paid.”

  “And there were land ownership squabbles,” I added faintly. “When Florida became a United States territory, land grants weren’t always honored.”

  “This one was,” Amanda insisted. “The records show Mr. Marinelli paid the taxes until 1802. At that time the land was transferred in perpetual trust to—let me see.”

  Amanda pulled a stenographer’s spiral from her red briefcase while fine tremors ripped my muscles.

  “Ah, here it is. Delphinus and Company first held the land in trust.”

  The tremors spread to my legs, and I locked my knees to stay upright. Triton. As he brought back greater treasures from the sea each time he shape-shifted, Triton had joked about forming Delphinus and Company. He was Delphinus; I was company.

  “Of course,” Amanda continued, “the first business was bought out by another one, and that one absorbed into yet another, and so on, but it was surprisingly easy to trace back. I assure you, the taxes have been paid without fail, and the land is legally yours.”

  My mouth was sand-in-the-summer dry, but I forced myself to speak. “Amanda, are you absolutely sure about this?”

  “I saw the photocopy of the original deed. Or maybe it was a copy of microfiche, but the record is complete right down to the date of purchase. August second of seventeen ninety-eight.”

  My knees wobbled, and my throat constricted. Memories churned like storm waves.

  “Saber,” I choked out.

  That was all I had to say. Bless the man, he told Amanda we’d be in touch, then got me out of that house and into his car before cold tears tracked down my face.

  I think Saber took my icy hands in his. I think he murmured, “Tell me.” I could only stare out the windshield at the ocean and remember.

  Papa and I went sailing, not in his merchant vessel but in a small craft he’d salvaged. The one he used to teach my brothers and me to sail, and the one I took out with Triton when we were sixteen.

  The summer day was fine, and we cut through the sparkling blue Atlantic waters heading south, with Anastasia Island to starboard. I finished tying off the lines and went to stand beside Papa at the wheel.

  “Why do you not marry, my girl?”

  I braced myself for the kind of scold Mama gave me. It did not come.

  “Figlia piccola.”

  Little daughter, he called me, so he must not be too angry.

  “Are you too much in love with Triton to choose another?”

  I was, but I denied it.

  “Does marriage hold fear then? Has a man tried to hurt you?”

  Oh, my, but I blushed that il mio papa would ask me such a thing! He told me not to be missish, and demanded the truth.

  I would not have a man I could have no respect or affection for, I told him. Instead, I should stay home and care for my parents. Papa laughed at that and warned me not to let mama hear me say it. She did not want an old maid of a daughter.

  Papa was quiet a long time. A while later, we spotted the bow and tall mast of a wrecked ship on the beach, the mast jutting toward the sky at a drunken angle. Papa shook his head and muttered a prayer.

  Sometimes a man does not reach safe port, he said. A father must secure the future of his daughters while he may, even a willful, independent one that refused to marry.

  He smiled at me, his gentle, teasin
g smile. Then he pinched my chin and told me to look sharp. We sailed home speaking of nothing more than the coming rough weather he felt in his bones.

  I blinked away the past to find Saber watching me steadily, his cobalt eyes filled with compassion.

  “Your father bought the land to insure your future,” he said, his voice soothing. “Your dowry.”

  I nodded and wiped tears from my cheeks with trembling fingers. “Papa could have sold it back to Mr. Fish after I was caught by the vampires. Or sold it before he moved the family from St. Augustine. Papa must have still loved me, even when Mama cursed my name.”

  “He also trusted Triton to keep the land for you. Delphinus means dolphin. That is Triton, isn’t it?”

  I sniffed, fumbled for the tissue Saber held out to me, and blew my nose. “Yes, and I’m going to kill that man if he ever shows his face. Slowly and painfully kill him.”

  Saber chuckled. “That’s the spirit. Ready to go home?”

  I blinked away the last of my tears and nodded, but I knew we’d have to discuss the land issue later. Not to mention Triton’s role in it. For now, I was happy for the reprieve.

  Saber watched the news while I changed into my Minorcan costume for the ghost tour. Yes, I know a few days ago I’d decided the costume was too hot to wear in the summer. That was then. Today, raw emotions and melancholy had left me chilled.

  Saber asked if I wanted to take the night off—from tour guiding and from the flying session. I agreed to let him cancel the flight lesson, but insisted on doing my tour. I loved my job, and I even loved the ghosts along the route.

  I didn’t love seeing my Covenant stalker, Victor Gorman, waiting at the tour substation by the waterwheel. Nor was I wild about spotting my personal paranormal investigator, Kevin Miller, either. The creep and the geek.

  I so wasn’t in the mood for any more drama today.

  “Vampire,” Gorman roared as I drew near.

  He was loud enough to drive the dead into hiding, never mind snagging the attention of my ghost walk patrons and anyone else within earshot.

  “What’s this crap about that loony tunes blood-suckin’ buddy a yours bein’ a comic?”

  “You mean Jo-Jo?” I asked, oh so calmly.

  “I don’t care about his name. What the hell is he gonna be doin’ in Daytona? My connections tell me there’s advertisin’ up all over town.”

  “If you know about the ads, then you know he’s doing a show at Hot Blooded. Saturday, for one night only,” I said a little louder for the sake of our listening audience. “Then he’ll be playing Vegas and Los Angeles.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am. He’s already been signed by a high-powered Hollywood talent agent.”

  Gorman snorted. “Yeah? Who?”

  “Me.”

  I spun to find Vince Atlas eyeing Gorman as if he were diseased. I hadn’t seen Vince in the crowd, but his timing was perfect.

  “Jo-Jo is going to be a household name,” Vince said, turning on the showmanship. “If you want to see him for a reasonable price, catch him at Hot Blooded.”

  “I don’t want to see a vampire comic. That’s just stupid.”

  “Stupid is as stupid does.” Vince flashed a grin and turned to me. “Princess Ci, please come meet my wife.”

  “It’s Cesca, Vince.”

  “Cesca, then. I’ve told Jessica all about you and your nice young man. And my new rising star Jo-Jo, of course.”

  “Wait a minute,” Gorman snarled. “I ain’t done.”

  “Done doing what?” I asked.

  The way Gorman was grinding his teeth, he’d be gumming pudding by next week.

  “I’m warnin’ you. The Covenant ain’t standin’ for this.”

  “Gorman, Jo-Jo’s leaving town to go on tour, and things will get back to normal. I thought you’d be happy.”

  “Well, yeah, but what about them others? We don’t want our town overrun by a bunch of—”

  “Evil pervert bloodsuckers, I know. Believe what you want, but there is no plot to make St. Augustine the vampire capital of the world.”

  “Besides,” Kevin said as he bopped up to poke an EMF meter at my bodice, “Ms. Marinelli already told you she can’t control where vampires live.”

  “Kevin,” I warned, “do not shove that thing at me.”

  “I just need to get tonight’s baseline reading, and then I need to show you the piece of video I got last night.”

  “Not right now, please.” I turned to Vince. “I’d love to meet your wife, but I must get the tour started. Maybe we can chat after I finish?”

  He nodded. “If not tonight, we can share a table for Jo-Jo’s performance tomorrow.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” I said, and faced Gorman as Vince walked away.

  “Listen, I’ve been civil to you, but you’re violating the restraining order, and we both know it. You’ve said your piece, so I suggest you go now. And Kevin,” I continued without giving Gorman a chance to respond, “I’ll see your video later.”

  With that, I retrieved my lantern and stepped into the crowd.

  “Welcome to Old Coast Ghost Tours, everyone. I’ll collect your tickets as we begin our tour by passing through the city gates.”

  That galvanized the group. They surged toward me to hand over their tickets, and the tour was on.

  The evening was a huge success, partly because Gorman had taken the hint and left. Mostly because the ghosts came out to play. After multiple sightings at the Huguenot Cemetery, I herded my group to the Tolomato Cemetery. There the Bridal Ghost made herself visible, and at least five light orbs zipped and dipped to the ooohs and aaahs of the crowd. My group felt cold spots all over the old town, and some tourists reported being touched on the shoulder or arm, yet no one became distraught by the phenomenon.

  Kevin didn’t get in anyone’s way, thanks to two cute, curvy brunettes who latched on to him. I heard them introduce themselves as Leah and Caro, and within fifteen minutes, Kevin was allowing them to help take temperature readings and shoot video.

  After the tour, I met Vince’s wife, Jessica. Petite and auburn-haired, I liked her immediately, but the three of us only spoke long enough for me to give Vince Donita’s name, and to arrange for me to take Jo-Jo to Ike’s club. Vince and Jessica would get to the club early enough to talk to Donita for a few minutes, and would save a table for four.

  Leah and Caro still monopolized Kevin so completely, I thought for sure I’d be able to slip quietly home. He caught me as I put the lantern away.

  “Ms. Marinelli, I really need you to see this. I’ve never captured anything quite like it, and I need to know if it means something to you. Please?”

  Since the girls flanked him, I figured I could be quick. “Okay, let’s see what you have.”

  Kevin opened the lid of a portable DVD player, and clicked Play. Sharp images showed me in my Regency gown on last night’s tour. The shots all seemed to have been taken in the plaza, and I didn’t see anything unusual until a white outline appeared behind my left shoulder as I gestured toward the cathedral in the background. The figure had a distinct head and torso but no facial features. A minute later, the white figure had gone, and a dark, amorphous shadow hovered over my right shoulder.

  Prickles stabbed the back of my neck where my hair rose as I watched the shadow press toward me, the edges of the image curling almost as if it were embracing me. Suddenly, the dark mass fractured and faded.

  Kevin kept the video running and both images showed up two more times as I moved the group to another landmark in the plaza, and then to the Spanish Military Hospital. The only difference was that when they appeared again, the black figure hovered longer than the white one.

  “What do you make of that?” Kevin asked. “Are they ghosts you recognize?”

  I fought a shiver because I didn’t want Kevin to think me a wimp. “They’re energies or entities, but they aren’t true ghosts or any spirit I recognize. I never felt them last
night.”

  “I think,” Caro volunteered, “they’re, like, ghostly versions of those cartoon angels and devils. One on each shoulder.”

  “The dark one seems to be what we call a shadow man,” Kevin said. “They’re not generally harmful, but no one knows why they show up as dark instead of light.”

  “What about the white form? Is that an angel?” Leah asked.

  Kevin shrugged. “Who knows? I took more video of Ms. Marinelli tonight, so I’ll see if they show up again.” He closed the lid and snapped it shut. “When is your next tour?”

  “Sunday,” I answered before I thought to lie.

  “Good. I’ll be here.”

  “And we’ll come back to help you,” Caro said, tucking a hand into Kevin’s arm.

  Leah nodded and claimed Kevin’s other side. “Right. That is, if it’s okay with you, Kevvy.”

  Kevvy?

  Okay, I was outta there. Even a down and dirty talk with Saber about Triton and the land trust beat listening to that syrup.

  The main drag of San Marco Avenue was light on traffic. I was halfway home but dawdled at a lit shop window to look at a display of blown glass bowls. I don’t know what made me turn, but Pandora, in her huge house cat form, came out of nowhere at a dead run and threw herself on my chest.

  I staggered back, heard a thwit, and then the sound of shattering glass. A beat later, an alarm went off.

  Behind the building, Pandora said in my head.

  When I didn’t move immediately, she nipped me.

  Run.

  I stumbled once, then used vamp speed. When I reached the back of the building, I stopped, pressed my back into the nubby surface of a brick wall, and wondered what the hell was happening. Another sniper? The sound I’d heard was different from the gunshots of the other night, but I was no expert. I was the only person I knew who didn’t own a gun.

  The first police sirens wailed as Pandora trotted around the corner of the building.

  Follow me, she commanded and headed behind another building to come out on a street behind San Marco.