by Aubrey Rose
He regretted it immediately—as soon as he'd seen the hurt in her eyes. And just as immediately, the hurt he'd seen had been covered up by a hard shell of sarcasm, and she'd snapped right back at him. If it was any other girl, he would have forgotten her the second she left the room, if not before. But this one had thrown his words back at him, hadn't let him run all over her like the fawning women who would lick his shoes if he asked them to. That was why he'd been shaken by her—he simply wasn't used to having women stand up for themselves.
And, too, yes, there was a similarity that he could not dismiss. For when he had looked up from the poem, tears blurring his eyes, he had thought for an instant that it had been Eliza standing there in front of him.
A mere coincidence. He shook it off and headed downstairs where the library director was running around frantically as guests from the university sat down in their folding chairs. He looked around for the girl he'd berated, but she was nowhere to be seen. He felt oddly disappointed. For a moment, he'd hoped that she would see him on stage and he could get a second chance to make a good impression.
As he stepped up behind the podium and cleared his throat, he scanned the crowd again for the beautiful American girl with the dark hair and green eyes. Nothing. He fixed his eyes onto the second row of the audience and launched into his set speech.
"Welcome. I hope you're not tired of naming buildings after me yet," Robb said, to the chuckles of the crowd. "The new Chatham library wing is a dream that has been in the making for years now..."
He rambled on, listing names of important university figures by heart and thanking everyone from the architect to the architect's sister-in-law's pet poodle for being 'an integral part of the building process.' By the time he had finished, his mouth ached from smiling, and he waved to polite applause. He'd done his job, and Gerry would be pleased that he had pulled off a building dedication without any drunken vomiting and with his pants still fully on.
"How responsible of me," Robb murmured, walking down the stairs as the crowd applauded him.
His thoughts went straight from there to the irresponsible, and while he mingled with the mob of important personages, his eyes were constantly searching for the girl with the green eyes. For whatever stupid reason, he couldn't get her out of his mind. He thought of calling in a favor and going to check the student photo register list, but then decided against it. If he was going to be irresponsible, he might as well be irresponsible with a girl whom he hadn't blatantly insulted. Even if she did look like Eliza.
Casually un-mingling himself from a group of donors, Robb pulled out his phone and checked through the rest of his agenda for the day. He had the chemistry lab check-in this afternoon, but before that he would have lunch with Thaddeus.
The air went cold, but Robb knew that the chill was all in his mind. He did not want to see the old vampire.
"Dr. Chatham." The voice was shrill, and Robb winced as he turned to see the frazzled librarian, now beaming, thrusting a book at his chest. "Would you sign your book? For my daughter?"
Robb clenched his fingers around the pen that she held out to him. His eyes fluttered up to the aisles as he put the pen to the page, hoping to see her. Eliza. Why not admit it? As beautiful as the girl was, he was hoping for another glance at the ghost of someone he'd left behind long ago. Her ghost made corporeal.
"Her name?" he asked.
"Betty. She wants to be a writer. When she's old enough, she'll be able to appreciate the advice you give in this book, I'm sure!"
Robb didn't know what the advice was that he'd given—his ghostwriter had penned the entire thing—but he signed the book anyway, the same way he always did. Betty, follow your dreams. He closed the cover before handing it back.
"Thank you so much. It means so much to me." The librarian's words were faint in Robb's ears as he walked off the stage and out the front doors of the library. He looked down the street and his breath caught in his throat. A little girl, a little girl with long dark hair, standing ten meters directly in front of him, staring with brilliant green eyes that took him back to a past he'd long since tried to forget.
The ring of his phone startled him, and he jumped, clutching at his pocket before raising his eyes to see that the girl, whoever she had been, was gone. Robb turned to scan the street and both sidewalks, but he didn't see anyone, at least neither version of his Eliza.
His car was parked where he'd left it, and he drove it off the sidewalk, the tires squealing as they hit the asphalt.
Thad was already waiting for him at the corner pub out in the exurbs of London they'd agreed to meet in. Thaddeus had a shock of gray hair on his head.
"Thaddeus. You're looking old," Robb said. It wasn't only the gray hair. The other man's lips were cracked, his skin tight and pale. He hadn't fed in a while, Robb guessed.
"Robb. Nice to see you're just as charming as usual."
"I save my charms for the ladies."
"So I've read." Thad held up the front page of the local tabloid and Robb squinted at the text. "Robb Chatham with a New Sweetheart...or TWO?" Under the screaming headline was a picture of him with two blonde beauties on his arm at a charity event. "You certainly haven't been keeping a low profile."
"That's a new accent, isn't it?" Robb asked, easing himself into the chair across from Thad. "American?"
"Who knows. I've been overseas for a while now." Thad snapped his fingers for the waitress, who came over with another pint to replace his empty glass.
America had never been Robb's favorite country. Everybody was too friendly, too personal. They invited themselves over into your life and didn't take no for an answer. It was very intrusive, and Robb had been happy to get back to London. At least in England all of the multi-millionaires were politely distant from each other.
He noticed Thad's arm hair was gray, too. Older than he'd ever let it get.
"You ought to move soon," Thad said. "I have an extra identity. You know, if you need it."
"Thanks, I don't think I will."
"You think you can't get hurt?" Thad's voice hissed like a serpent. There it was. Always hidden until the slightest pinprick sent him into a posturing stance.
"I'll let you creep around in the shadows." Robb leaned back in his chair. "I keep all of my secrets hidden in plain sight. That way nobody cares."
"Nobody cares about the girls you kill?"
"I don't kill them," Robb said, leaning over the table, his lips pressed firmly together.
"That's your first mistake," Thad said. "Leaving witnesses."
"They don't remember and they wouldn't notice if they did."
"They won't notice the marks?"
"You know how I do it," Robb said, waving Thad's concerns away. "Always from the back, and I don't take much. Barely a sip from each one. Heal them after, and you're good to move on to the next."
"Is that why you have so many girls?"
"No." The waitress came back with a caprese appetizer and martinis for both of them. Robb drank his in one swallow. Heat radiated into his face almost instantly, then began to fade. "I have so many girls because if I go on a second date, they always expect me to propose. "
Thad laughed. "None worth proposing to?"
Robb smiled wanly. "None yet."
"Still pining away for that little gypsy wench?"
Robb seethed in his chair. He was using all of his willpower to keep himself from leaning over and punching Thaddeus in his smug face. For all of his friendliness, Thad could be the most callous idiot. But Robb waved away the question, trying to keep his face serene.
"I'm not looking for a wife, Thad. And neither are you, from what I remember."
"What have you been up to? I haven't seen you in what, a decade now?"
"I'm taking over the university's chemistry lab here."
"Chemistry? You're not trying to—"
"I'm close, Thad. Closer than I've ever been. The curse that hangs over both our heads might be lifted.”
"That's what you s
aid back in 1940."
"Have you been paying any attention to the news?" Robb asked derisively. "I mean besides tracking my personal exploits? Science has come a long way, you know."
"You're the brilliant one, not me. I'm damn well near illiterate," Thad said, smirking. "But don't you have a lab of your own? Why do you need the university?"
"Turns out they don't let just anyone buy a particle accelerator."
"Ah, that's a damned shame, isn't it?" Thad popped a slice of tomato into his mouth and bit down.
"I know, right? It's like they don't trust me with anything."
"The bastards."
Robb laughed. Despite everything, he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed Thad's company. It was a shame, really, that he was such a terrible monster. As if on cue, Thad's eyes narrowed into slits as he leaned forward.
"Robb, hey. Listen. I asked to meet because I need your help."
"Oh? What else is new?"
"I need another set of identity papers."
"How do you go through these so quickly? I've been Robert Chatham for going on a hundred years now."
"That's not fair. You've been Robert Chatham I, II, and III now. That counts as three."
"Still. Who wants to kill you now?"
The look on Thaddeus' face told Robb that he didn't want to know the answer to that question.
"Alright. I'll talk to my guy."
"I need them by the end of this week." Thaddeus's lips cracked as he pressed them together. Robb couldn't look away.
"I said I'll talk to my guy."
"And we need to fake my death. Could you..."
"What? What is this we? No. Thad, no. "
"Robb, come on." Thad tilted his head, wheedling.
"You can't just waltz in here and expect me to drop it all for you. This is my life. I'm established here."
"I'm not asking you to drop everything."
"I have things going on this week."
"What things?"
"Things." Robb flung his hands up over his head. "Things that are not helping you fake your death."
"Oh, really?"
"Really. My schedule is packed."
"Then unpack it. After all I've done for you..."
"Thad—"
"Robb. Here's the deal. All my cards on the table, okay? This is, like, life or death here. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't desperate."
Robb believed him. The look in Thad's eyes was one of terror. Robb didn't know what could scare a half-century old vampire, and he didn't want to know.
"Fine," he said.
"Thank you."
"But you're gone after that."
"Gone. Sure. Thank you." Thad pressed his spotted hands together and smiled, the effort causing his mouth to stretch into a position that was more grimace than grin.
Robb searched through his mind. It had been a while since he'd had to fake a death. He'd have to get in touch with Doctor Vasin.
"Here." Thad pushed over a slip of paper. On it was written an address.
"That's the place I want to do it."
"This is outside London?" The address looked like another crummy exurb.
"Just outside of the city, there's a shitty fish and chips pub. We can do it in the forest just beyond that." Thad's eyes flashed with anxiety under wrinkled lids. "I'll rent a car. We can make it look like an accident, like I was drunk."
"Sure," Robb said.
"As soon as possible."
"Sure," Robb said.
Thad gripped his arm tightly. His strength was still there, though not at full power. He was an old vampire, older than Robb, and although he looked like shit, he hadn't weakened too badly. Hell, he might even beat Robb in a fight, if it came down to it. They'd sparred before, and Thad had always come out on top. The old man leaned forward across the table.
"This is important," he said. "I need to lose this identity, and it needs to be good. Believable."
"Of course," Robb said. "You act like I've never done this before."
"I want them to stop chasing me," Thad said.
"They will. Let me contact the doctor I know. Your body will be in the morgue by this weekend." Robb took the flask out of his pocket and took a swig. Normally he didn't need the alcohol unless he was tempted to feed, but now he used it to blunt his temptation to wring Thad's old neck.
"You're the best, Robb. That's why I'm asking you."
"You're asking me because nobody else will help you," Robb said. And there was good reason for that.
If he didn't owe Thad his life, Robb wouldn't be
helping him, either.
CHAPTER FOUR
Those dark eyes. Liz could not get them out of her mind as she washed the remaining glassware in the lab sink. She slid her hand over the curve of the beaker, imagining her hand on his muscled chest in the shower. Too bad he’d been so arrogant. Such a turnoff.
"I owe you a million for that aspirin," Jenny said, chattering on in the background as she swept the lab. She'd arrived an hour ago, and hadn't stopped talking about her night of partying since.
"Sorry for barging in without knocking. I didn't know you were bringing that guy home," Liz said. She thought about the small apartment, and for a moment imagined herself in bed with the man from the library, how he would hold her and make love to her.
The details were hazy at best. Four years of college, and the farthest she'd gone was second base with a fellow chem major. It wasn't that Liz had impossibly high standards, but she always felt too old for the boys in college and too young for the men out of college. Or maybe she just wanted to think that so that she wouldn't lose focus on her academic work. After too many failed attempts at relationships, though, her curiosity about sex had ramped up to a high pitch. She was getting to the point where it was weird to be a virgin.
"Eh, no big deal. He was cute, but not that smart. You know. Good for a roll and that's about it. I've got another date with Tom tonight anyway."
"I thought you said that wasn't going anywhere." Liz tried to keep track of the boys Jenny was dating, but every day brought a new name, or so it seemed.
"It's the journey that counts, not the destination." Jenny winked. "I know you're in a rush to get to the destination, though, going straight to this program. Not taking any time off before grad school sounds miserable to me."
"I was offered a year's leave before coming to London," Liz said. "But I like learning. I didn't want to wait."
"What a shame. You could have flown around the world having a time of it and banging international hotties," Jenny said.
Liz shook her head.
"I couldn't do that."
"Do what?"
"Date around as much as you do." Immediately Liz regretted her choice of words. "I'm not saying, you know, I don't mean it like that."
"What, like I'm a slut?"
"No!"
Jenny giggled and kicked Liz's lab stool.
"Just kidding, you prude."
"I'm not a prude!" Liz didn't think she was, anyway. A virgin, yes. A prude? Not really. "I just don't date more than one guy at a time."
"How do you manage to keep interested in a single guy?" Jenny asked, only half-joking. "I'd get bored."
"Well," Liz said. "It's just that when I like a guy... I don't know, there's nobody else in the world that exists. I don't think I could just date a bunch of guys at once." She could barely date one guy at a time. It was way too overwhelming.
"Don't knock it till you try it," Jenny said. "But maybe you're right."
"I don't know. Argh!" Liz threw down the wire brush. "This damn flask won't clean out!"
"Is it the wax precipitate?"
"Yeah." The glass inside the flask was cloudy with residue from the one test run Liz had performed that morning. Just her luck.
"That bloody titration reaction always leaves it dirty," Jenny said. "Use a beaker next time, not an Erlenmeyer flask. Easier to clean."
"Thanks for telling me now."
"Did you try rinsing it out with d
istilled isopropanol?"
"Yes."
"How about hydrofluoric acid?"
"Tried that." Liz had wasted a whole bottle of the stuff trying to clean out the flask.
"Hot soap and water?"
"And elbow grease?" Liz rolled her eyes but picked the wire brush back up. "I'll give it another go. As long as you don't drag me along to pick up guys again at that pub."
"I thought you American girls were supposed to be more adventurous. You know, freedom loving. Independent."
"I'm as independent as you can get. I don't have any boyfriends at all!"
Jenny laughed, but Liz thought for a moment about what had made her so reluctant to flirt the night before.
"Maybe it's the accents," she said.
"Accents? You don't like British accents?" Jenny pouted.
"No, I do. I love them! That's the thing!"
"What's the thing?"
"Having an accent like that always make guys seem so elegant. I can never tell whether or not a guy is being a creep. They all sound like English lords. It weirds me out."
