The Falstaff Vampire Files

by Lynne Murray

  Chapter 49

  Kristin Marlowe’s typed notes

  August 20th continued

  I sat with Bram and the body of my friend for a few minutes, too much in shock to speak.

  Both of us jumped to hear a scrabbling sound, and a huge, shaggy, black cat came out from under the bed. “Hi, Hamlet,” I said softly. “He must have been hiding there the whole time.”

  Hamlet stared at me wildly and headed for the door, one slow paw at a time, belly low to the carpet. Once he got to the door he turned to stare at Vi. He didn’t move closer. He stayed for a moment sniffing the air, then stretched his neck out, hissed at Vi, and slipped out the door. Then Ariel and Sly scrambled out of hiding in the closet and bolted quickly out the door behind him. The feral mother and daughter stayed hidden.

  “Oh, God,” I said. “That would have broken her heart.”

  Bram nodded.

  I looked down to see I was still clutching the pad of paper where I had written the number on Sir John’s medallion. My arms and legs felt like lead as I dialed the phone.

  A calm voice answered, “SFUFO?”

  UFO? “I beg your pardon?”

  The woman’s voice grew cautious. “What number did you call?”

  I read it back to her. “Sir John told me to call this number.”

  “Our Sir John Falstaff? That’s a very high recommendation. You’ve reached the San Francisco Undead Fraternal Organization. What is your emergency?”

  I took a deep breath. “Sir John was here—My friend, uh—just died.”

  I didn’t seem to be making much sense, but she said, “I understand. You are not one of us, are you?”

  “Um, no, but I think my friend will be.”

  “Sir John trusted you with this, so we’ll send a team right over. Give me your address.”

  Fifteen minutes later the doorbell rang. Bram looked and told me a San Francisco Police squad car and a large van with “Coroner’s Office” on the side had parked in front of the house. “That can’t be an official vehicle,” Bram said.

  “At this point, I’m not so sure we want an official vehicle. We need help.”

  Bram opened the door and the uniformed policeman and two attendants in black stood awkwardly on the threshold. “You are the one who called our organization?”

  “I did,” I said.

  “We need to come in to help you, but you must invite the three of us and make it specific to us, no one else.”

  For a minute my mind went blank, but Bram squeezed my shoulder and said, “Officer, you and these two gentlemen may come in.”

  They filed past us carrying a folded up gurney and we led them back to where Vi’s body lay. One of the attendants examined Vi, noting the bite mark and opening her mouth to check for something—fangs?

  “If you have some ID for her,” the policeman said, “we’ll take care of the official paperwork.” I noticed that he was very pale and unnaturally still. “The Organization will take care of everything according to her instructions.”

  “How will you know her instructions?” Bram asked.

  The policeman turned to him. “We’ll ask her in three days time, when she rises.” He smiled with fangs visible. “Did she mention anything she wanted taken care of?”

  “The cats. I’ll be taking care of the cats.”

  He smiled, this time with less fang. “That’s good of you.”

  “She asked not to be cremated.”

  The two attendants stopped in the midst of moving Vi’s body onto their gurney, and stared at me in horror.

  “Of course not,” the policeman said with a shudder. “Our representative will be in touch about arrangements. The best thing would be to wait before making any announcements to any friends and family until we find out how she wants to deal with her new status. If something goes wrong and she doesn’t rise we will bring you official paperwork and a local mortuary we deal with will be in touch. Can you wait three days?”

  “I guess.”

  “Your friend trusts you or we wouldn’t be here. The transition is never easy, but it helps a new vampire to have a support system of loyal daylight friends. If you need more information, call the same number tomorrow after dark. We don’t work after dawn.”

  It wasn’t until after they wheeled the gurney with Vi’s body on it out the door that I sat on the sofa and began to cry. Bram hugged me.

  “Do you want me to call Larry?”

  “They said not to tell anyone.”

  “I have to go back to Arizona tomorrow, and I’m worried about you without someone to call on. I wonder if we can tell Larry without going into any details. Did he know Vi or any of her friends?”

  “No, he knows my psychology friends, not Vi’s friends.”

  “Larry is the most discreet person I know. We could ask him not to talk to anyone about it.”

  Larry came right over. Bram sketched out a sudden death scenario that did not include vampires. I was dazed, but relieved not to have to try to explain it.

  “She was dead by the time the medics got here.” I said.

  “It must have been a stroke. I only met her once or twice, but she seemed so energetic. You just never know.” Larry offered his place if I needed to get away.

  “Or if you want me to stay and sleep on the sofa—you might not want to be alone,” Bram said.

  I met Bram’s eyes. His offer startled me. “Thank you. Both of you, I appreciate it, but I’m going to sleep now.”

  When they did go Larry hugged me, and when he realized that Bram was hugging me for longer than usual, he discreetly stepped out into the hall to give us a moment. “Thank you for explaining things to Larry,” I whispered.

  “I can’t think of any rational way to explain what we saw. I only hope we don’t regret it.”

  “Me too. Do you think it was illegal?”

  Bram looked at me seriously. “Some things are so far from anything we call reality that it’s hard to fit them in that category. If you accept what we’ve seen in the past week or so, we’re going to have to rethink a lot of things. But not tonight.”

  “I hope you won’t get into trouble. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for helping us.”

  “The kissing was nice. Maybe we can try that again soon.”

  I sighed. “Next time without vampire feeding going on in the corner of the room.”

  “I have to wind up some things in Arizona tomorrow and get my car. I’ll drive back. I need to be here with you for awhile.” He gave me a significant look, and I took his hand and found myself kissing that quirky mouth again.

  “I’ll be back next weekend,” he murmured into my neck. “Let me know what happens with Vi, and call anytime if you need anything.” We hugged goodbye as if there were some doubts we would ever see each other again.

  Chapter 50

  Kristin Marlowe’s typed notes

  August 21st

  I woke up near dawn, still on Vi’s sofa, surrounded by cats. The little tuxedo cat, Ariel, draped over the arm of the sofa just above my head while the orange tabby, Sly, lounged on the back of the sofa. Hamlet had curled around my knees like a shaggy black blanket, snoring softly. I got up and put out the backyard buffet for the ferals, and then came in to feed Vi’s cats. They watched me go back to the cottage. Their world had changed too, and that made me even sadder.

  I reached the cottage just before sunrise. The minute I closed the door the phone rang. A resonant male voice said, “Ms. Marlowe, this is Edgar Morford of the law firm of Morford & Bates. We’ll be looking after the Semmelweis estate.”

  “Okay.” I suddenly wanted a cup of coffee very badly.

  “I’d like to make an appointment for you to come in and take care of the some details on Sunday—say around 9:00 p.m.”

  “You work on Sundays?” I said, feeling stupid.

  “We work after dark. That’s our only restriction. We will need a little time after sunset to talk to Ms. Semmelweis before we’ll be ready for you.”

&nb
sp; “Of course. When will I be able to see her?”

  “As soon as we’ve had a chance to explain her situation.”

  “Mr. Morford, the people I talked to at the number Sir John gave us—the, uh, SFUFO—told us not to tell anyone, but what about official notices and so on?”

  “That is always a delicate matter. Some among undead society prefer to maintain a legal claim on life for economic purposes. With the right documentation we can inherit our own estates over and over again. We undead don’t age beyond the day we died, so for security reasons we have to reinvent ourselves every three or four decades. Some prefer to make a clean break and start fresh. We won’t know what Vi chooses until we’ve had a chance to interview her. Then we’ll provide you with the appropriate documentation.”

  “Okay. But I’ll have to let a few friends know where I’m going.”

  Morford chuckled. “Most prudent, but have no fear for your safety. I’ll send a car for you.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

  “I insist. Our offices are well concealed. You’d never find us on your own. I must go, the sun is rising.”

  “Fine. I have to rest now too.” But he had already hung up.

  Larry dropped by a little later in the day with a shopping bag full of food.

  “It’s traditional, Kris,” Larry said as he unpacked the bag. “You won’t feel like cooking, but you need to eat. Bram took off for Arizona, but he made me promise to look in on you. Are there any relatives coming in? Any funeral planned?”

  “I’m going to go through her phone book in the next day or so, but Larry, could you not mention this until I see what’s going on with her relatives? Her lawyer called today and I’m going to see him Friday. It might be touchy.”

  Larry nodded. “I’ll do whatever you need, just give me a call. I didn’t know Vi well, but she was a great lady. Do you have someone coming over to help out?”

  I hated to admit how few friends I did have—none at all who would understand this. After Mark died, the friends we saw as a couple drifted away. In recent years I had settled into a routine with Hal as my lover, Vi and Larry as my closest friends. Hal was gone. Vi might be back, but that was not comforting. “I’ll be fine.” The word “desolate” popped up in my mind to replace “fine.”

  My thoughts must have showed on my face. Larry gave me a big hug, “Give yourself some space to grieve, but call me any time you need to talk or just someone to sit with. I could tell Bram was worried about you—I think he likes you, as we used to say in junior high.” He winked.

  “He’s a wonderful person.”

  Larry volunteered to see some of my clients, and I didn’t realize till he said it how much of a relief that was. I was in no condition to listen attentively to someone else’s problems. After they left, I thought about how my friendship with Larry had lasted over several years—and in each of our cases several boyfriends.

  I had met Larry at a retreat for Jungian therapists. Just the sort of thing I would normally avoid. My resistance was so low for the year after Mark died that I made it a point to stay upwind of any kind of salesmen or conference organizer. The few times I encountered one they instantly honed in on me like wolves attacking the weakest in the herd.

  Larry had presented himself with his deceptively quiet face and ironic tone, brimming with more positive energy than I had seen in years. “My name is Larry Segovia, and yes, I come here often. Practically every bloody weekend as a matter of fact, and it has made a wasteland of what was once a modest social life. You might as well get used to me. You can tell me about yourself now.”

  I was so shaky and Larry radiated such warmth and kindness under his arch tones that I blurted out that my husband had just died. Larry said, “Oh, poor baby!” And without an instant’s hesitation put his arms around me and comforted me with a hug. I hadn’t realized till that moment how much I needed to be hugged. We became friends over the weekend. Our friendship deepened over the years.

  And now I was lying to him about Vi’s death.

  The usual way to deal with death is to gather your loved ones around you, share memories of the person who had died, and keep busy making funeral and memorial service arrangements. I felt a flash of anger at Vi for embracing all things vampire and putting me in this situation. That was followed by a wave of guilt. If I hadn’t led Sir John to her doorstep, Vi would still be alive.

  I had some idea how to deal with death and no idea at all how to deal with a vampire best friend. Who was to say that the vampire life was better than no life at all? Until a week ago I wouldn’t have said it was even possible.

  A moist velvet nose nudged my hand on the chair’s arm. Ariel, the little black tuxedo cat, had hopped up onto the table next to a long-cold tea mug, landing so softly that I hadn’t known he was there. He stepped over to balance on the chair arm and looked at me with his intense green-eyed stare. He had a white chin, neck and chest that really did look like formal evening wear, and long white whiskers. I reached out and petted him, and he moved forward to my lap, curled up and began to purr. Soothing.

  Sly emerged from his hiding place as well and moved onto the other arm of the chair. He started purring when I petted him. I relaxed a little more. A few minutes later Hamlet emerged from hiding under the chair I had been sitting in and stretched out on the floor, like a miniature black bear rug resting his head on my foot.

  These particular friends weren’t much on conversation, but they provided an unexpected amount of comfort as they settled in to wait with me through the next few days.

  Chapter 51

  Kristin Marlowe’s typed notes

  August 23rd

  For three days I put down enough food for five cats, but I didn’t see the two female ferals Vi had dubbed “the furry princesses.” They must have waited to eat until I left the room. Ariel, Sly and Hamlet had no such scruples. They claimed me as their honorary can opener and litter box emptier, and clustered around me at every opportunity. Petting the cats soothed me better than any therapy I could imagine. When they purred I felt better, and they wouldn’t brand me as delusional or give away Vi’s secret.

  I didn’t realize that I was starved for human contact until I found myself replying to an email from a man who answered my online personal ad. The thought of Bram’s kisses and his hands on me drove away any interest in online flirtation. I replied to Mister-Latte that there had been a death in the family and a lot of personal complications, so I was not available.

  He didn’t seem discouraged, and replied that I should feel free to email anytime. I recalled that his reply to the question about marital status had been odd. I looked again. He had written, “It’s complicated.” Oh. Probably married, but who cared? It only made me feel better about deleting his emails. As I did so I realized I hadn’t thought of Hal in days.

  Chapter 52

  Kristin Marlowe’s typed notes

  August 23rd

  A black Mercedes sedan car arrived at the appointed hour with two men in the front seat. The driver was white—deathly pale, in fact, while the man in the front passenger seat was ebony black with a detached air. He came up Vi’s front steps to ring the bell. “We’ll take you to Mr. Morford’s office,” he said, and turned slightly to beckon me down to the car.

  “Just a minute.” I took a photo of both men and the car’s license plate and emailed it to myself and Bram—captioned will call later, or use this info. “Just so you know that there’s an official record of this ride.”

  Neither man replied or even acknowledged that I had spoken. The black man held the back door open. After I was seated he returned to the front passenger seat. They said no more until we reached our destination. I looked at the backs of their heads and hoped I wasn’t going into a dangerous situation.

  At Forest Hill Station the black man opened the door for me to get out, closed the door and nodded to the driver, who drove away. My escort led the way through the early evening Muni passengers down the funky steps to the train platfo
rm. He went to an obscure door I hadn’t noticed and tapped in a code on a keypad. The door opened. He led me along a concrete-floored tunnel leading down. We seemed to be well below the level of the trains when the corridor leveled off. He opened another door that didn’t seem to be locked, and surprisingly we walked into a marble-floored hallway that looked like a conventional old-fashioned office building, a hallway of wooden doors with frosted glass panels. One door read Morford & Bates.

  The outer office contained only five straight chairs lined up against the wall opposite two more doors. A tall, thin man with black hair and eyes came out of one of the doors. He was dressed in an old-fashioned black suit.

  “I’m Edgar Morford, and you must be Kristin Marlowe.” He gave me a very cold hand to shake and nodded to my escort, who sat down on one of the chairs against the wall. Morford ushered me into the inner office and gestured to a chair across from a desk that looked as if it were made from solid ebony.

  He leaned back in his chair and looked me over for a few seconds. “First of all, you’ll be happy to hear that Violet Semmelweis did rise as we had hoped, at dusk this evening.”

  “She’s alive?”

  “She is undead.”

  “Can I see her? Where is she?”

  “You’ll see her very soon. She assured us that you could be trusted to help her. What we are about to discuss must remain confidential—for Violet’s protection, and your own.”

  “She’s my closest friend—of course I want to help. But I’d like to talk to her.” Preferably away from Edgar, who did not inspire trust.

  “One thing at a time, please.”

  “I saw her die, and those strange men came and took her.”

  “That was the beginning of the process Sir John set in motion. She’s ready to make decisions about how to handle her . . . new existence.”

  “She’s—one of them.”

  “One of us. Yes.”

  “But she always bitched about how fictional vampires are all young and built like strippers.”