Tall, Dark & Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  I smiled. “Take care,” I said, as she got in the car. On impulse I added, “I love you.”

  She paused to shoot me an I’m-worried-when-you-say-things-like-that grimace, then gave me a fond wave as she started up the car. I didn’t care if she thought I was strange. I probably would never see her again after tonight, and, anyway, I did love her. Izzy had been good to me when I needed a friend.

  I watched her drive away with my hands resting on the handles of the bicycle.

  Clouds had rolled in, and a haze formed a halo around the moon. Though the air was warm, I shivered. I looked at the address again. I thought I knew the place. It was a long way out but doable by bike. Besides, if the Vatican agent followed Izzy and me this far, I was sure I’d spot her if I took the bike. It’s very difficult to follow a bicyclist when you’re in a car. I’m no speed racer, so someone creeping along at fifteen miles an hour would be easy to spot. Besides, my mountain bike said All Terrain right there on the crossbar. If I had to lose someone, I’d off-road it.

  Anyway, I was restless to be going—somewhere, anywhere.

  Shouldering my backpack, I glanced behind me at my apartment. I could see Barney in the window, silhouetted by the purplish glow of the grow lights. Her eyes were on my back as I hopped on my bike and headed out.

  * * * *

  Somewhere outside of the city limits the rain started.

  I was too far out to turn back; Sebastian’s place was closer than home at that point. It was only a light drizzle. I could feel myself calming down with the exercise. The county highway was deserted. The smooth asphalt curved around farms and fields of newly planted corn and alfalfa. I could smell the pungent scent of manure on the warm breeze.

  My shoulders relaxed. I didn’t have to leave town. The Vatican agent was concentrating on Sebastian. She might not even know I was a Witch. I’d heard through the grapevine that the Vatican employed psychics who could sense the presence of magic, but she might not be one of them. Even if she were, she was on assignment to deal with Sebastian first. That would buy me time. Time to entrench. Time to make a stand.

  If I ran now, it would be the beginning of a life on the run, of starting over from scratch. I’d spend the rest of my life lonely because, just as I made friends, I’d have to leave them. It was bad enough to think about doing that twice, but forever? It was too much.

  I wouldn’t go. Maybe I could find a way to face down the threat that would solve the problem permanently.

  Lilith tightened my stomach.

  Well, maybe not that kind of permanent. I’d think of some way—some other way.

  Nighthawks darted through the air chasing mosquitoes, flashing white stripes on the underside of their wings as they passed overhead. Well, I’d think about all that later. My first order of business was to warn Sebastian.

  The raindrops grew heavier as the miles wore on. I checked the address again. Up ahead I was happy to see what I assumed must be his farm. A graveyard occupied the lot next to Sebastian’s. It was one of those odd country cemeteries that existed between fields, surrounded by a chain link fence, with no church for miles. The monuments listed on ground made uneven by time, the wooden coffins underneath having long since disintegrated. A nearby yard light illuminated neatly trimmed grass, though a few markers were nearly obliterated by cedar bushes and other overgrown offerings.

  I could see how this place might appeal to a necromancer.

  Just as I pulled into his drive, the rain officially became a downpour. I dragged my bike through the mud of the pathway to his front door and hauled it and myself up onto the open porch. A damp, rotting-wood smell permeated the porch. When I leaned my bike against the railing, the section gave so much that I was afraid I’d come away with wood in my hands. The porch rail mostly hid the bicycle from the road. Not that anyone would be looking at this decrepit place.

  A heap of curled, yellowing newspapers lay in front of a screen door, which hung precariously by a single hinge.

  The farm looked abandoned.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  Leaning up close to a dust-covered window, I peered into the darkened interior. I thought I could make out furniture of some kind. No lights were on anywhere. Maybe I was at the wrong place? I checked the card again. The address was painted clearly above the door. The numbers matched.

  Gingerly propping the screen door against my shoulder, I knocked on the door. No answer. I pounded a little harder, then leaned up to try to look in the window of the door. To my horror, it popped open, the latch slipping open under the extra pressure.

  There was something overly familiar about this scene, which caused my magic radar to ping. The go-away vibes were so overwhelmingly strong that I started to suspect they weren’t real at all, but a spell designed to keep people away.

  Even so, I hesitated, my foot on the threshold. The rain fell in sheets, sluicing down the slanted porch roof. My mini clung heavily to my butt, growing colder with each gust of wind. Going back wasn’t an option, not with the constant flashes of lightning and miles of open, flat farmland.

  So, the only course was the fool’s errand. If only my life were a movie, I thought, then I could just listen for the swell of operatic music and know if my decision was the wrong one.

  “Hello?” I ventured, stepping over the threshold. “Sebastian? Anyone?”

  I peeked around the door into the house. Blessed warmth hit my face. The interior smelled of woodsmoke and cinnamon.

  “Sebastian?” I called out again, taking a bolder step inside.

  Turning, I saw a man-sized shadow, and I nearly jumped out of my skin until I realized it was just a coat rack with a jacket hanging on one of the pegs. I let out a sigh of relief. Reaching out a hand, I felt leather and heard buckles knock into each other: Sebastian’s coat.

  Right house, at least.

  A cold draft rushed along the edges of the soaked skirt. I wanted to shut the door behind me, but somehow I felt less like I was trespassing as long as it remained open. I dripped self-consciously onto the hardwood floor. “Hello?”

  As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the room in front of me began to take shape. On the far left wall was a fireplace with a simple carved-wood mantle. A couple of overstuffed chairs and a couch nestled in front of it, as though huddled close for warmth. A built-in buffet took up most of the wall opposite me. Cabinet shelves and leaded glass framed a pass-through opening that presumably led into a kitchen or dining room. I heard rattling of pots coming from the back of the house. Someone was here. “Sebastian? It’s me, Garnet.”

  The storm shook the window.

  A hiss like rain spattering asphalt seemed to tickle my ear. “Trespasser.”

  I turned at the words but saw no one. The feeling of being watched crept across my skin. Behind me, nothing but water pelted down, silver needles reflecting in the yard light.

  As I turned my attention back to the interior of the house, my peripheral vision registered the coat rack as man-shaped again. This time, however, I could have sworn it lunged toward me, and I took a step back before I remembered what it was.

  “Trespasser.”

  Either my overly guilty conscience just sprouted an “outside voice,” or the coat rack just talked to me.

  “Hello?”

  The wind pushed the door shut with a slam. I jumped and yelped at the same time. At least my first impression was that it was the wind, but part of my brain said, Breezes usually blow outside in, not the other way around.

  “Is someone there?” I heard a voice call out from upstairs.

  “Sebastian! It’s me, Garnet.”

  “Don’t move!” Sebastian shouted.

  “Don’t move, trespasser.” The second voice came from behind me. I spun around at the sound. Lightning flashed, revealing the shadow of someone holding an upraised knife. Instinctively, I called Her name.

  The darkness instantly became light to my magical eyes. A gaunt man dressed in ragged overalls and galoshes stared at me with bugged-out e
yes. His mouth was twisted with rage. The knife came down in a slashing motion. The hand I’d stretched out to ward off the blow felt a slight shudder as the blade clattered uselessly against Her psychic shield, which surrounded me like an obsidian bubble. The man looked around frantically. Yes, I thought, you should be nervous, little ghost.

  I could feel a smile twitch across my lips as She began to rise.

  “Benjamin, no!” I heard a shout from the stairs. I saw Sebastian coming down, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping with soap. At Sebastian’s command, Benjamin disappeared, fading like a wisp of smoke.

  My enemy was gone, but the tremors had already started cutting across my abdomen. The fire consumed me. Before I could stop Her, She was upon me.

  * * * *

  Lilith didn’t share very well. When She controlled my body, I went away. Total blackout. When I came to, I always checked three things: how much time I’d lost, how bruised I felt, and how much damage I’d done.

  Through closed eyes, I could tell I lay on the couch. Pillows propped up my head, and a warm, fuzzy blanket had been wrapped around me. I smelled hot chocolate. A fire popped and hissed nearby. What I couldn’t feel was the sticky sensation of blood congealing under my fingernails, or anywhere else for that matter. Some experimental twitches revealed few, if any, bruises. I did, however, appear to be missing my clothes; I was naked.

  A curious turn of events.

  Yet I still didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want to see Sebastian dismembered on the floor—or worse. I didn’t want to know what had happened this time. It was too horrible to imagine that I’d come all this way to warn him, only to be the death of him.

  “Are you all right in there?”

  My eyes popped open at the sound of Sebastian’s voice.

  Sebastian occupied one of the chairs next to a roaring fire. His fingers made a steeple in front of his lips as he watched me. He, I noted, had gotten dressed. Sebastian seemed to favor what I would call typical male attire: a black T-shirt advertising what I assumed to be some heavy metal rock band called Slither, jeans of the same hue, and bare feet. His hair was still damp.

  I stared at him for a long time. Not only had he found a way to look even sexier than he had the first moment he walked into my store, but also I couldn’t get over the fact that he seemed to have all his parts in their original order.

  “I didn’t kill you.”

  “Apparently not.” I couldn’t tell by the sound of his voice whether or not he was happy about the situation, but a smile kept twitching at his lips.

  I started to sit up, but the feeling of the blanket sliding over bare skin stopped me. Pulling the covers tighter around me, I asked, “Uh, where are my clothes?”

  “In the dryer,” he said. “Well, not the velvet skirt or the lace hose, those are hanging on the shower rod upstairs.”

  Practical. The man knew how to take care of a woman’s delicates. Trying to stifle the beginning of an ear-to-ear blush, I asked, “You undressed me? Why didn’t Lilith kill you?”

  Behind his fingers, he flashed me a wolfish grin. “Only a fool would take something from Lilith she didn’t give freely.”

  I tried to picture the scene: Lilith, Queen of Evil, Mother of Demons, politely asking Sebastian to wash my clothes for me—but for Goddess’ sake don’t ruin the velvet! I shook my head at the image. Lilith didn’t joke around. At least, she never had before.

  “Uh,” I said, my imagination failing me. “So what exactly happened?”

  “I am extraordinarily fortunate She recognized me as kin.”

  Slowly, and careful to keep my modesty, I sat up. Sebastian hadn’t moved, except to speak. Lilith was mother of all things that went bump in the night, and Sebastian had just implied that She had spared his life because She understood him to be one of Hers. He was admitting to being a monster.

  “Kin?” I repeated, giving him an opportunity to change his story if he wanted.

  “Blood, if you prefer.”

  “Blood,” I said again skeptically.

  He inclined his head slightly in confirmation. His eyes studied me, as if trying to ascertain whether or not I understood the full implication. Oh, I got it, all right. He was telling me he was a vampire, but the problem was, I wasn’t buying it.

  “Really?” I pressed.

  He raised an eyebrow and broke from his posture to reach for a second mug of cocoa on the edge the table between us. Our eyes met before he settled back, and I had a flash of déjà vu, as a spark of passion arched between us. I felt keenly aware of the fact that he had seen me naked, and I still had no clothes on.

  Sebastian held my gaze as he said, “You sound as if you don’t believe me.”

  I started to shrug but realized the motion would undo the careful arrangement of blanket. “Creatures of the night usually, well, hang out at night, Sebastian.”

  My astute observation was rewarded by a hearty laugh. After he got himself under control, he said, “You’ve obviously never read Dracula.”

  Ouch. Okay, so I wasn’t up on my vampire literature. “And?”

  “And daylight isn’t a problem for the most famous ‘creature of the night,’ as you put it.”

  “I hate to be the one to point this out, Sebastian, but Dracula wasn’t real.”

  This time he almost snorted his cocoa. I guess my timing was improving. “There was a historical Dracula. Vlad Tepes. He was an Austrian, no less. You know the Transylvanian Alps are in territory that was once part of the Austro-Hungarian empire.”

  I arched my eyebrow. “Now you’re Dracula?”

  “I’m not saying that. I’ve just always enjoyed the irony.” He shook his head, and I suddenly realized his hair was loose. Long, straight locks settled mid-chest. There was something about the way it hung that made him look other-timely. That is to say, it would be easy to imagine hair like that accompanying a Renaissance-era tunic or whatever they called them back then. Weirdly, the style of his hair gave his claim of being a vampire some credence. He’d still come off as crazy, however, if he tried to tell me he was Vlad the Impaler.

  “Exactly what are you saying?” I asked.

  “The sun is not my enemy.” He took a sip of his cocoa and stretched his feet toward the logs in the fireplace.

  Neither, apparently, was fire. A lot of vampires studiously avoided open flames. They tended toward paranoia, as if their bodies made better kindling than those of the living.

  Still, his comment begged the question: Who or what was his enemy?

  Before I could ask, Sebastian let out a sigh. “Well, it hasn’t been for a millennium.”

  A millennium? As in a thousand years? I gave Sebastian a more serious looking over. Could he really be that old? Weirdly, that made him even sexier. Longevity in a vampire implied a strong survival instinct, a wolf-eat-wolf, heavy-on-the-testosterone kind of lifestyle, which, embarrassingly, appealed to me.

  Anyway, that was beside the point. All vampires shriveled in the sun like plastic in a campfire. “How come you’re so special?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I gave him the are-you-seriously-this-dense look.

  He responded with the yeah-I-am-what-of-it glare.

  “The vampires I’ve met are sun-averse, Sebastian.”

  “You’ve met others?”

  Okay, I dated one, once. It was an extreme lapse of judgment, and if I were to get introspective about it, probably a major self-destructive phase in my life. Parrish was a good lover, though, and, as it turned out, someone I could count on in a pinch. More importantly, he gave me all sorts of knowledge about vampires and, I’m happy to say, not all of it was carnal.

  After the big breakup with Parrish, I seemed to spot vampires everywhere. And they noticed me. Once I was aware of them, they seemed to home in on me. So, I had my share of run-ins. If I was honest about it, I could only claim about a half-dozen sightings, one or two extended conversations, and the one intimate relationship. Still, I considered myself
pretty well-informed about the vampire community. Most people didn’t even know they existed.

  “Yeah. A few.”

  Sebastian looked as if he were about to ask more when the sound of glass breaking came from the kitchen. Then a pot crashed to the floor, followed by several others.

  Each noise made me jump. I clutched the blanket tighter, and shouted, “Shouldn’t you go see what’s going on?”

  “My poltergeist is throwing a tantrum,” he said nonchalantly.

  “Benjamin.” The name came back to me, as did the image of him fading at Sebastian’s command. “He’s a ghost.”

  “Technically, as I said, poltergeist. He’s slightly more material than your average ghost. Hence, the throwing part of throwing a tantrum. Anyway, he came with the house,” Sebastian said with an uninterested shrug, as though discussing the weather. “He upped the property value for me, frankly.”

  The mention of real estate reminded me why I’d made my sojourn. “The Vatican is after you, Sebastian.”

  Silverware rained on the floor. A wooden thud, like the sound of someone tossing aside a cabinet drawer, echoed from the kitchen. Sebastian stood up angrily. “All right, that’s enough,” he said, striding past me to the kitchen door. “Outside, Benjamin. Now.”

  One last petulant crash, and then I heard the sound of a door opening and slamming shut.

  “Sorry about that. He’s always like this around the full moon. I guess, you know, it happened on a full moon,” Sebastian said.

  It? Did I want to know? The guy was a ghost now, a fairly murderous one, I might add, so things hadn’t ended well. I decided to let that ride for now.

  Before returning to his chair, he crouched beside the fire and stirred the embers with a poker. “What were you saying?”

  “The Order,” I repeated. “They’re after you.” When he’d opened the chain screen in front of the fire, heat poured into the room. My skin was still damp enough that the warmth felt divine. I itched to relocate closer to the flames, but the blanket restricted me. “Don’t you have a T-shirt or something you could loan me?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on my face for a long moment. “Sure. I’ll go get something.” He stood up as if to go, but hesitated. “What Order?”