Serge was a young vampire himself, barely five years old. He had not known at the time that his failure to kill Mark would cause such problems. His venom was not yet powerful enough to turn a human into a vampire and Mark had fought him off before he could just drain him and leave him for dead. Unfortunately, it was nearly impossible to drain or turn him now that he was a Halfling. The laws of vampire nature were funny that way.
Sarah was leaving Mark because of what he’d become. He was moody, erratic on his good days, and nearly comatose on his bad ones. She assumed he had become a workaholic asshole, maybe even a drug addict or a drunk, because he tried to stay away from her as best he could. Mark crashed at Serge’s or wandered around the park when things got really bad so Sarah wouldn’t see him.
He took a leave of absence from his job a few months ago in the hopes that things would get better. Money wasn’t an issue, thank God, so Sarah was none the wiser. Mark couldn’t believe it was over. He wanted to offer Sarah and explanation, that he was a vampire, well, half vampire, and ask her to stay with him. The divorce papers guaranteed that opportunity was gone. She would have him committed on court order if he told her what had happened. Her lawyer would see to it for sure after what Mark had done to the poor woman tonight. At that point, his mental clarity gave out and he succumbed to the numb, dim-witted darkness of his mind.
Serge knew the Enclave would put them both to death if they knew Serge had created a Halfling. Until the arrival of the divorce papers, Serge had been considering beheading or burning Mark to cover his transgressions. But that was before the lovely Abri Cole went and stuck her smug nose in their business. Mark’s recent misfortune, as fate would have it, put Serge one step closer to his goal of making Abri his own. There was no way he could put Mark out of his misery now; he needed him. The complicated part, of course, was Lucan O’Reilly.
At least Mark had money, lots of money. Money even his stupid wife and her attorney didn’t know about. If Serge had to be stuck with a Halfling going through a divorce in order to get to his prize, at least he could do it in style in the Upper West Side.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The brightness of the room wakes me up before I’m ready. How does Lucan not have curtains? He is not in bed with me when I roll over to ask. My heart sinks; I was hoping to catch a glimpse of him sleeping. The sound of pots and pans banging around in the kitchen gives away his position.
I release the death grip on the down pillow I've been strangling and untangle my feet from the sheets. The clock next to the bed says it’s just past seven. What am I going to do with myself for twelve hours until my dinner with Sarah? Lucan is standing by the bed when I look up.
“Top ‘o the mornin’ to ya, Abri,” he says in his best Irish brogue. Oh God, he’s a morning person.
“Hi,” is all that I can manage in return as I squint at him through my dried out contacts. One day I will remember not to sleep in them.
“If you’re hungry I’m making French toast and bacon. You eat bacon right?” He looks worried.
“Sure, I like bacon. I grew up on a farm,” I remind him. “Sorry. I’m not really a morning person, especially when I’m up early on a weekend.” I don’t usually get up before noon on weekends unless I have to go into work. I yawn and stretch before scooting to the edge of the bed.
“I’m sorry I woke you up. I’m not used to someone else being here yet, I was probably making a lot of noise.”
“No, it wasn’t you. It was the sun.” I muse at how ironic that must sound coming from a human to a vampire, then I remember it’s just folklore.
“Nah, there is actually some truth in the tale,” Lucan affirms. “We try to avoid high doses. Not because it kills us, but because we are all so fair skinned and sunburns are really unpleasant.” I can’t tell if he is kidding, but it sounds plausible. “Hungry?” He smiles, giving nothing away as he turns back towards the kitchen.
“Mmm. Hmm. Just give me a second in the bathroom,” I say shuffling across the room, my feet catching a chill on the floor.
On the table are a dozen white roses in a vase and two place settings of china in a delicate Art Nouveau rose pattern with and a gold band along the edges. They must be over a hundred years old, like something my grandmother’s mother would have brought over from the Old Country. It probably had come from the Old Country, only it was probably Lucan who had brought it over.
“Wow. You’ve been busy.” I smile at him and swat his butt. It is like hitting a brick wall, but in a good way. He amps me in return as he pulls out a chair for me. I feel underdressed in my ratty t-shirt and sweat pants for such a lavish table setting. The food smells delicious and my stomach reminds me that we did not eat the night before. Lucan brings over a platter of bacon and French toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and raspberries. As always, he’s made enough for an army. He piles the French toast and bacon on my plate with a heavy silver serving fork. I don’t even object to the large helping. I am starving and it looks perfect, like something out of a magazine. He places a few slices of the toast on his plate and a pile of bacon before returning the platter to the kitchen counter.
“You know you don’t have to eat in front of me, Lucan,” I remind him again.
He looks sheepish. “I know. Sometimes I really miss human food, especially meat, so I eat it. Consequences be damned!”
“Does it taste the same to you? I mean as it did before.” I would assume it tasted bad, sort of to remind him not to eat it. But what do I know..the Enclave has a restaurant.
“It probably tastes better since my senses are so much more acute, but I could just be making that up. It’s been so long since I was…well, since I tasted it as you do. Plus, I never had anything like this growing up in Ireland.”
“Huh. Are there any vampire food critics then, if things taste so much better?” I wonder aloud.
“Yup, there are a few.”
“Wow. Who?” I ask through a mouthful of French toast. “Mmm, sorry. Linds and I like to read the restaurant reviews in the Post and then try the restaurant.”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he replies. “So what are you going to do today?”
“I’m not sure. I’m meeting Sarah at seven o’ clock at my place. I don’t have to be there until about six-ish to get ready. I mean, we don’t have to be there until six-ish.” I am still perturbed that Lucan has to tag along on my dinner even if I can appreciate the fact that it is probably safer that way. I’d like to think I am a seasoned New Yorker capable of handling myself. I wasn’t really in danger from other New Yorkers though.
“I have some business to take care of at the Enclave this morning, you could come with me.”
I am unsure if he really wants me to come to the Enclave or if he is just afraid to leave me alone. “I probably should go home early and do laundry and clean my disaster zone of an apartment, take out the trash before it starts to smell.”
“I can send someone over to take care of all that.”
“Lucan. I can’t accept that. I’m not used to having people to do things for me. You just can’t spend money on me like that at every turn. I only agreed to the Evora because it seemed to make you happy. I’m really a simple person not used to lavishness,” I motion around the room to illustrate my point. “You’ve seen how I live. It’s not because I can’t afford better. It’s because I don’t see the point of it.” He looks shocked, hurt even.
“I didn’t mean to insult you. I just thought it would be nice if you didn’t have to worry with all that this weekend and we could spend more time together.”
“You can’t keep me prisoner here either,” I mutter. I know he wants me safe and frankly, I am concerned for my safety as well. I am not about to be locked up for the rest of my life, only going between the 30th and 68th floors of the Chrysler Building, never seeing the outside world again without Lucan tailing me. Lucan’s eyes dim and he folds into himself a bit. Instantly I feel bad.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t me
an anything by all this, Abri. It’s just that I’ve been waiting for you for a long time—” He doesn’t finish his thought.
“It’s okay. I didn’t mean anything by it either. I’m just fiercely independent as my mother says.” Admittedly, I overreacted a little to his offer of help. It is too soon to tell on the protective streak. I hope it is concern and not possessiveness that has him wanting to tail me.
“Finish your breakfast. I know what we can do. Have you ever seen the observation deck?”
“No! I haven’t. You can’t. Well, normal people can’t go up there. Oh, Lucan! You have no idea how much I want to see this. I tried sneaking up there once but it was locked.” Lucan has found something only he can give and it doesn’t cost a thing. Something I can’t resist, the Chrysler. I begin to eat my French toast in double time. “By the way, this is the best French toast I’ve ever had. And these dishes, are they old?” I realize that wolfing down my food is incredibly rude so I put my fork down and chew slowly.
“Mmm. Hmm.” This time Lucan has a mouth full of food. “I bought them at the 1900 World’s Fair in Paris. I only have these two place setting left after all these years and a few serving pieces. I move a lot, or at least I used to. I’m glad you like the French toast. I picked up that skill in Paris too.” I figure that last part isn’t entirely true, but it makes for a good story.
“You can make this for me any time, love,” I wink. Oh! That is the first time I have called him that.
“Any time you wish,” he smiles.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mark and Serge pulled up to the run-down office building in Queens around nine. Mark, as a rule, was leery of attorneys, especially ones that insisted on meeting on Saturdays in run-down office buildings in Queens. Serge had suggested this particular man as an attorney who could “appreciate Mark’s unique situation,” which Mark assumed meant he was vampire. The name on the door read Virgil Hicks, Esquire, By Appointment Only. That didn’t seem like a very vampire-like name—then again neither did Mark Ainsworth.
He knew that Sarah’s lawyer was in Manhattan. Probably with a high dollar, high power firm. Hopefully Mr. Hicks’ office arrangements were about frugality and not a reflection on his ability to make a profit. Mark was beginning to think about Abri Cole when Serge pushed him through the door and into the cramped waiting area.
There was a small desk with a phone and an ancient computer, a sagging leather couch, and two dirty wing backed chairs on either side of a rather dusty fake fichus. A small bell sat on the desk next to a sign that said “Ring for Receptionist.” Mark tapped the bell and turned towards the unpleasant seating arrangements to wait. Serge was pacing back and forth in the tiny room making Mark nervous.
“You can leave if you want. I’m not a child and besides, this is human stuff.”
“Imbecile, I’m not here because I want to be. I’m here because you need me to be here to talk to Virgil.” He must be vampire then. “So you don’t do anything stupid.”
The door to the reception area opened and a tall, blond-haired girl in her early twenties walked out with a clipboard in her hands. She was dressed in a short, tight black dress and the highest heels that Mark had ever seen. Her hair was curled and swept up into an elaborate style. All of this was better suited to an evening on the town than a lawyer’s office on Saturday morning. She looked at Mark and Serge with some disdain before speaking.
“Good Morning, Mr. Ainsworth. Mr. Hicks is expecting you. I just need you to fill this out first. I trust you brought your papers with you?” She thrust the clipboard at Mark before perching herself on the chair behind the small desk. Mark nodded and sat back down on the saggy couch to look at what she'd handed him.
“Let me.” Serge took the clipboard and began filling out the requested information. Mark didn’t argue. The receptionist stared at them out of the corner of her eye while she pretended to be engrossed in an old People magazine.
Once Serge finished, he handed the clipboard back to the blond woman and she buzzed Mr. Hicks to announce Mark. A gruff voice mumbled what sounded like an approval over the speaker. The receptionist mouthed the words “First door on the right.” And motioned for them to go through door she had come out of.
Virgil Hicks was a large, sweaty man of about sixty or so years. He wore a light tan suit that looked out of place in the Manhattan winter. His tie had a dark stain on it that looked like it had been there for a while. Gravy? Barbeque sauce? Blood? Mr. Hicks mopped his forehead with a folded over hanky and motioned for Serge and Mark to take the two chairs in front of his massive desk. The chair groaned under Mr. Hick’s weight as he shifted himself to face them more directly.
“How can I help you gentlemen?” Mr. Hicks breathed heavily over the desk in a slow southern drawl. Mark wondered what Mr. Hicks was doing before they came in that had made him so exasperated. Probably the blonde-haired woman out front. Mark was about to think on how cliché this whole experience was when Serge interrupted his steadiest train of thought in weeks to answer Mr. Hicks’ question.
“My friend here is in need of a divorce lawyer,” Serge answered. His tone was that of impatience, as always. “His wife has hired a large downtown firm to handle the proceedings.”
“I see,” Mr. Hicks said, sitting back in his chair a bit. “Tell me son, do you have many assets she could be after? Investments, property,”—he leaned forward a bit for this one—“liquid assets?” Mr. Hicks was concerned about how he would be paid not about the division of the marital estate. If his wife had hired a big firm, there was obviously money to be spent. Even Mark could figure that out.
“I can pay you if that’s what you’re inquiring of, Mr. Hicks. As for what my wife is after, I cannot say exactly. That’s why I would be hiring you. Suffice it to say, there are assets that even my wife does not know about.”
Something snapped in Mark. Maybe it was the thought of Sarah taking his money, or maybe the thought of Mr. Hicks taking it, but Mark was his shrewd, businessman self again, if only for a minute.
Mark’s father and grandfather had been in the oil business in Texas during times when that was a very lucrative career move. They had smartly weathered the financial storms in America by leaving Texas and heading to the Middle East. As the only male heir, he had inherited it all when they passed away. His grandfather of natural causes in the mid-1990s and his father a few years ago from a massive heart attack. Mark had vowed to take care of his mother and grandmother in the manner that they had become accustomed, but even that was but a drop in the bucket of his wealth. Sarah knew he was rich, but she did not know the full extent of his worldly dealings. Mark had investments in more countries than he could list thanks to his father and grandfather. Thankfully, most of them were in trusts and corporations untouchable by Sarah and her attorney.
In spite of all the money, Mark’s father had insisted he go to college and then afterwards, earn a wage on his own. Mark settled on architecture as a major and had worked for a rather large Manhattan firm before Serge came into the picture. A job that, on its own, could support Sarah in the lavish style she preferred. Sarah and Mark had met in a fine arts class that was required for both their majors in college. She had been so beautiful…
Mr. Hicks shifted in his chair again; the groan of the springs broke Mark’s reverie. “Well then, let’s get some of the particulars out of the way. Did you bring your papers?”
Mark pulled the papers the process server thrust on him yesterday from his jacket pocket and handed them across the desk to Mr. Hicks. The lawyer pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and settled them on his nose. After flipping through the papers, he put the glasses on top of his head.
“Well son,” he began. “She certainly wants her fair share of it now doesn’t she?” Mr. Hicks was turning out to be a no-nonsense, in-your-face kinda guy and Mark liked that. “Now tell me how we got to this point. You two have only been married a few years.”
Mark recounted the story of moving to New York an
d his demanding job. He hesitated when the story reached the part that would introduce Serge into the picture. “Mr. Hicks, I haven’t been myself as of late. I think that’s why she’s divorcing me. I’m just not sure how to put it all into words.”
“You’re a vampire, son.” Mr. Hicks was, again, straight to the point.
“Actually, hal—" Serge cut him off with a kick to the ankle.
“You’ve handled these types of cases before, have you not?” Serge interjected.
“On occasion, when the need arises.” Mr. Hicks looked Mark and Serge over. He could tell something was wrong, but experience with vampires told him not to question them too hard. He knew how his bread was buttered, as they say. Vampires generally had money and money was what he was interested in when it came right down to it. “Does your wife know?”
“No, sir,” Mark answered. “She thinks I have become a workaholic or that I have a drinking problem.” Mark wanted to cry but since his incident, he couldn’t must the tears necessary.
“I have represented men in your situation before. It is delicate, but I think we can work around it. She never has to know. No one has to know.” Mr. Hicks almost sounded concerned for Mark until he cleared his throat and began again with, “Now, to the matter of my fee. Given the assets at stake here and the delicate nature of your situation, I will require a fee a bit outside of my normal neighborhood for a divorce.”
Mr. Hicks took a piece of paper from the corner of his desk and inked a number at the top before pushing it to Mark for his perusal. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Mark nodded in agreement. “I’ll have my business manager wire you the money on Monday.” Serge’s eyes widened in greed at the mention of that amount of cash. Mark was sure Serge didn’t know exactly how wealthy Mark was until now.
“That’ll be fine. We’ll be in touch on Monday about the particulars. I haven’t worked with Abri Cole before, but I’ve heard she’s no push over. Fair with a good head on her shoulders.”
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