by J. F. Lewis
Shards of broken glass fell toward me in slow motion like little knives. The superspeed was gone before I hit the ground. Talbot threw open the door, scooped me up, and carried me back into the bedroom, leaving a thin trail of blood across the nice white carpet.
“Ow.”
“I’ve never heard of a clumsy vampire,” Talbot said. He pulled a large hunk of glass out of my left breast, leaving a jagged stretching tear that was quickly replaced by the tender tingle of regenerating flesh.
“Shut up,” I hissed. “It isn’t funny.”
Did he really call you a moist warm tightness?
Someone knocked on the door and both of us nearly jumped out of our skins. Talbot sprouted claws and fangs as he sniffed the air. A vision of a man leapt into my brain and announced that he was young, not as young as me, but certainly every bit as powerful. He wore clothes that had been made just for him, in shades of blue and white. I normally don’t like blonds, but Eric and now this guy were the exceptions that proved the rule.
“I never knock twice,” he whispered through the image of himself, “and I’m the last person you want to offend.”
“It’s Ebon Winter,” I whispered to Talbot.
Talbot dumped clean towels over the glass on the bathroom floor and sat me down on the toilet. “Get cleaned up.”
“Just a minute,” I called. “I’m in the shower.”
Five minutes later I opened the door wearing a T-shirt and shorts. I could have prettied up, but I didn’t feel like it. Besides, he was on my territory and I didn’t want to be ogled tonight, not by him. Winter looked me up and down in an odd, appraising sort of way before gliding past me into the room.
Over one shoulder he was carrying a black garment bag, which he hung from a hook on the back of the door. Every movement seemed calculated. He was the most exquisite being I had ever laid eyes on, but instead of attraction I felt an instant…wariness of him. He rotated on his heel in a complete circle, frowned, and glared at me.
“It is important that you understand something.” He held up both arms and gestured to the room around him. “This entire room is offensive and I absolutely will not redecorate for you. I loathe it all.”
Crooking a finger, he pointed it at Talbot. “Especially that mouser.” He shuddered theatrically. “Hideous things, like rats; they really ought to be exterminated.”
“Hey!” I began.
The vampire put a finger to my lips. “Do not raise your voice to me, Elizabeth Tabitha Sims,” he said pleasantly. “I am enjoyed best as an ally, not an enemy, and I abhor shouting. No harm will come to your…servant as long as he behaves himself. As long in the tooth as he is, I’m confident he knows his place.”
Talbot leaned idly against one wall, out of the way, and tried to look nonthreatening. It was precisely the same way he acted in Phillip’s presence. After our adventure at the Iversonian, I knew why.
My tongue stumbled around my mouth for a second before finally managing to ask, “You’re Ebon Winter, from the Artiste Unknown, right?”
“I am Ebon Winter, but you must call me Winter. It’s the nom de guerre I prefer and I will not answer otherwise. As your sire might say: call me Winter, just Winter. You know, like Madonna but with a dick.”
Winter winked when he said the last sentence as if he’d made a clever little jest. I came close to laughing despite myself except that the joke wasn’t really very funny; he only wanted it to be funny. What scared me was that that had almost been enough.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt you in the middle of anything kinky,” he added mischievously. “You must have very broad horizons to take that into your bed.” He indicated Talbot when he said “that.”
“What? Who the—who the hell do you think you are?” I asked, flabbergasted. How dare he judge me? He’d insulted my decor, my lover, and me personally. I had half a mind to throw him out.
“Although,” he caressed my cheek, “you are lovely. Your breasts are a bit large for me, but lovely all the same.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” I repeated.
“I’ve already introduced myself, darling. Please attempt to focus and I truly will not remind you again about the volume. Let’s recap.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the front door. “I came in through there. This apartment is hideous. My sire Phillip—I believe you know him biblically—asked me to redecorate your entryway, but you offend me, so I won’t be doing so. I’ll send Andre around when I can spare him. Keep your pet away from me and put on the clothes I brought you.”
“What clothes?” I asked, still bewildered.
“The clothes in the garment bag, dear,” he said casually. “Do you honestly believe that I flit willy-nilly about town with luggage in hand?”
“No, I suppose not, but—,” I began.
He unzipped the bag and began sorting clothes. He set out a black leather skirt, stiletto heels, hose, and a green silk blouse, leaving the most incredible blue dress I’d ever seen still in the bag. It was sexy yet casual, and I could tell just by looking at it that it had been made with me in mind. He zipped the bag back up and gestured to the rest.
“While you were doing whatever it is you were doing, others were making things happen, love. Now do be a dear and put on some nice clothes. You’re making my eyes bleed. They’ll look quite fetching—the clothes I mean—and you must promise to take proper care of them. The dress is dry-clean only, and I’ll be quite angry if I hear you’ve been leaving it lying about on the floor. Mommie Dearest has nothing on me and don’t you dare put it on a wire hanger, either. I call the dress Isabella. She’s an original Winter. Do you like her?”
“I…yes,” I stammered. “It’s…I’ve never seen a dress as beautiful as that—” His eyes narrowed and I quickly changed what I was going to say, “…as Isabella.”
Still suspicious, I started climbing into the clothes he had laid out. They smelled normal and I hoped Talbot would warn me if I were in danger. They fit perfectly and were utterly flattering. I doubted even Eric would complain. What surprised me the most was the blouse; made for a vampire who didn’t have to wear a bra, it gripped and lifted just enough but hung normally.
“Always make sure your tailor has an enchanter on the payroll, darling. They’re worth it,” Winter told me.
I was a true believer.
Winter walked around me in a circle and shook his head. “No, not vert…The blouse is the wrong color.” He clucked his tongue and lightly touched my shoulder. “Crimson, s’il vous plais.” Colors blended across the blouse from my breasts outward and it changed from green to a deep bright crimson. “Darker, s’il vous plais…a little more blue, not purple and not red…” Responding to his commands, the fabric darkened by fractions until at last he said, “Merci.”
Circling me once more, he made much more appreciative noises. “Excellent, that’s much better. Yes, definitely your color. Of course, that may change as your eyes continue to fade, but contacts can take care of that. Do you have a good picture of your eyes?”
I shook my head.
“I thought not.” Winter pulled a photo from his pocket and handed it to me. In the picture, Rachel and I were kids, standing in front of the sign for a roller coaster. Behind Rachel, the You Must Be This Tall sign indicated that at last Rachel was indeed “this tall.”
“They were a very nice shade…a green…three on my color scale. I have a fey who makes my contacts; he could probably work you in.”
“Where did you get this?”
He laughed. I thought that laugh could take hold of a person and screw them to the wall. If it had been a melody, it would have stuck in my head forever.
“I can get anything.”
“Thank you,” I said belatedly. “Does the dress change color, too?”
Winter tossed back his head, revealing perfect whiter-than-white teeth as he chortled once more. “It had better, or Melvin will certainly have some explaining to do, now, won’t he?”
“Melv
in?”
“My enchanter,” he crooned. “Have you ever noticed most magically inclined mortals in this city have an M-name? He’s a dear little thrall. Most people think that since he does Guild work, he’s his own man, but in truth, he’s all mine.”
None of this made any sense. Why would Ebon Winter come out of nowhere and shower me with gifts? The necklace Phillip had given me, the suite of rooms, I understood, but the clothes from Winter were totally unexpected.
“Why didn’t I sense you before you were at the door?” I asked.
“Perhaps your exertions left you too preoccupied to detect me? That’s one of the reasons I’ve given up sex. It’s vulgar and distracting. Ah, and a word of advice: never use your vampiric speed on a slick surface. Well, perhaps not never, but certainly not until your skills improve.”
I know I didn’t blink, but he vanished anyway, reappearing beside me, his hands adjusting the way the skirt clung to my body. “Incidentally, given our kind’s enhanced senses, you really must remember to use an air freshener. Change your sheets twice a day. Your mouser’s scent is all over the room.”
“You’re avoiding the question,” I observed. “Why didn’t I sense you earlier?”
Tilting his head to the left, Winter frowned. “Perhaps I am, at that. Though I think it’s more a case of you not liking my answer than a refusal on my part to give one. Haven’t you ever tried to change the subject when you didn’t want to give a straight answer?” He sported a very savage grin. “I’m sorry; did you say you didn’t want the clothes?”
“No!” I said more emphatically than I intended. “I mean…I would like to keep them. Please. And thank you.”
He clapped his hands and kissed me on the cheek. “My, my. You are quite the whore, aren’t you?” Winter’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. My hand passed through his cheek when I tried to slap him; an intense cold spun up my arm. He could turn to mist! The only vampire I’d met that could do it was Phillip and even he couldn’t hold his shape at the same time.
“I’m not a fighter, Tabitha. I never ever fight unless it’s utterly unavoidable and then I never fight fair. Fair fights are for professional pugilists and the mentally deficient.” He touched my cheek, peering directly into my eyes, his lips a hairsbreadth from a kiss. “I kill. I murder. Remember that and don’t be so prudish; everyone is a whore to a certain degree. We all have our price. Mine was immortality.”
Words fired effortlessly from his lips, tickling my ears. In an episode of Charmed, they’d had a creature called a siren that lured people to their deaths with her song. Winter’s voice was like that…mesmerizing. “Even so, I have no intent of enjoying your…ah…girlish charms. I simply wish a favor of you.”
“Which is?” I asked carefully.
“I like to make wagers,” he said with a smile. “It’s a hobby. I like to predict outcomes and I am always right, unless someone…How shall I put it so that you will understand?” The charming look vanished and anger, terrible and beautiful, showed on his chiseled face. “Unless someone fucks things up!” His eyes flashed blue as he spoke, his finger lancing in my direction as if he intended to spear me with it. “You, dearest, have fucked things up for me. Quite unknowingly, you have caused me to lose a bet.” And the anger was gone and he was calm again as if he had never displayed it at all.
An incredulous look crossed my face and I eyed Talbot for guidance. “And for this you give me gifts?”
“No,” he said. There was something in his eyes then, not anger, but the potential for its return. “No, the gifts are either an apology or an inducement. Do me a small favor.” He pointed at Talbot. “Send that thing back to its master.”
“He’s not mine. I can’t just tell him to go somewhere and expect him to—”
“Oh, he would go if you told him that his precious Eric had returned.”
“What?” Talbot demanded. “I was just over there three days ago. I thought they weren’t having any luck.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” I asked, attempting to sound casual about it.
Talbot shook his head, then kissed my forehead on his way to the door. “I kept you safe until he came back, but now I gotta go.”
“What? You’re running back to him? Just like that? What about us?”
Talbot frowned. “There is no us. You keep expecting me to act human, but I’m not. I never have been. I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings.” He scooted carefully past Winter.
Why is it that the only man who was honest and up front with me is the vampire I broke up with?
“What kind of bet did you have?” I asked Winter.
Winter smirked and turned to mist, letting his outer edges blur into wispy trails of vapor. “That would be telling. Besides, I ought not bend all the rules. I already had to use a loophole to set things straight. Do you know how hard it is to convince a priest to give up his soul? Fortunately, I’m an exceptional parishioner.” He laughed. “The words just bounce right off of your forehead, don’t they?” He tapped his own lightly. “My apologies. Enjoy the clothes.”
His entire body dissipated as if he had been nothing more than a cloud or a puff of smoke. I picked up the phone and dialed the front desk.
“How may I be of assistance?” Dennis answered.
“I need someone to clean my room and fix my shower.”
“I’ll send someone immediately,” he said cheerfully. “And, milady?”
“What?”
“Lord Phillip asked me to send you to his room when you awoke. He has another visitor that he’d like—”
I didn’t let him finish the rest of the sentence. “You tell Lord Phillip that he’s a fat, balding, demented little freak and he can go fuck himself.” I slammed the phone down hard enough to spider-web the glass-topped end table. That was stupid, but stupid felt really, really good.
18
ERIC: AT THE MOVIES
Inside the projection booth at the Pollux, modern equipment sat side by side with the original reel-to-reel technology. My Casablanca print was gone and so was Singin’ in the Rain. The Court Jester was still there, but only because someone had spilled Coke on the film when they’d inventoried the canisters. Greta pointed at the newfangled digital projector, rambling on about picture quality and noise ratio.
“Does it work like a DVD player?” I interrupted.
“Basically.”
“Then it’s great. Thanks.”
“I got you a selection.” Greta opened a filing cabinet. The films inside were all classics, and I saw my two favorites tucked right in front.
“I don’t deserve you,” I said.
“Yes, you do, Dad.” Greta hugged me. “You saved me. I know you don’t like to talk about it, but do you remember…” She sagged as her words trailed off. My face must have given me away. I felt like a turd for not wanting to listen. She has highs and lows. At her low ebbs, she always wants to talk about our time together when she was human, how much I remember. The truth is, I don’t always remember or sometimes I get it mixed up. When we talk, she can tell. It’s a bad situation.
“Do you miss Kyle?” She bit her lip when she asked, turned her face away.
“Kyle who?” I wonder if there is a vampire equivalent of Alzheimer’s.
“Nothing. Nothing. It’s okay, Dad. You just watch your movies.” Greta kissed me on the forehead and hugged me again, so tightly that I worried she wasn’t going to let go. She pressed a remote into my hand. “I…couldn’t afford to have the sensor put in professionally, so just point it at the center of the mezzanine and try to ignore the wire.”
“Uh-huh.”
She opened the door to leave.
“Greta,” I called after her. “I really do appreciate all that you’ve done to hang on to the Pollux for me. I’ll pay you back.”
Her smile could’ve made a dead man happy…which I guess it did, if you think about it. “It’s not an issue, Dad. Just glad to help. I’m gonna go eat again.” The door fell closed with a heavy thud after her exit, whi
ch left me alone with Marilyn. I loaded Casablanca into the glorified DVD player and scooped up the glowing purple cube with Marilyn’s soul inside.
Thirty-two minutes into my second run through Casablanca, as Ingrid Bergman’s face loomed above me on the big screen, I knew what to do. If you haven’t seen the movie, I highly recommend it. I always watch it when I have to make big decisions…if I have the time. I know people say that Citizen Kane is the greatest movie ever made, but they’re wrong. I don’t care about an old rich guy who dies longing for more innocent times. I live that every night.
Marilyn’s cube sat on my left in the front row. El Alma Perdida rested in the seat on my right. Pointing the remote control over my head at the mezzanine, I stopped the movie. Blue light from the projection default screen cast the theater in an eerie underwater light.
“I have some options, Marilyn,” I told the cube. Who knew if she could hear me, but I hoped that she could. “I can try to bring you back to life. I don’t know if you’d be mortal or immortal or undead, but there has got to be a way. If I do that, though, you still won’t be in love with me. You’ll pity me like you always have, even when you were screwing Roger behind my back and planning to go through with our marriage anyway.”
I climbed out of my seat. The Pollux no longer smelled like stale popcorn. Whoever had put it up for auction must have had a cleaning crew come in and do a real once-over on the place. Magbidion’s failed rituals on the stage had left an odor of blood, a scent that mixed badly with that of the disinfectant. I considered burning some microwave popcorn to see if it would help, but it was all avoidance.
I knew what I needed to do and didn’t like it. My fingers drummed on the wooden stage of their own accord. I couldn’t look at the cube. If I could release Marilyn before giving Jill his magic rock, then it meant one of two things: either I was stronger than demon magic (doubtful) or it meant that Jill wanted that rock so badly he would be willing to do or say anything to get his claws on it.
