The Vampire Next Door

by Ashlyn Chase

  “Oh… Oh!” Merry clutched her pregnant belly and doubled over with the pain of another contraction.

  “I do declare, Merry. Are y’all are in labor?”

  She did her Lamaze breathing and nodded.

  “Oh, dear. Where’s Jason?”

  When the pain eased, Merry straightened. “At his parents’ house in Minnesota. His dad’s had another heart attack. We decided that since it’s about three weeks before my due date, I shouldn’t fly. Roz is my backup, but I can’t get ahold of her.”

  “Oh, my goodness. Well, what did you have planned? Was you doin’ a home birth or hospital?”

  “Hospital. I can’t drive myself though. Can you drive?”

  “I ain’t got a driver’s license, but I’m sure I could figure it out if y’all have an automatic transmission and I don’t have to shift the thingy.”

  Merry laughed. “No offense, but driving in this city isn’t a piece of cake for experienced drivers. Never mind. I’ll think of something else.”

  “Maybe Nathan can drive. Let me run down and ask him.”

  “Let’s take the elevator.”

  “Too slow. Y’all can take it—or better yet, wait here and I’ll call up to ya with what he says.”

  Merry worried about another contraction coming on, so she just nodded.

  Gwyneth took off running down the stairs. She disappeared from view, and Merry heard her footsteps fade as they tapped out a staccato beat on the marble steps.

  She braced herself through the next contraction and barely heard Gwyneth talking to the resident of Apt 1A.

  After a brief wait, Gwyneth yelled up the stairwell. “Nathan don’t drive neither, but he says he’ll take y’all on the back of his bicycle.”

  Merry laughed and called down. “No, thank you.”

  Gwyneth’s feet tapped up the stairs again. “Let me try Jules or Lily.”

  “Never mind. I’ll take a cab.”

  When Gwyneth finally reached her, Merry was panting. “I’ll go with y’all.”

  “That’s sweet, but you don’t have to.”

  “Y’all need a birthin’ coach, right?”

  “Have you ever witnessed a birth before?”

  “Sugar, I’m from the hills of Tennessee. I’ve seen my share of home births. A hospital with doctors and nurses helpin’ should be a piece of cake, as y’all would say.”

  Gwyneth wouldn’t have been Merry’s first choice, or even her third or fourth, but at this point she couldn’t be picky. “Thank you. I’ll need my suitcase.”

  * * * *

  In the Admissions waiting room, Gwyneth paced while Merry waited patiently. How could she be so cool, calm, and collected? Maybe it was just the relief of knowing she was at the hospital. She probably felt comfortable here, being a nurse and all.

  “Gwyneth, why don’t you sit down?”

  “Sorry, Merry. Hospitals make me as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

  “Everything’s going to be fine. Take a seat.”

  “Did y’all call Jason?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he flyin’ back?”

  “Yes, but flights were all booked up. He won’t get here until tomorrow at the earliest.”

  A wave of relief washed over Gwyneth. “Thank the Lord and Lady. He’ll be here in plenty of time.”

  Merry squinted at her. “What do you mean? You don’t think I’ll be in labor that long, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t want to second-guess Mother Nature or nothin’, but this is your first baby. I knew a girl what went seventy-two hours, screamin’ and pitchin’ fits.”

  Merry’s eyes rounded and she blanched.

  “Oh, but don’t worry, sugar.” Gwyneth strode over to her and patted her shoulder. “I’m sure y’all will be just fine.”

  “Uh… me too. Oddly enough, I haven’t had a contraction in about ten minutes. Maybe they’re Braxton-Hicks.”

  “Who? I ain’t heard tell of them hicks. Are they from West Virginny?”

  Merry smiled, then coughed. “No, those are the names of the two people who scientifically studied false labor.”

  “False labor? Y’all faked this whole thing? Why?”

  “No, I didn’t fake anything. Sometimes it just happens. A woman has contractions for a few hours, then they stop. You’ve never heard of that?”

  “Hell, no. Back home if a woman starts grittin’ her teeth, y’all better boil some water and get out the clean towels. There’s no fakin’ allowed.”

  “It’s not faking…” Merry took a deep breath and sighed. “Never mind.”

  Gwyneth patted her hand. “It’s all right. I don’t blame y’all fer bein’ scared. I’ve heard some horror stories about birthin’ babies, and y’all have probably heard them too.

  The woman behind the glass window called Merry’s number.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “And I’ll thank the Goddess. Now let’s go have that baby, and no more stallin’, ya hear?”

  * * * *

  In the restaurant’s horseshoe-shaped bench seat, Sly stretched, trying to get the crick out of his neck. He probably got it from sleeping on cold tile all day, but he wasn’t about to complain. Morgaine had probably saved his life. Plus she had spent the day all alone, except for one phone call to Mikhail to set up this meeting.

  The waiter at the French restaurant seemed to know Mikhail well. His “special wine” was brought to the table without his even ordering it.

  “Does Monsieur wish to share his owner’s reserve with everyone?”

  “No, Pierre. Just the other gentleman and myself will be drinking my special vintage tonight. The lady can order whatever she likes.”

  Morgaine smiled and asked for herbal tea.

  The waiter said, “Very good,” and left.

  Delicious aromas teased Sly’s palate, but naturally, he wouldn’t be able to partake. At times like this, he envied the living.

  Over the chatter from other patrons, Morgaine had made introductions. Mikhail seemed like an affable fellow. Tall, dark, and aristocratic but without the arrogant air Sly had expected from the older, more experienced vampire.

  “Tell me how you like it.” Mikhail nodded toward Sly’s glass.

  Sly took a sip. The smooth red wine slid down his throat and was like nothing he’d ever tasted. A moment later, his blood thirst was gone!

  “Amazing,” he breathed. “I feel—better.” He glanced around the restaurant to be sure no one could overhear. “Is it always like that? Instantaneous, I mean?”

  Mikhail shrugged one shoulder. “It depends. If you haven’t fed for a while, it might take longer. And if you have to spend prolonged periods in sunlight, you’ll probably need more. But be careful. It’s potent.”

  Sly swirled what was in his glass. “Have you ever gotten drunk on it?”

  Mikhail grinned. “Tipsy maybe, but not drunk.”

  Sly took another tentative sip and smiled. A cure! At last! “Are there any other things I should know? Will it sap my strength or dull my senses?”

  “No. That’s why it’s so popular among our kind. It removes the negative effects of our condition, while allowing us to keep the positive.”

  Sly shook his head in wonder. “It’s a miracle.”

  “You might still need sunglasses and sunscreen. I imagine it’s been a long time since you’ve been exposed to sunlight.”

  He sighed. “Twenty-six years.”

  “Only twenty-six?” Mikhail didn’t appear to be joking or sardonic.

  The waiter returned with Morgaine’s herbal tea. She had been studying the menu and was probably starved after all day in the hotel room.

  “Would the lady like to order?” the waiter asked.

  “Yes, please. I’ll have the coq au vin, spring greens with the house dressing on the side, and do you bring rolls or bread to the table first?”

  He grinned. “Only the best warm wheat rolls in the world.”

  She licked her lips. “Hurry.
”

  The waited bowed slightly and rushed off.

  Sly chuckled. “Hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  Mikhail crossed his arms. “Aren’t you taking care of my dear, old friend?”

  Sly saddened. “I would have, but I’m afraid sunrise snuck up on me this morning. Had I thought of it before I passed out on the floor, I’d have urged her to order room service.” He took her hand. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t want to add any charges to the bill since you’d paid up front and didn’t have a credit card.”

  “Oh, sweetheart…”

  The waiter returned with a small basket of rolls that smelled freshly baked. He set a tiny crock of butter in front of Morgaine, and she dove into the appetizer.

  “How do you two know each other?” Mikhail asked.

  “We live in the same apartment building. Our friendship goes back to the night she moved in—what was it, nine years ago?”

  “Ey,” she mumbled with her mouth full.

  The guys chuckled.

  Sly changed the subject. “So, if you don’t mind my asking—how old are you?”

  “About six hundred,” Mikhail answered casually.

  “Six hundred! I can’t fathom six hundred years on earth. Think of the changes you must have witnessed over the centuries.”

  Mikhail swirled the wine in his glass. “The last century was the most impressive as far as change, but people are the same.”

  Sly tipped his head. “How so?”

  “Greedy, acquisitive, then surprised when all that doesn’t make them happy. But technology has certainly changed. We used to need a horse for transportation. Now we have trains, planes, and automobiles.”

  “Not to mention the communication devices,” Sly added.

  Mikhail chuckled. “So little to say, so many ways to say it. I think I was content as soon as we had the telephone.”

  “Seriously?”

  “All right, maybe the cell phones, email, and ATMs weren’t bad, but don’t talk to me about half the crap on TV and the Internet.”

  Morgaine nodded her head emphatically, then mumbled around her bite of roll. “’At’s right.” After gulping down the mouthful, she continued. “There’s so much misinformation about magick, it makes me nuts. If you don’t have proper training, you’re asking for trouble.”

  Mikhail leaned closer. “Speaking of which, do you know what to do about my little problem?”

  “I want to see the space and I still need to write the spell, but I’ll do that after you fill me in on the specifics. I brought the ingredients I’ll need. It sounded as if you knew the identity of the evil magician.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Good. That will help. You don’t happen to know what kind of hex he used, do you?”

  “I’m sorry, no. But I know he brought in some kind of paper and left without it. We caught him on security cameras.”

  “He may have burned it. That’s what witches usually do with spells.”

  “Could he have planted it somewhere?”

  Morgaine thought briefly. “He could have left it. Or he could have tucked it in his pocket before he left. What did it look like?”

  “It looked like a small scroll. Unfortunately, our cameras only cover certain areas. There were places he could have left it without our knowing it.”

  “Okay. I can make the wording pretty general and still break almost any curse. However, if he left an object behind, we should try to find it. Then we’ll bury it in the earth and neutralize it.”

  Sly couldn’t help being impressed. She was so knowledgeable and didn’t hesitate to share that knowledge with others. It was a shame her friend didn’t feel he could return the favor. Or, maybe he could. Perhaps he just needed a bit of convincing.

  Sly cleared his throat. “Mikhail. My lady here is being very generous with her skills, knowledge, and information. I wonder if you could share with us a little something about the special product you make. At least tell us why it works. It seems only fair.”

  Mikhail sighed. “It is, but even if I tell you what’s in it, you’d never find it again in a million years.”

  “I’m awfully curious, Mikhail,” Morgaine said.

  Mikhail straightened as if gearing up for a long lecture. “You’ve heard of the stigmata, right?”

  They nodded. Sly couldn’t help wondering where this conversation was going.

  Mikhail continued. “Well, Joan of Arc, while in prison, received the mysterious wounds on her hands and feet where Christ was nailed to the cross. The rags used to bandage the wounds and stanch the flow of blood were saved by one of the guards who believed in her sainthood long before she was canonized. He sold them as souvenirs after she was burned at the stake.”

  “That seems crass,” Sly said. “But enterprising.”

  “Whether it was or not, if I hadn’t obtained a small sample of her blood, you and I wouldn’t be drinking this now.” He raised his glass of wine and swirled the red liquid.

  Morgaine snapped her fingers. “Of course. Joan of Arc, burned at the stake. Two things vampires are deathly afraid of. Fire and wooden stakes. I see the connection. So, is she the patron saint of vampires or something?”

  “Or something,” Mikhail confirmed.

  “I see.” Sly was still hoping that some secret would slip out. “So how do you add her blood to the wine?”

  Mikhail shifted uncomfortably, then checked his watch. “I’m awfully sorry. I just remembered a previous engagement.” He reached into his pocket and produced a card. “Here’s the address of my warehouse. I live in the penthouse in the same building. Stop by tomorrow sometime in the afternoon.”

  Sly gaped at his glass of wine. “One glass will protect me all day tomorrow?”

  Mikhail tipped his head. “Hmm… maybe. Finish my glass as well as your own just to be sure.”

  “Won’t he be tired if he’s up all night and all day too?” Morgaine asked.

  “Tonight, you’ll sleep like you used to. You may even dream.”

  “Wow. And tomorrow you’ll give me more of this fantastic stuff?”

  Mikhail laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll have a glass ready and a bottle open. If Morgaine keeps her promise, I’ll have a case waiting for you to take home.”

  Morgaine straightened and looked slightly offended. “I always keep my promises.”

  “Of course. I didn’t mean to infer you wouldn’t. Forgive me.”

  Sly shook his head in wonder. “I can’t get over the power of this wonderful product of yours. It seems like I’m dreaming already.”

  “Morgaine, Sly, enjoy my fair city, and bring your magick mojo with you tomorrow afternoon. Meanwhile, I’ll try to search the places not covered by cameras and see if there’s anything hidden.” He stood and bowed slightly to Morgaine. “It was wonderful to see you again. Sylvestro, nice meeting you.”

  Sly rose and shook his hand. “Likewise.”

  “I’ll see you both tomorrow.” With that, Mikhail strode toward the coat room.

  Morgaine watched as he left. “That was odd.”

  “I know. I think he was changing the subject and leaving before we could change it back and find out too much about making his special vintage.”

  She nodded slowly. “That’s exactly what he was doing. Which makes me think we might be able to duplicate it.”

  “Would he refuse to help a friend?”

  “He hasn’t seen me for eight years, and he just met you. Why would he hand over his trade secrets?”

  “Good point.”

  * * * *

  Morgaine and Sly took in some of the famous New York sights after dinner. After a horse-and-buggy ride through Central Park all snuggled together, they walked hand in hand and window-shopped down Fifth Avenue, which was well lit, thank the Goddess. They even took a short bus ride to Greenwich Village. The whole time Sly kept Morgaine safe and anchored. More importantly, he didn’t make her feel like a freak.

  She was so happy t
hat she didn’t want to think about their private time together ending. But eventually they’d have to return to their lives in Boston, darn it.

  “You should probably go to sleep at a reasonable hour so you’re not exhausted tomorrow,” Sly said. “I wonder if maybe I should too?”

  Morgaine grinned. “Is that your sneaky way of getting me into bed with you?”

  “Do I need to be sneaky?”

  She laughed. “Not at all.” After a short pause, she decided to risk a little more intimate information. “I love making love to you, Sly.”

  He smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. “I love making love to you too.”

  They continued their walk in companionable silence until they reached their hotel. The young man behind the desk who had checked them in glanced up and then went back to his work as if he didn’t even see them.

  Sly let go of her hand, but only to wrap a possessive arm around her waist.

  As soon as they were ensconced in the elevator and the doors whooshed closed, Sly pulled her into a firm embrace and kissed her soundly.

  They didn’t pull apart until they reached their floor and the doors opened. An older couple stood there. They smiled knowingly as they exchanged places. Morgaine glanced back over her shoulder as she strolled away and caught the other couple moving closer to each other. Affection inspired affection, apparently.

  Morgaine just knew Sly loved her. She’d wait patiently for him to say it though. Forcing the words would do no good and might push him away. That was the last thing she wanted. She felt more secure with him than with Gwyneth. Actually, she trusted him more than anyone in recent years—and he was a vamp! No, she decided. He was Sly. And Sly just happened to be a vampire.

  Once in their room, Sly took her hand and led her to the bed. Morgaine stepped away from him and found the zipper at the nape of her neck. She dragged it down as far as she could, then turned around. Without needing to be asked, he opened her black dress the rest of the way. She rotated back to face him and let it slip off her shoulders and puddle on the floor around her feet.

  His breath hitched.

  That was the reaction she’d been hoping for when she’d dressed braless and pantyless. He hopped out of his black trousers and peeled off his shirt, tossing both to the floor. His erection jutted out proudly.