by Mary Hughes
“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “Thinking about you.”
Just words, but his blue eyes warmed with meaning. Would it be so bad, giving in to this driving need for him, for his touch, his smile? Giving in, not just to the lust, but what I sensed was behind it?
A real relationship.
Glynn was protective and gentle and strong. Loyal, with how he felt about home. With a mystery or two to unravel to keep things fresh, a relationship might just work.
Hey, my BD&D tingle had finally materialized. Why couldn’t other fantasies come true?
Argh. Because it was a fantasy. Real relationship, with a vampire? I had rocks for brains.
And yet despite knowing better, hope bloomed at his warm, loving look, for a “would you go out with me tonight?” or “would you mind if I gave you this exquisite piece of jewelry?” or—
“Would you consider leaving town with Mishela for a few days?”
Definitely not on the list. “You mean after the show closes?”
Glynn’s gaze swept over the milling customers, then came back to me. “Is there somewhere private we can speak?”
I didn’t want to leave the customers unattended. They wouldn’t steal anything, but they might leave without buying, which was a crime in my dad’s book. Still, if it was as important as Glynn’s expression indicated, I should at least try. Maybe he wanted to finish that hot kiss.
“It’ll have to be quick.” I locked the cash register, let the mayor know I’d be back in a moment and led Glynn through the office to the side stairwell.
A feeble square of sun filtered through the door’s window. Glynn flashed up a few stairs, motioned me to join him.
“Mr. Elias is…disturbed by last night. Camille has demonstrated cunning. He’s concerned that if customers continue to be pulled away from the show and local businesses, your Sparkasse Bank will be in serious financial difficulties. That it will fold, leaving the city itself vulnerable.”
Any hope that our tête-à-tête might be to steal a few sweet kisses died. “Camille’s smart and we’re in trouble. That’s not news. And Mr. Elias isn’t the only one concerned.”
“Understood. But he is preparing to step in.”
I brightened. “With cash?”
Glynn shook his head, once, that sharp, almost angry denial. “He’s rich, but Meiers Corners isn’t the only place in need, or even the neediest. With the state of the economy, even all his wealth is only a splint and a bandage.”
“Then what is he planning?”
“He’s put Project Shield on alert.”
“Which means what?”
“Meiers Corners could become a vampire battleground.”
That didn’t sound good. “How many vampires are we talking about?”
“Maybe fifty Alliance, but the best of the best. Perhaps five hundred Lestat.”
I rested my head against the stairwell wall, closed my eyes. “Isn’t war a bit premature?”
“The alert is only a first step, in response to Camille’s tricks. Elias is never rash. But if the show doesn’t make a profit by closing night, that’ll be a second warning and he’ll go to high alert. If, at the end of the month, the Meiers Corners businesses can’t meet their expenses and start going bankrupt—”
“It’s war. I get it. And the humans? What about us Meiers Corners…sizians?”
“That’s why I want you out.” Glynn’s tone was flat with suppressed anger. “We’d take every precaution, but even if we win decisively, Lestats may escape. If the Coterie pulls in muscle from other cities, winning isn’t even guaranteed.”
I processed that. Blood and gore featured heavily. “If we’re only at elevated threat level, why do you want me to leave? The fight won’t happen for weeks.”
“I’ve worked with Elias long enough to know how he’ll probably do things. But in case he doesn’t wait until the end of the month…I don’t want to stake your life on it. Or Mishela’s.”
“Glynn, I can’t go.”
He got all Mr. Grim Vampire. “You must—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. But can’t you see this is my fight too?” I put fingers on his cheek. “I need to stay and not just for the show. I need to do everything I can to keep us from hitting red alert. We need to win tourists back from Camille. I need to help. Do you understand?”
Reluctantly, he said, “Yes.” Even more reluctantly, he added, “I’m very proud of you, Junior Stieg. Honored to know you.”
It wasn’t a hot kiss or jewelry. But in some ways it was even better.
We returned to find the store packed with customers. I automatically slapped on my sausage smile, unlocked the cash register and rang through pounds of summer sausage, bologna and brats. The work helped me forget about the approaching horrors.
Until I tuned in to nearby conversations.
“That club is just incredible. I drove from Orland Park to visit.”
“I stayed the whole night. Tonight I’m getting in line before the doors open.”
“That goth club is so exciting. And I love the free little cheese novelties. What are they called?”
“Ooh, the ones that fizz in your mouth? GObubbles. Love those. I could eat those forever!”
While yay, new tourists, boo that they were all being snared by the opposition. Still, they were in my store now and their credit was as good. My smile stayed bright, if brittle.
The door kept tinkling. Rocky and the mayors left, but new people packed in until the checkout line stretched the length of the store. I punched numbers and bagged so fast my fingers bled—but the line only got longer and the store fuller.
Mom and Pop couldn’t help. The way product was flying off the shelves, Pop was running his legs off restocking and Mom was in the Wurstmobile couriering in emergency supplies. I was desperate enough to phone my rent-a-kid, who was busy with soccer practice and couldn’t help.
I was officially screwed when the line backed out the front door. The May heat poured in. Our aged coolers started clanking like they’d burst. I waved people frantically inside, but they only packed the open doorway, staring like I was demented.
Glynn saw my dilemma. Brilliant guy that he was, he glided to the door and did his vampire compulsion thing. “Inside, please. Form the line here.”
He shepherded them all in and shut the door, then nudged the line to wind through the aisles. Oh, wonderful man. Vampire. Whatever. I didn’t think I could love him any more.
Until he got behind the counter and started bagging.
Yep, confirmed. Keeper.
Time leaped forward in a flurry of cashiering and bagging. It wasn’t until my stomach growled that I looked up. Two minutes to noon. “Wow, that went fast.”
My dad insisted on a break every four hours, even in the midst of chaos. I hung up my Wurstspeicher smock and Pop took my place behind the register.
“Lunch?” Glynn followed me upstairs.
“No, I have to practice. There are a couple gnarly parts I need to keep under my fingers.” With the outcome of the show so important, I didn’t want to do anything less than shine.
“Surely you have to eat.”
My stomach growled again, answering him. “I’ll power down a bagel when I’m done.”
In the attic, he followed me so tight I started getting doggy ideas. So of course upon entering my room, the first thing I saw was my bed. I blushed, suffered my stomach rumbling again, snapped, “Outside. I really do have to practice.”
Glynn backpedaled, sat himself on the bare boards just outside my door. “I’ll wait here.”
“Thanks.” I scooted my chair out, sat, assembled clarinet and flute and started woodshedding the tornado scene, lots of fast chromatics.
When I stopped to adjust my reed, Glynn called in, “Why do you practice those nasty parts so hard when they’re covered up by brass?”
No real answer for that, so I just snarled at him.
He laughed. “Emerson warned me about that.”
&nb
sp; “About what?” I twirled the screw of my ligature as I waited for him to expand on that, tightened it one crank too tight. “What?”
“Just that you might get like this.”
I tossed clarinet onto stand and glared out the door.
He sat with his back to the wall that framed my door, eyes closed. I glared harder, trying to poke through his nonchalance. No go, so I snatched an old reed from my clarinet case and threw it at him. He caught it one-handed without even opening his eyes. I snarled louder. “Do vampires practice being cryptic? Or is it like immortality and you’re just built that way?”
“We’re not immortal. And I wasn’t being cryptic.” Glynn slipped the reed inside his jacket. “Emerson simply said you’re small, so you might get crabby if you’re not fed often enough. His wee wife does.”
“That sure as hell was crypt…hey. I’m not crabby. Focused on my work, maybe. If you guys aren’t immortal, how do you explain Mr. Elias and his older-than-the-mists-of-time shtick?”
“We can be killed. That makes us mortal.” Glynn’s eyes opened, directly on mine.
I almost fell into those blue jewels. Hell, I nearly dove in like the Hawaiian cliff diver pictured on my west wall. But fortunately I was too crabby…hungry…focused on work. I spun back to my instruments. “You don’t age. Immortal.”
“Oh, we age.”
“You do?” I picked up my flute.
“We just heal it.”
“You ‘heal’ aging. My head hurts. Look, I’m going to finish practicing and get back to the store. Do you need to sleep? I can draw the curtains for you.” Although thinking of Glynn, on my bed…well, it didn’t conjure images of sleeping.
“What about your bagel? You promised to eat.”
“Sure, I’ll grab it on the way down.” I started playing.
“Junior.” He blurred to his feet and filled the doorway, eyes blazing—so handsome he’d have gotten my attention even if he hadn’t suddenly loomed bigger than life. “You need to sit to eat, take time to digest.”
I paused with my flute at my mouth. “Love to, but I need to spell Pop more. With a crowd like that, Mom can only restock solo for so long. If she’s even in the Haus.” Not to mention all the other behind-the-scenes work they did.
Yeah, I admit it. They couldn’t run the store without me, but I couldn’t run it without them, either.
“I’ll spell your father.”
I blinked. “You what?”
“I’ll run the cash register while you eat. I’ve done many things in my time, including a bit of retail. Your register doesn’t look too hard.”
Glynn was offering to do my job so that I could eat. Not just eat, but sit down with my food. Chew it. Digest it. Maybe even relax a little.
No one had done that for me in a long time. Nobody had sat with me while I practiced, either, not since Nixie and Rocky in high school.
Sitting with me, talking with me, sharing my work… Things a friend did. A good friend.
“Yeah, but—” Words collided inside me, a traffic jam of feeling. I settled for, “I can’t pay you.”
He wrapped fingers around either side of the doorjamb and leaned into the room to press a quick kiss to my lips. While I was gaping, he swung back out. “I’ll go relieve your father. Take your time eating.”
He went poof in that vampire way, leaving me with the feel of his mouth on my lips. And a big smile.
Fortunately for customer wait time, Glynn stayed the rest of the day. Unfortunately for me, the crowd, heavy and a little aggressive, kept us busy right up until I had to pack my instruments. Even if I was hoping for a little nooky—which I wasn’t—I didn’t get any.
We waited in the hallway for the limo. I might’ve hoped for a quick orgas…I mean kiss, but Glynn said, “Emerson’s called a council of war tonight, directly after the show. I must attend.”
“Oh.” No nooky right away. “After that?”
“Junior.” He took me by the upper arms and started speaking earnestly. I watched his gorgeous mouth, not really hearing him, standing breast-to-ripply-abs and ultra-aware of our size difference—and ultra-aroused by it, to the point that my body was screaming “damn the commitment, full speed ahead”.
Until his words cut through my slobbering brain. “…better if we not indulge. Easier. So I won’t be seeing you anymore.”
“What?”
The limo’s horn cut me off. Before I could screech What do you mean you won’t be seeing me anymore? Glynn nudged me out the door and zipped with my sax to the limo. I dashed after, but by the time he stowed sax, shoveled me into the limo and slammed the door, he was the color of boiled lobster and his cryptic remark was the least of my concerns.
I laid a hand on his forehead, flinched at the unnatural heat. “Are you okay?”
“I…will be. In a moment.” He was panting.
“Damn it, why didn’t I notice this before?”
“Softer…day. And I…disguised it.”
“Glynn can’t shapeshift yet.” Mishela flashed brightly inquisitive eyes between the two of us. “But he can morph small things like his face. I can’t wait to do that. No more greasepaint for me. So what have you guys been up to all day? Alone. Together.”
Which explained the brightly inquisitive. “We did retail, and not alone.” Unfortunately. Except he didn’t want to see me anymore. I shook my head. “Vampires can shapeshift?”
“After we reach a thousand.”
“A thousand what?”
“Years.” Mishela ignored my gaping. “Glynn doesn’t have long to go.”
Nearly a thousand years old. And I’d thought we might have a chance at a real relationship?
No wonder he didn’t want to see me anymore. My heart ached. What could be worse?
Well, sure. Having only six people in the audience. Twyla, Nikos and Mayor Meier were joined by all three members of the Teapot Jihad, a radical sect of Meiers Corners teetotalers. (Really. They picketed the Alpine Retreat and Bar on Labor Day, bombed Nieman’s on Independence Day with red white and blue smoke balls, and every St. Patrick’s they took out an ad in the Zietung newspaper pushing green milk. If you think that’s yuck, they also distributed pamphlets with full-color close-ups of drunks and toilets, too gruesome to describe.)
Onstage the cast put out SRO energy, singing and dancing their little hearts out. But without audience feedback, without applause or laughs or even a chuckle, it was hard to keep up. Like a balloon in the freezer, the performance slowly deflated.
Oh, there were moments. Toto tried the golden leg-lift on the captain of the Winkies. The captain, wearing tall black rubber boots, just smiled—until Toto started humping black rubber. The captain tried to shake the dog off, but Toto grabbed boot with all four legs and rode it out. It looked like the dog was actually enjoying it.
I snorted into my sax. Which, since the part was half-note stings, was fine.
Aside from that, the show was awful with occasional squalls of horrendous. Which fit my mood. I won’t be seeing you anymore.
Now, too late, I wished I had processed, wished I’d confronted my feelings after our incredible night together, wished I’d confronted him. If we’d hammered out what was going on between us—a bout of sex, a short-term affair, or something more—then I wouldn’t feel so confused. So lost.
So why not confront him now, hammer it out now?
Immediately my confusion vanished and my mood improved. The moment our disaster of a show was over, I ran to the dressing rooms, where he’d be hovering over Mishela.
Empty.
Oh, yeah. The actors did a meet and greet in the lobby after performances. I had time, so I packed up my instruments. Then I went to the lobby.
Empty.
Except for the mayor, who looked a little lost. No tourists, and he’d know what that meant. I wondered how much he knew about the added-value issue, the vampire turf wars. No, this was only temporary. The show would be successful. Eventually.
The mayor saw me and b
rightened. “Ach, Gunter Marie. How are you?”
I could have run, but why? No Glynn. This would be the first time he hadn’t seen me home in…dammit, I wasn’t wistful. “Hey, Mayor Meier.”
“Ach, I didn’t tell you this morning, all my attention on the GLBT mayors, but how you have grown! You, who I have known since wearing diapers—”
“Wow, Mayor, thanks!” Rude, but I had to interrupt. The mayor has this thing about diapers—and whips. Not together, thank goodness. Any other city, it’d have been a scandal. Here, it was one of those small-town secrets, which everyone knows and nobody talks about. Because, come on. Santa in lederhosen with a whip and diaper fetish? So wrong. “What did you think of the show, Mayor?”
“I am dejected, liebchen. The attendance is in the toilet, nein?” Then he brightened. “But tomorrow is Sunday. The matinee will be better attended, ja?”
Well, who was I to burst his tiny beer bubbles?
Then I realized the matinee started at three in the afternoon, well before Fangs To You opened. There’d be no competition for the timeslot.
Rainbows and leprechauns and St. Murphy the Good filled my head. If people but experienced the joy of our show, they’d want to tell their friends. All we had to do was put butts in seats. “You betcha, Mayor! And I’m going to make sure of it.”
Hey, if Camille could market with flyers, why couldn’t a cute and totally competent sausage retailer?
Julian’s limo took me home. But before I made flyers, I had that little outstanding issue to deal with. I won’t be seeing you anymore.
I rushed to my bedroom to call Glynn, not as simple as it sounds. Before I called, I had to close my bedroom window, shut my door tight and stuff a sock into the crack underneath. Not that I thought the parents listened to my personal conversations. I knew they did. Hey, even paranoid people have parents.
When I was as private as possible, I touched my UK map for luck and called his cell phone. The line clicked open.
“Hello, babi.”
Glynn’s deep voice vibrated out of the phone and down my spine, echoed inside. Not hearing that voice ever again… Confused feelings fled. “What the hell did you mean, you won’t be seeing me?”
