Jeanne Stein - Legacy

After, he waits for me to grow still, for the heat to subside. My muscles refuse to relax. I’m reluctant to let go of him. He’s in no hurry. He moves gently, lowering himself on his hands until our faces are within inches of each other. He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, the tip of my nose.

“You are beautiful, Anna Strong,” he whispers. “Why are you so alone?”

The question raises the hackles at the back of my neck. I put both hands on his shoulders and push him up and away. “I’m not alone.”

An eyebrow arches. “Oh?” He makes a parody of looking around. “There’s a husband I don’t know about? A boyfriend? A steady fuck buddy?”

I start to protest, but he’s hard again and he moves just enough so that the hot, wet friction sends ripples radiating through me. He smiles and rocks a little faster.

“I’m not alone,” I whisper again.

He isn’t listening. He doesn’t care.

In another second, neither do I.

WHEN I AWAKEN THE NEXT MORNING, LANCE IS gone. I didn’t hear him leave. The emotional exchange with my parents at dinner, the terror I felt at Sandra’s, the mind-numbing relief of sex with Lance left me exhausted. When I finally succumbed, it was like falling into a great dreamless pit.

The sleep of the dead.

I only wish I felt rested. Instead, I feel restless. Restless and full of dread for a day that holds no promise of resolution for any of my problems. When my eyes drift to a bedside clock, however, those feelings are swallowed up by a moment of panic.

Shit.

It’s eight thirty. I’m supposed to meet Jason at the coffeehouse at nine.

I throw back the covers and head for the shower. Lance’s smell is strong on me—the musk of sex and sweat and healthy male vampire. I’m not about to go out smelling like I spent the night doing what I did. Especially when meeting a teenage boy.

I turn the shower on full force and hot. Since I don’t have the body temperature of a human, I can stand under a steamy hot shower and not feel the burn. I lather up head to toe, paying particular attention to the nether regions, rinse off, and jump out.

Slather on perfumed body lotion. Comb out my hair. Pull on jeans, a T-shirt and black leather boots. Grab a leather jacket, and I’m out the door by eight fifty.

Lestat’s. The onboard GPS tells me the address is 3343 Adams Avenue. The Normal Heights area. It’s Sunday, so though I know I won’t make it by nine, I also know I shouldn’t be too late.

At nine ten, I’m pulling up in front. The storefront has big picture windows, and through them, I can see an array of well-worn couches and chairs clustered around well-worn tables. Not many people inside. Two hippie types in a corner. No Jason.

Did he think I wasn’t coming and leave? Would he do that after only ten minutes?

Cursing myself for being late and Jason for being on time, I climb out of the car and dart across the street.

The first surprise comes when I walk in. The shop is a long, narrow space with the counter area along one wall. There’s a guy with his back to me pouring beans into a grinder. He gives a start, puts the bag down, doesn’t turn around.

Vampire?

It’s my turn to be startled. The guy looks at me over his shoulder. He’s a nerdy-looking, chunky fellow with dark hair combed across a wide forehead, black horn-rim glasses perched on a narrow nose and thick lips.

I nod. This your shop?

He turns toward me. His name tag reads “Gordon.” He shrugs. I wish. I work here. Pretty cool decor, huh?

The walls are hung with original art along with a few scattered crucifixes, an assortment of miniature cast-iron “death skulls,” a half dozen ornate mirrors (I send Gordon a raised eyebrow at those although I notice they’re set high enough that you’d have to be ten feet tall to see your reflection—or not) and a crystal chandelier over the wood-and-glass alcove where the two guys I spotted before are playing chess.

There are also festoons of garlic. I don’t smell or feel anything. Another raised eyebrow gets this response: They’re artificial. Made of raffia. Look real, though, don’t they?

Too real. Are you trying to keep vamps out?

He shakes his head. I don’t like it, either. It’s my cousin’s idea. He owns the shop.

He’s not a vamp, I take it?

A nod. He imagines himself a rogue vampire slayer. He’ll be in soon. Dressed in black with a stake in a holster and pretending to be all broody and shit. He gets his ideas about what a vampire is from Anne Rice. I think it’s pretty funny, really.

You’re not worried he’ll find out about you?

He blows air through pursed lips. It comes out a disdainful pffft .

Look at me? Do I look like a vampire to you? When I decided to change, I thought I’d get all buff and cool looking. I was hoping for Spike and got Xander. The only thing that got buffed was my brain. I’m smarter and faster but no less nerdy looking. Go figure.

I give him a sympathetic shrug. At least you had a choice in becoming.

You didn’t?

I don’t want to talk about that, so I look around. The windows are covered with something that looks like amber Saran Wrap. The two humans playing chess in the corner don’t cast a reflection.

How’d you do that with the windows?

He smiles. Nonreflective film. Told my cousin it would decrease the heat and glare in here. It does, but it also allows me to be in here during the day or night.

Before he can say anything else, a couple steps up to the counter. They have short, unisex haircuts and are dressed in silk sweat suits that scream uptown chic. I move aside so they can place their order. The case under the counter is full of baked goods and they take their time making a decision. I don’t blame them. The stuff looks so good I wish I could eat again. Once they have their goodies in hand (lattes and chocolate muffins), they move off to a table.

I want to ask Gordon how he came to be a vampire. I don’t get many opportunities to talk, really talk, with other vamps. There are more people outside, though, getting ready to come in. Time to get down to business. I jab a thumb toward the door.

I’m supposed to meet a kid here. He’s about fourteen, blond, stands about five feet tall. Have you seen him?

He points behind me. You mean him?

Jason has come in and is looking around the shop, a hesitant expression on his face. He doesn’t see me at first, his eyes flit from the couple who just sat down in front to the long hairs playing chess. Then he spies me at the counter and walks straight back.

“I’m Jason. Sorry I’m late. The bus—”

He’s held out a hand. I take it without thinking. “I’m Anna, Gloria’s friend.”

He pulls his hand back out of mine. “Your hands are really cold.”

“Sorry.” Shit. Gotta learn to curb that reflex. I rub the offending hand on my jeans. “Poor circulation.”

He shrugs. “Do you want some coffee?”

I’m surprised and impressed that he made the offer first. Shows maturity. “Yes.” I look over to Gordon. “Coffee, double cream, one sugar.”

“You want something to eat?” Jason says.

Gordon, meanwhile, is smiling at me. You dog. Isn’t he a teeny bit young for you?

This is business, Gordon. “No thanks, Jason. Coffee is fine. You get something if you’re hungry.”

Jason orders a double espresso and a whole-wheat blueberry scone. When I make a move to pay, he holds out money to Gordon and says, “No. This is on me.” Then he looks around again, and points to a table in the back of the café. “Let’s sit over there.”