S. Harper - Cursed

“He has. Evan’s not the problem.”

“So who is?” I ask.

“I am.” She leans toward me, hands clasped on the table. “He really wants to take our relationship to the next level. These last few days have been great. And he sees that as a sign we should make this living arrangement permanent.”

“And you don’t?”

Her hands unclasp and fly upward. “I don’t know. What if I move in and it doesn’t work out? I don’t want to lose Evan.”

“So keep your place.”

Now her hands flutter like hummingbirds’ wings. I reach over and grab them. “Have you talked with Evan about how you feel?”

She shakes her head, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “I’m afraid.”

“Of Evan?”

She gasps. “Goddess, no, not afraid like that.”

“Then what?”

“I’m afraid if I don’t agree to move in, he’ll end our relationship.”

I sit back and look at my friend. “I wish I could tell you what to do,” I say at last. “But you need to talk to Evan. From what you’ve told me about him, he’s a pretty levelheaded guy. If he respects you, he’ll respect your feelings.”

Liz’s smile is rueful. “I just wish I knew what those feelings were.”

“Well, the way I see it, you’ve got until your apartment is painted, a week, to decide. In the meantime, enjoy roughing it in this überluxurious condo with a man who obviously adores you. I’m sure it will be tough, but you’ll muddle through.”

Liz laughs. A real laugh. “Hurry up and eat. I want you to help me pick out a cocktail dress for a benefit Evan and I are attending tomorrow night at the Hotel Del.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah. Real tough.”

While I eat, Liz asks me questions about work in general, my new partner in particular. I answer in nonspecific, noncommittal terms.

When I’ve finished eating, I ask in what I hope is an offhand way, “Does my dampening spell need a boost, you think?”

Liz jumps on what I’d hoped was an innocent enough query with the intensity of a witch who smells a trick question. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to be sure I’m not giving anything away.”

“Because of what happened with my client in the parking lot?”

Why not? I nod.

She tilts her head and peers at me through narrowed eyes. “Nope,” she says at last. “Spell’s holding just fine.”

“So nothing’s leaking through. The glamour and dampening spells are both solid, safe?”

“Safe as houses.”

Shit. That’s what I was afraid she was going to say. Zack got a zap of my powers in the kitchen, all right, but what’s going on now is something else entirely.

At one forty-five I leave Liz in a much better mood than I found her in. We didn’t resolve her dilemma with Evan, but she seems calmer and ready to look at the situation through less hysterical eyes. And we picked the red Badgley Mischka for her date with Evan tomorrow night.

It’s a short drive from Evan’s to Balboa Park. I take an outside table in the Tea Pavilion after ordering the Spicy Green Dragon Chai from the menu. I sip it while I wait for Dexter, and consider whether I should go back inside and order a curry rice bowl with beef. I love Liz, but salad just isn’t my idea of lunch.

Before I make a decision, I spy Dexter coming toward me with the determined look of a man intent on unburdening himself. He doesn’t stop at the Pavilion to pick up anything to eat or drink. Instead he comes directly over and slumps into the chair across from me. He is out of breath, even paler than yesterday, and I’m alarmed at the haunted look in his eyes.

“Can I get you something to drink? To eat?” I ask.

He shakes his head, passing a hand over his face. “No. Thanks. The walk over here took more out of me than I expected. I’ll be fine. Just let me catch my breath.”

It takes a few minutes for Michael’s breathing to return to normal, for some color to come back into his face. Still, his eyes are troubled when they meet mine. It’s more now than physical illness that’s clouding them. He reminds me of the way Liz looked when I first saw her, anxious, uncomfortable, uneasy in his own skin.

I take a few sips of tea while I wait. Then I gently prod him to begin. “Whatever you need to tell me, it’s not going to shock me. I’ve heard it all before, Michael.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, exhales. “I doubt you’ve heard this before,” he mumbles.

“Want to try me?”

He breathes in, slowly, deeply, like a man about to plunge underwater. Then he lets go. His words come out in a pent-up rush.

“Isabella is a vampire. I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. She was bitten her first week of grad school—taken by force when she wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. She was gone two weeks. She called me once right after it happened to tell me some bullshit story about having met some old friends from her undergrad days. She didn’t want me to worry, but she was going to go on a trip with them and would be gone for a little while. That’s the only time I heard from her until she came back home. I knew something was wrong the minute I saw her. I kept after her until she told me the truth.”

He gets all the words out without drawing a breath. Then he stops abruptly. He’s waiting for me to react. He expects me to be shocked; I read it on his face. After a moment, he points out the obvious. “I just told you Isabella is a vampire. You aren’t calling me crazy. Why?”

I stall by pouring another cup of tea, swirling my spoon around in the cup, taking a sip. Gathering my thoughts. How should I answer Dexter?

I, too, know vampires exist. Their existence, like that of other supernatural creatures, is a well-guarded secret. One I wouldn’t normally betray. But this cat is out of the proverbial bag. More important, I now have another angle to explore, one that might lead us to finding Isabella.

I push at my cup, edging it away, deciding the only way to find out is to be blunt with Dexter. “So she was turned just a few months before her disappearance. Do you know if Isabella had sworn fealty to any of the vampire factions?”

Dexter’s shoulders wilt with relief. “You believe me? You know vampires exist? You’re not trying to humor me?”

“I’m not trying to humor you. Vampires are as real as you and me.”

His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and his eyes fill with tears. “I can’t tell you what a relief this is.”

I nod and give his hand a squeeze. He doesn’t have to tell me. I know what it’s like to have to hold a secret inside because you fear no one will understand or believe you.

After a few seconds he pulls himself together and continues. “Isabella never let go of her humanity. As soon as she was strong enough, she abandoned her sire. He was a junkie who could barely take care of himself, never mind show Isabella the ropes. It took time, but she came to terms with what happened. She made up her mind that she was going to finish school and she’s been working toward that goal ever since.”

“But she must feed to survive.”

“She never feeds directly from people. She gets her supply from one of the Blood Emporiums. Or she did.” He peers at me. “You know about those, too?”

I nod. Emporiums opened up a couple of decades ago, around the same time that Protectus was discovered—a drug that allows vampires to tolerate sunlight. It’s these two things that really sparked the mainstream movement. It started here in California and spread east, then into Europe and other parts of the world.

Most Emporiums are located in the back of businesses catering to those who pursue alternative lifestyles, tattoo shops, and heavy metal clubs. For vampires they offer fresh blood from paid donors who, for the most part, have no idea where the blood ends up or who is paying for it. Would-be vampires and goths simply believe they are indulging in a fantasy. They never see the real vampires who come to buy their blood bags and the drugs that allow them to function during the day.