Jean Pamfiloff - Vampires Need Not...Apply

He nodded like a hungry dog.

“Thought so,” she said. “Well, Cimil’s got a big, yummy treat for you, my little, tasty vamp—”

The alarm on Roberto’s watch buzzed.

“Okay,” Cimil said. “That’s a wrap.”

Roberto stared.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Shut the camera off. We’re done.”

Roberto stared.

“No. We are not having sex on camera.”

Roberto stared.

“Because the last time I did that, the video went viral, and I didn’t even get a damned penny! Now turn that thing off, we have work to do. There are only a few days left before our next big move.”

Roberto sighed and flipped the switch on the camera mounted to a tripod in the corner of the room.

“Hey, watch your language,” Cimil barked. “This YouTube thing was your idea. And I have to admit, a very good one. The others don’t suspect a thing, but seriously? How can anyone believe I could be your prisoner?”

Roberto shrugged his brows.

“Yes, yes. Because you’re brilliant,” she said. “And convincing all the vampires they needed to go to Euro Disney was a stroke of genius. Now the pressure’s really on Ixtab to open that portal. By the way, your ability to forge the dead queen’s hand is phenomenal. What other hidden talents do you have?”

Roberto stood next to the camera and eyed her body like a vampire lollipop.

“Oh, really…? Okay, we can have sex, but I get to be anchor on the trapeze this time.”

Roberto nodded.

“Gods, you rock, though not as much as me.” Cimil snickered and headed for the door. “Turn the iron off, would ya? Don’t want to burn down the place.”

Roberto did as he was told.

Cimil’s cell phone vibrated on the nightstand. “Oh! That must be the incubus!” She picked up the cell and read the text. “Oh, it’s actually our friends, the Maaskab! They say they’ve received my message and agree to the trade.”

She began typing: Fabulous! I’ll meet you at the incubus’s estate as planned. The tablet will be yours. Can’t wait. Hugs. Kisses. Many evil thoughts.

She put the phone down and Roberto grunted.

“Yep!” she replied. “It’s all going like clockwork. Now, where were we? Ah, yes! Let’s swing.”

January 5. Two Days Later

Heart pounding, palms sweating, Ixtab cracked open the door of the physicist’s apartment unsure of what she might find.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” The place was supposedly unoccupied at the moment, but with her luck, there’d be some random, hot best friend apartment sitting, waiting to accidentally bump into her.

“Hello?”

No reply.

Ixtab stepped inside and closed the door. What the hell was she doing there? She didn’t really know, but after the four-hour flight, she’d found herself telling the driver to head straight for Helena’s building near Central Park, instead of the hospital to help Mr. Acero. Perhaps she wasn’t ready to see the man who so closely resembled Francisco—the man she once loved. Perhaps a part of her wondered if her demons might chase her for eternity. But perhaps, just perhaps, she’d come to his apartment for another reason all together: hope.

She slid off her veil, draped it on the coat hook, and inspected the living room. Nothing much to see there: gleaming hardwood floors, large flat screen, glass coffee table, and a navy-blue leather couch. Aside from the air being a bit stale and the decorum seriously lacking a woman’s touch, the place was nondescript. And remarkably tidy for a single male.

She passed by a large beveled mirror mounted to the wall and caught her reflection. She looked… awful. No, her overall appearance never changed, not really, but her long, chocolate-brown hair, turquoise eyes, and bronzed skin seemed noticeably duller, as if she’d been soaked in chlorine or left to fade in the sun. Her lack of enthusiasm for life was finally catching up to her.

She’d have to pay a visit to the Goddess of Forgetfulness soon; maybe that would help her to move on. If only I could remember how to find her…

Ixtab went over to the window and pushed it open, stopping to admire the early morning sun climbing up over the cityscape. The air outside was crisp and cold, but even this many stories up, it smelled thick with winter pollution. Funny how after all these decades, the unnatural odors of industrialized man still bothered her. Give her mountains, trees, and sunshine any day over this.

Ixtab wandered into the sparkling clean kitchen also finding it with little personality—gray glass tile, another television, and a glass breakfast table. She tugged open the stainless steel fridge and crinkled her nose at its contents. Yuck. Healthy stuff.

Now that’s where she drew the line with nature. Didn’t he have any junk food? Fruit, yogurt, soy cheese—ick, and… hmmm, okay. Beer. She grabbed one and popped off the top.

Ummm. At least he had good taste in something.

She chugged the rich, creamy contents and dumped the bottle into the stainless steel sink. She wandered down the hallway, also bare of any personal effects—not a painting, photo, or tchotchke to be found in the entire place. She found his bedroom and stood in the doorway, staring longingly at the empty, unmade bed. She imagined Francisco lying there, beckoning her to come to him.

Dammit! You’re being ridiculous. You know this man is not your departed soul mate. Nevertheless, as ludicrous as it might be, she couldn’t help but want proof, anything to cement her squarely in the jaws of reality and smother her ridiculous fantasy that this man might actually be his reincarnation. A second chance…

Ixtab sat down on the bed and ran her hand over the soft, gray, satin pillow. The man’s head had rested there. Would he smell like Francisco? That sweet, spicy, masculine smell she’d become addicted to? That she missed so much?

She lifted the pillow to her nose. “Cheap perfume,” Ixtab growled and threw it down. She pulled open the top nightstand drawer and stared in bewilderment at the pile of condoms inside. “XXL. For the all-night lover?” she said. A whole drawer full of them? Manhooker!

Dammit! Why had she come here instead of going straight to the hospital to get this over with? There was nothing in this apartment that would tell her what she didn’t already know: Francisco was dead. She killed him, and he wasn’t coming back. Period. End of story.

Ixtab stood and felt something brush her leg. “Oh, shit!” The large orange cat shrieked and then dove back under the bed.

“Oh no! Kitty.” Ixtab got down on all fours. “Come here, kitty. Come to Ixtaaaab.” The cat’s golden eyes, wide and full of fear, told her the dang critter wasn’t coming anywhere near her. “Dammit, kitty. Why did you touch me? Why?”

Ixtab swiped for the cat, but it was out of reach. Shit. She had to do something fast before the cat choked itself on its own tail or…

The cat bolted from underneath the bed and out into the hall. Ixtab froze. Hell. The window!

Ixtab ran to the living room just in time to see the tail disappear outside.

“No!” She stopped at the sill and looked down, but there was nothing she could do. The cat was gone. And dead. Very dead.

Ixtab slid down onto the floor, gripping the sides of her head. Why? Why? Why? How could she have killed the guy’s cat? No, she didn’t actually pick the poor little creature up and chuck it out the window, but she felt just as responsible. Poor, poor kitty…

Gods she was so fed up with this! So sick and tired of being the bringer of self-imposed death. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to kill—well, not unintentionally, anyway. But hell! The Universe had a sick, sick sense of humor.