Кейти Макалистер: Crouching Vampire, Hidden Fang

I didn’t doubt that despite my physical flaws he desired me sexually . . . but a Beloved was supposed to be so much more than that.

How could I be anything to a man who didn’t want me?

“Pia, you still there?”

“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat and trying not to sound as if I were on the verge of tears.

Instantly, her voice was filled with sympathy. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have brought up the subject of Kristoff.”

“No, it’s OK. It’s just that I had this strange dream this morning. That’s what I was calling about. You remember the messenger I told you the vampires were going to send me? I dreamed he came, and somehow you were here, and so were Kristoff and his brother, and it seemed so real until I woke up.”

“That’s how dreams are.”

“I know, but this was . . . well, different. Oh, hell, someone’s at my door. I really don’t want to see anyone.” I snatched up a box of Kleenex and dabbed at my eyes as I moved through to the living room. I hesitated for a moment at the door, then scooted to the side to peek out of the window at the front porch.

“I’ll go, then.”

“No, it’s OK. It’s just a couple of religious people,” I said, watching as a woman and a man slid a small pamphlet into the screen door before leaving.

“Bah. I usually tell them I’m a cannibal and they leave me alone.”

“I tried that once. I told them I was an anarchist, and they just visited me every week to try to save me,” I said, opening the door just enough to snatch up the religious newsletter, closing it quickly before slumping down on the couch next to the window. “So exactly how long will you and Ray be able to stay? The whole week that we planned, or will you guys want to go off on your own and make smoochy faces at each other?”

I didn’t want to admit how much I’d been looking forward to Magda’s visit. Although my job at a no-kill animal shelter specializing in elderly pets was satisfying, ever since I’d returned from my adventures in Iceland, life seemed to be . . . empty. It was as if a part of me were missing; something that I used to have was now gone, leaving me a shell of a person. I didn’t expect Magda would change that, but she had become a very good friend, and I was cheered no end by the thought of her visit.

“No! That’s the good part. Because Ray is taking a whole month off, I managed to talk my manager into giving me an extra week, so I’ll have two weeks with you, and then one with my sister before we have to come back to San Francisco. That is, if you can stand us that long. Ray, hand me the basil, would you? No, the fresh stuff. Could you chop that onion for me? Sorry, Pia. We’re making spaghetti.”

“Sounds yummy. And stand you?” I laughed somewhat grimly. “I may never let you guys go home!”

“Oh, yes, we’ll just see how long that opinion remains once Kristoff shows up and apologizes for being such a butthead.” Her voice dropped suddenly. “Speaking of that . . . do you want me to tell Ray? About you being a Zorya and Kristoff and the you-know-whats and all the rest?”

I rubbed my forehead. Lately I seemed to always have a nagging, low-grade headache. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m not a Zorya anymore, and given this morning, I think I just need to face the fact that Kristoff isn’t ever going to-Crap. Someone’s at the door again.”

“Use the cannibal line this time. I guarantee you it’ll work.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested,” I was saying even before I had the door all the way open. My excuse dried up at the sight of the man standing on the steps. “Gark.”

“What?” Magda asked. “What about a park?”

The man raised an eyebrow at me. “You are Pia Thomason?”

“Ack!” I said, and slammed the door shut in his face. “Oh, my God, Magda, it’s him!”

“Him? Him who?”

A shivery déjà vu sensation washed over me as I leaped over to the couch, shoving aside the curtain on the window just enough to peek out at the man. He knocked at the door again.

“Him the messenger. Good Lord, we’ve already done this!”

“We’ve done what?” Magda sounded confused.

“This, we’ve done this! This was the dream I had this morning.”

Muttered conversation was audible on the phone for a moment before Magda uncovered the mouthpiece and said, “Honey, would you go down to the basement and get me that bottle of olive oil? The Italian one. Pia’s having a crisis, and this may take a few minutes.”

I heard Ray say something as he moved off to do Magda’s bidding.

“I’m not having a crisis,” I hissed, peeking out at the man on my porch. “I’m just facing the messenger, that’s all. Just a vampire come to do God knows what to me.”

“Ray sends his love, by the way, and says he hopes your crisis isn’t a serious one,” she said in an aside before continuing. “How do you know the man is the messenger? Maybe he’s someone else. Maybe he’s another religious type. Or maybe he’s trying to sell Girl Scout cookies.”

I eyed the stranger again as he raised his hand to knock. “He’s around six feet tall and is wearing a very tailored black sports coat with matching pants, a scarlet shirt that looks like it’s made of raw silk, and shoes that probably cost more than my car.”

“That could be anyone,” Magda insisted, the sounds of chopping accompanying the words.

“And a fedora that’s angled to shade his face from the sun. I covered all this in the dream! Although that messenger turned out to be Andreas, and this guy is definitely not Kristoff’s brother.”

Silence followed for a moment. “OK, that description does sound like a you-know-what.”

“Vampire.”

“Yes. Ray, my cherub of delight, that is indeed a bottle of olive oil, but it’s Greek, not Italian, and I will not put Greek olive oil in spaghetti. Would you mind . . . Thanks, love. Mwah.” Magda was silent for a moment as faint sounds of footsteps fading away were audible even on the phone. “All right, he’s gone again. Pia, you’re going to have to let the vamp in.”

“I don’t want to,” I said stubbornly, turning my back on the window, glaring suspiciously at the bedroom. I knew full well that Kristoff wasn’t going to walk out of there, as he had in the dream, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking. “My life is going really well right now. Kind of. Somewhat. Oh, hell, it’s a nightmare, but that’s only going to be made worse by involvement with the Moravian Council, or whatever it is the vamps call themselves.”

“From what I remember of them, you’re not going to have a choice. They seemed kind of pushy.”

The knocking at my front door got even louder. Obviously the messenger was getting tired of waiting. “I don’t care. I have to get rid of this guy. What is it vamps don’t like? Garlic and holy water? I don’t have any of the latter, but I have garlic bread. You think that will work?”

“Pia, sweetie . . .” Magda’s voice took on a frustrated tinge as I marched out into the kitchen and dug through a bag until I found a loaf of garlic bread. “I really don’t think pretending none of this exists is the answer.”

The vamp on my doorstep stopped knocking and was outright pounding on my door now. “Wish me luck,” I said, setting down the phone in order to peel back the wrapper on the garlic bread. I wielded it like a club as I swung open the door.

Madga’s voice was faint but audible from the phone. “Pia? Pia? What are you . . . Oh, she is so silly sometimes. . . .”

“I have garlic and I’m not afraid to use it!” I shouted at the vampire, shaking the bread in his face.

He looked at it for a moment; then his gaze shifted to me, a look of stark incredulity on his face. “Bread?” he asked, his voice silky with some European accent.