Page 7 of Vacation with the Vampire
“I do not have a ‘vibe,’” I said automatically, though my attention remained fixed on the room. It was not supposed to have changed, and yet it had, and I struggled to wrap my head around that.
The gargoyle, where was he? He had owned this place at the time I had chosen to take my long nap in the ossuary Louis had created. Thibault was an old creature, older than even I, bound more to stone than flesh but capable of both. Patient. Territorial. Immortal in a way that mirrored my own.
I was certain he would not have abandoned his den. I did not think he could have. And yet the changes wrought on this room were undeniable. My grip on Susie tightened slightly as I stepped fully into the room. Dust filled my nose, far worse here than contained by the dampness of the tunnels we’d just left. It was not a pleasant smell for someone with a nose as developed as mine.
The light was electric, cold. It fell across my damsel in a way the tunnels had not allowed, and I found myself noticing her again. Perhaps for the first time, truly noticing her. What I saw now sent a wave of something curling through my flesh that was hunger, but not hunger for her blood, not quite.
She was not plain. I had been hasty in that assessment, rudely so. There was a softness to her features that the dimness had obscured, a quiet symmetry that emerged in the light. Her hair, though still unruly, caught a faint sheen, as if there were sunlight trapped in the strands. Her eyes—those irritatingly expressive eyes—held a spark that was difficult to ignore.
Combined with her scent, which had been tempting from the start, God, she was captivating. The blood that stained her poor knees smelled stronger here. Warmer. It was a scent full of life and power, the kind of power only humans carried. My fangs pressed insistently against my lower lip. I was hungry. Dangerously so.
“What is this place?” she asked, completely unaware of the danger only inches from her delicate neck. Her voice pulled me back from the precipice, and she would never know how close I’d come to crossing that line.
“I…” I hesitated, which was not something I did lightly. “I am uncertain.” It felt strange to admit a lack of knowledge, but the truth was, she knew more about this new world I’d stepped into than I did. The “phone” still emitting light in her hand was proof of that. It was a very strange lantern, and a sign that science had advanced, the age of enlightenment more than just a dream.
She huffed softly, like she didn’t believe me. “Wow. Okay. You can drop the act now, seriously. This is getting old.” Ordinarily, I would have taken offense, but this time, I barely heard her. I inhaled slowly instead, deliberately filtering through the scents in the air. Past the dust, the wood, and past the faint traces of cleaning agents and human habitation.
There.
Stone. Not just any stone, this wasold. There was only one creature in the world I knew that had a scent exactly like that: the gargoyle. That meant Thibault was still here. The scent was faint, but it was definitely present, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was recent. That meant he still came here, and relief flickered, brief but real. So this place had changed, but its owner had not.
“This way,” I said, turning toward the stairwell without further explanation. I threaded my way between dusty shelves, stacked crates, and several huge, empty barrels. There was a wine rack by the stairs, but it was empty and filled with cobwebs. I wondered in horror if alcohol had been prohibited.
“Still carrying me, huh?” Susie muttered, though there was less bite to it now. I was relieved to turn my eyes to the distraction she was proving to be. A smile tugged at my mouth, and satisfaction began to replace my initial dismay at having to deal with a rude, strangely accented American wearing inappropriate clothes. She was growing on me.
“Yes,” I told her. It would be extremely remiss of me to put her down when we were almost at the end of this leg of our journey. Once I found Thibault, I might finally release her frommy responsibility. Until then, in my arms she would remain, and I was going to ignore how much I liked that.
I climbed the stairs one step at a time, ancient wood creaking beneath my leather shoes. The scent shifted with each step. It became warmer, richer. It was now layered with something I had not encountered before in such overwhelming concentration: food, lots of it. I caught the scent of a shocking array of different spices. There was also coffee in great abundance, and the rich cream of milk. Something sweet, something bitter, it all combined into a heady blend that at first masked the truth of what this place had become.
Then I heard them: voices. Not the murmur of scholarly men with fangs or claws, or the flutter of ladies threaded with magic. These were human voices, and there were a lot of them. By the time we reached the top of the stairs, I was extremely uneasy. I almost didn’t want to open the heavy oak door that waited at the top.
It swung open with a light shove on silent hinges, moving smoothly despite its apparent disuse. I stopped in my tracks again and stared at what lay beyond: a kitchen. It was brightly lit and bustling with life. Humans wearing smocks pristine a white, moved through it with casual efficiency, speaking rapidly in French. The sounds were familiar, but the cadence was not. My native language had changed, evolved, its nuance slightly different—different enough to almost sound foreign.
They were cooks, waiters, and their attention snapped toward us all at once as we appeared. Heads craned, mouths opened in surprise, and one person even dropped her knife with a clatter. I knew what they saw: me, in my centuries-old attire, carryingan injured woman in my arms. Nobody had to tell me what a strange spectacle we made.
The silence was profound, pierced by the shuffling of feet, breathing, and the thump of human hearts. Someone dropped another utensil, staring at me with eyes so huge they practically drowned out everything else on his face. “Okay,” Susie whispered urgently. “You can really put me down now. People are staring.”
I did not move; my feet had grown roots and merged with the stone threshold. This was different. It was a kitchen so baffling it looked like something Louis or, well, Thibault could come up with when they were in their cups and rambling about the future. Shiny chrome and silver surfaces, a wild array of foods—all fresh—and a blend of things that were never in season together.
Beyond the kitchen, through a wide archway, I could see more humans seated at small tables, laughing, talking, drinking from delicate cups. Sunlight streamed through large windows, illuminating a space that was warm and inviting. Inviting, to humans. This was a café, a human café. The realization struck like a blow. “What...” I began, then stopped. This was wrong—every bit of it was wrong. What the hell had Thibault been thinking?
Where were the others? Where were the creatures who had once gathered here, hidden in plain sight? My friends, the coven? Louis with his papers scattered across a table, and some errant bones glowing in a dish in front of him. Pierre working nearby to improve his vitrification process. Thibault stalking between thetables with a bee in his bonnet, complaining about the smells, too much wine, our laughter too loud. Where…
“Raoul.” The voice cut cleanly through the noise of the crowd in the café, and the turmoil inside my head. I turned slowly, Susie clutched in my arms like she wasmylifeline in a rather odd reversal of our roles.
He stood in the doorway opposite us, by the stairs that led away from the silenced bustle of the kitchen and the noisy café proper beyond. Human, or rather, wearing humanity. He was tall, composed, and dressed in modern fashion that sat strangely upon him, as though it were an afterthought. He’d always fit wrong inside human contraptions, but it was more obvious to my eyes in this sleek attire. His expression was smooth, controlled, exactly as I remembered it. His eyes held the key: ancient and sharp, they betrayed the flicker of surprise he did not voice. The gargoyle, I’d found him.
“You do have a talent for dramatic entrances,” he said lightly, already crossing the room toward us. “Though I must admit, this one surpasses evenyourflair. You weren’t expected yet.” Thibault’s voice was a deep bass that held the edge of gravel, of rock grinding against rock, a hint of the primal beast that lurked beneath his human veneer.
“You have redecorated, old friend,” I replied. My eyes flicked over the staring crowd of cooks. Some had gotten over their initial surprise and had their heads bent together, whispering about my strange clothes. They were shockingly impolite in the way they gazed and chattered. Like Susie, they had forgotten all about manners when speaking to someone of obvious status.Admittedly, my dusty smock had seen better days, and some of the seams had gone alarmingly weak.
“Mm.” His gaze flicked briefly to Susie, then back to me. “We will discuss that upstairs.” Without waiting for agreement, he turned. The kitchen staff parted instinctively as he passed, their curiosity swallowed by something quieter, more instinctive. Deference, perhaps, though they would not know why. At least, I assumed they didn’t know why, but with so much changed, even that could be different.
I followed my old friend up another set of stairs, and then another. Higher. Always higher. Of course, that made sense. Gargoyles preferred elevation—rooftops, towers; all places where stone met sky. Thibault might be ancient, but his instincts had not faded with time. Never before had he had need to take me up to his private chambers, and I felt a stirring of curiosity when, at last, we reached our destination and stepped intohissanctuary.
The shift was immediate. The space was large, open, and dominated by a wide bay window through which daylight poured, softened by sheer curtains. A massive hearth lined one wall but no fire was lit this evening. It was a room filled with the mementos of several lifetimes and more. “Put her down,” he said.
I did, reluctantly. My arms clung around her back, and I felt the soft press of her knees, while my lungs filled greedily with her scent where it was thick and pure. Her hair clung in silky strands to my face and the stained silk of my cravat. Careful not to jar her injuries, I lowered Susie onto a couch near the fire. She sank intoit with a soft, relieved sound, clutching her phone loosely in one hand. Only then did I step away.
