La Vida Vampire (3 page)

I leaned sideways around Stony and blinked. Six of the Jag Queens pointed guns at the man, though Shalimar’s seemed to veer toward the bride, who stood just to the right behind me. Three other ladies held cell phones at the ready. What, did they each have different calling plans? The goth gang wore bug -eyed expressions, and Gomer and Mick stood tensed for action, but the ladies looked calm. Maybe because they’d raised children. Takes a lot to freak out mothers.

“No need for the police, ma’am.” I smiled and straightened my shawl. “I’m sure Stony, um, this…gentleman…is leaving now.”

“My name is not Stony,” he ground out, his face turning apoplectic purple.

My genteel upbringing aside, I wouldn’t have been crushed had he stroked out on the sidewalk then and there. He’d dug his fingers into my right arm where the GPS chip was implanted, and that puppy hurt. Alas, he didn ’t drop dead, and I didn’t give him the satisfaction of rubbing my sore arm.

“Another time, vampire. You’ll be alone, and you
will
die. One way or another, we’ll make sure you all die.”

He shouldered past me and stomped off, nearly barreling into the newlyweds, who watched him with raised brows. As the ladies stowed their weapons and cell phones, Shalimar said, “What did he call you?
Brusha?
What is that?”

“It’s a Minorcan word.” I nonchalantly smoothed my skirt and hoped no one saw my hand shaking. “He either called me a witch or insulted my hair.”

Which would make the second time today my hair took a hit.

I bent to pick up my lantern. Gomer lurched in at the same time, and we bumped heads.

“Oh, sorry, Miss Cesca,” he said. “Let me get that so’s you don’t get cut.”

“Thank you, but it’s plastic.” Dang, his head was hard, but his heart was in the right place.

“Here you go, ma’am. Sure sorry that man was rude to you.”

I took the lantern by its twisted handle. The metal base and cage were dented, and the plastic hurricane lamp cracked, but at least we didn’t have glass all over the sidewalk.

“That Stony guy’s a real jerk,” Skinny Goth Boy said. “Why’d he go off on you?”

Though I had a good idea, it was best to get over rough ground lightly. I shrugged. “Probably needs more fiber in his diet. Now, if you’re all ready to walk back, let’s head up Treasury Street.”

“Just a moment, dear,” Shalimar said. “Don’t you need to file an incident report? Let us give you our names as witnesses.”

“
Oui.
That man, he must be considered
dangereux
,” the bride said, her sultry voice sounding more peeved than concerned. “He attacks you, and he follows my Etienne and me everywhere. ” She did the hair-tossing-over-the-shoulder thing again. “He is spoiling our honeymoon.”

It shouldn’t have been funny, but I felt a grin coming on because I wanted to send the bride to a chiropractor. The comic relief helped calm me, and I held up a steadier hand.

“You’re right, of course. We’ll report this to the tour company and possibly to the police, but,” I said to the bride, “you need to make your own report if you feel threatened.”

I clapped my hands like a teacher getting attention. “Right, now we really do need to head back to our starting place.”

Janie whispered that she and Mick would take a shortcut back to the tour substation. They ’d alert a tour supervisor by phone, and get started on the report paperwork.

To end the evening on a higher note than the scene with Stony, I joked and answered more questions as I led my reduced group back to St. George Street.

Did I breathe and have a heartbeat?

Yes to both. It takes breath—air moving over the vocal cords—to speak and laugh. My heart beats at a comatose snail’s pace, but it does thump ten or so times a minute, more when I’m exercising. Unless I’m sleeping or being very still, in which case I may not breathe but once in a while or have a pulse over five beats a minute, but I didn’t tell them that. Could I eat and drink, like, regular food?

Yes again. I’m full after a few bites because a shrunken stomach doesn’t tolerate food well, but I buy gelato at the shop on St. George Street every chance I get. It looks like colored whipped cream, and talk about smooth!

What do I do in my spare time besides watch TV and read?

Surf, rollerblade, listen to music, and play bridge.

The surfing and blading intrigued the teens, as did my music interests from jazz to Jimi Hendrix. The ladies played more Texas hold ’em than bridge, they said, but they oohed over some of my favorite actors. Cary Grant and Sean Connery are two. Then I mentioned Adrian Paul in the
Highlander
TV series, and Etienne struck a pose.

“Ah, yes. My Yolette, she collects the
Highlander
DVDs and jewelry. Even the swords. Very expensive,
non
? But my little wife loves these things, and she can buy what makes her happy.”

Little wife? Was that condescending or what?

To turn the conversation and satisfy my curiosity, I asked the newlyweds, “What made you choose St. Augustine for your wedding trip?”

Yolette tossed her head again. “Oh, I learned of the city from a friend. Then we heard of you, and I decided we must come.”

I blinked. “You heard of me? In France?”

Her jerky husband laughed. “My Yolette, she is fascinated with
vampires
, so
naturellement
, we came to—” He paused a nanosecond. “—investigate you.”

I’m not often speechless, but I stopped and gaped. Shalimar, bless her, stepped forward. Literally stepped in front of me, almost confronting the couple, though her voice was mild.

“Are you staying at one of our beautiful bed-and-breakfast inns downtown?”

“Non,”
Etienne said. “We rent a house on the beach.
C’est très moderne
where we may watch the sunrise. We spare no expense.”

Yolette wrinkled her pert nose at the older woman. “
Madame
, your perfume is very strong. Shalimar,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“Yes.”

“My late husband spoke of an aunt who wore too much Shalimar. I never met her, you understand, but he says to me it made him sick and I—I am allergic.”

Shalimar stiffened, her expression stricken. Probably as insulted as I was for her, but she stood her ground. “What happened to your first husband?”

“He tragically died by—”

“Accident,” Etienne said.

Murder,
I heard in my head.

I glanced at Shalimar’s set face. Had the thought come from her? If so, she sounded a lot different in my head —almost masculine. I glanced at Gomer, who watched intently. When he caught me looking at him, the edge drained from his eyes and he shrugged slightly.

Ready to see the last of this crew, I led them the final half block to our starting place, where Janie and Mick waited with the forms. As promised, each group member gave me contact information, even the goth gang and Gomer. Music from the live band at the Mill Top Tavern made conversation difficult, so the group drifted off quickly.

“You did great, Cesca,” Janie said as the newlyweds left and Gomer trailed along behind, pelting them with drawled questions about France. “Grace under fire, for sure.”

I sighed. “That guy was one of the famous Covenant freaks, right? The group that stalks vampires to kill them?”

“The one you called Stony? From the way he acted, I’d say so, yeah. In the nasty flesh.” Mick tapped the sheaf of papers against his palm.

“Charming. Of all the tours in all the cities in all the world, a nutso vampire watchdog shows up at mine.”

I’d read that a cell had provoked a lone vampire a few years ago, then cried foul when the vamp defended herself. Perhaps too forcefully, but she hadn’t killed any of them. Still, the bullies had run to the law, demanding an execution. And got it. Wait, a cell. Teams.

“Don’t these guys work in teams?” I asked.

“Yeah, they do,” Mick said slowly. “They also catch vamps alone, not with an audience around.” He paused. “We could report him if we knew his real name.”

Janie frowned. “The French couple said he was tailing them, but they aren’t vampires, right?”

I had to smile. Me, Janie could take. More vampires, probably not. “No, they’re just folks.”

I glanced at Mick, who seemed to know about cults of all kinds. Someday I ’d ask him why. “Mick, was tonight just a chance opportunity to harass me, or is there more to it?”

He scratched his jaw. “I don’t know. Could be chance, if he’s really following the Frenchies. Could be a change in tactics. Even a shot at getting publicity for his cause. Tell you one thing. I’d watch my back, if I were you.”

Janie patted my arm. “At least you’re forewarned now. I wouldn’t lose sleep over him.”

Janie is ever the optimist, and I grinned. “You’re right. Hey, those sweet ladies tipped me forty dollars to share with you. How about a drink at Harry’s? We can work on the report while we unwind.”

Mick grimaced. “No offense, Cesca, but if you’re drinking blood—”

“No, no,” I interrupted, “I don’t drink in public unless it’s sweet tea. But I do like crunching ice. Will that bother you?”

“Ice?” Mick blinked. “You’re kidding.”

Janie, who’d caught a snack with me a few times, gurgled a laugh. “Why would she kid, Mick? Geez. I can go out for a while, but not to Harry’s. The ghost in the bathroom creeps me big time. How about Scarlett’s?”

The musty smell upstairs at Scarlett’s where the bathrooms are creeps me, but I don’t have to use the facilities often, so I agreed.

We strolled south on St. George, then took a right on the side street Hypolita, chatting about the cute little boy, the Jag Queens, and Gomer. Mick and Janie both thought Gomer was too much a caricature, but none of us had a clue what the man might have been up to. Then I asked if the wiseguys were really mobsters, and Mick told me I watched too much TV. He may have a point, but I won’t give up my mystery shows. Or HGTV.

Scarlett O’Hara’s is plain fun. Good food and drink (when I nibble or sip any of it) and live entertainment nightly, so the place was usually packed with tourists and students from Flagler College right down Cordova Street. The exterior is cypress and cedar, and the two now-joined buildings dated roughly from 1865. The coolest thing? Three palm trees grow right through the floorboards where you walk up the steps.

Seats in the rustic outdoor oyster bar were taken. We peeked inside at the
Gone with the Wind
movie posters and portraits of Scarlett and Rhett, but Mick wanted to smoke, so we snagged a table on the porch when four men in business suits left. Our waitress, Cami, appeared almost immediately to scoop up her tips, wipe down the tabletop, and hand us menus. A pert twenty-something and very slender in her black slacks, black rubber-soled shoes, and a wine-colored T-shirt with a white Scarlett’s emblem, she’d waited on me a lot when I came in with Maggie and Neil. She always put a little sweet tea in with my ice but never offered to serve blood. She knew I didn’t drink in public, because I’d told her so.

“Hey, Cesca, where’s Maggie? Off with that hunk of hers?”

“You got it. These are friends from the ghost tour company.”

Cami acknowledged them with a smile and took Mick’s order, a pint, Black & Tan. Janie considered a decadent chocolate dessert but went with a drink, a mudslide. I nursed my glass of sweet tea and ice as we worked on the incident report and leafed through the tourists’ names and addresses, trying to match them with faces. Laughter and music swelled and ebbed, but it was quiet enough to converse on our corner of the porch, and I was enjoying myself.

Until Cami approached us with a bottle, a glass, and a nervous frown. I recognized the label, my favorite brand of artificial blood. What the heck?

She shrugged her apology. “Sorry, Cesca, but a couple inside sent this to you.”

Starbloods bottles are tinted tan so the contents aren’t in-your-face obvious. Still, I whipped my shawl off and around the bottle as she handed it to me before Mick or Janie could be grossed out. It was cold and still capped. Good for Cami.

“That couple, they wouldn’t happen to be speaking French, would they?” I asked, knowing I wouldn’t like the answer. She nodded. “They’re sitting at the fireplace table.”

Janie tensed next to me. “Is a guy with a scar on his jaw in there, too?”

“Yeah, and he’s driving the waitstaff crazy. Won’t sit down. Keeps pacing and getting in our way. Why?”

“The lone guy is a troublemaker,” Mick told her, then turned to me. “Want to get out of here, Cesca?”

I was tempted, but he still had half a pint left, and Janie had her drink.

“Naw, I’ll go talk to the newlyweds for a minute.” I used my best shucky-darn tone, made like it was no big deal, and felt Janie relax.

I didn’t, and I tensed even more as I approached the front porch entry door. Through the glass I saw Stony standing at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed, his back to me.

I clenched the Starbloods bottle with both hands, my shawl trailing around it, and bit my lip. I could blow by this jerk with just a touch of vampire speed if I knew how to turn on the power. Open the door, slip past him, nothing to it. Maybe it would work.

I took a breath, thought
speed
and zip, I did it. True, I stumbled when I put on the brakes to avoid knocking over a waitress, but I reached the table by the fireplace where the newlyweds sat without flattening anyone. I gave the couple a bright false smile. “Hi, are you enjoying your meal?”

As inane as asking about the weather, I know, but my manners are ingrained.

“
Oui,
very much,” Yolette answered. “But I see you do not drink your blood. Why?”

“Much as I appreciate the gesture, I don’t drink in public.” I smiled again to remove any insult. “Thank you anyway. I’ll be sure your waitress takes it off your bill.”

“Wait!” Yolette sprang from her chair and slid an arm around my waist.

She smelled faintly of fresh blood, and my stomach turned queasy. Did she have a cut? If so, I didn’t want to be blamed for it, especially when someone bellowed behind me. It sounded a lot like Stony’s voice, but Yolette’s caressing hand was scarier.

“Mon amie,”
she said, even as footsteps shook the floorboards. “Why do you not drink with your good friends? Surely they cannot be offended if they are intimate with you.”