Last Vampire Standing (29 page)

August thirteenth. I woke slowly from a dreamless sleep, savoring memories of this time last year. The lucky day for me when Maggie’s hefty construction foreman had stepped just so on a rotten part of the kitchen floor and fallen into the tiny basement where I had been trapped for over two hundred years.

The man had landed on the lid of my coffin and might’ve broken through that, too, except that the wood had been darn near petrified when King Normand had put me there. After another couple of hundred years of curing, it didn’t give an inch. His plunge had jarred me, though, and if I screeched a little, who could blame me? Maggie didn’t, even if it did cost her the man’s construction expertise. He scrambled out of the hole he’d made yelling about the dead talking, and dashed out of the house just short of vampire speed.

Maggie? She lowered herself into the hole and removed the worst of the debris from the coffin, talking to herself the whole time. When she tentatively knocked on the lid, I knocked back.

“Hello out there,” I remembered saying. “Please don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Okay, in retrospect, that sounded lame, but my friend Maggie is about as fearless as they come. When she said to hang on and she’d get me out, I stopped her.

“I’m, well, I’m a vampire, and I’ve been here a terribly long time, so before you release me, may I ask for three things? Please?”

“What do you need?” she’d asked.

“Blood, a new frock, and a hairbrush.”

“Give me a few hours,” she’d declared, and she was as good as her word.

She’d come back with Neil, who grumbled that Maggie was insane, but she’d prevailed. She put Neil to work cutting the silverlaced chains fastened to the coffin while she drilled a hole in the side of the coffin near my head. After centuries of using vampire hearing to eavesdrop on the distant, changing world, so much noise from power tools right outside my box was deafening. When the hole was drilled clear through, a small beam of filtered light let me see with my physical eyes. Excited, elated, exuberant. Words couldn’t touch the myriad emotions rioting in my heart in that moment. I would’ve cried if I’d been hydrated enough to make tears. Clever Maggie soon fixed that.

She stuck an extra long straw through the hole, explained how to use it, then put the other end of the straw in bottle after bottle of blood. I sucked them dry without feeling the least bit queasy from the smell, and then Maggie fed me water chasers through a clean straw.

When the chains lay on the basement floor, Maggie and Neil took tire tools to each end of the coffin and gently pried the lid loose. I pushed from inside, and, with a whoosh of fresh air, I was free.

Neil took one look at me and brandished the tire iron. Maggie? She asked me my name.

“Francesca Melisenda Alejandra Marinelli,” I’d told the petite yellow-haired angel. She’d stepped closer, put out her hand to take mine, and said, “I’m Maggie O’Halloran. Welcome to the world.”

That sealed it. Maggie became my best friend forever.

The baggy blue nylon shorts, equally baggy T-shirt, and rubber flip-flops she brought for me to change into seemed indecent at first. Of course, that was before I saw my first bikini. I thought the bikini bra was a fabric sample. Now the hairbrush Maggie gave me?

That was the Holy Grail.

What a long way I had come. Correction, we had all come. Thanks to Maggie, I had a new lease on afterlife. Thanks to Saber, I had a sex life. Above all, I had a family of my heart, friends, and a future.

And I’d better get moving if I wanted to enjoy what was left of the day.

I went to the kitchen to snag my Starbloods, expecting to see Saber hunched over his laptop, but he wasn’t in the house. Neither was Snowball, and I wondered if Saber had taken her to PetSmart. If he came back with one of those huge scratching post hotels, I was arranging an intervention.

A long, leisurely shower and hair washing later, I was in a short, silky robe, flatironing my wild hair as straight as I could get it. I was just about finished, when a huge bouquet of flowers appeared, reflected in the mirror with Saber peering through the foliage.

“Happy anniversary, Princesca.”

My eyes swam with tears, and I dropped the flatiron on the counter as I turned.

“Oh, Saber.”

I touched one of the red roses mixed with white calla lilies and ferns. Then I noticed the art deco-style vase he held with his good hand, and steadied with the hand in the sling.

“Is this the vase we saw at Tuesday Morning in Ormond Beach?”

He grinned. “I found it at the store here, and took it to the florist to fill. These are the flowers you like, right?”

Dear man. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

I took the flowers from him and leaned in for a kiss, when a white, whiskered face peeked out of Saber’s sling.

“Meow?” the kitten squeaked.

Saber pulled me the rest of the way into his body. “Never mind her. Kiss me.”

I did until I felt little claws dig into my robe. Then I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mood spoiler,” Saber said to Snowball, before swatting my butt. “Go get dressed. I have a full schedule planned.”

When I finished my hair and makeup, I slipped into my favorite denim Capris, an icy blue bra top camisole, and sandals. The outfit was dressy enough for nearly anything Saber had planned, and with the mermaid charm tucked into my cleavage and a spray of the gardenia perfume Saber had given me for my birthday, I was ready.

My steps faltered when I entered the living room. On the coffee table were a bouquet of daises, a gallon of Publix sweet tea, a package of Fig Newtons, and three gift cards.

“The flowers,” Saber said, “are from Millie and the Jag Queens. The bookstore gift card and tea are from your tour guide friends, Janie and Mick.”

The Fig Newtons and Blockbuster gift card were from Maggie, I knew. That cookie was one of the first solid foods I’d nibbled on about a month after I’d come out of the coffin, and we’d spent so much time at Blockbuster in my crash course to get up to speed with the twenty-first century, the staff knew us by name. The surf shop gift card was from my hang-ten buddy, Neil. Not that I can hang ten, or even five, but Neil and I had bonded through surfing. A far cry from when he was ready to bash me with the tire iron. Saber cupped my cheek, brushed a tear away with his thumb.

“They really like me.”

“Yes, Sally Field, they do, but no crying on your very first anniversary. We have things to do.”

The rest of Wednesday afternoon and evening, Saber and I made memories. First we strolled St. George Street, had a bite of free pizza (I took the smallest one), and then stopped to taste-test gelato. The whipped cream-looking treat coats the tongue like a lover’s kiss, and I couldn’t resist testing three flavors. Between the gelato and tiny bit of pizza, my stomach groaned. I can eat real food, and I eat a touch more now than I used to, but my stomach is too shrunken to tolerate much. We headed to the bay front next. Specifically to the marina. Surprise! We were taking the sunset sail on the
Schooner Freedom
, the replica of a nineteenth-century blockade-runner. For two hours, Saber and I sat hip-to-hip near the bow and held hands. The nearly full moon rose early, and we watched dolphins riding the ship’s wake as they escorted us past the city sights. After dinner on the second-story veranda at A1A Ale overlooking the bay (Saber ate, I picked), he took me back to the bay front, this time to the horse-drawn carriages. One carriage with white bows and bunting on the sides displayed a sign on the back reading Happy Anniversary.

“Saber,” was all I choked out before he kissed me.

Our driver was a man in his fifties with a careworn face, shaggy salt-and-pepper hair in a thin ponytail, and look-into-your-soul blue gray eyes. I knew that intense gaze from somewhere but couldn’t call up the memory. Then again, duh, I likely saw him every time I guided a ghost tour. Saber had to have paid the man something extra, though, because the driver didn’t start the tour spiel that was part of the whole tour-by-carriage gig.

Saber must’ve read my mind, because he held me close and whispered, “He’s just driving us tonight so we can enjoy the evening and cuddle.”

“Works for me,” I murmured, pulling his head closer for a kiss.

We kissed again at the Love Tree. Actually got out of the carriage to stand under the palm tree that grows right out of an oak tree. The legend is that if you kiss your lover under the commingled trees, your love will last forever. When the hour-long carriage ride ended back at the bay front, the driver turned his intense gaze on me. He winked, and in a rusty voice said, “Never underestimate the power of love.”

Caught off guard, I could only smile, thank him, and take Saber’s hand to step out of the rig. As I glanced at the driver a last time, a shiver shimmied up my spine.

“You cold?” Saber asked. “Your blue hoodie is in the car.”

“It is?”

He dropped a kiss on my nose. “Yep, because we have one more excursion before your anniversary night is over.”

A walk on the beach in the almost full moonlight. What could be more romantic? A yellow comforter, a bottle of sweet tea for me, wine for Saber, and daringly making love on the beach with just the shadows of the dunes to give us the illusion of privacy. We stayed on the beach for hours, talking, touching, just being together. My heart was so full, my body so sated, that I drifted to sleep in the cocoon of Saber’s arms later, knowing what feeling cherished truly meant.

Thursday afternoon, we were back to business, but I didn’t mind in the least.

Saber wrote a coded message to Candy while I first checked for Maggie’s package (not there), then wrote thank-you notes for my anniversary gifts. Oh, I’d called, too, and left messages, because no one answered their phones. But good manners were important, and writing a note was an extra way to show how much I appreciated my friends.

Snowball wreaked havoc batting my cards and stamps around, but she was now snug in Saber’s sling. The sling he didn’t need anymore and hadn’t been wearing for the past day, but Snowball had dragged the thing to Saber and meowed until he put it on.

“You work tonight?” he asked as I finished sealing and stamping my last note.

“Shoot, I knew I forgot something. I’ll call, but I imagine I’m back on the schedule, since I’ve been off for three days. Will you stay here to wait for word from Candy?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought I’d go with you and run interference if that ghost hunter shows.”

Elise Williams, owner of Old Coast Ghost Tours, confirmed that I worked the early shift tonight and Friday, but was off on the weekend. Then she told me what a riot my friend had been on Leno Wednesday night. My bad. I’d forgotten all about Jo-Jo’s appearance.

“That spot increased our business,” Elise said. “In fact, your tours are sold out for tonight and tomorrow.”

“They are?”

“I’ve asked Janie and Mick to help you out. Keep the autograph hounds from bothering you.”

Autograph hounds?

I must’ve looked queasy as I said good-bye, because Saber got up to steady me.

I gripped his shirt. “Did you happen to remember about Jo-Jo being on Leno?”

“I set the DVR. You want to see it?”

“Yeah, and I think it should be now.”

We hit fast-forward until Jo-Jo appeared on the screen. Then Saber rewound a smidge and hit Play. With Leno’s usual flair, he introduced Jo-Jo, and the curtains parted.

“Good evening, thank you. Yes, it’s true I’m a vampire. Hard to tell me apart from anyone else in L.A., isn’t it?”

The joke elicited chuckles, and Jo-Jo went on with some of the jokes he did during open mike night, and then juggled. Judging by the laughter, Leno’s audience thought Jo-Jo was hilarious, but why did Elise think this had increased business?

When Jo-Jo sat with Leno, I knew.

Leno got Jo-Jo to talk about his court jester days, rubbing elbows with royals. That’s when Jo-Jo said he had feared getting royally flushed when he came to St. Augustine, but that Princess Ci was one of the good ones. He mentioned my ghost tour job, then extolled the glories of living in a town where the local princess didn’t want to rule over other vamps.

“Aw, geez.” I dropped my head in my hands.