Page 19 of Road Trip with a Vampire

Ten

Two months earlier

Peter liked Chicago. It was urban, which made finding his next meal easy, but much less congested than New York.

(He’d never understood why people liked New York. It was too overrun with other vampires, and the aggression humans there felt towards one another negatively impacted their flavor.)

Unexpectedly, Chicago’s sun was proving an issue. Peter’s murky human memories of the place featured frigid winters and overcast skies. But then, he didn’t think he’d ever visited in the summer. No matter. With sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat, he could make do until nightfall.

In the meantime, he would hole up in the lovely two-bedroom apartment his employers had secured for him.

He’d be in an upscale neighborhood called Lincoln Park for this job, and the apartment pleased him despite his general antipathy towards ostentatious displays of wealth.

He could tell in the small details—the hardwood floors, the inlaid kitchen banquette—that the builders had spared little expense in its construction.

The furnishings were sparse. Just a table with three more chairs than he’d need, a leather couch in the living room, and a bed. But he didn’t mind. He would not be here long. Besides—it wasn’t as though he planned on houseguests.

Once the sun set, he would explore. He loved feeding from the wealthy young people who lived in places like this. The organic food they tended to eat did wonderfully delicious things to their blood.

Afterwards, he would consult his trusted safecracking compendium and begin the work his employers were paying him to do.

“Hold still,” I instructed.

“No.”

“Aww, come on.”

Peter sat beside me in the car outside the terrible motel we’d pulled in front of, arms folded tightly across his chest. The intensity of his glare could have set the car on fire. “I will not come on .”

“Okay, then,” I said. “You’ve left me no choice.”

Without another word, I plopped the chicken hat I’d bought in the Big Earl’s gift shop on his head.

From the bill shaped like a chicken’s beak to the wide googly eyes to the faux feathers that stuck out in all directions, this hat was everything I had hoped it would be when I’d seen it through the gift shop window.

Before Peter could protest further, I pushed the bright red button on the back of the hat, curious to see what would happen.

A loud clucking sound erupted from it, making us both jump.

“You look great!” I said, not even bothering to hold in my laughter.

Peter was still trying to project sullen , but he was failing. He fought against the smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

I patted the hat’s bill. It triggered another loud barrage of clucking.

“Why would someone even make this?” Peter was full-on grinning now, giving up the ghost on acting annoyed. His smile lit up his entire face, his dark brown eyes dancing with amusement as they met mine.

Gods, happy was a good look on him.

“You like it,” I accused. “Admit it.”

He shook his head, his smile growing bashful. “Not at all. I must still be Coke-drunk.”

I doubted that. But instead of pointing out that he wasn’t acting drunk, I looked away, towards the place where we’d be staying.

Our waitress had been right. There had been nothing available for miles in every direction of Big Earl’s. After nearly two hours of searching, we’d only found one motel that had a vacancy.

This one.

Now that we were here, it was obvious why this place had been the lone exception.

From the outside, it was the dingiest motel I’d ever seen outside of budget horror films. The red Motel sign out front flashed at ominously irregular intervals, but the neon in the e had gone out, making it look like we’d be staying in a Motl.

“We could camp somewhere instead?” I offered. I hadn’t brought any camping gear with us, but I was no stranger to sleeping rough.

“I don’t sleep outside,” Peter said.

The vehemence in his voice surprised me. “No?”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember my past, but I think I’ve always been picky when it comes to where I stay.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “I’m a snob. Remember?”

Two smiles from Peter in five minutes? This was a new record.

“You are,” I teased. I looked back at the Motl skeptically. “You’re a snob, but you’re willing to stay here?”

“Indoor plumbing is better than no indoor plumbing.”

I couldn’t disagree with him there. “Here’s hoping our room has a toilet that flushes.”

Fortunately, it did.

That was about all it had going for it.

“It could be worse?” I offered weakly when I swung open the door and saw what awaited us inside.

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Peter muttered.

The room was easily as big as my living room, so it was spacious as motel rooms went.

That wasn’t a good thing, though. The extra square footage just gave the room more available space to be disgusting.

The air inside was musty and smelled intensely of wet dog and cigarettes, suggesting it hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned in a long time.

It likely hadn’t been updated in even longer, gauging from the circa-1970s mustard-yellow paisley curtains hanging over the window.

I flipped the light switch. A sad lone bulb sputtered to life within a filthy light fixture hanging from the ceiling. It made the room only thirty percent less dark than it had been before I’d turned it on.

I didn’t know if it was good that we wouldn’t be able to see very well while we stayed in this horrible room—or if it was very, very bad.

Either way, there was more than enough light to see there was only one bed—not two, like the lady who’d checked us in had promised.

Its faded yellow duvet was just as hideous as the curtains it had likely matched some number of presidential administrations ago, but even if the room had been appointed by Martha Fucking Stewart, I would still be freaking out.

“They said there would be two beds,” Peter said, sounding oddly strangled.

“They did,” I agreed. “The woman in the lobby switched the Vacancy sign to No Vacancy when she gave us our keys. This must be all they have.”

“There’s no couch, either,” Peter said unnecessarily. He turned in a slow circle, as if by scrutinizing the room, a couch or possibly an entire extra bed would materialize. No such luck. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

I nearly gagged. “The floor’s filthy.” An understatement. The carpet was dingy and matted, a muted gray color that wasn’t dark enough to hide the large, mysterious stains just outside the bathroom.

“I doubt the bed is much better.”

“The sheets have at least a coin-toss’s chance of having been washed in the past year,” I said. “But those carpet stains are straight out of a true crime documentary.”

He grimaced. “Good point. I’ll sleep in the car.”

I tried to imagine Peter squeezing his tall frame into my car’s tiny backseat and failed. Even if he sat in the passenger seat and leaned it all the way back, he would be terribly cramped.

I looked at Peter and then the bed.

We were both adults, right?

“The bed may be crappy, but it’s big enough for both of us,” I said.

“I’ll sleep in the car,” he said again, more insistent this time. Then he added in a much quieter voice, “I haven’t fed since Donner Pass. I’m…thirsty.”

Of course. I’d had dinner at Big Earl’s, but Peter hadn’t. Donner Pass had been nearly twelve hours ago. It made sense that he needed to feed.

“And,” he continued, looking like he would rather do just about anything other than have this conversation, “I generally need to calm down after a large meal.”

He didn’t need to say more for me to know what he meant. If he’d be drinking from the source tonight, and having a particularly large meal at that, he would likely be a very amorous vampire afterward.

“It would be…safer, I think, for me to sleep elsewhere,” he added carefully.

What I was not going to do was imagine Peter slipping back into this room after feeding, his veins full of blood and his body thrumming with desire. I would also not imagine what it would be like to have him in that state beside me, in this bed.

Because that…

That would only lead to bad decisions.

Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked loudly, serving as the perfect awkward backdrop to this painfully awkward conversation. I swallowed, my cheeks on fire.

Now that we were on the topic of biological needs, I forced myself to consider mine.

The jittery buzzing beneath my skin was a quiet murmur, thanks to the wind spell from earlier in the day.

It was still there, though, the barest hint of an itch that, if ignored, could have me in misery by morning. Or worse.

Accidentally setting this room on fire might actually do it some favors—but it would be awfully inconvenient. Especially since fire was one of the few ways to kill vampires.

Peter was watching me expectantly, waiting for my reaction to what he’d just implied about the effect feeding had on him. He likely had no idea the million different directions my mind had just gone. I cleared my throat and refocused my attention, forcing myself to think through practicalities.

“Will you be able to find something to eat?” I asked. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

He nodded, looking relieved for the slight subject change. “I’ve thought about that. The woman at the front desk.”

I shook my head. “Too conspicuous. What if someone walks into the lobby in the middle of everything? It could turn into a real headache.” I thought for a moment. “One of the other motel guests, maybe?”

“That won’t work if their doors are locked,” he said. “Breaking down a door in the middle of the night would be even more conspicuous.”

I hadn’t thought of that. “Good point,” I said.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said distractedly. He began fidgeting with his key card, clearly anxious to leave. “I better go.”

“Just…” I began, then trailed off, my thoughts scattering as I tried to form words. “Just don’t hurt anyone. Okay?”