Page 3 of Road Trip with a Vampire

Two

Two months earlier

Peter took one final look at the paper that listed the time and place for his meeting before tearing it into six even pieces.

He tossed them into the trash and closed his eyes.

He could do this.

Peter enjoyed some of the perks of his job. The opportunities for travel were unparalleled. He got to use some of his more noteworthy abilities in ways other situations would never allow.

And though he was not a boastful man, he knew he was good at his job.

Some people in this line of work were charming, equipped with an innate social awareness that allowed them to easily slip out of sticky situations.

Peter didn’t have the social skills the devil gave a cockroach.

What he did have was a quick mind that kept him at least two steps ahead of everyone else.

After seventy years in this profession, though, it was getting old.

Travel was great. But endless travel? Less so. He liked plants, had even tried growing some, but a person with no real home had little chance of keeping anything alive.

To say nothing of all the meetings. He’d had no idea just how many interminable meetings there would be when he’d gotten his first contract. If he’d wanted to spend the rest of his existence in meetings, he’d have chosen a different profession.

Maybe he could retire after this next job was over. The Pacific Northwest sounded delightful. Beautiful but overcast. That last bit was important. He’d had enough exposure to sunlight to last several painful lifetimes.

But he didn’t have time right now for daydreams. He had to be focused, he had to be Peter Elliott —the man who inspired complete trust in his employers and always got the job done.

He glanced at his watch. He still had ten minutes before he was expected downstairs.

He took a last look at himself in the floor-length mirror in his hotel room and nodded approvingly at his reflection.

Peter knew, after countless furtive glances shot his way from across crowded dance floors and airports and restaurants over the years, that people found him attractive. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a body people could tell looked good beneath his clothes was a thing , apparently.

Especially when he wore an expensive suit like this one.

If it were possible to do so, Peter would thank the human he’d once been for doing enough regular manual labor to give himself a torso and arms that would be muscular and sculpted for eternity.

If people found him attractive? Fine. It made his work easier.

Satisfied with his appearance, Peter glanced at his watch again.

Time to go.

He hoped this new assignment would be worth his time.

In. Hold. Out. Hold.

In. Hold . Out. Hold.

It was just after six, and I sat cross-legged in one of the pink plastic chairs in Yoga Magic’s lobby. My first students would be arriving soon, but there was still time for me to get in my morning breathing exercises.

Box breathing had been my introduction to living with mindfulness back when I’d taken my first Yoga for Beginners class with Becky at her old studio.

I’d only wandered in that day for lack of anything better to do with my time and had still been Grizelda in all the ways that mattered except for name.

Becky, of course, didn’t know who or what I really was.

Witches and vampires existed in a precarious equilibrium with mortal humans.

The more people who knew we existed, the riskier it was for all of us.

Becky was one of my closest friends in my new life, but like with all human acquaintances I’d made over the years, I kept her largely in the dark.

Regardless, I never could have imagined how much what Becky had taught me that first day would change my life.

Breathing exercises were second only to my candle ritual in effectiveness when it came to managing my symptoms. The sun was now halfway up the horizon, and I gazed at the pinks and purples of the lightening sky as I again turned my focus inward towards the flow of oxygen through my body.

In. Hold . Out. Hold.

In. Hold . Out. Hold.

I could feel my mind going empty, releasing. The energy that had built up within me overnight seeped out with every exhale.

After five more minutes, I was ready to start the day.

I stood up and pulled my hair into a ponytail so it would stay out of my way. The last thing I needed was for it to be plastered to my face and neck while I taught. It was supposed to be another scorching day, and the building’s insulation was designed for coastal California weather, not this heat.

I was just unlocking the doors to our three yoga rooms—whimsically named Maple, Walnut, and Sweetgum, after Becky’s favorite deciduous trees—when the Early Crew began arriving.

They wore matching Lululemon outfits and designer flip-flops like team uniforms and carried their rolled-up mats beneath their arms.

The women in the Early Crew were all in their fifties and sixties and had left other, very different lives to start over in this beautiful part of the world.

They’d been some of our first students when we’d opened the studio and were still among our most dedicated.

Back in the earliest days, when Becky and I hadn’t been sure Yoga Magic would survive in a region where new yoga studios sprang up like weeds, they’d been our bread and butter.

Katie Chadwick was the first student in the door.

Katie was a fifty-eight-year-old recovering attorney , as she called herself, with long, fashionably graying brunette hair that I’d never seen out of a high ponytail.

She’d sold her law practice in San Francisco nearly ten years ago to move up here for what she’d hoped would be a less complicated life.

She was a bookseller now at Redwoodsville’s used bookstore.

I wasn’t sure whether Katie’s new life was actually less complicated. There was an asshole ex she’d left when she’d fled San Francisco who still caused her grief. But Katie’s word of mouth in our earliest days had played no small part in the studio’s continued success. I owed it to her not to pry.

“Is Morning Bikram Yoga happening in the Walnut Room?” she asked.

Bikram Yoga—popularly called hot yoga—needed very high temperatures. I nodded, smiling. “Yes.”

Katie’s eyes lit up. “Finally!”

“The repair people showed up and fixed the thermostat at last,” I explained. “It should be plenty hot in there today. I’ll see you in class?”

“Yes,” she agreed. The rest of the Early Crew had shown up by this point and were talking among themselves as they waited in line behind Katie to be signed in.

When Becky and I had decided to open this yoga studio eight years ago, I’d hoped it would help me feel connected to this community and grounded in my new life.

It had worked better than I could’ve imagined.

Not only had running Yoga Magic helped me build community for myself, but we were creating community for others, too.

No one in the Early Crew had known each other when they’d started coming here eight years ago—and now Katie had an entire Gen X posse willing to help bury a body the next time her ex was an ass.

Retirement communities from across the county came to our Friday Chair Yoga series; I had it on good authority that two new mah-jongg groups had sprung up as a result.

And according to Becky, a couple who’d met for the first time at one of her Pilates classes had gotten engaged two weeks ago.

While I’d initially started this studio to give my own life more purpose, this space had become a touchstone in other people’s lives, too. It was all so much better, so much sweeter , than I ever could have imagined.

I couldn’t help smiling as I signed in the rest of the Early Crew, then watched them file into the Walnut Room.

Hopefully they’d forgive me later for the ass-kicking workout I had planned for them.

Days when it was my turn to open the studio began very early.

They tended to end early, too. By eight that night, I was in my pajamas, my bedside reading light on as I cracked open Sense and Huntability, the latest paranormal romance I’d picked up from Redwoodsville’s used bookstore.

People from my old life might have found it a bit on the nose that I was now moderately obsessed with a series about a sexy werewolf falling in love with the human hunter who was determined to trap him at all costs, but I didn’t care.

Everyone needed an escape.

I grabbed my readers from the table and slid them on as I cracked open the book. I didn’t technically need reading glasses—my eyesight had been better than twenty-twenty for centuries—but someone had once told me glasses made me look intellectual, and I’d always been a sucker for flattery.

Before I’d gotten past the book’s initial meet-cute in a dark and deserted alley, though, my phone buzzed with a series of new texts.

Lindsay: We have a situation

Lindsay was Becky’s twenty-eight-year-old cousin, who’d joined our team a few years ago when Yoga Magic had started offering night classes. She knew not to text me about studio stuff after I was off the clock unless it was serious.

I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and read on.

Lindsay: I’m about to start the last class of the night, and a hot man I’ve never seen before has positioned himself right outside the Sweetgum Room. He’s insisting on seeing you, and only you, right away

Lindsay: When I told him you weren’t around he got attitudinal

Lindsay: And by “attitudinal” I mean really grumpy

Lindsay: I don’t know what to do

Lindsay: I have to teach but he won’t leave and I’m not sure leaving him alone here is a good idea

Lindsay: (Also when I say he’s hot please know this is not an exaggeration, this guy is hot like burning)

I groaned.

If a strange man had shown up and was making Lindsay uncomfortable, I couldn’t ignore this.

Zelda: I’ll be down in five

Zelda: What does he want?

Lindsay: He won’t tell me

Lindsay: Says he’ll only tell you

Wonderful.

Last year a local college student pursuing a marketing degree had made us some promotional videos as part of one of her classes.

One of them was of me teaching hot yoga.

For reasons I never understood, it had gone viral on TikTok.

It had been a while since a weirdo who’d seen it and claimed to be in love with me had found their way into our studio.

From the sound of it, though, we’d just gotten another live one.

I stumbled out of bed, stripping off my pajamas and pulling on the first clean T-shirt and pair of shorts I found in my dresser.

Zelda: I’m coming

Zelda: Should we call the police?

Lindsay: I don’t think he’s dangerous

Lindsay: But I still don’t feel good about leaving to go teach while he’s here

The guy’s back was to me when I entered Yoga Magic from the rear entrance five minutes later, giving me an eyeful of broad shoulders, black T-shirt, and tousled dark hair.

He was saying something to Lindsay in a voice that was somehow familiar, but I wasn’t listening closely enough to place it.

I cleared my throat to get his attention, preparing to be the most assertive version of myself I ever let anyone in this new life see.

“Excuse me,” I said.

The man turned to face me.

Everything I’d been about to say died in my throat.

It was Peter from the night before.

“It’s you,” I said, surprised. I had originally thought Peter and I had shared something of a moment the night before, but that hope had been dashed when he’d run away before I could get his number. I certainly hadn’t expected him to take me up on my offer of a free class.

“It’s me,” he agreed.

Lindsay’s eyes bounced between the two of us. “You two know each other?”

“Sort of?” I admitted.

“Yes,” Peter said earnestly at the same time. “Last night she invited me to take a yoga class.”

Lindsay murmured something to the student standing next to her. Both women started chuckling quietly. I ignored them.

“I did say you could take a class,” I agreed.

“But I’m not teaching right now. Lindsay’s about to teach Bikram Yoga, but that’s not a class for beginners.

If you want to come back tomorrow…” I grabbed one of our printed schedules from the check-in counter and handed it to him.

“I teach Yoga for Beginners tomorrow at noon. Will that work with your—?”

“I’m not here to take a class.”

I blinked at him. “But you just said—”

“What is your name?”

By this point, everyone in the studio was watching our conversation with great interest. “Zelda Turret,” I said, confused. “Remember? I introduced myself last night.”

“Yes, yes, I remember what you told me.” He waved an impatient hand. “But is your given name Grizelda Watson?” He enunciated each syllable slowly and carefully, as though concerned he wouldn’t say it right.

Every part of me froze.

Not just because he’d asked about a name I’d done everything I could to bury in the past.

But also because as he’d carefully said my given name, in my brightly lit studio, his mouth had parted just enough for me to see his teeth in a way I hadn’t last night in the dark.

To my shock and horror, Peter was sporting a pair of what were very obviously vampire fangs.