Page 4 of Road Trip with a Vampire

Three

Annabelle Adams, staff reporter for the Chicago Tribune

No other vehicles were reported near the scene. Police have begun an investigation into what caused the accident and where the car’s driver may have gone.

There had been a time when a random vampire showing up was so par for the course, I couldn’t even call it unexpected when it happened.

But those days had ended the night I’d purposely crashed my car outside Chicago and went permanently off the grid of my old life.

Or so I’d thought. Panic coursed through me as I stared at this stranger. At his teeth. Knowing exactly what would happen in this studio full of people if he lost control.

How had he tracked me down? And who was he? I went through a mental checklist of all the vampires I’d run afoul of over the years but came up blank. My past life was a blur in many ways, but he didn’t look familiar, and I had a near photographic memory for faces.

I shot a glance to Lindsay. Her attention was on Peter, but she wasn’t screaming or running for the door. That meant his involuntary glamour, which kept humans from seeing a vampire’s fangs except while feeding, was still in place.

Of course, that glamour had never worked on me. I’d never learned why, though I was grateful for it. It had saved me on more occasions than I could count.

Including right now.

Now that I was over the initial shock of a vampire showing up at my good clean yoga studio, I noticed in Peter all the signs of a vampire who hadn’t fed in a while.

His pupils were narrowed to barely there black slits, with tiny bright red spots in the centers.

The unique, nearly irresistible scent of sex and danger—a scent designed to lure potential victims his way—all but oozed from him.

I had to get him out of here.

First, though, I had to get Lindsay and our students out of here. Preferably without frightening them. I could take care of myself if it was a matter of life and death, but I didn’t want anyone to see me in action if it could be avoided.

They’d have no way to defend themselves if our visitor went on a rampage.

“You can go home,” I said to Lindsay, not taking my eyes off Peter. He seemed to have realized that I could see his fangs. He stared at me just as intently as I stared at him, his face a mirror of the surprise I knew was all over my face.

“Go home?” Lindsay gaped at me like I’d sprouted an extra head, then gesticulated between me and the Walnut Room. The black plastic bracelets ringing her arms clacked together as she moved. “I have class.”

“I’ll teach it,” I said. “Better yet—let’s cancel.”

“But the students already paid for it.” Lindsay stared at me. “What is going on?”

“I didn’t put two and two together last night, when you gave me your name,” Peter said as if Lindsay weren’t there. Only moments had passed, but it felt like time had stopped altogether. He put his hands up in a palms-forward submissive gesture. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I just want to talk.”

Lindsay’s eyes darted back and forth between us. “I’ll go teach,” she said, definitively. “You two can, uh…talk out here. Zelda, text me later so I know you’re okay?”

I considered Peter a moment. Took in his earnest expression.

Now that my surprise had worn off, I was calm enough to realize Peter wasn’t in the throes of bloodlust. If he were, he’d have been fangs-deep in Lindsay’s neck before I’d even shown up.

Or at least acting like an aggressive asshole.

Not looking at me beseechingly, politely asking if we could talk.

“Fine,” I said to Lindsay. “Go teach. I’ll text you later.”

Lindsay’s eyebrows lifted at my sudden change of mind. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I said.

Once Lindsay and the students were all safely in the Walnut Room, I grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him as far from the classroom as I could.

It was like gripping a statue. His forearm was firm and muscular beneath my fingertips, his flesh unnaturally cool to the touch.

I had forgotten just how cold vampires ran.

How could I have forgotten something so fundamental?

Then again, it had been ten years.

Peter’s eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned in close, inhaling long and deep. The tip of his nose brushed a line down the curve of my neck as he breathed me in.

Twin shivers—of unexpected desire and revulsion—ran down my spine.

“Not so fast, mister.” I dropped his arm and put distance between us, trying to shake off the lingering impact that proximity to a vampire who needed to feed could have on a person. Because if he hadn’t fed in a while, grabbing his arm just now had been incredibly stupid.

He raised an eyebrow. “Can I assume you’ve retracted your offer to let me take a class?”

I huffed an incredulous laugh. “Yes.”

“Last night you said I could come by whenever I wanted.”

Was this guy for real? “That’s before I knew what you were .”

He paused, considering. “So, it’s true. You can see my—”

“Yes,” I interrupted. Pitching my voice low, I added, “Your glamour doesn’t work on me. Now, can you please tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?”

His eyes darted around the empty room as if to make certain we were truly alone.

“My name is Peter Elliott,” he said. “If you’re Grizelda Watson, you’re the person I’ve been looking for.

” He took out a much-handled piece of paper from a duffel bag slung over one broad shoulder.

“I should have realized who you were when you introduced yourself as Zelda last night. But I was…” He trailed off, suddenly finding his shoes the most interesting things in the room. “Distracted.”

I didn’t ask what had distracted him. I didn’t want to know. “Why have you been looking for me?” I demanded. “Who sent you?”

He glanced at the paper he held and then at me, his brows furrowed. “Are you friends with somebody called Reginald?”

My stomach plummeted to somewhere in the vicinity of my shoes.

“He’s a former friend,” I clarified. Though former friend wasn’t quite right, either. Reginald and I hadn’t so much stopped being friends as we’d lost touch when I’d skipped town without either telling him or giving him my new contact info. But you know. Semantics.

The letter I’d sent him a few months earlier, to say hello and to let him know I’d thought The Collective, our old common nemesis, had paid me a visit, had been my first communication with him since leaving.

It had been ten years overdue. In truth, he was one of the only parts of my old life that I missed.

Fortunately, I’d been wrong about The Collective finding me. And now that I stood face-to-face with a vampire Reginald had apparently sent my way, I remembered that good judgment had never been one of my old friend’s strong suits.

Perhaps reaching out to him had been a mistake.

“But you do know him,” Peter Elliott pressed, cutting into my reminiscing.

“Yes.” No point lying about it.

That answer seemed to satisfy him. He handed me the paper he’d been holding.

“This should explain everything. I’d tell you myself, but given that there are other people around”—he gestured meaningfully to the Walnut Room, where over a dozen students were stretching and sweating with Lindsay—“letting you read this might be wiser.”

“Probably,” I agreed. Bracing myself for anything—always the best strategy when Reginald was involved—I began to read:

Dear Grizelda,

How’s sunny California?

The reason I’m writing is to give you a heads-up.

I’ve sent someone your way. His name is Peter and he has amnesia.

Like, actual amnesia, not the kind you and I pretended to have that one time in Boston to get access to free hospital supplies.

He remembers his name and how to speak and all that but can’t remember anything that happened to him before a couple of weeks ago.

Suffice it to say, Peter’s pretty freaked out.

He can’t go to a doctor for obvious reasons (specifically: he’s a vampire) (please don’t be mad).

Amelia (that’s my girlfriend; you’d love her) and I don’t have space for him to stay with us but he seems nice enough.

He said he had a very strong urge to see California, and I did the first thing that popped into my head—which was give him your name and your studio’s address and tell him I had a friend in California who might be able to help.

What can I say? I panicked. (Also you’re the only person I know in California.) I’m guessing you went to all the trouble of making a new life for yourself in a sunny place in part to get away from people like me and Peter, so if you don’t want to answer the door when he comes knocking, I get it.

But given that I spent the better part of a century covering for you after the entire Incident situation I feel somewhat entitled to call in a small favor.

If you could find it in your heart to at least point him in the direction of the nearest blood bank when he arrives, that would be amazing.

Yours,

R.

PS: I checked out your yoga studio online. Looks great! So much natural light! If I believed in any of that stuff and, you know, didn’t fucking hate the sun, I’d have half a mind to head out to California and sign up for some classes myself.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to count to ten before opening them again.

Reginald had been one of my closest friends for over a century. He’d saved my ass more times than I could count. And when he’d replied to my last letter to let me know he’d had a recent run-in with The Collective himself but had escaped unharmed, I had been so relieved I nearly cried.

But if I ever saw him again, I’d stake him where he stood.

Why did Reggie think I could help this guy?

And gods, why did he think sending me that warning letter with the person he was warning me about would be remotely helpful? A typical Reggie lack of forethought.