Page 157 of Vampire so Virtuous

Cally froze. Her subconscious brain had connected the dots.

Shehadn’t been bitten, but what if… No, it was too extraordinary to consider.

“In centuries past, witches were trained from an early age.”

She pulled up her laptop, opening her private email and typing in her search. It was in her archive, and the computer went off to look on the server. It only took a second, but it was long enough to wonder if it had been wiped, if she even still had it.

Then, it appeared.

Subject:Death Certificate for Anna Davis – 7thMarch 1999.

She opened the attachment, her eyes scanning quickly. The Newton-Wellesley Hospital name stared back at her. She skimmed it, noting again the cause of death: ‘cardiac arrest due to hypovolemic shock.’ It didn’t say more, just ‘postpartum hemorrhage (PPH)’ in the contributing factors.

And there was what she had hoped for. The attending physician, a Dr. Reginald Emmanuel.

She pulled up a browser, cross-referencing the Massachusetts Medical Society with white pages and real estate listings. Six minutes later, she leaned back and shook her head. It was way too easy to find an address.

Dr. Emmanuel was in Milton, not all that far from her Dad’s house. And he’d retired, which meant there was a good chance he’d be at home.

She needed a car. But there was one waiting outside.

Antoine’s coat was still on the arm of the chair, but rifling the pockets came up empty. They must be in his jeans.

Her eyes took time to adjust to the gloom of her bedroom. His folded T-shirt rested neatly on her chair, his boots tucked beneath, but no jeans. Of course—he’d fallen asleep before taking them off.

Her pulse quickened. Hadn’t he said he was a heavy sleeper? She peeled back her duvet, uncovering him, trying not to look at this bare torso. But he was asleep; he wouldn’t care. She stared, taking in his pale skin and perfect body. Not an ounce of fat. The benefits of an all-liquid diet.

He lay on his side, one leg slightly raised. She carefully reached around it, smoothing her hand down over his hip and thigh. There was a lump in the pocket that felt like keys. At least she didn’t have to turn him over.

Getting them out wasn’t going to be easy. She worked cautiously, inch by inch, sliding her fingers into the pocket, feeling his upper thigh through the pocket’s thin lining. He was always so warm, something she’d never expected from a vampire. But he wasn’t dead; no reason to be cold or clammy. She pushed further, feeling the hard metal with her fingertips, but she couldn’t quite reach it.

What if he woke? She could imagine him grabbing her wrist faster than she could move, finding her hand practically brushing up against his groin. Or worse—waking as the disturbed predator, lethal and ready to defend himself. Would he stop in time?

Her fingertip brushed the keyring. She hooked it, drawing it carefully out, until at last she could grip it.

He hadn’t woken, and the key was now in her hand.

She slipped it out carefully, then retreated from the room. He hadn’t even stirred.

And now she had a Lamborghini.

Cally grinned.

*

Dr. Reginald Emmanuel’s house was on a quiet, tree-lined street just north of the Blue Hills reservation, not far south of her Dad’s place. Large houses in a residential cul-de-sac. It had a front lawn, and the doctor was clearly an enthusiastic gardener.

Cally arrived with a sense of relief. The Lamborghini had been fun, but was a lot trickier to handle than a Zipcar—every slight press on the gas pedal threatened to send her barreling into the car in front.

She walked up the path and knocked on his door, still not sure what she was going to say.

It opened to reveal a small, spectacled, elderly man, who looked at her with curiosity.

“My dear, if you’ve come to help me save my soul, I can save you some trouble now. My wife has already claimed it.”

Cally smiled. “I’m sorry to bother you, but are you Dr. Emmanuel?”

His expression reflected his surprise. “I am. And how can I help you?”