Marisa rose early after a sleepless night, glad that she didn't have to go to work. Last night, she had gone back to bed, only to toss and turn until dawn. Every time she closed her eyes, she had pictured Grigori bending over the woman who had haunted her nightmares, his fangs buried in the woman's neck as he drained her body of blood, of life.
Slipping on her robe, she went out to get the paper. Carrying it into the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee, then spread the newspaper out on the table. The headlines screamed at her:
VAMPIRE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN
ELEVEN DEATHS NOW ATTRIBUTED TO SERIAL KILLER
Even before she read the story, she knew what it was going to say, knew that what she had dreamed hadn't been a nightmare at all. The woman's body had been found in a dumpster near Huntington Beach. There were two puncture wounds in her neck; she had been drained of blood. Time of death had been put at sometime between two and three a.m. No witness had come forward.
Marisa swallowed the nausea rising in her throat as she stared at the grainy black-and-white photo.
Needing something to occupy her mind, she dressed in a pair of sweats, and then turned her attention to cleaning the apartment. She put the soundtrack to Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat on the CD player and set to work. She mopped the floors in the kitchen and the bathroom, dusted the furniture, vacuumed the rugs, changed the sheets on the bed, cleaned out the refrigerator.
And always, in the back of her mind, she could see the image of the woman she had dreamed about, the woman on the beach. What had the victim's last thoughts been before that monster sank his fangs into her neck? Had it hurt? Had she been terrified, or had the vampire clouded her mind with his power?
That monster... She rinsed her hands in the sink, and began replacing the refrigerator's contents. It was hard to picture Grigori as a monster. He was by far the most handsome man she had ever met. Tall and dark and mysterious. And dead. Or undead.
She knew it was true, yet standing in her kitchen in the bright light of day, it seemed preposterous. Vampires roaming the streets of Los Angeles.
She wiped her hands, then went into the bedroom and changed her clothes. She had to get out of the house. She needed to be surrounded by people. Needed to be out in the sunshine.
Grabbing her handbag and her keys, she left her apartment. The late-afternoon sun felt delicious on her skin, and she stood on the landing for a moment, basking in its warmth.
"Afternoon, Miss Richards."
She peered over the balcony to see her landlord watering the lawn. "Hi, Mr. Abbott."
"Pretty day," he remarked, glancing at the sky. "Thought it might rain this morning."
Marisa walked down the stairs and went to stand beside him, careful not to get her shoes wet. "Hard to believe it's November already."
Abbott nodded. "Be Christmas soon. Where does the time go?"
"I don't know."
"So, where you headed this fine day?"
"Nowhere in particular. I think I might do a little shopping."
Abbott nodded again. "Christmas seems to come earlier every year."
"Ain't it the truth. Talk to you later."
"So long."
The mall was crowded. Marisa felt her spirits lift as she joined the holiday throng. Christmas music came over the speakers; the stores were decorated with the usual Santas and reindeer and snowmen. She bought a lavender pantsuit for her mother, a gray sweater and a couple of conservative ties for her father, a Cross pen and pencil set for her boss. It was dark when she left the mall.
She was singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" when she climbed the stairs to her apartment.
The words died in her throat when she saw Edward Ramsey waiting for her at her door.
"Good evening, Miss Richards."
"Hello, Mr. Ramsey. Is something wrong?" He lifted one brow as he regarded the gaily wrapped presents bulging from several shopping bags. She read the silent condemnation in his eyes. A murderer was stalking the city, and she had been out shopping as if it were a day like any other.
"Is it possible you haven't heard the latest news?" A shiver ran down Marisa's spine. "Not another one?"
He nodded, his expression somber. "They found another body less than an hour ago."
"Another woman?"
"A teenage girl."
"That's twelve in little more than a week."
Ramsey nodded. His eyes, usually so mild, blazed with impotent fury. "I can't believe it's all Alexi's doing."
"What do you mean?"
"Do I have to spell it out for you, Miss Richards?"
She stared at him, remembering her nightmare. Whether she liked it or not, whether she wanted to admit it or not, Grigori was a vampire. And like Alexi, he needed blood to survive.
"You don't think Alexi is the only one involved in the killings." She felt suddenly, utterly weary. "You think Grigori's responsible for some of them, don't you?" Unlocking the door, she entered her apartment. "Come on in." She dropped her shopping bags on the floor and went into the kitchen.
Ramsey closed and locked the door, then followed her into the room. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, watching while she filled the coffeemaker with water.
"Twelve deaths in a week is a lot," Ramsey remarked. "Even for a fiend like Kristov."
"Is it? I wouldn't know."
"I would."
Marisa went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. She had been alone in her apartment with Grigori for the last two nights. Alone with a man who was really a monster in spite of his handsome facade.
She practically jumped out of her skin when the doorbell rang.
"Are you expecting Chiavari?" Ramsey asked.
"No."
"Wait here. I'll get it."
"All right." She clasped her hands to still their trembling, her whole body tensing with trepidation as she heard Grigori's voice.
And then he was there, looming over her. As always, his presence seemed to fill the room. It took all the courage she possessed to meet his eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice sharp. "Has Ramsey been filling your head with more nonsense?"
"I don't know. Has he?"
"Do you think I'm responsible for the killings in the city?"
"Are you?" She stared up at him. What was she doing, saying?
Ramsey sat in the chair across from her, but his nearness offered little comfort. She lifted a hand to her chest, felt the solid shape of the cross beneath her sweater. If Grigori attacked her, did she have enough faith to believe the cross would protect her?
"Would you believe me if I said I was innocent?"
"I don't know."
Grigori looked at Ramsey. "Do you think I'm involved in these killings?"
Ramsey nodded. "Damn right. Alexi doesn't need that much blood to survive, not after all these years."
"Alexi doesn't kill because he needs to," Grigori retorted. "He kills because he enjoys it."
Ramsey snorted softly. "And you don't?"
Grigori glanced at Marisa. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with interest and revulsion. "I haven't killed anyone in this city. I never hunt where I live."
"Yeah, right," Ramsey muttered.
"It's true, whether you believe it or not." His words were for Ramsey, but he was watching Marisa. For reasons he didn't care to examine too closely, it was important that she believe him.
Marisa shifted in her seat. Grigori's probing gaze made her decidedly uncomfortable. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee. Edward, would you like some?"
"Yes, thank you."
Grigori watched Marisa and Ramsey walk into the kitchen. He felt a twinge of jealousy that they could share something as ordinary as a cup of coffee. For the first time in a long while, he was keenly aware that he was no longer a mortal man.
Keeping his face impassive, he went to stand in the kitchen doorway. Ramsey and Marisa were sitting at the table. Ramsey held a cup to his lips; Marisa was staring out the window, the cup in her hand untouched.
"Do you have any idea where Alexi goes to ground?" Ramsey asked.
"No."
"Well, I've looked in all the places I can think of. He's not in any of them."
Marisa drew her gaze from the window. "What kind of places?"
"Old graveyards. Deserted buildings and houses. Empty lots." Edward shrugged. "I've started checking the local hotels, but that takes time."
"I've sensed his presence on more than one occasion," Grigori remarked. "But he always eludes me. I think he's playing with us. Sometimes I can almost hear him laughing."
"He'll be laughing out of the other side of his face when I drive my stake into his heart." For all his soft-spoken words, there was no mistaking the hatred in Ramsey's eyes, or the fervor in his tone.
"He may not be resting in the city at all," Grigori mused, thinking aloud. "Perhaps he's just hunting here, in which case we're wasting our time looking for his lair."
Ramsey nodded. "That's always a possibility. Still, I don't think we should start looking into the surrounding areas until we're certain he's not holed up here somewhere."
"He knows we're looking for him," Grigori remarked, thinking out loud. "He may be changing his resting place every day, or every week, and if that's the case, we might never find him."
"I'll find him."
Grigori shook his head. "I think the only way we'll catch him is if he lets us."
Ramsey's hand reached up to curl around his crucifix. "I will see him dead," he vowed. "One way or another. I swear it. Tell me, Chiavari, where do you spend the daylight hours?"
"Do I look like a fool, Ramsey?"
"Not at all, but if I knew more about you, perhaps it would make it easier to find Alexi."
"All you need know is that I never hunt in the same city where I take my rest."
"Fastidious of you."
"Quite."
Ramsey finished his coffee, and stood up. "I'm going home. I've had a long day. Miss Richards, thank you for the coffee." He went to the sink and rinsed out his cup, then placed it on the counter.
"Quite fastidious," Grigori murmured.
Ramsey glared at him. "Shouldn't you be out hunting our fanged friend?"
"All in good time. Weren't you leaving?"
"All in good time." Ramsey inclined his head in Marisa's direction. "Good night, Miss Richards."
"Good night, Edward. Thank you for coming by."
A thick silence fell over the kitchen after Ramsey's departure. Needing something to do, Marisa placed Edward's cup in the dishwasher, then poured herself a cup of coffee she didn't want.
"What if you can't find Alexi?"
"I'll find him."
"And in the meantime, he'll keep killing."
Grigori nodded, waiting for her to go on, to ask the questions he read in her eyes.
"You told Edward you don't hunt where you live."
He nodded again.
"But - " She lifted a hand to her throat. "But you do... hunt?"
"I do what I must to survive, Marisa. Would it make you feel better if I denied it, denied what I am?"
"Probably." She regarded him a moment. "You don't look like a vampire."
"Indeed? Have you known many of us?"
She placed her cup in the sink, and then folded her arms over her chest. "Of course not."
"How should I look?"
"I don't know." She shook her head as an image of Frank Langella's Dracula formed in her mind: tall and dark and undeniably sexy in a white linen shirt and long, flowing cape. "Maybe you do look like a... a vampire, after all."
He smiled, as if he knew her thoughts, and then, as a howl screamed through the night, he froze.
"What was that?" Marisa exclaimed. "It sounded like a wolf."
He looked at her indulgently. "There are no wolves in the city, Marisa."
"It's him, isn't it? Alexi?"
Grigori nodded. "He's calling me."
"You're not going?"
"Would you rather I met him in here?"
"Heavens, no!"
"You'll be safe enough. Just remember, he can't come in unless you invite him."
"That's not much comfort."
"It's the best I can offer you."
His dark eyes moved over her, deep, fathomless eyes that held secrets she didn't want to know. Awareness hummed between them, its heat licking against her skin, warm and rough, like a cat's tongue. And then, abruptly, he was gone.
Marisa blinked, startled by the sudden emptiness she felt inside, by the realization that he had not left the house by the door, but had simply vanished from her sight.
Maybe he really was a magician.
