Bastien cursed under his breath and hurried out of the guestroom. He was very aware, as he ran back up the hall, that Terri was on his heels. He'd rather she wasn't; the Lord alone knew what they were about to find. Well, actually, with Vincent in the penthouse it was an easy guess. He might have tried to bite Mrs. Houlihan again and failed to control her mind, but that was doubtful. Vincent was as old as Bastien, and found it easy to manipulate the minds of his victims. Which meant that Mrs. Houlihan had probably walked in on him biting Kate's coworker.
That was exactly what had happened, Bastien saw as he skidded into the living room. Vincent must have been serious when he'd said he was hungry. The man was still bent over the back of the couch, his teeth fastened on C.K.'s neck. He hadn't stopped feeding at Mrs. Houlihan's interruption, but had merely speared the housekeeper with hard eyes. No doubt he was trying to control the woman's thoughts as he fed, but he hadn't succeeded by the time Bastien arrived on the scene.
Terri was on Bastien's heels, and he felt alarm course through him at the thought of her witnessing this, but even as she flew into the room behind him, Vincent retracted his teeth and straightened.
Just beginning to relax, Bastien noted the horrified stare of his housekeeper and followed her gaze to Chris Keyes's neck. He immediately grimaced upon spotting the two red dots there, one with a teardrop of blood sliding down the skin beneath. Bastien gave Vincent a look that made his cousin glance down. Sighting the problem, Vinny nonchalantly reached down and turned his dazed victim's head enough to hide the mark from Terri's view.
Fortunately, she didn't appear to have noticed. Her focus was on the housekeeper. "It's okay," she said soothingly, moving to the woman's side. "Mrs. Houlihan, is it?"
The housekeeper wasn't in the mood to be soothed. She jerked away from Terri's gentle hold as if the younger woman were tainted.
"It's not all right," she snapped, then turned on Bastien in fury. "Mr. Argeneau, sir, you've been a good employer. You have. And this has been an easy job, and I'll not deny it. You're hardly here, there's no cooking involved and little more than dusting. I spend most days watching my soap operas. But now you've brought these... these... monsters here." She included everyone in her sweeping look. "I'm no one's dinner. I quit."
"Mrs. Houlihan." Bastien moved to follow as the woman whirled to storm out of the room, pausing when Terri caught his arm.
"Perhaps you should let her go," Terri suggested quietly. "The woman's obviously high-strung. I mean, she can't really believe Vincent is a vampire. That's just silly. I'm thinking she's just upset that she'll actu¬ally have to start working."
"I'm sure that's it," Vincent agreed, but his inno¬cent expression was unable to fool Bastien for a mo-ment. His cousin was silently laughing his head off at the situation. He'd always had a slightly twisted sense of humor.
"Yes, I'm sure it is," Bastien agreed, just for sim¬plicity's sake "But I still need to talk to her."
He needed to clear the woman's memory. Keeping her on was impossible now, so long as Vincent and the others were around, but he had to at least wipe her memory before she went blabbing about what she had seen.
Bastien strode out into the entry and paused in shock. It was empty. He'd expected to find Mrs. Houlihan collecting her coat from the closet or some¬thing, but she was gone. The elevator doors were closed and the room empty. The only exit was the el¬evator or the archway he'd just come through. She couldn't have left so quickly. What about her things? All her clothes in her room? Her coat?
Turning on his heel, he strode back into the living room and straight to the wall unit holding the moni-tor with a view of the interior of the elevator. It was still on, and right there, live and in black-and-white, was his very upset housekeeper. She was riding down to the main floor with arms folded defensively across her chest and one foot tapping as she anxiously watched the lit floor numbers mark her journey downward.
The woman had left, just like that. She'd lived here for some ten years and had just walked out, leaving everything she owned behind. Bastien could hardly believe it. Dear God, he had to catch up to her and repair this somehow--not just clear it from her memory, but make reparation. Where would she go, for heaven's sake?
He turned back to the others, mouth opening to excuse himself from the room, but paused. Terri was eyeing him sympathetically, apparently thinking he was upset at losing a maid. Vincent was grinning un¬abashed, not at all concerned that he had just thrown Bastien's life into turmoil. And Chris Keyes was shift¬ing uncomfortably on the couch, apparently having recovered from the momentary daze Vincent had in¬duced while feeding off him.
"Er..."
Bastien glanced toward the editor, and the fellow grimaced. "Would it be too much trouble to ask for a glass of water? They gave me painkillers at the hospital, but those are wearing off and I could really use more."
"Water? Yes," Bastien said, relieved to find that Vincent had at least managed to veil the editor's mind while feeding. He glanced to Terri. He had to see her fed, too. But he'd promised Mrs Houlihan would make the meal. And Vincent--he had to deal with Vincent.
That was when Bastien realized that fate had just turned everything upside down. His orderly life was gone, and at that moment he really wasn't sure if he'd ever get it back. At least not before Lucern and Kate's wedding. How long was that? Oh, yes. Two weeks. Fourteen days of hell before his life might get back to normal.
How had this happened, he wondered with a com¬bination of dismay and confusion. Things like this simply didn't happen to him. He was the details man--he didn't have problems, he solved them for everyone else.
He had a problem now. Three of them, in fact. Terri, Vinny, and the editor. Actually, he had four problems, because he really had to catch up to Mrs. Houlihan and clear her memory before she told any¬one about Vinny. He supposed he could wipe her mind clean and convince her to return too, but the chances of the memory wipe sticking weren't good if she stayed in the penthouse: there was a good chance that some situation, something said, or just seeing Vinny prancing around in his cape and teeth would bring the memory back. In effect, he and his kind were able to bury memories, not really eliminate them. Still, he had to bury that memory, and quickly, to avoid future trouble. But first he had to see every¬one situated here and give Vincent a good talking-to. Otherwise Terri might soon be sporting her own puncture marks.
Speaking of the editor, Bastien decided to put him in one of the guest rooms. The man would be safer there. That seemed a sound decision. It also gave Bastien a purpose and made him feel more in charge again, despite the chaos reigning around him.
"Right." He clapped his hands together. "Let's get organized. You need a room... er..." He stared at the editor, trying to recall the fellow's name. He'd remem¬bered it earlier. C-something, he thought, but the name just wouldn't come. He didn't bother to try to hide his irritation as he asked, "What's your name again?"
"Chris," the slender editor answered. "Chris Keyes. Kate probably calls me C.K. when she men¬tions me, though."
"Oh, yeah." Bastien didn't really care; he had more important things on his mind at the moment. His glance slid to Vincent. "Which room did you take?"
"Lucern's."
"Fine. The editor can have Etienne's room," Bastien decided. It put the blond man between Vin¬cent and Terri. Hopefully, if Vinny got hungry, he would go to the nearest source of nourishment and leave Terri alone. Bastien really didn't want to kick his cousin's ass in front of these two. Well, not in front of Terri at any rate. He didn't much care what the editor thought of him. Christopher, he reminded himself, going naturally for the long version of the name and bypassing nicknames altogether.
"Can you walk?" he asked the editor.
"Not without help," the fellow admitted apologet¬ically.
Bastien grimaced. It looked like he'd have to cart him around like a baby. Which wasn't a problem, he could lift and carry the man easily enough. It just seemed a bother.
"You aren't going to take him to his room already, are you?" Kate's cousin asked as Bastien moved to¬ward the editor. "He hasn't eaten yet. And do you know, I didn't notice Kate carrying any kind of lug¬gage or overnight bag for him when they came in." She eyed the invalid with concern. "Didn't you two stop at your apartment to collect some clothes from your apartment?"
"There wasn't time," C.K. admitted, looking not at all pleased. "Kate called the airport from the hos-pital once she knew that she would be taking my place, then raced here to drop me off. There was only one plane headed for California tonight that had two seats left on it, and that didn't leave much time to spare. She had to collect Luc and get going if she wanted to make it."
Bastien wasn't at all surprised to hear that Kate had expected that Luc would accompany her to Califor¬nia. The two had been inseparable ever since Luc had turned her.
"He'll need clothes," Terri pointed out almost apologetically.
"Yes," Bastien agreed. Another problem for him to attend to.
Terri patted his arm sympathetically. "It doesn't appear to be your day."
Bastien almost assured her that everything would be fine, that he was used to dealing with crises, but he very much feared that doing so would bring an end to the soothing way Terri was touching him; and he found he quite liked her touch. So, for the first time in his life, Bastien kept his mouth shut, shook
his head, and went for the sympathy play. "No, it doesn't."
"Umm."
"What?" He cast a scowl down at Chris Keyes, ir¬ritated with the editor's interruption of the brief interlude.
"Do you think it would be possible to get me that glass of water?" the editor asked. "Those painkillers from the hospital--I could really use one about now."
"Get him a drink, Vinny."
"Vincent," Bastien's cousin corrected firmly. "And get it yourself, I'm not your housekeeper."
"No, you're the reason I no longer have a house¬keeper," Bastien growled. "Get the drink."
"I'll get it." Terri rushed off before Bastien could protest. It wasn't until she was out of the room that he remembered she wouldn't have a clue where the kitchen was. Fortunately, she took the right hallway. She'd find her way, Bastien assured himself, then rubbed one hand wearily across his forehead as he considered the tasks ahead and what order to accom¬plish them in.
First, he had to deal with Vincent. It would be best to get his cousin out of the apartment and on his way to feeding; that was the only way to keep him from nibbling on the guests. Then Bastien would go after Mrs. Houlihan and wipe her memory, swing by Keyes's apartment to collect him some clothes, pick up some food for Chris and Terri, then stick the edi¬tor in a room for the night, leaving himself free to entertain Kate's cousin. He was smiling over this idea when he realized his cousin would be back by then, and no doubt do his level best to charm the pants right off Terri. Literally. His smile died as he ac-knowledged that his life had become a sort of hell.
"Bastien?"
"Hmm?" His gloomy thoughts vanished as he turned to Terri. She had returned to the room, handed the editor a cup of what presumably was wa¬ter, and now moved to Bastien's side. He smiled. She was a lovely woman--a lovely, thoughtful woman who had taken a good chunk of her vacation to fly 2,320 miles to help her cousin and best friend out with wedding preparations, only to find herself dumped at his door like some stray puppy while her cousin and Lucern wandered the earth attending ro¬mance writer conventions, making love in hotels, and no doubt kissing every two steps of the way, like the brainless lovesick duo they were.
"While I was in the kitchen getting Chris the glass of water, I had a quick look around and I noticed you have no food."
"Oh?" Bastien asked vaguely, thinking that perhaps describing her as being "dumped on him like a stray puppy" was unkind. There was nothing doglike about this woman. She was more a cat-type--sleek and graceful.
"No food at all," she added significantly.
"I see." Bastien's eyes dropped down her figure. All those curves weren't really very sleek or catlike, which is why he supposed he hadn't made the associ¬ation at first. But she had those large green eyes like a cat. Which were rather similar to Kate's, he noticed now. They must be a family trait, he decided, his gaze briefly drifting back up to her eyes before returning to her figure. She really had a gorgeous body, and her University of Leeds T-shirt and tight white jeans showed it to advantage. She definitely wasn't a puppy.
"Or dishes even," Terri continued. "There was one cup that I presume Mrs Houlihan used for her tea, a teapot, some tea bags, but that was it. In the whole kitchen, that was it. Hello? Bastien? Can you hear me?"
Bastien blinked as the sudden concern and touch of impatience in Terri's tone made it through his dis¬tracted state. It took him a minute to grasp what she'd been trying to tell him as he'd ogled her body, but after a moment the key words popped to the fore of his mind. "No food. Or dishes. Right. We'll go shopping tomorrow. In the meantime..." He turned to survey the room, his gaze skating over the still wincing and shifting editor, his amused cousin, and the room at large. It stopped at the bar. "There are glasses in the bar," he announced, feeling rather tri¬umphant. "And I'll... er ..." What was it humans did when they were hungry but didn't want to cook? Oh, yes! They--
"Order in?" Vincent suggested.
"I knew that," Bastien snapped. Family could be so bloody annoying at times. Sighing, he turned back to Terri and forced a smile, completely ignoring her bewildered expression. "We'll order in tonight and go shopping tomorrow."
"Uh-huh." She nodded slowly, then tilted her head. "Have you lived here long?"
"About twenty years in this building, but over a hundred in the city," Bastien answered. Then he blinked and corrected himself: "My family has had the penthouse that long, I mean. None of us really lives here at all. I just use it when I'm in New York con¬ducting business. Other family members drop in from time to time when they're in town," he added, with a glance at his cousin.
"I see." Terri smiled slightly, then shook her head and dug into her back pocket. She pulled out a wad of American bills. "Well, I can contribute to the take¬out. What are we ordering?"
"Whatever you like, but there's no need to con¬tribute. You're my guest."
"But--"
"No buts. You're my guest," he said firmly. He turned away to bring an end to the discussion, and his gaze landed grimly on Keyes. Bastien immediately pulled out the small notepad and pen he always car¬ried around in his pocket for just such occasions and handed them over. "Write down your address and give me your keys, and I'll pick you up some clothes while Vincent and I are out collecting dinner." It wasn't a request.
"You!" He turned on his cousin as C.K. set to work. "Vincent, get that damned cape off and get ready to go out.
"And you--" His attention shifted to Terri, but one glimpse of her soft eyes and even softer-looking lips made his businesslike attitude disappear. A smile curved his lips again, and his voice was noticably gen¬der as he said, "Just sit down and relax, Terri. I'll be back soon with dinner."
Then he took the notepad, pen, and keys the edi¬tor was holding out, grabbed his now capeless cousin by the arm, and escorted him determinedly to the elevator.
"I think he likes you."
Terri glanced toward Chris Keyes as the elevator doors closed on her host and his cousin. "What?" she asked in surprise.
"Well, he certainly treats you nicer than the rest of us."
Terri ignored the comment. The man was shifting about on the couch again, looking pained. "Is there something I can do to make you more comfortable?" she asked.
"No. Well, if you wouldn't mind? Another pillow under my leg might help until the painkillers kick in. Thanks for the water, by the way."
"No problem." Terri grabbed another cushion off the couch and set it under his cast on the coffee table. "Better?"
"Not really, but it will have to do."
She bit her lip at the surly comment. Men were such babies when sick or injured. "I'm just going to go to my room to start unpacking," she announced, turning toward the hall. "Shout if you need me."
"Do you think they have a television in this place?"
Terri paused at the hall and turned slowly, her gaze moving around the room. She didn't see a television. But there was a remote control on the coffee table by C.K.'s cast-encased foot. Walking back to him, she picked it up and looked it over with mounting con¬fusion. There were more buttons on the thing than there were keys on a computer keyboard, and all of them with incomprehensible short forms and sym¬bols. Two of them said TV, but with differing symbols beneath. Terri chose the first, and glanced around with a start as a soft whirring issued from the oppo¬site wall. Her eyebrows rose as she watched a portion of wall slide upward to reveal a large television.
"Voila," she said, with more relief than cheer. She hit the second button, and the television clicked on. Glad to have solved the problem, Terri handed the re¬mote to C.K. and turned to leave the room, grateful when she managed to escape without being called back again.
She found her room without difficulty, and closed the door behind her with a small sigh. None of this was going as she'd expected. Terri had imagined spending this first night on the couch in Kate's cozy little apartment, sharing a bowl of popcorn as the two of them laughed and giggled over past events and planned out the wedding. In fact, she'd rather looked forward to it. Terri had also expected to live out of her suitcase for two weeks, sleeping on Kate's lumpy old couch, and spending her time running around doing last-minute errands in her cousin's stead.
Instead, here she was in this huge, gorgeous bed¬room in the Argeneau penthouse suite, with drawers for her clothes, her own bathroom, a huge TV, and nothing to do. Terri supposed it was almost shameful to complain, but she'd rather looked forward to the way she'd imagined the trip.
Shaking her head, she grabbed her carry-on and walked to the door Bastien had said led to the bath¬room. Terri opened it and stepped inside. It was as lovely as the bedroom, of course--large, luxurious, and all hers. Her gaze drifted over the tub, the shower, the potted plants, the wicker chair, the double sink, then to the door opposite the one she'd entered. Curious, she set her bag on a corner of the large van¬ity and walked over to open it.
Terri's eyebrows lifted at the sight before her. She'd thought her room large and gorgeous? This bedroom had to be the master suite. There was a huge king-size bed, antique by her guess, with four corner posts, an overhead awning, and heavy dark drapes that could be pulled closed around it. All the other furniture looked antique too, drawers, armoires, table and chairs, sofa and stuffed chairs. The room was bigger than her entire cottage back in Hudders-field, England.
After hesitating on the threshold, Terri braved en¬tering, feeling like a thief. It was possible that this was Marguerite Argeneau's room. After all, Vincent had said it was actually Bastien's mother's apartment. If it was her room, then it was unoccupied at the moment, which would ease some of Terri's guilt about allow¬ing her curiosity such free rein.
There were three doors leading off the master bed¬room. Curious to know where they went, Terri moved to the first and opened it. The hallway. She closed it quickly and moved to the next door, which revealed a huge walk-in closet. Every stitch of cloth¬ing inside was male. There were suits mostly, with a couple of more casual clothes to break up the mo¬notony. Chinos, cords, casual tops and sweaters. There were no jeans though, she noticed.
It was Bastien's room, then. Terri started to pull the closet door closed, only to pause as her gaze landed on a tall metal stand in the far back corner.
Terri's deceased husband, Ian, had spent a lot of time in the hospital during the battle against Hodgkin's disease that eventually claimed him. But he'd also spent a lot of time at home. At first, Terri had thought it important to keep him home to keep his spirits high and help him fight the illness. Once she'd finally gotten through the denial phase, and ac¬cepted that he wouldn't survive, she'd been determined to make his life as happy, normal and comfortable as possible. He'd died at home, with herself, his brother Dave and Dave's wife, Sandi, in attendance. Terri was very familiar with medical paraphernalia thanks to that period of her life. She recognized an IV stand when she saw one. And there was no reason on earth that she could think of for Bastien to have one here.
Then she recalled that this was really his mother's room, and that his father was dead. Kate had never said how the senior Argeneau had passed on. Now Terri suspected it may have been in a manner similar to her own mother's death, and lan's, which had been slow, lingering, and painful. It was an unpleasant thing to think about, and none of Terri's business-- until and unless Bastien told her. But then, this room wasn't any of her business either. She was being snoopy.
Terri pulled the door closed and hesitated, torn be¬tween stopping and leaving or continuing her snoop¬ing. The fact that there was only one door left to look behind decided it: She'd gone this far, she might as well just peek through the last door before going back to her own room.
A gasp of amazement slid from her lips as she did. Beyond lay a bathroom bigger even than the bed¬room she'd been given. "Luxurious" did not describe it; even "opulent" was a poor description. Toilet, bidet, sinks, shower, and Jacuzzi--all were done in white, with gold accessories. And the gold looked real to Terri. The floor was a rich black marble with gold and white shot through, and mirrors were every¬where. The room was positively decadent. And it raised possibilities in her mind that were even more wicked.
Terri pulled the door closed and made a beeline back into her own bathroom. It was only once she had that door safely closed behind her that she won¬dered why, since the master suite had its own bath¬room, there was a connecting door to hers. It didn't bother her that the rooms were connected; she wasn't going to lock the door or anything. Her cousin would hardly leave her where she wasn't safe. She was just curious as to the reason for the connecting door.
Shrugging the question aside, Terri moved to the vanity and opened her case to begin unpacking.
"I don't know what the big deal is."
"You cannot feed on my guests. Period," Bastien said firmly. He'd been lecturing his cousin since the elevator doors had closed.
"You're so squeamish, Bastien." Vincent laughed. "I'd like to see you have to hunt your food the old-fashioned way like I do. It gets a bit tiring, you know. Constantly prowling around, looking for dinner."
"Yes. I know. I did have to do it myself, if you'll recall," Bastien said. "And I know it can be a bother, but still--no feeding on my guests. Now, be a good cousin and go find a snack to tide you over for the night. Not the people in my apartment."
"Oh, fine," Vincent agreed. He arched an eye¬brow. "But first maybe I should help you order some takeout."
"I can manage on my own, thank you," Bastien replied. In his more than four hundred years of life, no one had ever before suggested that there was something he couldn't do. He'd been competent practically from birth.
"No?" Vincent asked lightly. "I bet you've never ordered takeout before. I doubt you've ever even had to deal with it. The closest you've probably ever got¬ten is asking your secretary to arrange catering for a business meeting."
Vincent was right on the money, but Bastien kept his mouth shut, refusing to acknowledge it.
"Will you do McDonald's, Chinese, pizza, or subs?"
"What are subs?" Bastien was surprised into asking.
"Oh ho! You don't even know," Vinny crowed.
"Oh, all right. I've never done takeout before," Bastien admitted. He was more the wine and caviar type when it came to dating. Of course, they hadn't had takeout the last time he'd dated. "Now, what are subs?"
"Submarine sandwiches. They're large buns, like French bread, sort of, with meat, cheese, lettuce, and things inside."
Bastien made a face. "They sound absolutely dis¬gusting."
"They do rather, don't they?" Vincent agreed. "I don't suppose you asked Terri and Chris what they'd like?"
"No," he admitted, and was irritated with himself for not doing so, but he rarely asked anyone what they wanted. He was the decision-making guy; he usually decided what was in the best interests of everyone else and did it, or else arranged to have it done. He would do the same now, he decided. "Which is the healthiest choice?"
Vincent considered. "Probably submarines. At least, if the commercials are true. They have all the nutrition a growing human needs... and you can lose a hundred pounds eating them."
"What?" Bastien asked.
"Seriously," Vincent said with a laugh. "Some guy ate them every day for every meal and lost a ton of weight." He paused and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Mind you, he also apparently walked to the sub shop to get them, so maybe that's why he really lost the weight."
"Vincent," Bastien said with exasperation, "which takeout foods are healthiest?"
"Subs," Vincent insisted. "It's got your four basic food groups. Or is it five?" Raising a hand, he began to count off fingers. "Dairy, bread, meat, vegeta¬bles... I think there are four for humans."
"Whatever. I'll get subs."
"I'll come along and help you," Vincent offered. The elevator doors opened onto the parking garage.
Bastien shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll be fine. Besides, I have to take care of a couple of matters first."
"Chris's clothes?"
"That's one thing, yes," Bastien admitted as he led the way through the nearly empty parking garage. It was past working hours on a Friday night, and most of the employees had left for home already.
"And the other?"
"I also have to track down Mrs. Houlihan and wipe her memory."
"Why bother? No one will believe the old bird. They'll think she's batty."
"And what if they don't?" Bastien snapped, then paused and turned a narrowed gaze on his cousin. "Please tell me you generally erase the memories of your meals, that you don't leave them wandering around shrieking, 'I was bitten by a vampire.' Surely you have that much sense?" It wasn't really sense Bastien was worried about. It was the adrenaline rush Vincent seemed to enjoy. Risk-taking was like a drug to him.
"Of course, I do," his cousin replied.
Relieved, Bastien began to walk again. Vincent went on, "I would have wiped the old bird's memory, but you guys walked in. I managed to veil the editor's memory though, and I'd have taken care of the housekeeper too, but you and Sleeping Beauty came rushing in."
"Sleeping Beauty?" Bastien glanced curiously at his cousin.
"The name suits her," Vincent said with a grin. "Just looking at her, you can see she's got passions waiting to be woken." "You can?"
"Sure. She's like ripe fruit, ready to burst out of her skin."
Bastien gave a start. That description, the term ripe fruit, had come to mind when he'd first seen her. Ap¬parently it had entered Vincent's head as well. "Why do you say that?"
"The way she walks, dresses, talks." Vinny shrugged. "All of the above." "Yes, but--"
"So, where does this Mrs. Houlihan live?" Vincent interrupted, and Bastien's mind shifted gears to the most important problem at hand: His housekeeper. His ex-housekeeper. And her whereabouts.
Irritation returned to him, and it focused directly on the man walking beside him. He said, "She lives, or did live, in the penthouse."
Vincent whistled through his teeth. "And she left everything behind when she went? I don't think she even stopped for a coat! Not a good sign." He shook his head as he contemplated, then got over it and asked, "So, where do you think she went? Her son's? A daughter's?"
"She has a son and daughter?" Bastien asked. He was so surprised that he stopped walking again.
"How the hell am I supposed to know? I was just guessing," Vincent said with a laugh. His gaze sharp¬ened. "Don't you know?"
"I haven't any idea if she even has family in New York," Bastien admitted with an unhappy sigh.
"Dear God, Bastien! She worked for you, and you haven't a clue if she has kids or family? Man! You're a piece of work. You get all squeamish about me feed¬ing off humans, but you're the one who treats them like cattle."
"I do not," Bastien protested.
"No? What's her first name then?"
"Whose?" he muttered
"Your housekeeper's."
Bastien grimaced and turned to his car. He had stopped behind it, and ignoring his cousin, he re-trieved his keys from his pocket and pushed the but¬ton on the remote to unlock the doors. He felt some relief upon getting inside. Until his cousin slid into the passenger seat.
"It's Gladys," Vincent announced with more than a little satisfaction.
Bastien ignored him. He inserted the keys and turned the engine over.
"I always find out my donors' names before I feed," his cousin continued in prim tones as Bastien backed out of the parking spot and drove toward the exit. "I don't like to treat them like cattle. Hey!" he cried out, grabbing at the dashboard to prevent flying through the windshield. Bastien had slammed on the brakes half inside the parking garage, half out on the edge of the street.
"That's why they make seat belts," Bastien said with grim satisfaction. He leaned past his cousin to open the passenger door. "Out."
Vincent peered at him in surprise, then grinned his very irritating, very knowing grin. "Okay. Deal with the matter on your own, if you like. But it's true, you know. You may not feed on humans anymore, but you still treat them like cows."
"And you don't, of course," Bastien sniped as the other vampire slid out of the car.
Vincent straightened on the pavement, turned, and bent to peer back in. "No, I don't. Some of my best friends are human." He waited a moment to be sure that sank in, then asked, "Can you say the same?" He straightened and slammed the door, leaving Bastien staring after him as he walked off down the sidewalk.
