I did some quick mental calculations. If he meant “our heads” literally, if he meant that he’d lived during that time, that would mean that Cal was an antique.
I goggled at him, looking so comfortable in jeans and a faded T-shirt. How did he stand it? The constant changes. The blaring technology. The crowding. The increasing selfishness of every generation. How could someone stand the monotony of a million nights and still enjoy mocking my stupid little romance novel?
“You’re counting the years in your head, aren’t you?” he asked, without looking up at me.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. Why don’t you have more of an accent?”
“It became easier, over the years, to learn the modern languages. It’s been a long time since I thought in Greek, ancient or otherwise. It makes me a bit sad that I’ve lost touch with that part of myself. But keeping a bit of mystery, keeping my enemies from knowing exactly how old I am, has its benefits.”
“How have you managed to live so long? Don’t you get bored? Frustrated?”
He shrugged. “Honestly, the world didn’t change so much until the last few hundred years. And then, suddenly, the last century, it feels like everything is on fast-forward. I’ll admit that even I worry that the end of everything is near.”
“But everything you must have seen, it’s—I can’t even imagine it. Did you meet Gregor Mendel? George Washington? Elvis?”
I was on my knees now, crouching on the mattress in front of him, bouncing and demanding answers like a schoolgirl. He seemed amused by my reaction, chiding me gently. “You do realize that just because I lived during a certain time period doesn’t mean that I had access to celebrities?”
“You had a better chance than most people,” I retorted.
“I met Abraham Lincoln once,” he said, smiling up at me. “I bumped into him as he was coming out of the gentleman’s lounge … at Ford’s Theatre.”
I gasped. “No!”
He nodded. “Mr. Lincoln seemed like a very good man, especially for one with so much power. But he was obviously troubled.”
I protested, “But you could have, I don’t know, followed him to his deathbed and turned him.”
“You think a six-foot-four bearded vampire in a stovepipe hat with a striking resemblance to the recently assassinated president could have gotten around unnoticed?” he asked.
“I hate it when you make sense. So, did you have a family before you died? Children?”
“My wife was expecting our first when I sailed away. My son was half grown by the time I would have returned from war.”
“Would have returned?”
“How do you get me to talk so much about myself?” he wondered.
He plucked at the bedspread with his fingers. Most vampires didn’t reveal this sort of information to humans, preferring to keep exactly how old (read: powerful) they were close to the vest. But it seemed that he couldn’t deny me. He rolled onto his back, fiddling with the binding of my paperback. “Vampires cannot resist a good battle. There’s too much confusion to notice when a man goes missing, never to be heard from again. Humans regard wars with regret or reverence. Some vampires remember them as particularly enjoyable feasts. As the war lagged on, we heard rumors of battalions being picked off from the far reaches of the battlefields, of bodies disappearing from the aftermath while the surgeons searched for survivors. By the Night of the Horse, we’d attracted quite a swarm of the undead. The realization that the battle was coming to a close whipped them into a sort of ‘last call’ frenzy. They took all stragglers, anyone who had his back turned. I survived all those years of war, only to be dragged into the bushes while I was relieving myself after the gates of Troy were breached.”
I gasped in horror. That was almost as bad as the story of Jane’s turning, which involved her being stranded on the side of a dark country road, mistaken for a deer by the town drunk, and shot.
“I don’t know why my sire chose to feed me his blood rather than simply leave me to die. I only remember waking up, buried in sandy soil, and clawing my way to the surface. I ran rather wild that first year, slaking my thirst wherever I could, feeding on some of my former brothers-in-arms as they attempted to march home. If another vampire hadn’t tracked me and taken me under her wing, others might have destroyed me just to prevent me from calling attention to myself. ”
“Did you ever see your family again?”
He shook his head. “I thought about going back to visit after I adjusted to my new life. But I didn’t want to take the chance that I would hurt them. Years later, I learned that my son was healthy and strong, married, with three sons of his own. My wife had remarried and had more children. They were fine without me.”
“I doubt that’s true.”
“But I prefer to think of it that way. It’s easier than picturing them suffering.”
“Sounds like being a vampire sort of sucks, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
“We’re in a dangerous situation, Iris.” He was plucking at the bedspread again, choosing his words carefully. “You saw that today, I think. Next time, you may not be so lucky. I will do everything I can to protect you, but you could be hurt. If you were in a condition from which you could not recover, I need to know whether you would want to be changed.”
I blinked owlishly at him. I’d never been able to come up with a definitive answer to the question every human had asked himself or herself since the Great Coming Out. Would you want to be turned? Clearly, there were advantages—immortality, near-indestructibility, and, let’s face it, increased hotness. But could I survive on blood for eternity? Did I want to live that long? What about Gigi? What about my business? Could I stand only seeing my gardens in moonlight?
And there were considerations besides Gigi and how she would be affected. Because so many humans said yes when asked whether they’d want to be turned, the Council had established a strict protocol for turning that required mutual consent, sire fostering, and about a dozen safeguards. If the Council decided that the transformation was done too hastily or that the sire wasn’t giving the newborn the proper supervision, it could “take custody” of the newly risen vampire. The sire could be fined heavily or, in cases where turning was forcible, subjected to the Trial, the vampire definition of overkill. If the Council decided to retaliate against Cal for his less-than-aboveboard dealings with them during this escapade, it could decide to destroy both of us.
Cal seemed insulted by my pregnant pause. “You’ve never craved immortality?” he asked, tilting his head as his eyes swept over my face. “You spend your life serving vampires, and you have no desire to become one of them?”
“I don’t serve vampires,” I snapped. “I provide a service for them. There’s a difference.”
“Fine, you spend time in the company of vampires, but you have no urge to live as one of them? Aren’t you afraid of growing old? Getting sick? Dying?”
“I’m supposed to do all of those things. It’s natural.”
He asked, “But what about Gigi? If your time came, would you leave her alone?”
“So, it would be better to put her in danger while I’m a newly minted vampire, trying to figure out my bloodlust? Besides, if I was a vampire, I could lose her. And then, if by some miracle she stays with me, I get to watch her grow old while I stay the same … If something happens to me, do your best to save me. If I rise, don’t leave me alone with Gigi until you’re absolutely sure I’m in control. Even if she has to go live with Jane and Gabriel for a while.”
He muttered, “Good to know that you don’t find my condition so objectionable.”
I chuckled, eager to change the subject. “You do realize that there are some people who don’t believe that the Trojan War actually happened, yes? They think that Homer made the whole thing up to hawk his poems. Can you imagine what you could do to set history straight with just a magazine interview? Are there many vampires out there as old as you?”
“Yes. Homer, for instance, is almost as old as I am,” he said, bemused laughter edging his voice.
“You’re telling me that the guy who wrote the Iliad is a vampire?”
“Yes, and he has been writing all these years. He makes a very nice living out in Los Angeles, working on television shows.”
“If you tell me that Homer wrote for Two and a Half Men, I will throw myself out of that window.”
He chuckled. But I noticed that he did not answer.
“So, where will you go, after you finish here?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Where do you live? Where’s your home?”
He pushed an unruly strand of hair from my face. “I don’t have a home. I move from place to place, wherever I’m needed. I’ve lived all over the world.”
“Isn’t that sort of lonely?” I asked.
“I happen to like my life,” he said, rather haughtily. “I like living in places where a greasy spoon isn’t considered the hub of local commerce and social interaction. I like being able to walk out after ten P.M. and know that something besides a gas station will be open. When I’m done here in this wretched little armpit of a town, I will leave and never look back.”
“You know, we tried putting ‘Welcome to our wretched little armpit of a town’ on the city-limits sign, but we couldn’t get approval from the Chamber of Commerce,” I drawled, nudging him with my elbow as I swallowed the last of my drink. I winced at the biting burn of vodka slipping down my throat.
He burst out laughing, so loudly that I almost didn’t hear the muffled knock at the front door. But Cal’s ears pricked up, and his head swung toward the stairs. The next knock was louder, more forceful. I peered over at my alarm clock. It was almost ten. Only one person would be knocking on my door this late on a weeknight.
I groaned. I forced myself up from the bed, but Cal hopped up with surprising speed, considering his week. “I don’t think you should answer that. What if you were followed home after all? That vampire might have followed your scent if it was strong enough.”
“I have a pretty good idea of who it is, and trust me, it’s better if I just go get rid of him quickly,” I said. Cal’s brow folded in confusion. “I just need you to stay up here, out of sight.”
“You know, you need to make a decision regarding which areas of the house I am allowed in,” he said dryly. “Your indecision is very confusing and could lead to more incidents in which I see you gloriously naked.”
I rolled my eyes as I stalked toward the door. I stopped and smirked at him over my shoulder. “Gloriously?”
“Spectacularly. Deliciously. I can come up with several more adverbs while you’re downstairs.”
“You’re just trying to distract me from the continuing crappiness of this day.” Rolling my eyes, I cursed the existence of confusing, flirty vampires while I trod downstairs. “I will be watching from up here!” Cal stage-whispered.
“Not necessary!” I whispered back.
“At least look through the peephole before you open it!”
I opened the door, and when I saw that lazy, confident smile stretched across my former lover’s face, I groaned. Paul was here now, after months of radio silence, when I had a vampire in the house. I must have been a serial killer in a previous life to deserve this. Or one of those people who invites you to dinner but will only feed you after giving an Amway sales pitch.
“Paul.” I opened the door, just halfway.
“Hey there, how’s my Petal doin’?” Paul said, giving me a sweet, crooked grin. I groaned again. He was using the “I was hoping I could borrow a cup of sex” voice. He knew I had a hard time resisting that voice. He was not playing fair.
