Sex and the Single Vampire

I shivered at the bleakness of his voice and decided not to pursue that particular avenue of thought. "Okay, so you think that Guarda and Eduardo are holding Sebastian prisoner somewhere, and you'd like me to get chummy with them so I can find out where. What makes you think I'm the least bit inclined to help you?"

His eyes positively caressed my face. My body melted at that look. "I have few resources available to me here. It was my hope that I could appeal to your curiosity and your desire to help those who are unable to help themselves."

I raised my chin. "That sounds like quite a different description than independent, stubborn, and lacking in self-confidence. Give me one good reason why I should help you."

His eyes never wavered from mine. "Because I am asking you most humbly for your assistance in locating my friend."

My innards melted even more at the sincerity and hope in his voice. I told my guts to get a grip on themselves and thought about it. Helping Christian wasn't in my game plan. I had only three weeks in London, and already five days had passed. If I got involved in this weird trust thing, it would severely cut into my time trying to Summon more ghosts. On the other hand, it would be good research to present to UPRA, and might go far toward keeping me employed. I glanced at Christian as I gnawed on my lip and, with an internal sigh, admitted the truth that it wasn't for job security, or even for Christian's helpless friend that I would accept his request; it was for him and him alone.

"All right, I'll help you, but I have a few conditions."

He rolled his eyes. "Why did I know there would be conditions?"

I grinned at him. "Because you're a bright boy, despite all that macho posturing. Condition one: You have to lighten up a bit. No more of this ordering me around. I don't take orders, I consider requests."

His martyred look returned; his jaw was so tight it didn't seem to want to move when he spoke. "It will be difficult, what you ask, but I will make an effort to temper my natural tendency to express my desires in the form of orders. Will that suffice?"

"Barely, but I'll accept it. Condition number two: No more wisecracks about my clothes."

"Agreed."

"Condition number three—"

"How many conditions are there to be?" he interrupted.

"This is the last one. Condition number three: You have to stop peeking into my mind."

He looked startled.

"Oh, don't give me that look; I can feel you hanging around the edges of my thoughts. And you smile when I think about you being—" I stopped. He was smiling now. "Since I know my guards are good and strong, it means you're pulling some weird Vulcan mind trick on me."

"Not Vulcan, Moravian."

"Aha! You admit it!"

"I admit nothing. If there is a sympathetic connection between us, it is nothing of my doing."

I looked at him suspiciously. He looked me dead in the eye. I couldn't see any signs that he was lying, and I'm a pretty good judge of that. "Well, okay," I said grudgingly. "But you just make sure you stay out of my mind unless I invite you in!"

His thumb commenced back-of-hand rubbing. Three more people trooped down the aisle, but judging from their matching black T-shirts, they were all ARMPITs.

"You have to explain a few more things to me, too. For one, I don't understand why people interested in proving the existence of ghosts would keep a vampire prisoner. I mean, it's like apples and oranges."

"You are operating under the assumption that the goals of the trust are as Guarda stated. In reality, I believe it has a much more sinister purpose."

"Really? What would that be?" I asked.

"Allegra Telford? You have been chosen. Would you come to the stage, please? Steve Ricks, you have been chosen; please come to the stage. Arundel Roget, please come to the stage."

The list of people called to the stage continued as the miniskirted woman trotted up to Christian for a bit of praise and to shoo me toward the stage. I half expected her to beg to be petted, then decided that was too catty a comment for even me to be thinking, and surreptitiously sketched a protection ward on her as penance.

Christian stood to let me pass, pressing my hand in a manner that more gave strength than asked for help. I gave in and squeezed his in return, more than a little reassured by the warm solidness of his presence.

I shook off the odd sense of reliability that his touch had inspired, and followed the miniskirt to the stage, where I was handed a piece of colored chalk.

"No, thanks, I have my own," I said, pulling out the chalk that, with the dead man's ash, I'd made a habit of keeping on me while I was in a city filled to the brim with historic sites, and even more historic ghosts.