Sex and the Single Vampire

"I found it! I must have dropped it just outside the door. Alis, dear, that isn't china; I'm sure it's just a common ceramic light fixture. Here I come; wait for me and Mr. Woogums. This Bible is terribly heavy…"

Now, here is a curious fact about ghosts. While they can interact with the world of the living only if they concentrate very hard and maintain good control over their psychic power, they can interact with one another. This is an important point in understanding just why it was that when Esme backed into the room rump-first, inexplicably dragging one of Christian's antique Bibles rather than carrying it, she wasn't able to see that she was doomed to be on a collision course with Antonio, who was dancing about the circle, hurling all sorts of insults and taunts at the demon.

I saw it, but too late.

"Esme," I yelled in warning as she gave the Bible a great jerk, sending her flying backward into Antonio. Just as Antonio was saying, "Now we will see the color of your guts, you distempered toad-spotted rabbit sucker!" he was knocked forward into the circle, thereby breaking it and releasing the demon. Just a nanosecond before the demon realized it was free, I spoke the last word needed to send it back to the depths from which it came. It turned into a column of oily black smoke that doubled up on itself, sinking into a crack in the tile floor as if it had been sucked down by some giant demonic vacuum cleaner.

Which, I guess, is as apt a description as I'll ever find.

"Well, that was certainly interesting," Esme said, rubbing her behind.

Antonio staggered out of the circle, his long curls standing on end as if he'd stuck his finger in a light socket. He blinked several times, and seemed to have some difficulty with the coordination of his legs. "I… I… I…"

Esme helped him over to a bench.

I clung to Christian's hand, breathing a bit heavily as we stared at the faint black mark staining the tile that was all that remained of the demon. Christian started forward toward the mark, but I grabbed him with my other hand and wouldn't let go.

"Beloved, it is over," he said, kissing each of my fingers before gently prying them off his wrist.

Antonio lumbered to his feet again, weaving wildly as he tugged down his doublet, a faint corona of smoke rising from his curls. "You will take your filthy 'ands from mi corazón this instant or I will be forced to teach you some manners, you pestilential malt-worm, you!"

Christian squatted down to examine the crack in the tile as I held up my hands to show Antonio they were Christian-free, then turned to glare at Esme. "Did I not tell you all to stay in the study? I distinctly remember telling you to stay there. If you had broken that circle before I completed the ritual, that demon would have wiped up the floor with all of you! Do you think I want phantoms living in Christian's house?"

Esme paled even beyond her naturally gray state. A phantom was a ghost trapped in limbo, neither in the spirit realm nor the human realm, with no hope of ever finding Release. Demons had the power to drag ghosts there if they were strong enough, and judging by the holes Sarra had punched through Christian, it was a fair bet to say he would have had little trouble with my gang of five.

"We came to save you," Antonio protested as his legs gave out and he plopped back down onto the bench. Only he wasn't paying attention, and he ended up sitting midway through the bench, the seat portion resting in his chest. He kicked his legs around and waved his arms until Esme and Jem took pity on him and hauled him up so he was sitting on the bench proper.

"And we appreciate that, but—"

"It was the least we could do for you, after everything you've done for us. Giving us a new home, and television, and taking us on little bobble outings and teas and such. Even Mr. Woogums is enjoying our new haunt."

I raised my hands, then let them fall helplessly. "Look, what you did was very noble, but—"

"Bloody, 'ell, on't no'un come 'round me 'ood and mess wit' me bloods," Jem added in an odd, eighteenth-century "lower-class servant meets twenty-first-century rapper" dialect.

I pointed a finger at him. "That's it, no more MTV for you. And pull your pants up; it looks ridiculous with the crotch down around your knees. Esme, please fetch Alis; heaven only knows what she's up to out there. I will speak to all of you later." I gave them all my best mean squinty eyes. Two heads nodded quickly. Antonio tipped over sideways and made faint mewing noises.

I turned and walked over to where Christian was examining the tile. My leg was too sore, and I was too exhausted after the tremendous outpouring of energy that was needed to defeat the demon, to squat next to him, so I just leaned against him and touched his head.

"Did it break your nice floor?"

Christian took one of my hands and pulled me forward until I was bent over and could feel the air just above the black-stained crack.

My hand tingled as if I were holding a low-voltage electric fence.