Zen and the Art of Vampires

"You're bein' the reaper, then?" the sailor asked. He was a short man, somewhat squat, with a face that looked like it had been in more than one bar fight.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not. I just have this," I told the ghost, holding up my wrist to show him the moonstone, which had once again changed into a tiny crescent moon lantern. "But if you go to the café on the square, you'll find a couple of other people who were on the ship, and who are waiting for the person in question."

"What are you talking about?" asked the man.

"Café, you say?" the ghost said, looking hopeful. "Ye be thinkin' they'll have a tot o' rum there?"

"They might. You never know."

"Aye, that ye don't. I'll be on me way, then." He gave me a gap-toothed grin. "Ye might want to be practicin' yer aim while I'm gone. Looks like yer fella doesn't appreciate ye kissin' naught but his cheek."

I said nothing, not wanting the man whom I'd jumped on to think I was any crazier than he already did. Obviously the moonstone/lantern contained some sort of magic that allowed only its bearer to see ghosts.

"I'm so sorry; you must think I'm the worst sort of woman," I told Blue Eyes. "But there was a man chasing me, and I really didn't want him to find me."

He had continued to hold my wrist bearing the moonstone. While it was a lantern, he didn't glance at it, but the second the ghost left, it reverted to the stone, and he clutched my hand even tighter.

To my surprise, rather than release me, he took a few steps into a bluish white pool of light cast by a portable lantern. I gawked when the light revealed him to be one of the two eye-candy twins, the one with short hair. The light hit him only on one side, but the planes of his face were hard and angled, a cleft cutting deep into his chin, his nose narrow, but not straight, as if it had been broken and not set properly. And then there were those lovely eyes, shining from within, beautiful pure teal blue with little spiky black bits that seemed to seep from his pupils. Oh, yes, they were gorgeous eyes… and they were focused on me with a look that had my color rising.

"I know it sounds crazy," I stammered, "but it's true. There really was someone behind you, only you couldn't see him and I could. I think it's because of the moonstone, but that's really neither here nor there. But I've bothered you enough for one night, and clearly you feel the need to go get checked for scabies or something. I mean, I would if some strange guy suddenly swooped down and started kissing me. Not that I have scabies, you understand. I'm perfectly scabies free. In fact, I'm not quite sure what scabies is, although I know if you're not careful you can get it from sexual partners. Oh, lord. I'm babbling. I'm sorry. I do that when I'm nervous, or embarrassed, and wow, am I embarrassed now."

The man stared at me like I had just turned into a tap-dancing llama, complete with top hat and cane.

"Sorry," I said again, making a little gesture of vague apology.

His eyes narrowed as he looked again at my hand.

"I'll just go now," I finished lamely, jerking my hand from his and scurrying away toward the street, my face hot with embarrassment. "What on earth is wrong with you, Pia? You babbled at that poor man, positively babbled like a deranged person. Dear god, I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

A sleek red car purred up to the curb.

"I bet I'm even redder," I muttered to myself as I hurried by the car. "I should just go home. I can't get any lower than thieeeeeeeeee!"

Before I could pass by completely, one of the doors opened and I was shoved from behind. I grabbed at the roof to keep from falling into it, but another shove at my back more or less folded me in half, resulting in me collapsing inside the vehicle.

Chapter 3

"Hey!" I yelled as I was tossed halfway across a leather seat, landing partly on it and partly on the floor. The door slammed behind me, and the car started off. "Hey!" I yelled even louder, clawing myself into an upright position. "What the hell is going on here?"

The other eye-candy guy was driving, his gaze meeting mine in the rearview mirror for a moment before he said something in what sounded like German to the Italian guy. The latter answered with one word. "Zorya."

"Oh, no, not you, too!" I said, goose bumps crawling up my arms and legs. "Look, you've made a big mistake!"

"I thought she was French," the driver said, his voice a pleasant baritone with a slight German hint to it. "She sounds American."

"She is American, and she's not very happy right at this moment, so if you would kindly pull over and let her out, she won't have to either scream, or go stark, staring insane, whichever comes first!" I said loudly, my temper finally frayed beyond repair.

"Kristoff—" the driving guy started to say, his eyes flashing from the road, to the mirror, to his buddy.

I grabbed for the door handle, so angry I was ready to throw myself out of the moving car to escape the two men. Quickly, the driver hit a button that locked all the car doors.