“Calaphase,” I said. “So good to see you. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Then I got up and walked behind the screen, quickly wiping down, pulling on my sportsbra and a ‘vamp-hither’ top-a tight, midriff-exposing corset with shimmering rows of chains that looked vaguely like bat wings. It just popped against the slightly purple folds of my best ankle-length faux-snakeskin vest, and riffed off my tight leather jeans quite nicely. I checked my hair in the mirror, then fluffed my deathhawk a little and sprayed it out.
“On the prowl,” Kring/L muttered, leaning against the jamb. “Girl, you’re on the hunt. ”
I smiled at him. “He’s quite a catch,” I said, “even if he is a vampire.”
If that bothered Kring/L, he didn’t let it show, and we walked out into the waiting room together. Calaphase waited there, lounging in the chair, one leg propped up. He had on black leather boots, a surprise beneath the suit that made him look more dashing and dangerous.
“You guys stay out of trouble,” Kring/L said, grinning, his eyes even more sad than before. “I’ll pass on your information to your audience.”
Only then did I see that there were three men and two women who had all been watching me. Apparently I just hadn’t seen them. I only had eyes for Calaphase. My mouth opened and I started to introduce myself, but Calaphase rose smoothly and took my arm.
“Now, Dakota,” he said, steering me to the door, “Kring/L will look after your clients, but I am here to look after you and you need a night on the town.”
I squeezed his hand with my free one. “Thanks,” I said, as we stepped out the door. “I would have been there all night. It’s hard to put the needle down. Your car or mine?”
“I was dropped off,” he said.
“You never do have a car,” I said.
“I have a driver when I need one,” he said, “but my bike is more fuel efficient.”
“I love it when you talk green to me,” I said.
“Speaking of which,” he said, “I propose I watch you eat a veggie burger, at a place I know I can get a decent glass of wine. R Thomas?”
“The best veggie burgers ever, served twenty four hours a day?” I said. “Let’s roll!”
R Thomas was across the street from Cafe Intermezzo-and it’s odd how until recently I would have thought of it the other way round. It’s a folk-art mess right at the border of Atlanta’s Midtown neighborhood and its Buckhead party district, attracting clientele from both. So, even dressed up, we fit in quite well on R Thomas’s patio, staking out a middle ground between the couples in black evening wear and the flannelpunk lesbians who kept turning my head.
Calaphase’s eyes, however, were only on me.
“By the way,” he said, with a slight smile, “you should know, and should tell Kring/L, that vampires have excellent hearing.”
I reddened. “What did you hear?”
“On the prowl?” he said, opening his mouth ever so slightly to show a hint of his fangs. “I thought I was supposed to be the predator.”
“You are the most non-predator predator I’ve ever met,” I said. “I felt more hunger from Darkrose than you. Interest, yes, but hunger-no.”
“Oh, I hunger,” he said, eyes glittering on me. Then he glanced slightly aside, not directly meeting my eyes. “But for more than just blood. May I have a bite?”
I stared at my plate: there wasn’t an ounce of meat, blood, or even egg in it; it was purely vegan. “Are you sure?” I said, breaking off a bit of the veggie burger. “It only tastes like-”
“No guts, no glory,” he said, opening his mouth slightly. His hand started to reach out, but impulsively I stretched my long arm across the table and put the bite in his mouth. His lips pressed my fingers briefly, then closed along with his eyes as he began chewing in bliss.
“That worked better than expected,” I said. “Maybe I should watch you eat.”
He smiled, then frowned, beetling his brow. “It’s difficult to swallow.”
“Spit it out, then,” I said, leaning forward.
“No, I mean, that’s it,” he said, a lump appearing in his throat. “It’s just difficult to swallow. When I first became a vampire, I tried to eat normal food once. Vegetables tasted like woodchips. Even meat tasted nasty. But after a few months of the Saffron diet-I can taste food again. That’s what food used to taste like. What it’s supposed to taste like.”
“That’s wonderful, Calaphase,” I said. “I’m so happy for you-”
He coughed abruptly, catching a bit of something in his napkin-but it was just a tiny bit, far less than he’d eaten. “If I could just swallow it, we’d be in business.”
“Maybe the problem is solid food,” I said, staring directly at him.
“I do like soup,” he said, putting down the napkin and meeting my gaze. “But I feel like I’ve plateaued. Maybe it’s time to go further. Maybe it’s time to live dangerously.”
“Maybe we should have a picnic under the moon,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed straight on him, and he exhaled softly. “With wine and soup and brie and soft bakery bread. I’ll chew seedcake, and feed you from my mouth.”
At the last sentence, surprise spread over his face. “Sounds… well, I want to say ‘dirty’ or ‘sexy’ but actually that’s somewhat disturbing. What’s seedcake?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s a line from an audio book my daughter was reading. I swear, she likes the strangest things. I can’t understand half of what she reads… ”
And then I trailed off. I stared at the table, at my hands, my tattooed knuckles. A pale white hand reached out and pressed against the top of mine, cold, yet firm and reassuring.
“But I would like to learn,” I said finally, raising my head with a sniff. “I would very much like the chance to learn what she likes.”
“It will be all right,” Calaphase said, squeezing my hand. “You’ll get her back.”
Then he squeezed a little harder, and my knuckles popped. “Ow,” I said, withdrawing my hand. “Silly vampires, you don’t know your own strength.”
“Vampire s?” Calaphase looked to his left, then to his right. “Are you seeing double?”
“No,” I said. “Sav-uh, Saffron nearly twisted off my wrist-”
“The Lady Saffron?” he said innocently. “Is she here?”
“No,” I said. “It was earlier.”
“Then do we need her at the table?” he asked.
I stared. “I do believe you’re jealous,” I said, and he smiled. But the lump in my stomach hadn’t gone away, and I realized he was trying to distract me. “Good try. No cigar, but good try.”
We talked about Cinnamon; about my loss, my fight, my lawyers. “No, I’m serious,” Calaphase insisted. “The clientele of the werehouse knows a lot of good lawyers-in fact I think there are a lot of good lawyers at the werehouse, though they’ll never tell-”
“I thought I was persona non grata after the DEI tailed me there?”
“Yes, right up until DFACS took Cinnamon from you,” Calaphase said. “Really, some of them are still pissed, and for obvious reasons. But as for the rest-all they need to know is you’re trying to protect her. I even had an offer to help come bust her out of wherever they had her.”
“No, please,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s the last thing I need for my case.”
“Which reminds me, I have something for you,” Calaphase said, reaching into his pocket. As his hand reached in, he grimaced, then drew out his cell phone, buzzing.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” I said.
Calaphase frowned at his phone, then got up with a curse and walked across the patio. He muttered harshly, but it apparently did no good. Finally he hung up, returning to the table.
“Trouble?” I asked.
“Only for me,” he said, disgusted. “My driver bailed. I have no ride.”
“No problem,” I said, slowly smiling. “ I planned to take you home.”