after dark. A magnificent old church, apparently converted into a busy nightclub, took up an entire city block. It really was a beautiful building. Such incredible stained glass. Funny that Iâd never noticed it before. Groups of partygoers stood on the sidewalk, laughing and talking, performing one illegal act or another. Many of them were dressed in the same kind of costume Midnight had been wearing: so many potential clients all in one place! I briefly considered parking the car, mingling with the crowd, and passing out my business cards. There had to be several booksâ worth of material to be gleaned from the characters hanging out in front of the gothic cathedral. But that would take braveryâor extroversionâI didnât have.
Just as the light turned green and I put my foot on the gas, I saw a tall man with long blond hair step down the entrance stairs. He nodded and waved at me when I passed.
Distracted and unnerved by the events of the last hour, I drove home to my new town house, punched in my security code, and locked myself into my own personal sanctuary.
I lit an aromatherapy candle, poured myself a glass of white wine, sat down in my favorite chairâone of those huge puffy types with an equally large ottomanâand stretched out, letting my thoughts wander back to the blond man whoâd waved at me.
That was just too weird. My mind must have been playing tricks on me. It couldnât possibly have been the same guy I saw in front of my building, could it? Well, wait a minute. That club was only a couple of blocks from my office, and if he had been the man who saw me run to my car, then it made sense that he could have recognized the car again when I passed him. It was merely a coincidence he was at that particular club and that I noticed the place today.
Just a coincidence.
But the fact that he actually waved at me gave more weight to the notion that Iâd overreacted and he hadnât meant me any harm.
Maybe.
Unless he was a sociopath who enjoyed messing with peopleâs minds.
Oh well. No use fretting about that now. I would definitely be seeking a more secure office location. And some pepper spray.
I carried my glass of wine over to my desk, opened my briefcase, and spilled out all the vampire material Iâd printed. Then I fired up my computer, clicked on the TV, and prepared to spend the next couple of hours researching possible topics for a new book.
âAllow me to introduce myself. I am Count Dracula,â blared from the speakers.
Startled, I looked up at the TV, then laughed. There he was, the sexiest vampire ever: Frank Langella as Dracula, circa late 1970s. He had the best lipsâpouty, full, and definitely come-hitherâand eyes that wouldnât be denied. One of my college roommates had been a real vampire fan, and she had an extensive collection of bloodsucker movies. This version was her favorite.
I sat back and enjoyed watching Frankâs lips for a while, savoring my glass of wine. As the end of the movie approached, I clicked off the TV because I didnât want to watch those sweet lips get fried by the sun in the filmâs inevitable finale.
As I drank the last few sips in my glass, I had a sudden memory of the last time Iâd watched that movie in college, sitting with my roommates and listening to them scream at the end, rooting for the vampire to break free and fly away. Afterward they all talked about what fun it would be to invite some dark, window-tapping stranger into their beds.
Hmmm. I linked my fingers together behind my head. Vampires as erotic fantasy material. Listening to my roommates that long-ago night, the budding psychologist in me had been intrigued, but I considered vampires to be horror movie and comic book fare. I was not the kind of person who believed in the supernatural or the mystical. Iâd found that most things turned out to have mundane, predictable explanations.
Of course, since then