BERKLEYROMANCE
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Copyright?2023byJenniferPrusak
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LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Levine,Jenna,author.
Title:Myroommateisavampire/JennaLevine.
Description:Firstedition.|NewYork:BerkleyRomance,2023.
Identifiers:LCCN2022056153(print)|LCCN2022056154(ebook)|
ISBN9780593548912(tradepaperback)|ISBN9780593548929(ebook)
Subjects:LCGFT:Romancefiction.|Vampirefiction.|Novels.
Classification:LCCPS3612.E92389M92023(print)|LCCPS3612.E92389(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23/eng/20230112
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022056153
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022056154
FirstEdition:August2023
CoverillustrationbyRoxieVizcarra
BookdesignbyDanielBrount,adaptedforebookbyMollyJeszke
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_6.1_144774596_c0_r0CONTENTS
Cover
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
_144774596_ForBrian,whoalwaysmakesmelaugh,andwhoisalwaysupforadoptingjustonemorecat.ONE
RoommateWantedtoShareSpaciousThird-FloorBrownstoneApartmentinLincolnPark
Hello.Iseekaroommatewithwhomtosharemyapartment.Itisaspaciousunitbymodernstandardswithtwolargebedrooms,anopensittingarea,andasemiprofessionaleat-inkitchen.Largewindowsflanktheeasternsideoftheapartmentandprovideastrikingviewofthelake.Theunitisfullyfurnishedinatasteful,classicalstyle.Iamseldomhomeaftersundown,soifyouworkatraditionalschedule,youwillusuallyhavetheapartmenttoyourself.
Rent:$200permonth.Nopets,please.Kindlydirectallseriousinquiriestofjfitzwilliam@gmail.com.
“Therehastobesomethingwrongwiththisplace.”
“Cassie,listen,thisisareallygooddeal—”
“Forgetit,Sam.”ThatlastpartcameoutmoreforcefullythanI’dintended—thoughnotbymuch.EventhoughIneededhishelp,myembarrassmentoverbeinginthissituationinthefirstplacemadeacceptingthathelpdifficult.Sammeantwell,buthisinsistenceoninvolvinghimselfineverypartofmycurrentsituationwasgettingonmyverylastnerve.
Tohiscredit,Sam—myoldestfriend,who’dlongagoacclimatedtohowsnippyIsometimesgotwhenIwasstressed—saidnothing.Hesimplyfoldedhisarmsacrosshischest,waitingformetobereadytosaymore.
Ionlyneededafewmomentstopullmyselftogetherandstartfeelingbadlyforsnappingathim.“Sorry,”Imutteredundermybreath.“Iknowyou’reonlytryingtohelp.”
“It’sallright,”hesaid,sympathetic.“Youhavealotgoingon.Butit’sokaytobelievethatthingscangetbetter.”
Ihadnoreasontobelievethatthingscouldgetbetter,butnowwasn’tthetimetogetintoit.IsimplysighedandturnedmyattentionbacktotheCraigslistadonmylaptop.
“Anythingthatsoundstoogoodtobetrueusuallyis.”
Sampeeredovermyshoulderatmyscreen.“Notalways.Andyouhavetoadmitthisapartmentsoundsgreat.”
Itdidsoundgreat.Hewasrightaboutthat.But…
“It’sonlytwohundredamonth,Sam.”
“So?That’sagreatprice.”
Istaredathim.“Yeah,ifthiswere1978.Ifsomeone’sonlyaskingfortwohundredamonthtodaythereareprobablydeadbodiesinthebasement.”
“Youdon’tknowthat.”Samdraggedahandthroughhisshaggy,dirty-blondhair.MessingwithhishairwasSam’smostobviousI’m-bullshitting-youtell.He’dhaditsinceatleastsixthgrade,whenhe’dtriedconvincingourteacherIhadn’tbeentheonewho’ddrawnbrightpinkflowersalloverthewallofthegirl’sbathroom.Hehadn’tfooledMrs.Bakerthen—Ihaddrawnthataggressivelyneonmeadowlandscape—andhewasn’tfoolingmenow.
Howwouldheevermakeitasalawyerwithsuchaterriblepokerface?
“Maybethisperson’sjustnothomealotandonlywantsaroommateforsafetyreasons,notincome,”Samsuggested.“Maybethey’reanidiotanddon’tknowwhattheycouldbecharging.”
Iwasstillskeptical.I’dbeenscouringCraigslistandFacebooksincemylandlordtapedanevictionnoticetomyfrontdoortwoweeksagofornonpaymentofrent.There’dbeennothingavailablethisclosetotheLoopforlessthanathousandamonth.InLincolnPark,thegoingratewasclosertofifteenhundred.
Twohundredwasn’tjustalittlebelowmarketrate.Itwasn’teveninthesameuniverseasmarketrate.
“Therearealsonopictureswiththisad,”Ipointedout.“That’sanotherredflag.Ishouldignorethisoneandkeeplooking.”Becauseyes,mylandlordwastakingmetocourtnextweekifIdidn’tmoveoutfirst,andyes,livinginanapartmentthischeapwouldreallyhelpmegetontopofmyshit,andmaybeevenkeepmefromendingupinthisexactsituationagaininafewmonths.ButI’dlivedintheChicagoareaformorethantenyears.NodealinLincolnParkthisgoodcamewithoutahugecatch.
“Cassie.”Sam’stonewasquiet,patient—andmorethanalittlepatronizing.IremindedmyselfhewasonlytryingtohelpinhisverySamwayandbitmytongue.“Thisapartmentisinagreatlocation.Youcaneasilyaffordit.It’scloseenoughtotheElthatyou’llbeabletogettoyourjobsquickly.Andifthewindowsareasbigasthisadsaystheyare,Ibetthere’stonsofnaturallight.”
Myeyeswidened.Ihadn’tthoughtofthelightingintheapartmentwhenI’dreadthead.Butifitdidhavehuge,lake-facingwindows,Samwasprobablyright.
“MaybeI’dbeabletocreatefromhomeagain,”Imused.Ihadn’tlivedsomewherewithgoodenoughlightingtoworkonmyprojectsinalmosttwoyears.ImisseditmorethanIlikedtoadmit.
Samsmiled,lookingrelieved.“Exactly.”
“Okay,”Iconceded.“I’matleastwillingtoaskformoreinformation.”
Samreachedupandputhishandonmyshoulder.Hiswarm,steadytouchcalmedme,justasithadeverytimeI’dneededittosincewewerekids.Theknotofanxietythathadtakenupwhatfeltlikepermanentresidenceinthepitofmystomachthesepasttwoweeksbegantoloosen.
Forthefirsttimeinages,itfeltlikeIcouldbreatheagain.
“We’llseetheapartmentandmeettheroommatefirst,ofcourse,”hesaidveryquickly.“Icanevenhelpyounegotiateamonth-to-monthleaseifyouwant.Thatway,ifit’sreallyawful,youcanleavewithoutbreakinganotherlease.”
WhichwouldmeanIwouldn’thavetoworryaboutgettinghauledbackintocourtbyyetanotherangrylandlord.Honestly,thatwouldbeadecentcompromise.Ifthispersonturnedouttobeanaxemurdereroralibertarianorsomeotherawfulthing,amonth-to-monthleasewouldletmeleavequicklywithnostringsattached.
“You’ddothatforme?”Iasked.Notforthefirsttime,IfeltbadlyabouthowshortI’dbeenwithhimlately.
“WhatelseamIgonnadowithmylawdegree?”
“Forstarters,youcoulduseittomaketonsofmoneyatyourfirminsteadofusingittohelpperennialfuckupslikeme.”
“I’mmakingtonsofmoneyatmyfirmeitherway,”hesaid,grinning.“Butsinceyouwon’tletmeloanyouanyofthatmoney—”
“Iwon’t,”Iagreed.Ithadbeenmychoicetogetanimpracticalgraduatedegreeandenduphopelesslyinstudentloandebtwithfewjobprospectsformytroubles.Iwasn’tabouttomakethatanyoneelse’sproblem.
Samsighed.“Youwon’t.Right.We’vebeenoverthat.Repeatedly.”Heshookhisheadandadded,inamorewistfultone,“Iwishyoucouldjustmoveinwithus,Cassie.OrwithAmelia.Thatwouldsolveeverything.”
IbitmylipandpretendedtostudytheCraigslistadintenselytoavoidhavingtolookathim.
Intruth,alargepartofmewasrelievedthatSamandhisnewhusbandScotthadjustboughtatinylakefrontcondothatbarelyaccommodatedthemandtheirtwocats.WhilelivingwiththemwouldsavemethestressandthehassleofwhatIwasgoingthroughnow,SamandScotthadjustgottenmarriedtwomonthsago.Notonlywouldmylivingwiththemhindertheirabilitytohavesexwhereverandwhenevertheyfeltlikeit,thewayIunderstoodnewlywedstendedto,itwouldalsobeanawkwardreminderofjusthowlongithadbeensinceI’dlastbeeninarelationship.
Aswellasaconstantreminderofwhatacolossalfailureeveryotheraspectofmylifewas.
And,ofcourse,livingwithAmeliawasoutofthequestion.Samdidn’tunderstandthathisstraitlaced,perfectsisterhadalwayslookeddownonmeandthoughtIwasatotalloser.Butitwasthetruth.
Honestly,myfindingaplacetolivethatwasneitherSamandScott’snewsofanorAmelia’sloftinLakeviewwasbestforallofus.
“I’llbefine,”Isaid,tryingtosoundlikeIbelievedit.MystomachclenchedalittleatthelookofconcernthatcrossedSam’sface.“No,really—I’llbeokay.Ialwaysam,aren’tI?”
Samsmiledandtousledmytoo-shorthair,whichwashiswayofteasingme.NormallyIdidn’tmind,butI’dcutmyhairprettydramaticallyonawhimacoupleweeksagobecauseIwasfrustratedandneededanoutletthatdidn’trequireaninternetconnection.Itwasyetanotherofmynot-greatrecentdecisions.Mythick,curlyblondhairtendedtostickupinoddplacesifnotcutbyaprofessional.Inthatmoment,asSamcontinuedtomesswithmyhair,IprobablylookedlikeaMuppetwho’drecentlystuckherfingerinalightsocket.
“Stopthat,”Isaid,laughingasIshruggedawayfromhim.Butmymoodwasbetternow—whichwasprobablyexactlywhySamhaddoneit.
Heputhishandonmyshoulder.“Ifyoueverchangeyourmindabouttheloan…”
Hetrailedoffwithoutfinishinghissentence.
“IfIchangemymindaboutaloan,you’llbethefirsttoknow,”Isaid.ButwebothknewIneverwould.
Iwaiteduntiliwasatmyafternoongigatthepubliclibrarytoreachouttothepersonwiththetwo-hundred-dollarroomforrent.
Ofallthepart-time,not-art-relatedgigsI’dmanagedtostringtogethersincegettingmyMFA,thisonewasmyfavorite.NotbecauseIlovedallaspectsofthework,becauseIdidn’t.Whileitwasgreatbeingaroundbooks,Iworkedexclusivelyinthechildren’ssection.Ialternatedbetweensittingbehindthecheck-outcounter,shelvingbooksaboutdinosaursandwarriorcatsanddragons,andansweringquestionsfromfranticparentswithtantrumingpreschoolersintow.
I’dalwaysgottenalongwellwitholderkids.AndIlikedtinyhumansasanabstractconcept,understanding—intheory,atleast—whyapersonmightintentionallyaddonetotheirlife.ButwhileSamandIdefinitelythoughtofhisspoiledkittiesashischildren,nobodyinmylifehadanactualhumanchildyet.Dealingwithlittlekidstwentyhoursaweekinapublic-facingservicepositionwasaroughintroduction.
Workingatthelibrarywasstillmyfavoritepart-timejob,though,becauseofallthedowntimethatcamewithit.Ididn’thavenearlyasmuchfreetimeduringmyshiftsatGossamer’s,thecoffeeshopnearmysoon-to-be-formerapartment—whichwastheworstaspectofthatparticularjob.
“Slowafternoontoday,”mymanagerMarciequippedfromherchairbesideme.Marciewasapleasantwomaninherlatefiftiesandeffectivelyranthechildren’ssection.Itwasourlittleinsidejoketocommentonhowslowitwaswhenweworkedtogetherintheafternoon,becauseeveryafternoonwasslowhere.Betweenthehoursofoneandfour,mostofourpatronswereeithernappingorstillinschool.
Itwastwoo’clock.Onlyonekidhadwanderedthroughinthepastninetyminutes.Notonlywasthatnothingnoteworthy,itwasparforthecourse.
“Itisslowtoday,”Iagreed,grinningather.Withthat,Iturnedtofacethecirculationdeskcomputer.
Normally,librarydowntimewasforresearchingpotentialnewemployersandapplyingforjobs.Iwasn’tpicky.I’dapplyforjustaboutanything—evenifithadnothingtodowithart—ifitpromisedbetterpayandmoreregularhoursthanmycurrentcobbled-togethersituation.
Sometimes,Iusedthetimetothinkthroughfutureartprojects.Ididn’thavegoodlightinginmycurrentapartment,whichmadedrawingandpaintingtheimagesthatformedthebaseofmyworksdifficult.AndwhileIcouldn’tfinishmyprojectsatthelibrary,asmypaintsweretoomessyandthefinalstepsinvolvedincorporatingdiscardedobjectsintomywork,thecirculationdeskwasbigandwell-litenoughformetoatleastmakepreliminarysketcheswithapencil.
Today,though,IneededtousemydowntimetoreplytothatredflagofaCraigslistad.Icouldhaverepliedearlier,butIdidn’t—partlybecauseIwasstillskeptical,butmostlybecauseafewweeksagoI’dgottenridofWi-Fitosavemoney.
Ipulledupthelistingonthecomputer.Ithadn’tchangedinthetimesinceIlastsawit.Theoddlyformalstylewasthesame.TheabsurdrentamountwasalsothesameandsetoffasmanyalarmbellsnowasitdidwhenIfirstsawit.
Butmyfinancialsituationalsohadn’tchanged.Jobsinmyfieldwerestillashardtocomeby.AndaskingSamforhelp—ormyaccountantparents,wholovedmetoomuchtoadmittomyfacewhatadisappointmentIwas—wasjustasunthinkableasever.
Andmylandlordwasstillplanningtoevictmenextweek.Which,tobefair,Icouldn’tevenblamehimfor.He’dputupwithalotoflaterentpaymentsandart-relatedweldingmishapsthesepasttenmonths.IfIwerehimI’dprobablyevictme,too.
BeforeIcouldtalkmyselfoutofdoingit,andwithSam’sworriedvoiceringinginmyears,Iopenedmyemail.Iscrolledthroughmyinbox—anadforatwo-for-onesaleatShoePavilion;aheadlinefromtheChicagoTribuneaboutabizarrestringoflocalbloodbankbreak-ins—andthenstartedtyping.
From:CassieGreenberg[csgreenberg@gmail.com]
To:fjfitzwilliam@gmail.com
Subject:Yourapartmentlisting
Hi,
IsawyouradonCraigslistlookingforaroommate.Myleaseisupsoonandyourplacesoundsperfect.I’ma32-year-oldartteacherandhavelivedinChicagofortenyears.I’manonsmoker,nopets.Yousaidinyouradthatyouaren’thomemuchatnight.Asforme,I’malmostneverhomeduringtheday,sothisarrangementwouldworkoutwellforbothofus,Ithink.
I’mguessingyou’vegottenalotofinquiriesaboutyourapartmentgiventhelocation,price,andeverythingelse.Butjustincasetheroomisstillavailable,I’veincludedalistofreferences.Ihopetohearfromyousoon.
CassieGreenberg
ApangofguiltshotthroughmeoverhowmuchI’dfudgedsomeoftheimportantdetails.
Foronething,I’djusttoldthiscompletestrangerthatIwasanartteacher.Technically,thatwasthetruth.It’swhatI’dstudiedtobeincollege,anditisn’tthatIdidn’twanttoteach.ButinmyjunioryearofcollegeIfellinlovewithappliedartsanddesignbeyondallhopeofreason,andtheninmysenioryearItookacoursewherewestudiedRobertRauschenbergandhismethodofcombiningpaintingswithsculpturework.Andthatwasitforme.ImmediatelyaftergraduationIthrewmyselfintoanMFAinappliedartsanddesign.
Ilovedeverysecondofit.
Until,ofcourse,Igraduated.That’swhenIlearned,inahurry,thatmyartisticvisionandmyskillsetweretoonichetoappealtomostschooldistrictshiringartteachers.Universityartdepartmentsweremoreopen-minded,butgettinganythingmorestablethanatemporaryadjunctpositionatauniversitywaslikewinningthelottery.Isometimesmadeextracashatartshowswhensomeonewho,likeme,sawakindofironicbeautyinrusted-outCokecansworkedintoseasidelandscapesandboughtoneofmypieces.Butthatdidn’thappenoften.Soyes:whiletechnicallyIwasanartteacher,mostofmyincomesincegettingmyMFAhadcomefromlow-paying,part-timejobslikethisone.
Noneofthismademesoundlikeanappealingpotentialtenant.Neitherdidthefactthatmyreferencesweren’tformerlandlords—noneofwhomwouldhavegoodthingstosayaboutme—butjustSam,Scott,andmymom.EvenifIwasadisappointmenttomyparents,theywouldn’twanttheironlychildtobecomehomeless.
Afterafewmomentsofangstingaboutit,Idecideditdidn’tmatterifI’dtoldafewwhitelies.Iclosedmyeyesandhitsend.Whatwastheworstthatcouldhappen?Thisperson—aperfectstranger—wouldfindoutI’dstretchedthetruthandwouldn’tletmemovein?
Iwasn’tsureIwantedtheapartmentanyway.
IhadlessthantenminutestoworryaboutitbeforeIgotareply.
From:FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam[fjfitzwilliam@gmail.com]
To:CassieGreenberg[csgreenberg@gmail.com]
Subject:Yourapartmentlisting
DearMissGreenberg,
Thankyouforyourkindmessageexpressinginterestinmyextraroom.Asmentionedintheadvertisementtheroomisappointedinamodernbuttastefulstyle.Ibelieve,andhavebeentoldbyothers,thatitisalsoquitespaciousinsofarasspareroomsareconcerned.Toansweryourunaskedquestion:theroomremainsentirelyavailable,shouldyouremaininterestedinit.DoletmeknowatyourearliestconveniencewhetheryouwouldliketomoveinandIwillhavethenecessarypaperworkdrawnupforyoursignature.
Yoursingoodhealth,
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam
Istaredatthatnameattheendoftheemail.
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam?
Whatkindofnamewasthat?
Ireadtheemailagain,tryingtomakesenseofitasMarciepulledoutherphoneforherdailyFacebookscrolling.
So,thepersonlistingtheapartmentwasaguy.Or,atleast,someonewithatraditionallymalename.Thatdidn’tfazeme.IfImovedinwithhim,Frederickwouldn’tbethefirstguyI’dlivedwithsincemovingoutofmyparents’house.
Whatdidfazeme,though,was…everythingelse.Theemailwassostrangelywordedandsoformal,Ihadtowonderexactlyhowoldthispersonwas.AndthentherewastheweirdassumptionthatImightbewillingtomoveinsightunseen.
Itriedtoignorethesemisgivings,remindingmyselfthatallIreallycaredaboutwasthattheapartmentwasindecentshapeandthathewasn’tanaxemurderer.
Ineededtoseetheplace,andmeetFrederickJ.Fitzwilliaminperson,beforemakingupmymind.
From:CassieGreenberg[csgreenberg@gmail.com]
To:FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam[fjfitzwilliam@gmail.com]
Subject:Yourapartmentlisting
HiFrederick,
I’msupergladit’sstillavailable.ThedescriptionsoundsgreatandI’dliketocomeseeit.I’mfreetomorrowaroundnoonifthatworksforyou.Also,couldyousendmeafewpictures?Thereweren’tanywiththeCraigslistad,andI’dliketoseesomebeforestoppingby.Thanks!—Cassie
Onceagain,Ihadtowaitonlyafewminutesbeforereceivingareply.
From:FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam[fjfitzwilliam@gmail.com]
To:CassieGreenberg[csgreenberg@gmail.com]
Subject:Yourapartmentlisting
Helloagain,MissGreenberg,
Youarewelcometovisittheapartment.Itmakesperfectsensethatyouwouldwishtoseeitbeforemakingyourdecision.IamafraidIwillbeindisposedtomorrowduringthenoonhour.Mightyoubefreesometimeaftersundown?Iamtypicallyatmybestduringtheeveninghours.
Peryourrequest,Ihaveattachedphotographsoftworoomsthatyouwouldlikelyusewithfrequencyshouldyoumovein.Thefirstisofmysparebedroomasitiscurrentlydecorated.(Youmay,ofcourse,changethedecorhoweveryouwishshouldyoudecidetolivehere.)Thesecondphotographisofthekitchen.(IthoughtIhadincludedbothphotographswhenIplacedtheadvertisementonCraigslist.PerhapsIdiditincorrectly?)
Yoursingoodhealth,
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam
AfterreadingthroughFrederick’semailIclickedonthepictureshesentme,and…
Whoa.
Whoa.
Okay.
Ididn’tknowwhatthisdude’sdealwas,butheclearlydidnotliveinthesamesocioeconomicsphereasme.Itwasalsopossiblewedidn’tliveinthesamecentury.
Thiskitchenwasn’tjustdifferentfromeveryotherkitchenineveryotherplaceI’deverlived.
Itlookedlikeitbelongedtoanentirelydifferentera.
Nothinginitlookedlikeithadbeenmadewithinthelastfiftyyears.Thefridgewasoddlyshaped,sortofovalatthetopandmuchsmallerthanmostfridgesI’deverseen.Itwasn’tsilver,orblack,orcream—theonlycolorsI’deverassociatedwithfridges—butratheraveryunusualshadeofpowderblue.
Itperfectlymatchedtheovenbesideit.
IvaguelyrememberedseeingappliancesliketheseinanoldcolorizedepisodeofILoveLucyIsawwhenIwasakid.Igotanodd,disorientedfeelingwhenItriedtoreconciletheideathatanancientkitchenlikethisexistedinamodernapartment.
So,Idecidedtostoptryingandmovedontothepictureofthebedroom.Itwasbig,justliketheCraigslistadsaid.Somehow,itlookedevenmoreold-fashionedthanthekitchen.Thedresserwasgorgeous,madeofadarkwoodIcouldn’tidentify,withornatecurlicuecarvingsalongthetopandonthehandles.Itlookedlikesomethingyoumightfindatanantiqueshow.Thelarge,floral,probablyhomemadequiltcoveringthebeddid,too.
Asforthebeditself,itwasanhonest-to-godfour-posterbedcompletewithalacywhitecanopyhangingaboveit.Themattresswasthickandlookedsumptuousandcomfortable.
Ithoughtofalltheshitty,secondhandfurnitureinmysoon-to-be-formerapartment.IfImovedinhereIcoulddumpitallataconsignmentshop.
Thesepictures,andtheemails,suggestedthatwhileFrederickmightbealotolderthanme,heprobablywouldn’tstealallmystuffthedayafterImovedin.
Icouldhandleanawkwardroommatewhowasmaybeinhisseventiesaslongashewasn’tgoingtoroborkillme.
Thenagain,youcouldonlytellsomuchfromtoneinanemail.
From:CassieGreenberg[csgreenberg@gmail.com]
To:FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam[fjfitzwilliam@gmail.com]
Subject:Yourapartmentlisting
Frederick,
Okay,thosepicturesareamazing.Yourplacelooksgreat!Idefinitelywanttoseeit,butIcan’tcomebyintheeveningtomorrowuntilaround8.Isthattoolate?Letmeknow,andthanks.—Cassie
Hisnextreplycameinlessthanaminute.
From:FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam[fjfitzwilliam@gmail.com]
To:CassieGreenberg[csgreenberg@gmail.com]
Subject:Yourapartmentlisting
DearMissGreenberg,
Eighto’clocktomorroweveningworksperfectlywithmyschedule.Iwillmakesuretotidyupsothatalllooksasitshouldwhenyouarrive.
Yoursingoodhealth,
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam
SamcamebymyapartmentthateveningwithabunchofmovingboxesandtwoventiStarbuckscoffees.
“Pullupachair,”Ideadpanned,gesturingtowheremyoldsecondhandLa-Z-Boyusedtobe.I’dsolditonFacebookforthirtydollarsthedaybefore,whichwasaboutwhatithadbeenworth.
Samsmirkedandgingerlyspreadaflattenedmovingboxonthegroundbeforesittingdownonitcross-legged.
“Don’tmindifIdo,”hesaid.
“Thanksforbringingthoseover,”Isaid,noddingattheboxes.EvenifIdidn’tendupmovingintoFrederick’sfullyfurnishedroom,allIplannedtobringwithmefromthisplaceweremyclothes,myartsupplies,andmylaptop.Justtheessentials—butIstillneededboxestopackitup.
“Itwasnoproblem,”Samsaid.HehandedmethecoffeeI’daskedhimfor.He’dsaidhe’dgetmewhateverIwanted,butI’dfeltguiltyaboutaskingforthepriceyrainbow-coloredsugarbombIactuallywantedandjustaskedforaplainblackcoffee.
“Ican’twaittolivesomeplacewithWi-Fiagain,”Imused,takingasip.Iwincedatthebittertaste.Howcouldanyoneactuallyenjoydrinkingcoffeeblack?ItwassomethingIaskedmyselfeverytimeIworkedatGossamer’s.“ImissDragRace.”
Samlookedaffronted.“I’vebeenkeepingyoupostedonthewinners,haven’tI?”
Iwavedadismissivehand.“It’snotthesame.”Realitytelevisionhadlongbeenaguiltypleasureofmine,andSam’sdrysummariesjustdidn’tcutit.“Anyway,you’recomingwithmetomorrownight,right?”
“Ofcourse,”hesaid.“Thiswasmyideainthefirstplace,right?”
“Itreallywas.”
“Ifyou’remeetinghimateight,Ishouldpickyouuparoundsevenforty-five.Willthatwork?”
“Yeah.I’llbejustgettingoffmyshiftatthelibrary.”ThelibraryhostedspecialactivitiesforkidsonTuesdayevenings,meaningitwouldbeallhandsondeckuntilseven-thirty.Inallhonesty,IlovedTuesdaynightsatthelibrary.Therewasusuallysomekindofartsandcrafts–relatedactivity,andIcouldpretendforalittlewhilethatcreatingwasstillasignificantpartofmylife
I’dmadeamentalnotetoleaveoutmySesameStreet–themedReadingIsforWinners!T-shirtwhenIstartedpacking.ThelibrarylikedustodressupforthekidsonTuesdays.
“Great,”Samsaid.“IfIpickyouupthen,we’llhaveplentyoftimetogettotheapartment.Although…”
Hetrailedoffandlookeddownathiscoffee.
Irecognizedthatworriedlook.“Whatisit?”
Hehesitated.“It’s…probablynothing.ButyoushouldknowIcouldn’tfindaFrederickJ.FitzwilliamearliertodaywhenIGoogledhim.”
Istaredathim.“What?”
“Yeah.”Samsippedhiscoffee,lookingcontemplative.“Ifmycriminaljusticeclinictaughtmeanythingit’sthatyoushouldnevermoveinwithsomeonewithoutlookingthemupfirst.SoItriedsearchingforhimonline,figuringthatwithanamelikeFrederickJ.FitzwilliamI’dfindhimintwoseconds,but…”
Heshookhishead.
Thatever-presentknotofanxietyinthepitofmystomachcincheditselfalittletighter.“Nothing?”
“Nothing,”Samconfirmed.“IevencheckedtheCookCountycriminaldocket.ThereisnothinganywhereaboutaFrederickJ.Fitzwilliam.”Hepaused.“It’slikehedoesn’texist.”
Isatthere,stunned.Inanagewhereeverythingabouteveryonewasknowablewithasimpletwo-minuteinternetsearch,howwasitpossiblethatSamhadn’tfoundanything?
“Maybeit’safakenamehe’sgivingtopeopleaskingabouttheapartment,”Samsuggested.“Craigslistcanbecreepy.Maybehewantstostayanonymous.”
Thatmademefeelalittlebetter.Becausethatsoundedplausible.IthoughtbacktoatimeincollegewhenIwishI’dthoughttogiveafakenametosomeoneonCraigslist.Igraduatedtenyearsago,andtheYounkerCollegeLiterarySocietystillwouldn’tleavemealone.
“Yeah,”Isaid.“Thoughifhewantedtostayanonymous,why’dhebotherincludinganemailaddressinthepost?HecouldhavejustusedtheanonymousemailaccountCraigslistautomaticallygeneratesforpeopleplacingads.”
Silencestretchedbetweenusaswebothponderedwhatallthiscouldmean,interruptedonlybythemuffledsoundoftrafficfromthestreetoutsidemywindow.
Eventually,IleanedtowardsSamandasked,“IfthisguyturnsouttobethenextJeffreyDahmer,promisemeyou’llavengemydeath?”
Samsnorted.“Ithoughtyouwantedmetogowithyou.Ifhe’sthenextDahmer,we’llbothbescrewed.Alsopossiblydead.”
Ihadn’tconsideredthat.“Goodpoint.”Ithoughtamoment.“Maybewaitinthecar.I’lltextyouonceI’minside.IfI’mnotoutinthirtyminutes,callthepolice.”
“Ofcourse,”Samsaid,smilingagain.Onlythistime,hissmiledidn’tquitereachhiseyes.Hewasalwaysterribleathidinghisconcernfromme.“Youknow,ifScottandIconsolidatedsomeofourweddingstuff,I’msurewecouldmakeroomforyouuntilyoufoundsomethingmorepermanent.”
Iswallowedaroundthelumpinmythroatathisrenewedoffer.“Thanks,”Isaid,meaningit.Ihadtoavertmyeyesbeforeadding,“I’ll…giveitsomethought.”TWO
FJF’sTo-DoList:October15
Dustsittingroomfurniture.
Vacuumsparebedroom.
Purchasedecoyfoodstuffsforbothfridge&pantryinadvanceofMissCassieGreenberg’svisit.
ShouldMissGreenbergnotwishtoletthespareroom,askReginaldhowtoincludephotographsintheadvertisementtoavoidunnecessaryfutureinteractionswithapplicants.
Renewlibrarybooks.
Writemother.
Frederick’sapartmentwasinapartofLincolnParkIrarelyvisited.Itwasjustafewblockswestofthelake,atoneendofarowoffancybrownstonesthat,ifIhadtoguess,wouldprobablysellforseveralmilliondollarseach.
Irefusedtothinkaboutthat.Itwasintimidatingenoughjustbreathingthesameairasthepeoplewholivedhere.NoneedtomakethingsworsebydwellingonhowI’dneverbeabletoaffordlivingherewithoutwinningthelotteryorturningtoalifeoforganizedcrime.
“I’llfindparking,”SamsaidasIexitedhiscar.Ilookedbackovermyshoulderathim;hehadhisworriedfaceonagain.“Textmeonceyougetin,okay?”
“Okay,”Ipromised,shiveringalittle.We’dbothcalmeddownabitoncewerealizedFrederickJ.FitzwilliammightjustbeaCraigslistalias.Butthiswholesituationwasstillweird.
Ipulledmyscarfaroundmyneckalittletighter.OctoberinChicagowasalwayscolderthanstrictlynecessary.Thewindreallykickedinthisclosetothelake,too.ItcutthroughmythinT-shirtlikescissorsthroughpaper.
Iprobablyshouldhavewornmywintercoat,evenifitwouldhaveendedupsplatteredinpaintfromtonight’slibraryevent.
Tonight’sridiculouslyfunlibraryevent,tobeprecise,whichMarcieandIhadplannedentirelyourselves.Ifthesheernumberofcryingchildrenwhohadtobecarriedoutofthelibraryafteritendedwasanythingtogoby,“PaintYourFavoriteDisneyPrincessNight”hadbeenasmashingsuccess.Icouldn’thelpgrinningwhenIthoughtaboutit—eventhoughIwasunderdressedfortheweatherandshivering,andeventhoughIknewthatbetweenmylibrary-issuedSesameStreetT-shirt,myjeansthatweredistressedduetoageratherthanfashion,andmyorangeChuckswithaholeinoneofthetoes,IprobablylookedlikeI’dgottendressedinsideadarkart-supplycloset.
Iwishedeverynightatthelibrarywasartnight,thoughIknewwhythatwasn’tpossible.Artnightinvariablyendedwiththechildren’ssectionintotalchaos,withsplattersofpaintoneverysurfaceandvariousmysterysubstancesgroundintothecarpet.Thejanitors—andMarcie,andme—wouldhavetoscrubtheplacedownfordays.
Somehow,though,noneofthatmattered.ItwasimpossibletobeinabadmoodwhenI’djustheldapaintbrushinmyhandsfortwohours,helpedagrinninglittleboypaintanArieltheMermaidwithbrightredhair,andgotpaidtodoit.EventhoughIwasnowofftomeetapotentialnewroommatewhomayormaynotbeaserialkiller.
IwasgladSamwouldbewaitingoutherejustincase.
IglancedatmyphonetoconfirmtheaddressandbuzzercodeFrederickhademailedme.Ihurriedtothebuildingandquicklypunchedinthecodetogetinside,thentrudgedupthethreeflightsofstairstothetopfloor.Irubbedmychilledhandstogether,relishingtherelativewarmthoftheheatedstairwellafterspendinglessthantwominutesoutsideinwhatpassedforautumninChicago.
WhenIgottothetopfloor—andFrederick’sapartment—abrightpinkWelcome!matinfrontofthedoorgreetedme.ItfeaturedagoldenretrieverpuppyandakittensnugglingtogetherinafieldoftallgrassandwasmaybethetackiestthingI’deverseenoutsideofaHobbyLobby.
Itwassooutofplaceinthisfancy,multizillion-dollarbuildingthatIhalfwonderedifthecoldweatherhaddonesomethingtomybrainandI’djustimaginedit.
ThenthedoortotheapartmentopenedbeforeIevenhadachancetoknock—andsuddenlyIwasn’tthinkingaboutthecheesyWelcome!matanymore.
“YoumustbeMissCassieGreenberg.”Theman’svoicewasdeepandsonorous.Icouldfeelit,somehow,inthepitofmystomach.“IamMr.FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam.”
Itoccurredtome,asIstoodblinkingstupidlyupatthepersonwhomightbemynewroommate,thatIhadn’treallyconsideredwhatthepersonbehindtheRoommateWantedadlookedlike.Ithadn’tmattered.Ineededacheapplacetostay,andFrederick’sapartmentwascheap—evenifthecircumstancessurroundingallofitfeltabitodd.
I’dspentagoodpartofthedaywonderingwhetheremailinghimhadbeenagoodidea,orifhemightbeapsychopath.Butwhathelookedlike?Thathadn’treallycrossedmymind.
ButnowthatIwashere,standinglessthantwofeetawayfromthemostgorgeousmanIhadeverseen…
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam’sappearancewasallIcouldthinkabout.
Helookedlikehewasmaybeinhismid-thirties,thoughhehadthesortoflong,pale,slightlyangularfacewhereitwashardtotell.Andhisvoicewasn’ttheonlythingwithhighproductionvalues.No,healsohadthisridiculouslythick,darkhairthatfellrakishlyacrosshisforeheadlikehe’dsprungfullyformedoutofaperioddramawherepeoplewithEnglishaccentskissedintherain.OrlikehewastheherofromthelasthistoricalromancenovelI’dread.
Whenhegavemeasmall,expectantsmile,adimplepoppedinhisrightcheek.
“I—”Isaid.BecauseIstillhadjustenoughofmywitsaboutmetorememberthatwhensomeoneintroducedthemselves,socialcustomdictatedyousaysomethinginreturn.“You’re…huh.”
Bythispoint,Iwasscreaminginternallyatmyselftosnapoutofit.Iwasn’tsomeonewhousuallygawkedatpeopleorwentautomaticallyintolustmodeimmediatelyaftermeetingsomeoneattractive.Notlikethis,anyway.Istillwasn’tcertainIevenwantedtomoveintothisapartment—butIalsodidn’twantthisguytorejectmerightoffthebatjustbecauseIwasactingweirdandinappropriate.
Itdidn’tmatterthatFrederickJ.Fitzwilliamhadthesortofbroad,muscularbuildthatsuggestedheledfootballteamstovictorywhenhewasyoungerandstillworkedoutregularlynow.
Itdidn’tmatterthatheworeaperfectlytailoredthree-piecesuit,thecharcoal-grayjacketandstarchedwhiteshirtclingingtothosebroadshouldersliketheyweremadespecificallyforhisbody,orthathismatchinggrayslacksfithimjustaswell.
Noneofthismattered,becausethiswassomeonewitharoomImaybehopedtorent.Nothingmore.
Ihadtogetagriponmyself.
Itriedtofocusonthemoreeccentricaspectsofhisoutfit—thefrillybluecravatheworeathisneck;theshinywing-tippedshoesonhisfeet—butitdidn’thelp.EvenwiththoseunusualaccessorieshewasstillthemostgorgeousmanI’deverseen.
AsIstoodthere,yellingatmyselftostopgapingathimwhilebeinghelplesstodoanythingbut,Frederickjuststaredatmewithapuzzledexpression.Iwasn’tsurewhattherewastobepuzzledabout.Hehadtoknowhowhothewas,right?Hemusthavebeenusedtogettingthisreactionfrompeople.Heprobablyhadtofendhornypeopleoffwithastickeverytimehelefthishome.
“MissGreenberg?”
Frederickcockedhisheadtotheside,probablywaitingformetoformacompletesentence.WhenIdidn’t,hesteppedoutintothehallway—mostlikelytogetacloserlookattheweirdowho’djustshownupathisdoor.
Buthiseyesweren’tonmeanymore.Theywereonthefloor,rivetedtothecheesydoormatatmyfeet.
Hescowledatthestupidthinglikeithadpersonallywrongedhim.
“Reginald,”hemutteredunderhisbreath.Hekneltdownandgrabbedthewelcomematinbothhands.Iabsolutelydidnotstareathisperfectbuttashedidit.“Thinkshe’ssofunny,doeshe?”
BeforeIcouldaskwhoReginaldwasorwhathewastalkingabout,Frederickturnedhisattentionbacktome.Imusthavelookedprettyoutofitbecausehisexpressionsoftenedatonce.
“Areyouquiteallright,MissGreenberg?”Hisdeepvoiceconveyedwhatsoundedlikegenuineconcern.
Imanaged,withdifficulty,totearmyeyesawayfromhisperfectface,andstaredpointedlydownatmyshoes.Icringedatthesightofmypaint-splattered,beat-upoldChucks.I’dbeensoflusteredI’dforgottenallaboutthefactthatI’dshowedupcoveredinpaintandwearingtheworstclothesIowned.
“I’mfine,”Ilied.Istoodalittletaller.“I’mjust…yeah.I’mjustalittletired.”
“Ah.”Henodded,understanding.“Isee.Well,MissGreenberg…areyoustillinterestedintouringtheapartmenttonighttodeterminewhetheritsuitsyourneeds?Orwouldyouperhapsprefertoreschedulegivenyourcurrentfatigueandyour…”Hetrailedoff,hiseyesroamingovermeslowly,takingineverypartofmyoutfit.
Iflushedhotwithembarrassment.Okay,yes—clearlyIhadunderdressedforcominghere.Buthedidn’tneedtomakeathingaboutit,didhe?
Inaway,though,Iwasgrateful.HemightbethemostattractivemanIhadeverseeninmylife,butpeoplewhoweresnobbyaboutappearanceswereseriouslyoneofmybiggestpetpeeves.Hisreactiontomyclotheshelpedprodmefrommyridiculouslustyfuguestateandbacktoreality.
Ishookmyhead.“No,it’sfine.”Istillneededaplacetolive,afterall.“Let’sdothetour.I’mfeelingokay.”
Helookedrelievedatthat—thoughIcouldn’tunderstandwhy,givenhowunimpressedwithmeheseemedsofar.
“Well,then.”Hegavemeasmallsmile.“Docomein,MissGreenberg.”
I’dseenthepictureshe’dsent,soIthoughtI’dbeenpreparedforwhatwaitedformeinside.Isawimmediatelythatthepictureshadn’tdonetheplacejustice.
I’dexpectedittobefancy.Anditwas.
WhatIhadn’texpectedwasthatitwasalso…strange
Thelivingroom—likethepicturesofthekitchenandthesparebedroomFrederickhadsentme—seemedfrozenintime,butnotinawayIcouldputintowordsandnotfrozeninanyspecificperiodIcouldname.Mostofthefurnitureandthefixturesonthewallslookedexpensive,buttheywerethrowntogetherinsuchamulti-style,multi-erajumbleitmademyheadache.
DozensofshinybrasswallsconcescreatedthesortofdimandatmosphericlightingI’donlyeverseeninoldmoviesandhauntedhouses.Andtheroomwasn’tjustdarklylit.Itwasalsojust…dark.ThewallswerepaintedadarkchocolatebrownthatIvaguelyrememberedfromarthistoryclasseshadbeenfashionableintheVictorianera.Apairoftall,darkwoodenbookshelvesthatmusthaveweighedathousandpoundseachstoodlikesilentsentinelsoneitherendoftheroom.Atopeachofthemsatanornatebrass,malachitecandelabrathatwouldhaveseemedrightathomeinasixteenth-centuryEuropeancathedral.Theyclashedinstyleandineveryotherimaginablewaywiththetwoverymodern-lookingblackleathersofasfacingeachotherinthecenteroftheroomandtheaustere,glass-toppedcoffeetableinthelivingroom’scenter.ThelatterhadastackofwhatlookedlikeRegencyromancenovelspiledhighatoneend,furtheraddingtotheincongruityofthescene.
Besidesthepalegreenofthecandelabras,theonlyothercolortobefoundinthelivingroomwasinthelarge,garish,floralOrientalrugcoveringmostofthefloor;thebrightred,glowingeyesofadeeplycreepystuffedwolf’sheadhangingoverthemantel;andthedeep-redvelvetdrapeshangingoneithersideofthefloor-to-ceilingwindows.
Ishivered,andnotjustbecausetheroomwasfreezing.
Inshort,thelivingroomwasconfirmationofsomethingI’dknownforyears:peoplewithmoneyoftenhadterribletaste.
“So.Youlikedarkrooms,huh?”Iasked.ItwasmaybethemostridiculouslyobviousthingIcouldpossiblyhavesaid—butwasalsotheleastoffensivethingIcouldthinkof.IstaredatthecarpetasIwaitedforhimtoreply,tryingtodecideiftheflowersIstoodonweresupposedtobepeonies.
Alongpause.“I…preferdimlylitplaces,yes.”
“Ibetyougetalotoflightinhereduringtheday,though.”Ipointedtothewindowsliningtheroom’seasternwall.“Youmustgetafabulousviewofthelake.”
Heshrugged.“Probably.”
Ilookedathim,surprised.“Youdon’tknow?”
“Givenourproximitytothelakeandthesizeofthesewindows,Icaninferthatonecanseethelakequitewellfromhereshouldonewishtodoso.”Hefidgetedwithalargegoldenringonhispinkyfinger;ithadablood-redstoneasbigasmythumbnailinitscenter.“Ikeepthecurtainsdrawn,however,whilethesunisup.”
BeforeIcouldaskwhyhe’dwasteaviewlikethatbyneverlookingatit,headded,“Shouldyoudecidetomovein,youmayopenthecurtainswheneveryouwishtoseethelake.”
IwasjustabouttotellhimthatthatwasexactlywhatIwoulddoifImovedinwhenmyphonevibratedfrominsidethefrontpocketofmyjeans
“Um,”Isaidawkwardly,fishingitout.“Holdonasecond.”
Crap.ItwasSam.
IntheshockofrealizingthatFrederickwashot,I’dforgottentolethimknowIwasn’tbeingmurdered.
Cassie?Youokay?
I’mtryingnottofreakout.
PleasetextmerightawaysoIdon’tstartworryingthatyou’vebeenchoppedupandputintofreezerbags.
I’mfine
Justgotcaughtupintheapartmenttour
Sorry
Everything’sfine
Frederick’snotamurderer,then?
Ifsohehasn’ttriedkillingmeyet
ButnoIdon’tthinkhe’samurderer
IthinkhemightjustbeREALLYweird
I’lltextyouwhenIleave
IsentSamapinkheartemojiasapeaceofferingincasehewasmad.
“Sorryaboutthat,”Isaidawkwardly,stuffingmyphonebackintomyjeanspocket.“Myfrienddrovemeover.Hejustwantedtocheckinandmakesureeverythingwasokay.”
Fredericksmiledatthat—acrooked,lopsidedsortofsmilethatmademeforgetthathewastooweirdandsnobbytofindattractive.
“Thatissmartofyourfriend,”hesaid,noddingappreciatively.“YouandIhadn’tbeenproperlyintroducedyetwhenweagreedtomeet.Now,MissGreenberg—shallwebeginthetour?”
ButhearingfromSamremindedmethatwhileIdidwanttogetagoodlookatthisplace,therewassomethingimportantIneededansweredfirst.
“Actually,beforewedothat,canIaskyouaquestion?”
Atthat,Frederickfroze.Hetookasmallstepawayfromme,thrustinghishandsdeepintothepocketsofhisgrayslacks.
Itwasanotherlongmomentbeforeheansweredme.
“Yes,MissGreenberg.”Heclenchedhisjaw,hisposturesuddenlyrigid.Helookedlikehewasgatheringcouragetofaceanunpleasanttask.“Youmayaskwhateveryoulike.”
Isquaredmyshoulders.“Okay.So,thismightbestupidofmetoask,sinceI’mabouttoargueagainstmyownbestinteresthere.Butmycuriosityisliterallykillingme.Whyareyouonlyaskingfortwohundredpermonth?”
Hetookasmallstepback,blinkingatmeinwhatlookedlikegenuineconfusion.Whateverhe’dbeenexpectingmetoask,itwasn’tthat.
“I—Ibegyourpardon?”
“Iknowwhatrentinaplacelikethisshouldbe,”Icontinued.“You’reonlyaskingfor,like—afractionofit.”
Apause.“Iam?”
Istaredathim.“Yes.Ofcourseyouare.”Igesturedvaguelytooursurroundings—tothebrasswallsconcesandthebookshelves,tothefloor-to-ceilingwindowsandtheintricateOrientalrugbeneathourfeet.“Thisplaceisamazing.Andthelocation?Insane.”
“Iam…awareofitsattributes,”Fredericksaid,soundingdazed.
“Okaythen,”Isaid.“So,what’sthedeal?Thepriceyou’reaskingwillmakeeveryonewhoseestheadthinkthere’ssomethingwrongwithyourapartment.”
“Youthinkso?”
“Iknowso,”Isaid.“Ialmostdidn’tcomebecauseofit.”
“Ohno,”hegroaned.“Whatwouldhavebeenamoreappropriateprice?”
Icouldn’tbelievethis.Howcouldsomeonewealthyenoughtoliveherebethiscluelessaboutthevalueofwhathehad?
“Imean…”Itrailedoff,tryingtodecidewhetherhewasmessingwithme.Theearnest,slightlypanickedlookinhiseyestoldmehewasnot.Whichmadenosenseatall.Butontheoffchancehereallydidn’tknowthattwohundreddollarsamonthwasaridiculouspriceforthisroom,Iwasn’tabouttonegotiateagainstmybestinterestmorethanIalreadyhadbygivinghimanexactnumber.
“Definitelymorethantwohundredamonth,”Ihedged.
Hestaredatmeforamomentandthenclosedhiseyes.“IamgoingtokillReginald.”
Thatnameagain.“I’msorry,butwhoisReginald?”
Frederickshookhisheadslightly.“Oh.I’m…nevermind.”Hesighedagainandpinchedthebridgeofhisnose.“Reginaldisjust…someoneIhappentoloathe.Hegavemesomeverypooradvice.Butthereisnoneedforyoutoworryaboutthat,MissGreenberg.Orabouthim.”
Ididn’tknowwhattosaytothat.“Oh.”
“Quite.”Frederickclearedhisthroatandsaid,“Ineithercase,Isupposewhat’sdoneisdone.IfyouagreetorentthespareroomIseenoneedtopunishyouformymistakeoryourhonestybyraisingtheprice.Iamhappytoleavethemonthlyrentattwohundreddollarsifyoumovein.”
Heshrugged.Asthoughdiscoveringhecouldbegettingalotmoremoneyforhisroomthanhewasaskingforwasnobigdeal.
Icouldn’timaginenotcaringaboutlosingoutonthatmuchmoney.
Justhowrichwasthisguy?
Perhapsmoreimportantly:Ifhedidn’tcareabouthowmuchmoneyhemightgetfromrentingtheroom,whydidheevenwantaroommateinthefirstplace?
Ididn’thavethecouragetoaskanyofthis.
“Thanks,”Isaidinstead.“Keepingtherentattwohundredwouldreallyhelpmeout.”
“Good,”hesaid.“Now,sincewehaveapparentlyreachedtheaskingquestionsphaseofthetour,mayIaskyouaquestion,MissGreenberg?”
Mystomachlurched.DidmygratitudeoverthecheaprenttiphimoffthatI’dexaggeratedmyjobsituationinmyemail?DidhesomehowfindoutIwasabouttogetevicted?
Ifthatwasthesortofconversationwewereabouttohave…
Well.Mightaswellgetitoverwith.
“Askaway,”Isaid,feelingnervous.
“WhileIsincerelyhopethatwhoevermovesintomyhomewillfeelthatthisisalsotheirhome,tworoomswillremainstrictlyoff-limits,”hesaid,withaseriousexpression.“Shouldyoumovein,Iwouldneedyoutopromisetofaithfullystayoutofthosespacesforthedurationofourcohabitation.Canyouagreetothis?”
“Whichrooms?”
Frederickheldupasingle,longfinger.“First,youmayneverentermybedroom.”
“Ofcourse,”Isaidquickly.“Thatmakessense.”
“Duetothenatureofmy…business,Iamoutoftheapartmentmostnightsandmustsleepduringthedaytime.”Hepaused,takinginmyreaction.“Generallyspeaking,Irestbetweenthehoursoffiveinthemorningandfiveintheevening,althoughthoseprecisetimeswilllikelyfluctuateoverthecomingmonths.WhenIamsleeping,itisimperativethatIbeallowedtorestundisturbed.”
Mymindsnaggedontheduetothenatureofmybusinesspartofwhathe’djustsaid.MygraspofwhatCEOsandotherrichbusiness-typesactuallydidforalivingwasmostlylimitedtowhatI’dseenontelevision—butevenstillIwasprettysurenightshiftsweren’taregularthingforbusinessbros.
Hemustbesomesortofdoctor,then.Doctorsworkednights,right?
Eitherway,askingmetostayoutofhisroomseemedfair.
“It’syourbedroom,”Isaid.“Igetit.”
Thatseemedtopleasehim.Asmilespreadacrosshisface.“I’mgladyouagree.”
“What’stheotherroomIcan’tgointo?”
“Ah.Right.”Hepointedtowardswhatlookedlikeaclosetattheendofthehallway.“Thatone.”
Ifrowned.“What’sinthere?”
“Theanswertothatquestionisalsooff-limits.”
Okay—thatfreakedmeoutalittle.MaybeFrederickwasamurdererafterall.“It’snot…deadpeople,isit?”
Hiseyeswentwide.“Deadpeople?”Helookedhorrified,puttinghishandtohischestinawaythatremindedmeofanoldladyclutchingherpearls.“God’sthumbs,MissGreenberg!WhywouldyouthinkIhaddeadpeopleinmyhallcloset?”
Heseemedtobetakingthejokeabittooseriously.“Fine,nodeadpeople.Canyouatleasttellmeifwhatever’sinthereisdangerous?”
“Let’sjustsayIhavearather…embarrassinghobby.”Helookeddownathisfeet,asthoughhisshinywing-tippedshoesweresuddenlythemostinterestingthingsintheroom.“Imayonedaydivulgethatcloset’scontentswiththepersonsharingmyapartment.ButifIdo,itmustbeonmyterms,atatimeandinamannerIseefit.”Helookedupatmeagain.“Iwillnotdiscloseitscontentstoday.”
“Youcollectlacedoilies,don’tyou?”Idon’tknowwhatpossessedmetoteasehimlikethis.ButthewordswereoutofmymouthbeforeIcouldstopthem.“Youhavehundredsoftheminthatcloset.”
Thecornerofhismouthtwitchedalittle,likehewastryinghardtofightasmile.
“No,”hesaid.“Idonotcollectlacedoilies.”
Hedidn’telaborate.ThistimeIhadthegoodsensetoletthematterdrop.Ishruggedandsaid,“Eitherway,it’sfine.It’syourstuff,andyourapartment.So,yourrules.”
“Shouldyoumovein,Idohopeyoucometothinkofthisasyourhomeaswell.”Hesteppedclosertome,darkbrowneyessearchingmine.Hiseyelashesweresolongandlush,andhisgazewassopenetrating,Icouldfeelmykneesgoingweak.Hereallywasunfairlyattractive.“Otherthanthosetwolimitationsyouwillhavefull,unrestricteduseofthisapartment.”
Iswallowed,tryingtoregulatemybreathing.“I…IthinkIcanlivewiththat.”
“Wonderful.”Thistime,heallowedhissmiletostretchacrosshisentireface.“Nowwiththatoutoftheway—shallwetourtheapartment?”THREE
TextmessagesbetweenMr.FrederickJ.FitzwilliamandMr.ReginaldR.Cleaves
Goodevening,Reginald.
HeyFreddiemyboywhat’sup
Severalthingsare“up.”
First,IwantedtoinformyouthatIhaveshredded,anddisposedof,thathideouswelcomematIfoundinfrontofmydooryesterday.
Iassumeyouaretheonewhoputitthere?
Awwwyoudidn’tlikeit?
OfcourseIdidn’tlikeityoubuffoon.
ButIspentsomuchtimepickingoutagiftIthoughtyou’dlove
Idoubtveryseriouslythatthatisthecase.
Butnevermind.
TheprimaryreasonIamtypingtoyounowonmyinfuriatinglytinycellulartelephonescreenistoinformyouthatsomeonerepliedtotheCraigslistadvertisementyouplacedforme.
Shewillbemovinginovertheweekend.
Heythatsgreat
Thereisonlyoneproblem.
MynewroommateisnotatallwhatIhadbeenexpecting.
Inwhatway
First,sheisawoman.WhichIknew,ofcourse,whensherepliedtomyadvertisementandIsawhername.
Ihavenothingagainstwomen,asyouknow.Ihavealsocometounderstandthroughmyreviewofthenewspapersandmagazinesyouhavebroughtmethatinthepresenteraitisnotunheardofforunmarriedmenandwomentolivetogether.
So:whileabitdisconcerting,Iamnotoverlyconcernedthatsheisawoman.
Myprimaryconcernisthatsheisawomanwhomaynotbeentirelynormal.
AndyouAREnormal?
Thatisafairpoint.
Ithoughtso
Isimplyworrythatthiswillnotworkifmynewroommateissomeonewhothinksitappropriatetoarrivetoanappointmentwithdisheveledhairandragged,paint-splatteredclothing.
Ithinkitllbefine
Also,shesmilesratheralot,whichIfindsomewhat
Idon’tknow
Distracting.
Distractinghuh?
Distractingasin…thewomanwemetthatonenightinParis,distracting?
Youcertainlyhavealotofnervebringingthatup.
Sorry
ForgetIsaidanything
AnywayIstillthinkitsfine.
Nooneelsehasrepliedtotheadright?
Thatiscorrect.
Becauseofyou.
Becauseoftherentthing?
Yes.Becauseoftherentthing.
Okayyeah
ImadeatypowhenIfilledouttheCraigslistform.
Sorryaboutthat.Thatsonme.
Iamnotsosureyouareactuallysorry.Eitherway,thiscannotbeputoffanylonger.Imusthavearoommate,andassoonaspossible.
Themoretimepasses,themoreIrealizehowcompletelyoutofmyelementIam
Ineedhelp.Badly.
Isupposeshewilldo.
Evenifsheisodd.
Wellthinkofitthisway.IfshesreallyTHATstrange,youwon’tbetemptedtoeithereatORfuckherright?
WhydoIstillspeaktoyou?
ImeanImadesureyouwerefed,right?
AndsetitupsoyourbillsandHOAdueswerepaidontime
Ialsogotuacellphone
YouowedmeATLEASTthatmuch,giventhecircumstances.
YouknowonsecondthoughtitwouldprobablybegoodforyouifyouDIDfuckyournewroommate
Godknowsitsbeenlongenough
IamblockingyournumberassoonasIworkouthowthatisdone.
Frederickwasn’ttheretogreetmewhenImovedin.Ofcourse,Ihadn’texpectedhimtobe.We’demailedafewtimesafterIsaidI’dtaketheroom,andhe’dexplainedhisnocturnalschedulewasaseven-days-a-weekthing.He’dbesleepinginhisbedroom—nottobedisturbed—whenIarrived.
Soitwasn’tasurprisewhenIrolledmysuitcasethroughthefrontdoorandfoundmyselfaloneinmynew,weirdlydark,weirdlydecoratedlivingroom.Itwasalsofreezinginthere,likeithadbeenwhenI’dfirstvisited.
Irubbedatmyarms,tryingtowarmthem.
Samwasoriginallysupposedtohelpmemovein,buthewasn’tthere,either.Isuspectedhislast-minuteneedtovisitanelderlygreat-auntI’dneverheardofbeforeoutinSkokiewashispassive-aggressivewayofsayinghethoughtmymovinginwasamistake.
Tomyextremeannoyance,he’ddoneacompleteone-eightyonthewholemovingintothetwo-hundred-dollarapartmentthingonceItoldhimFrederickwashot.
“Livingwithsomeoneyouthinkishotneverendswell,”he’dwarnedthenightbefore.“Youeitherendupsleepingwiththem—whichisahugemistake,ninetimesoutoften—orelseyoudriveyourselfnutsbecauseyouwanttosleepwiththem.”
SamandScotthadcomeoverthenightbeforetohelpmepack.Therewasn’tmuchtodo;I’dalreadydroppedmostbigthingsoffattheconsignmentshop.ButIwasfeelingalittlesadoversayinggoodbyetoyetanotherapartment,andIwasgladforthecompany.
EvenifSamhadmostlyusedtheopportunitytotalkmeoutofmovinginwithFrederick.
“Ifthey’rehot,youeithersleepwiththemoryouwanttosleepwiththem,huh?”Istaredathim.“Youspeakfromexperience?”
“No,”Samhadsaidquickly,lookingoverhisshouldertoseeifhishusbandwashearingthis.Iwasprettysurehewas—Scottkeptsmilingtohimselfandshakinghisheadashepretendedtocheckhisworkemailatthekitchentable—buthehadamuchbetterpokerfacethanSam.“I’mjusttellingyouwhatI’veheard.”
I’dscoffed.“Frederick’shotnesswillbeacompletenonissue.Wehavetotallyoppositeschedules.I’llbarelyseehim.”
“Whatifhisworkschedulechanges?”Samhadpressed.“Whatifhesuddenlydoesn’thavesomemysteriousjobthatkeepshimoutallnightlong?Whatifnextmonthhestartsworkingfromhome?”
“Sam—”
“Ijustdon’twantyougettinghurtagain,Cassie.”Hisvoicedroppedinpitchalittle,andhiseyesturnedsoft.Mycheekswenthot—knowinghe’dbeenthinkingofmylongstringofstupiddecisionswhenitcametoromance.“It’llbehardtoplotthrowinghimoffabuildingforbreakingyourheartandruiningyourcreditifhe’srightthere,sleepinginthenextroom.”
“Thatonlyhappenedonce,”Icountered.“Mostofmyotherbaddecisionsatleasthadthedecencytoleavemycreditratingalone.AndFrederickissoweirdIwillneverwanttosleepwithhim,evenifheisthehottesthumanbeingIhaveeverpersonallyseen.”
Samstilllookedskeptical.
“Listen—whenIsayhe’sweird,Imeanhe’sreallyweird.I’mprettysurehecollectsPreciousMomentsfigurinesorsomething.There’saclosethesaysisoff-limitsandhewon’ttellmewhat’sinit.”
Scott—whowasclearlylisteningbythatpoint—hadchuckled.“Yeah,thatisn’taredflagatall.”
“Isawnoobvioussignsofhimbeingaserialkilleronmyvisit,”Iinsisted.“Andlikeyousaidwhenyoutoldmetoemailhiminthefirstplace—I’moutofoptions.”
WhenSamandScottleftmyplacethatnight,I’dalmostbeengladtoseethemgo.ButnowIwishedSamwereherewithme.NowthatIwasmovingin,andwasessentiallyallaloneinanunfamiliarapartment,itfelt…strange.Frederickwantedhisapartmenttofeellikemyhome,buthowcouldit?Thecreepyvibethatthetoo-darkwallsandhodgepodgedecorgaveoffwasonlyenhancedbyhowfrigid,andpristine,andcompletelydevoidofanysortofpersonaleffectstheroomwas.
Myideaoffinallybeingabletoworkonmyartandwatchmygarbagetelevisioninmynewlivingroomseemedridiculousnow.HowcouldIbringeitherRuPaulorthetreasuresIfoundatChicagolandrecyclingcentersintothisspotlessroom?TheapartmentfeltsocavernousIcouldn’thelpbutwonderifthere’dbeanechoifIshouted.IopenedmymouthtogiveitatrybeforerememberingthatFrederickwaslikelyinhisbedroom,sleeping.Wakinghimupbyyellingfornogoodreasonprobablywouldn’tbeagoodwaytobeginournewroommaterelationship.
Irolledmysuitcasedownthehallwaytowardsthebedrooms,takingspecialcaretogiveawideberthtothehallclosetFredericksaidwasforbidden.AsIwalkedbyit,IthoughtIdetectedafaintfruitysmellcomingfromit,butthatmayhavejustbeenmyimagination.Eitherway,indulgingmycuriositybyseeingwhatwasinsidewouldalsonotbeagoodwaytobeginournewroommaterelationship,sincestayingoutofitwasoneofFrederick’sonlyrules.
Frederick’sbedroomdoorwasclosed,ofcourse,buttherewasanenvelopetapedtotheoutsideofmydoor,withMissCassieGreenbergwrittenonitinflowingcursive.
Itooktheenvelopeoffthedoorandsawithadbeenclosedwithablood-redwaxsealembossedwiththelettersFJF.I’dneverseenanactualwaxsealoutsideofamovie.Didtheyevenexistanymore?
Islidmyfingerbeneaththesealand,breakingit,carefullyopenedtheenvelope.Insideitwasasinglesheetofstiffwhitestationery,foldedintoperfectthirds,bearinganotherhighlystylizedFJFmonogramatthetopofthepage.
DearMissGreenberg,
Welcome.
IamsorryIamunavailabletogreetyouinperson.Ifyouhavearrivedattwointheafternoonasyouindicatedyouwouldinyourlastemailtome,Iaminmybedroom,sleeping.Iremindyoutopleaseallowmetorestundisturbed.
IhaveleftinstructionsforyouregardingvariousfeaturesoftheapartmentinplaceswhereItrustsaidinstructionswillbeofmostuse.IbelieveIhavethoughtofeverything,butifIhavemissedsomethingcrucial,pleaseletmeknowandIwilldomybesttoaddressyourconcerns.
Aswehavediscussed,Isuspectwewillinteractinfrequently.WhenIwishtoconveyinformationtoyouandyouarenothere,Iwillleaveanoteforyouonthekitchentable.Iaskyoutokindlycommunicatewithmeinthissameway.Istronglyprefermore“old-fashioned”methodsofcommunicationtoemailandtextmessaging.Iusethelatterasinfrequentlyaspossible.
IlookforwardtogreetingyouproperlyinafewhoursifyouarestillintheapartmentwhenIriseatsundown.
Yoursingoodhealth,
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam
Frederick’shandwritingwaseasilytheprettiestIhadeverseen,hiscursivegracefullyslantingacrossthepageliketheletteringinaformalweddinginvitation.ThelasttimeI’dgottenahandwrittenletterwasinthesixthgrade,whenmyclassdidapenpalexchangewithasixthgradeclassroominFrance.Somehow,itdidn’tsurprisemethatmynewroommatewrotelettersoftenenoughtojustifyhavingmonogrammedstationery.
Smilingalittle,Isteppedintomynewbedroom.
Therewasasecondenvelopelyingonthemattress,besideanintricatelycarvedwoodenbowlfullofolive-shapedbrightorangeobjects.Weretheyfruit?Theysmelledstronglyofcitrus,buttheywereunlikeanyfruitI’deverseenbefore.
Bewildered,Islowlyopenedthesecondenvelope—whichhadalsobeenclosedwithanold-fashionedseal—andpulledoutthecrisplyfolded,fancysheetofpaperinside.
DearMissGreenberg,
Iamtolditiscustomarytogivehousewarminggiftswhenapersonmovesintoanewhome.Idon’tknowifyouevenlikefruit,butIhadthesekumquatsonhandandthoughtIwouldgiftthemtoyou.
Ihopeyouenjoythem.
Withkindregards,
Frederick
Isetdowntheletter,amazed.
He’dgottenmeamove-ingift.
I’dhadoveradozenlivingarrangementssincehighschool.Beforenow,theclosestthingI’devergottentoamove-ingiftwasthecommunalpasswordtoaroommate’sex-boyfriend’sHuluaccount.
Iglancedatthebowlagain,pickinguponeofthetinyorangefruitsandsniffingit.Upclosethecitrussmellwasstrongandunmistakable.
Ihadneverseenfruitlikethisbeforeandhadnoideawhatakumquatevenwas.Ilovedcitrusfruit,though.Somehow,Ihadafeelingthesewereorganic,too.
IreachedformyphonetotellSamaboutthis.Hewasn’tgoingtobelievethatmyweirdnewroommategotmeabowlofexoticfruitasamove-ingift.Butthen,Ithoughtbetterofit.IfSamwasalreadyconcernedaboutmemovinginwithahotroommate,he’dbeevenmoreconcernedifheknewthatsaidhotroommateboughtmeagift—asrandomandfruityasitmightbe.
No.EventhoughIalwaystoldSameverything,Ineededtokeepthisdetailtomyself.
Curious,Ibitintothesmallfruitinmyhand.Sunlightburstonmytongue.
Delicious,Ithought,poppingtherestofitintomymouth.
ItwasafterfivebythetimeIgotallmystuffmovedoverfrommyoldapartment.EverythingIowned—myartsupplies,myclothes,thehalf-brokenrainbow-coloredguitarI’ddraggedwithmeoneverymovesincecollegeeventhoughIbarelyknewhowtoplay—fiteasilyinsidemynewbedroomcloset.
WhenIshuttheclosetdoor,youcouldn’teventellanyonehadjustmovedin.
Ileanedbackagainstthewallandsurveyedtheroom.Istillcouldn’tbelievethisspacewasmine.Itallfeltsurreal—thefour-posterbedthattookupathirdoftheroom;theantiquedresseranddeskset;themostlybarewalls.
IthoughtbacktoFredericksayingIcouldredecorate.NormallyIlikedtocovermywallswiththingsI’dmade.Butitwashardtopicturemostofmypiecesinthisroom.Especiallymymostrecentproject,whichIcalledTheEternalSunshineofLate-StageCapitalism,mademostlyoutofarusted-outcarburetorandrainbow-coloredconfetti.
Butthedecorintheroomsucked.Yes,thefurniturewasfancyandold,butitwasasmuchamishmashofstyleanderaasthelivingroomwas.Asingleframedoilpaintingofafox-huntingpartywasallthathungonthewalls.Itwashuge,hungonthewalldirectlyoppositeofmybed,andwasmaybetheugliestthingI’deverseen.Itfeaturedadozenlong-deadmenridinghorsesinafield,dressedinwigsandredcoats.Beaglesranalongsidethem.
I’dstudiedinLondonduringmyjunioryearofcollege,andIrememberedlearningthatthisstyleofpaintinghadbeenverypopularinEnglishinnsintheeighteenthcentury.Itarguablymatchedthedecorintheroomalotbetterthanmyownprojectswould.Butitwasalsohideous.Ididn’tthinkI’dbeabletosleepthereknowingwhatfateawaitedthosepoorhistoricalfoxes.
Afterafewmoments’considerationIdecidedtheseasidelandscapeprojectIdidtheprevioussummeraftermytripuptoSaugatuck,ontheeasterncoastofLakeMichigan,wouldlookgreatinthatspot.
Whilelandscapesweren’tmyusualthing,IthoughtIdidadecentjobwiththatseries.I’dbeeninararemoodforwatercolorsonthattrip,andIthoughtthewarm,sandytonesI’dusedwouldgowellwiththecolorschemeoftheroom.AswouldtheseashellsandpiecesofbeachtrashI’dgluedtothecanvasoncethepainthaddried.
IdecidedtowriteFrederickanotebeforegettinganyofmypiecesfromSam’sstorageunit,justtobeonthesafeside.
HiFrederick,
I’mallmovedin!TomorrowI’mgoingtohangupsomeofmyartinmybedroomifthat’sokaywithyou??Thewallsinmybedroomarekindofbare,andyousaidIcouldredecorateifIwantedto.IhavealotofpiecesI’mproudofthatI’dliketodisplayinthere,butthisISyourapartment,soIwantedtobesureitwasokaybeforeIbroughtstuffoverfromSam’s.Especiallybecausemyartisalotdifferentinstylefromthewaytherestoftheplaceisdecorated.
Also,thankyouforthefruit!I’dneverhadakumquatbefore.Theyweredelicious.
Cassie
MyhandwritingwasnowherenearasniceasFrederick’s,andIdidn’thaveanenvelopetoputmynotein.Buttherewasnothingtobedoneforit.Isetitdowninthecenterofthekitchentable,figuringthatifhestillwasn’tawakebythetimeIhadtoleaveformyshiftatGossamer’s,he’dseeitthere.
Iwasexhaustedfrommovingandregrettedagreeingtotakeashiftatthecoffeeshopthatnight.AllIwantedwastorelaxinmynewbedroomandlistentomusic.ButIneededthemoneyandwasn’treallyinapositiontosaynotoshifts,nomatterhowtiredIwas.
IstillhadanhourbeforeIneededtoleaveforwork.Plentyoftimetoeatsomething.I’dhadtheforesighttosavesomeofmynonperishablesforthemove,whichwasaverygoodthing.I’dbeensobusywithmovingI’dforgottenlunch—somethingIrarelydid.Thefruitwastasty,butitwasn’tameal.
AndnowIwasstarving.
Iwentintothekitchenandforthefirsttimenoticedjusthowcleanitwas.ThepictureFrederickhadsentmehadn’treallycapturedthat.Thewhitetilefloordidn’thaveaspeckofdirtonit.Neitherdidtheold-fashionedstoveorthepalepinkcountertops.
I’dassumedFrederickhadpeoplecleanforhim.Butthiswasmorethanclean.
Thiskitchenlookedlikeithadneverbeenused.
Wouldmydinnerbethefirstmealeverpreparedinthere?Impossible.Andyetsomehow,Icouldn’tshakethefeelingthatitwastrue.Ifso,itwasprettypatheticthatmyspaghettinoodleswithalittlesaltaddedforflavorwouldbetheonetobreaktheseal.
Ikneltdownandopenedoneofthekitchencupboardsatrandom,lookingforasaucepan.Itwascompletelyempty,saveforbareshelves,thelinerthathadbeenplacedonthem,andalayerofdust.
Frowning,Iopenedthecupboardnextinline.ThisonewaspackedwithabizarreassortmentoffoodI’dhavetobeonthevergeofstarvingtoeat—jarsofcocktailonionsandgefiltefish,boxesofHamburgerHelperandcansofasparagus—butnothingtocookitin.
“Huh,”Imuttered.WherewereFrederick’spotsandpans?Didhejustgettakeouteveryday?
“MissGreenberg.”
AtthesoundofFrederick’svoice,Ijumpedandsmackedthetopofmyheadontheundersideofanopendrawer.
“Fuck,”Imuttered,rubbingmyhead.Itwasalreadythrobbing.IwasprettysureI’dhaveanuglybumpthereinthemorning.
Istoodupand…therehewas.Mynewroommate,standingrightinfrontofme.Helookedlikehe’djuststeppedoutfromamagazinephotoshoot,hishairartfullytousledandfallingperfectlyoverhisforehead.HewasstandingmuchclosertomethanhehadwhenI’dtouredhisapartment,andheseemedtonoticethat,too,hiseyeswideningandnostrilsflaringalittleasthoughhewerebreathingmein.Hewasdressedevenmoreformallythanhe’dbeenthenightI’dmethim,addingaredsilkascotandblacktophattothecharcoal-graythree-piecesuitthatfitlikethegodshadmadeitspecificallyforhim.
Itwasanoddlook,tobesure.But—godhelpme—itworked.Mymouthwateredforreasonshavingnothingtodowithhunger.
IfhenoticedhowoverwhelmedIwasbyhisappearance,heshowednosignofit.Hesimplyfrowned,browfurrowedinconcern.Hesteppedalittlecloser.Hesmelledlikefabricsoftener,thecitrusfruithe’dputinmybedroom,andsomethingdeepandmysteriousIhadnonamefor.“Areyouquiteallright,MissGreenberg?”
Inodded,flusteredandembarrassed.“Yeah.”Irubbedatthespotwheremyheadhadmetthedrawer.Abumpwasalreadystartingtoform.“Whereareyourpotsandpans,though?”
“Potsandpans?”Hestaredatme,puzzled.Asthoughthewordswereinalanguagehedidn’tunderstand.Eventually,heshookhishead.“I’msorry,but…Idon’tfollow.”
Nowitwasmyturntobeconfused.Whataboutmyquestionwashardtounderstand?
“IwasgoingtocookmyselfsomespaghettibeforeIwenttowork,”Iexplained.“Ididn’tgetachancetoeatlunchtoday,andI’mstarving.TheyhavesandwichesandthingsatGossamer’s,butthefoodthereisprettygrossandsupermarkedup,andweonlygetafiftypercentemployeediscount.Which,ifyouaskme,isbasicallywagetheft.Ialreadyboughtthisspaghetti,so…”
Frederick’seyeswentverywide.Hesmackedhisforehead.
“Oh!”heexclaimed.“Youwanttocooksomething!”
Hesaidthewordsasifhe’djusthadaprofoundrealization.Istaredathim,tryingtomakesenseofhisbizarrereaction.“Yes.Iwanttomakemydinner.So—whereareyourpotsandpans?”
Herubbedatthebackofhisneck.
“They’re…um.”Hepaused,glancingatme,beforeturninghisattentionbacktothedistressinglywhitetilekitchenfloor.Andthen,hiseyeslitup,andhemetmygazeagain.“Oh!Iamhavingmypotsandpansrepaired.”
Wasthatevensomethingyoucoulddowithpotsandpans?“You’rehavingthemrepaired?Really?”
Maybehishadextrafeaturesthatrequiredregularmaintenance.InfairnessIdidn’tcookmuchmyselfandhardlykeptupwiththelatesttrendsincookware.
“Yes.”Frederickgrinnedatme,lookingextremelypleasedwithhimself.Goddamnitifhismegawattsmiledidn’tjustlightuphisentirelytoogood-lookingface.“Mypotsandpansareattheshop.Beingrepaired.”
“Allofthem?”
“Oh.Yes,”hesaid,noddingvigorously.“Allofthem.”
“So…”Itrailedoffandlookedaroundthekitcheninconfusion.“Whatareyoucookingwithuntiltheygetback?”
“I…don’tcookoften,”headmitted,quietly.
“Ah.”Icouldhavekickedmyselffordroppingoffmycrappypotsandpansattheconsignmentshop.EatingoutthreemealsadaymightbeanoptionforsomeonelikeFrederick,butitwasn’tanoptionforme.“IguessI’llrunbyTargetandpickupafewafterworktonight.”
“No,MissGreenberg,”Fredericksaid.“Itoldyoutheapartmentwouldbefullyfurnished.Igatherthatyourexpectationswerethatthekitchenwouldhaveeverythingyouneededtocookyourmeals.”
“Imean…yeah.Sortof.”
“ThenIwillpurchasecookingimplementswhenIamoutthisevening.”Hesmiledatme,alittlesheepishly.“Pleaseforgivetheoversight.Itwillnothappenagain.”
Iopenedmymouthtothankhim.ButbeforeIcouldgetoutthewords,Fredericksprangawayfrommeandboltedfromtheapartment,ostensiblytogetmesomethingtocookmymeals.FOUR
TextmessagesbetweenMr.FrederickJ.FitzwilliamandMr.ReginaldR.Cleaves
CanIbotheryouforafavor,Reginald?
Ithoughtyouweren’tspeakingtomeanymore
Soonyouwillberidofmeforever.
ButIneedhelponelasttime,andfairlyurgently.
Whatisit
Wheredoesonepurchasecookingequipmentinthetwenty-firstcentury?
Andcanyoutellmehowtogetthere?
OhSHIT
Weforgottogetpotsandpansdidn’twe
Ialsoneedtoborrowyourlittleplasticmoneycardthingonelasttime.
IsuspectedtheownersofGossamer’shadoriginallywantedtheplacetobeanartsyhipstercoffeeshop,withindiebandsperformingontheweekendsandlocalartonthewalls.ItwasinanoldbuildingChicagotourguideswouldhavecalledarchitecturallysignificant,withpretty,stained-glasswindowsfacingthestreetandFrankLloydWright–inspiredcleanlines.Thefurniturewasthrift-shopfunky,andallthecoffeedrinkshadnamesstartingwithWeAreandendingwithaninspiringadjective.
Noneofuswhoworkedthereunderstoodwhyacoffeeshopthatmostlyservedfinancebrosbotheredwithhipsternamingconventionsfortheirentirelygenericdrinkofferings.BecausedespitewhatIsuspectweretheowners’originalplans,Gossamer’sneighborhoodwasmuchmoresuit-and-tiethanhipster.Itslocation—rightbyaBrownLinestop—meantmostofourcustomerswerecommutersontheirwaytoorfromtheirjobsintheLoop,withtheoccasionalcollegestudentthrowninforvariety.
Ofcourse,I’dratherhaveworkedatanactualhipstercoffeeshop.Butajobwasajob.Andthisonedidn’tpayhalfbad.
Evenifthefoodsuckedandthedrinkshadsillynames.
ThedinneroptionswereextralimitedwhenIgotthereformyeveningshift.Usually,bysixo’clockmostofGossamer’spre-madefoodhadlongsincebeensold.Theonlysandwichesleftwereasad,soggypeanutbutterandjellyandahummusandredpepperonwheatbread.WhoeversuppliedGossamer’spre-madefoodreallyneededtolearnhowtomakefriendswithflavor.Andtexture.
Myshiftdidn’tstartforfifteenminutes,soIhadjustenoughtimetoscarfsomethingdown.Igrabbedthehummusandpeppersandwich—thelesstragicofthetwooptions—andmademywaytooneofthetablesneartheback.
Therewasonlyonecustomerthere—aguywholookedaboutthirty-five,withdirty-blondhairandablackfedoratiltedsofarforwarditcoveredhalfhisface.Hehadamugofsomethinghotandsteaminginfrontofhim.
IcouldfeelhiseyesonmeasIcrossedovertothetableinthecornerwhereIusuallyatebeforemyshifts.
Heclearedhisthroat.
“Hm,”hesaid,tonoone.“Letmesee.”Hewasopenlystaringnow,leaningslightlytowardsme,aweird,calculatingexpressiononhisface.Histone,hisexpression,evenhisposture—everythingabouthimsuggestedhewassizingmeup.Evaluatingme.Notinasexualorpredatoryway,exactly.MorelikehewasaninterviewertryingtodecidewhetherIwasrightforajob.
Itwasstillcreepyashell.
Iglancedatthefrontdoor,hopingmymanagerKatiewasonherway.
Afteranotherfewmomentstheguynoddedasifhe’dcometoadecision.“Idon’tknowwhathewassoworriedabout.Youshoulddofine.”
Thejobinterviewapparentlyover,heturnedhisfullattentionbacktohisphone.
Gossamer’ssometimesgotpervertsatnight.Justpartofworkingatacoffeeshop.Mytypicalapproachwasnottoengagewiththemandjustletmymanagerhandleitifthingsgottooweird.ButatthatmomentIwasexhaustedfrommymoveandtoounnervedbythisbizarreinteractiontowaitforKatie.
Againstmybetterjudgment,Iengaged.
“Whatdidyoujustsay?”
“Isaidyoushoulddofine,”herepliedwithoutlookingupfromhisphone,soundingannoyedattheinterruption.
“Whatdoyoumean,Ishoulddofine?”
“Justexactlythat.”Heglancedatme,smirking.Hepushedbackfromhischairandstoodup.Inoticed,forthefirsttime,thathewaswearingafloor-lengthnavy-bluetrenchcoatthatclashedhorriblywithhisblackfedora.UnderneathitwasabrightredT-shirtthatsaidOfcourseI’mright.I’mTodd!
Probablynotapervert,then.Justagardenvarietyweirdo.Wegotthosesometimes,too.
“I’llbegoingnow,”hesaid,importantlybutunnecessarily.“ImustmeetafriendinneedatCrate&Barrel.”
WhenIlookedupagainhewasgone.Theonlysignhe’devenbeentherewasthemugofstill-steamingWeAreLegionhe’dleftbehind.Themostexpensivecappuccinodrinkwemade.Itwascompletelyuntouched.
Ofcourseitwas.
God.Customerswhoorderedexpensivecoffeetheydidn’tevendrinkweresoannoyingandwasteful.Ibrought“Todd’s”mugtotheblueplastictubwherewebussedthedishes,scowlingandirritated.
Thereweren’tmanyofusscheduledtoworkthatnight.Loadingthedishwasherwouldprobablyendupbeingmyjob.ButIcoulddothatlater.Istillhadafewminutesbeforemyshiftstarted,andmyhummusandredpeppersandwichwasn’tgoingtoeatitself.
Thankfully,Katieshowedupafewminutesafter“Todd”left,andthenJocelyn—anotherbarista—showedupatseven-thirty.Withthethreeofusworkingitendedupbeingaslownight.Afewmorecustomerstrickledin,mostlystudentslookingforarelativelyquietspottostudyandsocializeoverhomeworkandlattes.Thankfully,therewerenomoreleeringoddballsintrenchcoatsandfedoras.
ShortlyafterJocelynshowedup,Iwaswipingdownatablethathadjustbeenvacatedwhenmyphonebuzzedinmypocketwithanewtext.
Ipulleditoutandglanceddownatthescreen.
HelloCassie.ThisisFrederick.
Ihaveaquestionforyou.
IlookedovermyshouldertowhereKatiewaswaitingonacustomerandJocelynwasmakingadrinkbehindthecounter.TheyseemedtohavethingswellenoughinhandthatIcouldreplytohimnow.
Sure!I’matworkbutIhaveaminute.
What’sup?
Doyoueatsauce?
Istaredatmyphone.Sauce?
Yes.Doyouenjoyeatingit?
Why
Iampresentlyatastorethatsellscookingimplements.Anentiresectionofthestoreisdedicatedto“saucepans.”
OthercustomersseemquiteenamoredwiththembutbeforeIpurchaseonefortheapartmentIwantedtoconfirmthatsauceissomethingyoueat.
AbarkofunexpectedlaughterescapedmebeforeIcouldstopit.
WhowouldhavethoughtFrederickhadsuchadrysenseofhumor?
you’rehilarious
Iam?
Yes,Ijustlol’dinpublic??
Idonotknowwhat“lol’d”means.
OMG,I’mgoingtogetintroublehereatworkifIkeeplaughing.
Oh.Iapologize.
Ididn’tintendtogetyouintroublewithyouremployer.
It’sfine.
Mymanageriscool.
ThoughIshouldprobablygettowork.
Ofcourse.Iwillseeyouathomeeventually.
Withsaucepans.
BythispointIwassmilingsobroadlymycheekshurt.
Maybethisnewlivingsituationwouldworkoutafterall.
BythetimeIgotbacktoFrederick’sbrownstoneitwasnearlymidnight.
Iwasexhausted.Iusuallywasafterashiftspentmakingdrinksandcleaningtables,butitwasmadeworsebyhavingspentthefirstpartofthedayluggingheavyboxesaroundandmovingintoFrederick’sapartment.IfeltallbutdeadonmyfeetasItrudgedupthestairstothethirdfloor.
AsIunlockedthefrontdoortotheapartmentandletmyselfin,Idecidedthatfirst,IwouldtakeashowertowashoffthegrimefromalltherunningaroundIdidthatday.ThenIwouldcollapseintobed.Ididn’thaveanywheretobeinthemorning—Gossamer’sdidn’tneedmetocomein,andneitherdidthelibrary—sothenextdayIwouldsleepinaslongasIcould.
Iwasallsettoembarkonthefirstpartofmyplanwhentheenormousnumberofboxesstackedinneatpilesonthekitchencounterscaughtmyeye.Thosehadn’tbeentherewhenI’dleftforworkthatevening.
Curious,Imademywayintothekitchen—andstoppedshortwhenIrealizedwhatalltheseboxeswere.
Frederickhadmadegoodonhispromisetofindmecookware.
Andnotjustanycookware.
He’dgottenfiveLeCreusetsaucepans,sixLeCreusetfryingpansofvaryingsizes,twoofthelargestwoksIhadeverseen,awafflemaker,aCrockpot,andatoasteroven.WhenIturned,thunderstruck,toseetheboxesstackedonthekitchentable,Irealizedhe’dalsopurchasedtenplacesettings’worthofsilverwarefromCrate&Barrel.
Stunned,Ipickedupthenotewithmynameonitthatlaybesidetheplacesettings.AswithFrederick’spreviousnotestome,he’dwrittenmynameontheoutsideoftheenvelopeincursivesofancyitwasnearlycalligraphy.
DearMissGreenberg,
Pleaseletmeknowifthesecookingimplementswillsuffice.Youneveransweredmyquestionsvis-à-visyourfeelingsonsauce,soifthesaucepansarenotofuseIcanreturnthemtotheestablishmentwhereIpurchasedthem.
Regardingyourquestionsconcerningredecoratingyourbedroom,asItoldyouwhenyoumovedinyouarewelcometoredecorateyourbedroomhoweveryoulike.Iaskonlythatyounotdestroyanythingcurrentlyintheroom.Manyitemsinmyhomeareheirloomsthathavebeeninmyfamilyforagreatmanyyears.Mymotherinparticularwouldbecomecrossshouldharmcometothem.
WhenyousaidyouwereanartteacherIadmitithadnotoccurredtomethatyoualsocreatedartofyourown.Inhindsight,thatwasfoolishofme.Doletmeknowwhenyouhaveredecorated.Iwouldverymuchliketoseesomeofyourwork.
Yoursingoodhealth,
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam
Isetdownthenote,smilingdespitemyexhaustion.
Pleaseletmeknowifthesecookingimplementswillsuffice.Hehadtobejoking,right?ThesewerethenicestpotsandpansI’deverseenoutsideofthehigh-endstoresontheMagnificentMile.
AsfortherestofFrederick’snote,Icouldn’thelpbutwonderwhathe’dthinkwhenhesawtheancientfoxhuntpaintingcurrentlyhanginginmybedroomreplacedwithacanvasfullofLakeMichigan’sfinestbeachtrash.BasedonhisotherdecorativechoicesIdoubtedhe’dlikemyworkatall.
Butthefactthathewasatleastcuriousaboutmyartmademefeelwarminside,forreasonsIwastootiredtoanalyze.
Infact,IwassotiredIfeltaboutreadytocollapse.ButbeforeIshoweredandwenttobedIwantedtowriteareply.
Frederick,
ThepotsandpansyougotareAMAZING.Youtotallydidn’tneedtogetanythingthisfancyjustforme.Especiallysincemycookingrepertoireisfairlylimited.Thenexttimewe’rebothintheapartmentI’dbehappytocookyousomethingtothankyou(aslongasit’sscrambledeggs,pasta,orbeans).
Cassie
Imademywayintothebathroomandstrippeddown.Frederick’sbathroomwasmassive—atleasttwicethesizeofthebedroominmyoldapartment.Iwasn’tsureI’devergetusedtoit.Thefloorwaswhitetiledmarble,whichwasachinglycoldbeneathmyfeet.IsupposedIshouldn’thavebeensurprisedbythat,givenhowcoldFrederickkepttherestoftheapartment.I’dhavetotalktohimaboutthatatsomepoint;wearingsweaterswheneverIwashomewasn’tsomethingIreallywantedtodo.
Iopenedthedoortotheglass-walledshowerandhurriedinside,turningupthewatertemperatureashighasitwouldgoandlettingthehotsteamwarmme.
Yearsofhighstudentloanpaymentsandminimumwagejobstaughtmetofearutilitybillsandtokeepmyshowersefficientandquick.ButFrederickpaidtheutilitieshere.Justforonce,Idecidedtotreatmysoreandachingmusclesandlingerforawhile.
Isighed,luxuriatinginthefeelofthesteadysprayandperfectwaterpressurehotagainstmyback.Iletmymindwanderasthewatersluicedoverme,thinkingthroughhowImightspendthenextday.Withallthechaosofmyevictionnoticeandmoving,Ihadn’tbeentothestudiowhereIdidmostofmyworkinweeks.AftersleepinginaslongasIcould,maybeIwouldheadouttoPilsenandpokearoundonsomethingnewtherestoftheday.
Afterawhile—tenminutes?anhour?—Iglanceddownatmyfingers.Theywerewrinkledasprunesfromthewater.HowlonghadIbeeninthere?
Ireluctantlyturnedoffthehotwaterandopenedtheshowerdoor.TheairfeltevencolderthanithadearlierafterthehotshowerI’djusttaken,causingariotofgoosefleshtoeruptonthebacksofmyarms.Igrabbedmytoweloffthebackofthedoorwhereithungfromasilverchromehookandwrappedittightlyaroundmybody,tuckingitundermyarms.
Myshowerhadsteamedupthemirror.IquicklyrubbedthebackofmyhandoveritsoIcouldseemyreflection.
IfrownedatwhatIsaw.
Myhairwasgrowingbackfromtheimpulsivescissorsincidentfromafewweeksago,butitwasstillshorterthanIusuallykeptit.Andweirdlyuneven.Onceitdried,itwasgoingtostickupinthebacknomatterhowmuchproductIputinit.
OnceIgotmyfeetundermealittlemore,thefirstthingIwasgoingtodowasmakeanhonest-to-godvisittoanactualsalontofixwhatI’ddonetomyself.Inthemeantime,IshouldprobablydowhatIcouldtomakemyselflookpresentable.
Ithoughtofthefabricshearsinmybedroom.Theywereprobablytoodulltodoagoodjobonmyhair.Butthey’dbebetterthannothing.
Tuckingmytowelalittlemoretightlyaroundmybody,Iopenedthebathroomdoorandpreparedtomakeabeelinestraightformybedroom—
—andbarreleddirectlyintoFrederick,myfacesmashingrightintohischest.
Hisbarechest.
Imusthavebeenoverheatedfromtheshower,orfromembarrassment—orboth—becausehisfleshfeltalmostunnaturallycool.Hestoodthereasunmovingasastatue,apairofsmallwhitelinenshortsslungdistractinglylowonhiships,asIyelpedandsprangawayfromhim.Hisrighthandwasraisedinafist,asthoughhe’djustbeenabouttoknockonthebathroomdoorwhenwecollided.
Hiseyeswerewideassaucers,hisfaceaspaleasmoonlight.
Webabbledoutourapologiesatthesametime.
“MissGreenberg!Oh,Ibegyourpardon,I—”
“Shit!I’msosorry!Ididn’t—!”
Inhindsight,itshouldhaveoccurredtomethatlivingwithanotherpersonmeantwalkingaroundinnothingbutatowelwasn’tsomethingIcoulddoanymore.Buthe’dmadesuchabigdealaboutusuallybeingoutallnight.HowwasIsupposedtoknowthatattheexactmomentI’ddecidedtoleavethebathroomhe’dbestandingrightoutsidethebathroomdoor,shirtless?
AsIstoodonlyafewinchesawayfromhiminnothingbutatowel,mywethairdrippedsteadilyontomybareshoulders.Hischestwasatalevelwithmyeyes,and…
Itriednottogape.Ireallydid.Gapingatmynew,barelydressedroommatewhenIwasmostlynakedmyselfwasnotonlygrossbutalsowildlyinappropriate.ButIcouldn’thelpmyself.Thismanhadbeenhidinganactual,honest-to-godsix-packbeneathhisperfect-fittingclothes.Hisbroadchesttapereddowntoanarrowwaist,thewayheworehisshortsmakinghimlooklikehewasagoddamnunderwearmodelinsteadofadoctororCEOorwhateverthehellhewas.
Frederickwasn’tjustattractive,Irealized.
HewasaGreekgod
Thesecondstickedbyaswestoodthere—meoglinghim,himstaringwide-eyedataspotofnothingjustbeyondmyleftshoulder.Itriedtothinkaboutanythingbuthowclosewewerestanding,howlittlewewerewearing,andthewaymyheartbeatwassuddenlyracing.Andthen,becauseI’dneverhadmuchofaself-preservationinstinct,Ihadasudden,nearlyirresistibleurgetotracethesolidlinesofhischestwithmyfingertips.Toseeifthoseabsofhiswereasrockhardastheylooked.
WhatwouldhedoifIdid?
Wouldhekickmeoutandfindaroommatewhoactuallyknewhowtobehaveappropriatelyinawkwardsituations?Onewhocouldalsomaybepayhimrentclosertomarketrate?Orwouldhepullmytowelawayandtossittothesidebeforehetookmybodyinthosegianthandsofhis,and—
IclenchedmyhandsintotightfistsandforcedthemdownbymysidesbeforeIhadachancetodoanythingstupid.Thepricklingheatofafuriousblushroseupthroughmybody,warmingmycheeksandmakingmyhandssweat.
Frederickwasn’tblushing,thoughhestilllookedatleastasembarrassedasIfelt.Tohiscredit,hekepthiseyesfixedfirmlyonthewallbehindme.Hehonestlylookedlikehemightdieifhelethisgazeshifttowardsmebysomuchasaninch.
Clearly,hewasn’tevenhalfthepervIwas.
Hewasagentleman.
Atotallymisplacedrushofdisappointmentwentthroughmeattherealization.
Iclearedmythroattotryandkeepmythoughtsonthematterathand.“Ididn’tthinkyou’dbe…Imean,yousaidyou’reusuallyoutatnight,and…”
“Iapologize,MissGreenberg.”Hisvoicesoundedstrained.Hestillwouldn’tlookatme.“TheshowerwasrunningforsolongIassumedyouhadlefttheapartmentwithoutturningitoff.SoIcame.”Hepaused,eyesgoingevenwiderwhenherealizedwhathe’djustsaid.“Tothebathroom,thatis.Toturnitoff.Thewater,Imean.”
Hedippedhisheadtowardsmeinanawkwardbow.Atthispointmyfacemusthavebeensoreditcouldbeseenfromspace.“Pleaseforgiveme,MissGreenberg.Itwillneverhappenagain.”
Andthenhesteppedaroundme,makingsurenottobrushupagainstanypartofmybodyashepassed.
Iheardtheclickofthebathroomdoorbehindme,andthenwhatsoundedalotlikethecontentsofthemedicinecabinetcrashingtothetiledbathroomfloor.
“Areyouokay?”Icalledout,alarmed.Hadhebeensomortifiedbywhatjusthappenedhefelldown?
“Yes!Perfectlyfine!”Fredericksaid,soundingstrangled,beforelettingoutwhatsoundedlikeastringoflow,mutteredcurses.
IwassoembarrassedIhardlyrememberedwalkingintomybedroom.ButthesecondIwasinsidemybedroomIslammedthedoorshutandthenflungmyselfface-downontomybed,allthoughtsofsleepforgotten.Myheartwashammeringsoharditfeltlikemyribsmightbreak.Itriedtotellmyselfthatitwassimplybecausewhatjusthappenedwasoneofthemostawkwardmomentsofmylife.ButdeepdownIknewthatwasonlypartofit.
Ididn’twanttothinkabouthowincredibleFredericklookedwithoutashirt.Nothinggoodcouldcomefromthatlineofthinking.Witheverythingelsegoingoninmylife,havingluridfantasiesaboutahandsomemanwhowasmilesoutofmyleagueandmyroommatetobootwasthelastthingIneededtobedoingwithmytime.
Withdifficulty,IforcedmyselftothinkaboutmyplanstogetmycanvasesoutofSam’sstorageunitthenextday.
Myhairwasstilladisaster.Thatneededmyattention,too.
Igrabbedthefabricshearsfromthetopofmydesk.TheywereevendullerthanIremembered.ButifImessedupmyhairevenmore,atleastitwouldstopmefromthinkingaboutwhatjusthappenedwithmyroommate.
Istartedcutting,and…well,theendresultwasmarginallybetter.Ifyousquinted.Atleasttheendswereeven.
Iturnedoffthelightsandclimbedintobed,cringingathowreliablygoodIwasatmessingupmylife,evenwhennothingelsewentaccordingtoplan.FIVE
DiaryentryofMr.FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam,datedOctober20
DearDiary,
Oh,gods.
Isitpossibleforapersonlikemetodiefromshame?
Isitatmydeskat2inthemorning,desperatelytryingtoremindmyselfthatMissGreenbergisalady.AladywhosebeautyfarsurpasseswhatInoticedwhenwefirstmet.Aladywithlovelycurves,delightfulfrecklesdustingthebridgeofhernose,andamouththatwillnowhauntmydreams—butaladynonetheless.
ItwouldappearImustalsoremindacertaintraitorouspartofmyanatomy—onethathasnotrespondedthuslytoawomaninoveronehundredyears—ofthisfactaswell.
MythoughtsgodownadangerouspathandIdonotknowhowtoproceed.BeforeseeingMissGreenbergnearlyunclothedthiseveningIwantednothingmorefromherthantheopportunitytolearnaboutthemodernworldbyobservingherfromarespectabledistance.Adayago,theideathatImightwantanythingelsefromherhadnevercrossedmymind.
Butnow…
God’sthumbs,butIamtheworst,filthiestsortofreprobate.
IdonotknowifMissGreenberghaslivingparents.Imustfindoutifshedoes—andifso,Imustapologizetothemforputtingtheirdaughterintosuchacompromisingposition.ImustapologizetoMissGreenbergaswell,ofcourse.Preferablywithagiftthatadequatelyexpressesmycontrition.IwillconsultReginaldtoseeifhehasideasonwhatmightbesuitable.(Hehas,afterall,longsincebeeninthehabitofneedingtoapologizetowomen.)
Inthemeantime,Ishallgodowntothelakeandrunoutmyfrustrations.It’sbeenentirelytoolongsinceIhavegoneforanighttimerun.Hopefully,therushofcoolnightairwillclearmyhead.Ifthatdoesn’tdoit,hopefullyoneofthelibrarybooksReginaldhasleantmewilldothetrick.
Inentirelyunrelatednews,tonightIlearnedthereexistsatrulystaggeringarrayofcookwareoptions.Thetwenty-firstcenturymaybewhatfinallykillsmeafteralltheseyears—iflivingwithMissGreenbergdoesn’tdoitfirst.
FJF
Isleptlaterthanusualthenextmorning,doingeverythingIcouldtodelayleavingmybedroomandriskhavingtoseeFrederickagainsosoonafterwhathappenedthenightbefore.
Fortunately,therewasnosignofhimonceIdidfinallypokemyheadoutofmyroom,mygiantartbagslungoveroneshoulder.Ofcourse,heshouldn’thavebeenoutsidehisroomrightthengiventhatitwaseleveninthemorning.ButIbreathedasighofreliefallthesame.
Theinevitablecouldbeputoffalittlelonger.
Frederick’sbedroomdoorwasclosed.Butitwasalwaysclosed—evenwhenI’dbumpedintohimthenightbefore—sothatdidn’ttellmeifhewasasleepinthereornot.Ikeptmytreadaslightaspossible,justincase,asImademywaytothefrontdoor.
Movingquietlywasawkwardandstressful;mygaitwasn’texactlywhatonewouldcallgraceful,evenwhenIwasn’tcarryinganartbagthatweighedaton.Fortunately,Frederick’sbedroomdoorstayedshut.
Ifhewasinthere,andhadheardme,hewastryingtoavoidmeasmuchasIwashopingtoavoidhim.
Whichwasfine.Completelyfine.Preferable,infact,tothealternative.
Ididn’tthinkIhadeverbeenhappierinmylifetowalkintomyartstudiowhenIgotthereanhourlater.
Callingitmyartstudiowasn’taccurate,ofcourse.ThespacewascalledLivingLifeinColorandwasownedbyJoanneFerrero,anelderlyeccentricwhodecadesagohadbeenareasonablybigdealontheChicagoartscene.ItwaslocatedonthefirstfloorofasmallbuildinginPilsenandwassharedbyabouttwodozenlocalpainters,metalworkers,andpotterswhoapproachedtheircraftwithvaryingdegreesofseriousness.Someofthem,likeme,hopedtomakeacareeroutofartonedayandspentasmuchtimethereastheirscheduleswouldallow.Others—likeScott,whowassketchingsomethingatthelargecommunaltablethattookupthebulkofthestudiospacewhenIarrived—hadregulardayjobsandsimplyrentedspacetheretoindulgeacreativehobbyandblowoffsomeoccasionalsteam.
“Hey,Scott,”Isaid,happytoseehim.Becauseitwasmid-morningonaWednesdaytherewashardlyanyoneinthestudio,andtherewasplentyofspaceatthetable.Thatsuitedmejustfine;IlikedbeingabletospreadoutallmysupplieswhenIworked.
Ipulledupachairtothetableandstartedrummagingaroundinmybagformypencils.
“Hey.”Hestoppedwhathewasworkingon—acharcoalsketchofabouquetofroses,Sam’sfavoriteflower—andturnedtofaceme.“I’mgladyou’rehere.SamandIweregoingtoreachouttoyouaboutanopportunitywejustfoundoutabout.”
“Oh?”IwalkedovertotheshelfmarkedC.GreenbergwhereIstoredalotofmyin-progresscanvases.Withmyevictionnoticeandthenmymove,Ihadn’tbeentothestudioinalmosttwoweeks.Fortunately,mycurrentworkinprogress—awatercolorfieldofsunflowersdoneinbrightyellowsandgreens,overwhichIplannedtosuperimposeasmanyfast-foodwrappersasIcouldgettofitonthecanvas—seemednonetheworseforwearformyabsence.
“Yeah,”Scottsaid.“YouknowourfriendwhosefamilyownsthatartgalleryinRiverNorth?”
Ibitmylip,drawingablank.Whowashetalkingabout?HeandSamhadlotsoffriends,butmostofthemwereeitherScott’scolleaguesfromhisuniversity’sEnglishdepartmentorotherlawyerslikeSam.I’dremembersomeonewithanartgallery,wouldn’tI?
Isatbackdownatthetable,andthenithitme.
“YoumeanDavid?Yourweddingcoordinator?”
I’dalmostforgottenthataftertheirbachelorparty,ScottandSamhadstruckupanunlikelyfriendshipwiththeguythey’dcontractedtoplantheirwedding.IvaguelyrememberedDavidtellingushecamefromseriousfamilymoney,andthatamongtheotherthingstheyownedwasawildlyunprofitableartgalleryneartheLoop.
Iwasprettysurethisconversationhadhappenedwhileeveryoneinvolved—includingmyself—wasintheprocessofgettingextremelydrunkoncelebratorychampagne.WhichisprobablywhyI’dforgottenallaboutituntilthatmoment.
“That’sDavid,”Scottagreed.
“Yes,okay,thisisringingavaguebell.Whatabouthim?”WasImisrememberingthatthisartgallerywasmostlyjustataxwrite-offforDavid’srichfamily?CouldithavetakenoffenoughinthesixmonthssinceI’dlastseenDavidforittobeabletohiresomeone?Thatseemedhardtobelieve.
ButwhyelsewouldScottbebringingthisup?
“Atdinnerlastnight,Davidtoldusthathisfamily’sgalleryisplanningajuriedartshowwithanother,biggergalleryinRiverNorth.”Hepaused,fightingasmile.“Withagallerythat’sactuallysuccessful,Ishouldsay.”
Myeyeswentwide.Ihadn’thadapieceacceptedintoajuriedshowinyears.Chicagoonlyhadsomanyjuriedshowsperyear,andIwasn’tbringinginenoughmoneywithmyarttosubmitmypiecesmorewidely.IfIcouldgetapieceintothisshow,andpossiblyevenwinaprize,itcouldbejusttheshotinthearmmynon-careerneeded.
“Doyouknowanythingaboutwhatmediumsthey’relookingfor?”ThelasttimeI’dspokenwithDavidwe’ddiscussedwhetherEyeoftheTigerwasatastefulchoiceforSamandScott’sfirstdance.Wehadn’tchattedabouthistasteinart.Scottpushedthesketchhewasworkingontothesideandpulledhistabletfromhisbag.
“Let’slookitup.”
IwatchedashetypedRiverNorthartexhibitionintothesearchbar,remindingmyselftherewasnopointingettingexcited,orthinkingthatmaybemyluckwasfinallystartingtoimprove,untilIsawwhatthisshowwasabout.Despitemybesteffortsatstayingcalm,though,mypalmswerealreadysweatingbythetimeScottfoundwhathewaslookingforandturnedhistabletaroundsoIcouldseeit.
“Oh,”Isaid,pleasantlysurprisedwhenIsawthethemelistedatthetopofthecallforsubmissions.“They’reaskingforpiecesinspiredbycontemporarysociety.”
“That’sgreat,”Scottsaid.“Itdoesn’tgetmorecontemporarythanwhatyoudo.”
Ihummedinagreement,scrollingdownthepage.ItonlygotbetterthemoreIread.
“Itlookslikeallmediumsarewelcome,”Isaid,mysmilegrowing.“Includingmultimediaworks.”Mypieces,whichcombinedtraditionaloilandwatercolorpaintingswithfoundobjects,weretheverydefinitionofmultimedia.
Scotttappedthebottomofthescreen,wheretheprizeswerelisted.“Didyounoticethatthegrandprizeisacashawardofonethousanddollars?”
Mythroatwentdry.Therewouldalsobeafewsmallerawardsgivenoutforexcellenceindifferentcategories,andI’dbedelightedtowinanyofthembecausethemostimportantthingaboutwinningaprizeatajuriedartshowistherecognitionthatcomeswithit,but…
Well,athousanddollarswouldreallycomeinhandy.
“Thefineprintheresaysonlytwentyapplicantswillbeselected,”Isaid,feelingthefamiliarbeginningsofdoubtcreepingin.Thishadthemakingsofanincrediblycompetitiveselectionprocess.Gettingintoitinthefirstplacewouldprobablybeatallorder.
“Youneverknowifyoudon’ttry,”Scottsaid,notunkindly.“Youshouldgoforit,Cassie.”
IhandedScottbackhistabletandtookadeepbreath.“Ishould,”Iagreed.Maybenothingwouldcomeofit,justlikenothinghadcomefrommostofmyattemptstogetrecognitionformyartthesepastfewyears.
Thenagain,maybemyluckwasfinallystartingtoturnaround.
Frederickwasn’thomewhenIgotbackfromthestudiothatevening.
Ididn’tseehimthenextday—orevening—either.
Runningintohimagainatsomepointwasinevitable,ofcourse.Welivedtogether.Buthopefullythelongerweputthatoff,thelessawkwardtheinevitablewouldbe.Inthemeantime,ourconversations,suchastheywere,werelimitedtonotesweleftforeachotheronthekitchentable.Theymostlyconcernedthelogisticsofourlivingarrangementand,honestly?Itwaseasierthatway.Frederickmadenoreferenceinanyofhisnotestohavingseenmealmostnakedtheothernight.NeitherdidI.Itwaslikewe’dreachedsomeunspokenagreementtopretendnothingawkward,orhot,orawkwardlyhothadeverhappenedbetweenus.
Itwasprobablyforthebest.Samwouldthinkso,anyway.
EvenifmymindkeptreplayingthatmomentwhenFrederickandIbumpedintoeachotheraftermyshowerwhenIshouldhavebeenfocusingonotherthings.
DearMissGreenberg,
Idonotwishtobeanag,butpleasedoremembertocollectyourdiscardedsocksfromthelivingroomfloorbeforeretiringtobed.IjustslippedonasockIknowisn’tmineonmywaytothedoorandverynearlyinjuredmyself.
(Also,Imustask—arefuzzybluekneesockswithgreenpuppetsonthemthecurrentstyle?)
Withkindregards,
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam
Frederick,
Ack!Sosorryaboutthesocks!I’lldobetter,Ipromise.
Andno,HA,fuzzyKermittheFrogsocksarenot“thecurrentstyle.”OBVIOUSLY,hahahaha.You’rehilarious.ThosewereajokefrommyfriendSam.
Also,beforeIforgetcouldyoupleaseremembertogivemeyourWiFinetworknameandpassword?Sorrytokeepharpingonthis,butI’vebeenusingmyphoneasahotspotsincemovingin,anditeatsthroughmydata.
Cassie
DearMissGreenberg,
Ihadnotintendedtobefunnyinmynotetoyou,thoughIampleasedtohavemadeyoulaughregardless.
Onanunrelatednote,thewomanwholivesonthesecondfloorjustinformedmeThursdayis“trashday.”Iwasunawareofthis,asIamnotintheregularhabitofthrowingthingsaway.
Nowthattherearetwoofusherewemightwanttoparticipateinthisweeklyritual.Iassumeyouthrowthingsaway?Ifso,wouldyoubesokindastoprocurearubbishbin?Idonotownone,nordoIknowwhatonecostsorhowonewouldgoaboutobtainingone.Iwilldeductwhateveryouspendinpurchasingonefromyourmonthlyrent.
Withkindregards,
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam
ps:RegardingyourquestionsconcerningWiFiandnetworknamesandpasswordsIdonotbelieveIhaveanyofthosethings,butIwillconferwithReginaldandletyouknow.
Istaredatthatnoteforawhilebeforereplyingtoit.
Howcouldagrownadultnothaveatrashcan?Andnotknowwheretogetone?
Andhedidn’tknowifhehadWi-Fi?Thathadtobeanotherofhispeculiarlydryjokes.I’dfollowupwithhimaboutthatthenexttimeIsawhim.
Frederick—Idon’tthrowmuchawayeither.Idon’tlikegettingridofanythingthatmighthaveauselater,especiallysinceupcyclingisabigpartofmyart.ButonprincipleIfeelliketwogrown-upsshouldownatleastonesingletrashcanbetweenthem.Right?I’llgetoneatTargetafterwork.
Cassie
ps:WhydoyoukeepcallingmeMissGreenberg?There’snoneedforustobesoformalwitheachother,isthere?JustcallmeCassie.??
BeforeIcouldtalkmyselfoutofit,Iaddedaquicksmilingsketchofmyself,holdingagarbagecaninmyarms,beforeleavingthenoteonthekitchentable.Ihadn’tdrawnlittlecartoonfiguresinawhile,andItoldmyselfitwasgoodpracticetodrownoutthevoiceinmyheadyellingatmeforflirtingwithhim.
Frederick’sreplywaswaitingformeonthetablewhenIgothomefromworkwithourbrand-newkitchentrashcan.
DearMissGreenbergCassie,
Thepictureyoudrewformeonyourlatestnoteislovely.Isthatmeanttobeyou?Youclearlyhaveagreatdealoftalent.
Thankyouforhandlingtherubbishbinsituation.
Peryourrequest,goingforwardIwilldomybesttorefertoyoubyyourfirstnameratherthan“MissGreenberg.”However,callingyou“Cassie”goesagainstbothmyupbringingandmyinstincts.Assuch,pleasebepatientwithmeifIoccasionallyforgetandreverttomoreformalmannersofaddress.
FJF
Iquicklytampeddownthestrangerushofpleasurethatshotthroughmeathiscomplimentonmyart,remindingmyselfthatI’dspentlessthantenminutesonthatdoodleandhewasclearlyonlytryingtobenice.Ichoseinsteadtofocusonhowweirdhewasbeingaboutcallingmebymyfirstname.
Frederick,
ItgoesagainstyourupbringingandyourinstinctstocallmeCassieinsteadof“MissGreenberg”?Really?Whoraisedyou,JaneAusten?
Cassie
AttheendofthatnoteIdrewahastycaricatureofsomeoneinold-fashionedgarb,justtobeajackass.
Hisreplywaswaitingformeonthekitchentablethefollowingmorning.
DearCassie,
Not…exactlyJaneAusten,no.
Also,isthatmeanttobeapictureofme?
FJF
Frederick,
NotexactlyJaneAusten,eh?Intriguing.Wellineithercase,thankyoufortryingtocallmebymyfirstname.
Andyes,that’ssupposedtobeapictureofyou.Don’tyouseetheresemblance??Tall,stick-figurearmsandlegs,surlyexpression,clothesstraightfromthesetofDowntonAbbey?
Cassie
DearMissGreenbergCassie,
Oh,yes.IsupposeIdoseeSOMEresemblance.ThoughIdothinkmyactualhairlooksmuchbetterthanitdoesonthebaldlittlemanyou’vedrawnhere.Don’tyou?
(WhatisDowntonAbbey?)
FJF
Frederick,
DowntonAbbeyisanEnglishTVshow.Ithinkit’ssetaboutahundredyearsago?Somethinglikethat.Anyway,it’snotreallymything,butmymomandallherfriendsloveit.Also,youdressjustlikeCousinMatthew,oneofthecharacters.
Oh,andbytheway—yougotafewpackagesthismorning.Istackedthemonthetableforyou—rightbesideyourRegencyromancenovels.(You’vebeengettingalotofpackageslately,actually.Iknowthey’renotaddressedtome,soI’mnotexaminingthemtooclosely,butIhavetoadmit—IamINTRIGUED.They’resoweird???)
(Also,Regencyromancenovels,huh?Ihaven’treadmanyofthemmyself,myguiltypleasurestrendmoretowardstrashtelevision,but—Idefinitelyapprove.)
Cassie
DearCassie,
CousinMatthew,yousay?Interesting.(Ishebald,too?)
Thankyouforhandlingthepackagesforme.Youarecorrect;theyarestrange.Hopefullytherewillnotbeanymoreofthem.
Iamgladyouapproveofmyreadingselections.Idonotcaremuchforthefocusonromance,butIfindreadingstoriessetintheearlynineteenthcenturycomforting.Iguessyoucouldsaytheyremindmeofhome.
FJF
Irereadhismostrecentnote,asamusedbyhisdefenseofhisRegencyromancesasIwasdisappointedinhislackofamoreconcreteexplanationforthepackageshe’dbeengetting.
Becausethosepackages…
Well.
Theyweretrulysomethingelse.
He’dgottensixofthemsinceI’dmovedin.Theyallhadthesamereturnaddress—thesenderwasanE.J.,fromNewYork—writteninanornate,flowerycursivethatremindedmealotofFrederick’sprettyhandwritingbutforthefactthatitwasalwayswritteninblood-redink.
Thepackagescameindifferentsizesandshapes,eachwrappedinahideousfloralwrappingpaperthatremindedmeofthedecorinmygrandmother’sFloridacondo.Someofthepackagesemittedstrangesmells.Oneofthemappearedtohavesmokecomingoutofit.IsworeIcouldhearactualhissingcomingfromanother.
Thosehadtobeopticalillusions,Idecided.Therewasnowaythemailwoulddeliveranythingthatwasactuallyonfire.Orlivingsnakes.
EventhoughthosepackageswereaddressedtoFrederick,notme—andeventhoughtheircontentswerepatentlynoneofmybusiness—sincehehadn’tgivenmeclarificationinhisnotesIdecidedI’daskhimaboutthemthenexttimewewereinthesameroomtogether.
Wheneverthatmightbe.
“You’vehadagoodrun,”Imurmuredapologeticallytothepaintingofthehuntingpartyinmybedroom.
IfeltalittlebadthatIwastakingitdownandreplacingitwithmyownart.Itwasn’tthepainting’sfaultitwashideous;someone,somewhere,hadputalotofeffortintomakingit.Italsolookedseriouslyold,makingmewonderifitwaswhatFrederickhadmeantwhenhe’dreferredtofamilyheirlooms.
Eitherway,thiswasmybedroomnow,andthatpaintingwasnightmarefuel.
Igingerlylifteditfromthewall.Itmusthavehungthereforyears,becausethepaintonthewallbehinditwashalfashadedarkerthanthemattecreamcoveringtherestofthebedroom.
IpickedupthefirstofthethreesmallcanvasesIwasabouttohanginYeOldeHuntingParty’splace,smilingasIrememberedhowfuntheweekI’dmadethemhadbeen.We’dbeenonvacationinSaugatuck,andSamhadteasedmeforspendingsomuchofourbeachvacationcombingthebeachfortrash—butthen,he’dneverunderstandhowitmademefeeltotakewhatotherpeoplethrewawayandturnitintoartthatwouldoutlastusall.
Ididn’thaveabigimportantlawyerjoblikehedid—butthroughmyart,Imadeastatement.Andleftmyownmarkontheworld.
Igrabbedmyhammer,thendraggedtheantiquedeskchairthathadtobeatleastasoldasthecityofChicagotothespotwhereIplannedtohangmyseries.Iclimbedonitandstartedbanginganailintothewall.
Afterafewloudwhackswiththehammer,Ifroze,realizingwhatIwasdoing.
Itwasfiveo’clock.
IwasstillalittlefuzzyonFrederick’sexactschedule.Wouldhestillbeasleep?
Ifhewas,hammeringintothewallwouldprobablywakehimup.
Ifitdid,hewouldlikelyleavehisroomandcomelecturemeaboutwakinghim.
Istilldidn’tthinkIwasreadytoseehimagain.
Igingerlysetthehammerdownonthefloor,hopingagainsthopethatFrederickhadn’theardit.
Butafewminuteslaterhisbedroomdoorcreakedopen.
Fuck.
“Goodevening,MissGreenberg.”
Frederick’svoicewasdeeperthanusual,andthickwithsleep.Iturnedslowlytofacehim,bracingmyselfforalectureontheimportanceofkeepingquietwhenone’sroommatewastryingtorest.
Hisvoiceanddisheveledhairimpliedhe’djustwokenup,buthewasfullydressedinathree-piece,pinstripedbrownsuitandapageboyhat.HelookedlikeanEnglishprofessorfromthesetofaperiodfilm,offtogivealectureonthesymbolismfoundwithinJaneEyreorsomething—notlikesomeonewho’djustrolledoutofbed.
NotthatI’deverhadanEnglishprofessorwholookedlikethat
Hedidn’tlaunchintoalectureaboutJaneEyre,though.Healsowasn’tstaringatmethewayIwasstaringathim.HewasfrowningatmyLakeMichiganshorelinecanvaseswheretheysatproppedagainstmybedroomwall,asthoughconfusedaboutwhathewaslookingat.Hisarmswerefoldedtightlyacrosshisbroadchestashescowled,whichabsolutelydidnotmakemethinkaboutwhathisbarechesthadlookedliketheothernight.Orthewayitostensiblylookedrightthatverysecondbeneathhistoo-formalclothing.
“I’msorryIwokeyouup,”Ioffered,tosteermythoughtstowardssaferground.
Hewavedahand.“It’sfine.But…whatarethose?”Henoddedinthedirectionofmylandscapes.
“Youmeanmylandscapes?”
“Is…isthatwhatthoseare?”Hiseyebrowsrose.Hesteppedintotheroom,asthoughtotakeacloserlook.“Youmadethese?”
Hesoundedandlookedatleastasconfusedasmygrandfatherdidwheneverhesawoneofmypieces—buthedidn’tseemhorrified.Healsodidn’tlookorsoundparticularlycomplimentaryorblownawaybymycreations,though.Whichwasvalid.I’dlongsincemadepeacewiththefactthatmyartwasn’teveryone’scupoftea.
ButthisserieswasprobablythemostbroadlyaccessibleworkI’ddoneinyears.Forstarters,itwasobviousthesewerelakesideimages.IfIwasbeinghonest,afterthecomplimentshe’dpaidmeonmysillylittlesketchesonournotestoeachother,partofmehadhopedhe’dimmediatelyunderstand—andappreciate—whatIwastryingtodowiththesecanvases.
“Imadethem,yes,”Iconfirmed.Itriedtosoundconfident,thoughmyvoicewasshakingalittle.
“Andyoumeantohangthemup?”FrederickeyedthenailI’djusthammeredintothewall.“Inhere?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”heasked,stridingtowardsmycanvases.Helookeddownatthem,handsstuffeddeepintothepocketsofhistrousers.Heseemedutterlybewildered.“Igrantyouthatthepaintinghangingherepreviouslywasdated,but—”
“Itwashideous.”
Heglancedatme,therightcornerofhismouthtickingupinamusement.“Thatisfair.Itwasmymother’s,notmine.ButCassie…”
Hestoodup,shakinghishead.
“Yeah?”
“It’strash,”hesaid,emphasizingthefinalword.
Myhacklesrose.I’dheardthissortofcriticismbeforeandwasanexpertatjustbrushingitoff.Butaftertheexcitementoflearningabouttheartexhibitionafewhoursago,Iwasn’tinthemood.
“Myartisnottrash,”Isaid,defiantly.
Fredericklookedatthecanvasagain,reallypeeringatitthistime—asthoughtryingtodecidewhetherhe’dbeenrightinhisinitialassessment.
Heshookhisheadagain.“But…butitistrash.”
AbeatpassedbeforeIrealizedhemeantthatliterally.
“Oh.”Icringedinwardly.“Imean—yes,okay.It’smadeoftrash.”
Heraisedanamusedeyebrow.“Ibelievethat’swhatIjustsaid.”
Itwasn’texactlywhathe’djustsaid,butIletitdrop.“Yes,”Isaid,feelingmyfacegrowwarmwithembarrassmentoverthemisunderstanding.“Youdid.”
“IadmitIdon’tunderstand.”Heshookhishead.“Basedonthepartsofthis…thisscenethatarenotcoveredinrefuse,andthedrawingsyouhavedoneforme,Iknowyouareanartistwithtalent.MaybeIhaveold-fashionedviews,butIsimplydon’tunderstandwhyyouwouldspendyourtimecreatingsomethinglikethis.”Heshruggedhisshoulders.“ThesortofartIamusedtoseeingismore…”
Iraisedaneyebrow.“Morewhat?”
Hebithislip,asthoughsearchingfortherightwords.“Pleasanttolookat,Isuppose.”Heshruggedagain.“Scenesfromnature.Littlegirlswearingfrillywhitedressesandplayingbesideriverbanks.Bowlsoffruit.”
“Thispieceshowsabeachandalake,”Ipointedout.“It’sascenefromnature.”
“Butit’scoveredinrefuse.”
Inodded.“MyartcombinesobjectsIfindwithimagesIpaint.SometimeswhatIfindandincorporateisliteraltrash.ButIalsofeelthatmyartismorethanjusttrash.It’smeaningful.Thesepiecesaren’tjustflat,lifelessimagesoncanvas.Theysaysomething.”
“Oh.”Hecameevenclosertothelandscapes,kneelingsohecouldpeeratthemupclose.“Andwhatdoesyourart…say?”
HisnosewasjustafewinchesfromanoldMcDonald’sQuarterPounderwrapperI’dlaminatedtothecanvassoitlookedlikeitwasrisingoutofLakeMichigan.I’dmeantforittorepresentcapitalism’scrushingstrangleholdonthenaturalworld.Also,itjustsortoflookedcool.
ButIdecidedtogivehimabroaderexplanation.
“Iwanttocreatesomethingmemorablewithmyart.Somethinglasting.Iwanttogivepeoplewhoseemyworksanexperiencethatwon’tfadeaway.Somethingthatwillstaywiththemlongaftertheyseeit.”
Hefrownedskeptically.“Andyouaccomplishthatbydisplayingephemeraothersthrowaway?”
Iwasabouttocounterbytellinghimthateventheprettiestpaintinginthefanciestmuseumfadedfrommemoryoncethepatronswenthome.Thatbyusingthingsotherpeoplethrowaway,Itooktheephemeralandmakeitpermanentinawaynoprettywatercolorevercould.
Butthen,allatonce,Inoticedhowclosewewerestanding.Duringourconversationhemusthavecreptcloserbyincrementsuntilnowtherewerejustascantfewinchesofspaceseparatingus.Mymindflashedbacktotheothernight—mywethairdrippingontomybareshoulders,hisdarkbrowneyeswidewithsurpriseashelookedeverywherebutatme.
Hewaslookingatmenow,though.Andhiseyeswereeverywhere.Theytrailedslowlydowntheslopeofmyneck,lingeringatthesmall,jaggedscarbeneathmyearIgotasasmallchildbeforemovingontothegentlecurveofmyshoulders.Iwasn’twearinganythingparticularlynice,justathinT-shirtandanoldpairofjeans—buthisgazewasheatedallthesame.ItmademefeeldizzyandwarminawayIdidn’thavewordsfor.
Iwantedtomoveclosertohim,soIdid,notbotheringtostopandwonderifthatwasagoodidea.Butthenamomentlaterhestraightened,asifreturningtohimself,andthenquicklysteppedbackandawayfromme.Hestuffedhishandsdeepintothepocketsofhistrousersonceagain,staringdownathisshinywing-tippedshoesasthoughtheywerethemostfascinatingthingsintheworld.
Themomentwasover.Butsomehow,itfeltlikesomethingbetweenushadchanged.Therewasasweet,electricanticipationintheairthathadn’tbeentherebefore.Iwasn’tsureIhadwordsforwhatitwas.AllIknewwasthatIwantedtofeelitagain.Iwantedtofeelhim.Thehardplanesofhisbroadchestbeneathmyhands.Hislips,hisbreath,hotandsweetagainstmyneck.
Ishookmyheadtotryandclearit.ThiswasamanIhardlyknew,Iremindedmyself.Thiswasmyroommate
Itdidn’twork.
“I…cantryandexplainmyarttoyou,”Ioffered,justforsomethingtosay.Inmyhead,Sam’svoiceshouted,Badidea,badidea,likeawarningklaxon.Iignoredit.Quitefrankly,inthatmomentIdidn’tcareifitwasabadidea.Myheartwasracing,bloodpumpinghotinsidemyveins.“Ifyouwant.”
Hehesitated,stillnotlookingatme.Heshookhishead.
“Thatisprobablynotagoodidea,”hesaid,echoingthevoiceinmyhead.“IsuspectIamaratherhopelesscasewhenitcomestomodernart.”
Icouldsensethathewastryingtoputsomedistancebetweenusafter…well,afterwhateveritwasthathadjusthappened.Ididn’twanthimto.
“I’venevermetanyonewho’sahopelesscase.”
Hiseyesflutteredclosed.
“Youhavenevermetanyonelikeme,MissGreenberg,”hesaid,soundingalmostsadaboutit,beforeturningandwalkingoutofmybedroom.
ItwasanotherfewminutesbeforeIwasabletocollectmyselfenoughtothinkstraight.WhenIdid,Isanktomybed,buryingmyfaceinmyhands.
Sam’swordsofwarningfromtheotherdaysuddenlycamebacktome:Livingwithsomeoneyouthinkishotneverendswell.Youeitherendupsleepingwiththem—whichisahugemistake,ninetimesoutoften—orelseyoudriveyourselfnutsbecauseyouwanttosleepwiththem.
Igroaned.
Well,itlookedlikeSamhadbeenright.
WhatthehellwasIgoingtodo?SIX
LetterfromMr.FrederickJ.FitzwilliamtoMrs.EdwinaFitzwilliam,datedOctober26
MyDearestMrs.Fitzwilliam,
Ihopethisletterfindsyouwellandingoodspirits.
AlothaschangedinthefortnightsinceIlastwrote.InowlivewithayoungwomanbythenameofMissCassieGreenberg.Iamlearningatremendousamountaboutart,twenty-first-centurypopularculture,profanity,andattiresimplybyobservingherandbeinginherveryoccasionalpresence.EverydayIfeelmoremyselfagain,andmoreateaseinthisstrangemodernworld.
AndsoagainIask:pleasestopworryingsomuchoverme.Thereisnoneedforyoutowritesooften,norforyoutorepeatedlyinquireaftermyhealthwithReginald.(Yes,hehastoldmeeverything.)Iamassoundinmind,body,andspiritasIhaveeverbeen.
Furthermore,ImustinsistyouendthearrangementyouhavemadewithMissJamesononmybehalf.Ihardlyknowthiswoman,and,asyouwellknow,Pariswasoveracenturyago.Iwouldendthearrangementmyself,butIthinkthatwouldnotonlybeunwise,butalsounfairtobothmeandMissJameson.PleasealsoaskMissJamesontostopsendingmegifts.ShehasignoredmyentreatieseventhoughIhavesenteachgiftbacktoher,unopenedastheyarrive.
Iwillwritemoresoon.Givemyregardstoeveryoneontheestate.IhopetheweatherinNewYorkhasbeenveryfine.
Love,
Frederick
HeyFrederick,
WoulditbeokayifIturnedthetemperatureintheapartmentupafewdegrees?Ihaven’twantedtosayanythingaboutitsinceyoupayforutilities,butit’salittlecolderinherethanI’musedto.Eventhreeblanketsisn’tcuttingitatnighttime.
Cassie
DearCassie,
Pleaseacceptmyapology.Coldtemperaturesdonotbothermethewaytheydootherpeople,andIshouldhaveanticipatedyouwouldpreferawarmerplacetolive.LetmeknowthetemperatureIshouldsetthethermostattoforyoutobemorecomfortableandIwilltakecareofit.
Iwishyouhadsaidsomethingaboutthistomeearlier.Ihatetheideathatyou’vebeenuncomfortablesincemovingin.
FJF
ps:Thatpictureyoudrewofyourselfwearingaparkaandmittensisadorable,thoughitdoesmakemefeellikeevenmoreofaheelforkeepingyouinthecoldforsolong.
Frederick,
Thankyou!!!!!Ididn’tliketheideaofyouhavinghigherutilitybillsbecauseofme,though(whichiswhyIdidn’tsaysomethingearlier).CanIpaythedifference?
(Also,I’mgladyoulikethepicture.Adorable,though?!Ispentlike5minutesonit.Themittensaretotallylopsided.)
Cassie
Cassie,
Donotworryaboutthedifferenceintheutilitybill.Iwillcoverit.
AndifyoudrewsomethingthatpreciousinonlyfiveminutesIdaresayyouareverytalentedindeed.Ifindthelopsidedmittensespeciallycharming.
FJF
Iwashalfwaydowntheblocktowardstheel,onmywaytomylibraryshift,whenIrealizedI’dforgottenmysketchpad.
Iglancedatmyphone.ItwasNightattheMuseumnightatthelibrary,andthechildrenwouldstartshowingupinforty-fiveminutes.Icouldn’tdrawatworkwithalibraryfullofkidsarmedwithpaintbrushes,butatthathourtherewereusuallysomeopenseatsonthetrainsoIcouldsketchenroute.Iwasinthebeginningstagesofthinkingthroughwhatmypiecewouldbefortheartexhibition.MyconversationwithFredericktheothernightaboutmyarthadprovidedalittleinklingofasubmissionidea:I’dcreateatraditionallypaintedpastoralscene—afieldofdaisies,possiblyapond—andthensubvertitwithsomethingdecidedlyunpastoral,likeplasticwraporsodastrawsworkedintothecanvas.
Itwasstillearlydays,andIhadmorethinkingtodobeforeIwasreadytoputpainttocanvas.ButI’dbeentakingmysketchpadwithmeeverywhereIwentincaseinspirationandafewminutes’freetimehappenedtocoincide.
Itwasjustaftersix.Ihadjustenoughtimetorunbackhome,getmysketchpad,andthengettothelibraryintimeforartnight.Itwouldbetight,andMarciewouldlikelybealittleirritatedwithme—butI’dmakeit.
Itookthestairsuptoourapartmenttwoatatime,notworryingabouthowmuchnoiseImade.Ididn’tknowifFrederickwashome,butatthishourhe’deitherbealreadyawakeorout.Eitherway,Ididn’thavetoworryaboutwakinghimup.
MysketchpadwaswhereI’dleftitonthekitchentable,besidethenoteI’dleftforFrederickearlierthatmorning:
HeyFrederick—Iwon’tbehomemuchthenextfewdays.IhavealateshifttonightandI’mhavingdinneratSam’stomorrow.Socouldyoutakeoutthetrashthisweek?Thanks!IpromiseI’lldoitnextweek.
Cassie
Atthebottomofthenote,I’dsketchedalittlesmilingcartoonguyholdingatrashcanabovehishead.Frederickclaimedtolikemylittledrawings,andhiscompliments—alwayswordedinsuchformallanguage,butseeminglygenuineallthesame—alwaysmademystomachdoafunnylittleswoop.
AsIpickedupmysketchpadfromthekitchentableInoticedhe’dwrittenashortreply:
DearCassie,
Yes,Icantakeoutthetrashcan.Itisnotroublewhatsoever,andyoudonotneedtoworryabout“makingituptome.”
Additionally,thatdrawingisverynice(allofyourdrawingsareverynice,everythingaboutyouisverynice)butisthatsupposedtobeme?IamcertainIneversmilequitelikethat
Yours,
FJF
He’daddedhisowndrawingofastickfiguretothenote,withanexaggeratedfrownnearlyasbigasitshead.Icouldn’thelpbutlaugh.
Thedrawingwassosilly.
AndFrederickwasaboutthefurthestthingfromsillyapersoncouldbe.
OrsoI’dthought,anyway.
Also—theYours,FJF?
Yours
Thatwasnew.
Irefusedtoletmyselfthinkaboutwhatitcouldmean.Allthesame,Icouldn’tstopthesmilefromspreadingacrossmyfaceasIpickedupmysketchpad.
IwasstillsmilingasIopenedthefridgetograbanapplebeforeleavingforthelibrary.
ButwhenIsawwhatwasinside,myfacefroze.
Myentirebodyfroze.
Timestopped.
Afterwhatmighthavebeenmultipleminutesofmystaringnumblyatthecontentsoftherefrigerator,Ibegantoshriek.
Mysketchpadslippedfrommyhandsandfelltotheground,forgotten.Icontinuedstaringintothefridge,mymindreelingasItriedtomakesenseofwhatIwasseeing.
Therehadtobeatleastthirtybagsofbloodinthere,arrangedinorderlyrowsalongsideabowlofkumquats,myhalf-finishedgallonoforangejuice,andaboxofVelveeta.Eachbagwaslabeledbybloodtypeanddate,andborethekindofbarcodestickerIvaguelyrememberedbeingputonblooddonationbagswhenI’ddonatedinthepast.
Thesharp,metallictangofbloodwasthick,fillingtheairandnearlymakingmegag.
UnlikewhatI’dseenatbloodcenters,notallthesebagsweresealed.Somewerenearlyempty,withapairofsmallpuncturewoundsatthetop.Blooddribbledfromoneofthem,leavingasmall,sticky,redanddryingpuddleonthemiddleshelf.
Noneofithadbeentherethatmorning.
Whywasittherenow?
Iwasstillstandinginfrontoftheopenfridge,gapingatitscontents,growingdizzyatthesmellofbloodandattheshockofwhatI’dfoundbuttoostunnedtomoveaway,whenthefrontdoortotheapartmentopened.IdistantlyheardtheheavytreadofFrederick’sfootstepsashesteppedinside.
“Frederick,”Icalledout,myvoicethick.“What…whatisallthisdoinghere?”
Somethingveryheavydroppedtothefloor.AndthencameFrederick’sstrangledgasp.
“Oh,fuck.”
Ilookedathim,myhandstilltightaroundthehandleoftherefrigeratordoor.Frederick’seyesweresaucer-wide,hishandsclutchingathishairinbothhands.Therewasalargepackagewrappedinbrightpinkwrappingpaperandtiedwithapalepinkribbonathisfeet.“Please—Icanexplain.Don’t…don’tgethysterical.”
Igapedathim.“Iwasn’tgettinghystericalbeforeyousaidthat.”
Heburiedhisfaceinhishands.“You…weren’tsupposedtoseethat.Yousaidyou’dbegonetonight.I—”
“Frederick?”
“Thiswasnothowanyofthiswassupposedtogo.”
Iwaitedforhimtocontinue,toexplainwhyI’djustfoundbagsofbloodinthesameplaceIkeptmybreakfast.Whenhejustcontinuedstandingthere,gapingatmeopen-mouthedlikeafishoutofwater,Iclosedmyeyesandletthefridgedoorswingclosed.
Icountedslowlytoten,breathingdeeplythroughmynosetotryandcalmdown.“Frederick—”Ibegan.
“DidyougetanyO-negativethistime,Freddie?I’mfamished.”Aloudmalevoicecameinfromthehallway,hiswordssohardtoprocesstheymadetherestofwhateverI’dbeenabouttosaydieinmythroat.Amomentlater,avaguelyfamiliar-lookingguywithdirty-blondhairstrodeintotheapartmentlikeheownedtheplace,hishandsstuffeddeepintothepocketsofhisjeans.HisblackT-shirtsaidThisIsWhataClarinetPlayerLooksLike,andstretchedalittletootightlyacrosshischest.
AllatonceIrealizedwhereI’dseenhimbefore.
HewastheweirdguyinthetrenchcoatandfedorawhoappraisedmeatGossamer’stheothernight.
Iwasstuckonwhathe’djustsaid.
DidyougetanyO-negativethistime,Freddie?I’mfamished.
ItriedtomakesenseofwhatIwashearing,butmybrainfeltsluggish—likeitwasprocessingthingsathalfitsnormalrateofspeed.
Ihadnoideawhoweirdcoffeeshopguywasorwhyhewasthere.He,however,recognizedmerightaway.
“Hey,CassieGreenberg.”Hesoundedsurprisedtoseemebutnotunhappyaboutit.Hegrinned,showingoffperfectlystraight,gleamingwhiteteeth.Hereachedouthishandtowardsme.AfteranawkwardbeatIrealizedhewantedmetoshakeit.Slowly,asthoughmovingthroughadream,Iclaspedhishandinmine.
Itwaslikeholdingontoablockofice.
“I’mReggie,”hesaid,stillsmiling.“Wemettheothernightatthecafé.”Hepaused.“Well.Sortofmet,anyway.”
Reggie.
WasthistheReginaldFrederickhadmentionedafewtimesinpassing?HegavemyhandafewquickpumpsbeforeIpulledoutofhisgrip.
IlookedbetweenhimandFrederick—who,forhispart,lookedlikehewantedthegroundtoopenupandswallowhimwhole—tryingtounderstandwhatwasgoingon
“ItoldFreddieheneededtocomecleanwithyou.”ReggieelbowedFrederickintheribsgood-naturedly.“ButIgatherfromthelookonyourfacethathedidn’tlistentome.”
HejabbedFrederickintheribsagain—moreforcefullythistime.ButFrederickwasclearlyignoringhim.Hiseyesboreintomine,beseechingmewordlesslytounderstand…something.
“MissGreenberg,”hebegan,soundingdesperate.“Cassie,”heamended.
“Whatdoyouneedtocomecleanwithmeabout,Frederick?”InstincttoldmeIcouldn’ttrustReggie—Reginald—asfarasIcouldthrowhim.ButFrederick’sdesperationconfirmedthathewasrightaboutatleastonething:therewasalotFrederickwasn’ttellingme.
“Speakup,Freddie!”Reggieencouraged.HeclappedFrederickontheback.
“Leave,”Frederickmuttered,histonemurderous.“Now.”
“Inaminute,”Reggiesaid,inalightsingsong.“It’sbeenawhilesinceI’veseenagoodshow.”Hesteppedfullyintothelivingroom,movingaroundbothFrederickandthelarge,wrappedpackageathisfeet,andthenstrodedirectlytothekitchen,whereIstillstoodrootedtothespotbesidethefridgeofdoom.
“IthinkI’llhaveasnackbeforeIgo,”hewhisperedinmyear,conspiratorially.Heopenedthefridgewithaflourish,thenreachedinsideandscoopedupseveralplasticbagsofblood.
Myeyeswentwide.
Withawinkatme,Reggiebitintooneofthebagswithwhatlooked,tome,ahellofalotlikefangs.
AsIwatchedhimdrinkthebagdown,thentossitintothetrash—emptyinseconds,drainedentirelydry—andbiteintoasecond,Ifelttheroomstarttospin.I’dneverbeenaparticularlysqueamishperson;butthen,nothinginanyofmylifeexperienceshadpreparedmeforwhatIwasseeingnow.
“Reginald,”Frederickgrowledwarningly.“Getout.Now.”
Hepouted.“ButIjustgothere!Weweregoingtohavealittlepartybeforeyourroommategothere.”
“Reginald.”
“Freddie.”Reginaldrolledhiseyes.“Stopbeingsilly.You’rejustashungryasIam.Don’tyouwantasnack,too?”
Withoutwaitingforananswer,ReggiegrabbedanotherbagfromthefridgeandtossedittoFrederick—whocaughtit,easily.
ThesightofFrederick—myroommatewhostayedoutallnightforcrypticreasonsandsleptallday,whodressedinvintagesuitsandspokelikesomeonefromadifferentera—holdingabagofblood…
Thelastpieceofthepuzzleslidintoplace.
Iknewexactlywhathehadn’tbeentellingme.
“Frederick…”Ibegan,thefloorbeneathmyfeetgoingdecidedlywobbly
Howwasanyofthisreal?
Frederickclearedhisthroat.“ItoccurstomethatitislongpasttimeItoldyouseveral…veryspecificthingsaboutmyself.”HewasglaringatReginald,butitwasclearhewastalkingtome.Hehadthedecencytosoundsheepish.Which…well.Good.Iwasprettysurehe’dbeenlyingtomyfaceaboutalotofveryimportantthingssinceI’dmethim.
Feelingbadaboutitwascertainlyastepintherightdirection.
“Goon,”Iprompted.
“I’m…notwhatyouthinkIam.”
Isnorted.“Ifigured.”MywordscameoutfrostierthanI’dmeantthemto.Butcomeon.DidhethinkIwasanidiot?“Whatareyou,though?”
Iknew,though.Apersonwouldhavetobeprettydimtostumbleupontheirroommate’sbloodstash,andwatchhisfriendhelphimselftosomeofitlikeitwassomethinghedideveryday,andnotimmediatelyrealizesomeprettyuncomfortabletruths.
Istillneededtohearhimsayit,though.AfteralifetimeofthinkingpeoplelikeFrederickonlyexistedinyoungadultnovelsandoldhorrormovies,itwastheonlywayI’dbelievewhatI’dseenwithmyowntwoeyes.
Fredericksighed,runningahandoverhisperfectface.Hebithislip,hesitating—and,no,myeyeswerenothelplesslydrawntothewayhiswhiteteethpressedintothesoft,plumpfleshofhisbottomlip.Iwasdonefantasizingaboutmyunfairlyhotroommate.Thatphaseofmylifewasonehundredpercentover
“Iamavampire,Cassie.”
Hisvoicewasveryquiet,buthiswordsblewthroughmewiththeforceofahurricane.I’dalreadyguessedthetruth,butIstillstumbledundertheweightofhisconfession.
Allatonce,itfeltlikealltheoxygenhadbeensuckedfromtheroom.
Ihadtogetoutofthere.
Now.
SamandScottwouldtakemein.Gettingthemtobelievemyroommatewasavampiremightbedifficult,but—
No.Gettingthemtobelievemyroommatewasavampirewouldbeimpossible.Samwasalawyer,andScottwasanacademic.Theydidn’thaveenoughimaginationbetweenthemtochangealightbulb.AndI’dalwaysbeentheeccentricfriend.TheonewhocouldthrowkillerbachelorpartiesandcollectedexistentialcriseslikePokémon,butwhowasperenniallymessingupinmostimportantareasofherlife.
They’dprobablythinkIwasdelusionalifItoldthetruth.
Butitdidn’tmatter.They’dseeIwasdesperatewhenIshoweduplateatnightandunannounced.They’dtakemein.
IhadtolaughoverhowstupidI’dbeen.I’dstartedhavingfeelingsforFrederick.Meanwhile,he’dbeenwaitingfortheperfectopportunitytobitemyneck!
“Cassie,”Fredericksaid,lookingpanicked.“Icanexplain.”
“Ithinkyoujustdid.”
“Ididnot.IgaveyousomeinformationthatIshouldhavesharedwithyouattheoutset,but—”
Ihuffedabreath.“I’llsay.”
Helookedchastened,gazedroppingtothefloor.“Iwouldstilllikeachancetoexplainmyselffully.Ifyouwillallowit.”
ButIwasalreadyinchingmywaytowardsthefrontdoor.“Whatistheretoexplain?You’reavampire.You’vebeenbidingyourtime,waitingforyourchancetopounceonme,sinkyourteethintomyneck,anddrinkmyblood.”
“No,”Fredericksaid,emphatically.Heshookhishead.“Ithasneverbeenmyintentiontoharmyou.”
“WhyshouldIbelieveyou?”
Hepaused,consideringmyquestion.“IrealizethatIhavenotgivenyoumuchreasontotrustme.Butreally,Cassie.IfIweregoingtofeedfromyou,wouldn’tIhavedonesobeforenow?”
Istaredathim.“That’ssupposedtobereassuring?”
Hewinced.“It…soundedbetterinmyhead,”headmitted.“ButpleasebelievemewhenIsaythatforallintentsandpurposesIhavenotfedonalivinghumaninovertwohundredyears.”
Inovertwohundredyears.
Theroomwentallspinnyagainasthefullextentofwhathewastellingmesunkin.
Frederickwasn’tjustavampire.
Hewasalsoseriously,seriouslyold.
“Ican’tdothis,”Imumbled.Ihadtogetaway.“I’mleaving.”
“Cassie—”
“I’mleaving,”Isaid,stumblingoutofthekitchen.“Throwoutallmystuffifyouwant.Idon’tcare.”
“Cassie.”Frederick’svoicesoundedpained.“Please,letmeexplain.Ineedyourhelp.”
ButIwasalreadythrowingopenthefrontdooroftheapartmentanddashingdownthestairs,myheartbeatpoundinginmyears.SEVEN
TextmessagesbetweenMr.FrederickJ.FitzwilliamandMr.ReginaldR.Cleaves
HeyFreddie
Youokay?
No.Iamtheoppositeofokay.
ThewomanwhoIhadhopedwouldteachmehowtoliveinthemodernworldhasfledfrommebecauseofyou.
Whatwereyouthinking,behavingthatwayinfrontofmyroommate?
Shedeservedtoknowthetruthaboutyou.
Iwasstillworkingmywayuptotellingher.
She’shuman
Nottellingheruravampirerightoffthebatwasadickmove
Idonotknowwhat“adickmove”is.
Iminsultingu
WellIsuppose,inthiscase,Iratherdeserveit.
Whyhadntutoldher
It’scomplicated.
Complicated?
Yes.
lol
Cassiesays“lol”insomeofournotestoeachother,butIdonotknowwhatitmeans.
Wait
YouandCassieleavenotesforeachother?
AlsosincewhendoyoucallherCassieinsteadofMissGreenberg?
IcallherCassiebecausesheaskedmeto.Andyes,weleavenotesforeachother.
Weareroommates,afterall.
Orwewereroommates,rather.
Doyoutexteachothertoo?
Sometimes.
ButyouHATEtexting
Thatistrue.
Younevertextmebackunlessurhavingacrisis
Yes.Butyouareanasshole.
HowoftendoyouandCassietext?
Idonotkeeptrackofsuchthings.
Ourtypicalmethodofcommunicationistoleavenotesforeachotheronthekitchentable.ThatwayIdonotneedtousethisinfernaldevicetocommunicatewithher.
Sometimesshedrawsmepicturesonthenotes.
Theyarelovely.
She’squiteatalentedartist.
Infact,she’squitegoodatalotofthings.
Idontbelievethis
Whatdon’tyoubelieve?
You’reintoher
YouREPROBATE!Howdareyou?!
What?????
Oh.No,lol
“You’reintoher”isjustamodernfigureofspeech,bud
Itjustmeansyouhaveromanticfeelingsforher.
Oh.
Isee.
You’restillwrong,though.
Right,lol
Listen.HowlonghaveIknownyou?
Ishuddertothink.
HaveyouEVERtalkedwithawomanmorethanonceamonthbefore
No.ButI’vealsoneverlivedwithawomanbefore,either.
WhenyouthinkaboutCassienotlivingwithyouanymorehowdoesthatmakeyoufeel
WhenIthinkaboutCassieneverreturningtomeitmakesmesad.
Wakingupintheeveningisn’texcitinganymorenowthatIknowIwon’tbeseeingherface.
Soyou’reintoher,iswhatI’mhearing
Absolutelynot.IamNOT“intoher.”
Ijustlikeherdrawings.
Andhereverything.
Ohthisisgonnabegood
SamlivedinapartoftownthatwaspopularamongyoungprofessionalswhohadtinylittlepurebreddogsandworkedsixtyhoursaweekattheirjobsintheLoop
VisitingSamandScottintheirsecond-floorbrownstoneapartmentusuallyremindedmeofwhatacolossalfailureIwasinmostareasofmylife.AndstayingwiththemafterfleeingFrederick’sapartmentwassupremelyawkward.
Foronething,sharingonesmallbathroomwithtwoguys—evenguysasneatandtidyasSamandScott—wasnotideal.Ididn’thavequiteenoughtimetomyselfinthereinthemornings,andbecausetheywerealothairierthanIwas,thebathtubdrainwastwenty-fivepercentgrosserthanstrictlynecessary.Foranother,theircatsSophieandMoony,whileadorable,likedtowalkonmeinthenightasItriedtosleeponthelivingroomcouch.
Foryetanother,SamandScottwerenewlywedsineverysenseoftheword.Theirwallswereregrettablythin.Samwasloud.Bunkinginthelivingroomgavemeafront-rowseattotheirnightlysex-having,apunishmentnoonedeserved.Leastofallme,Sam’sbestfriendsincethesixthgrade.
Asbadaslivingwithavampirewhohidbeingavampirefrommehadbeen,livingwithnewlyweds—evenforjusttwodays—mighthavebeenworse.
“Goodmorning,”Samsaid,yawning,ashelefthisbedroom.Hewassportingahugepurplehickeyonhisneck.IwasprettysureI’dheardeverysecondofthehickey-givingprocessthepreviousnight.God,IwishedIhadn’t.
“Morning.”IpushedbackthequiltI’dsleptunderandrubbedmyeyes.Iwasexhausted.Betweenallthesexhappeninginthenextroom,Moony’spenchantforgettingsoftwhitefuronmypillow,andSam’slumpycouch,sleephadbeenelusivethepasttwonights.ButIdidn’twantSamtoknowthat.Theaccommodationsmightbelackinginseveralverykeyrespects,butheandScottwerestilldoingmeahugefavor.
AndneitherofthemhadaskedanyprobingquestionsaboutwhyIwastherewhenI’dshownuptwonightsago.Iwasgratefulforthat.
Sampulledouttheboxofoatmealfromthepantryandasked,hisbackstilltome,“Whatareyourplansfortheday?”
Ididn’tknowifthatwasapassive-aggressivecommentonmystillsleepingonhiscouchtwodaysaftershowingupwithnoneofmystuffandnoexplanations.Itfeltlikeone,though.Inanhourhe’dbeleavinginhisslacksandbutton-downshirt,readyforanotherdayasalawfirmassociate—andI’dstillbesemi-homelessandasunsureofmynextmoveasever.
Ilookedaway,fidgetingwiththefringeofthequiltstillcoveringmylegs.
“I’mgoingtotherecyclingcentertoday.”
Thatwaspartofthetruth,anyway.Samdidn’tneedtoheartherestofit—whichwasthatbeforeheadingtotherecyclingcenterIplannedtowatchafewepisodesofBuffytheVampireSlayer.Forresearch—orsoItoldmyself.Theshowhadtobewildlyinaccuratewhenitcametovampiricdetails,butaftertwodaysofprocessingwhathadhappenedwithFredericktheothernight,mypanicoverthesituationwasfading.Andmycuriositywasgrowing.
Whatwasitliketobeanimmortalwhodrankhumanblood?DidFrederick’sheartbeat?Whatweretherulesgoverninghowhelivedandate…anddied?Itwasn’tmuch,butwithoutgettingbackintouchwithFrederickhimself,BuffywasaboutallIhadforguidance.IthadtobeamoreaccuraterepresentationofvampiresthanTwilightorthoseoldAnneRicenovels,right?Plus,itwasanenjoyableshow.
ThefactthatBuffyalsoshowedromantichuman–vampirerelationshipshadabsolutelynothingtodowithmyinterest,ofcourse.NeitherdidthefactthatIhadn’tbeenabletogetFrederick’spleadingeyes,orhisassurancesthathewouldneverhurtme,outofmyheadsincethemorningIfirstwokeuponSam’ssofa.
“Therecyclingcenter,huh?”Sam’sbackwasstilltomeasherummagedthroughthecupboardsforasaucepan.
“Yeah,”Isaid.“Ineedtogetcrackingonmyartshowsubmission.”SincerunningoutofFrederick’sapartment,myideaofapastoralscenethatincorporatedbitsofdisposableplasticwasbeginningtotakeshapeinmymind.ButIstillneededtothinkthroughsomeofthefinerdetails.WhatcolorswouldworkbestforthedecayingmanorhouseI’dbepainting?Shouldthefieldinfrontofthehouseabutalakeorastream?
Wouldsodastrawsorcandybarwrappersworkbestforthesubversivepartofmyproject—orshouldIuseacombinationofboth?
IhopedI’dcometosomeconclusionsattherecyclingcenterthatafternoon.Ialwaysdidmybestthinkingatthedump.
Sam’ssmilewaswarmandencouraging.“I’msohappyyou’reputtingyourselfouttherelikethis,Cassie.”
“Me,too.”Itwasthetruth.“There’snowaytoknowiftheartexhibitionwillacceptmypiece,butitfeelsgoodtobeworkingtowardssomethingbigagain.”
Sammadehiswayintothelivingroomasheatehisoatmeal.“Bytheway,”hesaid,fakingnonchalance,“someoneslidaletteraddressedtoyouunderourdoorlastnight.”
Ilookedupathim,surprised.“Really?”
“It’ssofancythatatfirstIthoughtitmighthavebeenasummonstovisittheKingofEngland.”Heraisedaneyebrowatme.“ButthenIrememberedthosearen’tusuallyslidunderthedoorinthemiddleofthenight.”
SamheldupanenvelopeIhadn’tseenhimbringintothelivingroomandtosseditontothecoffeetablebetweenus.
Mybreathcaught.
ItwasFrederick’sstationery—asquare,off-whiteenvelopeidenticaltothoseheusedforallhisnotestome.Evenifhe’dusedregularnotebookpaper,though,Iwouldhaveimmediatelyknownthiswasfromhim.He’dwrittenMissCassieGreenbergonthefrontinthesamefancyhandwriting,andwiththesameblueink,heusedforallourcorrespondence.
Hisfamiliarblood-redwaxsealheldtheenvelopeclosed.
FJF
BeforemeetingFrederickIhadn’tknownwaxsealsstillexisted.Everythingaboutthatmanwasananachronism,Irealized.Outofplace.Fromadifferenttimealtogether.
JusthowmanycluesaboutwhoandwhathetrulywashadImissed?
Sampretendedtoturnhisattentionbacktohisoatmeal,butIcouldfeelhiseyesonmeasIslidmyfingerbeneaththesealandbrokeit.Samwascuriousaboutthisletter—butIstillhadn’tfoundthecouragetotellhimthetruthabouteitherFrederickorwhyIwasstayinginhisapartment.Ijustdidn’thavetheenergytogetintoanyofitwithhim.
Bracingmyself,Islidoutthesinglefoldedsheetofstiff,off-whitepaperfromtheenvelopeandbegantoread.
DearCassie,
Ihopethisletterfindsyouwell.
Iwritetoletyouknowthatyourbelongingsarerightwhereyouleftthem.Whenyoufled,yousaidIcoulddisposeofanythingyouleftbehind.Thatsaid,Isuspectthatwhatremainsinmyhomeconstitutesthebulkofyourmaterialpossessions.Ifurthersuspectthatyousaidwhatyoudidonlyoutoffearandintheheatofthemoment—andthatyoudo,infact,wishtohaveyourthingsreturnedtoyou.
IfIdonotgetaresponsetothisletterwithinaweek,IwillassumeyoutrulydonotwishtohaveyourthingsbackandIwillarrangewithGeraldtohavethemdonatedtocharity.(Geraldhandlesrecyclingforourbuilding.Ispokewithhimforthefirsttimeyesterday.Doyouknowhehasworkedforthecity’ssanitationdepartmentfortwenty-twoyears,andhastwogrownchildren?Ididnot.Butyouprobablyalreadydo,asyoutookouttherecyclingseveraltimesinthetwoweekswelivedtogetherandyouaresowarmandfriendlywitheveryone.)
Pleaseletmeknowatyourearliestconvenienceifyouwouldlikeyourthingsreturnedtoyou.Icanevenarrangeitsothatyoucancollectthemwithouthavingtointeractwithme,ifthat’swhatyouwant.
Despitehowweleftthings,Iwantyoutoknowitwastrulyapleasuretohavemadeyouracquaintanceandtohavebeenyourroommatefortheshorttimeweweretogether.Iamsosorrytohaveupsetandfrightenedyouthroughmylackoffulldisclosureandmyactions.
Yours,
Frederick
Iswallowedthelumpinmythroat,thenreadFrederick’sletterasecondtime.
Yours,Frederick.
Hewasjustso…earnest
Andthoughtful.Beyondthecomplimenthepaidme—youaresowarmandfriendlywitheveryone—he’dunderstoodmewellenoughtoknowthataftermypanichadsubsided,I’dlikelywantmystuffback.
Withouthimhangingaround.
ThevulnerabilityFrederickmustbefeelingallbutjumpedfromthepage.YetIcouldtellhehadtakengreatpainstotryandhideit.Ithoughtbacktotheeveninghe’dtriedsohardtounderstandmyart.Inhindsight,ofcoursemyartmadenosensetohim.Themanwashundredsofyearsold!Buthe’dtriedanyway,listeningattentivelyasIexplainedittohim—allbecauseitwasimportanttome.
MaybeFrederickwastellingthetruthwhenhesaidheneverwantedtohurtme.Itwasseemingincreasinglylikely.Hemightnottechnicallybealive—andyes,hewasavampire—buthewasalso…
Kind.
Andthoughtful.
It’spossiblehe’dbeenfakingallthatjusttoluremein,butwithsomedistancefromtheeventsoftheothernight,Ididn’tthinkthathe’dbeenpretending.
“Youplanningtofillmeinonwhat’sgoingon?”Sam’ssharpvoicecutintomymusings.
Ibitmylip,lookingaway.“Whatdoyoumean?”
SamsethisbowlofoatmealdownonthecoffeetableandassumedwhatScottandIsecretlycalledhisSamtheLawyerposture:leaningforwardinhischair,elbowsonknees.I’dbecomesofamiliarwithitovertheyearsIhadafeelingIknewwhatIwasinfor.
“Youshowedupatourapartmenttheothernightwithnoneofyourstuff,nowarning,andnoexplanation,”hestarted.“Youlookedlikeyou’djustseenaghost.Youlookthatwayrightnow,too,readingandrereadingaletterthatlookslikeitwaswrittenwithafeatherandquill.”
Ipressedtheletteragainstmychestreflexively.“Thisismyprivatemail.”
Samrolledhiseyes.“You’reliterallyinmylivingroom,Cass.Myquestionstands.Whatisgoingon?”
Ipaused,tryingtothinkthroughhowtoanswerthatquestionwithoutraisinganymoreredflagsinSam’smind.
“ThisletterisfromFrederick,”Isaid,verycarefully.“Hewantstoreturnmystuff,butI…”Itrailedoff.Tookadeepbreath.“IthinkIneedtotalkwithhim.ImighthavebeentoohastywhenImovedout.”
Samstoodupabruptly.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Youheardme.”
“Cassie,”Samsaid.“Youweresoterrifiedofhimtheothernightyouranhere.Nowhesendsyouoneletterandyouwanttogoback?”Heshookhishead.“Thisfeelslikeahypotheticaltheymightusetotrainlawyersonhowtofileprotectiveordersagainstabusivepartners.”
Myheartleaptintomythroat.“It’snotlikethat.”
“No?”
“No.”Ishookmyhead.“Frederickhasn’tdoneanythingwrong.He’sbeenagreatroommate.Wejust…”God.HowcouldIpossiblyexplainthissituationtoSaminawaythatmadesense?
Samputahandonmyshoulder,warmandreassuring.Hisfacesoftened.SamtheLawyerwasgonenow,replacedwithSamtheLifeCounselor.I’dseenalotofhimovertheyears,too.
“Letushelpyoufindanotherplacetolive,Cass.YourarrangementwithFrederickclearlydidn’tworkout.Andwhileyou’rewelcometostaywithusaslongasyoulike,atsomepointIassumeyou’dliketonotbesleepingonourcouchanymore.”
Ihesitated.Thesmartthingformetodo,ofcourse,wouldbetotryandfindanotherplacetolive.That’swhatarational,level-headedpersonwhojustfoundouttheirhotroommatewasavampirewoulddo.
ButI’dneveroncebeenaccusedofbeingrationalorlevel-headed.
Andnow,afterhavingsometimetothinkitover,Ibelievedhimwhenhesaidhewouldneverhurtme.
IthoughtbacktohowI’dbasicallyliedtohim,too,whenItoldhiminmyfirstemailthatIwasanartteacher.I’dwantedtomakethebestimpressionpossiblewhenIappliedfortheapartmentandwhenImovedin.Iwantedhimtopickme
CouldIreallyblamehimforalsowantingtohidethemoreunsavoryaspectsofhishistory,andhismostunpleasantpersonalitytraits,fromhisnewroommate?Granted,yes—beingavampirewasamuchbiggerdealinthegrandschemeofthingsthanexaggeratingmyjobhistory.Butinthatmoment,IthinkIunderstoodhisreasoningfordoingwhathedid.
“Ineedtotalktohimbeforemakingadecision,”IsaidtoSam.“WhenIranout,hetoldmehe…hewantedtoexplainafewthings.Ileftwithoutgivinghimachancetodothat.”
Thesoundofrunningwaterfloatedouttousfromthebathroom.Scottwasawakenow,too.HeandSamwouldsoonbeofftotheirrespectiveoffices.
“Andnowyouwanttogivehimthatchance?”Samasked,softly.
Inodded.“ThereareafewthingsIneedtoclearupwithhim.”
“Idon’tfeelgoodaboutthis.”Samwasstaringatmenow,armsfoldedtightlyacrosshischest.“IbetifyoutoldmethewholestoryI’dfeelevenworseaboutit.”
Hewasprobablyrightaboutthat.
IquicklykissedSamonthecheektodistracthim,thengrabbedmyphoneandmademywaytothefrontdoor.“I’mgoingtogivehimaquickcall,thenrunafewerrands.I’llbebacklater.”
“You’renotgoingtocallhimhere?”
“Nah,”Isaid,tryingtoignorewhatsoundedlikealarminSam’svoice.TherewasnowayI’dbeabletokeepSaminthedarkaboutwhatFrederickwasifIhadthisconversationinfrontofhim.IpulledonthetrainersIkeptbythefrontdoor.“IwanttogoforawalkandstretchmylegswhileI’mtalking.”
“Youhateexercise.”
Hewasrightaboutthat,too.Thistime,thenoteofconcerninSam’svoicewasunmistakable.“I’llberightback,”Ipromisedagain,beforeleaving.
IdecidedtocallFrederickfromtheSouthSiderecyclingcenter.
True,therecyclingcenterwasnoisy.ButIneededtomakethiscallfromaplaceofconfidenceandstrength.IwasonlygoingtomovebackinwithFrederickifIfeltIcouldhandleit,andifitservedme.Whatbetterwaytoremindmyselfthatthisphonecallwasmetakingactivestepstowardsimprovingmysituationthantohaveitwhileworkingonmyart?
ButbythetimeI’dgottenofftheElstopbytherecyclingcenter,mynervescouldn’ttaketheanticipationanymore.Isteppedintoadonutshopwithaflashingneonsignoverthedoorthatsaidfreshdonuts.Itwasgloriouslywarminside,andIwasgreetedbythemouthwateringsmellofmeltingsugar.
Imademywaytoatableneartheback,promisingmyselfIcouldhaveachocolateglazeddonutifImadeittotheothersideofthisphonecall.
Ipulledmyphonefrommybag,remindedmyselfthatIcoulddohardthings,andtextedhim.
HiFrederick
It’sCassie
CanIcallyou?
Frederick—amanwhohatedtexting,andwhobyallaccountsshouldhavebeenasleepatthathour—repliedimmediately.Likehe’dbeensittingthereallthistime,phoneinhand,waitingformetoreachout.
Yes.
Iamavailablenowifyouare.
Idialedhisnumber.Hepickeduponthefirstring.
“Cassie?”Thenoteofhopefulnessinhiswarm,richvoicewasunmistakable.
Iignoredthecorrespondingtwingeinmychest.
“Yeah,”Isaid.“It’sme.”
“Thisisasurprise.IwasworriedIwouldn’thearfromyouagain.”
“I’mkindofsurprisingmyselfrightnow,too,”Iadmitted.“UntilafewminutesagoIalsothoughtyou’dneverhearfrommeagain.”
Alongpause.“Whatchangedyourmind?”
Frederickmusthavebeenwithsomeone,becauseIcouldhearsomeonesayingsomethingIcouldn’tquitemakeoutovertheline.
“Shutup,youimbecile,”Frederickmuttered.Andthen,inarush,headded,“Oh,Cassie—Iapologize.That…wasn’tdirectedatyou.”
Istifledalaughinmypalm.“Who’swithyourightnow?Reginald?”
“Whoelse?”Hesighed.Hesoundedexhausted.“Regrettably.”
“Ithoughtyouhatedhim.”
“Idohatehim.”MoremumbledwordsfromReginaldthatIcouldn’tquitemakeout,followedbyhisraucouslaughterandaloudow!DidFrederickhithim?TheideawassoridiculousIalmostlaughedagain.
“Isee,”Isaid.
“Yes,”hesighed.“Alas,myoptionsforcompanionshiparelimited.”
Itoedatthefloorundermyfeetasawaveofirrationalguiltroseupinme.Thebelloverthedonutshop’sdoorchimedasaloudgroupofcustomerscameinside.TheirlaughterfilledthesmallspaceasIworkedupthecouragetosaywhatwasonmymind.
“So.Aboutoursituation.”
Apause.“Yes?”
Itookadeepbreath.“Theothernight,afteryou…beforeIranout,yousaidyoucouldgivemeanexplanation.”
“Yes.”
“Doyoustillwanttogiveittome?”Myheartwaspounding.WasIreallydoingthis?
Hisvoicewasquiet,guarded,whenhenextspoke.“Ido.”Andthen,afteranotherlongmoment,headded,“ButonlyifyouwanttohearwhatIhavetosay.Iwillnotforcemyself,ormystory,onyou.”
Itookanotherdeepbreath.“I’dliketohearit.”
“Wonderful.But,mayIaskwhatmadeyouchangeyourmind?”
MybreathcaughtatthehopefulnoteIheardinhisvoice.HowshouldIanswerthat?ShouldItellhimthetruth?ThatI’dbeenthinkingabouthimmorethanwasprobablywisesinceI’dmovedout—enoughtostartdoingmyownresearchintovampires?ThattheletterhesentwasoneofthesweetestlettersI’deverreceived?
No.Iwasn’treadyforthat.
SoIgavehimpartofthetruth.“Ifeelbadaboutrunningoutonyouwithoutgivingyouachancetoexplain,whenitwassoobviousyouhadmoretosay.AndIbelieveyou,now,whenyousayyouwon’thurtme.”
“Iwillneverhurtyou,”hesaidemphatically.“Never.”
Iswallowedaroundthelumpinmythroat,unsurewhattodowiththeemotionIheardinhisvoice.
“Ibelieveyou,”Isaid.“ButIhavealotofquestions.”
“Ofcourse.Iunderstandthisisalotforanyhumantoabsorb.Iwillbeathomeallevening.Wouldyoucaretocomebyandtalkthen?”
“No.”Weneededaneutralmeetingplace.Istillwasn’tcompletelysurewhatmynextmovewouldbe,andIdidn’twanttheawesomenessoftheapartmentormyundeniableattractiontoFredericktoswaymydecision-making.Besides—ifIwastotallywrongabouthimandFrederickwasplayingalonggamewithrespecttoeatingme,Iwantedtodothisinapublicplace.“HowaboutGossamer’s?”
“Gossamer’s?”
“It’sthecoffeeshopwhereIwork.I’lltextyoutheaddress.”
“Fairenough,”hesaid.“When?”
Iswallowed.Noturningbacknow.“Tonightateight?”
“Perfect.”Apause.“Iamverymuchlookingforwardtoseeingyouagain,Cassie.”
Hisvoicewassoftandsincere.Itriedtoignorethewaythatmademystomachflip,butdidn’treallysucceed.
“Me,too,”Isaid,meaningit.EIGHT
LetterfromMrs.EdwinaFitzwilliamtoMr.FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam,datedOctober29
MydearestFrederick,
Iaminreceiptofyourmostrecentletter.Readingithasdonenothingtoassuagemyconcerns.YourdecisiontoremaininChicagoandtoputyoursafetyinthehandsofawastrellikeReginaldandayounghumanwomanisunwiseatbest—andDANGEROUSatworst.Thispoordecision-makingisMOSTUNLIKEtheFrederickIonceknew!
Ifearitisbutfurtherevidencethatyourmentalstateiscompromisedfromyourcenturyofslumber.
Iwouldberemissinmydutiesastheeldestremainingmemberofourfamily—andassomeonewhocaresforyou,DESPITEourhistory—ifIallowedyoutocancelourfamily’sarrangementwiththeJamesons.IfMissJamesonissendingyougiftsIdaresaythatisaGOODthing!Itisasignofhercontinuedaffectionforyoudespiteyourcontinualrebuffs.YouMUSTopenhergifts,andshouldsendhersomegiftsINRETURNasasignofthelong-standinggoodwillbetweenourtwofamilies.
Donotcontinuetovexmelikethis,Frederick.
Yours,
Mother
HeyFreddy
Whatswiththepackages
TheyarefromEsmeraldaJameson.
Idonotwantthem.
Shesstillsendingyoustuff?
Yes.
Ihaveaskedhertostop,tonoavail.
Motherrefusestointervene.
Shethinksit’saGOODthing.
Soyou’regivingthemtome?
TheonesIthinkyou’llenjoy,yes.
Oneofusmightaswellgetuseoutofthem.
WhatamIgoingtodowithacross-stitchthatsays“HomeSweetHome”madefromwhatlookssmellsandtasteslikehumanentrails,Freddy
WhydidyouthinkI’dwantthis
Ithoughtitmatchedyourdecor,Reginald.
Okay,that’sfair
FrederickwasalreadyatatableinthebackwhenIarrivedatGossamer’s,takinginhissurroundingswiththedazed,wide-eyedwonderonemightexpectfromatouristvisitinganexoticlocationhalfwayaroundtheworld.
Healwayslookedgood,butevenbyhisownstandardshelookedlikeanabsolutesnack.Asingledarklockofhishairfellbeautifullyoverhisforeheadlikehe’dsprungfullyformedfromthepagesofoneofhisRegencynovels.Seeinghimsittingramrod-straightinhischair,wearingathree-piecesuitthatfitlikehe’dhadittailor-made,Ibegantodoubtthewisdomofusmeetinginpublicafterall.Becauseotherpeoplewerealsonoticinghowgoodhelooked.TwowomenwearingNorthwesternUniversitysweatshirtsanddrinkingcoffeeatthetablebesidehiskeptstealingsurreptitiousglancesinhisdirection.
Astrange,unfamiliarpossessivenessIneitherrecognizedinmyselfnorlikedsweptthroughme.
Whatifoneofthosewomenstartedhittingonhim?
IbumpedtheirtablealittleasIbreezedbythem,tellingmyselfitwaspurelyaccidental.
FrederickheldmygazeasIapproachedhim.Histhick,longeyelasheswerejustaswastedonamannowasthey’deverbeen.
Intruth,itwasstrangeseeinghimhere.Thiswasthefirsttimewe’dinteractedoutsideoftheapartment,anduntilnowIhadn’trealizedhowmuchI’dcometothinkofhimasafixtureofthelavishplacewherehelived.SeeinghimoutsideofitwasasjarringasseeingaflamingoontheEl.
Hisgazeslidoverme,nosetwitchingalittlewhenhiseyesfellonmyawkwardlybandagedlefthand.Couldhesmellthecutonmyhand?Ididn’twanttothinkaboutit.
Hisbrowfurrowed.“Whathappenedtoyou?”
Ihidmyinjuredhandbehindmyback.
“It’snothing.”Itwasthetruth.Thatafternoon’striptotherecyclingcenterhadbeenproductive,inthesensethatIfoundseveralusefullylargepiecesofscrapIwantedtotakebackwithmethenexttimeIhadaccesstoSam’scar.ButonmywayoutIsnaggedmyhandalittleonthejaggedundersideofanoldbicycleseat.Itbarelyevenrosetothelevelofabadpapercut,anditstoppedbleedingalmostimmediately—buttheguyworkingtherehadfreaked,babblingabouttetanusriskandliability.Heinsistedonbandagingmeupbeforelettingmego.
I’dbeensuchatangleofnervesonmywayover,I’dforgottentotakeoffthebulkypaddedbandageandswapitforamoreappropriatelysizedBand-Aid.
“Itdoesn’tlooklikenothing,”Frederickcountered,stillstaringatme.Hesoundedgenuinelyconcerned.“Showme.”
Heleanedincloser,andIcouldsmelltheshampoohemusthaveusedthateveningbeforearriving.Sandalwoodandlavender.Thescent-memoryofthatmomentjustoutsidehisbathroom—me,drippingwet,injustatowel—hitmelikeatidalwave,crowdingoutmorerationalthinking.
IdugmyfingernailsintomypalmbeforeIcoulddosomethingstupid.Likerunmyfingersthroughhisthick,luscioushairinapublicplace.
Leaninginsothathecouldhearmebutnooneelsewould,Iwhisper-hissed,“I’mnotabouttoshowavampireaninjurythatwasbleedinganhourago.”MytonewasharsherthanIintended,andhisfacecrumpledalittle.Ifoughttoignorethepangofguiltthatshotthroughme.“Just…justtrustmewhenItellyouit’sfine.Okay?”
Hiseyesfelltothetable.“Okay.”
Iglancedbackattheorderingcounter,whereKatiewasgrindingbeansforthenextmorning’sbrew.Itwasaslownight,andnocustomerswereinline.
“I’mgettingadrink.”Ijerkedmythumbtowardsthecounter.“Wantanything?”
Frederickshookhishead.“No.Iamunabletoconsumeanythingotherthan…”
Hearchedaneyebrowmeaningfullyratherthanfinishhissentence.Thecoffeebeangrinderstartedupagainbehindthecounter,loudandabrasive.
“Oh.”IwonderedifthiswassomethingIshouldhaveknown.Icouldn’trememberifSpikeorAngeleverdrankcoffeeinBuffy.“Notever?”
“Itwouldbelikeyoutryingtoconsumemetal,”hesaid,quietly.“Mybodysimplydoesnotrecognizeanythingotherthanyouknowwhatassustenance.”
Iwantedtohearmoreaboutthis.Hadhereallyconsumednothingbutbloodsincebecomingavampire?Itwasahardthingtowrapmymindaround.Forstarters,itseemedincrediblyinefficient.Assuminghiscaloricrequirementswereroughlythesameasahumanofhissize,howmuchblooddidhehavetodrinkeveryday?
Morethananything,though,adietconsistingofonlyonethingforliterallyforeversoundedterrible.Andboringashell.
Imadeamentalnotetoaskfollow-upquestionsconcerninghisdietaryhabitslater.
“MayIcomealongwithyouwhileyoupurchaseyourdrink?”HelookedaroundattheothercustomersatGossamer’s,takinginhoweachofthemhaddrinksorfoodinfrontofthem.“AsIwillexplaininmoredetailshortly,Ineedtolearnhowtoblendinwithmodernsociety.Ihavenotorderedcoffeeinoveronehundredyears.Isuspecttheprocesshaschanged.”
Myeyeswidened.
Inoveronehundredyears.
Thiswasthesecondtimehe’dmadeanobliquereferencetohowoldhewas,butitwasjustasjarringhearingitnowasithadbeentheothernight.Hedidn’tlookadayoverthirty-five.Thecognitivedissonancerequiredtolookathimandbelievehewascenturiesoldwasstaggering.
MymindflashedonceagaintothemomentbeforeIfledhisapartment.He’dsaid,Ineedyourhelp.SittingwithhiminGossamer’s—watchinghimregardoursurroundingswithequalpartsconfusionandfascination—IthoughtIfinallyunderstoodthekindofhelpheneeded.
And,perhaps,whyhe’dplacedanadforaroommateinthefirstplace.
IfidgetedwithmypursestraptodisguisehowrattledIwas.
“Yeah,whydon’tyoucomewithme?”Isuggested.“CoffeeshopsareabigthinginChicago.Yousaidyouwanttoblendin—”
“Yes,”hecutin,emphatic.
Iswallowed.“Okay.Well,ifyouwanttoblendin,youneedtolearnhowtoordercoffee.Evenifyouneveractuallydrinkwhatyouorder.”
Hepushedbackfromthetablewithoutanotherword,thewoodenlegsofhischairscrapingloudlyagainstthelinoleumfloor.HefollowedsoclosebehindmeaswemadeourwaytotheregisterthatIcouldfeelhiscool,solidpresenceatmybackaswemoved.Ishivered—inpartbecausehisproximitywasmoreexcitingthanIwantedtoadmittomyself,butalsobecausehisbodyradiatedcoldinawayI’dneverexperiencedwithanyoneelse.
Ithoughtbackagaintowhenwe’dcollidedoutsideofthebathroom.I’dbeensomortifiedIhadn’tfullyregisteredjusthowcool,howunyieldinghischesthadbeenwhenmynosebrushedagainstit.
Iwasthinkingaboutitnow,though.JusthowmanyclueshadImissed?
Katielookedupwhenwereachedthecounter,heryellowfloweryGossamer’sapronasbrightandchipperasherpersonality.ShewaseasilythenicestsupervisorI’deverhad,oneofthefewmanagerswhodidn’ttryandpullrankwhenitcametimetocleanthemilkfrotherorhandleobnoxiouscustomers.
“Hereonyournightoff?”sheasked,clearlysurprisedtoseeme.Hersurprisemadesense.IrarelycameherewhenIwasn’tworking.
“Iwasintheneighborhood,”Ilied.Shedidn’tneedtoknowIwasmeetingFrederickataplaceIworkedbecauseitwouldmakemefeelmoreempoweredfortheconversationwewereabouttohave.AndbecauseIwantedwitnesses,justincaseIwaswrongabouthimbeingafriendlyvampireandthiswentsouthinahurry.
Katienodded,thenasked,“CanIgetyousomething?”
FrederickwasalreadystaringupatthechalkboardmenuaboveKatie’shead,withanintensityonemightusetotranslateancienthieroglyphics.Themenulistednearlytwodozendrinksinchalkpastellettering,writteninKatie’sfloweryhandwriting.
“WeAreBountiful,”Frederickread,asslowlyandawkwardlyasthoughthewordswereinalanguagehedidnotspeak.“WeAre…SoulSearching.”Heturnedtolookatme,bewildered.“Ithoughtyousaidthisestablishmentservedcoffee.”
“It’skindofawholething,thewaywenamethingshere.”Katierolledhereyes.“TheownerattendedawellnessseminarinMarinCountyafewyearsago.Whenshecamebackallthedrinkshadtohaveinspiringnames.”
“They’rethesamedrinksyou’dgetanywhere,though,”Iclarified.“Sodon’tletthenamesthrowyou.”
“ThesamedrinksI’dgetanywhere,”Frederickrepeated.
“Right,”Isaid.“Sojustletmeknowifyouwantatranslation.”
Heseemedtoconsiderthat,andthenturnedtoKatie.“Iwouldliketopurchasecoffee.”Hesaidthewordsslowly,carefully—andloudly.LikeastereotypeofastupidAmericantryingtomakehimselfunderstoodinadifferentcountrytopeoplewhodon’tspeakEnglish.
“Coffee?”Katieasked.
“Coffee,”Frederickconfirmed,lookingextremelypleasedwithhimself.Andthen,asanafterthought,headded,“Please.”
Katielookedathimpatiently.Wegotpeopleinthereallthetimewhowereconscientiousobjectorstoourowners’namingsystem.Sheknewhowtohandlethis.
“Whatkindofcoffee?”sheasked.
Abeat.“Coffee,”Frederickreplied.
“Butwhatkind?”Withapracticedmotion,Katiepointedtothemenuaboveherhead.“WeAreSparklingisourlightroast,WeAreExuberantisourdarkroast,andWeAreVivaciousis—”
Atsomepoint,morecustomersmusthaveshownup,becausealineofpeoplehadformedbehindus.Frederickpaidthemnomindasheturnedtome.“Thesenamesareridiculous.”
“Youstillhavetoordersomething.”
“Ineverdrinkcoffee,Cassie,”heremindedme,lookingsoaffrontedIhadtobitetheinsideofmycheektokeepagigglefromescaping.“Maybethiswasn’tagoodidea.”
“Justpickone,”Iadvised.“Ifyou’renotgoingtodrinkit,itdoesn’tmatterwhatyouorder.Right?”Ileanedinclosersothepeoplebehinduswouldn’thearmeandwhispered,“It’sgoodpracticeforblendingin.”
Hetiltedhisheadasheconsideredthat.“You’reright.”HeturnedbacktoKatie.“Iwillhaveone—”Hepaused,lookingupatthepastelletteringaboveherhead,andgrimaced.“IwillhaveoneWeAreVivacious.”
“OneWeAreVivacious.”Katiepushedabuttonontheregister.Andthen,withthepatiencesheusuallyreservedforcustomersovertheageofseventy-five—which,giventhecircumstances,wasmoreappropriatethanKatierealized—sheasked,“Whatsizewouldyoulike?OurWeAreVivaciouscomesinMoon,Supernova,andGalaxysizes.”
ThisseemedtobeFrederick’slimit.
“IrecognizeeachofthewordsyoujustsaidasbelongingtotheEnglishlanguage,”hesaid,lookingdazed.“Whentakenalltogether,however,noneofwhatyoujustsaidmakesanysensewhatsoever.”
“Frederick—”
“Aliquidexpandstoconformtothesizeandshapeofthecontaineritisplacedin.Coffeedoesnothaveasize.”
Frederick’svoicewasgettinglouder.Thelinebehinduswasnowfivecustomersdeep.Iturnedaroundandnoticedthatsomeofthemwerewhisperingtooneanotherandstaringathim.
Ineededtointervene.
“Whatshemeans,Frederick,iswhatsizemugofcoffeedoyouwanttoorder?”IpointedatthemenudisplayhangingoverKatie’shead.Atthebottomwerelittlechalk-drawncartoonsofsmall,medium,andlargecoffeecups—or,Moon,Supernova,andGalaxy—andtheircorrespondingprices.I’ddrawnthemugsforthatdisplaymenumyfirstweekthere.Thathadbeenfun.“Thedrinksherecomeindifferent-sizedmugsdependingonhowmuchpeoplewanttodrink.Eachsizehasacorrespondingspace-relatedname.”
Understandingdawnedacrosshishandsomeface.“Isee.”HeglancedatKatie.“Youshouldhavesaidasmuchfromthebeginning.”
Forthefirsttime,Katie’spatiencewasshowingvisiblecracks.Sheglancedatmeandmurmured,“Youknowthisguy?”
“Sortof,”Iadmittedsheepishly.“Frederick,whatsizemugdoyouwantKatietogetforyou?”
Heseemedtoponderthequestionveryseriously.“Whatdonormalpeoplepurchasehere?ThatisthesizeIwouldlike.”
“He’llhavealargeWeAreVivacious,”IblurtedoutbeforeKatiehadachancetoanswer.Thisconversationneededtoendassoonaspossible.“Sorry—Imean,he’llhaveaGalaxy-sizedWeAreVivacious.I’llhaveaMoon-sizedWeAreEmpowered,withextrafoam.”
Idugintomywallettopulloutmycreditcard,butFrederickputhishandonmyarm.
“Iwillpayforthedrinks,”hesaid,histonebrookingnoopposition.Outofnowhere,hepulledoutaneon-purplebagthatlookedalotlikethefannypackmygrandpausedtowearonourfamilyvacationstoDisneyWorld.Heunzippeditsfrontpouch,andamotleyassortmentofcoins—dozens,hundredsofthem—spilledoutofitandalloverthecounterinfrontofus.
Istareddownatthepileincompletebafflement.Theremusthavebeenatleastfifteendifferentcurrenciesonthecounter.Somesortoflookedlikegolddoubloons.Werethoseactuallyathing?
Katie,tohercredit,didn’tevenbataneye.“Sorry.We’recashless.”Shepointedtothecreditcardreaderinfrontofus.
Frederickstaredfirstatit,thenather,withanutterlyblankexpression.“Whatisthat?”
“I’llpayforthedrinks,”Isaid,hurriedly.Frederickallowedmetoelbowhimoutoftheway,stillstaringatthecreditcardreaderinabjectconfusion.
“But—”
“Youcanpaymebacklater,”Isaid,insertingmycreditcardinthemachine.“Withyourgolddoubloons.”
FrederickglancedatmeovertherimofhisWeAreVivacious.Hesniffeditscontentswithobviousdistaste.
“Irememberlovingcoffee,”hemused,settingitbackdownonthetable.Itwasstillfull,andstillsteaminghot.“Nowitjustsmellslikedirtwatertome.”
Hesoundedsad.Howmuchofhisoldselfhadhelostwhenhe’dchangedintowhathewasnow?Butthere’dbetimeforexploringthatquestionlater.Ineededotheranswersfirst.
Iclearedmythroat.
“So,”Ibegan.“BeforeIranouttheothernight,yousaidyoucouldexplaineverything.Thatyouhadmoretotellme.”
IfFrederickwassurprisedbymysuddenchangeofsubject,heshowednosignofit.“Yes.It…isalongstory,”Fredericksaid.Hiseyesweresadanddistant.“AndoneIshouldhavesharedwithyoufromtheoutset.Iapologizeagainfornottellingyousooner,butifyouarewillingtolisten,Iwouldliketoshareitwithyounow.”
“It’swhatI’mherefor,”Isaid.“Ihopeatleastpartofthislongstoryhastodowithwhyacenturies-oldvampirewithnoapparentneedformoneyplacedaCraigslistadlookingforaroommate.”
Thecornerofhismouthquirkedupintoasmile.Irefusedtobedistractedbyhowhandsomehelookedwhenhedidthosehalfsmiles.Especiallywhentheymadehisdimplepop.“Itdoes.”
“Ihadafeeling,”Isaid.“Goon,then.”
“PerhapsIshouldgiveyouacondensedversion.Otherwise,wewillbehereallnight.”
Isippedmycappuccino(itwasgood—KatiemadeameanWeAreEmpowered)andthenlickedmylips.Frederick’seyestrackedthemovementofmytonguewithinterest.Ipretendednottonotice.
“Acondensedversionisprobablyagoodidea,”Iagreed.“Gossamer’sclosesateleven.Katiewon’tlikeitifwe’restillhere.”
“Iwouldn’twanttoangerher,”hemused.“Isuspectshehashadjustaboutenoughofmealready.”
Ismiled.“Probably.”
“Allright,then.”Hesatupstraighterandfixedmewithagazesosincereittookmybreathaway.“Cassie,IneedsomeonetolivewithmebecauseonehundredyearsagoReginald,whilepracticinghisturningwineintobloodcharm,accidentallypoisonedmeatacostumepartyinParis.Whichsubsequentlysentmeintosomethingakintoacentury-longcoma.IwokeupinmyChicagohomeonemonthago,knowingnothingofthechangesofthepastonehundredyears.”Hesmiledagain,buttherewasnohumorinit.“Iamaslostandhelplessinthecurrenteraasababeinthewoods.”
TheroomstartedspinningasItriedtoprocesswhathewastellingme.Mygriponmycoffeemugtightenedwithoutmyevenrealizingituntilmyknuckleswentwhite.
“Isee,”Isaid,notseeingatall.
Fredericktiltedhisheadtotheside,gaugingmyreaction.“IbelieveIhavesurprisedyou.Iunderstand.Itwasratheralotformetocomprehendaswell.AndIwastheonewhowentthroughit.”
“Mm.”
“PerhapsIshouldnothavegivenyouthecondensedversionafterall,”hemused.“Maybeamorenuanced,detaileddescriptionwithdates,placenames,andsettingswouldhavehelpedgroundthestoryandmadeiteasiertounderstand.”
Idoubtedthat.“Idon’tthinkthere’sanythingyoucouldhavesaidordonethatwouldhavemadethateasiertounderstand.”
Hisfacefell.“Perhapsnot.”
“Andso,”Isaid,piecingeverythingtogether.“Youneedaroommatebecauseyouneedsomeonetohelpyounavigatethemodernworld.”
“Yes,”heagreed.“ButIneedtodomorethanjustnavigateit.ItisimperativetomysurvivalthatIblendintomycurrentsurroundingsasbestaspossible.Orattheveryleast,thatitisnottooobviousthatIamananachronisticvampirelivingintheentirelywrongcentury.”
“Because…”
“Becauseitcanbe…dangerous,forsomeonelikemetostickouttoomuch.Deadly,even.”
Whatcouldbedangeroustoavampire?Weren’tvampiressupposedtobepowerfulimmortalswhokilledhumansforsport?Iwaitedforhimtoclarify,andforamomenthelookedlikehewantedtosaymore.Ultimately,though,hemusthavedecidedagainstit,becausehesimplyleanedbackinhischair,eyesonhisuntouchedcoffee.
Istillhadazillionquestions,though.
“Okay,but…”Ishookmyhead.“Whyme?WhyamItheroommateyouchosetolivewithyou?”
Hiseyeswidened.
“Isn’titobvious?”
“No.”
Heshrugged.“Whobettertoteachmeaboutlifeinthetwenty-firstcenturyandhelpmeadapttoamodernChicagothanayounghumanlikeyouwhoglideseffortlesslythroughit?”
Hemetmygaze.Hisdarkbrowneyesweresosoftandinviting.
Icouldgetlostinthem,Irealized.Mystomachdidsomethingthatfeltlikeasomersault.
Dangerous
No,Iyelledatmyself.WearenotgoingtobethinkingabouthowhotandsadFredericklooksrightnow.
“Also,”hecontinued,“youweretheonlypersonwhorepliedtothead.”
Ofcourse.Thetwo-hundred-dollarpricetagprobablyscaredeveryoneelseaway.
“Okay,but…”Iclearedmythroat,tryingtopullmyselftogether.“Whycouldn’tyoujustlivewithReginald?Heseemstobemanagingtheworldokay.”
“Unthinkable,”hesaid,flatly.“ReginaldmaybemorefamiliarwiththemodernerathanIam,butheisalsothereasonIaminthispredicament.Additionally,heischaosincarnate.Beforeyoumovedinwithme,Iwasentirelydependentonhisassistance.Itwasatleastasterribleforbothofusasyoumightimagine.Thepracticaljokesheplayedonme,evenwhileIwasstillinacoma…”Heshuddered,thenshookhishead.“ThoughIconcedethatwithouthim,Iwouldlikelyhavestarvedduringmycenturyofslumber.Orbeenrunoverbyacarwithinanhourofmyreawakening.Orbeencapturedbyvampirehunters.”
Theroomstartedspinningagain.“Vampirehuntersarereal?”
“Theywererealacenturyago.ButinChicago?Today?”Hemadeaseesawingmotionwithhishand.“Therearerumorsthattheyarestilloutthere.ThoughIadmitIdonotknowhowreliablethoserumorsare,especiallysinceIsuspectReginaldstartedmostofthem.”
“Ah.”
“Right,”Frederickagreed.“Cars,however,areabsolutelyreal.Iwishverymuchtoavoidbeingstruckbyonewhilegoingformynightlyconstitutional.”
“Would…wouldthatkillyou?Gettinghitbyacar?”
Hismouthquirkedintoanotherhalfsmile.Hehadtoknowhowpotentthosewere.“Probablynot.ButIsuspectitwouldnotfeelverygood.”
Icouldn’thelpbutsmilebackathimathisdryattemptathumor.“Yeah,Ican’timagineitwouldfeelgoodforanyone.”
“MaybeIshouldsuggestthatReginaldattemptitandaskhimtoreportback.”
Thatgotasmalllaughfrommedespiteeverything.Frederick’sposturevisiblyrelaxed,andhissmilegrew.Hereallyhadsuchanincrediblesmile.Itlituphisentirefaceandmadehimseem…
Morehuman,Irealizedsuddenly.
Thatbroughtmebacktoreality.
Thiswasridiculous.Icouldn’tletmyselfgetdistractedbymyattractiontohim.Istillhadsomanyquestions,anditfeltlikethemoreanswershegaveme,themorequestionsIhad.
“Ishouldhavetoldyouthetruthfromtheoutset,”hesaidagain,eyesonthefloor.
Thecontritioninhisvoicewasunmistakable.“Yeah.Youshouldhave.Myroommatewasavampire,Frederick.AndIhadnoidea.”
Hiseyesflutteredclosed,thecornersofhislipsturningdownalittle.Whenhelookedatmeagainhisdarkbrowneyeswereapologetic.“IhopeyoucanunderstandwhyIwasinitiallyreluctanttosharethetruthofmysituationwithacompletestranger.”Hepaused.“Or,attheleast,thatyouwillonedayfinditwithinyourselftoforgivemeforstartingthingsoffsobadly.”
Helookedawayagain,chastened.
“I…thinkIunderstand,”Ibegan.“AndImightbewillingtohelpyou,ifyoustillwantmyhelp.”
Hesatupstraighterinhischair.“Really?”
“Possibly,”Iclarified,holdingupahand.
Ithoughtofhowhehadmademefeelwhilewelivedtogether—withhisgiftsoffruitandcookware,hiswarmglances,andhissincereinterestinmyart.AndmyfinancialsituationwasnobetternowthanithadbeenwhenImovedinwithhimtwoweeksago;thetwo-hundred-dollarrentwouldcomeinjustashandynowasithadbefore.
Evenstill,Ineededtodosomemorethinking.Thiswholesituationwasobjectivelysurreal.
“Iunderstand,”Fredericksaid.
“Good,”Isaid.“Ineedtothinkaboutwhetherprovidinglive-in,hands-onlifeinstructionstoavampireissomethingIcandealwithbeforecommittingtodoingit.”
Frederickheldhishandsupinfrontofhisface,frowningatthem.“Hands-on?IwilladmitIhadnotimaginedusingourhandsasapartoftheinstructionprocess.Butifyouthinktouchingwouldhelp…”
IfI’dbeendrinkingmycappuccinoatthatmoment,I’dhavespatitoutalloverthetable.Suddenly,itfeltlikethetemperatureinGossamer’shadincreasedbytendegrees.“Ohmygod.No—it’sjustafigureofspeech.”
Helookedatme.“It’safigureofspeech?’?”
“Yeah.Hands-onjustmeanslearningbydoing.”
Apause.“Learningbydoing?”
“Yes,”Isaid.“Thewayyouorderedyourdrinktonight,forexample.I’dconsiderthathands-oninstruction.Youlearnedhowtoorderadrinkbyorderingadrink.”
Recognitiondawnedonhisface.“Oh,yes.Isee.”Hiseyesdroppedtohismug.
Andthen,heleanedinalittleclosertomeacrossthetable.
Asmartpersoninmysituationwouldprobablyhavereactedtothatbybackingawayandputtingmorespacebetweenus.Icouldn’tbringmyselftodoit.Itwasn’tjustthathelookedincredible,thoughthatwascertainlypartofit.Despiteeverything—whoandwhathewas,andthefactthathehadn’tbeentotallyhonestwithmewhenI’dmovedin—Iwantedtotrusthim.
Ididtrusthim.
ButIdidn’ttrusthimenoughtoletmyselfbedrawninlikethatagain.Deliberately,andwithmoredifficultythanIwouldhaveliked,Imademyselfshiftbackinmychairtoincreasethedistancebetweenusagain.
Heseemedtounderstandmyintent,becauseheadded,“Iunderstandifyoustillneedtimetothinkthingsthrough.”
Hedidn’tsoundhappyaboutitatall.
Whichmadenosense.
“EvenifIcan’tlivewithyouagain,Frederick,you’lljustfindsomeoneelsewhocan.”
Hiseyeswenthard.“Impossible.I…”Hetrailedoff,thenshookhishead.“Whileyes,IsuspectIcouldfindanotherroommate,givenadequatetime,Iwillnotfindanyonewhocaninstructmesowellasyou.”
Thatsurprisedme.“I’mnothingspecial.”
Hisbrowfurrowed.SomethingaboutwhatI’dsaidbotheredhim,thoughIcouldn’timaginewhatitmightbe.
“OverthepasttwoweeksI’vediscoveredthatinthiscityofmillions,youareoneofakind.”HiswordscarriedaquietintensityIcouldfeelinthepitofmystomach.Suddenly,therewasnooneinthatnoisyplacebutthetwoofus.Thedinoftheroomdroppedaway,inaudibleoverthesuddenrushofbloodinmyears.Myeyesdroppedreflexivelytothetable.
TheGalaxy-sizedcoffeemughewascradlinglookedpositivelytinyinhishands.
Iclearedmythroat.“I’msurethat’snottrue,Frederick.I’m—”
“Donotthinkforonemomentthatyouarereplaceable,CassieGreenberg,”hesaid.Hesoundedalmostangry.“Foryouareanythingbut.”
IturnedmyconversationwithFrederickoverandoverinmyheadallthewaybacktoSam’splace.
TheapartmentwasdarkwhenIletmyselfinside.IvaguelyrememberedScottmentioninganeventthatnightathisuniversityforfacultyandtheirpartners.ThatmustbewhereheandSamwere.
Givenhowmuddledmythoughtswere,Iwasgratefultohavetheapartmenttomyself.Iwouldn’tbeabletohandleitifSamweretherewithhisnosybutwell-intentionedquestions.
IfIwasbeinghonest,IwasalreadyleaningtowardsmovingbackinwithFrederick.ButIdidn’twanttorushthisdecision,nomatterhowbadlyheseemedtowantmetolivewithhim.IfIsaidno,he’dbefine.Regardlessofwhathe’dsaid,he’deasilyfindsomeoneelsejustasqualifiedtodo…whateverthiswas.
HewasdistraughtwhenIsuggestedit,eventhoughitwastrue.Becauseofthat,IowedittohimtogivehimananswerassoonasIhadoneandnotjustsitonthisdecision.
Iglancedatmyphone.Itwasnearlyelevenatnight.Frederickwouldn’tthinkitwaslateifIcalledhim,though.Elevenatnightwasbasicallylatemorningforhim.HemightthinkIwasbeingabitpatheticandovereager,though,sincewe’djustsaidgoodbyeanhourago.
Thenagain,maybehe’dbegladI’dmadeupmymindsoquickly.
Itookadeepbreathandclosedmyeyes.
OnthetrainridebackhomeIdecidedthatifhecouldreassuremeaboutoneveryspecificthing,I’dbesatisfied.Therestofmyquestionscouldwait.
Icountedtoten,willingmyracinghearttoslow.ThenIcalledhim.
Hepickeduponthefirstring.
“Cassie.”Hisvoicewasbrightwithsurprise.“Goodevening.”
“IhaveonemorethingIwanttogooverwithyou,”Isaid,leapingrightin.Thiswasnotthetimeforsmalltalk.“Ifwecanagreeonafewparametersnow,Icanagreetomovebackin.”
Thesoundofstreettraffic—ahonkingcarhorn,someonelaughing—filteredinfromFrederick’ssideofthephone.Hemustbeout,doing…whateveritwashedidatnight.
Ididn’twanttothinkaboutwhatthatmightbe.
“Whatisit?”heasked,unabletohidetheeagernessinhisvoice.
Iclosedmyeyesagain,tryingtosteelmynerves.
“Weneedtodiscussfood,”Ibegan.“Specifically,yourfood.”
“Yes.Ihadassumedyouwouldwanttodiscussthiseventually.”
“Youassumedcorrectly.”Ibitmylip,tryingtothinkhowtophrasewhatIwantedtoaskhim.“Ibelieveyouwhenyousayyoudon’tfeedfromlivinghumans—”
“Good,”hesaid,emphatically.“BecauseIdonot.”
“Yougetfoodfrombloodbanks,then?”
Apause.“Usually,yes.”
Imadetheintentionaldecisionnottothinkaboutwhatusuallymeant.Orabouttheethicaldilemmastealingfrombloodbanksraised.Drinkingbloodmeantforhumanpatientswhoneededitwouldalsoleadtohumandeaths,evenifindirectly.ButIsupposedFrederickwasjustdoingwhatheneededtodotosurviveinashumaneawayaspossible.
“IthinkIcanhandlethefactthatyoudrinkblood,givenhowyoulimityourself.”
“Iamverygladtohearthat.”
“But,”Icontinued.“IcannothandleanotherexperienceliketheoneIhadtheothernight.WhereIopenthefridgeand,bam—blood.”Ipaused,tryinghardnottothinkaboutthesickeningsmellofallthatbloodintheplacewhereIkeptmyfood.ThewayReginaldhadsuckeditdownlikeakiddiggingintoajuiceboxatrecess.“Ifanythinglikethathappensagain,I’mgoneforgood.”
“Iunderstand,”Fredericksaid,veryquickly.“Youneitherwanttoseebloodintheapartmentnorseemeeatingit.”
“That’sright.”
“Iwillmakeitso,”hepromised.“Allkitchenfoodstoragespacewillbeforyouruseonly.IwillstoremyfoodinaspecialrefrigeratorIwillkeepinmybedroomforthisexpresspurpose.Orelsekeepitoutofourhomealtogether.”
Ourhome
Iignoredthewarmththatfloodedmeatthosewords.
“Thatshouldwork,”Iagreed,gladhewasnottheretoseehowflushedmyfacewas.
“Good.”Hepaused,thenadded,“PleasebelievemewhenItellyouInevermeantforyoutoseetheblood.Ortoseeoneofuseat.IswearIbelievedyouwouldnotbehomethatnightuntilmuchlater.”
Ibelievedhim.“WhatReginalddidwasn’tyourfault.”
“Eitherway,Iwillonlyeatintheapartmentwhenyouarenotaroundtoseemedoit.”
“Thankyou.”
“Itisnohardship.Thereareonlyafewhourseachdaywhenwearebothathome,andevenfewerwhenwearebothawake.”
“Youreallyaren’tawakemuchduringtheday,areyou?”
Hepaused,andthensighed.“Anaftereffectofhavingbeenasleepforacentury,I’mafraid.Iwasonceabletobeawakeduringdaylighthourslikeanymortalhuman,eventhoughbeingindirectsunlighthasalwaysbeenmildlyunpleasant.But…”Hetrailedoffandsighedagain.“Iamstillregainingmystrength,Cassie.Fornow,thebestwayformetodothatistominimizethetimeIamawakeduringthedaylighthours.”
“Ofcourse,”Isaid,asifIunderstood.ButIdidn’t.Istillhadsomanyquestionsabouthowhislife—or,nonlife—worked.EverythingIhadeverlearnedaboutvampireswasfromfictionalsources.EvenamongthefictionalvampireworldsI’dseenorreadabouttherewerealotofinconsistencies.ThevampiresinAnneRicenovels,forexample,didn’tactlikethevampiresinBuffyorTrueBlood
IassumedFrederickdidn’tsparkleinthesunlikethevampiresinTwilight,thougheventhatwasjustaguess.Beyondthat,Ihadnoideahowanyofitworked.
Ifiguredthere’dbetimetopuzzleitalloutlater,though.Forthetimebeing,IputamentalcheckmarkbesideFood,reasonablysatisfiedbywhathe’djustpromisedme.
“Istillhavealotofquestions,”Iadmitted.“Andconcerns,too.ButI’mwillingtotakealotonfaith,assumingyou’reupfrontwithmeaboutthebigstuffgoingforward.”
“Ifyouagreetolivewithmeandhelpmeadjusttolifeinthetwenty-firstcentury,Iwillneveragainomitanythingaboutmyselfthatmightimpactyourlifeinasignificantway.”
“Good,”Isaid.Andthen,beforeIcouldstopmyself,Iadded,“Iwillmovebackintomorrow.”
Icouldn’tknowforsure,butwhenFredericksaidgoodnighttomeafewminuteslaterIthoughtIcouldhearhimsmiling.NINE
HeyFrederick
Cassie.Hello.
Iseverythingallright?
Youarestillplanningtomovein,Ihope?
Ohyeahforsure
IjustwantedtoletyouknowI’marrangingtohaveWiFisetupatyourplace
Mytreat
WiFi?
Yeah.IfI’mmovingbackinI’llneedinternet.
EverythingIhaveheardabouttheinternetmakesitsoundlikeacanceruponthemodernworld.
IamnotcertainIwantit.
WellIwantit
Ineedittowatchmyshowsanddoemailandstuff
You’regonnaloveitIpromise
IcanassureyouIwillnot
ButifitissomethingyourequiretobehappyI’llallowit
ItwassurprisinglygoodtobeinFrederick’sapartmentagain.Itwasthreeintheafternoon,sojustlikethelasttimeImovedinhewasn’ttheretogreetme.Hehad,however,leftthecurtainscoveringthelake-facingwindowsopen—presumablyformybenefit.Thebrightautumnsunglintedoffthewatersoenticinglyitalmostfeltliketheviewwaswelcomingmebackhome.
OrmaybeI’djustgottentiredofcampingoutonSam’ssofa.
Iquietlyenteredtheapartment,doingmybesttoignorethebizarredecor.Thetoo-darkwalls,thecreepystuffedwolf’sheadoverthemantel,thewaythehallclosetIwasforbiddenfromenteringsmelledvaguelyoffruit—itwasalljustasodd,andstillgaveoffeverybitasmuchoftherichpeoplehavemoremoneythansensevibeasithadafewdaysago.Theonlydifferencenowwasthatbyknowinghewasacenturies-oldvampireitallmadeabitmoresense.
IyawnedasImademywaytowardsmybedroom.I’dstayeduplatethenightbeforetryingtoconvinceSamthatyes,IwascertainmovingbackinwiththesameroommateI’dfledfromtheotherdaywaswhatIwantedtodo.Icouldn’tblameSamforhisconcern;IunderstoodthatfromalloutsideappearancesIwasbehavingerratically.
ButFrederick’ssecretwasn’tminetoshare.
Hopefully,intimeSamwouldn’tworryquitesomuchaboutme.
AssoonasIenteredmyroommybreathcaught.FrederickhadleftmySaugatucklandscapeshangingintheexactsamespotthey’dbeenwhenImovedout.EventhoughIknewhedidn’treallyunderstandthem.
Twoenvelopeswithmynameonthemwaitedformeonthethickmattressofmyfour-posterbed.Besidethemlayawoodenbowlfilledwithmoreofthosemouthwateringlittleorangekumquatshe’dgivenmethefirsttimeI’dmovedin.
Iopenedthefirstenvelopeandoutslidtwosheetsofcrisplyfoldedoff-whitepaper,bearinghandwritingthatatthispointI’drecognizeanywhere.
DearCassie,
Welcomeback.Iamverygladyoudecidedtomoveinwithmeagainandhopeyouaregladaswell.
Ihavebegunpreparingalistofpotentiallessontopicsforustocovertogether.Enclosedpleasefindsaidlist,submittedforyourapproval.PleasenotethatIamsouneducatedinthewaysofthemodernworldthatIlikelydonotevenknowwhatitisIdonotknow.Ifyoucanthinkofanyseriousomissionsfromthislist,pleaseadvise.
Yours,
Frederick
ps:Asyoumayhavenoticed,Iincluded“Coffeeshopsandhowtonavigatethem”inthelist.AfterwhathappenedatGossamer’swhenItriedtoorderabeverage,Ithoughtyouwouldagreefurthereducationisrequired.
IhuffedalaughwhenIgottothefinalline.
Goodcall,Frederick
Ireviewedthelisthe’dincludedwiththeletter,worryingmybottomlipasIponderedwhathe’djotteddown.
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam’sProposedModernDayLessonsList
Coffeeshopsandhowtonavigatethem.
Generalconversationtips(withspecificfocusonhowtoconversewithothersinsuchawaythatitisnotimmediatelyapparentIwasbornintheeighteenthcentury).
Publictransportation:how,where,andwhen?
Theinternet(sinceyouinsistIlearnaboutit).
“TickTock”
Abriefsummaryofallmajorhistoricaleventsthathavetranspiredoverthepastonehundredyears.
LeavingasidethefactthattherewasnowayIcouldsummarizeonehundredyearsofworldhistory,Frederick’slistwasincomplete.IfhewantedtoblendinwithChicagointhetwenty-firstcentury,oneofthefirstthingsheneededtodowasditchthethree-piecesuits,thecravats,andthewing-tippedshoesandpickupsomemoremodern,lessformalclothing.I’dassumedhealreadyknewhedressedlikeanextrafromanoldMasterpieceTheatreepisodeandthatbigchangeswerenecessary—butTeachmewhattowearwasn’tanywhereonthislist,soImusthaveassumedwrong.
IquicklyjotteddownFashionlessons—shoppingspree?atthetopofhislistsoI’dbesuretorememberit.
Therestofhislistwoulddo,forastart.Withsometweaking,IthoughtIcouldaddresshisbiggestconcernswithoutmuchdifficulty.Ididn’tknowmuchaboutTikTok,butIcouldshowhimInstagram.Teachinghimabouttheinternetmightevenbefun.Ifoldeduphisletterandhislistandputthembackintotheirenvelope,alreadythinkingthroughhowbesttoteachhimthethingshemostwantedtoknow.
AsIpondered,Ipickedupthesecondenvelopewhereitlayonthemattress.Beneathitwasalong,slim,rectangularsilver-and-goldfoil-wrappedboxthatlookedsuspiciouslylikeagift.
DidFrederickgetmeanothermoving-inpresent?
Islowlyopenedthesecondenvelopeandpulledouttheslipofpaperinside.
Thisletterwasonlythreewordslong.
DearCassie,
Foryourart.
Yours,
Frederick
Swallowing,Ipickeduptheboxandtoreopenitscarefulwrapping.Thepaperhe’dwrappeditinwasthickandbutter-soft.Theboxinsidewaspalecreamincolor,itsbottomstampedwiththefamousArthur&Bros.forest-greenlogo.Arthur&Bros.wasanartsupplystorebasedneartheUniversityofChicagothatshippedinternationallyandmadesomeofthenicestpaintbrushesI’deverpersonallyused.
Iopenedthebox.Insidewasasetofforty-eightbeautifulcoloredpencils,rangingincolorsfrompalepinktoabluesodarkitwasnearlyblack.Ihadn’tusedcoloredpencilsinanyofmyworksinceIwasinhighschoolandwasn’tcertainI’dfindauseforthese.
Thethoughtfulnessofthisgift,though,wasundeniable.Iwonderedhowhe’dmanagedtoevengetthem,givenhowfarawayHydeParkwasfromhisapartment—andhowheseemedtohavenoideahowtopayforthings.
ItoldmyselfIhadtopushasideanythoughtsofwhatagenerous,thoughtfulgiftlikethismightmean.
ButIdidn’tquitemanageit.
Igrabbedapenandascrapofpaperfrommybag,andscratchedahastynoteforhim.
HiFrederick,
Yourlistlooksgoodtome!It’saplacetostartanyway.Butwealsoneedtoworkonyourclothes.They’reverynicebuttheymakeyoustandoutinawayIdon’tthinkyouwant.Weshouldgoshoppingtogethersoon.Whatdoyouthink?I’llshowyouexactlywhattobuysonoonethinksanything’soffaboutyouwhentheyseeyouinpublic.
Andthankyousomuchforthepencils.They’rebeautiful.
Yours,
Cassie
IstaredatthewayI’dsignedthenoteforalongtimebeforeIcouldconvincemyselftoleaveitforhimonthekitchentable.
Therewasnothingweird,nothingworst-idea-in-the-worldaboutsigninganoteYours,Cassie,inreplytoanotesignedYours,Frederick—right?
Iwasjustbeingpolite.Doingwhatanygood,friendlyroommatewoulddo.TherewasnoreasonatallformyhearttoberacingwhenIimaginedhimreadingmynoteafterI’dgonetosleep,grinningsobroadlyatthewayI’dsigneditthatitactivatedhiskillercheekdimple.Noreasonwhatsoever.
Myheartwasracing,though,allthesame,whenIleftthenoteonthekitchentablefiveminuteslater.
BecausesomanyoftheartistswhosharedspaceatLivingLifeinColorhaddayjobsduringtraditionalbusinesshours,thestudiowasalwaysbusiestoneveningsandweekends.WhenIgotthereafewhoursaftermovingbackintoFrederick’sapartment,itwasseveno’clockandthestudiowaspacked.Therewasnospaceleftformeatthebigcommunaltable—myfavoritespottoworkwhenImadeitin.
“There’sstillanopencarrelintheback,”Jeremy,apainterwhoallbutlivedtherefromwhatIcouldtell,saidfromhispositionattheheadofthebigtable.
“Isittheonewiththegoodlamporthebrokenone?”
“Oh,JoannegotthebrokenonefixedonTuesday.”
“Really?”Thatwasasurprise.Itwasnosecretthatthestudiobarelyearnedenoughmoneyinartistrentalfeestocoveritsrent.Joannegenerallyviewedanyrepairsthatwerenotabsolutelyrequiredtokeepthebuildinguptocodeassomethingshecouldputoffindefinitely.
“Iknow,Iwassurprised,too.”Jeremychuckled.“Anyway,it’sthecarrelthatupuntilTuesdayhadabrokenlampbutthatworksjustfinenow.”
TheprojectIwantedtocreateformysubmissionhadbeencomingtomeinbitsandpiecesoverthepastfewdays.IthadsolidifiedthatafternoonwhenI’dwalkedintomybedroomandsawmyLakeMichiganlandscapeshangingintheplacewherethatawfuloilpaintingofthefox-huntingpartyhadoncebeen.
Frederick’soldpaintingwashideous.Butnotallartdepictinglifeintheeighteenth-centuryEnglishcountrysidewasbad—atleastifthoseclassesItookwhilestudyinginLondonwhenIwasincollegewerehalfwayaccurate.WhatifIcreatedsomethinginspiredbythatera,butwithoutthegrislyhuntingstuff?Amanorhouse,setintheLakeDistrict,withleafygreentreesinthebackgroundandababblingbrookintheforeground?IstillneededtothinkthroughexactlyhowI’dsubverttheimagethroughfoundobjects—howtomakeitmodern,howtomakeitmine—butthatwouldcometome.Inthemeantime,thesortofimageIwasimaginingwouldreallygetmetostretchmyoil-paintingmusclesinawaythatexcitedme.
Idugthroughmybagformysketchpad—andformynewestgiftfromFrederick.NormallyIjustusedaregularoldgraphitepencilformypreliminarysketches,butforthisproject,Iwoulddrawmyplanningsketchesincolor.TEN
TextmessagesbetweenMr.FrederickJ.FitzwilliamandMr.ReginaldR.Cleaves
CanIaskyourhonestopinion?
Always
Whatdoyouthinkofmyclothes?
ThewayIdress,Imean.
DoIdressstylishly?
Stylishly?
Yes.
Ithinkyoudressgreatbuddy
Good.
Idotoo.Thankyou.
Ithinkmyclotheslookveryrefined.
ImeanIkeptallyourclothescarefullypreservedforyouwhileyousleptright?
SoImightbebiased
Perhaps,butIalsohappentothinkthatinthisisolatedinstance,youdidwell.
AwwwwthankyouButheywhydoyousuddenlycareaboutyourclothes
Ialwayscareaboutmyclothes.
UmmmmminthethreecenturiesIveknownyouyouveneveronceaskedmyopiniononyourclothesorappearance
Whyareyouaskingnow?
Iwasjust…
Curious.
LolllllllusureitdoesnthaveanythingtodowiththatGIRLmovingbackinwithu
Ihaven’ttheslightestideawhatyou’retalkingabout.
Thenextevening—afterthesunhadset,andFrederickhadwelcomedmebacktotheapartmentinpersonwithasmallsmileplayingonhislips—wefoundourselveshuddledtogetheratthekitchentableinfrontofmylaptop.
Frederickwasscowling,armsfoldedtightlyacrosshischestasheglaredatmyscreen.
“WhatamIlookingat,Cassie?”
“Instagram.”
“Instagram?”
“Yes.”
FrederickpointedatthefilteredpictureofabreakfastSamhad,accordingtothecaption,eatenafewmonthsagoonhishoneymooninHawaii.“Instagramis…picturesoffood?”
“Sometimes,yeah.”
Frederickscoffed,clearlyunimpressed.
“Reginaldreallydidn’tshowyouanythingontheinternetbeforenow?”Iasked,alittleincredulous.Butitwasarhetoricalquestion.Itcouldn’thavebeenclearerthatbeforeIgotFrederick’sinternetupandrunningthatafternoon,he’dneverbeenexposedtoanythingonline.
Frederickshookhishead.“Hedidn’t.”
“HowdidyouknowtoaskaboutTikTok,then?”
Apause.“Ithoughtitwasanewkindofmusic,”headmitted,abitsheepishly
Icouldn’thelpbutsmileatthat.Hereallywasadorablyclueless.“Really?”
“It’scalledTikTok,”hesaid.“That’sthesoundaclockmakes,isitnot?Ithinkitwasareasonableguess.”
Hehadapointthere.IfI’djustwokenupfromacentury-longnap,Imighthavereachedthesameconclusion.Asitwas,IwasbornjustafewdecadesagoandIbarelyknewwhatTikTokwas,either.
“Well,eitherway,beingconnectedtotheinternetisessentialinthetwenty-firstcentury,”Isaid.“It’stheonlywaypeoplegettheirinformationnow.”
“That’sprobablywhyReginalddidn’tconnectme,”Fredericksaid,darkly.“HefedmeforacenturyandmadesuremybillsgotpaidsoIwouldn’twasteawayorbehomelesswhenIwokeup.Butif,uponwaking,Ihadreliableaccesstoinformationatmyfingertipsitwouldhaveimpededhisabilitytoplaypracticaljokesonme.”
Isnorted.“IthinkI’mgoingtobeanicerlifeassistantthanhewas.”
“There’snoquestioninmymindaboutthat.”
Heturnedhisattentionbacktomylaptop.Earlier,I’dexplainedtohimthatwhileIwasn’tfamiliarwithallcornersoftheinternetorallsocialmediaplatforms—forexample,I’donlyjoinedTikTokforfunnycatvideosandbarelyunderstoodit—IwasregularlyonInstagramandcouldshowhimaround.
He’dagreedreadilyenough,thoughinhindsightIrealizedthatthatwasbecausehehadn’tknownwhatInstagramwas.EversinceI’dpulledupSam’spageFrederickhadmadeitabundantlyclearheregrettedthatdecision—andpossiblyregrettedaskingweengageininternetlessonstogetheratall.
“Whatisthepointoftechnologydedicatedsolelytosharingpicturesofbreakfastfoods?”Hesoundedsobaffled—almostoffended,really—thatIhadtobitemyliptokeepfromlaughing.Hewasthebroad-chested,gorgeous,not-quite-livingembodimentoftheOKboomermeme.Thefactthathelookedlikeamaninhismid-thirtiesonlymadeitfunnier.
Andmoreadorable.
“Instagramisn’tjustpicturesoffood,”Icountered,tryingtokeepastraightface.
Hepointedanaccusingfingeratthescreen.“Yourfriend’saccountseemstobeentirelypicturesoffood.”
“Samlikestakingpicturesfood,”Iadmitted.“ButInstagramletsyousharepicturesofanythingyouwantwithpeopleallovertheworld.Notjustpicturesoffood.”
Heseemedtoconsiderthat.“Oh?”
“Yes,”Iconfirmed.“Youcansharepicturesofimportantnewsevents,orofbeautifulplaces.And,yes,okay—sometimespeoplesharepicturesofmealsthey’veenjoyed.Especiallyiftheyweresomewherespecialorexcitingwhentheyateit.”
“WhywouldpeopleallovertheworldcarewhatyourfriendSamatewhileonholiday?”
Iopenedmymouthtorespond,butthenrealizedIdidn’thaveagoodanswerforthat.
“I…don’treallyknow,”Iadmitted.“Butwecouldtakeapictureofthatbowloforangesyoukeeponthecounterformeandpostthatifyouwant.They’repretty.”
Heglancedoverhisshoulderattheorangesinquestion,thenshookhisheaddisapprovingly.“Isimplydonotunderstandthismodernurgetoshareeveryerrantthoughtonehaswiththeentireworldtheinstantithappens.”
“Ican’tsayIcompletelyunderstandit,either,”Iadmitted.“IuseInstagramtopromotemyart.Otherthanthat,Idon’tusesocialmediamuch.”
“ThenwhyareyouinsistingIlearnhowtouseit?”Hesoundedpetulant,likeasmallchildonthevergeofthrowingatantrumoverhavingtodohismathhomework.“Ifthisissocialmedia,socialmediaseemslikenothingbutanoisy,invasivewasteoftime.”
Ashecontinuedtoscowlatmylaptop,Ibecamenearlyoverwhelmedwithsympathyforhim.WhenFrederickfellintohiscentury-longsleep,he’dleftbehindaworldofhandwrittenlettersandhorsebackriding.WakinguptosocialmediaandtheKardashianshadtobeanincredibleshock.Hewaslikeanoctogenarianlearninghowtouseacomputer—onlyworse.
Octogenariansweremorethantwohundredyearsyoungerthanhewas.
Iwasdeterminedtostickwiththislesson,though.FrederickmaynothaveintendedtoaskmetoteachhimaboutsocialmediawhenheaskedaboutTikTok,buthonestly?Itwasagoodidea.Nowthatweweredoingthis,Iwasn’tgoingtolethimgetinhisownway.
“Youdon’thavetousesocialmedia,”Isaid,keepingmyvoicegentle.“Butifyouwanttoblendin,youneedtoatleastknowwhatsocialmediais.”
“Iamnotcertainthatistrue.”
“Itis.”
Hisfull,plushlipsturneddownintoapout.Mycenturies-oldvampireroommatewaspouting.Itwasasridiculousasightasitwasriveting.Hebithislip,andmyeyesfellhelplesslytohismouth.Hisfrontteethlookednodifferentfromanyoneelse’s.DidFrederickhavefangssomewhere,thewayReginalddid?
Ifhepressedthosebeautifullipstomythroat,wouldhebeabletofeelmyheartbeatingbeneaththeskin?
Istillhadsomanyquestions.SomeofwhichIdidn’tdareadmiteventomyself
“Theclarityofthephotographsyoucanseeontheinternetisastounding.”Frederick’sgrudgingcomplimentofSam’spicturescutintomydaydreams,savingmefrommyself.Thinkingabouthismouthonmyneck—onanypartofmybody—wouldleadtonothinggood.
Isatupabitstraighterinmychair,feelingabitflushed.“I’mprettysureSamusedafilteronthat.”
“Awhat?”
Ishookmyhead.AlessononInstagramfilterscouldwaitforanotherday.“Nevermind.”
Fortunately,Frederickletitdrop.“MyunderstandingfromReginaldisthatthereisawaytointeractwithimagesyouseeonsocialmedia.HowdoIdothat?”
“Oh.Well,onInstagramyoucanlikeapostbyclickingthatlittleheart,oryoucanleaveacomment.”
Frederickfrowned.“Acomment?”
“Yeah.”
“WhatsortofcommentsdoesoneleaveonInstagram?”
Ithoughtforamoment.“Imean,peoplesaywhatevertheywant.Usuallypeopletrytobefunny.Sometimestheymighttrytobemean,Iguess.Butthatwouldbeadickthingtodo.”
“A…dickthingtodo,”herepeatedslowly,soundingconfused.
“Exactly.”
Frederickshookhisheadandmutteredsomethingunderhisbreaththatsoundedabitlikeincomprehensiblemodernslang,thoughIcouldn’tbecertain.Thenheasked,“MayIleaveacommentonthispictureyourfriendhaspostedofhisbreakfast?”
Hisquestionsurprisedme,afterhowopenlyhostilehe’dbeentotheveryideaofsocialmedia.Itwasgoodthathewantedtolearn,though.“Sure.”Ipointedtothecommentbox.“Justtypewhateveryouwanttosayrighthere.”
Hestaredatthekeyboard,thenbegantopeckatthekeysveryslowlywithtwolargeindexfingers.
“Iamstillunfamiliarwithmodernkeyboards,”headmittedashepainstakinglycraftedhismessage.“TheydiffersomuchfromthetypewritersIamusedto.”
IthoughtoftheoldtypewriterstheArtInstituteofChicagohadinitscollection,andtriedtopictureFrederickinhisold-fashionedclothes,usingoneofthem.
“You’reprettygoodattexting,”Isaid.“I’dthinkaphonewouldbeevenhardertouse.”
Frederickshrugged.“Idiscoveredafeaturecalledtalktotext,”hesaid,ashecontinuedtyping.Forsomeonewhousuallymovedsofluidly,whoseemedsoateaseinhisownbody,hewasaclumsyandgracelesstypist.Itwasoddlyendearing.“WithoutitIwouldneverusemyphoneatall.”
Talktotextwouldexplainthelengthofsomeofthetextshe’dsentme.Smilingalittle,Iglancedupatmylaptop’sscreen.MysmilevanishedwhenIreadwhatFrederickwaswriting.
Whilethisphotographisniceenough,Ifailtoseethepointofusingadvancedtechnologyforsuchpedestrianpurposes.Whydidyoushareit?Yoursingoodhealth,Frederick
Istaredathim.“Youcan’tpostthat,”Isaid,attheexactsametimehehitsendandthemessageposted.
“Whynot?”Fredericksoundedgenuinelyconfused.“YoujustsaidpeoplecouldleavewhatevermessagestheywantedonInstagram.”
“Notwhenyou’resignedinwithmyaccount.”IbattedFrederick’shandsawayfromthekeyboard,ignoringhisprotests.“Deleteit.Thatwasameanthingtosay.”
“Itwasnot.Iwassimplyaskingforclarification.”
“Itwasmean.Samwillthinkyou’readickhead.”Ofcourse,Samalreadydidn’tlikeFrederick.Istillhadn’texplainedwhyI’dfledthisapartmentandshoweduponhisdoorstepwithnonotice,orwhyIwentbacktoFrederickjustasquickly.Knowingmyhistorywithterriblelivingsituationsandterriblemen,Samwasalmostcertainlydrawingtheworstconclusions.
ThepensivelookonFrederick’sfacesuggestedhe’dsomehowguessedwhatIwasthinking.“Yourfriendalreadyhasplentyofreasonstomistrustme,”hesaid.“IfIwerehim,Iprobablywouldn’ttrustmeverymuch,either.Isupposeyou’reright.Idonotwanttomakemattersworsebyinsultinghischoiceinbreakfastphotography.”
“No.”Ishookmyhead.“Youdon’t.”
“Verywell,”hesaid.“Youcantakethecommentdown.”Heclosedhiseyes,hislong,thickeyelashesfanningoutalongthetopsofhischeeks.Ifoundmyselftransfixedbythem,andbytheslow,steadyriseandfallofhischestashebreathed.
“I…wasonceknownformystraightforwarddemeanor,”hesaid,hisvoicejustaboveawhisper.“Itwasanadmirabletraitamongmenatthetime.Igatherthatnow,onemustmincewordsofteninordernottooffend.”Hepausedagain.“Noneofthisisintuitivetome.IfeelIshallforeverbeabumblingidiotinpublic.”
Hisshouldersslumped,makinghimlooksosadmyheartached.Theenormityofwhathefaced,whathewastryingtodo—andeverythinghehadlostoverthelongcenturiesofhislife—hungunspokenandheavyintheairbetweenus.
“I’lldowhatIcantohelp.”Mywords,theofferIwasmaking,feltinadequate.Toosmall.
Slowly,heopenedhiseyes,aquietsmolderinthemthathadn’tbeentherebefore.
“Iknowyouwill.”Abeat.“WillyoushowmeyourInstagramaccount?”
Iblinkedathim.“Whatdidyousay?”
Hefrowned.“Didyounothearme?”
“Iheardyou.I’mjustsurprised.”
“Why?”
“Ididn’tthinkyouwantedtolookatInstagram.”
“Idon’twanttolookatSam’sbreakfastsonInstagram,”hecorrected.“Butifit’ssoimportantIlearnaboutsocialmediaandtheinternetIwouldatleastliketoseesomethinginteresting.”
Ihesitated.
“Myaccount’sboring.”
“Iamcertainit’snot.”
“Instagramhaszillionsofhilariouscatreels,”Ihedged,mycheeksgoinghot.“Let’slookatoneofthose.”
Ileanedforwardtoclickononeofmyfavoritecataccounts.Theinsideofmyarmbrushedupagainsthisforearmintheprocess,sendinganinvoluntaryshiverdownmyspine.Iclosedmyeyesagainsttheunexpectedrushofsensationthatcoursedthroughme,justfromthat.
“Cassie.”
Tentatively,heplacedoneofhishandsontopofmine,stoppingmyscrolling—andmybreathing—instantly.Hishandwascool,hispalmsmoothagainstmyknuckles.Iglanceddownatourhands,marvelingatthecontrastbetweenthemasIfoughttosteadymybreathing.Warm,andcool.Small,andlarge.Tanned,andpale.
Itwasthefirsttimehehadeverintentionallytouchedme.Thisseemedtooccurtohiminthesamemomentitoccurredtome,anditsurprisedhimjustasmuch.Hiseyeswidened,pupilsdilatingasheregardedme.
Ittookanembarrassingamountofwillpowernottotwineourfingerstogether,justtoseewhatthatwouldlooklike,too.
“Pleasestopdistractingme.”
Frederick’svoicewasatmyear,ticklingthelittlehairsatmynape,causingmyforearmstoeruptinariotofgooseflesh.
Iswallowed,tryingtofocusonthecatonmylaptopscreen.Thekittywascute,andreallygoodatsnowboarding.Hedeservedmyfullattention.
“Distractingyou?”Ibreathed.Icouldbarelyhearmyvoiceovertherushofbloodinmyears.
“Yes.”Frederickremovedhishandfrommine.Itriedtotampdownanirrationalwaveofdisappointmentatthelossofcontact.“IwanttoseeyourInstagramaccount.Youaretryingtodistractmewithcats.”
Itookadeep,steadyingbreath,andchancedaglanceathisface.Hiseyessparkledwithamusement.
“It’snotworking?”Imanaged.
“No.Ilikecatswellenough.ButIhaveseencatsbefore.Ihaveneverseenyourpage.”Andthen,almostasanafterthought,headded:“Pleaseshowittome.”
Didvampireshavemagicalpowersthatmadehumanswanttodotheirbiddingorsomething?Iwasn’tsure.AllIknewwasonemomentIwasabouttotellhimthatwhilehemayhaveseencatsbefore,therewasnowayhe’dseenonesnowboard—andthenextIwasloadingupmyInstagram,justlikehe’daskedmeto.
Maybeitwasn’tmagicalpoweratall.Perhapsitwasthelingeringeffectsofhowithadfelt,havinghishandonmine.
Iblinkedupatthemonitor,andatthegoofyselfiefromfiveyearsagothatservedasmyprofilepicture.
Iclearedmythroat.“Hereitis.”
Hehummedinappreciation.“HowdoIlookthroughthepictures?”
“Likethis,”Isaid,showinghimhowtoscrollthrough.“ImostlypostthingsI’vemade,butitisn’tatrueartaccountbecausetherearealsoselfiesandpicturesoffriendsmixedin.”
“Selfies?”
“Oh.”Ofcoursehewouldn’tknowthatword.“Selfiesarepicturesyoutakeofyourself.”
“Ah.”Henodded.“Self-ies.”
HefiguredouthowtomaneuverthroughthephotosonmyInstagramquicklyenough.HelookedatthepicturesI’dtakeninSaugatuckofme,Sam,andScott,ourarmsaroundeachotheraswesmiledupatthecamera.HetookinpicturesofthebeachtrashI’dcollectedtomakethecanvasesinmybedroom—andthepicturesofme,grinninglikeaproudfoolinpigtailsandflip-flops,standinginfrontofit.
Frederickwentthroughthepictures,lookingateachonewithmildinterest.
Until,thatis,hecametoapictureSamhadtakenthelastdayofourvacation:me,ontheonedaythatentireweekthatcouldhavebeenaccuratelydescribedashot,wearingtheonlybikiniIowned.Itwasbrightpink,thebottomscoveredinwhitedaisies.
Itwasn’tanythingspecial.
Asfarasbikiniswentitwasn’tevenallthatrevealing.
Frederickpausedhisscrolling.Hiseyeswidened,hisfreehandclenchingintoatightfistathisside.
Helookedlikehewasabouttohaveanembolism.Orwhateverthevampireequivalentofanembolismwas.
Hepointedashakingfingeratthepicture.
“Whatareyouwearing?”Hisjawwasclenched,thetendonsofhisneckstandingoutinsharprelief.
“Abathingsuit.”
Heshookhishead.Closedhiseyes.Thewhirringoftherefrigeratorclickedon,fillingtheroomwithwhitenoise.
“That,”hesaid,hisvoiceagravellyrasp,“isnotabathingsuit.”
Iwasabouttoaskwhathewastalkingabout—becauseyes,clearlyitwasabathingsuit.AndthenIrealizedhewaslikelyusedtowomen’sbathingsuitsthatcoveredyoufromheadtotoe.
ButwhywouldhecarewhatIworeonabeachvacationyearsago?
“Itisabathingsuit,Frederick.”Iglancedattheimageofmyself,smilingatthecamera.“Iknowit’sdifferentfromthebathingsuitsyou’reusedto,but…”
TherestofmywordsdiedinmythroatasItookinhisexpression.Theglintinhiseyes,thetightsetofhisjaw…
I’dbeenwrong.Hedidn’tlookangry.
Helookedmurderous
Ilickedmylips,castingaboutforsomethingtosay,tryingtomakesenseofhisbizarrereaction.“Youdon’tlikethepicture?”
Hisscowldeepened.Clearlythiswastheunderstatementofthecentury.“No.”
Ahardlittleknotformedinthepitofmystomach.IknewIhardlyhadasupermodel’sbody.Mycurvyhipsandlongtorsomadewearingabikiniaboldchoice.Butdidhehavetobesomeanaboutit?
“You…don’tthinkIlookgoodinit?”AssoonasIaskedthequestion,Ifeltsillyforcaring.WhatdiditmatterifhethoughtIlookedgoodornot?Itdidn’tmatter.
Exceptforsomereason…itdid.
“ThatisnotwhatIsaid,”Frederickmuttered.
Ifrownedathim,puzzledbyhowhewasacting.“Idon’tunderstand.”
Silencestretchedbetweenus,punctuatedonlybythetickingofthegrandfatherclockinthelivingroom.
WhenFrederickopenedhiseyesagaintheywerefullofafierypossessivenessthatstunnedme.Hepushedbackfromhischairwithsomuchforcehenearlyknockedittothefloor.
“WhatIsaid,Cassie,wasthatIdidnotlikethepicture.”HewasfacingthewindowthatlookedoutoverLakeMichigannow,hisbacktome.Whichwasjustaswell.Ifthelookonhisfacewasevenhalfasheatedasthetoneofhisvoice,Iwasn’tsurewhatIwoulddo.ProbablysomethingSamwouldlecturemeforlater.PossiblyI’dburstintoflames.
Hishandswerestillclenchedathissides,hiswholebodytautasabowstring.
“Perhapsyoung,beautifulwomendoroutinelydressinnexttonothingatallwhentheygotothebeach.Perhapsmyreactiontoseeingyoudressedthiswayisincrediblyold-fashioned.”Hepausedandturnedtofaceme.Hiseyeswerefulloftorment—andsomethingelseIdidn’thavewordsfor,butwhichmybodysomehowrecognizedallthesame.Myheartspedupatthewayhewaslookingatmenow,mybreathingcomingshortandtooquick.
“I’mallowedtodresshowIlike,youknow.”
“Youare,”heconceded.“Ihavenorighttodictatehowyoudressorliveyourlife.Myopiniondoesnot—andshouldnot—matter.Buttheideaofotherpeoplebeingabletoseesomuchofyourbody…”Helookedawayagain,thensighed.“PerhapsIhavelivedtoolong.”
BythetimeImanagedtogathermywitsaboutmeenoughtorespond,he’dturnedandstalkedoutoftheroom,leavingpalpable,unbearabletensioninhiswake.ELEVEN
DiaryentryofMr.FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam,datedNovember4
Cassiewenttobedtwohoursago.
EverytimeIclosemyeyesIcanstillseeher—beamingupatthecamerainthatflimsyexcuseforclothing,herhairagoldenhaloaroundherhead,herbodybacklitandglorious.
Iamfilledwithrage.
Atthephotographerfortakingthatpicture.
AtCassieforallowingsomanyotherstoseeherpracticallynaked.
Atallsevenbillionpeopleonthisplanetwhohavethetheoreticalabilitytoseethatpictureofherwithafewsimpleclicksofabutton.
Atmyself.
AsIsithunchedovermydeskItrydesperatelytoignoretheurgent,now-familiaracheinmyloins.AsCassiesleepsinnocently,unknowinglyinthenextroom,Iclutchatwhatremainsofmysanityandofmyself-control.
BecauseGod’sthumbs—whenIsawthatpictureofherallIcouldthinkwashowbadlyIwantCassietowearthat“bathingsuit”ofhersforme.
IfIhadbeentherewhenitwastaken,itwouldhavebeenallIcoulddotokeepmyselffromeasingthosedelicatelittlestrapsoffabricoffhershouldersandbaringtherestofherbeautifulbodytomyeyes.
Iamareprehensiblecreature.
Cassieisayoung,vibrant,humanwomanwhodoesnotdeservetobetheobjectofmylustfulimaginings.Tomorrow,sheistakingmeshoppingtohelpmepickoutwhatsheinsistswillbemoresuitablecasualclothingthanmycurrentwardrobe.Iexpectthiswillinvolveherevaluatingmybodyandthewayitlooksinvariousoutfits.Whatifsheneedstotouchmeaspartofthisprocess?Iamharderthanarockjustimaginingit.
IfIwerenotalreadydamnedforalleternityIcertainlywouldbenow.
Iam,asReginaldmightsay,inwayovermyhead.
FJF
“So.Yourroommateneedsamakeover,huh?”Samfoughttokeeptheamusementoutofhisvoicebutwasn’tmanagingitwell.Hewasbitingtheinsideofhischeek,clearlyfightingasmile.“Mustbeurgentifyoucalledformyhelp.”
Themallwascrowded,fullofnoisysuburbanteenagersandfrazzledparentswithkidsintow.IproposedFrederickmeetmethereonaTuesdayeveningbecauseI’dassumedthemallwouldberelativelyquietandemptymidweek.ButtenminutesearlierIwasnearlyrunoverbyawomanpushingastroller,andIrealizedapersonlikemewhorarelywenttomallshadnobasisformakingassumptions.
“Notsomuchamakeoverasanewwardrobe,”Isaid.ItookabiteofthepretzelI’djustboughtfromamallkiosk,marvelingatthewayitschemicaldeliciousnessmeltedonmytongue.Ihadnoideawhatactuallywentintothosepretzels.Itwasprobablybetterthatway.
“Anewwardrobe?”
“Yeah.Heneedsnewclothesprettyurgently.That’swhyIaskedyoutojoinus.You’reamanandI’mnot.You’llknowmoreaboutmen’sfashionthanIdo.”
Intruth,Samdidn’tknowmoreaboutmen’sfashionthanmanypeople.Hisapproachtoclotheshadn’treallyevolvedpastwhathe’dwornincollege,exceptforthesuitsheworetowork.ImostlyaskedSamtojoinusatthelastminuteinthehopeshe’dserveasabufferbetweenFrederickandmeaswepickedoutclothesandhetriedthemon.BecausenowthatIwasatthemall,Irealizeditwasonethingtotellyourextremelyhandsome,off-limits,vampireroommatethatheneededtodressdifferently—andanentirelydifferentthingtoactuallytakeyourextremelyhandsome,off-limits,vampireroommatetothemall,helphimpickoutclothes,andthenevaluatehowtheyalllookedonhisgorgeousbodyasyouhelpedhimmakedecisions.
EspeciallygivenhowourInstagramlessonhadended.
Ithadbeentwodays,andIstillwasn’tcertainwhathisreactiontomybikinipicturemeant.Notforlackofthinkingaboutitendlesslyfromeverypossibleangle,ofcourse.
I’dthoughtaboutitatwork.Whiletryingtoworkonmysubmissionfortheartshow.Whiletryingtofallasleepatnight,hyper-awarethathewasawakeandinthenextroomoverfromme,goingabouthisnightlyroutine.
I’dspentmoretimethanIwantedtoadmittomyselfrelivingexactlyhowhe’dlookedatmebeforestormingoutoftheroom—hiseyesflashingwith,what?Anger?Jealousy?Orsomethingelse?
Wehadn’tspokensincethen,saveforahandfulofnotesbackandforthcoordinatingthisshoppingtrip.IfIwasgoingtosurvivetwohoursoflookingatFrederickinjeansandHenleys,Ineededmybestfriendwithme.
“Ithoughtyourroommatedressedwell,though.”IcouldheartheteasingsmirkinSam’svoiceasIleanedagainstalargewhitepillarbearingaperfumeadononesideandafloorplanofthemallontheother.“Ithoughthewasadreamboat.”
Mycheeksflushedwithembarrassmentoverthesituationandmildannoyancewithmyfriend.“Hedoes.Heis.But…”Ibitmylip,tryingtothinkthroughhowtodescribeFrederick’sdresses-like-he-lived-one-hundred-years-agoproblemwithoutalsooutinghimasavampire.
AndthenFrederickchosethatmomenttostrideintoview,sparingmefromhavingtosayanythingatall.Asalways,hewasdressedlikehewasonhiswaytomeetJaneAusten,withanexpensive-lookingdarkgraythree-piecewoolsuitandblackshoesthathadbeenpolishedtoashine.
He’dleftthecravatathome,whichwasagoodthing.ButI’dbeenhopinghe’dleavehissuitjacketathomeforthiserrand,too.Itwouldonlygetinthewaywhenhetriedthingson.Thatsaid,helookedincredible—evenifmoreoutofplacethaneveratthissuburbanmall.
OneglanceatSamtoldmeheagreedwithmyconclusion.Fredericklookedgood.Itwasthefirsttimehe’deverseenFrederickinperson,andIcouldallbutfeelmybestfriendwarringwithhimselfashefoughttokeephiseyestrainedonFrederick’sperfect,chiseledface,ratherthanletthemtrailoverhisbroadshouldersandatthewayhisperfectlytailoredclothingfithisbody.
FredericknimblysteppedaroundaclutchofteenagerschattinganimatedlytooneanotherwithaneaseIwouldn’thaveexpectedofhim,andthenjoineduswherewestoodbythemallfloorplan.HelookedatSam,stoppingjustshortofturninghisbackonmecompletely.Theheatedintensityinhiseyesfromtheothernightwasgone,replacedwithapleasant,blankexpression.Toseehim,you’dneverimaginethattwonightsagohe’dcompletelylosthisshitatapictureofmeinabikini.
Hehad,though.
Ifthewayhewasstandingthere,avoidingmygaze,wasanyguide,hedidn’twanttounpackwhatanyofthatmeantjustthen.
Cometothinkofit—neitherdidI.
“Hello.IamFrederickJ.Fitzwilliam,”hesaid,extendingahandforSamtoshake.
Samtookiteagerly.Ihadtostiflealaughinmypalm.Whowasthisperson,andwhatdidhedowithmyfriendwho’dbeensoopposedtomemovingbackinwithFrederick?
“Nicetomeetyou,Frederick,”hesaid.“I’mSam.”
“Itisnicetomeetyouaswell.Cassietoldmeyouwillbejoiningustonighttohelpmeselectclothing.”Frederickgesturedtomewithoutlookingatme,hiseyesstilltrainedonSam.AwaveofirrationaldisappointmentwentthroughmewhenIrealizedhewasjustasgladtohaveahumanbufferforthisasIwas.
“IhopeIcanhelp,”Samsaid,toocheerfully.
“AsdoI.Iknowlittleaboutmodernfashion.”Hegesturedvaguelytohimself.“AsI’msureyoucansee.”
BythispointSamhadcompletelylostthebattleoncheckingoutthewayFrederickfilledouthissuit.Hewasopenlystaringathimnow.Heswallowedhard,thenrubbedthebackofhisneck.“Oh,I’msureyouknow…somethings.”
“Idonot,”Frederickinsisted.Ifhenoticedhownot-surreptitiouslySamwasoglinghim,heshowednosignofit.“ItrustCassiewhenshetellsmeImustdressmorecasuallyasIgoaboutmydailyactivities.Butithasbeenmylifelonginstincttodressasformallyaspossibleforeveryoccasion.”
“Yeah,”Samagreed.“Youcan’twearasuitlikethatto,like—thegrocerystore.Ortotakeoutthegarbage.”
Fredericksighedandshookhishead.“Asithappens,IwearthisexactsuittotakeoutthegarbageeveryWednesdayevening.”
“Andthat’saproblem,”Iremindedhim,insertingmyselfintotheconversationforthefirsttimesinceFrederickshowedup.Frederickstillwasn’tfacingme,buthisentirebodytensedwhenIspoke,asifjustthesoundofmyvoicewasenoughtocausehimanxiety.Iignoredtheconfusingjumbleofemotionsthatelicitedinmeandpressedon.“Ifyouwantto…bemorecomfortable,youshouldwearT-shirtsandjeansoccasionally.”
Iraisedmyeyebrowsmeaningfully,sohe’dknowthatbemorecomfortablewascodeforlesslikeacenturies-oldvampire.“You’reright.”Frederick’slookofresigneddeterminationmadehimlooklikesomeonehadjustvolunteeredhimtochaperoneamiddleschooldanceortoldhimhe’dbeenelectedtotheboardofdirectorsofahomeownersassociation—andthatwhilehe’dratherdoanythingelse,hewastoohonorabletobackoutnow
IturnedtoSam.“ShouldwestartatGap,orsomewhereelse?”IthadbeenawhilesinceI’dbeenshoppinganywherethatwasn’tonline,butIseemedtorememberGapwasgoodatthismall.
“Itdependswhatyourbudgetis.TheNordstromherealsohasnicethings.”
FredericklookeddirectlyatSamandasked,“BetweenNordstromandGap,whichwouldyousayhasnicercasualmen’sclothing?”
“Nordstromforsure.”
“ThenNordstromitis.”Thatdecided,Frederickpulledoutanhonest-to-godpocketwatchonachainfromhispocket.Checkingthetimehesaid,“Ibelievewehavetwohoursbeforethemallclosesandourerrandends.Shallwebegin?”
“Wait,holdon.”NowSamwaspullinghisphonefromhispocket.“Shit,it’smyfirm.”
Heputhisphoneuptohisear.“SamCollins.”Hisvoicewassodifferent—stiffer,moreformal—thanitwaswhenhespoketome.Itmustbeoneofthepartnerscallinghim.
Frederickfrownedatme.“Hisemployercallshimintheevening?”
“Sam’salawyer,”Iexplained.“He’sinhisfirstyearandheworksabsolutelyinhumanhours.HishusbandScotttoldmehe’sattheofficeclosetoseventyhoursaweekrightnow.”
Fredericklookedhorrified.“That’shorrible.”
“Iknow.”
Samhadpulledanotebookfromhisbagandwasjottingthingsdownashelistenedtowhateverthepersonontheotherendofthelinewastellinghim.“Idon’tunderstandwhyKelloggispanickingoverthemerger.It’shappeningnextweek,Iunderstandthat,but…”Anotherpause.“Yes,ofcourse.I’lldraftthatmemoassoonasIgetintotheoffice.”Heglancedathiswristwatch.“I’moutinSchaumburgrightnowbutIcanbethereinforty-fiveminutes.”
Samhungup,thenlookedatme,eyesapologetic.
Mystomachplungedsomewhereinthegeneralvicinityofmyshoes.“Doyouhavetogonow?”Iasked,mypanicrising.
“Yeah.I’mreallysorry.Thismergerwe’rehandlingis…”Hetrailedoff,shakinghishead.ForthefirsttimeInoticedthedarkcirclesringinghiseyes.“Therearenoproblemswhatsoeverwiththismerger.Itshouldgooffwithoutahitchnextweek,butourclientispanickingandIneedtogocalmthemdown.”
Andthen,heraisedaneyebrowandleanedinalittlecloserbeforeadding,inalowvoice,“IamespeciallysorryI’llmissFredericktryingonclothes.”
ThatwasalmostenoughtodistractmefromtheterrorIwasfeelingoverthefactthatIwouldsoonbealonewithFrederickinvariousstatesofdressandundressforanentireevening.Iswattedmybestfriend.“Youareamarriedman,Sam.”
“Married,notdead.”Hepaused,thenadded,“Inallseriousness,heseemslikeanokayguy.Abitstrange,but…”Heshrugged.“I’mnolongerconvincedyou’remakingtheworstmistakeofyourlifeinlivingwithhim.”
Isnorted.“Good.Nowgobealawyer.We’llbefine.”IlookedoveratFrederick,wholookedanythingbutfinewiththischangeinplans.Hiseyesweresaucer-wide,makinghimlooknearlyasterrifiedattheideaofdoingthisalonewithmeasIfelt.
“Textmeifanythingcomesuporifyouhaveanyquestions,”Samsaid,shoulderinghismessengerbag.“I’llgetintouchwithyoutomorrowtoseehowitwent.”
Andthen,hewasgone.LeavingmealonewithFrederick,togotryoncasualmen’sclothing.
Thiswasgoingtobegreat.
Absolutelygreat.
Frederickclearedhisthroatbesideme.Hiseyeswereonhisshoes,theleftfingersofhishanddrummingrapidlyonhisupperthigh.
“Iam…gladyoudon’tworkashardashedoes,Cassie.”HisvoicewassoquietIhadtostraintohearhimoverthedinofthecrowdedshoppingmall.“Iwouldworryalot,Ithink,ifyoudid.”
Hiseyesmetmine,softandsowarm,beforeflittingawayagainamomentlater.
Heclearedhisthroat.“ShallwegotoNordstrom,then?”
Nordstrom.Right.
“Yeah,”Isaid,feelingbreathlessandalittledizzyattheabruptchangeinsubject.HowonearthwasIgoingtosurvivethis?“Nordstromitis.”
ThelasttimeI’dbeeninaNordstromwasnearlytwentyyearsago,whenI’dcometothissamemallwithmymomtotryondressesformybatmitzvah.Givenhowlongagothatwas,itwasastonishinghowstrongthefeelingofdéjàvuwasthemomentIwalkedintothestore.Theperfumethatseemedtopermeatetheair,thefluorescentlighting—allofitbroughtmerightbacktobeingthirteenyearsold,miserablyuncomfortableinmyownskin,andwishingIwerejustaboutanywhereotherthanwhereIwas.
FromthewayFrederick’shandskeptclenchingandunclenchingathissides,IsuspectedthathewasfeelingmuchasIhadallthoseyearsago.
“Ihadnotexpectedthisestablishmenttobeso…”Hetrailedoff,hisdarkeyeswideandshowinghowoverwhelmedhewasashetriedtotakeeverythingin.
“Youhadn’texpectedittobesowhat?”Iasked,asIguidedhimpasttheostentatiousshoedepartmentthathaditsownwinebar.
Hestoppedabruptlywhenwereachedthedisplayoffive-thousand-dollarwintercoatsthatlookedlikethey’dbeencobbledtogetherfromrhinestonesandtrashbags.
Hefrownedatthem.Icouldonlyguessatwhathewasthinkingrightnow.
“Ihadn’texpectedthisestablishmenttobeso…much.”
Hedidn’telaborate.Buthedidn’thaveto.Iunderstoodwhathemeantperfectly.
MyhandwasstillonhiselbowasIsteeredhimtowardsthemen’sdepartment,applyingonlythegentlestpressuretoencouragehimtomovetotheleft.Itwasnoisyinthere,thestorefilledwithshoppersandsalespeopleandpiped-ingenericbackgroundmusic—butevenstill,Iheardthewayhisbreathhitchedatmytouchaseasilyasifthere’dbeennooneelsethereatall.
Itriedtofollowthesignageforthemen’sdepartment,butthereweresomanyotherdepartmentsinthatmassivestoreitwasachallenge.Therewerealsowaytoomanyotherpeople.Itwasnearlyascrowdedinthereasitwasinthemainareaofthemall.Itfeltlikewewerebumpingintoyetanotherwell-dressedshoppereverytenfeet.
WemusthavewanderedaroundNordstromforasolidtenminutesbeforefinallyfindingthemen’sdepartment.Itwasonthesixthfloor,pastthehomegoodssection,andattheveryoppositeendofthestorefromthemallentrance.Itwassomuchsmallerthanthecumulativepartsofthestorededicatedtowomen’sclothingthatitfeltabitlikeaforgottenstepchild.
Whattheydidselltomen,though,lookedjustasexpensiveaseverythingelseNordstromsold.Racksofsuitjacketsinconservativecolors,adornedwiththousand-dollarpricetags,greetedus.Justbehindthemwasasilktiedisplaythattookupanentirewall.
Fortunately,theydidseemtosellmorecasualstuffaswell.AlittlefurtherintothesectionwefoundjeansthatwouldmakeFrederickstandoutalotlessthenexttimehewentout.
“CanIhelpyou?”
Aslenderwomaninablacksheathdress,withherdarkhairpulledbackintoaseverebutelegantbun,appearedatFrederick’selbow.Inotedhernametag—thiswasEleanorM.—andthefactthatshelookedaboutmyage,albeitfarmoreputtogether.IwonderedifNordstromrequiredemployeestobuytheclothestheyworetoworkthewayTheLimiteddidwhenIworkedtherebackincollege.
“Yes,”Fredericksaid.“MynameisFrederickJ.Fitzwilliam.Irequireclothing.”
Thesalesperson’seyebrowsshotup.“Clothing?”
“Yes.”
ShecontinuedtolookexpectantlyatFrederick,asifwaitingforclarification.Whennonecame,shepivotedononeofherexpensive-looking,three-inchheelstofaceme.
“Whathemeans,”Ibegan,feelingabitawkward,“ishewantstotryonsomejeans.Andsomecasualshirts.Healreadyhasalotofsuitsbutwantssomeclotheshecanwear,like—aroundthehouse,ortoacoffeeshop.Thingslikethat.”
“Ah.”Shegavemeaknowingsmile.Andthen,inaconspiratorialstagewhispersheadded,“Yourboyfriend’sarealworkaholic,always-at-the-officetype,isn’the?”
Boyfriend.
Myheartlodgeditselfinmyesophagusatthesametimemystomachdidanotentirelyunpleasantsomersault.IglancedatFrederick.Fromthethunderstrucklookonhisface,Icouldtellhe’dheardexactlywhatshe’djustsaid.
“Oh…he’s…,”Istammered.Itriedtolaugh.“He’snotmy—”
Butshewasn’ttheretoheartheendofmysentence,alreadywalkingawayandgesturingforustofollowherawayfromthesuitsandtowardsthemen’ssection’smorecasualclothing.IglancedatFrederick,followingjustbehindme.Ididn’tthinkaperson’seyescouldevengetthatwide.
“Ourstore’smen’sdepartmentisthelargestoneoutofalltheNordstromsintheChicagolandarea,”sheboasted,oblivioustomyriotingthoughts.“Oursuitingoptionsareespeciallyrobust.ButIgatheryouaren’thereforthat.”
“No,”Frederickagreed.Hegesturedtome,adding,“CassiesaysIneedtowearmorecasualclothesinordertoblendinwithmodernsociety.”
Thesalespersonhummed,noddingsagely.“Yes.Well,you’vecometotherightplace.”Shestoppedwalkingwhenwereachedseveralracksofjeans.“Areyouinterestedindistressedjeansoramoreclassiclook?”
Frederickraisedasuspiciouseyebrowatthesalesperson.Hegingerlypluckedatapairofjeansthatweresodistressedtheylookedlikethey’dsoakedinavatofacidfortwoweeks.
“Iamnotwearingthis,”hesaid,flatly.“God’sthumbs,Cassie.Thisgarmentismoreholethanfabric.”
“He’dlikeamoreclassiclook,”Isaid,veryquickly,tothesalesperson.IsteeredFredericktoarackofjeansthatIthoughthemightfindmoreacceptable.
Heblinked.“These?”
“These,”Iagreed.
Heconsideredmeamomentbeforeasking,“HowdoIknowwhichofthesewillfitme?”
Atthis,thesaleswomanturnedtoFrederick,lettinghereyestraildownhislongformandthenbackupagain.Theylingeredonhischestafewbeatslongerthanstrictlynecessary,giventhatweweretalkingaboutjeans.Myhandsclenchedintoinvoluntaryfistsatmysides,anunpleasant,hotsensationIwasabsolutelynotgoingtoparsefillingmychest.
“Whatisyourinseam?”sheasked.“Whataboutyourwaistmeasurement?”
Frederickworriedhislowerlip,lookinglikehewastryingtoworkouttheanswertoadifficultmathprobleminhishead.
“IthasbeensometimesinceIhadmymeasurementstaken,”headmitted.“I’lladmitIdon’trememberthem.”
“I’mhappytomeasureyou,”EleanorM.offered.Shepulledoutafabricmeasuringtapefromsomewhereandapproachedhim.
Fredericklookedasterrifiedasifhe’djusttrippedoverahornet’snest.Hetookareflexivestepbackandawayfromthesalesperson.“That’squiteallright,”hesaid,soundingscandalized.Helookedatme,thenattherackofjeans.Hepickedupfivepairsatrandom,holdingeachofthemuptohisbodyinturn.“Whichofthesedoyouthinklookmostliketheywillfitme?”
Iconsideredeachofthemasheheldthemuptohimself,fightinghardagainsttheinstincttoimaginehiminthatdressingroom,takinghistrousersoffandpullingonthejeanshewasholding.“It’s…hardtosay,”Ihedged.“Whynottakeallofthemwithyouintothedressingroomandsee?”
Henodded,likethismadealotofsensetohim.
“Iwillbetryingtheseon,”heinformedthesalesperson.“Ifyoucouldbringmecasualshirtsineverysizeandcoloravailablethatwouldbeagooduseofyourtime.”
“Don’tlook.”
“I’mnotlooking.”
“Areyoucertainyouarenotlooking?”
Irolledmyeyesbutkeptthemclosed.“Thedoorisclosed,Frederick.EvenifmyeyeswereopenIcouldn’tseeyou.Butyes,Iswearonmyfather’skombuchathatIamnotlooking.”
Apause.Icouldhearfabrichittingthefloorfromwithinthedressingroom.“Youswearonyourfather’s…what?”
Ihuffedalaugh.“It’sthisthingmymomandIsaywhenwewanttomakefunofmydad.Inhisretirementhe’sgottenveryintobrewingit.”
“Brewing…what?”
“Kombucha.It’sthisnaturallyfermentedteastuff.It’sprettygood,butDadisobsessedwithitnow.Therearedozensofbottlesinhisgarageinvariousstagesofconsumptionreadiness.”
“Isee,”hesaid,thoughIwascertainhedidn’t.Aloudzippingsoundcamefromwithinthedressingroom.Frederickmusthavebeentryingonthejeans.Isqueezedmyeyesshuttighter,tryingnottoimaginethedenimslidinguphisbarelegs,thewaistbandsettlinglowonhiships.
“Yeah,”Ibreathed,shakingmyheadtoclearawayunnecessaryimages.“Anyway,wheneverMomandIwanttoteaseDad,we’llprefacesomethingmundanewith‘Iswearitonmyfather’skombucha.’MomandIlaugh,Dadgetsannoyed;it’sagreattime.”
Silencefrominsidethedressingroom.Morerustlingfabric.Ahangerbeingtakenfromthewall.
Thelockonthedressingroomdoorturned.Thedooropened.
“Notonewordofwhatyoujustsaidmadeanysensewhatsoever,”Fredericksaid,steppingoutofthedressingroom.“Butyoucanopenyoureyesnow.”
Idid.
Mymouthfellopen.
Fredericklookedgreatintheparadeofold-fashionedsuitsI’dseenhiminsincewe’dmet,ofcourse.Morethangreat.ButIrealizednowthathisconsistentlytoo-formal,out-of-dateattireservedasaconstantremindertomethatFrederickwasoutofmyleagueineveryimaginableway—andcompletelyoff-limits.
Untouchable.Andother
Now,though…
“Whatdoyouthink?”heasked.“DoIlooklikeIfitinwithmodernsocietynow?”
Withdifficulty,Itoremyeyesfromthebroadexpanseofhischestnowcoveredinaforest-greenHenleythatfithimlikeagloveandmethisgaze.HewasfidgetingalittleasIlookedbackathim,drumminghisfingertipsagainsthisupperthighagain,andlookingatmewithanervousintensitythatstolethebreathfrommylungs.
Iletmyeyestrailslowlydownhisbody,drinkinghimin,takinginhisnewshirtandthedarkbluejeansthatfithimsowellyouwouldn’thaveguessedhe’dhadnoideawhatsizehewastwentyminutesago.Theotherjeanshe’dtriedonlayfoldedinapileonthechairbesidehim;hissuithungneatlyonahangerinthedressingroom.
IfocusedontheseotherdetailstodistractmyselffromhowFredericknotonlylookedjustashotinmorecasualclothesashedidinhisstuffysuits,butalsohowhenowlookedattainableinawaythatwasdangeroustome,specifically.
Ihadtoavertmyeyes.Lookingrightathimfeltalittletoomuchlikelookingdirectlyatthesun.
“Youlookgreat.Youlookunbelievable,actually.”Iheardhissharpintakeofbreath,onlythenrealizingthatthathadn’tquitebeenwhathe’daskedme.Allhe’daskedwaswhetherhelookedlikehefitin.Mystomachswooped,myfacesuddenlyfeelinglikeitwasonfire.Idiot.“Thatis…thatistosay—”
“YouthinkIlookgreat?”Hewaslookingatmewithanexpressionthatfellsomewherebetweensurpriseandpleasure.Hesteppedfromthedressingroom,stoppingwhenhewasonlyafewinchesawayfromme.Itookaninvoluntarybreath,breathinginthescentoflavendersoapandnewclothesthatclungtohim.“Really?”
Histonewassohopeful.ItsetoffawaveofbutterfliesinmystomachthatItriedtoignore.
Inodded—thoughgreatdidn’tbegintodojusticetohowhelooked.
“Yeah.Really.”
Hegavemeabashful,lopsidedsmilethatactivatedhiskillerdimple,thenlookeddownathisarms.Herubbedoneofhisthumbsalonghiscollarbones,andthenacrosshischest.“ThefabricfeelsnicerthanIexpected.Softer.”
Iwatchedasheranhishandoverthematerial.“Oh?”
“Yes.”Hepaused.“Wouldyou…wouldyouliketotouchit,too?”
Myeyebrowsshotupsohightheynearlymetmyhairline.“What?”
“Iamcuriouswhethermostshirtsmadeinthiseraareassoftasthisone.Ithoughtifyoutouchedmyshirt…”Hetrailedoff.“Ithoughtmaybeyoucouldtellmewhetherthisparticularshirtwasrepresentative.”
Hewasstaringdownathisshoesliketheywerethemostinterestingthingsintheentireworld.
Igazedupathim,bloodrushinginmyears.
He…wantedmetotouchhim.
Here.
OutsideofaNordstromdressingroom.
Iswallowedhard.
“Woulditbe…educational?Foryou?”
Henodded,stillstaringathisshoes.“Ithinkso.But—”Helookedatme,expressionunreadable.“Butonlyifyouwantto,Cassie.”
Intheend,Ididn’tneedtothinkitoverfortoolong.IfitwereanyoneelsebutFrederickmakingthisrequest,I’dassumethiswasthemosttransparentexcuseintheworldtogetsomeonetotouchthem.
Butthiswasn’tanyoneelse.
ThiswasFrederick,someonewhowassoformal,soprimandproper,heonlystoppedcallingmeMissGreenbergandbeganreferringtomebymyfirstnameafterI’daskedhimtoseveraltimes.Thiswasthesamepersonwhowassoovercomebythesightofmeinabikinihecouldn’tbringhimselftospeaktomefortwodays.
FrederickmighthavebeenthemostgentlemanlypersonI’devermet.Ifhe’dwantedtofindsomeflimsyexcuseformetoputmyhandsonhim,he’dhavedoneitlongbeforenow.
Besides—Iwantedtotouchhim.Alot,infact.Whetheritwasagoodideatotouchhimwasaseparatematter,andoneIwouldhaveampletimetothinkaboutlater.
Isteppedcloserandputbothofmyhandsonhischest.Partofmestillhalfexpectedtofeelaheartbeat,awarmandyieldingmalebodybeneathmypalms.ButFrederick’schestwascoolandalmostunnaturallysolidwhereItouchedhim,norhythmicthumpingwhereonewouldhavebeenifhewerestillhuman.
Fortunately—or,unfortunately—myheartwasbeatingmorethanenoughforthebothofus.
Frederickwasright.Thefabricofhisshirtwassoft.Islowlyslidmyhandsbackandforthoverthewaffle-knitmaterial,revelinginhowsilkyitfeltbeneathmyfingertips,howdeliciousthecontrastwaswiththehardplanesofthechestbeneath.
NowthatIhadtheanswertohisquestion,Iprobablyshouldhavestoppedtouchinghim.Ishouldhavesteppedawayfromhimandkeptmyhandstomyselftherestofthenight.
ButIdidn’t.
Theshirthewaswearingwasniceenough.Butthatwasn’twhatkeptmerootedtothespot,whatkeptmyhandsonhisbodylongbeyondwhathe’dprobablyimaginedwhenheaskedmetodothis.I’dknownhewasmuscular,butnowthatIwasactuallytouchinghimIrealizedhewasallbutmadeofmuscle.Hadhebeenthisphysicallyfitwhenhewasstillhuman,Iwondered?Orwasbeingbuiltlikeaprofessionalathleteaphysiologicalpeculiarityuniquetovampires?Eitherway,IcouldfeelhispectoralsbunchandflexbeneathmypalmsasItouchedhim,couldfeelhissharpintakeofbreathwhenIgrewbolderandstartedgentlytracinghiscollarboneswithmythumb.
Hiseyeswerestilltrainedonme,butgrowingglazedandunfocused.
“How…”Hestopped,hiseyesdriftingclosed.Whenheopenedthemagaintherewasaheatinhisgazethatmadethedepartmentstore,therestoftheworld,fallaway.Heinclinedhisheadtowardsme,hismouthscantinchesawayfrommine.Icouldfeeleachoneofhisbreathsagainstmylips,coolandsweet.Myheartraced.Mykneeswobbled.“Howdoesitfeel?”
“Wow!Yourboyfriendlooksgreatineverything,doesn’the?”
Weflewapartatthesoundofthesalesperson’svoice,comingfromrightbehindme.Frederick—nowstandingatleastafootaway—stuffedhishandsintothepocketsofhisjeans,eyesdowncast.Hewasn’tblushing—couldvampiresblush?Iwasn’tsure—butIsurewas.
Iwastooshell-shockedtorespond.
Fortunately,FrederickseemedtorecoverhiswitsfasterthanIdid.Ormaybehehadneverlosttheminthefirstplace.Thoughhedidn’tcorrecther,either.
“Thankyou,”hesaid,hisvoicestrained.Hiseyesneverleftmyface.“Cassielikesthisshirt.Iwilltakeoneineverycolor.”TWELVE
LetterfromMr.FrederickJ.FitzwilliamtoMissEsmeraldaJameson,datedNovember7
DearEsmeralda,
Iaminreceiptofyourmostrecentcorrespondence.Asarule,Iamloathtorepeatmyself,asdoingsoisgenerallyawasteoftime.However,yourlatestmissiveshowsmeIhavenochoice.
AsIhavesaidmultipletimesbefore,tobothyouandmymother:Idonotbelieveamarriageinwhichonepartnerisanunwillingparticipantwouldbeahappyone.Additionally,sincemylastlettertoyou,Ihavedevelopedfeelingsforsomeoneelse.IdoubtanythingwillcomeofthemforavarietyofreasonsIwillnotboreyouwith.Eitherway,youdeservefarmorethanmarriagetoamanwhopinesforsomeoneelse.Iwillnotsentenceyoutoalifeofthatkindofmisery.
Ithasbeenoveronehundredyearssincewelastspokeinperson,butIrememberyounotonlyasareasonablewomanbutalsoasanadmirablyindependentone.Youcannotpossiblywantanarrangedmarriagetoamanwhodoesn’tloveyou.Pleasehelpmeconvinceourparentsthisplotoftheirsisthemotherofallbadideas.
Withkindregards,
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam
ARTTEACHERWANTEDFORUPPERSCHOOL—HARMONYACADEMY
HarmonyAcademy,aK–12coeducationalprivateschoollocatedinEvanston,Illinois,dedicatedtofosteringmoralintegrity,intellectualvitality,andcompassionamongourdiversestudentbody,seeksanartteacherforitsUpperSchool.Positiontobegininthefallsemester.QualifiedapplicantswillhaveaBAinanartdisciplinefromanaccrediteduniversity,1–3yearsofexperienceteachingfineartsinaneducationalsetting,andexcellentreferences.MFAstronglypreferred.Workingartistsareespeciallyencouragedtoapply.
Theidealcandidatewill,throughtheirprofessionalhistoryandartportfolio,demonstratesincerecommitmenttoHarmonyAcademy’sabove-statedvalues.Forconsideration,pleaseemailyourCV,coverletter,andportfoliotoCressidaMarks,HarmonyAcademyHeadofSchool.
IstaredattheHarmonyAcademyjobdescription,tryingtodecidewhattodowithit.
Ordinarily,Iwouldjustdeleteit—thewayIdeletedallemailsfrommyalmamater’scareeroffice.AonehundredpercentrejectionratefromallYounker-referredjobsI’dappliedformyfirsttwoyearspost-MFAhadtaughtmethatcontinuingtobeatmyheadagainstthatparticularwallwasn’tworthmytime.
ButIwasfeelinggood.I’dspentmostofthedayinthestudioworkingonmyprojectfortheartexhibition.ItwasexcitinghowquicklyitstartedcomingtogetheronceIrealizedthefoundobjectmaterialsneededforitwerewrinkledcellophaneandChristmas-coloredtinselgluedtogetherwithepoxy.Thepiece’sworkingtitlewasManorHouseonaLake,andthoughIwasseldomsatisfiedwithmyoilpaintingsIfeltthisprojectrepresentedsomeofthebestworkI’ddoneinyears.Thecellophane-and-tinselmixtureemergingfromthecanvasmadethewaterlooklikeathree-dimensionalneon-coloredfeverdream—andinagoodway.
Overall,IthoughtManorHouseonaLake—bymarryingtraditionalpaintsandmodernsyntheticmaterials—wasatonceclassicandpostmodern.Itwastheperfectsubversionoftheexhibition’sContemporarySocietytheme.
IthadbeenawhilesinceIcouldtruthfullysayIlikedwhatIwascreating.
So,yes.Ingeneral,Iwasfeelingoptimistic.
OptimisticenoughthatIdecidedImightaswellapplyforthisHarmonyAcademyjob.Icouldn’tseeadownside.TheworstthingthatcouldhappenwouldbeIwouldn’tgetthejob—butIwasbasicallyaprofessionalatnotgettingjobs.Giveneverythingelsethatwashappening,thatnear-constantvoiceinthebackofmyheadthattoldmeIwasdoomedtofailwaseasierthanusualtoignore.
Agoodold-fashionedrejectionlettermightbejustthethingtogetmetostopruminatingonwhathadhappenedwithFrederickatNordstromtheotherday.Tostopthinkingaboutthefeelofhissolid,broadchestbeneathmyfingertips.TostoprelivinghisravelingcomposureasItouchedhim.
Yeah.MaybeapplyingtoHarmonyAcademywasexactlywhatIneeded.
Determined,IpulledupthelastcoverletterI’dwrittenforateachingpositionandgaveitaquickonce-over.Myjobsituationhadn’tchangedmuchsincethelasttimeI’dappliedtoajoblikethisone,soupdatingittooklessthantenminutes.
BeforeIcouldtalkmyselfoutofdoingit,Iemailedthecoverletter,myCV,andphotographsofseveralrecentprojects—includinganin-progressshotofManorHouseonaLake—toCressidaMarks,HarmonyAcademy’sheadofschool.
There.Done.
Withthatoutoftheway,hopefullyI’dbeabletodedicatetherestoftheeveningtodrawingandmindlesstelevision.
Ileanedbackagainsttheblackleathercouch,wheremysketchpadrestedbesideme.BeforefindingoutabouttheHarmonyAcademyjobI’dbeenhalfwatchinganoldBuffytheVampireSlayerepisodeonFrederick’snewflatscreentelevision,lettingitplayinthebackgroundasIdrew.I’dseenthisepisodealready—inthedayssincefindingoutFrederickwasavampire,I’dbingedmostofthefirsttwoseasons—butitwascomfortablebackgroundnoise,helpingmefocusasIthoughtthroughsomefinalfiddlydetailstoManorHouse
“MayIjoinyou?”
IstartledatthesoundofFrederick’sdeepvoice,accidentallyjostlingmynotepadoffthecouchwithmyknee.Itfellwithaloudrustlingofpages,landingupsidedownonthefloor.
Ihadn’tevenheardhimentertheroom.
Infact,beforenow,Ihadn’tseenhimatallsinceourshoppingtripacoupledaysearlier.Partofmesuspectedhe’dbeenintentionallykeepinghisdistanceafterthatmomentwe’dsharedoutsidethedressingroom.ButIcouldn’tletmyselfthinkaboutthat.Iwasn’treadytoadmittomyselfthatIhadenjoyedtouchinghimasmuchasIdid.
Orthatithadevenhappenedatall.
Hewaslookingdirectlyatmewithalaser-sharpgaze,wearingoneofthesweaterswe’dpickedoutatNordstrom.Thepalegreenpulloverperfectlyaccentuatedhisbroadchest,andthedark-washjeansfithimjustaswell.
Iswallowedandfumbledformynotepad,willingmysuddenlyracinghearttoslow.Couldhehearmyheartbeating?Thewayhiseyesflickeddowntomychestbeforequicklyshiftingbackuptomyfacemademewonder.
“Ofcourseyoucanjoinme,”Imumbledtothefloor.Imotionedtothespotnexttomeonthecouchwithoutlookingathim.
Hehummed,thensatdown,leavingenoughspacebetweenusthatnopartsofourbodiesweretouching—butnotsomuchspacethatIcouldn’tsmellthelavendersoaphelikedtouseintheshower.
Wesattogetherinsilenceforalongmoment,watchingasBuffySummerssingle-handedlybeatupandthenstakedastringofvampires,onerightaftertheother.Thiswasoneoftheearlierepisodes,backwhenSarahMichelleGellarstillhadsomeroundnesstohercheeksandtheshow’sspecialeffectsbudgetwaslowerthanXander’sIQ.
Buffy’sfightingmovesandheroutfitsweresomethingtobehold,asalways.Evenstill,ittookmoreconcentrationthanitreallyshouldhavetokeepmyeyestrainedonthescreenratherthanonthepersonbesideme.
“Haveyoueverseenthisshow?”Iblurtedout.Itwasadumbquestion.FrederickhadbeenasleepforacenturyandhadonlygottenWi-Fiafewdaysago;surelyhehadn’tfoundthetimetowatchacampyshowfromtheninetiesaboutfictionalvampires.ButIwasdesperateforsomethingtosaytobreaktheawkwardsilence.
Heignoredmyquestion.“DoyouthinkAngelorSpikeismorehandsome?”heaskedinstead,withalltheseriousnessofanNPRjournalist.Hiseyeswereonthescreen,notonme—buthistone,hisramrod-straightposture,andthesteady,rapidwayhedrummedhisfingersonhisthighgaveawayhiskeeninterestinmyresponse.
Iwascompletelythrown.WhateverI’dexpectedhimtosaywhenhejoinedmeonthecouch,itwasn’tthat.IhadnoideahowIwassupposedtoanswerit—partlybecauseitfeltextremelyloaded,butmostlybecauseI’dneverbeenparticularlyintoeitherofBuffy’sbadboyvamps.
Afterabitofsomewhatfranticconsideration,Igavehimthetruth.
“Gilesisthehottestmanonthisshow.”
“Giles?”Fredericksplutteredinwhatsoundedlikegenuinesurprise.Heturnedtofaceme,eyesboringintominewithanexpressionthatborderedonoutrage.“Thelibrarian?”
“Yeah.”Ipointedtothescreen,whereGileswaspresidingoverameetingofteenagersinthehighschoollibrary.Helookedsupremelyputuponandhotinhisunique,middle-aged,glasses-wearinglibrarianway.“Imean,lookathim.”
“Iamlookingathim.”
“He’sobjectivelyattractive.”
Frederickgruntedsomethingunintelligible.Hefoldedhisarmstightlyacrosshischest,hismouthturningdowninascowl.
“Also,ofallthemenonthisshow—aliveandundead—he’stheonlyonewho’salreadyprocessedanddealtwithhisshit.”Ishrugged,turningbacktothetelevision.“Everyoneelsehaswaytoomuchbaggage.”
Fredericklookedunconvinced.“ButGilesisjustso…”Hetrailedoff,shakinghisheadandclosinghiseyes.Hisscowldeepened.
“He’sjustsowhat?”
“Human,”hespat,thesinglewordlacedwithbitternessanddisapproval.
Igapedathim.ButFrederickwasn’tlookingatmeanymore.Hiseyeswerebackonthetelevision,staringatitwithanintensitythatcouldburnaholethroughpaper.
WasFrederickjealousofafictionallibrarianfromanepisodethatairedalmosttwenty-fiveyearsago?Wasthatwhatwashappeninghere?
Impossible.
Stupidly,myheartspedupafewbeatsattheideaofitallthesame.
“What’swrongwithbeinghuman,Frederick?”
HemutteredsomethingunderhisbreathIcouldn’tmakeoutbutdidn’totherwiseacknowledgehe’dheardme.
“Toansweryourearlierquestion,”Fredericksaideventually,sidesteppingtheissueofhotlibrarians,“Ihaveseenthisshow.Reginaldrecommendedittome.”
“Really?”Thatsurprisedme.
“Yes.Althoughtheversionwewatchedathishomehadfrequentinterruptionsfromcompanieswantingtosellthings.Commercials.”Heshookhishead.“Annoying.”
IguessReginalddidn’tspringforcommercial-freestreamingplatforms.“Theyusuallyare,”Iagreed.
“Icouldn’teventellwhatIwasmeanttobuyhalfthetime,”hecomplained.“ThoughIdidenjoysingingalongtosomeofthem.Themusicwasoftenquitegood.”
Theideaofbuttoned-upFredericksingingalongtoacarinsurancead—or,god,anadforoneofthosesexualenhancementmeds—wassoridiculousInearlyburstoutlaughing.
“What…whatdidyouthinkoftheshowitself?”Iasked,tryingtorecover.
IfFredericknoticedIwasonthevergeofdissolvingintogigglesheshowednosignofit.“It’sabitsilly,”hesaid,thoughtfully.“ThoughIenjoyedwhatIsaw.”
“Howaccuratewouldyousayitis?”Iwasprobablycrossingaline,butIcouldn’thelpmyself.I’dbeenwonderingthiseversincelearninghewasavampire
Hehesitated,ponderingthequestion.“Theshow’swritersgotafewthingswrongaboutmykind.Forexample,Ihavenopenchantforleatherjackets,andIdon’tburntoashwhenexposedtosunlight.Additionally,myfacedoesn’tchangeinacartoonishwaybeforeIfeed.Buttheyalsomanagedtogetanumberofdetailscorrect.”Hepaused,thenadded,“Whichissurprising.AsfarasIknownooneonthewritingteamwasavampire.”
Myeyeswidened.Ihadn’texpectedthismuchhonestywhenI’daskedthequestion.Wasthismychancetofinallygetmoreinformationabouthim?
“Whatdidtheygetright?”Iprompted,unabletohidemyeagerness.
“I,likeAngel,doenjoyagoodbroodingstare.”
“I’venoticedthat.”
“I’dimagineitwouldbehardtomiss,”heconceded,hiseyestwinkling.
“Anythingelse?”
Heconsideredthat.“Irequireexpresspermissionbeforeenteringsomeone’shome.Somevampirelegendsarenonsenseandothersarelegitimate,andIhavetosaytheshowhandlesthatdetailquitewell.Also,Icannotsweat,Ineverblush,andmyhearthasn’tbeatsinceIturned.”Heglancedatmefromthecornerofhiseye.“YoulikelynoticedIhadnoheartbeatwhenwe…whenyoutouchedmyshirtatthedepartmentstore.”
Hemightnotbeabletoblushanymore,butatthereminderofthatmomentwesharedoutsidethedressingroomIwasblushingmorethanenoughforbothofus.
“Oh,”Imumbled.“Yes.I…Inoticed.”
Henodded,hiseyesinscrutableasheheldmygaze.“IfyoueverfindyourselflackingindiversionyoucoulddoworsethanBuffytheVampireSlayer.Especiallyifyouwantedtoknowmoreaboutme.”Apause.“Notthatyouwouldnecessarilywanttoknowmoreaboutme,ofcourse.Iam…merelystatingahypothetical.”
“Iwill,”Isaid,theroomfeelingsuddenlyabittoowarm.“Imean…Idowanttoknowmoreaboutyou.”
Onscreen,Buffy’smomwaslecturingheraboutstayingoutallnightagain,butIwasn’tpayingattentiontotheshowanymore.
Ididn’trememberfallingasleeponthecouchbesidehim.
OneminuteSpikeandtheothermonstersfromSunnydaleweregettinguptotheirusualantics.I’dbeenlaughing;Frederickhadbeenstaringintentlyatthescreen,asifhewerewatchinganimportantuniversitylectureanddidn’twanttomissaword.
ThenextminuteIwasblinkingupatthesideofFrederick’sfacefromwheremyheadrestedonhisshoulder.
Instincttoldmetomoveaway.Frederickwouldbehorrifiedwhenherealizedwhathadhappened.Butasconsciousnessslowlyreturned,Irealizedhehadtobefullyawareofthesituation.Hemightbeavampire,butasfarasIknewhehadnerveendingsinhisshoulder.Surelyhecouldfeelitwhenaheavyobjectlikemyheadwasrestingthere.
Ilookeddown.Thecarefulincheshe’dleftbetweenourbodieswhenhejoinedmeonthecouchhadevaporatedasIslept.Ourthighswerepressedtogethernow,kneetohip.
Myhandrestedlightlyonhisupperthigh,justabovehisknee.Hislegwasmuscularandsolid,hisbodyunnaturallycoolbeneathmypalm.
Mymindracedthroughalloptionsavailabletome.Jumpingawayfromhimandapologizingwasappealing.ButsowasstayingrightwhereIwas,admiringthesharpangleofhisjaw,andthewayhisshirtsmelledenticinglylikelaundrysoapandcool,maleskin.Itfeltgood,beingclosetohimlikethis.Exciting,yetcomfortable.Ourbodiesfittogethersoperfectly.
JustasI’ddecidedtostayrightwhereIwas,Frederickspoke,hisvoicealowrumbleagainstthetopofmyheadIcouldfeelmorethanhear.
“Yourartisremarkable,Cassie.”
Thatwasunexpectedenoughtomakemeforgetaboutthisawkwardsituation.Ishiftedawayfromhim—andnoticedthesoft,resignedsighthatescapedhislipswhenIdid.
Maybehe’denjoyedmyfallingasleeponhimasmuchasIhad.
Theideathrilledme.Butunpackingthatwouldhavetowait.Ihadtoomanyquestionsaboutwhathe’djustsaid.
“Myart?”
“Yes.”Hepointedtotheglass-toppedcoffeetablebesidethecouch.MynotebookwasspreadopentoapageofdoodlesI’dmadeearlyintheplanningstagesforManorHouseonaLake.“Yourart.”
Aflareofsomething—partembarrassmentoversomeoneseeingmyincompletesketches,partgenuineirritationathisintrusion—shotthroughme.
“That’snotforyoutolookat!”Ileanedforwardandflippedthenotebookclosed.Iknewhedidn’tunderstandmyart.HisearlierabjectconfusionovermySaugatuckpieceranginmyears.Washemakingfunofmenowwhenhesaidmyartwasremarkable?
“Iapologizeforinvadingyourprivacy,”hesaidsheepishly.Hesoundedgenuinelysorry,butthatdidn’texcusehissnooping.Thecuddlyfeelingsfromafewmomentsagoweregone.“Ishouldnothavelookedthroughyournotebook.”
“Thenwhydidyou?”
HesaidnothingforsolongIassumedhewasn’tgoingtoanswermyquestion.Whenhefinallydid,hisvoicewasquietandalittlestrained.“Ihavegrown.curiousaboutyouandtheinnerworkingsofyourmind.Ithoughtlookingthroughthesketchbookyouspendsomuchtimewithwouldprovideinsightwithrelativelyminimaldisruption.”Hepaused.“Ishouldhaveaskedyourpermissionfirst,andIapologizefornothavingdoneso.”
Confusionmixedwithmyirritation.“You’vebeencuriousabouthowIthink?”
“Yes.”
Thesinglewordhungintheairbetweenus.Ipaused,feelingasifthegroundwereshiftingbeneathmyfeet.“You’vebeencuriousabouthowIthinkbecauseyou…wanttolearnasmuchasyoucanaboutthemodernworldand…learningmoreabouthowIthinkwillhelponthatscore.”Ipaused,evaluatinghisreaction.“Right?”
Hedidn’tanswermerightaway.Hisdarkeyesgrewpensive,hisfaceadoptinganoddexpressionIcouldn’tread.
“Ofcourse.”Henoddedbrusquely.“ThatistheonlyreasonwhyI’vebeencuriousaboutwhat’sonyourmind.”
Buthiseyesweresosoft,hisvoiceagentlecaress,belyinghisclaim.Myheartbeatkickedupand…
Frederick’seyesflickeddowntomychestagain,thesamewaytheyhadthelasttimemyheartbeatstartedracingwhenIwaswithhim.
Maybehecouldhearmyheartbeating.
Mycheeksgrewwarmagainatthethoughtofit.
“Iapologizeagain,”hesaid.“Butpleasebelieveme,Cassie.Yourdrawingsareexcellent.”
“They’rejustroughsketches.”
“Donotdownplayyourtalents,”hesaid,scowlingasthoughtheideaofmesellingmyselfshortwasoffensivetohim.
Heleanedforwardtograbthenotebook,thenpaused,lookingbackatmeoverhisshoulderbeforehisfingersclosedaroundit.“MayI?”
Inodded,unabletothinkofareasontotellhimnowhenthistime,hewasaskingpermission.
HeopenedthenotebooktothepageI’dbeenworkingonwhenhejoinedmeonthecouch,movingalittleclosertomeintheprocess.
Ourthighsweretouchingagain.Myinsideswerequiveringathisnearness,atthesolidmusculatureofhisthighbeneathhisclothes.Itdidn’tseemtohavethesameeffectonhimthatithadonme,though.Hiseyeswerefixedfirmlyontheartonthepage.
“Thisisfascinating,”hebreathed,gesturingtomydesigns.ThisearlyversionofManorHousewasnothingbutthebarestoutlinesofahouseandthegeneralimpressionofalake.Arrowspointedfromthemiddleofthelakeouttotheedgeofthepagetorepresentmotionandmodernity;theideaofcombiningtinselandcellophanehadnotyetoccurredtomewhenI’ddrawnit.
“Youdon’thavetosaythat.”YearsofkindwordsfromSamandotherwell-meaningfriendswhodidn’tgetwhatIdidmadeitsothatfalsecomplimentshurtalmostasbadlyasnegative—buthonest—feedback.“Iknowyoudon’tunderstandwhatIdo.”
“That…mightbetrue,”headmitted.HetouchedthetopofManorHouse’sroofwithhisrightindexfinger.“ButthatdoesnotmeanIdonotfinditfascinating.”
Iwatchedashetracedovereverysinglelineonthepage,fromtoptobottom,notskippingoveranypartofit,withdeliberatecare.Thehouse.Thelake.Thebarelyintimatedtreesbloomingasroughgraphiteswirlsoneithersideofthepage.ThememoriesofhislargehandcoveringmineasweexploredInstagramtogether—thewaymyhandshadlookedpressedupagainsthischestintheNordstromdressingroom—roseunbidden,sendingadeliciousshiverdownmyspine.
I’dalwaysfeltmyartwasanextensionofmyinnermostself,andthesightofhislarge,gracefulhandstouchingeverysinglepartofthisearlydrawingfeltalmostunbearablyintimate.
“Whatdoyoufindfascinatingaboutit?”Icouldn’ttearmyeyesawayfromthesightofhishandstouchingmywork.Ifeltmomentsawayfrommeltingintoapuddleathisfeet.
“Allofit.”Hishandleftthepage.Ifelthimwithdrawasmuchassawitandexhaledforthefirsttimeinwhatfeltlikeminutes.Anunexpected,indescribablefeelingofemptinesscoursedthroughme.“Idonotclaimtounderstandwhatyouseewhenyoudrawandbuildthesethings.Buttheintricacyofyourdetailingsuggeststhatwhateveritis,itisbiganddeliberate.Thisisintentional.Itmeanssomethingtoyou.Icannothelpbutrespectit.”
Hiseyesmetmine,hisgazesopiercingitpunchedthebreathfrommylungs.
Ittookamomentformetorememberhowtoformwords.
“Yeah,”Isaid.Likeamoron.
Hisexpressionwentsuddenlydistantandwistful.“TherewasanartistinthevillagewhereIwasraised.Shedrewtheloveliestthings.Thesunsetinwinter.Achildplayingwithasmalltoy.”Hepaused.“Me,whenIwasjustachildmyself,laughingwithfriends.”
Ibitmylip,tryingtoignorethesuddenstabofirrationaljealousythatwentthroughmeathearingthewordshe
Getagrip,Cassie.
“Yourgirlfriend?”
Hissmileslipped.“Mysister.”
Iwinced,feelinglikeanasshole.Shehadtohavebeendeadforhundredsofyears.
“I’msorry.”
“Don’tbe.”Heshookhishead.“Marylivedalong,richlife,fullofartandotherbeautifulthings.Thevillageshemarriedintowassmallandclose-knit.Idon’tdoubtshelivedhappilyuntiltheendofherdays.”
Thesedetailsabouthissisterwerethefirstpersonaldetailsabouthislifehe’dgivenme,beyondthebasicsofhowhe’dendedupinhiscurrentsituation.Iwasn’tsurewhyhe’dchosentosharethiswithmenow—butthedecisionfeltmomentous.
Intruth,Istillknewalmostnothingaboutmyweird,fascinatingroommate.Thissmalltidbitwaslikeadambreakingonmycuriosityabouthim.
Suddenly,Iwasgreedytoknowmore.
“Wheredidyougrowup?”
“England.”Herubbedatthebackofhisneck,hiseyesdistantasthoughhewerepicturingthetowninhismind’seye.“AboutanhoursouthofLondonbycarifyouweretomakethejourneytoday.WhenIlivedthere,though,thejourneytoLondoninvolvednearlyafulldayoftravel.”
England?Thatsurprisedme.“Youdon’tspeakwithanaccentatall.”
“IhavelivedinAmericaformuchlongerthanIlivedinEngland.”Hegavemeanothersmallsmile.“Itdoesn’tmatterwhereyouwereborn,Cassie.Afteryou’regonefromaplaceforafewhundredyearstheaccent’sbarelydetectableanymore.”
Afteryou’regonefromaplaceforafewhundredyears
Ibitmylip,gatheringthecouragetoasksomethingI’dwonderedabouteversinceIfoundoutwhathereallywas.
“You’ve…beengonefromEnglandforafewhundredyears?”Iasked,dancingaroundit.
Henodded.“IhavenotbeenbacktowhereIwasbornsincejustbeforetheAmericanRevolutionaryWar.”
“Howoldareyou,exactly?”
Helookedatmeforsuchalong,heavymomentbeforeansweringthatIbegantoworryI’doverstepped.BeforeIcouldapologizeforprying,though,hesaid,“Iamnotentirelycertain.MymemoriesbeforeIturnedin1734are…opaque.”Heswallowedandlookedaway.“Therewasavampireattackonmyvillagethatyear.Mostofuswereeitherkilledorturned.IbelieveIwasinmymid-thirtieswhenithappened.”
1734.
Mymindwasreelingasittriedtoprocessthefactthatthemansittingbesidemeonthecouchwasmorethanthreehundredyearsold.
“AndthatispreciselywhyIhavenotreturnedinsolong,”hecontinued.“AllthepeopleIknewfrombeforeIturnedarelonggone,exceptfor—”Heabruptlycutoff,asthoughhe’dbeenabouttosaymorebutdecidedagainstitatthelastminute.Heshookhishead.“AllthepeopleIknewandlovedfrommychildhoodaredead.”
Thefirmsetofhisjawtoldmetherewasmorehewantedtosay,buthesimplypressedhislipstogetherandlookedagainattheartnotebookspreadopenbeforeusonthecoffeetable.Forthefirsttime,itoccurredtomethatitmustbeincrediblylonelytoliveforeverwhileeveryonearoundyouagedanddied.
MaybethiswaswhyhekeptReginaldaround.Havingoneconstantfromhispastmustbeacomforttohim—evenifsaidconstantwasalsokindofanass.
“Whatwasyourhometownlike?”Iasked.
He’dalreadysharedmoreabouthispastinthesefewminutesthanhe’ddonetheentiretimeI’dknownhim,andpartofmewonderedifaskingformorewaspushingit.Buthewasstillsuchanenigma,evenafteralltheseweekswithhim.Nowthatweweretalkingabouthispast,Icouldn’thelpmyself.
Ifhemindedmyquestion,hedidn’tactlikeit.
“Idon’tremembermuch,”headmitted.“Irememberfeelings.Myfamily,someofmycloserfriends.SomeofthethingsIlikedtoeat.Iusedtolovefood.”Hesmiledwistfully.“IrememberthehouseIlivedin.”
“Whatwasitlike?”
“Small,”hesaid,chuckling.Lookingaroundhisspaciouslivingroom,headded,“Youcouldprobablyfitthreeoftheminthisapartment.Andtherewerefourofuslivingthere.”
“NoMcMansionsinEnglandthreehundredyearsago?”
Heshookhishead,stillsmiling.“No.CertainlynotinthesmallvillagewhereIwasraised.Noonehadthemoneyortheresourcestobuildanythingbiggerthanwhatwasabsolutelyrequiredtokeepafamilyprotectedfromtheelements.”
IthoughtofwhatlittleI’dlearnedofthearchitectureineighteenth-centuryEnglandfrommyarthistoryclasses.IcouldalmostpictureFrederick’slittlehouseinmymind’seye.Athatchedroof,possibly.Floorsmadeofsimplewood.
Howdidaboyraisedinaplacelikethatenduphere—inwealthandsplendor,inafabulousapartmentacrosstheocean—hundredsofyearslater?Thedetailshe’dsharedwithmeonlywhettedmyappetiteformoreinformationabouthim.Butheleanedbackagainstthecouchcushionsthen,armsfoldedacrosshischest,signalingthathewasdonesharingfortheevening.
Ididn’thavetobedonetalking,though.Aftersharingwithmewhathehadabouthissister,theurgetoreciprocateandsharesomethingofmyownlifewastoostrongtoresist.
“I’mgladyouhadyoursister,foratime,”Isaidgently.
“Me,too.”
“Idon’thaveanysiblings.”
Hiseyes—whichhadonceagainbeenrestingonmyopenedartnotebook—flickedtomine.“Youmusthavebeenverylonelygrowingup.”
“Iwasn’t.”Itwasthetruth.“Myimaginationandmyfriendskeptmecompany.”Theonlyrealproblemwithhavingnosiblingswastherewasnooneelsearoundtodistractmyparentsfromme—andmymanyfailings.ButIwasn’tabouttocomplain,givenwhathe’djustshared.Mydumbonly-childguiltwasmorethanFrederickneededtoknow.
Wesattogetherincomfortablesilenceafterthat.Frederick’seyesdriftedonceagaintomyartnotebook,buthisgazewasunfocused.
“Iwouldliketohearmoreaboutyourlife,Cassie.”Heswallowed,hisAdam’sapplebobbinginhisthroat.“Iwishtoknowmoreaboutyou.Iwish…Iwishtoknoweverything.”
Thequietintensityofhistoneshotstraightthroughme.Theatmosphereintheroomseemedtoshift,thenatureofwhatweweretooneanothersuddenlytiltedonitsaxis.
Ilookedatmynotebook,whichhadsuddenlybecometheonlysafeplaceintheroomforeitherofustorestoureyes.THIRTEEN
Mr.FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam’sGoogleSearchHistory
howdoyoukissifithasbeenthreehundredyearssince
howcanyouknowifshewantstokissyou
isitabadideatokissyourroommate
isitbadtothinkaboutorhavesexwithyourroommate
agegaprelationships
bestbreathmints
[EMAILDRAFT,UNSENT]
From:CassieGreenberg[csgreenberg@gmail.com]
To:DavidGutierrez[dgutierrez@rivernorthgallery.com]
Subject:submissionforContemporarySocietyartshow
DearDavid,
Iwishtosubmitforconsiderationmythree-dimensionaloilandplasticsmixed-mediapiece,ManorHouseonaPlacidLake,forRiverNorthGallery’sContemporarySocietyartexhibitioninMarch.Thedimensionsofthecanvasitselfarethreefeetbytwofeet,withacellophane-and-tinselsculptureattachmentextendingoutfromthecanvasanotherteninches.
IhaveattachedfiveJPEGimagesofmycompletedpiecetothisemailforyourconsideration.PursuanttotheparameterssetoutintheRequestforSubmissions,thefinishedpiecewillbeavailablefordisplayinyourgalleryuponrequest.
Ilookforwardtohearingfromyousoon.
CassieS.Greenberg
BythetimeIgottotheartstudio,SamandScottwerealreadythere,standinginfrontofManorHouseandstaringatitwithmatchingexpressionsIcouldn’tparse.
Theydidn’tlookhorrified,atleast.Thatwassomething.
Idroppedmybagoffatanemptycubicleandstoodbesidethem.“Thankssomuchfortakingpicturesforme,”IsaidtoScott.HehadafancycamerawithanameIdidn’trecognizeandwasagreatamateurphotographer.Iwasgratefulhewasavailabletodothis.IwasplanningtosubmittotheRiverNorthGalleryartexhibitionthatevening,andwhileI’dalreadydraftedmyemailtoDavid,Ineededtoattachfivepicturesofmypiecetoittobeconsidered.
“It’smypleasure.”Scottliftedhiscamera—wornsuspendedonastraparoundhisneck—withouttakinghiseyesoffwhathewastheretophotograph.“WhereshouldI…um.”Hepaused,thenlookedtoSam,wide-eyed,forhelp.Samshookhisheadandchuckledquietlybeforeturningbacktowhateverhewasreadingonhisphone.“WhereshouldIstand?”
IpointedtoaspotabouttwofeetawayfromwhereManorHousehungonthestudiowall.“Startthere.Ithinkthat’llcapturethelightasitstreamsinthroughthewindow.Hopefullyit’llreflectoffthetinsel-cellophanesculptureandreallymakethepicturespop.”
Scott’smouthtwitched.“Gotit.”
“Themanorhouseitselfisn’tquiteaslargeasI’doriginallyplanned,”Imused.Theexplanationwasprobablyunnecessary—Scottwasatroopertodothisformeatallandprobablydidn’treallycare.ButIwasexcitedaboutthefinishedprojectandneededtotellsomeone.
“Oh?”Scottmovedaroundthepiece,snappinganewpictureeveryfewseconds.“You’dinitiallywantedtomakesomethingbigger?”
“Sortof,”Iadmitted.
AsI’dputthefinishingtouchesonitoverthepastfewdays,mymindkeptrevisitingmyconversationwithFrederickabouthispast.IntheprocessI’dinadvertentlyincorporatedsomeofthedetailshe’dsharedabouthisoldhome.BythetimeIwasfinishedwithManorHouse,thehomeitshowedwassmallerthanwhatI’doriginallyplanned,theplainwoodenfloorshe’ddescribedcouldbeseenthroughthewindows,andtheroofhadtakenonamorethatchedappearancethanhadbeenmyoriginalidea.
“ThelakeandthetinselsculpturecomingoutofitarebothbiggerthanI’doriginallyplannedtocompensateforthesmallerhouse,”Iadded,asScottcontinuedtosnapphotos.
Scottgrinnedatme.“Theplasticsculptureisthecoolestpartofitanyway.”
Icouldn’ttellifhemeantthatorifhewasjustbeingnice.Eitherway,Idefinitelyagreed.
“Ihopethejudgeslikeit.”
Whatiftheydidn’t,though?I’dbeensopreoccupiedwithsimplyfinishingthispieceIhadn’tletmyselfthinkaboutwhatI’ddoifitwasrejected.
Itwouldbeokay,though.Eventually.Itwouldsuckintheshortterm,justlikealltherejectionsI’dgottenoverthepasttenyearshadsucked.ButIlikedthispiece,evenifIwastheonlypersonwhoeverwould.Thathadtocountforsomething.
AsScottresumedtakingpictures,IwentbacktothecubiclewhereI’dstashedmythingsandpulledoutmylaptopsoIcouldreviewtheemailI’ddraftedtoDavidbeforeIsentinmyapplication.
AndInearlyjumpedoutofmychairwhenIsawtheemailI’djustreceived.
From:CressidaMarks[cjmarks@harmony.org]
To:CassieGreenberg[csgreenberg@gmail.com]
Subject:Interview—HarmonyAcademy
DearCassie,
Iamwritingtoletyouknowourhiringcommitteehasevaluatedyourmaterialsandwouldliketobringyoutocampusforanin-personinterview.Weareconductinginterviewsthelastweekofthismonth,andeveryFridayinDecember.Pleaseletmeknowatyourearliestconveniencewhetheryouarestillinterestedinthepositionand,ifso,whatyouravailabilityisonthesedates.
Sincerely,
CressidaMarks
HeadofSchool
HarmonyAcademy
IreadtheemailfromCressidaMarksagain,toostunnedtobelievethatwhatI’djustreadwasreal.
“Areyouokay?”IstartledatthesoundofSam’svoice.HepeeredatmefromwherehestoodbyScott,worrylinesnotchedbetweenhisbrows.“Youlooklikeyou’veseenaghost.”
“Notaghost,”Iassuredhim.“IjustfoundoutIgotajobinterviewIwasn’texpecting.”Thatwastheunderstatementoftheyear.I’donlyappliedtoHarmonyAcademybecauseIwashavingagooddayandI’dhadalltheapplicationmaterialsonmyharddrive.Ihadn’texpectedanythingtocomeofit.
Andnow,justafewdayslater,CressidaMarks,theheadofschoolatHarmonyAcademy,actuallywantedtointerviewmeforajob.
Howwasthisreal?
“That’sgreatnews,”Samsaid.Hesmiled,pullingoutachairfromthemaintableandsittingdown.“What’sitfor?”
Ihesitated.Thissituationwassurrealenoughasitwas.ItfeltlikeifItoldanotherlivingpersonaboutit,theopportunitywouldvanishinapuffofsmoke.Ididn’thaveateachingcredential.ThatmightnotmattertoHarmony;someofmyclassmatesfromYounkerhadbeenabletogetteachingpositionsatprivateschoolswithoutone.Butthefactthatmyentireportfoliowaslight-yearsawayfromwhatparentswantedtheirkidstolearninartclasswouldalmostcertainlymattertoaschoollookingforsomeonetoeducatetheirstudents.
Sam,though,didn’tseemtopickuponmyself-doubt.
“It’sapositionataprivateschoolupinEvanston,”Ieventuallysaid.“Teachingartattheirhighschool.”
“That’sfantastic!”Sam’ssmilegrew.“You’resotalented,Cassie.Andyou’veseemedtoenjoyartnightswiththelibrarykids,right?Thatschoolwouldbeluckytohaveyou.”
“Youreallythinkso?”
SamwalkedovertoManorHouseandpaused,studyingit.“Ido,”heconfirmed.“Ofcourse,IknowmoreaboutcorporatemergersthanIdoaboutart.IadmitIdon’tknowexactlywhatI’mlookingat,butIcantell,justfromlookingatit,thatyouknow.”Hesmiledatme.“Youaresomeonewithvision,andwhoispassionateaboutthatvision.Whobettertoteachyoungpeopleaboutsomethingthansomeonewhocarespassionatelyaboutwhattheydo?”
Hiswordssurprisedme.Samhadalwaysbeensupportiveofmeandmygoals,butinavague,I-love-you-but-I-don’t-really-understand-youkindofway.Thismighthavebeenthemosteffusivelyhe’deverpraisedmyskillsinalltheyearsI’dknownhim.
“Thankyou,”Istammered,atatotalloss.“That…reallymeansalottome.”
“Ifyouneedtogivethemreferences,youcangivemynameifyoulike.”
Isnorted.“You’remybestfriend,notmycurrentemployer.”
“Theofferstands,”hesaid,withconviction.
“Thankyou,Sam,”Isaid.“I…just,thankyou.”Andthen,withoutthinking,Iadded,“Ican’twaittotellFrederickthenews.”
Samlookedatme,oneeyebrowraised.“I’msorry.Whocan’tyouwaittotell?Ididn’tquitecatchthat.”
“Um.”Ireachedupandtuckedalockofhairbehindmyear.“JustFrederick.”
Samwassmirkingatmenow.“JustFrederick,huh?”
“Yes,”Isaid.“Frederick.Myroommate.”Roommatestoldeachotherthings,right?WhywasSamactinglikethis?
“Whyareyoublushing?”NowevenSam’ssmirkwassmirking.
“What?I’mnotblushing.It’sjust…warminhere.”
MeetingFrederickinpersonhadapparentlyputSam’smindateasethatIwasn’tlivingwithaserial-killermonster.Whichwasgreat,ofcourse.Evenifabitironic,sinceFrederickwasaliteralmonster.
Onlyrightnowitwasn’tsogreat.SamwasactingthewayhedideverytimeI’deverconfessedacrushtohim.Andthatjustwasn’twhatwasgoingonhere.
Or,evenifitwaswhatwasgoingonhere,itwasn’tlikeanythingwasgoingtocomeofit.
IrolledmyeyesatSam,myirritationwithhimgrowing,thenwalkedovertoScott,hopingthatwouldbetheendofthisconversation.Fortunately,Scottwaslookingathiscamera,notatme.
“CouldIlookthroughthepicturesyoutook?”Iasked,tryingtoignorehowflusteredIwas.“I’dliketosendmyapplicationtotheshoworganizerstonight.”
“Sure,”Scottsaid.HeleanedclosertomesoIcouldseehisscreen,andthengavemeawide,shit-eatinggrin.“Iwon’tevengiveyougriefoverhowmuchyou’reblushingoveryourroommatewhilewedoit,either.”
TherewasanotefromFrederickwaitingformeonthekitchentablewhenIgothomethatafternoon.Myheartskippedabeat,andIfeltmylipscurveintoasmileasIunfoldedthenowfamiliarsheetofcrispwhitestationery.
DearCassie,
Whatareyourfavoritefoods?
Ihaven’taskedmypersonalquestionyettoday,andIwouldlikethistobetoday’squestion.
Yours,
FJF
Thisone-personal-question-per-daythingwassomethingnewweagreedtotryafterthenightwe’dstayeduptoolatewatchingBuffy.Afterhesaidhewantedtoknowmoreaboutmesohecouldlearnaboutthemodernworld,wedecidedonepersonalquestionperdaywouldbeagoodwaytoaccomplishthat.
Iknew,onsomelevelatleast,thatthelearningmoreaboutthemodernworldbitwasjustarusewewereusingtogettoknoweachotherbetteraspeople.ButItriedtoshutdownthatlineofthinkingwheneveritcroppedup.
Iwasn’tquitereadyyettoponderwhatthatmeantwashappeningbetweenus.
Witheachsubsequentquestionheasked,though,thetruthofwhatweweredoingwasgettinghardertoignore.
DearFrederick,
Ihavealotoffavoritefoods!Lasagna,chocolatecake,honeynutcheerios,eggsbenedict,andchickennoodlesoupareprobablythetop5.
Also,thisdoesn’tansweryourquestion,butguesswhat?Igotajobinterviewtoday!There’sprobablynochanceintheworldI’llgetthejobbutit’sstillexciting.
Cassie
DearCassie,
Wonderfulnewsaboutthejobinterview!Whydoyouthinkyouwouldnotgettheposition?Ifitwereuptome,Iwouldhireyouinaheartbeat(ifyouwillexcusethefigureofspeech).
Thankyouforansweringmyquestionaboutyourfavoritefoods.Thathelpsmyunderstandingofwhathumansintheir30senjoyeatingintheearlytwenty-firstcentury.Myquestionfortodayhastodowithcolor.Specifically:Whatisyourfavoritecolor?
FJF
DearFrederick,
That’sverykindofyoutosayyouwouldhiremeinaheartbeat.Butyoucan’tmeanthat.Youdon’tevenknowwhatthejobis!ItcouldbesomethingIhavezeroqualificationsfor.Infact,itis.
Ihavetwofavecolors:carmine(whichisaspecificshadeofred)andindigo.Howaboutyou?Doyouhaveafavoritecolor?
Cassie
DearCassie,
Thisisprobablyextremelycliché,butmyfavoritecolorisred.
AndImeantexactlywhatIsaid.Iwouldhireyouinaheartbeat.Foranyjob.
Istillneedtothinkofagooddailyquestiontoaskyou,butinthemeantimeIwanttoletyouknowthatlastnightwhileyousleptIvisitedanall-nightcafewithReginaldcalled“WaffleHouse.”IthinkyouwouldbeproudofhowwellImanagedtoorderourfoodandbeverageswithouteithermishapordrawingundueattentiontoourselves.IdaresayevenReginaldwasimpressedwithhowfluidlyImanagedtoextractmynewcreditcardfrommywalletandpayforeverything.(Asyoumayhaveguessed,impressingReginaldisnearlyimpossible.)
Wedidgetafewstaresfromthetableofyoungpeopleadjacenttoours,butIsuspectthatmayhavebeenasideeffectofthesubstancesIcouldsmellonthemandnotduetoanythinganachronisticReginaldandIweredoing.Ineithercase,Iameagertotraveltoanothercafesoontopracticemyfledglingskills.
GiventhatIwouldnothavebeenabletoorderthatchocolatechipandpeanutbutterwafflelastnightwithoutyourunendingpatiencewithmeIwantedtoletyouknow.Icouldn’teatitofcourse;butitstillfeltlikeasmallvictory.
Yours,
FJF
Ipickedupthepenthatnowlivedpermanentlyonthekitchentableandponderedwhattowriteinmynotebacktohim.
SamhadjusttextedmeearlierinthedaytoinvitemetoapartyheandScottwerethrowingonFridayevening.MaybeFrederickcouldcomewithme.Hecouldpracticeinterfacingwithpeopleinpublicthere.
IdashedoffaquicknotetohimbeforeIcouldtalkmyselfoutofit.
HeyFrederick,
GreatjobatWaffleHouse.Yeah,I’msurethosekidswereonlystaringatyoubecausetheywerehighashell(thoughImaybeprojectingalittlefrommyownteenageyears).
Unrelated—myfriendSamishavingsomepeopleoverFridaynight.Doyouwanttocomewithme?ItcouldbeanotheropportunityforyoutopracticeyourtalkingwithpeopleskillsaroundsomeoneotherthanmeandReginald.
cassie
Ireadovermynote,tornbetweenleavingitonthetableforFrederickandtearingitintoathousandpieces.
Intruth,bringingFrederickwouldprobablymakethenightmorefunforme,andcouldbeagreatdistractionfromalltheawkwardquestionsIwouldinevitablygetaboutwhatIdidforalivingfromSam’slawschoolfriendsandScott’sEnglishdepartmentcolleagues.I’dhavetopayattentiontohim,andpossiblyruninterferenceifthingswentsidewaysandhetriedtopayforsomethingwithgolddoubloonsorsomething.
AndthemorechancesFrederickhadtoputitallintopractice,thebetter.
Itwasnormalforroommatestoinviteeachothertothings,right?Justlikeitwasnormalforroommatestotelleachotheraboutjobinterviewsandtheirfavoritefoods,andtosemi–feelthemupoutsideaNordstromdressingroomwhentheyneedednewclothes.
Butthen,asmallpartofmewondered—wouldfallingforhimreallybesobad?Sure,therewasthewholedrinkingbloodthing,andthewholehundreds-of-years-older-than-me-and-also-immortalthing.Buthewasbeingreallygoodaboutkeepinghispromisetonevereatinfrontofme.AndI’ddatedguyswithmuchbiggerstrikesagainstthemthanimmortality.
BeforeIcouldtalkmyselfoutofcrumplingupmynote,Isketchedaquickpictureofthetwoofus,dancing,amidstaseaoffloatingmusicalnotes.Idrewthecartoonversionofhimwithasmileonhisface—becausehereallydidhavesuchanincrediblesmile.
IleftthenoteonthekitchentablebeforeIleftformyeveningshiftatGossamer’s,notsureifIhopedhe’dsayyestotheinvitationorturnmedown.
WhenIgotbackhomeatmidnightfrommyshift,Frederickwasatthestove,hisbacktomeashestirredsomethingthatsmelledsuspiciouslyanddeliciouslylikechickensoup.
ThiswasthefirsttimeI’dseenhimsomuchasstandinthekitchensincemyfirstnightthere,whenI’dgoneonthatfutilesearchforcookware.I’dcertainlyneverseenhimcookanything.Ididn’tknowwhyhewasdoingitnow;hisfoodpreparationroutinewas,asfarasIknew,limitedtocuttingintobagsfromthebloodbank.
Hedidn’tseemtonoticemypresence,soIdecidedtojuststandthereinsilenceandwatchhimforawhile.Hereallydidhaveanincrediblebuildformen’sT-shirts.Andanamazingassforjeans.
Takinghimtothemallandgettinghimnewclotheshadn’tonlybeenafavortohim.Ithadbeenafavortohumankind.
“Frederick?”
Hewhirledaroundatthesoundofmyvoice,awoodenspoonwithsomethingdrippingfromitclutchedinonehandandasheetofpaperintheother.HeworeablackapronoverhisclotheswiththewordsThisGuyRubsHisOwnMeatinlargewhiteComicSanslettering.
Ihuffedaninvoluntarylaugh,momentarilyforgettingwhatI’dbeenabouttoaskhim.“Whatareyouwearing?”
Helookeddownathimself,thenbackatme.“It’sanapron.”
“Yes,Icanseeit’sanapron,but…”Imanagedtoconvertthegigglesthreateningtoescapemeintoacough,butbarely.“Wheredidyougetit?”
“Amazon.”Hesethiswoodenspoondownonthestoveandsmiledatme,clearlyproudofhimself.ImadeamentalnotenottoletFredericknavigateAmazononmylaptopwithoutsupervisionanymore.“Isawthisapronandimmediatelythought,Thismessageconveyscompetenceinthekitchen.WhichisexactlywhatI’dhopedtoconveyasIpreparedyourmeal.”
Myeyeswentwide.“You’recookingsomethingforme?”
“Iam.”
Ididn’tknowwhattosay.“Butwhy?”
Heshrugged.“Tothankyouforhelpingme.Iseewhatyoufeedyourself,Cassie.Allthosesnacksandready-to-grabthingsyoukeepinthefridge.”Helookedbackoverhisshoulderatme.“It’simportanttogetadequatenutrition,youknow.”
Istoodthere,heartinmythroat,struckdumbattheideathatacenturies-oldvampirewaslecturingmeontheimportanceofthreesquaresaday.
NoonehadcookedarealmealformesinceI’dleftmyparents’house.NotevenSam.
“Andsoyou’remakingme—”
“Chickensoup.”Hegavemeashysmile.“ImighthavehadanulteriormotivewhenIaskedyouforyourfavoritemeals.Ialsocutupsomefreshfruitforyou.Pineappleandkiwi.There’sabowlofitonthecounter.”
“Thankyou,”Imurmured,mychesttight.Iwasanadultandhadbeentakingcareofmyselfforyears.Buttheideathathewantedtocareforme…
Itdidsomethingtome.
Tryingtodistractmyself,Iturnedandsatatthekitchentable.Mylaptopwasthere,andIdecidedImightaswellcheckmyemailwhilewaitingforFredericktofinishthesoup.
Igrabbedasliceofkiwifromthebowloffreshfruit,poppingitintomymouthandenjoyingthebrightburstofflavoronmytongue.Hummingappreciatively,Iclickedthemousebuttononmylaptop.
Thescreenlitup,and—
HOWTOKISS:TENFOOLPROOFTIPSTOHAVEYOURPARTNERCLAMORINGFORMORE!
IstoodupfromthetablesoquicklyIknockedovermychair.Irubbedmyeyeswithmyfists,thinkingmaybeI’djusthallucinatedtheBuzzfeedheadlineinthirty-six-pointfontI’djustseenonmylaptop.
Icheckedagain,and…
Nope.
Therewasdefinitelyakissing-tipsarticlepulleduponmylaptop.
IwasonehundredpercentcertainIhadnotGoogledanythingthatwouldyieldaresultlikethisthelasttimeI’dusedmycomputer.
Ihad,however,givenFrederickpermissiontousemylaptopwheneverhewantedto.
“Um.Frederick?”
“Hm?”
Ibitmylip.ShouldIadmittowhatI’djustseen?
Ifhewantedtoreadinternethow-toarticlesaboutkissing,hehadeveryrighttodoexactlythat.Myflushedcheeksandracingheartneededtostayoutofthissituationentirely,asithadnothingtodowithme.
MylackofresponsemusthavecluedFrederickintowhatmademejumpoutofmychair,becausetwosecondslaterheinsertedhimselflikeasix-foot-tallvampiricshieldbetweenmeandthekitchentable.Hishandsshotout,grippingmyupperarmsliketwinironvises,coolfingertipsdiggingintomywarmflesh.
“Laptop.”Hisvoicebrokeontheword.“Didyou—”
Nopointindenyingitnow.“Yes.”
“Um,”hesaid.Helickedhislips,and—look,afterfindingthatarticleonthecomputer,itwasn’tmyfaultthatmyeyesfellreflexivelytohismouth.“Listen—”
“Youdon’thavetosayanything,”Isaidveryquickly.“Isaidyoucouldusemylaptopand…it’snoneofmybusinesswhatyouuseitfor.I’msorry.Ishouldn’thavelooked.”
“Youhavenothingtoapologizefor,”hesaid,hisfingertipsflexingalittleonmyarms.“It’syourlaptop.Youdon’tneedmypermissiontouseit.I’dmeanttoputthatarticleawaybeforeyoucamehome,butIgotcaughtupinpreparingthefood,and…”Hiseyesdroppedtothefloor.“Imusthaveforgotten.”
Westoodlikethatforalongmoment,hishandsstillonmyarms.Thesoupwasstillbubblingawayonthestove,butwebothignoredit.ItfeltlikeIwassupposedtosaysomething—somethingtodefusethesituation,probably—onlyIwasn’tcertainwhatitshouldbe.
SoIsaidthefirstthingthatpoppedintomyhead.“Areyou…curiousaboutkissing?”
Probablyastupidquestion,givenwhatI’dfoundonmylaptop.Buthelookedsurprisedallthesame.Hiseyessnappedtomine.“Whatmakesyouthinkthat?”
Ihuffedalaugh.“Yourbrowserhistory.”
Icouldallbutseethewheelsinhismindturningashecastaboutforhowtoreply.Butafteraninterminablemomentheseemedtoregainsomeofhiscomposure
Hesteppedalittleclosertome.Attheheatedlookhegaveme,allrationalthoughtfled.
“Iknowaboutkissing,Cassie.”
Hesoundedgenuinelyaffronted,andIcringedatwhatI’djustimplied—evenasmykneeswentweakattheimplicationofwhathe’djustsaid.He’dbeenalive—or,hisequivalentofalive—forhundredsofyears.He’dprobablykissedhundredsofpeople.Maybethousands.
Infact—hewasprobablyreallygoodatkissing.
“I’msureyoudo,”Isaid,tooflusteredtolookathisfaceanymore.Mygazedrifteddowntohisridiculousapron.ThisGuyRubsHisOwnMeat.Iflusheddeeperwiththeawkwardnessofthisentiresituation.Howwasanyofthishappening?“It’sjust…well.Thatwebsite.”Ipaused.“YoucanseewhyImightthinkthat—”
“Right,right,”hesaid,impatiently,wavingadismissivehand.“Iunderstandwhatitmustlooklike.ButIswear,myonlyreasonforreadingthatwas…thatistosay,Ijustwantedtoseeif…”
Hetrailedoff.
Hedroppedhisgriponmyarmsandrananagitatedhandthroughhishair.
Ipeeredathim.“Youjustwantedtoseeif…?”
Hisexpressionwasunreadable.“Ijustwantedtoseeifanything…significant…hadchanged.”
What?“Youwantedtoseeif…anythinghadchanged?”
Henodded.“Yes.Ithasbeenawhile,sinceI…”Heshookhisheadandshovedhishandsdeepinthepocketsofhisjeans.“Overtheyearstherehavebeen…trendsinthisarea,yousee.Whatisdesirableinakissinoneeramaynotbepleasurableinanother.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Andyou’recuriousaboutwhatthosetrendsarerightnow?”
Heswallowed.“Yes.”
Ihadnoreasontothinkhiscuriosityaboutmodernkissingtrendswasanythingbutpurelyintellectual.Hewascuriousaboutalotofthingsinthetwenty-firstcentury—everythingrangingfromurbansewagesystemstoMidwesternpolitics.Butsomethingaboutthewayhewasnowsteadfastlylookingateverythingintheroombutmemademyheartknockhardagainstmyribcage—andgavemethecouragetoadmitsomethingverystupid.
“I’mcurious,too.”
Hiseyessnappedtomine.“What?”
Operatingonpurenerve,Iclarified.“I’veneverkissedavampirebefore.”Ididn’thavetoadmitthatI’dwonderedwhatitwouldbeliketokisshimspecifically,right?“SoI’mcuriousaboutwhatit’slike.”AtthethunderstrucklookonhisfaceIadded,“Purelyfromanintellectualstandpoint.”
Abeat.“Ofcourse.”
“Forscience,honestly.”
“Science.”
“Comparisonpurposes.”
“Whatotherpurposecouldtherebe?”
Westoodthereinthekitchenforwhatfeltlikeentireminutes,juststaringateachother.Thesoupwasstillbubblingonthestove.Itsortofsmelledlikeitwasburningatthispoint.Ididn’tcare.
Itookanotherstepcloser,untilwewerenearenoughtooneanotherthatIcouldseeallthevariationsofcolorwithinhisdarkeyes.Theyweren’tamonochromaticbrown,liketheyappearedfromadistance.Hisirisescontainedverysubtlepinpricksofhazelaswell,combiningwiththebrowntocreatetherichest,mostbeautifuleyecolorI’deverseen.
Ilickedmylips.Hiseyesfelldirectlytomymouth.
“Whatdoyouthinkaboutusshowingeachotherwhatit’slike?”Hisvoicewasbarelyaboveawhisper.“Forscience.Andcomparisonpurposes.”
Inodded.“I’mhardlyanexpert,butI’mprobablyatleastasknowledgeableaboutmodernkissingtrendsasthatarticle.”
Hisjawtightened.“Probably.”
“AndgiventhatIamyourpointpersonforlessonsonlivinginthemodernera—”
“Itonlymakessensethatitshouldbeyou,”heagreed.“Likewise,Idonotclaimtobeanexpertatvampirekissing,but…”
Hetrailedoff.Hiseyeswerestillfocusedonmymouth.
Theofferwasoutthere,now—forbothofus.Therewasnotakingitbacknow.
BeforeIcouldremindmyselfthatkissingthisgorgeous,undeadmanwhowantedtomakemechickensoupandsaidhelikedmyartmightendupbeingtheworstdecisionI’dmadeinalifetimefullofnot-greatdecisions,Iplacedmyhandonhischest,rightovertheplacewherehisheartwouldbebeatingifhewerehuman
Heclosedhiseyes,takingseveralverydeepbreaths.Heinclinedhisheadalittletowardsme,againmakingmewonderifhecouldhear,orevensmell,myheartbeat.
Hecoveredmyhandonhischestwithoneofhisown.Hispalmwassocoolagainstmyheatedskin.Hesqueezedmyhandgently,makingmeshiver,andshiftedevenclosertome.
Andthenhekissedme,justagentle,barelytherepressofhislipstomine.Hepulledbackahalfmomentlater,endingthekissassoonasitbegan.Togivemeanoutifthiswasn’twhatIwanted.
“I—we—kisslikethis,”hewhispered.Itracedhisplushbottomlipwiththetipofmyindexfinger,thrillingatthewayhiseyesflutteredclosedatmytouch.Slowly,asthoughmovingthroughadream,Icuppedhischeekinmyhand,tiltinghisfaceafractionsohehadtolookmeintheeyes.
Hiseyeswereheavy-lidded,unfocused.
Heneedednofurtherencouragement.
Thesecondbrushofourlipswaschasteandunhurried,hisfreehandcominguptocupmyfaceinamirrorimageofhowIwasnowtouchinghim.Hismouthwasassoftasitlooked,insharpcontrastwiththeraspofhisstubbleagainstmypalmandthehardlinesofhisbodyasitpressedagainstmine.FromadistanceIcouldhearthegrandfatherclockdownthehallmarkingtime,butitfeltliketimehadstopped—Frederick’sarmsslowlycomingaroundmybodytopullmecloser,thesteadybeatofmyheartanindeliblereminderofjusthowlongI’dwantedthistohappen.
Myfingerssoonwoundtheirwayintohishair,cardingthroughhisimpossiblysoftlocks.Thetugofmyhandsseemedtounlocksomethinginsidehim.Hepulledmecloser,allowingmetofeeleverycool,unyieldinginchofhimagainstthefrontofmybody.Hisbreathhitchedashetiltedhisheadagainandkissedmymouthwithintentionalityandconsiderablymorepressurethanhe’dusedbefore.Iopenedtohiminstinctively,hisquiet,needfulintensitypartingmylipsbeforeIevenrealizedithadhappened.
Andthenitwasover.Hepulledbackabruptly,restinghisforeheadagainstmine,breathingveryhardforsomeonewhodidn’ttechnicallyneedoxygentosurvive.Heshookhisheadminutelyandthensqueezedhiseyestightlyshut,likehewastryingtoregaincontroloverasituationthatwasrapidlyslippingthroughhisfingers.
“That,”hebreathed,“iswhatitisliketokissavampire.”
Fromatechnicalstandpointitturnedouttobenotmuchdifferentfromkissinganyoneelse.AndyetI’dneverexperiencedanythinglikeit.Hestillheldontome,hisarmswoundjustastightlyaroundmybodyasthey’dbeenwhilewewerekissing—whichwasagoodthing,asmykneesfeltmomentsawayfrombucklingundermyweight.AsheworkedtocalmhisbreathingIdetectedthefaintbutunmistakablemetallicscentofbloodonhisbreath.Iwonderedifself-consciousnessoverarecentmealwaswhyhe’dendedourkisssoabruptly.
Whenheopenedhiseyes,hisexpressionwassoguardedIknewboththatthemutualkissinglessonswereover,andthatwhateverthereasonforitwas,Ishouldn’tpry.
“Youdidwell,too,”Isaid,tryingtosound—feel—detachedaboutthewholething.Thereality,ofcourse,wasthatIfeltanythingbutdetached.Iwantedtokisshimagain.Rightthen.WithareserveofwillIdidn’tknowIpossessedIsteppedback,butnotbeforeIregisteredtheflashofdisappointmentthatcrossedhisfacewhenImovedaway.“You’vegotthemoderntrendsdown,I’dsay.You’reaquicklearner.”
Frederickstraightened,thengavemeaself-possessedsmilethatstolethebreathfrommylungs.
“SoI’vebeentold,”hesaid.FOURTEEN
LordandLadyJamesJamesonXXIII
andMrs.EdwinaFitzwilliam
DoHerebyRequesttheHonorofYourPresenceattheWeddingofTheirChildren
missesmeraldajameson
and
mr.frederickj.fitzwilliam
~DateandTimetoBeDetermined~
TheBallroom,CastleJameson
NewYork,NewYork
Lightrefreshmentsandbloodlettingwillbeprovided
~ThecoupleisregisteredatCrate&Feral~
“Answermethis,”Isaid,staringatFrederick.“Forsomeonewhoclaimstobecluelessaboutmodernsociety,howdidyoupickuponhowtodresssowellfromonemeaslylittletriptoNordstrom?”
Frederickseemedgenuinelysurprisedbymycomment.“DoIknowhowtodresswell?”
Ihuffedalaugh.IfIdidn’tknowbetter,I’dhaveaccusedhimoffalsemodesty.Hewaswearingdarkbluejeansandalightbluebutton-downoverwhichhe’dpulledadeepburgundysweater—noneofwhichwe’dpurchasedatthemallthepreviousweek.
EvenifIhadn’tkissedhimtheothernight—forscienceandcomparisonpurposes,ofcourse—itwouldhavebeenallIcoulddotokeepmyhandsoffhim.IwasalmostafraidtotakehimtoSam’spartylookinglikethis.Ididn’tknowSam’sorScott’sfriendswellenoughtoknowhowtheymightrespondtoFrederickwalkingintothispartyliketheworld’smostoblivioussexonastick.
“Youdoknowhowtodresswell,”Iconfirmed.“YoulooklikeyoujustwalkedoutofaJ.Crewphotoshoot.”
Heraisedaneyebrowatme.“WhatisaJ.Crewphotoshoot?”
Iwavedmyhands.“YouknowwhatImean.Howcouldyoupossiblynotknowexactlywhatyou’redoing,dressinglikethat?”
Hepaused,consideringmyquestion.
“Maybewhenapersonturnsintoavampire,theyacquireanencyclopedicandinstantlyupdatedunderstandingofhowbesttodressforpurposesofblendingintomodernsocietyandattractingvictims.”Hegesturedtohimself,givingmeabroad,dazzlingsmile.Hiseyestwinkledwithamusement.“Whatyouseebeforeyouistheresultofmillenniaofvampiricgeneticevolution,Cassie.Nothingmore.”
Iraisedaskepticaleyebrowathimandfoldedmyarmsacrossmychest.“Spareme,”Isaid,thoughIwasonthevergeoflaughing.“ThereisnosuchthingasvampireosmosisorIwouldn’tbehere.Andwedidn’tbuyyouthoseclothesatthemall.”
Hegavemeanothersmile,morebashfulthistime.“Fine,fine.You’vegotme.”Hepointedatthetelevision.“I’vebeenwatchingsubtitledKoreandramasonNetflix.”
Apause.“Koreandramas?”
“Yes,”heconfirmed.“Didyouknowthataboutadecadeago,SouthKorea’sgovernmentbeganinvestingmassivesumsinitsentertainmentindustry?It’sanentertainmentpowerhousenow.Ithasmadeascienceofdressingitsactorsandactressesattractively.BetweenourtriptothemallandCrashLandingonYou,I’velearnedanincredibleamount.”
Ihadn’tseenanyKoreantelevisionbefore.ButifFrederickhadlearnedhowtodressbywatchingit,Iwasn’tabouttocomplain.
“CrashLandingonYou?”Iasked.“Isitgood?”
“IfvampireswerecapableofproducingtearsIwouldhavecriedmyeyesout.”Thenheglancedathisnewwristwatch—somethingelsewedefinitelydidn’tbuytogether.He’dgottenalarminglygoodatonlineshopping—especiallyforsomeonewho’doriginallybeensodeadsetagainstconnectingtotheinternet.“It’stimeforustoleaveforyourfriend’sparty.Shallwego?”
Inoddedandgrabbedmypurse,tryinghardtotampdowntheirrationalwaveofpossessivenessthatsuddenlycameovermeattheideaofsharingFrederickforaneveningwithSamandhisfriends.
“Oh,beforeIforget—IwanttoreassureyouthatIhavegivensomethoughttopossibleconversationtopicsforthisevening.”
“Oh?”Thiswasgoodnews.I’dhopedtonightwouldbeanopportunityforhimtopracticeinteractingwithpeopleinarelaxedsetting.Ifhe’dthoughtthingsthroughabit,somuchthebetter.
“Yes.Ispentfourhoursontheinternetafteryouwenttosleeplastnight,researchingtopicsofmostinteresttopeoplebetweentheagesoftwenty-fiveandthirty-five.Inotedmyfindingsonascrapofpaper.”Hepattedthefrontpocketofhisjeansnoddingproudly.“Iambringingthelistwithmeincasethereistimeonthetrainformetostudybeforewearrive.”
Mystomachsank.I’dwantedhimtohaveenoughfamiliaritywithcurrenteventsthathewouldbeabletovaguelyfollowconversation.Maybeevenmakeacasualreferencetocurrentmusic,orskyrocketingrentsinthecity,ortheslow,inexorabledeclineofcapitalisticsociety.Ifoneofthosetopicshappenedtocomeup,ofcourse.
Butitsoundedlikehe’dsatupallnightonWikipedia.Thathadn’tbeenmyintentatall.
“Youdidn’tactuallyneedtomemorizeanything,”Isaid.“Orreallystudyanythingatall.”
Hissmileslipped.“Oh.”
“I’msureit’llbefine,”Isaidquickly,hopingIsoundedmorecertainofthatthanIfelt.Intruth,IwassuddenlyveryconcernedFrederickwasabouttobecomeanin-the-fleshembodimentoftheHowdoyoudo,fellowkids?meme.“Alwaysbettertobeoverpreparedthanunderprepared,right?”
Hestraightenedalittleatthat.“True.”
Worst-casescenario,Itoldmyselfaswemadeourwaydownthestairs,SamandScottwouldjustbecomefurtherconvincedIwaslivingwithaweirdo.
ItwasimmediatelyobviousthatIwasnottheonlyonewhothoughtFredericklookedgoodthatnight.
Or,atleast,itwasimmediatelyobvioustome.Frederick,ontheotherhand,seemedcompletelyunawareoftheeffecthehadonthepeoplewepassedonthestreet.Hiseyesseemedtobeeverywhereallatonceaswewalkedthroughthefrigidlate-autumneveningtowardstheEl,studyingoursurroundingslikeheexpectedtobequizzedoneverythinglater—buttheappreciativeonce-oversandopen-mouthedstaresheearnedfrompassersbywentrightoverhishead.
“Isthishowyougettoworkeveryday?”HisvoicewasfullofwonderaswedescendedintotheundergroundElstation.Frederickseemedtobetheonlypersonnotbundleduplikeashapelesspotatoagainstthecold.Ithadn’toccurredtomebeforenowthathedidn’tgetcoldthewayhumansdid,thoughinhindsightitprobablyshouldhave.Eitherway,thelackofextensivebundlinguponlyenhancedhisattractiveness.Agroupofyoungwomenmakingtheirwayupthestairsstoppedmid-conversationandturnedtowatchhimasheandIapproachedtheticketvestibule.
“SometimesItaketheEltothelibrary,yeah,”Isaid,clenchingmyjawalittleandfightingagainstawaveofirrationaljealousy.EveryonewasrighttothinkFrederickwashot,ofcourse.Ihadnobusinessbeingjealous.Ihadnoclaimonhim.“OthertimesItakethebus.”
Whenwegottothecrowdedplatform,Frederickstaredanxiouslyupatthesignflashingthenamesandwaittimesofthedifferenttrainsthatwereduetocomethroughthestation.
“Youreallyhaven’ttakentheElbefore?Orabus?”Iknewhehadn’t,butIstillcouldn’tfathomsomeonelivinginChicagoforanylengthoftimewithoutatleastoccasionallytakingpublictransportation.
“Never.”Hiseyeswidenedwhentheflashing4minutesbythenameofthenorthboundRedLinetrainchangedto3minutes.“Ihaven’tbeenonanykindoftraininoveronehundredyearsand…well.Itworkeddifferentlybackthen.”
“Howdoyougetaround,then?”
Hegaveaone-shouldershrug,eyesstillonthesign.“Igetaroundinafewdifferentways.Vampirescanrunveryfast,youknow.Also,ifnecessary,vampirescanfly.”
Frederickcouldfreakingfly?Thatwasnewstome.Iglaredathimandsaid,“Youtoldmeyouwouldn’thideanythingimportantanymore.”
“Ididn’tthinkknowinghowIgotaroundChicagowasimportant.”Acornerofhismouthtickedup.“Iamalsojokingaboutbeingabletofly.”
Irolledmyeyes.“Joking,Frederick?Twiceinoneevening?”
Hiseyestwinkledwithamusement.“Well.Partiallyjoking.”
Iwasabouttoaskwhatthatmeantwhenourtrainsurgedintotheplatform.EveryoneexceptFrederickinstinctivelysteppedbackfromtheplatform’sedgeasithurtledintoview.Igrabbedhimbythearmtogethimtostepaway.
Thefeelofhisbicepsbeneathmyfingertipstriggeredmybody’smemory.
Itwasthefirsttimewehadtouchedsincewe’dkissedinthekitchentwonightsago.Hisstrongarmspullingmeimpossiblyclose.Hislips,softandpliant,brushingagainstmyown.
Ishookmyhead.Nowwasnotthetimetodwellonsomethingwehadn’teventalkedaboutsinceithappened.WewereabouttogetontheRedLineatrushhour—astressfulendeavorevenifitwasn’tyourfirsttimeonpublictransportation.AndFrederickwascountingonmetoguidehimthroughit.
“Thisisanassaultonthesenses,Cassie,”Fredericksaid,shoutingtobeheardoverthedinofthestationandthewhooshoftheapproachingtrain.
“You’renotwrongaboutthat,”Ishoutedback.Sam’spartystartedatseven,andtheplatformwaspackedwithpeople—someheadinghomefromwork,someontheirwaytoaCubsgame(ifthesheervolumeofCubshatsandjerseyspeoplewerewearingwereanyindication),andstillotherswho,likeus,weresimplygoingoutonaFridaynight.
ThenoiseandthecrowdsthatwentalongwithridingtheElatrushhouronaFridaywerealottohandle,evenforsomeonewhodidthisalmosteveryday.Inhindsight,IprobablyshouldhaveintroducedFredericktopublictransportationatasanerhour.Buthewantedtolearnaboutlifeinthetwenty-firstcentury.Mightaswellthrowhimintothedeependofthepool.
Thetraincarsopenedwithaloudding-dongsound.IkeptmyholdonFrederick’sarm,wordlesslysignalinghimtowaituntileveryonewhowantedtogetoffhadleftthetrain.
“Onesmallstepforvampire,onegiantleapforvampire-kind,”Imurmuredintohisearaswesteppedaboard,pleasedatmylittlejoke.Buthisforeheadcreasedinconfusion.HelookedlikehewasabouttoaskwhatthatmeantwhenaloudgroupofguysinCubsjerseysshovedpastusfrombehindandmuscledaboardthetrain.
“Oh!”
Frederick’shandsflewuptogripmyarms,steadyingmeasInearlytoppledtothefloor.Thetrainlurchedforwardamomentlater—andwhileusuallyIpridedmyselfonmyabilitytoridepublictransportationwithoutlosingmybalance,thesuddennessofFrederick’sfingertipsdiggingintomyupperarmscaughtmecompletelybysurprise.
Iquicklyregainedmyfooting,avertingmyeyesasawarmflushcreptupthebackofmyneck.Itriednottothinkabouthowclosehewasbutprettymuchtotallyfailed.HerelaxedhisgripalittleonceitbecameclearIwasn’tgoingtofall,buteventhoughIwasclearlytotallyfinenow,heseemednottoknowwhattodowithhishandsoncehe’dputthemonmybody.
Whichjustmadethingsthatmuchmoreawkwardwhenthetrainjerkedunexpectedly,oneoftheCubsfansstumbledintomefrombehind,andIfelldirectlyintoFrederick.
“Shit!”Myexclamationwasmuffledbyhisbroadchest.Hisburgundysweaterwassosoftitmightaswellhavebeenmadeofangelkisses.Ibreathedin,deepandreflexively,andthenimmediatelywishedIhadn’tbecause,god,hesmelledgood.
Beyondgood.
Ihadnoideaifitwassomesortofexpensivecologne,orthesoapheused—orifallvampiressmelledthisamazingifyoubreathedtheminrightatthesource.AllIknewwasthatthescentofhimmademewanttocrawlinsidehissoft,fittedshirtandwrapmyselfupinit.Rightthere,onthecrowdedRedLinetrain,alltheotherpassengersbedamned.
“Cassie?”Frederick’svoicerumbledinhischest.“Are…areyouokay?”
Hesoundedconcernedbutmadenomovetodisentanglehimselffromme.Notthathecouldhave;thewallofthetrainwasathisbackandwewerepackedintherelikesardines.However,hecouldhaveatleasttriedtoputsomespacebetweenus
Buthedidn’t.
Instead,heslowlyslidhishandsfromwheretheystillrestedonmyshouldersdowntothesmallofmyback,envelopingmeinhisarmsintheprocess.
Hepulledmecloser.
“Itisn’tsafeinhere,”hemurmured,hisbreathfanningcoolandsweetacrossthetopofmyhead.“Iwillholdontoyou.Foryourownprotection,Imean.Justuntilwereachourdestination.”
Whathewassayingwasjustanexcusetokeepholdingme.Iknewthat.ButIdidn’tcare.Ishivered,tuckingmyselfclosertohimbeforeIcouldremindmyselfthatcuddlinginpublicwithone’svampireroommatewasprobablynotasmartidea.Buthisbodyjustfeltsodeliciousagainstmine.Despitethechillheradiated,Ifeltnothingbutheatsuffusingme,excitementracingdownmyspineashepulledmecloserandrestedhischeekagainstthetopofmyhead.
Therestofthetrainridesimultaneouslytookfartoolong,andbypassedinaninstant.FIFTEEN
LetterfromMrs.EdwinaFitzwilliamtoMr.FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam,datedNovember11
MydearestFrederick,
Iwillnotbeataroundthebushwithyou.
IhaveitfromtheJamesonsdirectlythatyouhavecontinuedtoignoremyentreatiesandarestillreturningMissJameson’sgiftstoyouunopened.
Thiswillnotstand.
IhavebookedpassageonadirectflightfromLondon,whereIamcurrentlyonholiday,toChicagonextTuesdayevening.Giventhatthemailisnotaspeedybusiness,IsupposethereisachancethatIwillarriveinChicagobeforethisletterdoes.Ifthathappens,sobeit.PerhapsitwouldbebetterifyouhavenoforewarningbeforeIarrive.ThatwayIwillbeabletoseeformyselfthemessyouhavemadeofyourlife.
Despiteall,Idoloveyou,Frederick.IntimeIhopeyoucometounderstandIhaveonlyeverhadyourbestinterestsatheart.
Withkindregards,
Yourmother,
Mrs.EdwinaFitzwilliam
AfterFrederickandIgotoffthetrainwewalkedtowardsSam’sapartmentinlockstep.EventhoughwesprangaparttheinstantthetrainstoppedmovingIcouldfeelhistouchasacutelyasifwewerestillembracing.
Frederickdrummedthefingersofhisrighthandrapidlyagainsthisleg—whatI’dcometorecognizeashismostobviousnervoustell.Hekepthiseyesstraightahead,notsparingmesomuchasasidewaysglance.
“Ihavemadealistofseveraltopicsofconversationforthisparty,”hesaid,repeatinghimselffromearlierintheevening.Heslidhishandintothefrontpocketofhisjeansandextractedasmall,foldedpieceofpaper.Hishandwastrembling.Hemusthavebeenaffectedbywhathappenedbetweenusonthetrain,too—becausehishandsrarelyshook,andheneverrepeatedhimself.
Thethoughtwasbothexhilaratingandterrifying.
“Youalreadytoldmethat,”Isaid.
Acardrovebyus,itswindowsrolleddown.Hip-hopmusicIdidn’trecognizeblastedonitsradio.
“Ialreadytoldyouthat?”
“Youdid.”
“Oh.”
Fortunately,itwasn’tfartoSam’sbuilding.WhenwegotthereIpushedthebuzzeronthefrontdoorpaneltoletSamandScottknowwe’darrived.Thedoorlockclickedamomentlater,andIgrabbedthedoor’shandletopullitopen.
Frederickputhishandonmyupperarm,stoppingme.Theurgencyofhistouchcutthroughmythickwintercoatlikeaknife.
“Remember?IneedexplicitpermissionfromthembeforeIcanentertheirhome.”
Iblinked,tryingtounderstandwhathewassaying.“What?”
Helookedaway,sheepish.“Remember,whenwewatchedBuffy,howItoldyouthatsomevampirelegendsarerubbishwhileothersarelegitimate?Thisoneislegitimate.”
Thenitclicked.Thateveningwithhimonthecouch,whenwe’ddiscussedBuffy—shortlybeforeIfellasleepwithmyheadonhisshoulder.
“Oh,”Isaidabruptly,warmingatthememory.“Yes,ofcourse.I’msorryIforgotaboutthat.”IpointedatthebuttonI’djustpushed.“Buttheyunlockeditforus.Isn’tthatenough?”
“No.”Hiseyeswereonhisshoes.Hewasembarrassed,Irealized.Myheartclenched.“It…mustbeadirect,explicitinvitation.CouldyoupossiblytextSamorScottandaskthemtoinvitemein?”
Laughterdrifteddowntousfromanopenwindow.Thepartywasalreadyinfullswing.“They’regoingtothinkthat’sweird,Frederick.”
“Bethatasitmay,Idon’thavemuchofachoice.”
Justthen,aguyIrecognizedasSam’sdownstairsneighborappearedinthedoorway,dressedinabrightpinkleatherminidressthatstoppedaboutsixinchesabovehisknees.HehadanoccasionalgigasaburlesquedancerataclubinAndersonville,ifIrememberedcorrectly.
Hewasfumblingaroundinapursehecarriedthatmatchedhisoutfit.OutofthecornerofmyeyeIcouldseeFrederickgapingathimandhisoutfitinstunnedsilence,hisdarkeyeswideassaucers.Iignoredhim.
“Jack!”Iexclaimed,hopingtogethisattention,andhopingthatwasactuallyhisname.
Helookedup.
“Cassie?”
“Yeah,hi.”IlookedovermyshoulderatFrederick,whonoddedencouragingly.“Canwecomeinside?”
“YouheadinguptoSam’s?”
“Weare.”
Heopenedthedoorwiderforusandmotionedforustocomeinside.“Sure.I’mjustonmywayout.”
IglancedquestioninglybackatFrederick,whogavemeasubtlenodthatIinterpretedtomeangoodenoughforme
“Thanks,Jack,”Isaid.Imademywayacrossthethreshold,Frederickclosebehindme.Heletoutaquietsighoncewewerebothsafelyinside.
Fortunately,Scottwasalreadywaitingforusinthedoorwaytohissecond-floorapartment.
“Canwecomein?”Iasked,hopingmyvoicedidn’tbetrayhownervousIsuddenlywas.Aloudcacophonyofvoicesandsomekindofavant-gardehousemusicpouredoutintothehallwayfrominside.
“Ofcourse,”Scottsaid.Hegesturedtotheapartmentbehindhim.“I’mjustwaitingforKatietogethere,thenI’llgobackinside.”
Myeyebrowsshotup.“Katie?Asin,Gossamer’sKatie?”
“Yeah,”Scottsaid.“Wegottoknowherfromallthosenightsvisitingyouatwork.Iwashappywhenshesaidshecouldmakeit.”
IwishedIwashappy,too.KatieandIgotalongwell—butFrederickhadmadesuchaweirdfirstimpressiononherthenighthe’dtriedtoordercoffeeandthenpayforitwithhisfannypackofgolddoubloons.
He’dmaderealstridestowardspassingasnormalthepastfewweeks.He’dlearnedhowtoorderclothesonline.He’driddentheElwithoutanyonethinkinghedidn’tbelongthere.ThelastthingheneededwastoseeKatieatthispartyandhaveheraskuncomfortablequestions.
ButIsupposedtherewasnothingtobedoneforit.
IturnedtoFrederick.“Wantsomethingtodrink?”
Hisbrowfurrowed.“No.Iatebeforewegothere.YouknowIcan’t—”
Igrabbedhislapelandtuggedhimdownuntilhisearwasatalevelwithmymouth.Iresistedtheurgetojuststandthere,breathinghimin—butbarely.“Youhavetodosomepretendingtonightforthistowork.”
Heswallowed,thenstraightened.
“Right.”Henodded.“Let’sgetadrink.”
Aswemadeourwayinside,Iturnedtohimandasked,veryquietly,“Bytheway,whathappensifyoudon’tgetpermission?”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“Yousaidyoucan’tentersomeone’shomewithoutaninvitation,”Iremindedhim.“Whathappensifyoutry?”
“Oh.That.”Hequicklylookedoverhisshouldertomakecertainnoonewaswithinearshot,andthenleanedinclose.“Instantdisintegration.”
Istaredathim.“You’rekidding.”
Heshookhisheadgravely.“WhenIfirstheardaboutthisphenomenon,Ithoughtitwasajoke,too.ButnotlongafterIwasturned,Isawanothervampiretryandbreakintoalocalfarmer’shousewhileheandhisfamilywereoutoftown.”Hepaused,thenleanedincloserbeforeadding,“Vampirebitseverywhere.”
Ishuddered,thoughIwassomewhatdistractedfromthegraphicstorybyboththefactthatintellingit,Frederickhadchosentosharewithmeanothercloselyguardeddetailofhispriorlife—andthefactthathismouthwasnowjustahairsbreadthawayfrommine.
“Howawful,”Isaid,tryingtokeepittogether.
“Yes,”Frederickagreed,somberly.“It’snotamistakeyoumakeasecondtime.”
“Cassie.”
IlookeduptoseeSam,stridingtowardsusfromthekitchen.Hehadabeerinonehandandaglassofwhitewineintheother.
Hehandedthewinetome,buthiseyeswereonFrederick.
Mystomachwassuddenlyahard,tightknotofanxiety.IthadbeenonethingforFredericktointeractwithmybestfriendfortwominutesatthemalltheotherday.Itwasanotherthingforthemtospendanentireeveningtogether.Fromthelookonhisface,Samseemedtohavegottenoverwhateverohnohe’shotmomenthe’dsuccumbedtoduringtheirlastbriefmeetingandwaspreparedtocometoafinaldecisionaboutwhetherFrederickwasacreeporwastrustworthy.
IfidgetedwiththestemofthewineglassandinclinedmyheadtowardsFrederick.“Sam,youknowFrederick.”
Samextendedhishand.“Nicetoseeyouagain.”
FrederickclaspedSam’shandinhisandgaveitafirmshake.“Thankyouforextendingusthisinvitationtoyourhome.Itisnicetoseeyouagainaswell.”
“CanIgetyousomethingtodrink?”heasked.“Wine?Beer?”
Frederickwasquietasheponderedhowtoanswerthat.HemayhavestudiedfortonightbutheandIhadn’tactuallygoneoversmalltalkatparties.Which,inhindsight,wasanincrediblystupidoversightonmypart.IbracedmyselfforFrederick’sanswer,hopingitwouldbeatleastsomewhatwithintherealmofnormal.
“I…cannotdecide,”Frederickeventuallysaid.“Whatwouldyourecommend?”
IletoutthebreathIhadn’tknownI’dbeenholding.SincejoininghislawfirmSamhadbecometheworld’sbiggestlawyerclichébygettingintodifferentkindsoffancywines.Helovedboringeveryoneelsewithendlessdetailsabouthislatestdiscoveries.
IgaveFrederickasmallnod,whichIhopedconveyedThatwastherightthingtosay.Hisrigidposturerelaxedslightly.
“Thatdependsonyourpreference.Ihaveabunchofdifferentreds,”Samsaid.“DoyoulikeMalbec?”
Frederickglancedatme,hiseyesaquestion.Igaveanothersmall,encouragingnod.
“Yes,”FredericksaidwiththeconvictionusuallyreservedforquestionsaboutHalloweencandypreferences.“Yes,Idolikeredwine.Verymuchso.Infact,Malbecismyfavorite.”
“Mine,too.”Samgrinnedathim,andifIweren’tsorelievedthatFrederickwasdoingsowell,I’dhavelaughedathoweasyitwastoplaymyfriend.“ComeintothekitchenandI’llgetyousetup.”
Frederickstaredathimlikeadeercaughtinheadlights.
“Gogetadrink,”Iencouraged.Andthen,gesturingtowardsSam,Iadded,“Samwillmakesuretogetyousomethinggood.”
“Somethinggood,”Frederickrepeated,aneyebrowraised.Iwinced,kickingmyselffornotwarninghimaheadoftimethatifhewenttohumanpartieshe’dbeexpectedtowalkaroundwithadrinkhewouldn’twantformostoftheevening.
OnceFrederickandSamleftforthekitchenIglancedaroundtheroom,tryingtoseeiftherewerefamiliarfaces.Ivaguelyrecognizedsomeguestsfromotherget-togethersSamandScotthadthrownovertheyears,butthenIsawDavid—SamandScott’sfriendwhowasinvolvedwiththeRiverNorthGalleryartexhibition—sittingonthecouchbesideSam’ssisterAmelia.
Myheartspedup.ProfessionalnetworkingwasjustabovetoothextractionwithoutNovocainonmylistoffavoriteactivities.ChattingwithAmelia,Sam’sextremelycompetentandput-togethersister,wasonlymarginallymoreenjoyable.ButDavidwasrightthere,lessthantenfeetaway,chattingwithaperfectlydressed,not-a-hair-out-of-placeAmeliaashesippedfromhisglassofChardonnay.
Ithadbeenforty-eighthourssinceI’demailedDavidmysubmission.TheRiverNorthGallerywasmakingtheirdecisionswithinthecomingweek.Apersoninchargeofherlifewouldtakethisopportunitytotalkwithhim,right?
MightaswellpretendIwasinchargeofmylifeanddothesame.
Isquaredmyshoulders,remindedmyselfthatIdidhardthingsallthetime,andapproachedthem.
“Hi,”Isaid.
DavidandAmelialookedupatmeatthesametime.
Allatonce,IrememberedIwasn’tremotelyinchargeofmyownlifeandthiswasprobablyaterriblemistake.
“Cassie,”Ameliasaid.Hertonewasbright,andshesmiledatme—butevenoverthedinofthepartyIwasremindedofhowcondescendingsheusedtobewhenevershedeignedtospeakwithmebackinhighschool.“It’ssonicetoseeyouagain.”
“It’sbeenalongtime,”Isaid.IwouldmakeanefforttonightforSam,Idecided.“Howhaveyoubeen?”
Ameliashookherblondheadandsighed,thentookasipofherwhitewinebeforesettingtheglassbackdownonthecoffeetable.
“Busy,”shesaid.“NotasbusyasI’llbeinthespring,butbusierthanIwanttobe.”
ItriedtothinkofatimewhenAmeliawasn’tsobusywithheraccountingpracticethatshewasutterlymiserable.Myminddrewablank.
“Thatsucks,”Isaid,meaningit.
Ameliashrugged.“Itiswhatitis,Iguess.It’swhatIsignedupforwhenIjoinedthefirm.Butenoughaboutme,”shesaid.“Samsaysyou’vebeenreallythrowingyourselfintoyourartagain.”
Inodded,tooproudofwhatI’dbeendoinglately—andtoocognizantofthefactthatsomeoneontheRiverNorthGallerycommitteewassittingbesideAmelia—tofeelself-conscious.
“Yeah,”Isaid.“Ihavebeen.Infact—”
IwascutofffromfinishingmysentencebySam—whowasnowrushingovertoAmelia’ssidewithapetrified-lookingFrederickintow.
“Amelia,”hesaid,laughing.“YouhavegottotalkwithCassie’snewroommate.”
Sam’swordsdistractedmecompletelyfrommyanxietyovertalkingwithAmeliaandDavid,catchingmyattentionaseffectivelyasarecordscratchinaquietroom.Alarmed,IturnedtolookatFrederick,whosewristwasinSam’sirongrip.
Hewasstaring,wild-eyed,downathisshoes.
BeforeIcouldaskwhatwasgoingon,Samturnedtomeandsaid,delighted,“YounevertoldmeFrederickwassuchabigTaylorSwiftfan.”
Ichokedonmysipofwine.
“I’msorry,”Isaid,onceIrecovered.“But…TaylorSwift?”
Frederickshuffledhisfeetawkwardly.“I…mighthavementionedafewthingsIknewaboutTaylorSwifttosomepeopleinthekitchen.”
“Afewthings?”Samlaughedagainandshookhishead.“Don’tbesomodest.Yourknowledgeofher1989eraisencyclopedic.”
Ihadtostiflealaughinmypalm.“Isthatso?”
“Itis!”Samgushed.“LikeIwassaying,Frederick—youneedtotalkwithAmelia.ShelovesmeetingotherSwifties,especiallywhenthey’repeoplewhodon’tfittheusualstereotypes.”
“Oh,yes,”Ameliasaid.Shewasbeamingnow.I’dneverheardhersoundsodelighted.“Whenpeopleoutsidetheexpecteddemographicsarereallyintoher,too,itjustproveshowbroadTaylor’sappealis,andhowdeephertalent.”
Istaredather.Ithadn’toccurredtomethatanaccountantcouldhaveopinionsonmusic.Thoughperhapsthatwasjustmebeingoverlyjudgmental.“You’reaTaylorSwiftfan?”
Ameliashrugged.“Imean,what’snottolike?”
“Iagree,”Fredericksaid,withanenthusiasmthatstunnedme.“TaylorSwift,whowasborninWestReading,Pennsylvania,in1989,haswonelevenGrammyAwardsfromtheNationalAcademyofRecordingArtsandSciences.”
Ameliastoodupand,stillgrinning,smoothedherhandsoverherwrinkle-freeskirt.“Let’sgointothekitchenandfangirltogether,”sheproposedtoFrederick.
Frederick’seyeswidened.“Ibegyourpardon,but…”Heglancedatme.“Fangirl?”
Ileanedoveralittleandmurmured,“Itjustmeanstogetexcitedaboutsomething.”
“Oh.”
“I’llgetanotherglassofMalbec,”Samsuggested.“Iwon’tbeabletocontributemuchtotheconversation,butIalwaysenjoywatchingAmeliainherelement.”
FrederickcastahelplessglanceatmeoverhisshoulderasAmeliaguidedhimbackintothekitchen.
WithAmeliagone,theonlypersonleftformetotalktowasDavid.Helookedupatmewithasmileofrecognition.
Iswallowed,mynervesfromafewminutesagoracingbacknowthatthetwindistractionsofFrederickandTaylorSwiftwereoutoftheroom.
“Cassie.”Davidmotionedtotheemptyspotonthecouchbesidehim.Itookit,feelingbotheagerandterrified.“Nicetoseeyou.It’sbeenawhile.”
“Nicetoseeyou,too.”IstartedfidgetingwiththehemofmyskirtasItriedtodecidewhetherIshouldjusttellhimI’dsubmittedsomethingfortheartshow,orifIshouldbemoresubtleaboutwhyIwantedtotalkwithhim.“Howarethingsgoing?”
“Busy.”Davidlaughed,andthen—perhapsrealizingthat’sexactlyhowAmeliaansweredthatsamequestionafewminutesago—herolledhiseyes.“Busyissuchabullshittysmall-talknonanswerofawaytoanswerthatquestion,isn’tit?”
Istifledalaugh.“Maybe?”
Hewavedadismissivehand.“Yeah.Well,inmycase,atleast,it’strue.”
“Gettingreadyfortheartexhibition?”Mightaswellgetitoverwith.
“Yeah,actually.”Hissmilegrew.“I’veneverbeeninvolvedinajuriedshowbeforefromtheadministrativesideofthings,butit’salotmoreworkthanIexpectedittobe.”
“Icanimagineitwouldbeatonofwork.”Iswallowed,thenmusteredupmycouragetoaskfortheinformationIreallywanted.“Areyouseeingalotofgoodsubmissions?”
“Somany.”Heshifteduneasilyonthecouchbesideme.“Ithinkthecommitteehasmadeitsfinaldecisionsonwhotoinvite.”
Myheartwassuddenlyhammeringsohardinsidemyribcageitfeltonthecuspofbreakingbone.Isetmywineglassdownonthecoffeetableinfrontofus;myhandswereshakingtoobadlytotrustIwouldn’tspillChardonnayeverywhere.
“Oh?”
“Yes.”Davidwaslookingatthebeerinhishandslikeitwasthemostinterestingthingintheroom.“Cassie,Idon’tknowifIshouldbetheonetotellyouthis,orifI’msupposedtowaittoletthecommitteegetintouchwithyou,butseeingaswe’rebothhere…”
Hetrailedoffwithoutfinishinghissentence.ButIcouldtellbythewayhewasn’tmeetingmyeyesthatwhateverhe’dbeenabouttosaynext,Iwouldn’tlikeit.
Itookadeepbreath,preparingmyselffortheworst.“IpromiseIwon’ttellthemthatyoutoldme.”
Henodded.“Everyoneagreedyourpiecewasterrific,butthecommitteedecidedyourtakeontheContemporarySocietythemewastooabstractandattenuatedtoacceptintotheexhibition.Aclassicpaintingsubvertedwithsuchmodernmaterialsjustwasn’twhattheywerelookingfor.”Hepausedbeforeadding,“I’msorry,Cassie.”
Timeseemedtostop.AllthenoiseofthepartyfellawayaswhatDavidhadjusttoldmeslowlysankin.
“Thejudgeshadmostlyfinalizedtheirdecisionsbeforewegotyourapplication,”Davidcontinued.Mydespairmusthavebeenwrittenallovermyfacebecausehereachedoutandgentlyputahandonmine.“Youknowhowitgoeswiththesethings.Unfortunately,yourpiecedidn’tgrabthemenoughforthemtochangetheirminds.”
Tearsprickledatthecornersofmyeyes.I’dknowntherewasnoguaranteethatmypiecewouldbeaccepted,andofcourseIknewthatmostoftheslotswouldlikelygotopeoplewhowerealreadyestablishednamesintheartworld.So,really,IhadnoideawhyIwasreactinglikethis.
ButIwas,allthesame.
IturnedandlookedatthefloorsoDavidwouldn’tseemecry.
“Iunderstand,”Imumbled.
“I’msorry,”Davidsaidagain,hishandstillrestingonmine.“We’regoingtobedoinganothershownextfall.You’rereallytalented,Cassie.Ihopeyou’llconsidersubmittingsomethingelsewhenthatrequestforsubmissionsgoeslive.”
“Okay,”Isaid.Iturnedtosmileathim,buthisfacewasblurry.Thetearswerethreateningtofallinearnestnow.
WhyI’deverthoughtI’dbeanythingbutacompleteandtotalfuckupwasbeyondme.IwouldalwaysjustbeCassie—thequirkyeccentricwhocouldn’tholdajoborevenanapartmentformorethanafewmonths.Thegirlwhowouldneverachieveherdreamsoramounttomuchofanythingatall.
Iglancedaroundtheroom.Moreguestshadarrived.SamandScottweretalkingwithagroupofpeopleIvaguelyrecognizedasSam’slawschoolclassmates.OneofthemwaslaughingatsomethingSamhadjustsaid.
FrederickandAmeliawerenowheretobeseen.
Evenacenturies-oldvampirehadhisshitmoretogetherthanIdid.
Ihadtogetoutofthere.
“Excuseme,”IsaidtoDavidinawateryvoice,keepingmyfaceturnedawayfromhim.“I…needtogocheckonsomething.”
Sniffling,Iquicklymademywayoutoftheroom,headingstraightforthebathroom.
Iwasonthecuspofafull-onpityparty.
Nobodyneededtoseethat.
Istaredatmyfaceinthebathroommirror.ForthefirsttimeinIcouldn’trememberhowlongI’ddecidedtowearmascara,andIregrettedthatdecisionnow.Araccoon’sfacestaredbackatmefromthemirror,eyesringedwithsmearsofblackmakeupandcheekssplotchywithtears.
ItmademefeellikeanevenbiggeridiotthanIhadwhenI’druninheretohidetenminutesearlier.Whichwassayingalot.
Aquietknockonthebathroomdoorstartledmeoutofmyself-pity.
“Cassie?Areyouinthere?”Frederick’svoice.Itwaslowandfullofconcern.Agentle,reassuringwarmthfloodedmeatthesoundofit.
“No.”Withoutthinking,Iscrubbedawaymytearswiththebackofmyhand.Itcameawaystreakedwithblack.
“Ijustspokewithsomeonewhosaidshesawyourushinhere.I’mconcerned.MayIcomein?”
“IsaidI’mnotinhere.”
Aquiethuffofalaugh.“Clearlyyouare.”
Ishutmyeyesandleanedmyforeheadagainstthedoorseparatingus.Thesmoothwoodfeltrefreshinglycoolagainstmyflushedskin.“Iamsuchanidiot.”
“Youarenot.”
“Youhavetosaythat.”Freshtearsprickedbehindmyclosedeyelids.“Youdon’tknowhowtoridetheElbyyourselfandyou’llbestuckhereatthispartyforeverifyouaren’tnicetome.”
Anotherquietlaugh,thenmorefirmly,“Moveawayfromthedoor,Cassie.I’mworriedaboutyou.I’dliketocomein.”
Hisslightlyauthoritativetoneflippedsomesortofswitchinsideofme.“Okay,”Isaid,sniffling.
Hesteppedinsidethesmallbathroom—allsixfeettwoinchesofhim,broad-shoulderedandbeautiful—beforequietlyclosingthedoorbehindhim.AllofasuddenIwasremindedofjusthowsmallthisspacereallywas.
HeseemedtonoticeitthesameinstantIdid,hiseyeswideningastheydartedovertheshowerstallbehindme,thetoilet,thesink.Butthenhesawmyface,andthemessI’dmadeofit—andthenhisattentionwasallonme.
“Whodidthistoyou?”Hisvoicewaslow,buturgent.“Whathappened?”
“Nothinghappened.”Itriedtoturnawayfromhim,buthegrabbedholdofmyarm,keepingmeinplace.Ishivered,thechillfromhistouchburningitswaythroughthefabricofmyshirtandcreatingastarkcontrastwiththerushofwarmthIsuddenlyfelteverywhereelse.“I’mafailure,isall.”
“Youarenotafailure,”hesaidfirmly.“Anyonewhomadeyoufeellikeonewillhavemetodealwith.”
IsmiledalittleattheideaofFrederickthreateninganyoneatall.Hemightbeanundeadcreatureofthenight—butasundeadcreaturesofthenightwent,hewasamarshmallow.
Isniffled.“Thatperson,unfortunately,isme.”
“You?”
“Yeah.”Iclosedmyeyes.“IsubmittedapieceI’vebeenworkingonforweekstoanartexhibition.Iwasreallyexcitedaboutit,butIjustfoundoutit’sbeenrejected.”
“Oh,Cassie,”Fredericksaid,histonelacedwithsympathy.“Iamsosorry.”Hishandwasstillonmyarm.Histouchwasgrounding.Ihopedhewouldn’tpullitbackanytimesoon.“Isthatall?”
Isighed.“I’msuchafuckup,Frederick.”
“Peoplearerejectedfromthingsallthetime,Cassie.”Hepaused,thinking.“Inaway,Iwasrejectedfromtheentirepastcentury.”
Irolledmyeyes.“Notthesamething.”
“You’reright.WhatIdidwasworse.”
“Howisitworse?”
Hiseyestwinkled.“IdranksomethingReginaldofferedmeataparty.Likeanidiot.Talkaboutbeingafuckup.”
Ihiccup-laughedalittleinspiteofmyself.HearingFrederickusemodernslangwaslikeseeingatoddlerwithafakemustache.Hesmiledatmyreaction,clearlypleasedwithhimself.
Andthen,allatonce,hisexpressiongrewserious.“Ifanyonefuckeduphere,Cassie,itwasthecommitteethatrefusedtoacceptavisionaryartistintotheexhibition.”
Iblinkedathim,stunnedattheintensityofhispraise.
“Youdon’thavetosaythat.”
“IneversaythingsIdon’tmean.”
BeforeIcoulddecidehowtorespondtothat,Frederickpulledasquareoffabricfromthefrontpocketofhisjeans.MutteringsomethingunderhisbreathIcouldn’tmakeout,heturnedonthefaucetandranthefabricbeneathit.
“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Nooneseemstocarryhandkerchiefsanymore,”hemused.“It’sapity.Theyworksomuchbetterthanthethinpapertissuesusednowadays.Nowcloseyoureyes.”
Heturnedtofacemewithalookofquietconcentration.Hiseyesflickedtomine.Or,morespecifically,tothemessofblackeyemakeupsmearedbeneaththem.
Embarrassmentfloodedme.“Frederick,youdon’thaveto—”
“Closeyoureyes,Cassie.”Histonebrookednoopposition,hissterninsistencetouchingsomeraw,primalpartofmethatwashelplesstodoanythingbutobey
Hisfreehandcuppedmycheek,gentlytiltingmyfaceupwardsohecouldlookatmemoreclearly.Suddenly,itfeltlikeallmynerveendingscenteredrightwherehetouchedme.
Myeyesslidclosedoftheirownaccord.
“Whatisthisblacksubstanceyouhaveusedtopaintyourface?”Hisvoicewasquiet,curious,ashetenderlywipedawaytheremnantsofmymascarawithhishandkerchief.HisfacewassoclosetomineIcouldfeeleachofhisshallowexhalationsofbreathonmyskin.“I’venotseenthissortofcosmeticbefore.”
Mymouthwentdry.“It’s…calledmascara.”
“Mascara.”Hesaidthewordwithobviousdistaste,butIonlydimlyregisteredit.Itwashardformetofocusonmuchofanythingatallbutthegentleswipesofhisfingersbeneathmyeyesandthepressofhisfreehandtomycheek.Alltheoxygenseemedtohavevanishedfromthetoo-smallroom.Myheartwasthunderinginmyears.
“It’svile,”headded.
“Ilikemascara.”
“Why?”Hishandkerchiefdippedintothecornerofmyrighteye,wherethesmudgesweretheworst.Heleanedinevencloser—probablytogivehimselfabetterviewofwhathewasdoing.Hesmelledlikeredwineandthefabricsoftenerheusedonhisclothing.Mylungsseemedtohaveforgottenhowtobreathe.
“It…makesmelookgood.”
Hishandsstoppedmoving.Whenhespokeagain,Frederick’svoicewassolowIalmostdidn’thearhim.“Youdonotneedcosmeticsforthat,Cassie.”
Allatonce,thenoisefromtheparty,theslowdripofwaterfromtheshowerbehindme—allofitmeltedaway.TherewasnothingbutFrederick’stenderhands,touchingmyfacesogentlyIcouldhardlybearit—andthesteady,rapidbeatofmyheart.
Afterwhatmighthavebeenafewminutes,oranhour,Frederickdroppedthehandkerchiefontothecounter.Icouldfeelhimshiftevenclosertome,inthesmall,confinedroom,untilourkneestouched.
Myeyesstayedclosed.Mystomachtightenedwithanticipationandnerves.IsuspectedthatonceIopenedmyeyesagaineverythingbetweenuswouldchange.
Ilickedmylipswithoutthinking—andregisteredhissharpintakeofbreath.
“Are…arethesmudgesgone?”Myvoicewasshaky.Ifeltmomentsawayfromflyingapartattheseams.
Hishandwassteadyagainstmycheek.“Yes.They’regone.”Frederickwasstandingsoclosetomenowhiswordswerecoolpuffsofaironmylips.Ishivered,theneedforhimtomoveevenclosernearlyoverwhelming.“Openyoureyes,Cassie.”
HismouthwasonminebeforeIhadachancetocomply,thegentlepressureofhislipsstealingthebreathfrommylungsandpushingoutanyworriesImighthavehadaboutwhetherthiswasagoodidea.Hishandsliddowntomychin,gentlytiltingitupalittletogivehimbetteraccess.IwassooverwhelmedwithsensationthatIwashelplesstodoanythingbutlethimkissme,andtokisshimback.Myhandssliduphisbroadchestoftheirownvolition,thefabricofhisshirtsoftbeneathmyfingersasIclutchedattheendsofhiscollarwithbothhands.
Mytouchelicitedaquietmoanfromthebackofhisthroatthatmademedizzywithaspikeofsearingdesire.
“Wecan’tdothishere,”Imumbledagainsthislips.MostlybecauseitfeltlikesomethingIwassupposedtosay,giventhatthiswasSam’sbathroomandanentireapartmentfullofpeoplewashavingapartyontheothersideofthedoor.
ButIknew,evenasIsaidthewords,thatwewereabsolutelygoingtodothishere.
Itdidn’tseemlikeFrederickevenheardwhatI’dsaid.Ifhedid,hecertainlywasn’tpayingitanymind.Hiskissesgrewbolder,theexquisitepressureofhismouthincreasinguntilIpartedmylipsforhimonaraggedsigh.Hetastedlikebreathmintsandthewinehemusthavepretendedtodrinkearlierthisevening.Iwantedtolosemyselfinit—inthewayheslidhistonguealongmine,coaxingawhimperfrommythroat;inhisstrongarms,astheyencircledmeandpulledmecloser.Icouldfeelhissharp,prominentcaninesagainstmytongueasIkissedhim,somethingI’dcertainlynevernoticedbeforewhenI’dseenhimsmile.Athrillingflashofheatshotthroughme,thevisceralreminderofwhoandwhathewasstartlingmeforonlyamomentbeforeIlostmyselfinthekissagain.
“Ihavenotdonethisinoveronehundredyears,”hebreathed,pullingaway.HelookedsodazedIdidn’tknowifhewastellingmethisorsayingittohimself.“Notsincetheothernight.”
Hedidn’twaitformetorespond,onlyquicklymaneuveredmeawayfromthesinkuntilIfeltthebathroomwallpressedfirmlyagainstmyback.Heloomedcloser,crowdingme,leaningforwardagainstthewallhimselfuntilhisforearmsbracketedmyhead.Hisdarkeyeswereallpupils,blownwidewiththesamedesireIcouldfeelcoursingthroughmybloodstream.Hismouthwaslessthananinchfrommine.Ittookallmyself-controlnottoleanforwardrightthenandcapturethoseplushlipsofhisinanotherkiss.
“Cassie,”hebreathed.“I—”
Whateverhe’dbeenabouttosaywasinterruptedbyaseriesofveryloud,insistentrapsonthebathroomdoor.
FrederickjumpedbackandawayfrommeasifI’dscaldedhim.
“Anyoneinthere?”Awoman’spleasantvoicecutthroughthehazeoflustlikeaknife.
Ohno,Frederickmouthed,hiseyeswide.
“Justaminute,”Iyelled,tryingnottolaughathowhorrifiedFredericklooked.“We’realmostdoneinhere.”
“Allgood!”thewomansaid,abittooloudly.“I’llcomebackinafewminutes.”
“Whydidyousaywearealmostdoneinhere?”Frederickwhisperedhoarsely.Helookedlikehewasabouttothrowup.Couldvampiresthrowup,Iwondered?Somethingtothinkaboutlater.“Thereareatleasttwodozenotherpeopleoutthere.Andnow,theywillallknowwewereinthisverysmallbathroomtogetherallthistime.Alone.”
“So?”
“So?”Hestaredatme,incredulous.“Whatwilltheythink,Cassie?”
IfFrederickhadpearlstoclutch,hecertainlywouldbeclutchingthemnow.HelookedsopetrifiedIhadtobitetheinsideofmycheektokeepfromlaughing.
“Whocareswhattheythink?”
“Yourreputation,Cassie!”Heshookhishead.“Theconclusionstheywilllikelydraw!”
Iraisedaneyebrowathim.“Whatsortofconclusions?Thatyouweredrinkingmyblood?”
Hiseyebrowsshotuphisforehead.“No!Thatwewere…thatwewere…”
IslowlycrossedtheroomuntilIwasstandingjustafewinchesawayfromhim.Iplacedmyhandsflatonhischest.Hemadealittlepainednoiseinthebackofhisthroatthatonlyspurredmeon.IfIhadmyway,hewouldbemakingthatnoiseformeagainandagainthatnight.
“Thatwewerewhat,Frederick?”
Heswallowed.ItrackedthemovementofhisAdam’sapple,fightingthesharpurgetotraceitsshapewithmytongue.
“ThatIwasdebauchingyou.”
Itwasonlythedeadlyseriousexpressiononhisfacethatkeptmefromlaughingoutloud.
“Theymightassumeweweremakingoutinhere,yeah.Butwhocares?”
Helookedhorrified.“Cassie—”
Iplacedafingertohislips,silencinghim.“Thingshavechangedinthepasthundredyears.Itdoesn’tmatterwhatanyonethinks.”
Hedidn’tseemtobelievemyassertionsthathedidn’tneedtoworryaboutprotectingmyvirtueormyhonor.ButwhenIgrabbedhiswristtopullhimoutofthebathroom,hefollowedmeallthesame.
“Let’ssaygoodbyetoSamandScottandthankthemforinvitingus,”Isaid.“Thenlet’sgohome.”SIXTEEN
ExcerptfromChapter17ofMakingLovetoHumansintheTwenty-FirstCentury:ADefinitiveGuidefortheModernVampire(AuthorUnknown)
Ifyouhavereadthisfar,younowunderstandthefullextenttowhichsexualmoresandexpectationshavechangedsincetheerawheneveryonesimplypretendedtowaituntilmarriagetohavesexualintercourse.Therearecertainactsyourtwenty-first-centuryhumanloverwilllikelyexpectthatmaycatchyoubysurpriseifyouhavenotengagedinsexualcongressinsomedecades.
Thischapterdescribesseveralofthemostpopularmodernmethodsforbringingahumantoorgasmusingone’smouth.Thekey,aswewilldiscussinmoredetailbelow,istoobscureyourfangs.Attheendofthischapter,youwillbeguidedstep-by-stepthroughaseriesofpracticeexercisesthat,whenimplementedinbed,willleaveyourhumanloverimmenselysatisfied.
FrederickconvincedmetotakeanUberwithhimbacktotheapartment.Thoughconvincingwasanoverstatement;I’dagreedassoonashe’dsuggestedit.Afterall,he’ddoneamazinglywellpickingupthepublictransportationbasicsonourearlierEladventure.Ifhefeltuncomfortablewiththeprocessofridingthetrain,wecouldtryagainanothertime.
Moretothepoint:Uberwouldgetushomefasterthanthetrain.AfterwhathadjusthappenedatSam’sparty,Iwaseagertogethomeasquicklyaspossible.
ItwasobviousFrederickfeltthesameway.Oncewewereinourseatbeltsandourdriverpulledawayfromthecurb,Frederick’shandswereonmeagain—touchingmyshoulders,inmyhair.Helookedatmewithaguarded,hopefulexpression.
Iwasonlytooreadytopickupagainrightwhereweleftoff.Butfirst,Ihadsomequestions.
“TaylorSwift,huh?”Ismirkedathim,enjoyingthewayhefidgetedinhisseat.“You’reaSwiftie?”
Hewincedalittleattheterm.“No.It’slikeIsaidearlier.Ijuststudiedbeforetheparty.”
“Iguessyoudid.”
Henodded.Hisfingersplayedidlywiththehairatthenapeofmyneck,sendingshiversofpleasuredownmyspine.“IwantedtobecertainI’dhavesomethingtosaytopeopleattheparty,andmyresearchindicatedshewasparticularlyfamousamongpeoplebetweentheagesoftwenty-fiveandthirty-eight.”
“Sheis,”Iagreed.
Hiseyesfelltomylips,pupilsdilated.Hisarmlefthissideandwrappedaroundme,pullingmecloser.Icouldsensehewasquicklylosinginterestinthisconversation.
“ItonlytookmetwohoursafteryouwereinbedlastnighttomemorizeeverythingIcouldabouther.Easycheesy.”
Ismiled,andwasabouttotellhimthattheexpressionhewaslookingforwaseasypeasy—butbeforeIcouldformthewordshewaskissingmeagain,hislipsachinglysoftagainstmine.
“Wait.”Ipulledbackalittle,tryingtocatchmybreath.Iinclinedmyheadtowardsourdriver.“Maybeweshouldwaituntilwegethome.”
“Why?”
“Wehaveanaudience.”
“Ah.”Hiseyestwinkledwithmischief,asmugsmileplayingonhislips.Nowitwasmyturntostareathismouth.Ourfacesweresoclose.“Thedrivercan’tseewhatwe’redoing.”
Iglancedatthedriver.Hiseyeswereontheroadinfrontofhim,notinhisrearviewmirror—whichplainlyshowedmeandFredericktangledupineachotherinhisbackseat.
“Hedoesn’tseewhatwe’redoing?”
“No.”
Anuneasychillcreptdownmyspine.“Whynot?”
Fredericksighed,thenpulledawayfromme,floppingbackinhisseat.Mybodyprotestedatthesuddenlossofphysicalcontact.
“Vampireshave…acertaindegreeofmagicalability.”Hepulledaface,thenmadeaseesawingmotionwithhishand.“No.Callingitmagicalabilityisn’tquiteit.SufficeittosaythatIhavetheabilitytodosomethingshumanscan’t.Thevastmajorityofvampirescanusesomedegreeofglamouronhumanstomakethingsappeardifferentfromhowtheyareinreality.”
“Really?”
Fredericknodded.“Ourdriverthinkswe’reeachabsorbedinourrespectivecellphones,keepinghandsandallotherbodypartstoourselves.”
Ipaused,processingthis.Whathewastellingme—thatvampireshadtheabilitytomakepeopleseethingsthatweren’tthere—wasmoreorlessinkeepingwithvampirestoriesI’dheardovertheyears.Then,suddenly,somethingoccurredtome.
TheprominentfangsI’dnevernoticedbeforeIkissedhimatSam’sparty.
“IsthatwhyInevernoticedyour…yourteethuntiltonight?”Iraisedanaccusatoryeyebrow.“Wereyouglamouringme,before?”
Helookedsurprised.“Ididn’trealizeyounoticedmyfangsattheparty.”
Ihuffed.“Kindofimpossibletomissthemwithmytongueinyourmouth.Thosethingsare…Imean,they’remassive.Andreallypointy.”
Frederickfidgetedwithhisseatbelt.“Itwasn’tintentional,hidingthemfromyoubefore.Generallyspeaking,humansaresimultaneouslyathreattousandournextmeal.Usingglamourtohideourfangsfromhumansinourmidstisaself-defensemechanism.Areflex,really.Whenthatparticularglamourdropsintoplaceit’susuallyasinvoluntaryasbreathing.”Herubbedatthebackofhisneck,adding,“Theglamouronlyfallsawayagainoncewearecompletelycomfortableinoursurroundings.Withpeoplewetrust.”
Helookedatmethen,hisgazesoopenandguilelessIunderstoodatoncetheimplicationofhiswords.
Hetrustedme.
Icouldsee,frommyperipheralvision,thatwewerenearlyattheapartment.Afewminuteswithoutaseatbeltwouldbeokay,right?
BeforeIcouldtalkmyselfoutofdoingit,Iunbuckledmyseatbeltandcrawledontohislap,straddlinghim,astheUberguycontinueddrivingushome,oblivious.Frederick’sentirebodywentrigid,histhighmusclesflexingandtensingbeneathmeasIsituatedmyself.
Hislargehandssliduptoclutchatmyhips,hiseyessowidewithsurpriseIcouldn’thelpbutwonderhowlongithadbeensincehe’dlastbeenintimatewithsomeone.He’dcertainlypickedupkissingquicklyenough,butthelittleIknewabouttheerabeforehe’dfallenasleepsuggestedhemightnotbeusedtodoingmuchmorethankissing.
Wouldthisbeanopportunityformetoteachhimsomeoftheothermodernskillshemayhavemissedduringhislongcoma?
There’dbeplentyoftimetofigurethatoutlater.
Fornow,Isimplyleanedforwarduntilmymouthwasathisear,ourtorsospressedtogether.Frederick’sbreathhitched,hisfingertipsnowdiggingintothesoftfleshateithersideofmywaist.
“Doyouhaveanyothermagicpowers?”Ipressedalingeringkisstohisearlobe,myrighthandtrailingdownhischestuntilitrestedoverhislong-dormantheart.“Orisglamouringpeopletheonlyone?”
Hechuckled,thereverberationsofhislaughterwarmandgentleagainstmypalm.“There’sonemore,”headmitted.
“Whatisit?”Thecarwasparallelparkingnow,comingtoacompletestopinfrontofourapartment.IpressedakisstoFrederick’slips;apromiseofwhatwastocomewhenIgothiminside.“Tellme.”
Frederickshookhishead.“It’s…aratherstupidability,asthesethingsgo.ButifyoureallywanttoknowI’lltellyouwhatitiswhenwegetupstairs.”
WhenwegotbacktotheapartmentFrederickgrabbedmyhandandtuggedmealongafterhimuntilwewerestandinginfrontofthehallcloset.Thesameclosethe’dmadeabundantlyclearwasoff-limitstomewhenI’dfirsttouredtheapartment.
“Theanswertoyourwhatotherpowersdoyouhavequestioncanbefoundinhere.”Helookedatme,gaugingmyreaction.“Ifyoustillwanttoknow.”
Heputhishandonthedoorknobandastabofpanicwentthroughme.I’dbuiltupallkindsofpossibilitiesforwhatmightbeinsidethisforbiddencloset.Alothadalreadyhappenedthatnight;Iwasn’tsureIwasreadytofindoutthetruth.
Iputahandonhisarm,stoppinghim.
“Youtoldmebeforethereweren’tdeadbodiesinthere,”Iremindedhim,mywordscomingoutalittletoofast.
“Idid.”
“Wasthatthetruth?”
Henodded.“Yes.There’snobloodinhere,either.Orseveredheads.Nothingthatyouwillfindunpleasantorfrightening.Ipromise.Infact…”Hetrailedoff,scratchinghischin.“Maybeyou’llevenlikewhatyousee.”
Thenoteofhopefulnessinhisvoice—thefactthathewantedtosharesomethingabouthimselfhe’dpreviouslyfelttheneedtohide—meltedthelastofmyreservations.
“Okay,”Isaid,nodding,bracingmyself.“Openthedoor.”
Iheldmybreath—onlytoblowitoutinsurprisedlaughteramomentlaterwhenheopenedtheclosetdoorandIsawwhatwasinside.
“Frederick,”Ibreathed,incredulous.
“Iknow,”heagreed.
“Whyaretheresomanypineapplesinhere?”
“Notjustpineapples.”
Hepushedthepineapples—therehadtobeatleastadozenofthem—overtoonesideoftheshelftheyrestedon.Behindthemwererowsofpersimmons,kumquats,andotherbrightlycoloredfruitsIdidn’tevenrecognize.
“Somevampireshaveimpressiveabilitiesliketurningwineintoblood,orbeingabletofly,orturningbacktime,”hecontinuedruefully.“Unfortunately,allIcandoissomewhatinvoluntarilyconjurefruitwhenI’mnervous.”
Ireachedinsidetheclosetandpickedupasmall,rathersquashythingthatlookedlikeapearbutsmelledlikeanorange.“Thisiswhatyou’vebeenhidinginhereallthistime?”
“Yes,”hesaid.“Youcaneatit,incaseyouwerewondering.”
“Ican?”
Henodded.“Itshouldbeperfectlyedible.EveryweekIbringwhateverI’veconjuredtoalocalfoodpantry.Orelsegiftthemtoyou.”
IthoughtbacktothebasketofkumquatshegavemethedayImovedin.Thebowlofvariouscitrusfruitshekeptonthekitchencounter.
“Oh,”Isaid.
“Myrateofproductionhasskyrocketedsinceyoumovedin.Iseemtobenervousallthetime,thesedays.”
TheideaImadehimnervouswashardtobelieve,butIdecidedtoletitgo.
“Whydidn’tyoutellmeaboutthis?”Hiseyeswidened,andIquicklyadded,“Notthatit’sahugedeal,yournottellingme.I’mjustcurious.”
“It’soneofthemostridiculousvampirepowersinrecordedhistory.Andapointlessone,giventhatvampirescannoteatfruit.”Herubbedatthebackofhisneck,avertinghiseyes.“BythetimeyouknewwhatIreallywas,IwantedyoutothinkIwasimpressive.Notjustsomecluelessaccidentalkumquatconjurer.”
Arushofwarmthwentthroughme.“Youwantedtoimpressme?”
Henodded.“Istilldo.”
Icouldn’tmakesenseofthis.Hewantedtoimpressme?Frederickwasathree-hundred-and-twenty-year-oldimmortal.Iwasjust…me.
Ileanedbackagainstthewallbehindmeforsupport.“But…why?I’mnobody.”
Hiseyessnappedtomine,hisgazesointenseitwaslikelookingdirectlyintothesun.“Howcanyousaysuchathing?”
Myeyesfelltomyshoes.“Becauseit’strue.”
Allatoncehewaspressingmeupagainstthewall,forearmsbracketingmyhead,hisgazefurious.Hisfacewasmereinchesfrommine.“Ihaveneverheardsomethinglesstrueinmylife.”
“But—”
Hecutmeoffwithhislips,kissingmewithaferocityIhadn’tseenfromhimbefore.Ipartedmylipsreflexivelyandhewastednotime,tongueplungingintomymouthasthoughhe’dneverbeabletogetenoughofmytaste.Hekissedmelikehislifedependedonit,likeamanpossessed,andIwashelplesstodoanythingbutkisshimback,wrappingmyarmsaroundhim,nearlyswooningatthefeelingofeverypartofhislong,hardbodypressingneedfullyagainstmine.
“You.AreAmazing,”hemurmured,eachwordpunctuatedwithhard,feverishkissestomylips,myjaw,mythroat.Imeltedagainsthim,feelingindangeratanymomentofslippingdownthewallatmybackandfallingintoapuddleonthefloor.
“Frederick,”Ibreathed.Hishandsroamedmybodypossessively,leavingbehindtrailsofheatdespitethechillofhistouch.Ifeltfever-brightandlighterthanair.
Buthewasn’tfinished.“Youarekind,andgenerous,”hecontinued.“EvenafteryoufoundoutwhatIwasyoudidn’tabandonme,becauseyouknewIneededyourhelp.InallmyyearsIhavenevermetanyonemorecommittedtoremainingtruetowhotheyarethanyouare.”Hepulledback,lookingdirectlyintomyeyes.Theheatedlookhegavemecouldhavemeltedaniceberg.“Doyouhaveanyideahowpreciousthatis,Cassie?Howrare?”
Hiseyesweredark,incandescentpools,pleadingwithmetounderstand.
ButIdidn’t.
“No,”Isaid.“Idon’tthinkthere’sanythingparticularlyspecialaboutmeatall.”
Hisjawclenched.“Thenplease,”hebegan,hisvoicehoarseanddrippingwithpromise,“pleaseallowmetoshowyouhowwrongyouare.”
HisbedroomwasdifferentfromhowI’dimaginedit.Therewasn’tacoffin,oranythingelsethatmightsuggestthatitsoccupantwasanythingotherthanaperfectlyordinarywealthyhumanwithquestionabletasteindecorating.
Itwasmuchbiggerthanmybedroom,withalake-facingfloor-to-ceilingwindowthatmatchedtheoneinthelivingroom.Likethelivingroom,itwasalsoratherdark.Brasswallsconcesringedtheroom,theirdimlightplayingwiththesubtlecontouredcolorsofFrederick’shair.Iwantedtoburymyhandsinthathairandfeelthesilky-softtressesastheysiftedthroughmyfingers.
Thebedwasking-sized,withathickmattressandablood-redcanopythatmatchedboththeduvetcoveringthebedandthecurtainscoveringthewindow.WhenFredericklaidmedownonthemattress,ascarefullyashemighthandleaporcelaindoll,Irealizedtheredduvetcoverwasmadeofvelvet.
Thispartisabitcliché,Ithought,runningmyfingersovertheimpossiblysoftmaterial.RightfromInterviewwiththeVampire.Butmybodywasalightwithanticipationandnerves,andthetender,heatedwayhewaslookingatmeashestoodatthefootofthebedmadeitalmostimpossibletothinkclearly.
Constructivefeedbackonhisbedroomstylingscouldwait.
Ireachedupforhim,excitedforthenextparttobegin.
Thesightofmyoutstretchedarms,however,seemedtocausetherawdesirethathadpropelledhimtobringmeintohisbedroomtogrindtoascreechinghalt.Hewasnolongerstaringatmelikehewantedtofuckmeintothemiddleofnextweek.Hisentiredemeanorchanged,hisdarkeyesdriftingtothewoodenfloorboards,thefingersofhisrighthanddrumminganervousstaccatobeatagainsthisthigh.
Iproppedmyselfuponmyelbows,concerned.“Frederick?”
“Perhaps…”hebegan,soundingpained.Hesatbesidemeonaloudexhalationofbreath,bendingforwarduntilhiselbowswereonhisknees.Heburiedhisfaceinhishands.“Perhapsweshouldnotdothis.”
MyheartstutteredasItriedtoreconcilewhathewassayingnowwithwhathadjusthappenedmomentsbefore.IpusheduponthebeduntilIwassittingbesidehimandthen,hesitantly,Islidmyhandupandacrosshisbroadchest,flatteningmypalmovertheplacewherehisheartoncebeat.
EverytimeI’dtouchedhiminthepastithadelicitedanimmediate,kineticresponsefromhim.Thistime,heheldhimselfalmostpreternaturallystill.
Itwasliketouchingastatue.
“Doyou…doyounotwanttodothis?”
Hisbreathhitched.Heshiftedclosertomeonthebedandthen,hesitantly,hewrappedanarmaroundmebywayofwordlessresponse.
“ThatisnotwhatIsaid.”Hisvoicewasrawgravel,andheshiftedevencloser,thetautmusclesofhisarmflexingagainstmylowerback.“Idowanttodothis.YouhavenoideahowbadlyIwanttodothis.Isimplysaidperhapsweshouldn’t.”
Weweresittingsocloseitwouldhavebeennothingatalltoturnmyheadandpressmylipstohischeek.Withdifficulty,Istayedput.
“What’swrong?”Iasked.
“Ididn’tplantodragyouintoaromanticentanglementwith…someonelikeme.”
“Nooneisdraggingmeintoanything.”
“But—”
“Iwanttohavearomanticentanglementwithyou.”
Thelookonhisfacewhenhemetmyeyeswasheartbreaking.“Youcouldn’tpossibly.”
“Whynot?”
“Foronething,youarehuman.”Heshookhishead.“Foranother,Iamnot.”
This,ofcourse,waswhathadheldmebackuntilnow.Butnoneofitmattered.Frederickwaskindandcompassionate.HeboughtoutanentirecookwaresectionwhenIsaidIneededasaucepan,andsaidinsightful,kindthingsaboutmyarteventhoughhedidn’tunderstandit.
Heknewme,withanintuitivekindofsensitivitythattookmybreathaway.
And,yes,okay,hewasavampire.Thatdidpresentsomelegitimatechallenges.Butthatdidn’tchangehowgoodhewas—orthefactthatIwantedhimmorethanI’deverwantedanyoneinmylife.
“Idon’tcare,”Isaidflatly.Igentlytookhishandandlacedourfingerstogether.
“Youshouldcare,”hemurmured.Buthedidn’tdropmyhand.Hewasholdingmesocloselyhecouldprobablyfeeltherapidbeatingofmyheartagainsthisownribcage.“Youdon’twantthekindofhalflifeIlive,Cassie.YoucannotpossiblywanttobewhatIam.Forustobetogether,reallytogether—thechangesyouwouldhavetoundergo…”
Iraisedourjoinedhandsuntilmylipsmetthecool,smoothsolidityofhiswrist,lettingmymouthlingerthere.Hislipsparted,andoh,theyhadbeensosoft,pressedagainstmyownlips.Evenwhenhiskisseshadgrowndesperate.Iwantedtotastethemagain,wantedtoteasethemapartwithmytongue.
“Ihaven’tthoughtthatfaraheadyet,”Iadmitted.“AllIknowisthatrightnow,IwanttobeasclosetoyouasIcan.”Atsomepoint,perhapsI’dwanttoimaginewhatalong-termfuturewithFrederickwouldrequireofme.
Butnotjustyet.
Wehadn’tevenbeenonanofficialdateyet.
Givingintotemptation,Ipressedachaste,closed-mouthkisstohiscollarbone,revelinginthefeelofmarble-likeskinagainstmylips.
“Cassie,”hemurmured,hisvoicethick.
Movingalittle,Itouchedmylipstotheundersideofhisjaw,andthenkissedmywaydownhisnecktoaspotwhere,manyyearsago,therehadbeenapulse.TotheplaceIsuspectedanothervampireoncehadbittenhim,centuriesbeforeIwasborn.
“Frederick,”Imurmured.Iopenedmymouth,lettingmytonguedartouttotastehim.Hisskinwassaltandmusk,desireandcoolnightair.
Hewhimpered.
“IfyouwanttodothisandIwanttodothis,whyshouldn’twe?”Iasked,thoughhewasn’tprotestinganymore.Inuzzledatthesensitivespotwherehisneckmethisshoulder,revelinginhissharpintakeofbreath,inthewayhisarmtightenedaroundme,thewayhisfingertipsdugintomyside.
“Cassie.”Histonewashalfwarning,halfpromise.Onashudderingbreathhisfreehandcameuptocupmycheek.
Isighedandleanedintohistouch.Everynerveinmybodywasalight,sparkingwithanticipation.Hehadlarge,beautifulhands.Dexterousandstrong.Thethoughtofwhattheycoulddotomeifhe’donlyletgo…
Itwasadelicioustorture.
“Please,”Iwhispered.
Withthatsingleworditwaslikeaswitchflippedinsideofhim.Icouldseeitinhiseyesastheremnantsofhisresolvecrackedandcrumbledaway,andthenallatoncehislipswereonmineagain,hiskissesaseagerandasneedfulasthey’dbeenatSam’sparty.Hemovedquickly,wordlessly,onehandatthesmallofmybackandtheotheronmyshoulder,gentlyguidingmebackwardsuntilIlayproneonthemattressoncemore.
“Oh,Cassie,”hebreathedagainstmylips.Heloomedoverme,bracinghisweightonhiselbows,hisforearmsoneithersideofmyhead.Heleanedin,pressingakisstomytemple.Thenhechuckledquietly,thesoundsohappyandfullofreliefitbrokemyheart.“Iwillneverbeabletodenyyouanythingyouwant.”
WhenI’dimaginedthishappening,aloneinmybedroom,I’dimaginedFrederickasaquietandtentativelover,aspoliteandrefinedwithsexashewasineverydaylife.Buttherewasnothingquietortentativeabouthimnow.NowthatIwaslyingbeneathhimatophislushfour-posterbed,hispassionwasadamburstinginflood,asthoughuntilthismomenthe’dbeenholdinghimselfbackonlywithextremeeffort.Hisrelentlesskissesleftmebreathlessandreeling—andIwelcomedit,myarmsgoingaroundhimashekissedme,tryingtopullhimevencloser.
“Cassie.”Thistimemynameonhislipswasaplea.Hedidn’tneedoxygen,buthewasbreathinghardandfastagainstmynecklikehe’djustrunamile.Maybeitwasmusclememoryfromthemanhe’doncebeenkickingin,nowthatwewerehere.Hisbodylayalmostentirelyontopofmenow,awelcomeweightpressingmeintothemattress.Thefeelofhisbreathonmysensitizedskinmademeshiver.
Iwriggledbeneathhim,eagertofeelhimeverywhere.
“CanItouchyou?”heaskedinahoarsewhisper,withoutliftinghisheadfromwhereitrestedinthecrookofmyneck.
Inodded,feelinglikeImightburstwithanticipation.
Hishandsliddownthefrontofmyshirtuntilhefoundmybreast.Iarchedintohistouch,andhesqueezed—gentlyatfirst,andthen,whenhesawwhathistouchwasdoingtome,withfirmerpressure.Mybreastswerearespectablesize,butIfiteasilyandentirelywithinhislargepalm.Mynostrilsflared,mybreathingcominghotandquickassensationcoursedthroughme.
“Frederick,”Imurmured,intendingonlytoencouragehimtokeepgoing.Thesoundofhisnamemusthavedonesomethingtohimbecausehegrowledhisresponse.Allhisformidablepowersofspeechseemedtohavefledashisfreehandcamedownandcuppedmyotherbreast.Hethumbedroughlyatmynipplesthroughmyshirtandbrauntiltheypebbledupintohardlittlesensitizedbudsagainsthispalms,andthenhekeptgoing,andgoing,andgoing,untilIwasnothingbutpuresensation.
“Oh,”Isaid,incapableofarticulatespeech.Thesoftvelvetduvetunderneathmeservedasdeliciouscontrasttothesharpspikesofpleasurecoursingthroughmybloodstream,theplacidandeventickingofthegrandfatherclockinthehallwayastarkaccompanimenttomyuneven,rapidbreaths.Fredericktoreoffmyshirtandbraimpatiently,tossingthemtothefloorlikethehindrancesthey’dbecome.Hislow,desperategroanwhenhesawmybarechestratchetedthecoilofdesireinthepitofmystomachtonearlyunbearableheights.
“Iwanttotasteyou,”herasped,raisinghishead.Hispupilswerefatwithdesireashecontinuedthumbingatmypinkandstrainingnipples.“Everywhere.”
Myincoherentmoanwasapparentlyallheneededbywayofconsent.Heshovedmyskirtuptomywaistandthen,withexcruciatinglyslowandcarefulmovements,slidmyunderweardownmylegs.Suddenly,Iwashalfnakedandsplayedoutbeforehim,exposedandvulnerable.Hiseyesdarkenedfurtherasheregardedme,hiseyestrailingsohotandeagerlyalongmybarefleshIcouldfeelhisgaze.
“I’veimaginedthismomentmoreoftenthanisstrictlydecent.”Hisvoicewaslowanddeadlyurgent,hisfingerstracinginvisiblepatternsalongmyinnerthigh.Histouchwaspurposeful,movingclosertowhereIwantedhimwitheverypass—buthismovementsweremaddeninglyslow.
AndIwastiredofwaiting.
“Frederick,”Iurged,wrigglingonthebedtospurhimon.“Please.”
Butheseemeddeterminedtotakehistime.“I’vetouchedmyselfinmybedroom,thinkingofyou,justlikethis,”heconfessedagainstthesensitiveskinbehindmyrightknee.“I’veevengonetoyourbedinmydreams.”Hishandslidhigher,andhigher,untilhereachedmyachingcenter.Hecuppedmegently,reverently.Inearlyarchedoffthebedwithclawing,desperateneed.
“Frederick…”
“CanItellyouwhatIdotoyouinmydreams?”
Finally,atlast,hepartedmydrenchedfoldswithonethickfinger.Myheadfellbackontothepillowashegentlycircledtheplacewhereeverynerveendinginmybodywascentered.Myjawfellopenasstarsburstbehindmyclosedeyelids,mybodytautasabowstring.
“Oh.”Iwaspantingnow,anyprideordignityImighthaveoncehadlonggone.Ineededhimtotouchme.Now.“Please.”
Frederickchuckledalittleasthemattressatthefootofthebedshiftedbeneathhisweight.Icouldalmosthearhissatisfiedsmirkwhenhesaid,“PerhapsI’lljustshowyouinstead.”
Heslidhislargehandsdownmybodyuntilhereachedmyhips.Heleftthemthere,grippingmyflesh,spreadingmeopenashiseyesfeastedonmybareflesh.Ishiveredathowvulnerablethispositionleftme.Theopen,heatedlongingIsawinFrederick’seyeswasalmosttoomuchtobear.
“You,”hemurmuredagainstmyinnerthigh,nostrilsflaredashebreathedmein,“aremagnificentbeyondmywildestimaginings.”
I’ddonethisafewtimesbefore.Mostlywithmycollegeboyfriend,someonewhoviewedoralsexasanobligationtobedispensedwithasquicklyaspossiblebeforehecouldmoveontomorepleasurableactivities.
ButthemomentFrederickburiedhisfacebetweenmylegsitwascleartherewasnothingintheworldhewouldratherbedoingthanthis.Hetastedandlicked,breathingmeinashetookhissweet,deliberatetime.Myfingertipsfoundpurchaseonhisshoulders,andIclungtothemfordearlifeasheteasedme,thewoolofthesweaterhestillworedeliciouslysmoothagainstmybarelegs.
MyheadfellbackagainstthepillowagainandIwrithedonthemattress,buckinguptowardshismouthinsearchofgreaterfriction,needingmore.Buthewouldn’tberushed.Hishandsgrippedmyhipsharderasmybodysoughttomoveagainsthim,keepingmepinnedhelplesslytothemattressintheexactspothewantedme.Iwhinedindeliciousagonyashetracedtheshapeofmyclitwiththeachinglysoftflatofhistongue,dancingaroundthedirectcontactmybodywasscreamingfor.IcouldfeelhowwetIwasgrowing,couldhearthesharpkeeningsoundsIwasmakingasiffromadistance.Buthewouldnotberushedbymydesperationashekissed,andlapped,andtasted.
“Frederick.”Itangledmyfingersinhissofthairandtugged,moaning.Iwasgoingtopieces.Iwasoutofmyheadwithneed.“Please.”
Atmynakedpleasomethingmusthavebrokeninsidehim.Hegroaned,longandloud,thereverberationsfromitsendingsparksofsensationrocketingdownmyspine—
Andthen,atlast,histonguewasrightthere,lickingmesenselessashislipsclosedaroundmyclit.Hesuckedgently,thenwithgreaterpressure,andtheroom,thebedbeneathus,fellaway.Theworldcollapseddowntoapinprick,nothingexistinganymoreoutsideofFrederickandtheexquisite,crestingpleasure.
“Oh,god,”Imoaned,buckingagainsthismouth.Iwasoutsideofmyself,outsideofreason.“Please—”
Myorgasmcameuponmelikeatidalwave—devastating,andall-consuming,mytoescurlingwiththespine-meltingpleasureofit.Distantly,IcouldfeelFrederickshiftingonthebed,kissinghiswayupmybody,whisperingpraisetomybarelegs,mystomach,mybreasts.
Afterwhatmighthavebeenafewseconds,orthirtyminutes,hestretchedouttohisfulllengthbesidemeonthebed,acrooked,self-satisfiedsmileonhislips.
“Iwanttodothattoyoueverydayforaslongasyou’llletme,”hemurmuredagainstthetopofmyhead.
Igiggled,feelingutterlyspentandlighterthanair.
Irolledoverandburrowedmyfaceintohischest.“I’msogladyou’vecomearound.”
Hechuckled,thenwrappedhisarmsaroundme,pullingmeclose.“Me,too.”
Istartledawakesometimelater,nothavingrealizedI’ddozedoff.Frederickwaswalkingtowardsmewithaglassofwater,asmallsmileonhislips.
Hesatbesidemeonhisbed.“Here,”hesaid,offeringmetheglass.“Incaseyou’rethirsty.”
Iwas.“Thanks.”Itookthewaterfromhim,takingasipbeforesettingitonthebedsidetable.“HowlongwasIsleeping?”
“Notlong.Maybefifteenminutes.”
Ishiftedalittlebeneaththeduvet.ThelastthingIrememberedbeforedriftingoffwasusinghischestasapillow,hisarmswrappedaroundme.Hemusthavecoveredmewiththeduvetwhenhelefttheroom.
Tendernessfloodedme.Ireachedupandcuppedhisfaceinmyhand.Hesighed,hisstubbleroughagainstmypalmasheleanedintomytouch.
OnlythendidInoticethathisjeansweretentedwithwhatmusthavebeenanextremelyuncomfortable—andmassive—erection.
Givenhisrecentconfessionabouthisrelationshiptofruit,IwastemptedtomakeawildlyinappropriateIsthataconjuredbananainyourpocket?joke.ButIdidn’t.Becauseforonething,he’djustgivenmeoneofthemostmind-meltinglyincredibleorgasmsofmylife,andteasinghimfeltlikeameanwaytorepayhim.Foranother,Iknewfullwellthathispantssituationwasdueentirelytothefactthat,yes—hewashappytoseeme.
Itrailedmyhandslowlydownhischest,notstoppinguntilIreachedthewaistbandofhisjeans.Hisstomachmusclesrippled,tensingandflexingbeneathmypalm.
“Cassie,”hesaid,hoarsely,quicklycoveringmyhandwithhisowntostopme.“Wait.”
Sittingup,Ipressedakisstoeachcornerofhismouth.Heshudderedandlethisheaddroopforwardontomyshoulder.
“Whatisit?”
“I’veneverdone…therestofthisbeforewithout…”Heclosedhiseyes,unableorunwillingtolookatmeforwhathewasabouttosay.“Withoutbloodbeinginvolved.”
Myheartskipped,like,fivebeats.
“Oh.”
“Indeed.”Heliftedhisheadandmetmygaze.“It’sbeenoverahundredyearssinceI’vebeenintimatewithsomeone.I’moutofpractice,andIwantyousobadly.Ifyoutouchme,ifwe…continuethis,Idon’tknowifI’llhavetheself-controltogowithoutonceI’m…closetotheend.”Hefellbackontothepillowsandletoutananguishedbreath.“Idon’tknowifIcandothiswithouthurtingyou.”
FromthisvantagepointIcouldnoweasilyseetheoutlineofhiscock,fullyerectandstraininghardagainstthefrontofhisjeans.IwantedtopeelthosejeansoffandgetagoodlookathimsobadlyIcouldtasteit.Ifeltcertainhecoulddothiswithouthurtingme.Ifhewasgoingtolosecontrolandtakeabitewhenheshouldn’t,itwouldhavehappenedlongbeforenow.
Suddenly,Ihadanidea.
“IknowwhatIcandotohelpyoustayincontrol.”
Hecrackedoneeyeandlookedatme.
“What?”
Wordlessly,Ibegantoundothebuttonofhisjeans.Hishandsclampeddownonminelikeavise.
“Cassie,wait—”
“Shhh,”Imurmured,willinghispanictoabateandnudginghishandsaway.Ireachedinsideandgrippedhiminmyhand,revelinginthewayhisbreathcaughtandhisheadfellbackonthepillow.
Myheartbeatquickened.Hewasbig—which,yes,I’dalreadyanticipated.Butitwasonethingtoseetheoutlineandgeneralshapeofaguy’sdickwhenhewasstillwearingclothes—andentirelyanotherwhenyouhaditinyourhands.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Hisvoicewaslow,hisdarkeyesdazedandincredulous.
Hewassobeautiful,andvulnerable,inthatmoment.Iwantedtomakehimfeelasgoodashe’djustmademefeel.
“This,”Isaid,beforeleaningoverandtakinghimintomymouth.
Ihalfexpectedhimtoprotestagain,buthedidn’t.Hefellbackagainstthepillowswitharoughgroan,handsballedupintofistsandpressedintohiseyes.
Ifhewasworriedaboutlosingcontrolandbitingmeoncehewasinsideme,whatbetterwaytodialthingsdownabitthantogivehimatake-the-edge-offorgasmbeforewedidthat?ApregameblowjobusuallyhelpedguysI’dbeenwithinthepastlastlonger.And,okay,Frederickwasn’tlikeotherguys—butinthisdepartmentIwaswillingtobethewasn’tthatdifferentfromanyoneelse.
Oninstinct,Itookhimdeeperintomymouth,enjoyingtheheadycombinationofsaltandmuskandFrederickonmytongue.Thehelpless,pleasuredsoundshemadeasIworkedhimspurredmeon,encouragingmetotakehimdeeper.Griphimtighter.
WhenIglancedupathisfacehisjawwasslackandhiseyeswereglazedoverinpleasure.Hemetmygazewithareverenceandadesperationthatmademeeagertohavehiminsideme,andsoon.
“Isthis…isthisokay?”hemurmured.Hecuppedmyfaceinunsteadyhands,eyesholdingmineashegentlystrokedmycheekswithhisthumbs.
God,hewasbeautiful.
BywayofresponseIsnakedahandaroundhisbodyandsqueezedhisass.
HegaveaninhumangroanIfeltmorethanheardaswhateverfragilegriphe’dstillhadonhisself-controlsnappedandfellaway.Onelargehandfounditswaytothetopofmyhead,pushingmedownjustalittleashishipsbegantojerkupwardinarhythmicmotionbeneathme.Itwashard,itwasfast—anditwasglorious.Iftheincomprehensiblesoundshewasmaking,andthewayhisheadthrashedbackandforthonthepillow,wereanyguide,FrederickwasincapacitatedfromthepleasureofmetakinghimasdeeplyasIcould.
“Oh,fuck,”hegroaned.Bothofhishandswereonmyheadnow,guidingmymovementsashetrembledandfoughtforcontrol.Andforrelease.Histhrustswerealreadybecomingmoreerraticandpickingupspeed.Myhandsweregrowingslipperywithmysalivaandhisownsecretions.“Cassie,ohgod,Cassie,Ican’t,I…Ican’tfinishwithout—”
Hecuthimselfoff,clampingahandoverhismouthtokeepfromsayinganythingelse.Ilookedupathisfaceaswemovedintandem,hiseyessqueezedtightlyshut,hischestheaving.
He’dsaidhe’dneverdonethisbeforewithoutbloodbeinginvolved.Wasitpossiblethatheactuallyneededbloodforthis?
Ifso,howlongwasheplanningtodeprivehimself—toletmedrivehimtotheedgelikethis—withoutaskingforwhatheneededforrelease?
Oninstinct,Islidahanduphischestandslippedmyindexfingerbetweenhislips.Hisbodyjerkedbeneathme.Hiseyesshotdowntomine.Asdesperatewithneedashewas,FrederickstillretainedenoughofhiswitstoknowwhatIwasoffering.
“Cassie,”hebreathed,mynameonhislipsaquestion.
Inodded,lettinghimknowthat,yes—Iwasokaywithit.
Hemadeasoundthatwashalfgroan,halfsnarl.Hebitdown,and—
Itdidn’thurt.Notreally.I’ddonatedbloodbefore,andwhilethetipofmyfingerhadmorenerveendingsthanmyforearmdid,thebitewasn’tbad
Fredericklappedatthelittlewoundlikehislifedependedonit,lickingandsucklingmeand…itwassurprisinglysexy.Hisfacewascontortedintothesameecstatic,blissfulexpressionhe’dwornwhenhe’dburiedhisfacebetweenmylegsearlierthatevening,andfuckifIcouldn’thavespenttherestofmylifelookingathimwhenhewasmindlesswithpleasurelikethis.
“Cassie,”hegroaned,utterlywreckedbywhatIwasdoingtohim.Myfingerslippedfromhismouth;hegreedilysuckeditbackin.
Andthenheflippeduswithaninhumanspeedthatmademebreathless,leavingmeflatonmybackbeforeI’drealizedithadevenhappened.I’dseenhintsofhismore-than-humanstrengthbefore,buttherewassomethingprimal,wildaboutthewayheclimbedatopmenow.
Heleanedoverme,hisdarkhairfallingintohiseyes.
“Please,”herasped,hisvoicethickwithhisfrayingrestraint.Hisforearmswereallcordedmuscleandshakingtensionasheheldhimselfperfectlystillaboveme.Myfingerwasstillbetweenhislips.HelookedlikehemightdieifIwithdrewit.“Iwanttofeelyou.”
Inodded,understandingfromthedesperatelookinhiseyeswhathewasaskingme.
“Please,”Iwhispered.
Withagruntandonedeliciousthrustofhishipshewasfullyseatedinsideme.Igasped,stunned,thesheerenormityofhimstealingthebreathfrommylungs.Mybodyclenchedandunclenchedinvoluntarily,strugglingtoadjusttohissizeashetriedtoholdhimselfback.
Iwrappedmyarmsaroundhimandpulledhimdownintoasearingkiss.I’dneverbeenwithsomeonethisbigbefore,andthedeliciouswaymybodyhadtostretchtoaccommodatehimfeltincredible.Hewaseverywhere,allatonce,andIwantedhimtomove,tofeeltheglorioussensualpleasureofhimslidinginandoutofmybody.Iwantedtohavehiminmyarmsaswemovedtogether,tofallapartinecstasyasIheldhimclose.
Onashakyexhaleheslowlypulledout,andthenthrustbackintomewithsomuchforcetheheadboardknockedagainstthewall.Islidmyhandsdownhisbackside,grippingthehardmusclebeneathmyfingertipsasItriedtopullhimevendeeperinsideme.
“Isthisokay?”Thecordsinhisneckstoodoutinsharpreliefashefoughttoholdon.
“Yes.”
Hegroaned,feral,hislipssoclosetotheoverlysensitiveskinofmyneckIfeltitmorethanheardit.Whateverthinfilamentofrestrainthe’dbeenclingingtoseemedtosnapwithanothersharpthrustofhiships.Andthenanother.Andanother.
“Mine,”hegrowled,thespeedofhisthrustsincreasing,hisvoicetakingonadeeprumblingtimbreI’dneverheardfromhimbefore.Iansweredwithanincoherentmoan,writhingbeneathhim,pinnedtothemattressbyhisstronghandsandtherelentlesspaceofhiships.
He’dbeenapatientandgivingloverearlier.Now,hewasusingme,mybody—myblood—forhisownpleasure.Therealizationthathewasn’tgoingtoletmeoutofthisbeduntilhe’dthoroughlyhadhiswaywithmethrilledme.Adesperatecrytorefromhisthroat,nearlysendingmespiralingstraightintoanotherorgasm.
“Please,”Ibeggedbreathlessly,notevenknowingwhatIwasbeggingfor.Icantedmyhipsupward,matchinghisthrusts,mindlessinmydesperate,urgentneed.Mylungscouldn’tpullinenoughair.Mybodycouldn’tgetenoughfriction.Therewasnothingintheworldbuthisbreathinmyear,thepounding,relentlessthrustsofhisbodyintomine,andtheshimmeringorgasmhewasabouttogivemethatstillremainedfrustratinglyoutofreach.
“Frederick—”
“I…want…to…feel…you…,”hegrittedout.Iwasnothingbutmindlesssensation.“Cassie,comeforme.”
WhenIcame,Frederickquicklydrewanotherfingerbetweenhislips,bitingdownandthensuckingonitdesperately.Iwasstillinthethroesofpleasurewhenhishipsslammedintomeonefinaltime,mybloodonhistongue,mynamefallingfeverishlyfromhislips.Hiswholebodywentrigidaboveme,hisbackarching,hishandsfistingthesheetsoneithersideofmyheadsotightlyhisknuckleswerewhite.
Weweresilentforalongmomentafterthataswelaysidebysideonhismattress.Myheadlolledonhischest,thegentledesignshewasdrawingonmyarmwithhisfingertipsmakingmedrowsy.Theonlysoundsintheroom,asidefromthesteadyrhythmofourbreathing,drifteduptousfromthestreetbelow.Carshonked,andpeoplecarriedon,justlikeitwasanyotherFridaynight—evenasmylifehadsuddenlyandirrevocablychanged.SEVENTEEN
RashofChicagolandBloodBankBreak-InsConfoundsLocalHospitals[frompage5oftheNovember14ChicagoTribune]
JohnWeng,AP—Chicagolandhospitaladministratorsarescratchingtheirheadsoverawaveofrecentbloodbankbreak-insamongdonationcentersinChicago’sNearNorthSide.
“Weexpectacertainnumberofdonationstogomissingeachweek,”saidJennyMcNiven,volunteercoordinatoratMichiganAvenueChildren’sHospital.“Ourblooddrivesaremostlyvolunteer-run,andmistakeshappen.Butwhatwehaveseeninthepastforty-eighthourscannotbeexplainedbysimplehumanerror.”
AccordingtoMcNiven,threedifferentcentershadbreak-insovertheweekend.Ineachcase,volunteersshoweduptotheirmorningshiftstofindrefrigerators’doorshangingofftheirhingesandmostoftheircontentsremoved.Apairofelbow-lengthwhitesatinglovesleftbehindatoneofthecentersisbeinganalyzedbytheChicagoPoliceDepartment’sforensicsteamforclues.
“Idon’tknowwhyanyonewoulddosomethinglikethis,”McNivensaid.“Aspranksgo,thismightbeoneoftheworst.Bloodsaveslives.”
Frederick—andhisbarechest—werewaitingformeinthelivingroomwhenIstumbledoutofhisbedroomatdawnthenextmorning.Hewasonthesofa,leafingthroughanewspaperwithaslightfrownonhisface.
“Goodmorning.”
Atthesoundofmyvoicehelookedup,settinghisnewspapertotheside.
“Goodmorning.”Hesmiledatme,abitshy—whichwasabitridiculous,givenhowwe’dspentagoodportionofthepreviousevening.Iwasalittlesurprisedtoseehowcoiffedandput-togetherhelooked,giventhatIcouldtellwithoutevencheckingamirrorthatIwassportingthemostridiculousbedheadinthehistoryoftheworld.
ThenIrememberedthathe’dleftthebedroomwithanapologyshortlyaftermidnightandhadn’tsleptbesidemeatall.
“Whattimeisit?”Iasked.“Ineedtobeatworkateight-thirty.”
“It’sjustaftersix.”Hestoodandwalkedovertome,placinghishandsoneithersideofmywaist.Or,moreaccurately—oneithersideofthegeneralvicinityofmywaist.Iwaswrappedfromchesttotoeinoneofhissoftredsatinsheets.Anatomicalaccuracywasdifficult.“Mybedsheetsuitsyou.”
Isnorted.“Ididn’tgetdressedagainlastnightafter…well.”Itrailedoff,blushing.“Wrappingupinthissheetwaseasierthanfindingwhereyou’dtossedmyunderwear.”
Hehummed,andpressedakisstomycheek.“Youlookdivine.”
“Idonot.”
“Ihopeyouneverwearanythingelse.”
Hekissedmethen,chasteandtender.Iplacedmyhandsonhischestandleanedin,enjoyingthesoftbrushofhislipsagainstmine.
“I’msurprisedyou’renotdressed,”Imused.“It’snotlikeyouwereasleepallthistime.”
Myfingertipstracedtheoutlineofajagged,prominentscarjustbelowhisrightnipple.Iwantedtoaskhimhowhegotit.Ifithappenedwhilehewasstillhuman,orafter.Butnowwasn’tthetime.
“GoingforwardIintendtospendasmuchtimeshirtlessaspossible.”
Ihuffedasurprisedlaugh.“What?”
“YoulikeitwhenIdon’twearashirt,”hesaid,asmatter-of-factlyasifheweretellingmerainwasintheforecast.“Youlikeitalot,infact.Ilikedoingthingsthatpleaseyou.”
Ihadn’texactlytriedtohidehowintohisbodyIwas,butthewayhe’dphrasedthismademewondersomething.
“CanyoutellthatIlikeitwhenyoudon’twearashirt?”Iranmyhanddownhisfabulouschestforgoodmeasure.“Beyondmesimplytellingyouthatyouhaveagreatbody,Imean.”
Hesmiled,bashful.“Yourscentchangessubtly,butunmistakably,whenyouarearoused.”
Myeyeswidenedinsurprise.Thatwasanewone.
“Itdoes?”
Henodded.“UntillastnightItoldmyselfIwasmistaken,thatitwassimplywishfulthinkingonmypart.”Hissmileturneddevilishwhenheleanedinandpressedhislipstomyear.“Iknownow,though,thatIwasright.”
Ithoughtbacktothewayhe’dallbutbreathedmeinlastnight,andIshivered,gooseflesheruptingonmyarms.Itshouldhaveweirdedmeout,theideathatmyscentchangedwhenIwasturnedonandthatFrederickcouldsenseit.Butforsomereason—maybebecauseitwasFrederickwhowastellingmethis—itdidn’t
HishandsstartedworkingtheirwaybeneaththeplacewhereI’dcinchedthebedsheetclosedaroundmybody.“Iwanttobeinsideyouagain,Cassie,”hewhisperedintomyear.Hepulledmecloser,untilIcouldfeeleveryinchofhisneedjuttinghardandurgentlyagainstmystomach.“LastnightwasgloriousbeyondanythingIcouldhaveimagined.ButIwantmore.”
Ishuddered,throwingmyarmsaroundhimandburyingmyfaceinhisshoulder.
ImentallyscreamedatMarcieforsigningmeupforaSaturdaymorningshift.
“Iwantthat,too,”Isaid.“Butunfortunately,Ihavetogotowork.”
Frederickgroanedandpulledbackfromme.MybodywasscreamingatMarcienow,too.
“Fine,”hesaid,tersely.“Ihope,however,thatyouarenotaversetopickingupwhereweleftoffwhenyougetbackhome.”
ThenIkissedhim.Becauseno—Iwasnotaversetoitatall.
Ifloatedmorethanwalkedintothelibraryformyshift.
WhenIgotthere,Isatdownatthecirculationdeskinthechildren’ssectionandwentthroughthemotionsofputtingawaymypurseandloggingintothestation’scommunaldesktop.Butmymindwasmilesaway,backintheapartment.
Thesunhadrisenaboutanhourago.Frederickwaslikelygettingreadytogotosleep.Thismorningwasanotherartday,andIneededtogetthewatercolors,canvases,andplasticfloorcoveringsallsetup.Kidshadalreadystartedshowingupfortheevent,millingaroundbookdisplayswiththeirparentsuntilwewerereadytogetstarted.
Whileartdayswereusuallyahighlightforme,rightnowIwishedIwerebackathome,cuddlingwithandsleepingnexttoFrederick.
“Goodmorning.”Marciewastyingherhairbackintoaponytail,rummagingaroundforsuppliesintheclosetbehindthecirculationdeskasshegreetedme.
“Morning.”IlookeddownattheplanforthismorningthatI’dcomeupwithafewdaysago,gladMarciehadprinteditoutandplaceditinfrontofthecomputer.“Whatdoyouthinkofmyidea?”
“PaintYourFavoriteBook’sSetting?”
“Yeah.”
Marciesmiledatme.“Ithinkit’sgreat.”
Mychestwarmed.“I’mgladtohearit.I’mprettyproudofit.”
“Youshouldbe,”Marciesaid.Iblushedalittleatthepraise,thengrabbedaponytailholderfrommyownbagandpulledasmuchofmystilltoo-shorthairasIcouldintoamessyknotontopofmyhead.“We’vedonebookcharactersbefore,andDisneyprincesses,butnotsettings.”
“Somanychildren’sbookstakeplaceinamazinglocations,”Isaid.Icroucheddownandstartedhuntingbeneaththedesk,tryingtofindwhereI’dstashedtheboxofbrushesandcoloredpencils.“Ihopethekidshavealotoffunwiththis.”
Ididn’thavetowaitlongtogetconfirmationthattheeventwasawildsuccess.
“MissGreenberg?IsitokayifIaddadragontomycastle?”
IturnedawayfromalittlegirlI’dbeenhelpingwhowaspaintingavibrantpictureofthesun.She’dchosenanearlyneonshadeofpurpleforthesun’srays.Itwaseasilymyfavoriteofalltheprojectsthekidswereworkingon.
“Ofcourseit’sokay,”Isaidtothelittleboywhoaskedthequestion,who’dearlierintroducedhimselfasZach.“Whywouldn’titbe?”
Zachgaveaone-shouldershrug.“Theinstructionsweretopaintourfavoritebook’ssetting,”hesaid.“Ialreadydidthecastle,andIthoughtpaintingacharacter,too,wouldbebreakingtherules.”
IcroucheddownsoIwaseye-levelwithZach.Hiscanvaswascoveredinshapelessswirlsofbrownsandgreens.Itdidn’tlooklikeanycastleI’deverseen—butthenagain,I’dneverseenacastleinperson,sowhowasItojudge?Maybeinhisfavoritebook,orinhisimagination—orboth—thiswasexactlywhatcastleslookedlike.
“Ithinkadragonwouldlookgreatrighthere,”Isaid,pointingtotheonecornerofthecanvasthathadn’tbeencoveredinwatercolorpaint.
“ButFluffyisthemaincharacterofthebook,notasetting,”Zachpointedout.HistonewasasseriousasifheweregivingalectureonthecurrentstateofAmericanpolitics,which—giventhathewasallofsixyearsold—wassoadorableInearlyburstoutlaughing.
Ibittheinsideofmycheektokeepthatfromhappeningandpretendedtostudyhiscanvas.“Iseeyourpoint,”Isaid.“Butyouknow—theonlyrealruleinartistomakesomethingyouenjoy.”
Hiseyebrowsshotuphislittleforehead.“Nootherrulesatall?”
“None,”Iconfirmed.“Wewantedkidstopaintthesettingsfromtheirfavoritebookstoday,butifyouwanttoaddFluffy,goforit.Infact,”Iadded,“Ican’treallypictureacastlewithoutadragon.MaybeFluffyactuallyispartofyourbook’ssetting,andnotjustacharacter.”
Zachchewedhisbottomlipasheconsideredmywords.“Thatmakessense.”
“Iagree,”Isaid.“Intheend,though,thisisyourpainting.Makesomethingyoulove.”
Andwiththat,Zachdippedhispaintbrushinthepotoforangewatercolorinfrontofhim,paintedagiantswirlintheonlysparecornerofhiscanvas,andsmiled.
BythetimeImadeitbacktotheapartmentitwasnearlysundown.Itookthestairstwoatatime,grinningasIimaginedthrowingmyselfintoFrederick’sarmsandpickingupwherewe’dleftoffthismorning.
WhenIgottothethird-floorlanding,however,Iknewthatsomethingwasverywrong.
Foronething,Frederickwasshoutingfrominsidetheapartment.
“Howdareyoucometomyhomeunannouncedandbehaveinthisway!”
Foranother,awomanwhosevoiceIdidnotrecognizewasshouting,too.
“YoudaretoaskmehowIdare?”thewomanscoffed,thesharpclickofherheelsechoingsoloudlyonthehardwoodfloorsIcouldeasilyhearherfootstepsfromwhereIstood.“Iwouldhavethoughtyourmannersbetterthanthat,FrederickJohnFitzwilliam!”
Ihesitatedatthedoor,unsurewhattodo.TheonlyotherpersonwhohadbeeninourapartmenttheentiretimeI’dlivedtherewasReginald—anothervampire.Andthathadendedindisaster.
Fromthesoundsofthings,anotherdisasterwasbrewinginthererightnow.ButwhatshouldIdo?Thisargument,asbitterasitsounded,hadnothingtodowithme.EveninadvertentlyhearingwhatIhadsofarfeltlikeanintrusion.
“Cassiewillbehomeshortly,”Fredericksaid.“Iaskthatyoupleaseleavebeforeshereturnshome.Idonotwishtodiscussthismatterwithyouanyfurther.”
“No,”thewomansaidflatly.“Iintendtomeetthishumangirltowhomyou’vetakensuchafancy.”
Frederickbarkedahumorlesslaugh.“Overmydeadbody.”
“That’seasyenoughtoarrange.”
“Edwina.”
“Noneedtogetsnippywithme,Frederick.”Thewomanstartedpacingagain,herheelsclickingsoloudlyacrossthehardwoodfloorsitsoundedlikeshewasdeterminedtobreakaholethroughtotheapartmentonthesecondfloor.“IfIcannotmakeyouseereason,perhapsthisCassieGreenbergwillbemoremalleable.”
Atthesoundofmyname,myheartthunderedsoloudlyinmyearsitdrownedouttherestofwhateverFrederickandthewomanshoutingathimweresaying.Iguessthisargumentconcernedmeafterall.
MaybeIshouldintervene.
BeforeIcouldtalkmyselfoutofit,Ithrewopentheapartment’sfrontdoor.
Thewomaninthelivingroomlookedroughlymyparents’age,withcrow’s-feetatthecornersofhereyesandgrayinghairathertemples.AnysimilaritiesbetweenthewomancurrentlyglaringicedaggersatmeandBenandRaeGreenbergendedthere,though.Herdresswasanall-blacksilk-and-crepeaffairwithvelvetpuffedsleeves,madeinavaguelyhistoricalmash-upofastylethatwouldhavelookedrightathomeonthesetofBridgerton
Hereyemakeup,though,waswhatreallydrewmyattention.ThelasttimeI’dseenfacepaintthatdramaticI’dbeeninmiddleschool,whenSam’solderbrotherdraggedustoseeaKISScoverbandonanighttheirparentswereoutoftown.Itstoodoutinsuchsharpcontrastwithheroverallpalloritmademyeyesachetolookather.
“Isthisher?”Thewomanpointedanaccusatoryfingerwithaperfectlymanicuredbright-redfingernailinmydirection.ButhereyesstayedfixedonFrederick.“Thehussyyouhavethrowneverythingawayfor?”
“Hussy?”Icouldn’tbelievemyears.Whotalkedlikethat?“Excuseme,butwhoareyou?”
“This,”Fredericksaid,hissingtheword,“isMrs.EdwinaFitzwilliam.”Apause.“Mymother.”
Timeseemedtostop.Iclosedmyeyes,tryingtomakesenseofwhatFrederickhadjustsaid,andoftheridiculoussituationInowseemedtobeinthemiddleof
Hismother?
Buthowwasthatpossible?
Shouldn’thismotherhavebeendeadforhundredsofyears?
ThenMrs.EdwinaFitzwilliambaredasetofsharp,pointedfangsatme,anditallclickedintoplace.
“You’reavampire,too,”Ibreathed,feelingdizzyandweak-kneed.
“OfcourseI’mavampire,”Frederick’smothersaid,beforesaunteringacrosstheroomlikesheownedtheplace.Which,Irealizedwithastart,mightbetrue.Ididn’tknowanythingaboutFrederick’sfinances—orreallyverymuchabouthimatall.
Thathadneverbeenclearertomethanitwasrightthen.
“IamnotgoingbacktoNewYorkwithyou,Mother.Thathadneverbeenmyplan.”Hiseyesflickedtomine,filledwithguilt.“Cassiehasnothingtodowithit.Leaveheroutofthis.”
Mrs.EdwinaFitzwilliamwavedadismissivehandatme.“Fine.InthatregardatleastIwilldoasyousay.Infact,outofrespectforyou,Iwon’teveneather.”
“Mother—”
“ThereisnoneedtoreturntoNewYorkwithme,”hismothercutin.“TheJamesonsarearrivinginChicagotomorrowevening.Youwillspeakwiththemhere.”IhadnoideawhotheJamesonswere,butFrederickclearlydid.Atherwordshetookasmall,involuntarystepback.Helookedstunned,asthoughshe’djustslappedhim.
“IwouldhavethoughtbyreturningEsmeralda’sgiftsbothsheandherparentswouldhaveinferredmylackofintenttomarryher.”Hepaused.“ThelasttimeIwroteItoldEsmeraldainnouncertaintermsthatIwouldnotgothroughwithit.”
It’sagoodthingIwasstandingnearthecouch.IfIhadn’tbeen,mylegsgivingoutuponhearingthewordsmarryherwouldhaveresultedinmylandingonthefloor—andwouldhavebeenawholelotmoreuncomfortable.
“Themessagewasreceived,mydear.”Frederick’smotherglaredathim.“Youcouldnothavebeenclearerinyourintentifyouhadannounceditatadinnerpartyfullofguests.”
“Thenwhyaretheycominghere?”
“BecausetheJamesonsinterpretyouractions,asIhave,asaclearsignthatyouhavenotbeeninyourrightmindsinceyourawakening.Theyagreewithmethatthismattercannotbelefttocorrespondence,andthatapersonalmeetingisnecessary.”
“IamassoundofmindnowasIhaveeverbeen.”Frederickcrossedhisarmsacrosshisbroadchest,adoptingwhathelikelymeantasanassertivestance.TheeffectwasundercutbythefactthathewaswearingpajamapantswithKermittheFrogonthemthatIdefinitelydidn’tbuyhimatNordstrom.Butitdidn’tmatter.Hewasstillhot.
Mrs.EdwinaFitzwilliam,however,didn’tseemimpressed.
“Iwillleaveyoutoexplainthattoyourin-lawsdirectly.YouandIwillmeetthemintheirroomsattheRitz-Carltontomorroweveningatseventodiscussyourimpendingnuptials.”Mrs.Fitzwilliamsniffedtheairandcringed.“Ahumangirl,Frederick.Honestly.”
Withthat,Frederick’smothergaveatheatricalcurtsytousbothandbreezedoutthefrontdoor.
Deafeningsilencefilledtheroom.IstaredatFrederick,willinghimtosaysomething—anything—thatwouldturnthechaosofthepastfewminutesintosomethingthatboresomeresemblancetosense.
Afterwhatmighthavebeeneighteenyears,heclearedhisthroat.
“There’smoreIhaven’ttoldyou.”Hehadthedecencytolooksheepish.
“Youthink?”Heflinchedatmyhostiletone,butIdidn’tcare.He’dpromisedmehewouldneverwithholdimportantinformationfrommeagain.“Frederick,whatelseisthereIdon’tknow?”
Hesighedanddraggedahandthroughhishair.“Alot.”Heswallowed.“Doyouwanttohearit,orareyoufinishedwithme?”
“Tellmeonethingfirst,”Isaid,holdinguponehand.“IsittruethatyoutoldthisEsmeraldapersonyouwouldn’tmarryher?”
“Yes,”Fredericksaid,earnestly.“Innouncertainterms,andrepeatedly.Thiswholething…allofit…”Hetrailedoffandrananagitatedhandthroughhishair.“Noneofthisshouldbehappening.”
Helookedabsolutelytormented.
“Okay,”Isaid.“I’llhearit.”
Hereachedformyhand,eyestentative.“Sitwithme?”
Inodded,andbracedmyselffortherestofhisstory.
Hesatbesidemeonthelivingroomcouch,hishandsfoldedneatlyonhislap.
AsrecentlyastenminutesagoI’dplannedtotakehimtobedtopickupwhereweleftoffthismorning.Butallthatwouldhavetowait.Rightnowhisneedtobecompletelyopenandhonestwithmewaswrittenalloverhisface.
AndIneededtohearwhathehadtosay.
“Incertainsegmentsofvampiricsociety,”hebegan,eyesonthefloor,“arrangedmarriageisstillathing.WhenIleftEnglandtomovetoAmerica—andespeciallywhenIleftwheremypeoplesettledinNewYorkandcametoChicago—IthoughtIhadleftthatnonsensebehindme.”Heswallowedhard,hisAdam’sapplebobbinginhisthroat.“Mymotherclearlyhasotherideas.”
Iexpectedhimtoelaborate.Whenseverallongmomentspassed,andhedidn’t,Iasked,“WhoisMissJameson?”
“SomeoneIhardlyknow.”Hisvoicewaslowandsheepish.“We…hadafling,once.Nearlytwohundredyearsago.”Hepaused.“Andnow,apparently,weareengagedtobewed.”
Myheartfloppedalittleinmychestasanirrationalpangofjealousystabbedthroughme.Myreactionwasirrational,ofcourse.Expectingsomeonetobecelibateforcenturieswouldbeunfair.WhateverhappenedbetweenhimandthisMissJamesonmorethanacenturybeforeIwasevenbornhadnothingtodowithme.
Itstillstung,though.
“Oh.”
Heturnedtome,hiseyessad.“Ihaven’talwayslivedasIdonow,Cassie.InmyyoungerdaysIateasothersofmykinddid,andfuckedanyoneontwolegs.Men,women,humans—everything.”Helookedaway.“TherewasapartyinParisduringtheRegencyperiodwhereMissJamesonandI—”
“Igetit,”Isaidquickly,cuttinghimoff.Iputmyhandonhis.“Idon’tneedallthedetails.”
“Good.BecauseI’mnotquiteuptosharingthem.”Heclosedhiseyes.“IamnotthepersonIwasintheearlynineteenthcentury,Cassie.Ihaven’tbeenthatpersoninaverylongtime.”
IhadsomanyquestionsIwantedtoaskhimabouthowhebecamethepersonhewastoday.ButtherewereotherthingsIwantedtoknowfirst.“Howlonghaveyoubeenengagedtoher?”
“Ithappenedduringmycoma,”Fredericksaiddourly.“MymotherneverapprovedofthechangesImadetomylifewhenIdecidedtoliveamonghumansinsteadofviewingthemasdinner.ShethoughtthatwhenIwoke,marryingmeofftosomeonewithmoretraditionalvalueswouldbeawaytobringmebackintothefold.”
“Traditionalvalues?”
“Yes.”Hegavemeahumorlesshalfsmile.“Drinkinghumanbloodfromthesource,ratherthanacquiringitfrombloodbanks.Or,ifbloodbanksarenecessary,leavingnothingbehindafterraidingthem.”Hepaused,thenlookedaway.“Murderinghumansindiscriminately.”
IshiveredatthethoughtofFredericklivingthatway.“Butthatisn’twhoyouare.”
“It’snot,”hesaidfervently.“Notanymore.”
“ButitiswhoMissJamesonis,”Iguessed.“Andyourmother.”
“Yes.”
“AndReginald?”
Frederickpaused,consideringhiswords.“He’s…changing.IthinkI’vehadamoderatinginfluenceonhim.”
Istoodthen,andmademywayovertothewindowoverlookingthelake.Theenormityofwhathewastellingmewassinkinginlittlebylittle.Ineededspacetothinkaboutwhatallofthismeant—forFrederick,andforus.
“Idon’tknowwhattosay,”Imurmured.
Hissolidpresencewasatmybackamomentlater,hisstrongarmsgoingaroundmebeforeIhadachancetoprotest.Herestedhischeekagainstthetopofmyhead.Ibreathedinhisreassuringscent,wishingthateverythingthathadjusthappenedherewithhismotherhadbeennothingmorethananightmare.
“I’mnotmarryingher,”hemurmuredferventlyintomyhair.Hekissedthetopofmyheadsogentlyitbrokemyheart.Itfeltlikeapromise.“Iwasnevergoingtomarryher,notevenbeforeImetyou.That’stheonlyreasonIdidn’ttellyou.IthoughtIhadthesituationhandled.ItnevercrossedmymindthatmymotherortheJamesonswouldtakethingsthisfar.”
Hisassuranceswentalongwaytowardslooseningtheknotofpainthathadsettledinmychest.Isighed,turninginthecircleofhisarmsuntilmyheadrestedagainsthischest.Hisholdonmetightened.
“ImadeaseriousmiscalculationwhenIassumedtheywoulddropthis,”hecontinued.“Iknownowthattheywillnottakenoforananswerfromafar.”
Mymindcaughtonthewordsfromafar.IpulledbackalittlesothatIcouldlookathim.“Areyouplanningtotelltheminperson?”
Heblewoutabreath.“TheJamesonsareexpectingme.Mymotherishereandwillnotleavewithoutme.Yes,IbelieveIneedtogotothemdirectly.It’stheonlywaytheywillunderstandIamseriousaboutstayinghereinChicagoandlivingmylifethewayIhavechosentoliveit.”Heswallowed,andpressedakisstomyforehead.“IfIdon’t,it’sonlyamatteroftimeuntiltheyallshowuponmydoorstep.AndIwillnotallowthattohappen.Notwhileyouarelivingwithme.”
Itriedtoignorethewaymystomachsanklikeastone.Ihadaverybadfeelingaboutthis.“Soyou’regoingtotheRitz-Carltontomorrownight,then?”
Henodded.
“Areyousurethat’sagoodidea?”IhatedhowneedyIsounded.Butithadbeenawildtwenty-fourhours.I’dhadmyselfsomeglorioussexwithonevampireandanunplannedaltercationwithanother.Igotrejectedfromoneprofessionalopportunityandlandedanunexpectedjobinterviewwithanother.
Iprobablyneededtocutmyselfsomeslack.
“Yes.”Hebrushedalockofmyhairthathadfallenintomyeyesbehindmyear.Hisfreehandcameuptocradlemyface.“AllIintendtodoisgotothehotel,telltheJamesonsIwillnotmarryEsmeralda,tellmymothershecangotothedevilforallIcare,andthencomerightback.”
“SomehowIdon’tthinkitwillbethateasy.”I’donlyspentafewminutesinhismother’spresence,andhadonlyknownhewasinthemiddleofamessyRegency-erabetrothalsituationforthepasthalfhour.Evenstill,Isawatleastfivedifferentwaysthiscouldendbadly.
“Ido,”Fredericksaid,withaconfidenceIabsolutelydidnotfeel.“Idon’trememberMissJamesonwell,butit’sthetwenty-firstcentury,isn’tit?Shecan’twanttomarrysomeoneshebarelyknowsanymorethanIdo.”
Hesoundedsoconfident,butIcouldn’tshakethefeelingthatthiswasaterribleplan.
“Doyoutrustanyofthesepeople?”
Atthat,hepaused.“No,”heconceded.“Buttheywon’ttakenoforananswerbymissive,andI’moutofoptions.”Iopenedmymouthtoprotest,butheshookhishead.“It’llbefine,Ipromise.AndthenI’llcomerightbackhometoyou.”
Myheartflutteredathiswords,despitemymisgivings.
“Ilikethatpartoftheplan,”Iadmitted.
Hepaused,hiseyessuddenlygrowingdarkwithmischief.“SinceI’mnotgoinganywhereuntiltomorrowevening,whydon’tIgiveyousomethingtoremembermebybeforeIgo?”
Hismouthwasatthepulsepointofmythroat,hishandstanglinginmyhairbeforeIcouldevenanswerhisquestion.Allatonceitwaslikethepasthalfhour,andallthecomplicationsandnewentanglementsthatcamewithit,hadneverhappened.
Imeltedagainsthim.
“Thatsoundsgoodtome,”Ibreathed,throwingmyheadbacktogivehimbetteraccess.
Hegrowledhisapproval,thencarriedmeintohisbedroom.EIGHTEEN
TextmessagesbetweenStuartandSullivan,thenightguardsofNapervilleDungeon
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I’dbegunsuspectingsomethingwaswrongwhenIwokeupinthemiddleofthenightandFrederickstillhadn’tcomehomefromtheRitz-Carlton.
Now,though,fifteenhourshadpassed,withstillnowordfromhim.Iwasnearlysickwithworry,andevenmoreconvincedthatagreeingtomeetwithhismotherandtheJamesonshadbeenaterribleidea.
IhatedthatifFrederickwereintroubletherewasliterallynothingI—ahuman—coulddoaboutit.Butitwasunfortunatelyalsothetruth.
Andrightnow,IhadtofocusonmyinterviewwithHarmonyAcademy—which,throughacrueltwistoffate,hadbeensetforthatafternoon.ItoldmyselfthatifIcouldjustgetthroughthisinterviewI’dtryandfindawaytoreachReginaldtoseeifhecouldhelpmefigureoutwhathadhappened.Reginaldmightbeajerk,butIbelievedhedidcareforFrederickonsomelevelandwouldhelpifthereweresomethingwecoulddo.
Moreimportantly—ReginaldwastheonlyothervampireIknew.Ididn’thavealotofoptions.
Inthemeantime,focusingonthefactthatthisafternoonIwasinterviewingforapositionthatcouldpotentiallychangemylifewasawelcomedistractionfromhowworriedIwas.AndhowpowerlessIfelt.
Iexaminedmyselfinmybedroom’sfull-lengthmirrorandfrownedatmyreflection.Thenavy-bluesuitIworewastheonlyoutfitIownedthatcountedasbusinessattire.Ididn’tknowifHarmonyAcademyexpectedmetowearasuittoday,andpartofmehopedthatthey’dwantapplicantsforthispositiontoshowupinpaint-spatteredoveralls.ButSamtoldmeitwasbettertoshowupoverdressedtoajobinterviewthanunderdressed.
Havingminimalexperienceinterviewingforjobswithbenefits,andterriblejob-searchinginstinctsgenerally,Ididwhathesaidandputonthesuit.
Istillneededtofixmyhair,though.Itstillhadn’tfullyrecoveredfrommyhaircuttingexperimentafewweeksago,stuckupinoddplacesintheback,andwasingeneralextremelyannoying.
Imightshowuptothisinterviewlookingandfeelinglikeafraud,butifIcouldavoidalsolookinglikeaMuppetIprobablyshould.
Mutteringundermybreath,Istalkedoutofthebedroomandmademywaytothebathroom,wheremyhairstuffwas.Justasmyfingersclosedaroundmyhairbrushhandle,Iheardaloud,throat-clearingnoisefromafewfeetbehindme.
“Excuseme.”
Ifroze.
Irecognizedthatvoice.ItwasburnedintomymemoryfromthenightIlearnedmyroommatewasavampire.
“Reginald?”
Whatwashedoinghere?Andhowwashehere?Hadn’tFredericksaidvampiresneededanexpressinvitationtoentersomeone’shome?
ButmysurprisemeltedawaywhenIsawhisface.Inthehandfuloftimeswe’dinteracted,IhadseenReginaldlookamused,insolent,andbored.ButIhadneverseenhimlookworriedbefore.
Helookedworriednow,though.
Veryworried.
“I’mconcernedaboutFreddie.He’s—”Reginaldbrokeoff,givingmeaquickonce-overbeforehisnosewrinkledindisapproval.“Whatonearthisthatoutfit,Cassandra?”
“Cassie,”Icorrected.“Andnevermindmyoutfit.WhyareyouworriedaboutFreddie?”Myheartratequickened.“Has…hassomethinghappenedtohim?”
Hecrossedintothelivingroomandsatdowninoneoftheleatherarmchairs,notevenwaitingformetoinvitehimtomakehimselfathome.“Isuspectso,yes.Ihaven’theardfromhimsincehelefttomeetwithhismotherandtheJamesons.”
Itriedtosuppressmyrisingpanic.Hehadn’theardfromhimeither,then.“Andyou’dexpectedtohearfromhimbynow?”
“Definitely.”Reggiehesitated.“Wekindofhateeachother—”
“I’dgatheredasmuch.”
“—butwe’realsoreallyclose.”
ItookintheworrylinescreasingReginald’sotherwiseagelessbrow.Therigidityofhisshoulders.Hisclenchedjaw.“I’dguessedthat,too.”
“Idon’twanttoassumetheworst,”hecontinued.“ButIthinkit’stimeweconsiderthattheymighthavedonesomethingtohim.”
Somyworrieshadn’tbeenirrational,then.“Youreallythinkso?”
“Mrs.Fitzwilliamisaforcetobereckonedwith.TosaynothingofwhatEsmeraldaandherfamilyarecapableof.”Hepausedagain.“Esmeralda’sactuallyatotalbitch,ifyouaskme.”
Normally,Ihateditwhenmenusedthewordbitchtodescribewomen.Inthiscase,though,itfeltoddlyvindicating.
“Sheis?”
“Idon’tknowherwell,”heconceded.“Let’sjustsaytheimpressionshemadeonmeinParisinthe1820swasn’tagoodone.I’mdefinitelygladFrederick’stheoneshe’sdecidedtomarryandnotme.”
EveryinteractionIhadwithReginaldmadeitthatmuchclearertomewhyFrederickfoundhimsoannoying.
Iglaredathim.“You’regladshewantstomarryhim,areyou?”
Reginaldshrugged.“Nooffense,ofcourse.Lookherupifyoulike,”headded.“She’sgotmuchmoreofaninternetpresencethanmostvampiresdo.Hersocialmediaaccountsgiveaprettygoodunderstandingofwhosheisasaperson.”Hepaused,thenadded,“She’sprettydarneasyontheeyesaswell,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
Isqueezedmyeyesshuttight.Ihadtofinishgettingready,andthenIhadtogohumiliatemyselfinfrontofahiringcommitteethatwouldprobablynevergivemeajob.Ididn’tcareifReggiestuckaroundforawhile,butIdidn’thavetimetowasterightnowthinkingabouthowattractiveEsmeraldaJamesonmightbe.
“Ineedtogo.”Igesturedtomysuit.“Ihaveaninterviewintwohours,andit’sfarfromhere.”
Reggiestoodup.“Wantmetoflyyouthere?”
“What?”
“Isaid,”heclearedhisthroat,enunciatinghissyllablesverycarefully.“Do…you…want…me…to…fly…you…there?”
Irolledmyeyes.“Iheardyou.Ijust…wasn’texpectingtheoffer.”Ipausedandadded,“Soit’strue,then?Someofyoucanfly?”
Smirkingatme,Reginald—withoutwarning—startedtofloatofftheground.Herosehigher,andhigher,untilthetopofhisheadnearlybrushedthelivingroom’shighceiling.Allatonce,itfeltliketheroomwasspinning.IthadbeenonethingforFredericktotellmesomevampirescouldfly.Itwasentirelyanothertoactuallyseesomeonedefythelawsofgravitylikethis.
“ItrynottodothisinfrontofFreddieveryoften,sincehisskillsaresolame.”
Ibristled.“Hisskillsarenotlame.Hispineapplesaredelicious,Iwillhaveyouknow.”
Heignoredmycommentandbegantodoslow,leisurelylapsaroundtheroom,stoppingonlytorunhisfingeracrossthetopofthebookshelf.Tocheckfordust,maybe.Hewasclearlyshowingoffatthispoint,butIcouldn’tevenbemadatit.Itwaslegitimatelyimpressive,watchinghimfly.
“You’rewrong,Cassandra.Hisskillsareactuallydeeply,extremelylameinsofarasthesethingsgo.ButlikeIsaid,I’mnotsuchanassholethatIwouldrubmycoolerabilitiesinhisface.Atleast,notmorethanonceortwiceaweek.”
“How…”Iwatched,stillawedinspiteofmyself,asReginaldslowlyloweredhimselfbackdowntothefloor.“Howdidyoudothat?”
Reginaldshrugged.“Ihaven’tthefoggiest.Howdovampiresdoanything?It’smagic,Iguess.”
“Magic,”Irepeated,feelingstupidandslow.
“Magic,”heconfirmed.“So.Wantmetoflyyoutowhereveritisyou’regoing?”
IconsideredtheofferasmuchasmyaddledbrainwouldallowandrecognizedthatReginaldwasbeingsincereinofferingit.ButIdismisseditasbeingabadidea.IwasalreadytoodistractedandworriedbyFrederick’sdisappearancetobeadequatelypreparedforthisinterview.IfIflewuptoEvanstonwithReginald—withoutanairplane,noless—thatwouldlikelyshatterwhateverremainedofmyfocusintothousandsoflittlepieces.
Also,itwasdaytime.Flyingmightbecoolandall,butpeoplewouldbeabletoseeusintheair.Andwhatwouldtheythinkwhentheydid?
“Iappreciatetheoffer,”Isaid,surprisedtorealizeImeantit.“ButIthinkI’lljusttaketheEl.”
Heraisedaneyebrow.“Yousure?”
“Very.”
Reginaldsighed.“Fairenough.”Heinclinedhisheadtowardsmeandmadehiswaytothedoor.“IfyoudohearfromFreddie,couldyoulethimknowhisoldpalisworried?I’mgoingtotryanddosomereconnaissanceinthemeantimetofigureoutwhat’sgoingon.”
Icouldn’timaginewhathemeantbydosomereconnaissance.Probablybetterthatway.“Iwill,”Isaid.“Ipromise.Andifyoulearnanything,couldyouletmeknow?”
Reginaldregardedme,asthoughtryingtomakeuphismindaboutsomething.Eventually,heseemedtocometoadecisionandsmiledatme.
“Iwill,”hesaid.
ThepicturesonHarmonyAcademy’swebsitedidn’tdothecampusjustice.Itwasbigandbeautiful,locatedonseveralwoodedacresofrealestatejustamilewestofLakeMichigan.Therewasasmall,half-frozenpondinthecenterofcampus,withapavedpatharounditthatsuggestedpeoplelikedwalkingthegroundsherewhentheweatherwasn’tquitethisNovember-y.
Idecidedtowearmyonlypairofheelsforthisinterview.Fortunately,theymostlymatchedmysuitifyousquintedandthelightwasn’ttoogood.ButIregrettedthisdecisionthesecondIwalkedunderthearchwaythatledintotheadministrationbuilding.TheyclickedloudlyagainstthemarbletilefloorasImademywaytowardstheHeadofSchool’sofficeformyeleveno’clockinterview,echoingloudlyinsidethehigh-vaultedatrium.
Theonlyothernoisethatregisteredwasthebeatingofmyheart,poundinginmyearslikeadrum.Icouldn’trememberthelasttimeI’dbeenthisnervous.Ithoughtbacktomyownserviceable,butgeneric,highschool.TherehadbeennomarbleentrywaysorartteacherswhofocusedonfoundartbackatCarbonwayHigh
Iwasasconvincedaseverthatanysecondnowsomeonewouldappearinfrontofmeandtellmethey’dmadeamistakeinvitingmehere.
“Goodmorning.”Thereceptionistwasaboutmymother’sage,dressedinamutedgreendressthatmademethinkofaspringdayinthecountry.Thedesksheworkedbehindwasalmostaslargeasthebedroominmylastapartment.“YoumustbeCassieGreenberg.”
Igrippedmypursealittletighter,abeadofsweatformingatthebackofmyneck.“Yes.”
Shemotionedtoapairofplushchairsatoneendoftheroom.“HaveaseatwhileIseeifthey’rereadyforyou.CanIgetyousomethingtodrink?Coffee?Water?”
“Water,please.”Iwasalreadynervous.Addingcaffeinetothemixwouldbedisastrous.“Thankyou.”
Besidethechairswasastackofglossy-lookingbrochureswithsmilingstudentsinmatchinggreenuniformsonthecover.AsIwaitedforthereceptionisttoreturn,Ileafedthroughoneofthem,tryingtoabsorbsomeofwhatIwasseeingandwillingmyhandstostopshaking.
IpulledoutmyphoneandrereadthetextsSamhadsentmethismorning.
Goodluck!!
You’vegotthis.
He’dspentanhourwithmelastnightgoingoverpossibleinterviewquestionsandhowImightanswerthem.He’dtoldmeIhiteveryansweroutoftheparkandthatIwasaspreparedforthisinterviewasI’deverbe.IonlywishedIcouldbelievehim.
“They’rereadyforyou,MissGreenberg.”Ilookedupatthereceptionist,whohandedmeatallglassofwater.“Willyoufollowme?”
Itooktheglassfromher,grippingmypursestrapwithmyfreehandsohardmyknuckleshurt.
TheroomthereceptionistbroughtmetowassmallandmuchmorecasuallydecoratedthananythingI’dseensofarthismorning.Therewasnothingonanyofthewallsotherthanaframedoilpaintingofavaseofsunflowersandalargewindowoverlookingthegrassymeadowbehindtheschool.
“Haveaseat.”AwomanIrecognizedfrommyinternetresearchasCressidaMarks,HeadofSchool,satsmilingatoneendofasmall,rectangulartable.TwootherpeopleIdidn’trecognizeweresittingbesideher.Oneofthemlookedaboutmyage,withflamingpinkhair.
ForreasonsIcouldn’tquiteputintowords,seeingthatpinkhairinaplacethatotherwiseseemedsoconventionalandaustereputmealittlemoreatease.
Isatinthechairacrossfromthemandplacedmyglassofwateronthetable.
Iletoutaslowbreath.
Icoulddothis.
“Welcome,Cassie,”theheadofschoolsaid.Andthen,turningtotheotherpeopleatthetable,“Let’sstartbyintroducingourselves.”
“I’mJeffCastor,”saidtheguytoCressida’sleft.Helookedaboutfiftyandhadonaplaidbowtiewitharumpledwhitebutton-down.Theabsentmindedprofessorvibeshegaveoffwereimmaculate.“I’mtheviceprincipalforHarmony’sUpperSchool.”
“AndI’mBethanyPowers,”saidthepink-hairedwoman.“I’mtheheadoftheartsprogramfortheLowerandUpperSchools.”
“It’sgreattomeetyou,”Isaid.
“Youaswell,”Bethanysaid.“So.Tellusalittleaboutwhyyouwanttoworkasanartteacher.”ShewasrifflingthroughafilefullofprintoutsofthepicturesI’dsentwithmyapplication.MybeachlandscapesfromSaugatuck.ThepieceIsubmittedtotheRiverNorthGalleryartexhibition.“It’sclearfromyourportfoliothatyouhaveaveryspecificvision,andthatyouarecommittedtoacareerinthearts.Whykids,though?That’sthepiecewe’remissing.”
Itwasatoughquestion,butafairone.Myrésuméwaslong,butmyexperiencewithkidswasmostlylimitedtoartnightsinthelibrary.IfI’dbeenaskedtointerviewanewartteacher,andsomeonewalkedinthedoorwithmycredentials,I’dasktheexactsamething.
Fortunately,Iwasreadyforthis.
“Iworkatalibraryrightnow,”Ibegan.“OnTuesdaynightswehaveanartnight,whereparentsdropofftheirkidsandwespendtwohoursmakingthingswiththem.”Ipaused,thinkingbackonthelastarteventwe’dhosted.“I’vefounditincrediblyrewardingtohelpkidswhomightnototherwisehaveexposuretoartisticformsofexpressionrealizetheirvisionsthroughpaintandmodelingclay.”
BethanyandJeffeachjotteddownafewnotes.CressidaMarksleanedforwardalittleoverthetable,handsclaspedtogetherinfrontofher.“Whyhaven’tyouthoughtofteachingartbefore?”
Iconsideredthat.WhenI’dpracticedinterviewquestionswithSamlastnight,we’dagreedthisonewouldlikelycomeup.TheanswerweagreedI’dgive,though—thatI’djustbeenwaitingfortherightteachingopportunitytocomealong,thatHarmonyAcademywasthefirstschoolIthoughtmightbeagoodfit—didn’tfeelright,nowthatIwashere.
Foronething,itwasalie.I’dappliedtoseveralteachingpositionsoverthepastfewyearsandwasrejectedbyeachofthem.
Foranother,sittingthereinthatsparselyfurnishedconferenceroom,withthreepeoplewhomightbemycoworkerssoon—ifallwentwell—abetteranswerfinallycametome.
“Ididn’tthinkanyschoolwouldhaveme.”
ThatcausedBethanytolookupfromhernotepad.
“Whyisthat?”sheasked.
WewereoffthescriptSamandIhadrehearsed,butthatdidn’tmatter.Iknewtheanswerallthesame.
“Myartisn’tconventional.”Igesturedtothecopyofmyportfoliointhecenteroftheconferenceroomtable.“Idon’tpaintprettypicturesormakecoffeemugsonthepotter’swheelthatpeoplecanbuyfortheirsistersatChristmas.Itaketrash,ephemera—thingsotherpeoplethrowaway—andturnthemintosomethingbeautiful.”Ishookmyhead.“Ididn’tthinkmyvisionfitinwiththekindsofthingskidsweretaughtinartclasseswhenIwasinschool.”
“Butyoudecidedtogoforitwithus,”Cressidasaid.“Whatmadeyouchangeyourmind?”
Iponderedthatamoment.Whatdidmakemechangemymind?
Suddenly,Iknew.
Frederick,inourlivingroom,tellingmehecouldseethatIbroughtareal,uniquevisiontomywork.Theaweinhisvoiceashesaidthewords.Thelookinhiseyeswhenhetoldmethatanyonewhorefusedtohiremewasafool.
“IrealizedthatI’mgood,actually.”Ismiledandsatupalittlestraighterinmychair.“AndthatHarmonywouldbeluckytohaveme.”
Allthreeofthemnoddedalittle.Thewomanwiththepinkhairjotteddownafewnotes.Astheycontinuedtoaskmequestionsaboutmycareergoalsandmyrésumé,Istartedworryingwhetherthatanswerhadbeenwhattheywerelookingfor.Butatleastitwasthetruth.
Andeitherway,therewasnotakingitbacknow.
“Doyouhaveanyquestionsforus?”Jeffasked,closingthefolderhe’dbeenconsultingthroughouttheinterview.Hehadawarm,invitingvoicethatputmeateasedespitemyroilingnerves.
IthoughtovereverythingSamandIhadtalkedabout,tryingtofilteritallthroughthegroundthisinterviewhadalreadycovered.
“Ido,”Isaid.“I’dliketohearmoreaboutwhatI’llbeteachinghere.WhatcanyoutellmeaboutthekindsofartsprogrammingyouhavehereatHarmony,andwheremyclasseswouldfitintothat?”
“Icanspeaktothat.”Bethanysetdownmyportfolioandfoldedherhandsneatlyinfrontofheronthetable.“HereatHarmonywetakenurturingstudents’artisticexpressionveryseriously.Fromkindergartenthrougheighthgradestudentsareexposedtovisual,musical,orliteraryartseveryday.BythetimestudentsareintheUpperSchool—orhighschool,asit’sknowninthepublicschools—studentsselectoneoffourdifferentarttracksthattheypursueallfouryears.”
“Forsomestudents,theartistictracktheypursuemaybemusic,”Jeffclarified.“Forothers,itmaybetheater,orcreativewriting.UpperSchoolstudentswhoselectthefourthtrack—visualarts—wouldbetheonesinyourclasses.”
“HarmonyAcademyisproudofallfourofitsartisticexpressiontracks,”CressidaMarkssaid,glancingathercolleagues.Theynodded.“Thatsaid,ourvisualartstrackhastraditionallyhadtheleastadventurousanddiverseofferings.”
Iwasn’tsurewhatshemeantbythat.“Leastadventurousanddiverse?Howdoyoumean?”
“Historically,alotofourvisualartsclasseshavecoveredthesortsofthingsyousaidearlierthatyoudon’tdo,”Bethanysaid,glancingathercolleagues.“Paintingwatercolorstilllifes.Arthistoryclassescoveringthefamouspaintingsyou’dfindintheArtInstituteofChicagoortheLouvre.Lessonsonthepotterywheel.AndwhileanyUpperSchoolvisualartsprogramworthitssaltmustcoverthesethings,webelievewedoourstudentsadisserviceifwestopthere.”
“Andthat,”Cressidasaid,“iswhywewantedtointerviewyouforthisposition.WearelookingforartteacherswhothinkaboutartininnovativewaysandareexcitedaboutsharingtheseinnovationswithourUpperSchoolkids.”
Allthreeofthemlookedatme,asthoughgaugingmyresponsetowhatthey’djustsaid.Mymindwasgoingamileaminutetryingtoprocesseverything.
Whattheyweredescribingsounded…
Well.Itsoundedperfect.Like,too-good-to-be-trueperfect.
“Thatsoundsincredible.”Ididn’tknowifIshouldbeplayingmygenuineexcitementclosertothechestthanthis,butIcouldn’thelpit.
Cressidasmiled.“We’regladyouthinkso.”
“Let’sgoonatouroftheUpperSchool,”Jeffsuggested.“Wecantakeyoutotheartstudiosandshowyouwhereyou’dbeteachingifyoujoinusinthefall.”
Thathadtobeagoodsign.
Igrinnedatthem,unabletohelpmyself.“Thatsoundsgreattome.”
Myexcitementoverhowwellmyinterviewwentwasshort-lived.
WhenIgotbackhomeandtherewasstillnosignofFrederick,allmyworryfromearlierinthedaycamerushingback.IcheckedmyphoneandsawIhadnomessagesfromReginald,either,whichonlyheightenedmyanxiety.
Truecrimedocumentariesweren’tmyfavoriteflavorofsketchytelevision,butIknewenoughaboutkidnappingandmurdercasestoknowthatthelongeryouwentwithoutnews,thegreaterthechancesthatthenewsyouultimatelygotwouldn’tbegood.
OnawhimthatIrecognizedasaterribleideaevenasitoccurredtome,ItookoutmylaptopandGoogledEsmeraldaJameson.IfshehadasmuchofaninternetpresenceasReginaldhadimplied,maybelookingherupwouldgivemesomeclues.
Reginaldhadn’teventoldmethehalfofit.GooglebroughtupsomanysearchresultsforEsmeraldaJamesontherewasnopossiblewayoflookingthroughthemallabsentaseriousobsessionwithherIwasuninterestedindeveloping.
ThetopsearchresultwasalinktoherInstagram.Thatseemedlikeasgoodaplacetostartasany.
Immediatelyafterclicking,thevery-bad-idea-nessofthisplancamecrashingdownonmelikeaDobermanonaplateofhamburgers.I’dbeenpreparedforEsmeraldatobebeautifulandflawless,inthesamewaysort-of-but-not-quite-ex-girlfriendsofhotguysusuallytendedtobe.ButnothingcouldhavepreparedmeforthepicturesIwaslookingatnow.
Ididn’tknowifvampireseverworkedassupermodels.Iftheydid,EsmeraldaJamesonwouldhavebeenreallygoodatherjob.Shewaseasilysixfeettall,withlegsfordaysandafigurethatmademequestionmyownheretoforestraightsexuality.Herlatestpictureshowedherinabikinithatwasnotableforwhatitdidn’tcover,recliningonaloungechairbeneathabeachumbrellathatkepthercompletelyintheshade.Accordingtothecaption,ithadbeentakensomewhereonMaui.Herlong,darkhairwasartfullyarranged,coveringherbare,olive-tonedshouldersandhalfofherangularface.
IclickedthroughtherestofherInstagram.TherewerepicturesofEsmeraldabeingstunninginSwitzerlandinaskioutfit.PicturesofherprettilyexaminingaflowerinoneofthelargestgardensIhadeverseen.
HereIaminCostaRica,swimmingwithturtles.
ItissobeautifulandpeacefulhereintheAndes.
Mygardenathomeneedstending.Theflowersherearebeautiful,butIcannotwaittobebackhomeagainamongmypeonies.
Therewerenofunnypersonalstoriesorwittyhashtags.Nothingtoreallygivemeasenseofwhatshewaslikeasaperson.Esmeraldahadoveronehundredthousandfollowersanyway—probablypeoplewhowereascaptivatedbyherbeautyasIwas.
Andthen,Isawapostthatnearlystoppedmyheart.
HereIamwithFrederick,myfiancé.Isn’thehandsome?
Itwasagrainypicture,takenfromadistanceandlateatnight.EsmeraldastoodbesideablackstretchlimousineasshehelpedFrederickintothebackseat.Ifithadn’tbeenforthecaption,itwouldhavebeendifficulttomakeouthisfeaturesenoughtorealizeitwashim.ButnowthatIwasreallylooking,therewasnoquestionthatitwas,infact,thesameFrederickIlivedwith—andhadstartedfallinginlovewith.Theangleofhisjaw,hisdarkhair,thewayhetiltedhisfaceawayfromthestreetlights…
Itwas,beyondashadowofadoubt,him.
Thepostwasmadeatteno’clockthepreviousnight.
Iclosedmyeyesandslammedmylaptopshut.Icouldallbutfeelmyheartbreaking.
ItwaspossibleReginaldwasrightandsomethinghadhappenedtohim,ofcourse.Butthosepicturesdidn’tlie.EsmeraldawaseverythingCassieGreenbergwouldneverbe.Tall,beautiful,self-possessed—andimmortal.
He’dtoldmethathewasintome.He’dactedlikeit,too.ButwhatifmeetingupwithEsmeraldahadremindedhimofallhe’dbemissingifhestayedwithahumanlikeme?Surelysomeonelikeher—someonewhowouldn’tshrivelupandageandeventuallydie—hadtobemoreappealingthanasemi-employedartistwithfewskills,andwithafewmoredecadesleftinheratmost.
Butthenamomentlater,myphonepingedwithnewtextsfromanunknownnumber.
Cassandra.It’sReginald.
FrederickisinBIGtrouble.
Heneedsourhelp.
MeetmeatGossamer’sinanhourandI’lltellyoueverything.NINETEEN
LetterfromMr.FrederickJ.FitzwilliamtoCassieGreenberg,datedNovember17,confiscatedandunsent
MydearestCassie,
Ithasbeennearlytwenty-fourhourssinceIlastsawyou.Inthattime,Ihavewrittenyouthreeletters—though,ifwhattheguardtomycelljusttoldmeistrue,noneofthemhavemadeitoutofthisdungeon.IshallcontinuetowriteyoueverydayIremainimprisoned,however—bothbecauseithelpsgroundmeinthehereandnow,inaplacewheretimehasnomeaningandonehourbleedsintothenext,andbecausewhoknows?Maybeeventuallythecourierwilltakepityonmeandferretatleastoneofmylettersoutofthisplacebeforeitisnoticedbymycaptors.
Tomakealongstoryshort:theJamesonshavenottakenmyrefusaloftheirdaughterwell.Mymothermusthavewarnedthemofmyintentions,becauseuponmyarrivalattheRitz-Carltonapairofincrediblystrongandscary-lookingvampireswerewaitingforme.ItriedrepeatedlytotellthemthatIhadnoreasontobelieveEsmeraldawasanythingbutaperfectlylovelywoman—thattheissuewaswithme,nother—buttheydidn’tseemterriblyinterestedintalking.
AndnowIsit,imprisonedinadungeoninNaperville,Illinois,ofallplaces.EveryfewhoursoneofmyguardsasksmeifIhaverelentedandifIwillagreetomarryMissJameson.EachtimeItellthemthatmyanswerhasnotchanged
AsyouandIhavediscussed,IknowwhatmylifewouldbewereItomarryMissJameson.ItisalifeIactivelyrejectedwhenIcametoChicagoallthoseyearsago.Mymeetingyouonlyfurthersmyresolvenottogiveintomycaptors’wishes.IremainhopefulthatifIseeMissJamesonagainImayspeakwithheraboutthesituationandconvincehertocometoanunderstanding.Shewasunwillingtotalklastnight—butthen,she’dalsobeenunderthewatchfuleyesofherparents.
Thatsaid,allthingsconsideredIhavebeentreatedbetterthanIexpected.Theydorequiremetoeatthewaythoseofourkindtypicallydo(anastybusinesswhichItryanddispensewithaspainlesslyaspossibleforallinvolved)—butatleasttheyarefeedingme.Ialsohavearelativelycomfortablebed,aswellasafewbooksandrecordingsofAmericansituationcomediesfromthe1980s.Idonotlikethosenearlyaswellastheprogramswehavewatchedtogether(severalofthemseemtoinvolveatalkingcar,forexample,aconceptsoridiculousastodefybelief).ButasfarasIcantellthisdungeonhasnoWiFi,somyentertainmentoptionsareverylimited.
ImissyoumorethanIcanadequatelyexpressinaletter.IhopethatIamsomehowabletotellyouthisinpersonverysoon.
Yours,
Frederick
IstaredatReginald,strugglingtoprocesswhathewastellingme.
“Youhavetobejoking,”Isaid.
Reginaldshookhishead.“IfIwerejoking,I’dhavesaid,‘Apiratewalksintoabarwithasteeringwheelonthefrontofhispants.Thebartendersays,Sir,areyouawareyouhaveasteeringwheelonthefrontofyourpants?Andthepiratesays,Aye,andit’sdrivingmenuts.’?”
Theroomspun.Myheadspun.Thiscouldn’tbehappening.
“I’msorry,but…what?”
“Nevermind,”Reginaldsaid.HepickedupthedecoyWeAreLivelyhe’dorderedfromGossamer’sbaristaandpretendedtosipfromitbeforesettingitbackdownagain.“Ijustmeanthat,no,I’mnotjoking.”
Hiseyesbetrayednohumor.Foronce,hewasbeingserious.Deadlyserious.
Mybloodwentcoldwithfear.
“So,they’vereallykidnappedhim?”
Henodded.
“Andthey’reholdinghiminsideadungeonin…Naperville?”
Reginaldgesturedtothephotographshe’dbroughtwithhim,whichhe’dapparentlytakenafewhoursagofromavantagepointoftwohundredfeetintheair.Theywereanaerialviewofanondescriptsuburbanneighborhood.He’ddrawnabigredcircleoverthehousewhereheclaimedFrederickwasbeingheldagainsthiswill.
“Ifmycontactsinthewesternsuburbsaretobetrusted,”hesaid,jabbinghisfingeratthecircledhouse,“then,yes.”
Icouldn’tbelievethis.“Andallbecausehewouldn’tagreetomarryEsmeralda?”
“Alas,yes.Thearrangedmarriagethingisabigdealamongtheoldergenerations.”Hisexpressionbecamegrave.“Ifyou’reunluckyenoughtostillhaveparentskickingaroundthewayFreddieis,defyingtheminthesemattersisasclosetoadeathsentenceasyoucanreallygetinourworld.”
MymindreeledasItriedtomakesenseofthis.Howwasanyofitactuallyhappening?ThiswholesituationfeltlikeabadplotlinecookedupbyaJaneAustenaficionadointheseventhcircleofhell.
“Ijustcan’twrapmyheadaroundthefactthatvampiredungeonsarereal.”
“Theywere,forthemostpart,abolishedamongmostcivilizedmembersofvampiricsocietyshortlyaftertheFrenchRevolution.”Heshookhishead.“TheJamesonsstilldothingstheold-fashionedway,though.Accordingtomycontacts,whenFredericksaidhewouldnotmarryEsmeralda,theytossedhimintoit.”
“Thatseemsabadwaytomakesomeonefallinlovewiththeirdaughter.”
Hesnorted.“Indeed.”
“But…Naperville?TherearevampiredungeonsinNaperville?”Ithoughtbacktothecookie-cuttersuburbI’dvisitedoncebackincollegewhenmyroommateinvitedmehomeforThanksgiving.Howcouldaplacelikethathaveavampiredungeon?
“You’dbesurprisedhowmanyunassumingsuburbshavevampiredungeons,”Reginaldexplained.“HereinChicago,theJamesonsmusthavehadtomakedowiththelimitedoptionsattheirdisposal.Thoughhonestly,hidinghimoutthereiskindofperfect.”Hegavemeasardonicsmile.“NobodyexpectsavampiredungeoninNaperville.”
Hehadapointthere.
“Youknow,”headded,shootingapointedlookoverhisshoulder.“Weshouldprobablykeepourvoicesdown.TheJamesonshaveearseverywhere.”
Myskinprickled.“Really?”Iasked,sottovoce.
Heshrugged.“Probablynot,butI’vealwayswantedtosaysomethinglikethat.Eitherway,Idon’tthinkit’sagoodideaifwe’reoverheard.”
Hehadapointthere,too.NothinggoodwouldcomeofGossamer’sveryhumanclienteleoverhearingthisconversation.
“SothatpictureIsawonInstagram…”Itrailedoff,fidgetingwiththerimofmyWeArePulchritudinousasIrememberedtheimageofFrederickbeinghelpedintothebackseatofastretchlimobyagorgeousEsmeralda“You’resayingthathedidn’tgointothatlimowillingly.”
“Hecouldn’thave.”Reginald’sexpressionturnedevenmoreserious.“Thatmanisheadoverfangsforyou.Thepastfewweekshavebeenanightmareforme,personally,withhowoftenI’vehadtolistentothatgoofballwaxpoeticaboutyourliterallyeverything.It’sbeenembarrassingforbothofus.”Heshookhishead.“Ihavenotseenthepictureyouaretalkingabout,buthewouldneverhavewillinglygoneanywherewithEsmeralda.Especiallynowthathehasyou.”
MyheartsoaredattheconfirmationthatFrederickhadfeelingsforme,evenasmystomachplummetedatthethoughtofhimbeingindanger.
“Sowhatdowedo?”
“Wehavetogethimoutofthere.Ifwedon’t…”Reginaldshookhisheadandlookedoverhisshoulderagain.“He’llbeshippedbacktoNewYorkandmarriedtoawomanhedoesn’tlovebeforenextweek.”
“Cantheydothat?”Iasked,horrified.“Wouldaweddingagainstsomeone’swillevenbelegal?”
Hesnorted.“Wedon’tdothingsthewayhumansdothem,Cassandra.”
Thathadtobetheunderstatementofthecentury.Myfight-or-flightinstinctswerekickingin,theurgetogoouttoNapervillerightthatsecondanddemandtheyletFrederickgonearlyoverpoweringme.ButIstillhadenoughcommonsensetoknowthatbargingintoahousefullofangryvampireswouldbeaseriouslyterribleidea.
Andthen,allatonce,thebeginningsofaplancametome.
“Ihaveoneideaonwhatwecoulddotogethimout,”Isaid.“Youmaynotlikeit.”
Reginaldstaredatme.“Thatsoundsominous.”
“Itmightbe,”Iconceded.“Oritmightjustbelegitimatelyridiculous.”
“Let’shearit.”
Ispunmymugofcoffeearoundandaround,justforsomethingtodowithmyhands.Someofitscontentssloshedontothetable,butIwastookeyeduptocareaboutthat.I’dcleanituplatersowhoeverwasinchargeofclosingwouldn’thaveto.
“HowfamiliarisvampiresocietywithTikTok?”
From:CassieGreenberg[csgreenberg@gmail.com]
To:EdwinaD.Fitzwilliam[Mrs.Edwina@yahoo.com]
Subject:Myterms
DearMrs.Fitzwilliam,
Iwillnotbeataroundthebushwithyou.Youhavekidnappedsomeonewhomeansalottome.Specifically:yourson.IinsistyouandtheJamesonsreleasehimimmediatelyfromtheNapervilleDungeon.IfyoudoNOTlethimgowithintwenty-fourhours,IwillbeforcedtogoonTikTokandtelltheentireworldthatvampiresarereal!!
Ilookforwardtoyourimmediateresponse.
CassieGreenberg
IrereadmyemailtoFrederick’smother,tryingtoworkupthenervetohitsend
“Yourplanisn’tridiculous,”Reginaldsaid.“It’sbrilliant.”
“Youthinkso?”
“Ido.”
“Willitwork?”
Reginaldhesitated.“Maybe.”Hestoodbehindme,leaningovermychairashereadtheemailI’djustdrafted.Aroundus,Gossamer’spatronssippedtheircoffeeandatetheirmuffins,hopefullyoblivioustothefactthatReginaldandIwereplottingavampirerescueinthewesternsuburbs.“AsidefromEsmeralda,whojustusesInstagramtopostpicturesasfarasIcantell,thesocialmediaphenomenonhaspassedmostvampiresby.Alotofthemarecenturiesold,afterall.Theydon’tpaymuchattentiontocurrentevents.Ifthey’veevenheardofsocialmedia,it’slikelyjustthatit’satooltoday’shumansusetospreadinformation.”
ThistrackedwitheverythingIknewaboutFrederick’sLudditeways.Buttheideathathiscaptorsmightfindmythreatconvincingwasstillhardtobelieve.
EspeciallysinceIbarelyknewhowtonavigateTikTokmyself.
“IgetthatMrs.FitzwilliamandtheJamesonsdon’twantthegeneralhumanpublictoknowthatvampiresarereal—”
“Theydon’t,”Reginaldsaid,bluntly.“Noneofusdo.”
“Okay,”Isaid.“Myconcerniswhathappensiftheycallmybluff.IhavesevenfollowersonTikTok.Iuseittowatchcatvideos.EvenifIknewhowtopostsomethinglikethistoTikTok—whichIonlybarelydo—there’saroughlyzeropercentchanceanyonewouldseeit.”
“Iftheycallyourbluff,we’llcomeupwithaPlanB,”hesaid.“ButIthinkifallwedoissimplyfilmyoumakingaVampiresarereal!announcementandsenditwiththeemail,itshouldbeenough.”
“IwishIbelievedthat.”
Reginaldsatbackinhischairandscratchedhischin,pondering.“Itisn’tasthoughEdwinaortheJamesonswillgoonTikToktocheckwhetheryou’vefollowedthrough.”Heregardedmebeforeadding,“Andtobehonest,Frederickwouldn’tactuallywantsomethinglikethatontheinternetanyway.NeitherwouldI.”
IswalloweddownthefearthatroseatthethoughtthatthisplanmightendangerFrederickevenasIwasattemptingtosavehim.
“Okay,”Isaid,closingmylaptopwithouthittingsendontheemail.“Whereshouldwefilmthis?”
“Freddie’sapartment,”Reginaldsaidimmediately.“Hismomwillrecognizethesetting,andyourbeingthereevenwhenhe’sgonewillsendastrongmessageofBackoff,thismanismine.”Hetiltedhisheadasheregardedme.“Assuming,ofcourse,thatthat’sthemessageyouwanttosend.”
Hehadaknowinglookonhisface,andIfeltmyselfflushunderhisgaze.Becauseitwasn’tjustthatIdidn’twantFredericktobecoercedintomarryingsomeonehedidnotlove.
Itwasmorethanthat.
IwantedFredericktobesafe.
ButIalsowantedhimforme
Ineededhiscaptorstounderstandthat.
“ThatisthemessageIwanttosend,”Iconfirmed.“Let’sgobacktotheapartmentandfilmthisthing.”
Reginaldsmiledhisagreement.Thoughit’spossiblehewassmirkingatmeinstead.
“Thisisn’tgoingtowork.”
“Itwill.”
IstaredatReginaldastheterriblevideohe’djusttakenofmethreateningtoexposeallofvampire-kindplayedbacktousfrommylaptop.
“Wereweconvincing?”
Reginaldfrownedcontemplativelyandmadeaseesawingmotionwithhishand.“Yes?Maybe?Hardtosay.Eitherwayit’stoolatefordo-overs.We’vealreadyemailedittoMrs.Fitzwilliam.”
Isighedandburiedmyfaceinmyhands.
“HumansofNorthAmerica,”thevideoversionofmechirpedwithfalsebravado,Frederick’screepystuffedwolf’sheadwiththeglowingredeyeshangingjustabovemyhead.(“IgotitforhimatDisneyWorld,”Reginaldhadexplained.“ButItoldhimIchoppedoffawerewolf’sheadsoI’dsoundtough.”)“Icometoyouwithnewsofgreatimportance.”
Thevideo-meheldalofttwobagsofbloodI’dgottenfromthesmallrefrigeratorFrederickkeptinhisbedroom,oneineachhand.IthoughtbacktohowhorrifiedI’dbeenthefirsttimeIsawallthatbloodinthekitchen.Itdidn’tbothermesomuchanymore.Frederickhadkepthispromisetome,neveronceeatinginmypresenceorstoringhisbloodinaplaceImightfindit.
Itwascleartomenowthathe’dchosenthemosthumanewaytosurvivethathepossiblycould.
Thevideo-memanagedtokeepfrombroadcastinganyofthesetenderthoughts.Thatparthadgonewell,atleast.UsuallyIhadzeropokerfaceatall.Brandishingthebags,video-mesaid,“Therecentrashofbloodbankbreak-inshaveallbeentheworkofvampireslivinginourmidst.Andhereistheproof!”
Video-mepointeduptothe“werewolfhead”hangingaboveme.“Theybeheadwerewolvesforsport!Theydrinkthebloodofourchildren!TheyliverighthereinChicago.InNewYorkCity.Everywhere!Nocorneroftheearthissafewhiletheyroamfree!”
(“You’regood,”Reginaldmused.
“You’relying,”Iaccused.
“Maybe,”Reginaldadmitted.)
Amomentlater,video-Reginaldburstintothescene.“Mwah-ha-ha!”heexclaimed,hisfangsout,hiseyeswide.“I’vecometodrinkyourblood!”hecontinuedinthecheesiestfake-TransylvanianaccentI’deverheard.Video-Reginaldthengrabbedoneofthebagsofbloodinmyhandandtoreitopenwithaflourish,suckingitdownwithasmuchgustoashehadthenightIfoundouthewasavampire.
Video-mescreamed,andthenthescenewentdark.
Reginaldclosedthelaptopandshrugged.“Okay,soIadmitit’snotmybestwork.Butwe’reonadeadline.Andasyou’venodoubtalreadynoticed,hyperboleandoveractingarethemetaphoricalbreadandbutterofthelargervampirecommunity.”
IthoughtbacktomyfirstimpressionofEdwinaD.Fitzwilliam,inhersatin-silk-velvetblackmishmashofadressandher1970sglam-rockmakeup.“Imayhavenoticedthat.”
“Anyway,there’snothingwecandorightnowbutwait,”Reginaldsaidreasonably.“IfEdwinabuysit,weridetomorrowatsunset.Andifshedoesn’t…”
Reginalddidn’tfinishthatthought.
Buthedidn’thaveto.
IfFrederick’smotherandtheJamesonsdidn’tbuythisruse,IknewfullwellthatneitherofushadaPlanB.TWENTY
LetterfromMr.FrederickJ.FitzwilliamtoCassieGreenberg,datedNovember18,confiscatedandunsent
MydearestCassie,
Ithasbeenmorethantwenty-fourhourssincemycapture,butIbelieveIhavemadeprogresstowardssecuringmyrelease.
IhavespokenwithMissJameson.WhileIamasconvincedaseverthataunionbetweenuswouldbedisastrous,Iamgratifiedforconfirmationthatsheisnotasstuckintheoldwaysasherparents.Whilemyrejectionhasstungandoffendedher,shehasenoughself-possessionandself-worthtonotwantanymanwhodoesnotwanther.Ibelieveshewilleventuallybecomeanunlikelyallyinmyattemptstoearnbackmyfreedom.
Ihopeyouarefaringwell—andthatyoudonotinterpretmysilenceasanythingotherthanwhatitis.Specifically:me,trappedinaterrifyingdungeoninthesuburbswithnowaytoescape.
Allmylove,
Frederick
From:NanmoMerriweather[nanmo@yahoo.com]
To:CassieGreenberg[csgreenberg@gmail.com]
Subject:Yourterms
DearMissGreenberg,
I,Mrs.EdwinaD.Fitzwilliam’sassistant,writeyouonherbehalftoinformyouthatyouhaveleftherwithnochoicebuttoagreetoyourdemands.
Pleasecometothecastlelocatedat2314S.HedgeworthWayinNaperville,Illinois,ateighto’clocktomorrowevening.Shewillreleasehersontoyourcustodyif,andonlyif,youdestroyallexistingcopiesofyourvampireexposéinherpresence.ThemotionpictureyouhavecreatedhasthepowertodestroyeverythingwehaveworkedsohardtoestablishsinceleavingEngland—andwhilechoosingherson’sbetrothedisimportanttomymistress,nothingismoreimportanttoourkindthantoliveinsecret.
Wewillseeyoutomorrowevening.(Also,pleasedonotreplytothisemail.Mrs.Fitzwilliamdoesnotknowhowtocheckheremail.Allofheremailsthereforebouncedirectlytomeand,frankly,Ihaveenoughworktodoalreadywithoutalsokeepingupwithherpettiercorrespondence.)
Withkindregards,
N.Merriweather
“Ican’tbelieveshe’sstillgotNanmodoingherbiddinglikethis,”Reginaldtsked,shakinghishead.“Themanisfourhundredandseventy-fiveyearsold,forcryingoutloud.It’sembarrassing.”
“Yeah,”Isaid,notknowinghowelsetorespondtothat.IwassofaroutofmyelementIcouldn’tevenseemyelementanymore.
“Well,Iguesstheimportantthingistheyboughtit,”Reginaldsaid.“I’matoncesurprised,becausethisreallyissilly,andnotatallsurprised.I’llflyyoutheretomorrowateight.”
“No,”Isaidveryquickly,holdingupmyhands.“I’lljusttakeanUber.”
ReginaldstaredatmefromhisvantagepointonFrederick’sblackleathersofa.“Don’tberidiculous.It’snotsafeforyoutogotothisbyyourself.”
Ipaledatthethoughtofshowinguptothisrendezvouswithoutvampirebackup.“Oh,Iknowthat.Itwouldbesuicidetoshowupatthathousealone.”
“Itwould,”Reginaldagreed.
“IjustmeantifIflytherewithyou,I’llbetoodistractedbymyfirst-everflightwithoutanairplanetobeabletokeepmyheadonstraightforwhatImighthavetodooncewegetthere.”
Reginaldleanedagainstthesofacushionsasheconsideredthat.“Fine,”hesaid.“It’struethatflyingforthefirsttimecanbealot.Sosure.TakeanUber.Butdon’tgetoutofthecaruntilyouseemehoveringintheskyjustontheothersideofthebasketballhoop.”
Ifrownedathim.“Basketballhoop?”
“You’llknowitwhenyouseeit,”hesaid,beforemutteringsomethingaboutsuburbanhellscapeunderhisbreaththatIdidn’tquitecatch.Hestoodupandmadehiswaytothefrontdoor.
“I’llseeyoutomorrownight,”Isaid,tryingtoconveyaconfidenceIabsolutelydidnotfeel.
Reginaldpaused,thenturnedtofaceme,hisexpressionunreadable.
“Pleasebecareful,”hesaid,hisvoicesofterthanI’deverheardit.
Myeyesfeltsuddenlydamp.“Iwill.”
“Good,”hesaid.Andthen,inthemockingtoneIwasmuchmoreusedtohearingfromhim,headded,“BecauseifsomethinghappenstoyoutomorrownightFrederickwillkillmeasecondtime.”
2314S.HedgeworthWaywaslocatedattheendofasmallcul-de-sac,abeige-and-whitetwo-storyhousethatwasnearlyidenticaltoalltheotherbeige-and-whitetwo-storyhousesonthestreet.IthadanAmericanflagflyingfromaflagpoleand—yes,thereitwas—abasketballhoopmountedonaslightlydarkerbeige-and-whiteshedofftotheside.
Onlythetwo-foot-tallstonegargoylesmountedoneithersideofthegarage—andthesix-foot-tallvampiresuspendedinmidairabouttenfeetabovethebasketballhoop—distinguishedthishouseinanywayfromitsneighbors.
Myeyesflickedtotheairbornevampire.
Reginaldhadarrivedbeforeme.
Thatwasgood.
Itwasalsomycuetogetoutofthecarandapproachthehouse.
“Thanks,”IsaidtomyUberdriver.MyhandsshooksobadlyIstruggledtogetthecardooropen.Thenighthadgottencolderintheforty-fiveminutessinceI’dleftFrederick’sapartment.Orperhapsitwasalwaysafewdegreescolderthisfarwestofthelake.IpulledmywintercoataroundmyselfalittlemoretightlyasIapproachedthehousetowarmmyself—andtotryandsettlemyroilingnerves.
ReginaldandIhadagreedIwouldhandlethetalkingatfirst.Thevideowemadeplainlyshowedthatoneoftheirownhadbeenapartofthisplot.Ifthevampiresinsidethishouseknewthatsaidvampirehadcomewithmetonight,itcouldcomplicatethingsinawaythatcouldjeopardizebothFrederick’ssafetyaswellasReginald’s.Theideawasthathewouldstaysafelyoutofsightandupintheairunlessanduntilthingswentsideways—andIneededvampiricintervention.
IglancedupathimagainasIapproachedthehouse.Henoddedreassuringly.Mystomachwasinknots.Avoiceinthebackofmyheadyelledatmetorun,run,getawayfromheremoreloudlywitheverystepItook.
ButFrederickneededme.
SoIkeptmovingforward,puttingonefootinfrontoftheotheruntil,atlast,Iwasatthefrontdoor.
JustasIwasabouttoknock,myheartthunderinginmychest,Iheardsomeonecleartheirthroatverydeliberately,andveryloudly,fromaboutfivefeetaway.
“Excuseme,”thethroatclearersaid.“Butdoyouknowthesepeople?”Thespeakerlookedaboutfiftyyearsold,hismouthturneddownatthecornersinadisapprovingfrown.Heworeawintercoatanddarkfleecepajamapants,andaredwoolhatwithmittensthatmatched.
OfallthescenariosReginaldandIhadrunthroughoverthepasttwenty-fourhours,nonehadincludedwhattodoincaseofnosyneighborinterference.Butitlookedlikewe’drunthroughonescenariotoofew.
“I…Idon’tknowthem,”Istammered.“Or,rather—Iknowwhotheyare.ButIdon’tknowthemknowthem,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
“Hm.”Theman’sdisapprovingfrownturnedintoanoutrightscowl.“You’reheretobuydrugs,Iassume.”
Myeyeswidened.“Ibegyourpardon?”
Themanpointedtothewindowsonthefrontofthehouse.ForthefirsttimeIrealizedtheywereallcoveredupwithdarksheetsofplastic.“They’veblackedoutallthewindows,theynevercomeoutduringtheday,andallmannerofweirdosgoinandoutofthishouseallnightlong.”Hecountedouteachofhisneighbors’perceivedcrimesagainstsocietyonlong,outstretchedfingers.“Idon’tknowwhereyoucomefrom,butaroundherethatpointstojustonething.”
Ipaused,waitingforhimtotellmewhatthatonethingwas.Whenallhedidwaslookatmewithaself-satisfiedsmirk,Iguessed,“Doesitmean…drugs?”
“Itmeansdrugs,”heconfirmed.
“Idon’tknowanythingaboutthat,”Isaidveryquickly,grapplingforaplausiblereasonformybeingtherethatwouldmakethisguygoaway.“Ijust…I’mjustherebecause…”Ilickedmylips—andsaidthefirstthingthatpoppedintomyhead.“Becauseoftheirinternetbill.”
Ididn’thavetolookuptoknowthatReginaldwasrollinghiseyesatmesohardtheywereindangeroffallingoutofhishead.
Incredibly,themanseemedtoacceptmyexplanation.“Itdoesn’tsurprisemethatpeoplelikethesewouldfallbehindontheirbills,”hemuttered.
“Exactly,”Isaid,tryinghardtomusteralaugh.Itcameoutasmoreofalaugh-sob.
Heclappedmeontheshoulder,winkedatmeinawaythatwouldinanyothercircumstancesbethecreepiestthingtohavehappenedtomethatday,andsaid,“Keepupthegoodwork,hon.”
Ashewanderedoffbacktohisownbeige-and-whitetwo-storyhouse,Iclosedmyeyesandtookseveraldeepbreaths.Ihadtocalmdown.Ihadn’tevendoneanythingyetandIfeltsecondsawayfromburstingoutofmyownskin.
IchancedonemoreglanceupatReginald.Henoddedandflashedmeadoublethumbs-up.
Itwastime.
“Heregoesnothing,”Imurmuredundermybreath,andknockedonthedoor.
PartofmehadhopedFrederickwouldbetheonetoanswermyknock.Butwhenthedooropened,Iwasn’tsurprisedtoseeMrs.Fitzwilliam—pale-faced,withnogarishmakeupthistime—standingontheotherside.
Shedidn’tinvitemein.Shealsodidn’tmincewords.
“Didyoubringitwithyou?”Sheglaredatme,onehandonherhip,theotherfanningherfaceasifthecoldnightairthatwascuttingrightthroughmywintercoatwastoowarmforher.
NowthatIwasthere,Icouldn’thelpbutwonderwhetherEdwinaFitzwilliammighthavebeenadifferentkindofpersonbeforeshe’dturned.Hadshebeenagood,kindparenttoFrederickwhenhewassmall?Ihopedso.IhatedtheideaoflittleFrederickgrowingupinahomewithsomeonelikethisashismother.
Ipattedthefrontpocketofmyjeans,whereI’dstashedmycellphonebeforegettingintheUber.“Yes.”
“Let’sseeit.”
Ifishedoutmyphoneandpulledupthephotosapp.“It’srighthere,”Isaid,beforehittingtheplaybutton.
Myvoicerosetinnilyfrommyphone,andittookeverythingIhadnottocringerightoutofmyskeletonatthesightofmegesticulatingwildlyinFrederick’slivingroomwithabagofdonatedbloodineachhand.Somehowthecliplookedevenmoreridiculoushere,onmyphone,infrontoftheverypersonI’dhopedtothreatenwithit.
ButitseemedtohaveaprofoundeffectonFrederick’smotherallthesame.Sherecoiled,horror-struck.HershakingpalmswenttohercheeksasshewatchedthevideoofmewarningeveryoneoftheloomingNorthAmericanvampirethreat.
Ipocketedmyphonewhentheshortclipended.Frederick’smothershrankawayfromme,inchingherwaybackinsidethehouse.
“Ifweagreetobreaktheengagementandlethimgo,”shebeganinawhisperyvoice,herhandflutteringatherthroat,“willyoudestroythat?”
Shelookedterrified.Fortunatelyforme,though,thiswastheeasiestbargainI’devermade.“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
“Righthere,”Ioffered.“Rightinfrontofyoureyes.”
Shenodded,butonlyappearedpartlymollified.“Nanmotellsmeitispossibletomakecopiesofthingslikethis.Doyoupromisetodestroyallothercopiesifwereleasemyson?AndtonotputitontheTikToks?”
“Thisistheonlycopy,”Iassuredher.“WhenIdeleteitfrommyphonenooneelsewilleverbeabletoseeit.”IpausedandtriedtokeepastraightfacewhenIadded,“IpromiseyouIwillneverputitontheTikToks.”
Shehesitated,asifunsurewhethertobelieveme.Andthen,afterwhatfeltlikeentireminutes,shedrewadeepbreath.
“Ifyouarelyingtome,”shebegan,“wewillhuntyoudownlikethedogyouare.”
Thedoorslammedinmyface.
IlookedupatReginald,whoworeawaryexpression.
“I’mcomingdown,”hesaid,floatingtothegroundasthoughbeingloweredbyaninvisiblerope.“Ithinksheboughtit,but—”
Beforehecouldfinishhisthought,thedooropenedagain.
TherewasFrederick,dressedinthesameclotheshe’dlefttheapartmentinafewnightsagowhenhewenttotherendezvousattheRitz-Carlton.Myeyesrovedoverhim,takingineveryinchofhim—fromthedisheveledwayhishairfellacrosshisforehead,tothewhitelong-sleevedT-shirtthatclungtohisbroadshoulderslikehewasborntowearnothingelse.
Hisgazeboredintomine,asthoughhewereasunabletostoplookingatmeasIwastostoplookingathim.Helookedevenpalerthanusual,withdarkcirclesringinghiseyesI’dneverseentherebefore.Buthewashere,andhewaswhole,andhewasbeamingatmewithalookofsuchtendernessandwonderIfeltfoolishforeverhavingdoubtedhisfeelings.
“Youcame,”hesaid,hoarsely.Hiseyeswerewide,incredulous.“Youbrilliantwoman.”
Relieffloodedmeatthesoundofhisvoice.Inodded,nottrustingmyselftospeak.
“Aren’tyougonnacallmebrilliant?”Reginaldpoutedfromsomewherebehindme.“Ihelpedtoo.”
“AndyouevenhadtoputupwithReginaldwhileyoudidit,”Fredericksaid,ignoringhim.Hemovedtowardsmefromwherehestoodintheentryway,reachingforme.Aftergoingdayswithouthistouch,Frederick’sembracewaslikecominghome.Ifeltbothrootedtothespotandsecondsawayfromfallingtothegroundasheheldme,hisbroadcheststeadybeneathmycheek,hishandsachillycounterpointtothewarmthofmywinterjacket.
Histouchwarmedmefromwithinallthesame.
“Weshouldgo,”Reginaldcutin,brusquely.
Frederickliftedhischeekfromwhereithadcometorestontopofmyhead.“You’reright,”heagreed.Hepulledbackalittlemoresothathecouldlookintomyeyes.“They’veletmego,Cassie.Butit’snotsafeforustostayhereamomentlonger.”
“I’doffertoflyyoubacktoyourapartment,butIcan’tcarryyouboth,”Reginaldsaid.Headded,smirking,“I’dalsorathernotbearoundthetwoofyoulovebirdsrightnowanyway.”
FrederickglaredathimandwasabouttosaysomethinginresponsewhenIputahandonhisarm.
“It’sfine,”Isaid,veryquickly.“I’llcallusanUber.Itshouldn’ttakelongforonetogethereatthishour.”
Iprogrammedthepickupspotforafewblocksawayfromthevampirehouse,justincase.Noneedtotemptfatesosoonaftergettinghimback.
“Thankyouforsavingme,Cassie,”Frederickmurmured,hisvoicelowandawed.“HowdidIevergetsolucky?”
Ikissedhim,unabletohelpmyself.
“Wecantalkaboutthatlater,”Iwhisperedagainsthislips.“Fornow,let’sgetyouhome.”
Wemostlykeptourhandstoourselvesduringtheforty-five-minuteUberridebacktotheapartment.Frederick’seyeskeptclosing,andthefactthatIcouldeasilyseehisfangswheneverhewasfullyawaketoldmehewastooexhaustedtoglamourusinvisibletothedriver.Ibrushedhishairbackandawayfromhisforeheadashedozed,tryinghardnottoimaginewhathemusthavegonethroughoverthepastfewdaystomakehimthistiredaftersundown.
Bythetimewemadeitbackinsidetheapartment,though,heseemedtohavemostlycomebacktohimself.Hemaneuveredmethroughtheopendoorwayandintothelivingroom,asthoughnowthatwewereherehedidn’twanttowasteanymoretime.
“Wait,”Isaid,whenhemovedtoenfoldmeinhisarms.Iwantedtomoveclosertohim,tolethimkissandtouchme.Tokissandtouchhimback.ButIhadquestionsfirst.“You’vejustbeenheldsomewhereagainstyourwillforthreedays,andbeforewedo…anythingelse,Ihavetoknow.Areyoutrulyallright?”
Henoddedandclosedthedistancebetweenusagain.“Iamnow.”Hisvoicewasfullofsomuchheatandpromisemykneesnearlybuckled.Whenhisarmscamearoundmeandpulledmetohimagain,itwaseasyenoughtotellmyselfthisconversationcouldstillhappenwhileweweretouching.
Irestedmyheadagainsthischestagain,inanapproximationofhowwestoodwhenwereunitedinfrontoftheNapervillehouse.Hestartedrockingmegently,backandforth.Ihadneverbeenfullofsuchutterrelief,andsuchthoroughcontentment.
“Reginaldfilledmeinonpartsofwhathappened,”Imurmured,myvoicemuffledbythefabricofhisshirt.“ButIneedtohearitfromyou.It’stheonlywayI’llbelieveyou’reactuallyokay.”
Frederick’sarmstightenedaroundme.Hesighed,lettinghisheaddroopforwarduntilitrestedonmyshoulder.
“It’sjustasReggiesaid,”hemurmured.“Esmeralda’sfamilydidn’ttakemyendingtheengagementwell.”Hesteppedbackandhelduphiswrists,whichboreangryredmarksIhadn’tnoticedearlier.“InmyabsenceIbecameverywellacquaintedwiththeirdungeon.”
Mybreathcaught.“Theyhurtyou.”
“Alittle,”headmitted.“Notmuch.We’reimmortal,butbecauseourheartsdon’tbeat,ourblooddoesn’tflowthewayyoursdoes.Which,inturn,meansittakesanirritatinglylongtimeforwoundstoheal.”Hegiftedmewithawryhalfsmile.God,howImissedhissmiles.“Mywristswereonlytightlyboundforpartofoneday.Ipromisethisinjurylooksalotworsethanitis.”
Hemovedforwardandwrappedmeinhisarmsagain.Iclosedmyeyes,buryingmyfaceinhisshoulder,breathinghimin.
Somehow,IfoundthecouragetoaskthequestionImostbadlyneededanswered.“Sotheengagementisdefinitelyovernow?”
“Yes.”HisdeepvoicewasasforcefulasI’deverheardit.“Iendedtheengagementdefinitively.Ironicallyenough,Esmeraldahelpedwiththat.Shewasn’tverykeenonmarryingsomeonewhowouldratherrotinasuburbandungeonthanbeherhusband.SheintervenedonmybehalfwithherparentsatthesametimeyouconcoctedyourbrilliantTikTokstrategy.”Hedrewbackandtuckedastraylockofhairbehindmyear.“She’sareasonablewoman,atleastinsofarasanyoftheJamesonsarereasonablepeople.She’sjustnottherightwomanforme.”
Theheatinhisgazewasunmistakable.Iblushedattheobviousimplicationofwhathewassayingandlookedatthefloor.
“Imissedyou,”Iadmitted.ItfeltfoolishtomisssomeoneI’donlyknownforafewweeksasmuchasthis.Butitwasthetruth.
“Imissedyou,too.”Hepaused,thenadded,“Iwroteyou.”Hiswordswereadeeprumblebeneathmyear.Heactuallywrotemewhilehewaskeptprisoner?Iburrowedmorecloselyintohim,myheartsofullitfeltfittoburst.“Igavetheletterstomyguardsandaskedthemtosendthemtoyou.WhoknowswhattheJamesonsdidwiththem,though.Didyoureceiveanyofmyletters?”
MychestwenttightatthehopefulnessIheardinhisvoice.
“No,”Iadmitted.“Ididn’tgetanythingfromyou.”IbrieflyconsideredlettinghimknowhowI’dinterpretedhisradiosilenceatfirst—theirrationalworriesI’dharbored.Butthenhesighed,restinghischinontopofmyhead,andmyconcernsfelttoosillyandfarawaytojustifywithwords.
“I’msosorry,”hesaid.
“Whatdidtheletterssay?”
Hepulledawayslightly,hiseyesdarkandinviting,hislasheswetwithsomethingthat,ifIhadn’tknownbetter,Iwouldhaveassumedwerethebeginningsoftears.HegazedintomyowneyeslikehewasastransfixedbywhathesawinmineasIwasbywhatIsawinhis.
Thenhenodded,asifcomingtoadecision.
“Theysaidthis,”hemurmured,amomentbeforepressingagentlekisstomylips.
Therationalpartofmymindwastellingmethatweshouldn’tdothisnow.Thecircleshestillhadunderhiseyesbeliedhisclaimthathewasfine,andIwasn’tcertainhewastellingmethetruthaboutthoseangryredmarksonhiswrists.
Wealsoneededtotalkaboutwhatwewouldbetoeachothernowthattherewasnofiancéeanymore,andnothingstandingbetweenusbutmyownmortality.
ButFrederickwaskissingmewithsomuchurgency—hishandscradlingmyface,tanglinginmyhair;theevidenceofhowbadlyhewantedmealreadypressinghotandurgentagainstmyhip—thatIdecidedtheseconversationscouldwaitforlater.
“IthoughtaboutyouendlesslywhileIwasaway,”hemurmured,kissingthewordsintomycheeks.“Yourpassionforwhatyoudo,yourgentlespirit.Yourbeauty.Yourkindness.”Hishandsweregrowingrestless,rovingupanddownmybackashislipsfoundtheundersideofmyjaw,whentheylatchedontothesweet,sensitivespotwhereneckmetshoulder.Ithrewmyownarmsaroundhim,pullinghimcloser,notevenrealizinghewasbackingmeupagainstthewalluntilIfeltit,firmandsolid,behindme.
“Ithoughtaboutyou,too,”Iconfessed,relishinginthewayhewaslavishingmybodywithattention.Wewerestillfullyclothed,butthetouchofhishandsateithersideofmywaistsearedthroughmyshirtasthoughIwerewearingnothingatall.“Ithoughtaboutyouthewholetime.”
“Pleasetellmethatyouwillstaywithme.”Hiswordswerebarelyaboveawhisper,breathedintomyshoulderashekissedmethere.“Withyourconvictionsandyourtalents,itisonlyamatteroftimebeforeyourfinancialsituationimprovesandyounolongerneedtopartakeofouroriginalarrangement.But—”
Hismentioningwhatledmetomoveinwithhiminthefirstplacebrokemeoutofthemoment,remindingmeIhadn’ttoldhimaboutmyinterviewwithHarmonyyet.Suddenly,itwasimportanttomethatheknow.
“Youmayberightaboutmyfinancialsituationimproving.”
Frederickpaused,rightinthemiddleofdoingsomethingabsolutelydeliciouswithmyearlobe.
“Hm?”
“Whileyouweregone,Iinterviewedwiththatschool.”Icouldn’tkeepthesmileoutofmyvoice.“Ithinkitwentwell.Nothing’ssettledyet,ofcourse.ButI’mhopeful.”
Heburiedhisfaceinthecrookofmyneckandpulledmecloser.“Ofcourseitwentwell.DarlingCassie—Ineverdoubtedthatyouwouldcharmthemutterly.Thewayyoucharmeveryone.”Hepaused.“Thewayyou’vecharmedme.”
Ilosttrackofhowlongwestoodthereinthelivingroom,holdingeachother.Mymindspun.Maybehe’dbeenrightaboutmeallthistime.PerhapsifIbelievedinmyselfevenhalfasmuchashebelievedinme,Iwouldn’tneedalivingsituationwithstringsattachedformuchlonger.
Butthatwouldn’tchangehowIfelt.
OrthefactthatIwouldwanttostaywithhimevenifpaycheckseventuallybecameamoreregularpartofmylife.
“Idon’tdarehopethatsomeonelikeyouwouldchoosetostaywithsomeonelikeme,”heeventuallycontinued.“Butthatdoesn’tchangehowbadlyIwantyoutostaywithmehere,allthesame.”
Iswallowed.“Areyousureaboutthat?I’mgoingtogetoldoneday.Iwon’tlooklikethisforever.”
“Idon’tcare,”hesaid,flatly.Andthen,withatwinkleinhiseye,headded,“Besides—Iwillalwaysbeolderthanyou.”
Ilaughedinspiteofmyself,thenputmyfingersbeneathhischinsohe’dhavetolookmeintheeyes.Hisexpressionwasfullofsuchpainfulvulnerabilityitstolethebreathfrommylungs.
Inodded.“Iwanttostay.”
Whenhekissedmeagain,Idecidedthatknowingexactlywhatcamenextcouldwait.EPILOGUE
ONEYEARLATER
Iwasjustpackingupmybagtogohomeattheendofthedaywhenmyphonebuzzedseveraltimes,lettingmeknowIhadnewtexts.
Ittookmeaminutetofindmypurseinmyartbag.NowthatIwasteachingfulltimeandneededtobringsupplieswithmeontheEleveryday,thebagIcarriedaroundwithmewasthebiggestoneI’deverhad.Itseemedlikethethinghadatleastadozeninteriorpockets—pocketsmykeysandmycellphonewereconstantlydisappearinginto.
BythetimeImanagedtolocatemyphone,Frederickhadsentnearlyadozentexts.
IamwaitingforyououtsidetheentrancetotheFineArtsbuilding.
IamwearinganoutfitIselectedmyselfthisafternoon.
ThatgreenHenleyyoulike,pairedwithblacktrousers.
Ithinkyouwouldapprove.
OrIhopeyouwillapprove,anyway.
ButIsupposeonlytimewilltell.
Imissyou.
Alaughbubbledupinsideofme.
FrederickJ.Fitzwilliam,agethreehundredandfifty-one,wastextingusingemojis.
Itwasnearlyimpossibletobelieve.
IhavetoputafewthingsawaybeforeI’mreadytoleave
We’vebeenworkingonplasticsthisweek
Somyroom’samess
Giveme15minutes
Imissyoutoo
Ifoundhimwherehesaidhe’dbe,inashadyspotrightoutsideHarmonyAcademy’sfineartsbuilding.Hewasleaningagainstthebrickwallofthebuilding,legscrossedattheankle,engrossedwithsomethingonhisphone.
AsIapproachedhelookedupandgavemeabrightsmile.
“You’rehere.”
“Iam,”Iagreed.Itookhishandandgaveitasqueeze.“Howwasyourday?”
Hegaveaone-shoulderedshrug.“Itwasfine.Boring.Ispentmostofittiedupincommunicationwithourrealtor,whoseemstothinkweshouldbeabletocloseonournewhomebytheendofnextmonth.”Hepaused.“TherestofthedaywasspentlisteningtoReginaldwaxamorouslyabouthisaccountant.”
Agroupofstudentsfrommyafternoonweldingclasspassedby.Theywavedatme,andIwavedbackatthem,smiling.ItwasstillsohardtobelieveIwasinthisjob,withstudentswhorespectedmeandwantedtohearwhatIhadtosay.
WhenIturnedbacktoFrederick,hewaslookingatmewithanexpressionsoheateditwasalmostinappropriate,giventhatwewerenotonlyatmyplaceofemploymentbutalsoinfrontofawholebunchofkids.
“Reginaldhasanaccountant?”Iasked,pushingthestrapofmybagupalittlehigheronmyshoulder.“Really?”
“Soitwouldappear.”
“Why?”
“Ittakesalotofexpertisetomanagewealththatbeganaccruingtwohundredyearsago.”Hegavemealopsidedsmile.“Reginaldhasneverhadaheadforbusiness—thatshouldbenosurprise—butovertheyearshehasamassedafortunemorethanlargeenoughtosubsidizehislifestyle.Anyway,itappearshehasbecomeinfatuatedwithhisveryhumanaccountant,whichhasledtoalltheproblemsyoumightimagineandquiteafewyouprobablycannot.”
Hewaslikelyrightaboutthat.“Let’snottalkaboutReginaldanymore,”Isuggested.Inoddeddownthehillthefineartsbuildingperchedon,towardsthesmallman-madelakesittinginthecenterofHarmony’scampusandthepaththatcircledit.MyimpressionofitwhenIinterviewedhereayearearlier—thatitwasprobablyapopularplacetogowalkingwhentheweatherwasnice—turnedouttobeaccurate.Itwasafavoriteplacetogowalkingatlunchtime,afterlacrossegames,andonFridayafternoons.“Goforawalkwithme?”
ItwaswarmforearlyDecember,andIwantedtospendalittlemoretimeoutsideenjoyingitbeforegoingbackhome.Theovercastskywouldn’tmakethingstoouncomfortableforFrederick,whowasrecoveredenoughfromhiscenturyofaccidentalslumbertobeabletohandledaytimeexcursionsprovidedtherewasadequateshade.Besides,itwasfouro’clockonaDecemberdayinChicago;thesunwouldn’tbeupformuchlongereitherway.
Tomysurprise,Frederickhesitated,apainedlookflittingacrosshisface.
“Whatisit?”Iasked,concerned.
“Nothing.”Heshookhishead,thenschooledhisfeaturesintoasemblanceofhisnormalexpression.Hesqueezedmyhand.“Awalkaroundthelakesoundslovely.”
ThepathwasmorecrowdedthanusualforaTuesday,withclustersofstudentsandevensomepeopleunaffiliatedwithHarmonyenjoyingtheunseasonablymildweatherwithalakesidestroll.Whilewalkingaroundcampuswasusuallyoneofourfavoritemidweekactivities—Frederick’sabilitytobeawakeduringthedayforlongerstretcheswassomethinghelikedtakingadvantageof—thewalkdidn’tseemtohavelessenedhisearlieragitation.Hevisiblystartledeverytimeaparticularlyrambunctiousgroupofstudentspassedusonthepath,andthefingersofthehandIwasn’tholdingdrummedaconstantstaccatobeatagainsthisrightthigh.
WhenFredericknearlyjumpedoutofhisskinattheapproachofaduckquackingnoisilyatsomethingitmusthaveseeninthegrass,Istoppedwalkingandtuggedonhishand.
“What’swrong?”Iasked.
“What?”Hiseyeswereontheduck,whowasnowwaddlingitsnoisywaybackintothewater.“Nothing’swrong.Whywouldyouthinksomethingwaswrong?”
Hisvoicewashalfanoctavehigherthanusual,thewordsspokenatnearlytwicehisnormalrateofspeech.
“Justaguess,”Isaid,peeringathim.
“Nothing’swrong,”hesaidagain.Hisjawworkedashestareddownathisfeet,atthewater,atthecloudsinthesky.“Ipromise.Shall…shallwekeepwalking?”
ThelasttimeIhadseenhimthisagitatedwaswhenwe’dtalkedaboutmovingintoanewapartmenttogether.Onethatdidn’tfeellikeitwasonlyhis.Onethatdidn’tcarrywithitthebadassociationsofthecenturyhe’dspenttooincapacitatedtonoticetheworldaroundhim.
Somethingwasdefinitelyonhismind.
“Whateveritis,”IsaidinasgentleavoiceasIcould,“youcantellme.”
Heclosedhiseyesonashudderingsigh.
“There’ssomethingIwouldliketoaskyou.”
Heshovedhishanddeepintothepocketofhisslacks.Whenhepulleditoutagain,inhishandwasasmallvelvetbox.
Myheartstopped.
“Idon’thavetherighttoaskyoutostaywithmeforever,”hesaid.Hisvoicehadrecovereditsnormalcadenceandpitch.Iwonderedifhewasstartingaspeechhehadpracticedduringmylonghoursawayfromtheapartmentthepastfewmonths,sinceIstartedmynewjobhere.“ButIneversaidIwasn’taselfishman.OrthatIwasagoodone,forthatmatter.”
“Youarenotselfish,”Iinsisted.“Andyou’reoneofthebestpeopleIknow.”
Hewavedadismissivehand.“Pointsuponwhichreasonablemindscandiffer,Isuppose.ButwhatIwanttoaskyouis—”Hebrokeoff.Closedhiseyes.Shookhishead.“WhatIcameheretodaytotalktoyouaboutis—”
“Youwantmetothinkaboutit,”Isaid,interruptinghim.
Aflockofduckswaddledacrossthepathafewfeetawayfromus,quackingnoisilyateachotherasmyentireworldtiltedslowlyonitsaxis.
Fredericknoddedslowly.“Yes,”hewhispered.
Thenheopenedtheboxinhishand.
I’dnevergivenmuchthoughttowhatI’dwantmyengagementringtolooklikeifIwereevertobeonthereceivingendofone.I’dalwaysfounddiamondstobesortofpretty,butinablandandcharacterlesssortofway.I’dneverbeenabletoimaginemyselfwearingone—onmyhand,oranywhereelse.
Theringthatlaynestledwithintheblack-velvetboxhadablood-redrubyinitscenterthatwasthesizeandgeneralshapeofadimebutwithinterestingfacetscutintoitthatcaughtthesunlightwhenFrederick’sshakinghandsjostleditalittle.
ImayhaveneverthoughtmuchaboutwhatIwantedinanengagementring,butallatonceIknewI’dneverseeonemorebeautiful,ormoreperfect,thanthis.
“IfIsayyes,”Isaid,mybreathingstartingtocometooquickly,“you’llneedtoteachmewhattodo.”
Ichancedalookupathisface.HewasgazingdownatmewithanexpressionIcouldn’tread.
“Teachyouwhattodo?”herepeated.
“Yes,”Isaid.“I’velivedwithyouforoverayearnow,butyou’vebeensocarefultokeepmefromthe…moredetailedaspectsofthings.I’llneedtoknowexactlywhatI’minforifI…”Itrailedoff,tryingtothinkofhowtophrasetherestofwhatIwasthinkinginawaythatwouldn’tfrightenanypassersby.
“Ifyou…?”Frederickprompted.
“IfItaketheplunge,”Isaidbluntly.There.Thatshouldcoverit.Iraisedmyeyebrowsmeaningfully.
Allatonce,heunderstoodwhatIwastryingtosay.
“Yes,ofcourse.Darling—I’lltellyoueverything,”Frederickpromised,hiswordscomingoutinanearnestrush.“I’llshowyouanythingyouwanttosee.If,afteryouseeandknowwhatitwouldbelikeforyou,ifyoustillsayno—”
“Iunderstand,”Isaid.
“AndsowillI,”hevowed.“Whateveryoudecide.Thisringisjustapromisethatyouwill…”
“Thinkaboutit,”Iagreed.
“Yes.”
Satisfied,Igrinnedupathim.Andheldoutmylefthand.
Therubyfeltcoolagainstmyskinasheslidtheringontomyfinger.Onceitwasinplace,webothstaredatit,unabletoquitebelievewhathadjusthappened,untilthesunbegansettinginearnest.
Stillbeamingupathim,Itookhishand.
Hetookmehome.ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Nobookiswritteninavacuum.Mineisnoexception.ManypeoplehavebeeninvolvedinbringingCassieandFrederick’sstoryintotheworld,andIwouldberemissifIdidn’tthankthemnow.
First,thankyousomuchtoCindyHwangatBerkleyforbelievinginme,andforgivingmetheopportunitytowritethekookylittlevampirerom-comofmyheart.Endlessgratitudeaswelltomyphenomenalagent,KimLionetti,whohaspatientlyansweredmycountlessquestions,andwhohasbeenthebestandfiercestkindofadvocate.
AstaggeringamountofworkhappenedbehindthescenesatBerkleytogetthisbooktoprint.Iamforevergratefultomygeniuseditor,KristineSwartz(whoseeditingtalentsaresurpassedonlybyhergreattasteinK-dramas),andtohereditorialassistant,MaryBaker.ThankyoutoChristineLegon,themanagingeditor;StacyEdwards,theproductioneditor;andShanaJones,thecopyeditor,fortheirworkinmakingthisbookreadableandbeautiful.RoxieVizcarraandColleenReinhartcreatedanabsolutelyperfectbookcoverthatI’vebeenscreamingabout(figuratively,butalsoliterally)eversinceitfirstlandedinmyinbox.ThankyoutoTawannaSullivanandEmilieMillsinSubRights;mypublicist,YazmineHassan;andHannahEnglerinMarketingforworkingtirelesslytobringFrederickandCassie’sstorytoreaders.
TherearesomanyotherpeopleinmylifeIneedtothankforbeingthereformeasIwroteMyRoommateIsaVampire.ThankyoutoStarlaandDaniforbeingthefirstpeopletoeverreadsomethingI’dwrittenandtellmethatitwasgood,actually.ThankyoutoSarahB.,Quinn,Marie,Pat,Mateus,andChristaforbeingtherewhenthisbook’sconceptwasfirstconceived.(Ihopeyouhaveforgivenmeforultimatelytakingthevirginoutofthisstory’svampire.)AndthankyoutoCelia,Rebecca,SarahH.,andVictoriaforlookingovertheveryfirstoutlineforthisbookandgivingmesuchvaluableearlyfeedback.
SpecialthankstoKatieShepardandHeidiHarper,whoreviewedeverysingledraftofthisbookasIwroteit.Youarebothabsoluteheroes.YouprovidedsomuchhelpfulfeedbackalongthewaythatIdefinitelyoweeachofyoucakeinthenearfuture.(Possiblyalsoicecreamand/orasix-packofpassionfruitLaCroix.)Ahugethank-youaswelltotheBerkletes,whoareanabsolutepowerhouseoftalent,andwhoseadvicehasbeensoimpactfultomeasadebutauthor.
“Thanks”isn’tabigenoughwordtoconveymygratitudetotheGettingOffonWackergang,whowerenotonlywonderfulmoviebuddieswhenwesaw…um,Cats…inDecember2019,butwhohavebecomeabelovedsourceofjoyandsupportintheyearssince.Shep,Celia,andRebecca,Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithoutyourfriendship,yourcatpics,youroutrageoussensesofhumor,andyourempathy.ThankyoutomyK-dramabuddies—Tina,Emma,Angharabbit,Toni,andBassempire—foryourendlesswit,andforyourtelevisionrecsthatarealwaysawelcomebreakfromwriting.AndthankyoutoTheaGuanzon,ElizabethDavis,andSarahHawley,whosefriendship—andoff-the-recordconversationsaboutwritingandpublishing—havebeenasourceofmuch-neededvalidation(andlaughter)thispastyear.
Myhusband,Brian,deservesspecialrecognitionforhisendlesssupportofeverythingIdo.Thankyou,sweetheart,forsmilingandnoddingencouraginglyallthosetimesIaskedyou,“Doyouthinkmybookisgood?”beforeyou’devenhadachancetoreadit.ThankyoutomymomforteachingmehowtoreadallthoseyearsagowhiledoingMuppetvoices;tomydadforhisblintziesandpancakesonfamilyvacations;tomybrother,Gabe,forbeingawonderfulheadshotphotographerandInstagramtutor;andtomysister,Erica,forbeingthekindestpersonIknow.Andofcourse,theworld’sbiggestthank-youtomydaughter,Allison,forbeingthesweetestteenagerintheworld(despitehernotthinkingI’mallthatfunny).
Finally,Iwanttogiveaspecialthank-youtomyincredibleonlinewritingandfandomcommunity.(Youratsknowwhoyouare.)YouencouragedmetokeepgoingwhenIfirsttossedaroundideasforthisbookonsocialmedia.Youemailedmejokesthathadmecacklinginpublic,andyoulaughedatalltherightplaceswhenthisbookwasnothingbutatweetstringandaprayer.Tothoseofyouwhoreadthisbookinitstrueinfancy—andtoeachofyouwhohavereadandgivenkindfeedbackonotherstoriesI’vesharedoverthepastdecade—itisnoexaggerationtosayIwouldnotbeherebutforallthosetimesyoucheeredmeon.Fromthebottomofmyheart,thankyou.
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Byday,JennaLevineworkstoincreaseaccesstoaffordablehousingintheAmericanSouth.Bynight,shewritesromancenovelswhereridiculousthingshappentobeautifulpeople.WhenJennaisn’twritingshecanusuallybefoundcryingoverK-dramas,startingknittingprojectsshewon’tfinish,orspendingtimewithherfamilyandsmallarmyofcats.
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