La Vida Vampire

No, the werecreatures—the true lycanthropes—were dead. Those not slaughtered outright had died from contracting a virus engineered to kill them. The virus hadn’t harmed humans, and it hadn’t harmed other shifters. Magical shifters lived on.

Two things were sure. I hadn’t felt that kind of magical energy scrape my skin in centuries, and I didn’t know what I’d do if it were real. Correction, if Triton were real and right there behind me.

I walked faster. Not at vampire speed, just faster. The soft plopping sound of steps got closer. Probably a runner. A guy on the Flagler College track or tennis team. So why didn’t he pass me? The footfalls seemed to keep pace with mine. Now that I listened harder, they sounded odd for a human. Sounded more like an animal, and smelled like—

I spun around, and a cat the size of an end table pounced on the hem of my gown.

“Rrryyyow!”

The sound was high-pitched, part scream, part supersized meow that vibrated in my skull. If I were mortal, I ’d be in cardiac arrest. As it was, I clutched my shawl and blinked at the feline who was definitely not Triton. It batted at my hem once more, then sat on its considerable haunches and stared up at me. I stared back. The collarless cat wasn’t fat and wasn’t really quite the size of an end table, just a giant domestic cat with a tail that looked longer than my arm. Short-haired, tawny reddish gold, with lighter fur on its belly and the insides of its legs, it reminded me of a Florida panther I’d seen back in my old life.

I swallowed. Kitty didn’t seem right, so I said, “Hi, Cat.”

Cat stood, stretched, and pranced around to walk in front of me. When I didn’t immediately follow, it shot an impatient glance over its shoulder and curled its tail as if crooking a finger.

First the mind reading, now a magical cat wanted to walk me home? My night couldn’t get much weirder. Cat padded down the street, past the cathedral and shadowed shops. Smack at the entrance to Maggie’s building—not the main bank entrance, but the all-but-hidden one for tenants—Cat stopped, sat, and gave me an expectant glare.

“Oh, nonono,” I told it. “Magical or not, I can’t bring a stray cat to Maggie. In the first place, I don’t know if she likes cats. Plus, we don’t have food. Or a litter box.”

Cat’s response sounded suspiciously like a snort. As if I’d offended it by suggesting it would deign to use a box when it ruled the great outdoors.

I drew my key from the hidden pocket of my skirt, ready to block the door with my foot to keep the cat out. As soon as I began wedging through the entrance, the cat rose and trotted across the street to the plaza. The deeper into the fog it went, the bigger it seemed to grow. A high-pitched, teeth-jarring rrryyyow rolled back through the mist just before its tail flicked out of sight. The essence of magical energy lightened on my skin as the cat disappeared, but I had to be seeing things. Right? The cat hadn’t grown to panther size. My imagination was in overdrive. Stress. That’s all it was.



When you’ve been buried 204 years, the smallest space you want to be in is a car. That ’s why I usually don’t take the elevator unless I’m hauling something awkward like my bicycle or surfboard.

Tonight, though, I punched in the elevator code and spent the ride up thinking that a hot shower in Maggie’s fabulous guest bath would soon calm me. Heck, just being in her condo was a tranquilizer. With fifteen-foot ceilings, exposed ductwork, huge old windows, and an open floor plan, I never feel claustrophobic at Maggie’s. The living, dining, and kitchen areas flowed into each other with only an area rug here, a sofa there to define the rooms.

Neil was still with Maggie when I let myself in. They were cuddled on the marine blue sectional sofa (one of the few non antiques in the place) watching an old M*A*S*H episode on the Hallmark Channel. Maggie muted the sound.

“Hey, Cesca, before I forget, Tom called from the auto paint shop. Your truck is ready, and he ’ll be in by seven thirty tomorrow morning. I don’t have to be at the office until nine, if you want a ride over there.”

“Great, Maggie, thanks.”

I sank into a wing chair she’d found at an estate sale and recovered in blue and tan plaid.

“You look funny,” she said, cocking her head at me. “What’s up?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to go into my misadventures with Neil there, so I sidestepped her. “Nothing. Just tired, I guess.”

“Bull. I just told you your truck, the previously owned baby you paid a small fortune for, is ready to come home tomorrow with a new paint job, and you didn’t so much as smile. What happened on the tour to upset you?”

That Maggie, she knows me too well. And she’d find out what happened through the friends of her friends who ran the tour company if I didn’t tell her. Might as well spill it.

I launched into the recap of Stony and the newlyweds, making light of it. As I spoke, Maggie sat ramrod straight on the edge of the cushions. More surprising, Neil’s expression grew grim.