La Vida Vampire

Exhausted as I was, I decided to walk back along the seawall. Seeing the sailboats at anchor and breathing the cool air would calm me before I studied.

I cut through to Castillo Drive, passing the Mill Top Tavern, where music still pulsed in the night. Just as I reached the sidewalk running past the Castillo de San Marcos—the old fort—someone shouted my name. Gomer, I saw when I turned, loping up to join me. There went my time to unwind.

“Hey, Miss Cesca.”

“Hey, Gom—” I stopped so short, I gave my tongue whiplash. “I’m sorry, I’ve, um, forgotten your name.”

“It’s Holland, ma’am,” he drawled, a hint of a grin curving his lips as if he knew what I’d almost said. “Holland Peters, but everybody calls me Holland.”

Holland. Unusual, and now that he said it, I remembered it from Monday’s witness list. “Good name,” I said, smiling.

“Yes’m. It runs in my family.”

I suppressed a chuckle. “Where are you from, Holland?”

“Well, I was born—” He pronounced it bore-un. “—in North Carolina, but I’ve traveled all over the South.”

“Oh? Doing what?”

“You know, this and that. Fixin’ cars, loadin’ trucks, deliverin’ furniture.” He shrugged. “Mind if a walk with you a ways?”

Evasive about where he’s from and what he does. Noted. Was I in danger? Doubtful. I glanced at the gently rocking boats in the bay. The curse of good manners is that it ’s hard to say no to polite requests. And, hey, I could have worse company. I wrapped my shawl a bit tighter.

“Let’s walk, Holland.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He was quiet as we headed south on the waterfront sidewalk toward the Bridge of Lions. To my left, the seawall was lined with posts called bollards, each bollard connected by nautical-sized chain. The chains weren’t enough of a barrier to keep someone from ending up in the Matanzas Bay, but Holland wasn’t crowding me. If anything, he straddled his side of the walkway.

“Um, Miss Cesca,” he finally said, “I thought you’d want to know, that French couple got off all right. I mean, the weird man followed them, but the house they’re rentin’ is in some fancy neighborhood, so they should be safe.”

I blinked. “How do you know?”

“They told me,” he said simply. “People tell me things, and I pay attention.”

Uh-huh. “That was nice of you. I’m glad to know they’ll be safe.”

“Yes’m. But I wanted to make sure you were safe, too.”

I slanted a glance at him. “I thought you said Stony—I mean, the weird guy—left.”

Holland nodded eagerly. “He did, ma’am, but he could have friends watchin’ you. Or he could come back.” He shrugged again. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

Why did that sound like a veiled threat? Hmmm. Paranoia? I walked just a little faster and asked, “Why would you care if Stony or one of his friends got me?”

He stopped trotting at my side, mouth open in shock. “Because you’re a nice lady.”

“You think I’m a lady?”

“Of course.” A stride brought him level with me again. “And my ma would tan my hide if I let a lady walk home by herself. Especially after someone threatened her.”

I gazed into apparently guileless gray eyes. Psychic shutdown or not, my BS meter was spiking like crazy. Half truths and secrets. That’s what I sensed from him. Then again, I still felt relatively safe, and I was curious enough to see what else Holland might tell me.

“Well, then, thank you for seeing me home.” I paced off again, trailing my hand on the thick ship’s chain strung along the seawall. “So, are you visiting in town or do you live here?”

“I live over in Palatka for now.”

“You take the ghost tours often?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. I wanted to see you.”

I looked up sharply. “Why?”

“You lived history,” he said, sweeping his right arm to indicate the city. “You were here before Henry Flagler was even born, much less before he changed this place with the railroads and big fancy hotels and churches and all.”

Couldn’t argue that I predated Henry Flagler and the improvements he’d brought to St. Augustine, but I didn’t buy Holland as a big history buff.

“And you came back tonight just to see me again?”

He looked away. “No, ma’am. Not exactly.”

We’d reached the corner, and paused for the traffic light to change. He didn’t tower over me, but I had to look up. “Why don’t you just spill it, Holland?”

“The man you call Stony—good one, by the way.”

“Yes?” Pulling teeth here.

“Fact is, ma’am, he’s been in Palatka and Hastings talkin’ up this Covenant thing. Talkin’ about killin’ humans who have dealin’s with vampires, too.”

“Do the authorities know?”

“I don’t know, but I ain’t the one to report him.”

“Yet you’re warning me.”

“Seein’s how he came after you last night, yeah.”