Lily flushed bright red. He thought he saw a wisp of steam waft from her ears.
“This is our new tenant, Lily Chou. And, Lily, this is Sly.”
Eventually, Lily recovered enough to nod in acknowledgement and asked, “So, Mr. Falco lives in the building?”
“Yes, in the penthouse. You might not see him very often,” Sly said.
Jules shifted his weight from foot to foot. “He rides the elevator to the first floor and exits out the back, usually. But if a lot of people come and go all the time, he’s more apt to be discovered and recognized, and then his nice private home could become a media magnet. Just do me a favor and keep visitors to a minimum.”
“My clients come one at a time, and I try not to have too many, but I do work from home. I hope that’s not a problem.”
“No, it shouldn’t be as long as they don’t hang around in the hallways.”
“Aw, no.” She laughed. “They never hang around.”
“Good,” Sly said.
“Everything should go well then. Where do you want your suitcase?”
“In the bedroom is fine.”
“Nice to meet you, Lily.” Sly waved and left as silently as he’d come.
Jules lugged the bag to the bedroom and set it next to the queen size mattress. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it. I just wanted to welcome you to the building.” He stuck out his hand and she looked at it hesitantly.
Eventually, she took it in her hot fingers and gave it a quick shake.Cripes, she’s scorching.And he didn’t mean that in a good way. Jogging across the hall, he couldn’t wait to plunge his hand into his cool saltwater tank.
Morgaine felt immensely better. Stronger. Her panic attack had lasted only five minutes. Sometimes they went on for half an hour and she felt like she was dying. Sweating, chest pains, the whole nine yards. Just now, even with the stress of invading a vampire’s lair, her symptoms were fairly mild and short lived.
She stood, lifted her canvas bag, and said, “For Sly.”
Gwyneth nodded. “For Sly.”
They marched over to the vampire’s apartment again. Morgaine set the bag down and fished out what she needed. She handed Gwyneth the candelabra and a stake. She set the phone on the stoop, grabbed the flashlight, matches, plus a powder meant to unlock doors.
Gwyneth stood to the side while Morgaine positioned herself in front of the lock. She shook some of the powder into her hand, then blew it right into the keyhole. Standing, she closed her eyes, muttered her incantation, and heard a soft click. The door opened a couple of inches on its own.
“I’ll be jiggered,” Gwyneth whispered.
Morgaine put her finger to her lips, tucked the baggie of powder into her pocket, then picked up the phone, turned on the flashlight function, and crept inside.
Gwyneth followed silently.
Morgaine repeated the process at the door just inside. The one they determined would lead to the vampire’s basement lair. After that door softly clicked open, she took the matches and lit Gwyneth’s candelabra.
Gwyneth pointed to herself, then the door, meaning that she wanted to go first. Morgaine shook her head.
Gwyneth nodded frantically, as if insisting.
Morgaine finally acquiesced and stood aside. She supposed Gwyneth didn’t want to be mowed down like the last standing pin in a bowling alley in case Morgaine decided to run. Paralysis was more likely. If she lost her nerve again, Gwyneth might have to yank her out of there.Don’t think about that. Think about Sly. This undead asshole wants to mess with my possible, maybe, future boyfriend. Well, screw him!
Morgaine took the first few steps down to the basement apartment. The air was warm, unlike Sly’s unheated place. Other than hers and Gwyneth’s quiet footfalls, all was silent. At the base of the stairs, an opening to the right revealed a tiny European style kitchen. All appliances and counter space lined one side. She bypassed that and continued down the hall until thick carpet replaced the hardwood under her feet.
Her flashlight highlighted certain spots, but when Gwyneth’s candelabra entered the room, she viewed the entire luxurious living room. They stood on a large, expensive looking, oriental rug over dark hardwood floors. Gothic décor was evident along with a touch of elegance. The room boasted Victorian velvet covered furniture—not imitation stuff, either. Morgaine recognized the large round ottoman as similar in style andquality to the one in the private sitting room at the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum.
Anger boiled under her skin to think about this jerk living in opulence while Sly hid behind a wall in a cold cellar for years. Even now, he lived a Spartan existence in comparison to this, but he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps she shouldn’t have encouraged him to move into the first-floor apartment after all. Maybe this guy wouldn’t have discovered him if he’d stayed in his hidey hole. But that was all a moot point. Hehad locatedhim and Sly wouldn’t run from his daughter’s building—even for his own self-preservation.
Pictures. She needed pictures to remember the layout when all three of them returned to stake Sly’s stalker.Ifthey could find and bottle the cure for his vampirism.
