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He muttered, “Good to know that you don’t find my condition so objectionable.”
I chuckled, eager to change the subject. “You do realize that there are some people who don’t believe that the Trojan War actually happened, yes? They think that Homer made the whole thing up to hawk his poems. Can you imagine what you could do to set history straight with just a magazine interview? Are there many vampires out there as old as you?”
“Yes. Homer, for instance, is almost as old as I am,” he said, bemused laughter edging his voice.
“You’re telling me that the guy who wrote the Iliad is a vampire?”
“Yes, and he has been writing all these years. He makes a very nice living out in Los Angeles, working on television shows.”
“If you tell me that Homer wrote for Two and a Half Men, I will throw myself out of that window.”
He chuckled. But I noticed that he did not answer.
“So, where will you go, after you finish here?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Where do you live? Where’s your home?”
He pushed an unruly strand of hair from my face. “I don’t have a home. I move from place to place, wherever I’m needed. I’ve lived all over the world.”
“Isn’t that sort of lonely?” I asked.
“I happen to like my life,” he said, rather haughtily. “I like living in places where a greasy spoon isn’t considered the hub of local commerce and social interaction. I like being able to walk out after ten P.M. and know that something besides a gas station will be open. When I’m done here in this wretched little armpit of a town, I will leave and never look back.”
“You know, we tried putting ‘Welcome to our wretched little armpit of a town’ on the city-limits sign, but we couldn’t get approval from the Chamber of Commerce,” I drawled, nudging him with my elbow as I swallowed the last of my drink. I winced at the biting burn of vodka slipping down my throat.
He burst out laughing, so loudly that I almost didn’t hear the muffled knock at the front door. But Cal’s ears pricked up, and his head swung toward the stairs. The next knock was louder, more forceful. I peered over at my alarm clock. It was almost ten. Only one person would be knocking on my door this late on a weeknight.
I groaned. I forced myself up from the bed, but Cal hopped up with surprising speed, considering his week. “I don’t think you should answer that. What if you were followed home after all? That vampire might have followed your scent if it was strong enough.”
“I have a pretty good idea of who it is, and trust me, it’s better if I just go get rid of him quickly,” I said. Cal’s brow folded in confusion. “I just need you to stay up here, out of sight.”
“You know, you need to make a decision regarding which areas of the house I am allowed in,” he said dryly. “Your indecision is very confusing and could lead to more incidents in which I see you gloriously naked.”
I rolled my eyes as I stalked toward the door. I stopped and smirked at him over my shoulder. “Gloriously?”
“Spectacularly. Deliciously. I can come up with several more adverbs while you’re downstairs.”
“You’re just trying to distract me from the continuing crappiness of this day.” Rolling my eyes, I cursed the existence of confusing, flirty vampires while I trod downstairs. “I will be watching from up here!” Cal stage-whispered.
“Not necessary!” I whispered back.
“At least look through the peephole before you open it!”
I opened the door, and when I saw that lazy, confident smile stretched across my former lover’s face, I groaned. Paul was here now, after months of radio silence, when I had a vampire in the house. I must have been a serial killer in a previous life to deserve this. Or one of those people who invites you to dinner but will only feed you after giving an Amway sales pitch.
“Paul.” I opened the door, just halfway.
“Hey there, how’s my Petal doin’?” Paul said, giving me a sweet, crooked grin. I groaned again. He was using the “I was hoping I could borrow a cup of sex” voice. He knew I had a hard time resisting that voice. He was not playing fair.>I did some quick mental calculations. If he meant “our heads” literally, if he meant that he’d lived during that time, that would mean that Cal was an antique.
I goggled at him, looking so comfortable in jeans and a faded T-shirt. How did he stand it? The constant changes. The blaring technology. The crowding. The increasing selfishness of every generation. How could someone stand the monotony of a million nights and still enjoy mocking my stupid little romance novel?
“You’re counting the years in your head, aren’t you?” he asked, without looking up at me.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. Why don’t you have more of an accent?”
“It became easier, over the years, to learn the modern languages. It’s been a long time since I thought in Greek, ancient or otherwise. It makes me a bit sad that I’ve lost touch with that part of myself. But keeping a bit of mystery, keeping my enemies from knowing exactly how old I am, has its benefits.”
