Page 70 of Eternal Surrender

“Are you stalking me?”

“Do I look like a man who has time for that?” I acted offended.

She pursed her lips and hugged the box, gesturing for me to enter.

I headed on in toward the sitting room. James sat on the arm of a chair, chatting away on his cell.

Ingrid ambled into the kitchen. “I’ll check on dinner.”

Just as I remembered it, James’s flat exuded all the elements of a bachelor pad with its mismatched decor and beige furniture wickedly clashing with the green carpet, a sight hardly saved by the modern light fixtures. Numerous masks screamed from where they hung on stark walls. I was left with the distinct impression James was not only eccentric but also colorblind. Eager to escape the nerve grinding still life, I headed into the kitchen.

Ingrid slammed down the receiver onto the cradle of a wall phone.

I motioned to it. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“It can wait.” She reached for her glass of Chardonnay and took a sip.

The rich aroma of tomato sauce filled the kitchen and something else too, garlic. I suppressed a frown, baffled by the myth that nightwalkers were fended off with an herb.

I leaned against the counter. “Aren’t you going to open your present?”

She shrugged. “You had no right to come here.”

“You’re right, of course. I’ll go.”

“Wait, where’s Orpheus’s grave⁠—”

“So, James?” I raised an eyebrow.

“We’re just friends,” she said. “I’m looking for my own place.”

“Kind of him to let you stay,” I said, wondering if she’d finally caught on that James was quietly in love with her.

Ingrid seemed to pick up on my ruminations. “What’s in the box?” She put down her glass. “Something else to place into evidence?”

“That would be a shame. It’s a rare 1945 Monte Saint Claire vintage.”

Ingrid’s intense brown irises grew larger and that delicate reflex spoke volumes.

A wave of conflicting memories caused my focus to waver and a nagging guilt lingered. I reached for the box and flicked open its two catches, lifting the lid to reveal the red bottle of wine, admiring the label that had stood the test of time.

“Have you seen Alex since we last spoke?” she asked.

“I’ve been in London.”

“Why are you really here?”

I closed the lid.

“Do you really have information for me?” She took another sip.

I wanted to open a window and allow the cool night air in to clear the stifling temperature yet resisted the urge to move in any direction and risk startling her.

“I doubt he’s dead.” Ingrid came closer, close enough for her Chanel to reach me and stir a desire that was ill-timed. “Want one?” She raised her glass. “That’s right, you only drink blood.”

“Perhaps you’ve had too much.”

“Perhaps I haven’t had enough.” She took another sip to make her point. “How come you’re friends with both Jadeon and Orpheus?”