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Yet, I’m inspecting my face for flaws. My skin is a little gray, my cheeks gaunt and I’m wishing I had some kind of grooming cream for my hair, which has gotten wavier, almost curly in places. I haven’t changed my appearance in centuries, my hair has always been about chin-length and wild and now I’m wondering if it’s appealing to her, if she likes it.
Get a fucking grip. She’s just a whore and you’re thinking about hair gel.
I shake that off and leave the room. My bedroom is located up one of the towers, so it’s a long narrow flight of stairs down to the maze of lower hallways beneath where her room is located. I believe my bedroom was once used as a chapel, and the disciples would have to pilgrimage up the stairs, but I’ve seen no signs of salvation in there.
When I get to her door, the candles on the walls flickering as I pass them, I’m surprised to see it ajar. A wash of fear stiffens my chest and I quickly push the door open, expecting the worst.
Her bed is messy but empty and there’s no sign of blood or a massacre.
I exhale in relief, looking around. I should probably go and find her but instead I go straight for her bags, hoping to find some sort of clue to who she is. I rifle through her clothes, none of which seem appropriate for the mountains, but then again vampires never really need warm outfits. There’s nothing else there though, in there or in her purse. No phone, no wallet.
I see her coat rumpled on the floor and pick it up, finding her wallet in one pocket and her passport in another. I flip the passport open and see her pretty face all serious in black and white overlayed with identity holograms.
Rose Harper.
Born May 19th, 2023.
San Francisco, California.
A true west coaster.
Her wallet gives the same information, except her driver’s license has her address in Newport, Oregon.
I guess she has been telling the truth. I’m pretty good at seeing through fake documents and the like and these seem as legitimate as anything.
The fact that I can’t seem to find a phone though feels odd.
I go through the rest of the wallet, trying to see what I can glean, but it’s the type just made for holding her money and key cards, all under her name as well. The only clue I have is a key card for the Hotel Vertigo in San Francisco, but that doesn’t strike me as too strange considering that’s the city she was born in. Perhaps she has family or friends there and goes back often. Though for some reason, Rose strikes me as a lone wolf.
I put everything back and am about to head back out into the hall when I see a black bag shoved behind the sink’s faucet. I step into the bathroom and retrieve it, looking inside. It’s cold to touch and when I open it, chilled air seeps out. There are blood pills inside, a kind I’ve never seen before, no doubt given to her by the doctor.
Exhaling in disappointment, I shake my head, then I turn the bag over the toilet and watch the pills fall out into the bowl, and flush them down. Now she won’t have a choice.
I go back out into the hall and start looking around for her. I finally find her in the living room, sitting primly by the fire and staring at the flames. She doesn’t seem to hear me approaching and I take a moment to take her in. She’s dressed for our dinner, wearing a green dress with thin straps over her shoulders, making her pale skin glow. Her hair is down, waving around her shoulders and looking like amber on fire, thanks to the roaring flames.
She’s absolutely stunning, the kind of beauty that feels like a punch to the gut.
“Rose Harper of 267 Cliff Street, Newport, Oregon,” I say from behind her.
She whips her head around, caught off guard, her eyes wide and mouth open, hand pressed at her chest.
“How long have you been standing there?” she says breathlessly.
“Not long.”
Then she frowns, realizing what I’ve said. “How did you know my address?”
“I went through your wallet,” I tell her, not ashamed in the slightest.
She looks aghast. “Why?”
“Why not? I like to know as much about my guests as possible. You can never be too careful.”
Now there’s a hint of a smile on her lips, making her eyes dance in the firelight. “I can see that. Why else would you have a demon as a guard dog?”
There’s something that’s been nagging at me for the last few days. “You called that demon the bad thing. You never did tell me how you knew that name.”
I study her carefully but she remains composed. “Doesn’t everyone know that name? That’s what the rest of the world calls it. You can’t keep that thing a secret. You know it’s part of yourmystique.”
