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“Are we going?” Emily asked.
The spell was broken. I nodded at her. “We’re going.”
I took a deep breath and walked Emily out of the office, where Marcie waited.
“Had enough?” Marcie asked.
“Who was that man?”
“That was Dracula,” Marcie answered.
“Who?”
“That’s what we call him. Quite a package, isn’t he?”
I followed Marcie into the elevator. “Why Dracula?”
“Because, if you want to, he can charm you into doing…anything.”
“And then, suck out your blood?”
“You’ll get used to him, as he’s one of the president’s favorites. Terribly good at making money, he runs the bank’s investment division.”
“Does he smile?”
“When he does, women turn to stone. Well, more like frozen. No, more like melted puddles, if that makes sense.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Next to nothing. If I were you, I would not meet him in an alley under a full moon.”
“Too charming?”
“So, I’ve been told. I believe that in my five years here, he has said exactly ten words to me, which include ‘hello,’ ‘goodbye,’ and ‘which floor.’”
Marcie laughed, and I laughed with her.
“What’s so funny?” Emily asked.
“Nothing, really,” I answered. “After two suckers, you probably don’t want lunch.”
“Pizza,” Emily said. “I want pizza.”
“Luigi’s,” Marcie said. “Three blocks toward the lake.”
“Thanks.”
As we walked away from the bank tower, I looked back up to the top floor, Doak’s office. For an instant, I thought I spotted Dracula staring down at me. My heart jumped. Then, I realized that it was only the reflection of a passing cloud. I told myself I would have to avoid Dracula. It would be safer that way.
Different house, different sounds, different dangers.
Chapter four
ImetSylvesterthefirst time I raked leaves. His real name wasn’t Sylvester. I called him that because he was carrying a huge, fat cat when I met him. Tall, lean, with a bald pate, although Walter had gray hair around his ears. He wore jeans, sandals, and a NORTHWESTERN sweatshirt. I took him for some sort of professor, just odd enough to keep the attention of his students. When I offered my hand for a shake, he declined, pushing up his spectacles instead. It was rude but not as rude as simply ignoring my hand.
“Do you like cats?” he asked after a simple introduction.
“I prefer dogs, but cats are all right—as long as they don’t kill all the birds.”
