The Vampire's Protector

“Your afterlife is because of me, I’m afraid.”

“How so? Did you summon me from the grave? You are a witch!”

She held up both hands, one of which still held the mysterious device containing his image. “Chill, Paganini.”

“I am rather warm in this attire. These are my funeral raiments. I’ve seen people wearing so much less. And you in your odd trousers and shoes. What has become of the gowns the women once wore? Your attire is freakishly masculine.”

She bristled at that statement, but then set back her shoulders, proudly. “I may be a freak, but the clothes are common for women nowadays. The world has changed a lot in a hundred and seventy-five years.”

“One hundred and...” He gaped. Truly, it was well beyond the 1920s in which Mary Grace had been buried.

“Like I said, we need to talk. I suppose I can’t interest you in climbing back into the coffin and letting me bury you again?”

“Are you— That is perfectly ghastly! You are worse than a witch, you—”

“Yes, yes. But since you know witches exist and suspect I am one, I need to set you straight right from the start. Get a load of this.”

She grinned widely, and Nicolo watched her upper incisors descend. They were pointed and sharp and—mercy, he knew what she was. He hated that he had such knowledge of the paranormal creatures that existed in this world. But he did because he’d had far too many conversations with the devil Himself.

And he knew what this woman was. “Vampire?”

She nodded and grinned. Surely the world must be overrun with her sort? For the very first person he should converse with would be a blood-drinking vampire? Perhaps crawling back into his coffin would not be such a terrible idea after all.

No. He was alive. And he wanted to remain that way.

“No,” he said defiantly. “I will not get into that conveyance with you today. Good day, vampire.”

And he strode off down the smoothly paved road, not sure where he was headed, but dearly hoping that his path landed him at the nearest tavern with a kindly serving wench who would take pity on his empty pockets and allow him a drink. Or two. Or many. Drunk seemed to be the only way to handle the day’s events.

Quickening his pace, he tried to ignore the vehicle rolling backward toward him. He had walked a great distance from the cemetery, but he was not tired nor were his muscles taxed. In fact, he felt good. Remarkably good. He couldn’t remember a time during his first life (that’s what he was calling it; how else to term it?) when he’d felt so utterly alive. So vital. So strong.

And he wanted to keep this strength. And figure it out.

The carriage stopped and out jumped the woman. She marched toward him. Petite and very pretty, despite her messy blond hair that seemed to fall in twists down to her elbows, and the terrible clothing that made her resemble a boy. He was surprised at her insistence. And even more surprised when she grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.

“Take your hands off the coat,” he insisted. “It is fine velvet.”

“Yeah, yeah, velvet is cheap nowadays, buddy. Get over it. So the fact I’m a vampire didn’t freak you?”

“Freak me? You mean, you expected me to run screaming from you? I know of your sort, blood drinker. Have never met one, but I do have knowledge of the occult.”

“We call it the paranormal. Vamps, witches, werewolves, demons. All that jazz.”

“I’m not sure what creature a jazz is, but I am aware of the others you listed. Demons.” Nicolo stifled a shudder.

“You and me both.” She echoed his shudder.

“But I’ve always thought vampires—” He glanced skyward where the sun beamed brightly. “Aren’t you supposed to lurk in the shadows?”

“We vamps can do sunlight for a bit. But we still keep our heads down. But, as it probably was in your time, most humans are not aware of us.”

“So you are still not a large part of the population?”

“Large enough. But smart enough to walk in the shadows.”

“Yes, shadow creatures. So you are vampire.” So opposite of what he’d expected. Completely un-creature-like, this woman of the enticing blond hair and blue eyes. Save for those vicious fangs. Best not to rile the creature. He could play nice to protect his ass if need be. “I don’t think you should bite me. My blood may be...off.”

“Off?”

“I did just rise from the grave.”

“Right. Don’t worry, buddy. I’m not going to sink in my fangs. You’re a job.”

“A job—”

“So tell me how you’re feeling after a climb out of the grave? I should probably keep an eye on you. For, uh...possible decomposition.”

“Decomposition?”

“Well, yeah.” She gestured her hands through the air in exclamation and blurted out, “You could be a zombie.”

“A—what? I am not familiar with that term, vampire. What year is it, by the by?”

“2016. So you could be a zombie.” She pressed the tiny box a few times, then held it before him to display yet another painting. “Because zombies are dead things that have risen from the grave.”

The image was of a person. Maybe. Whatever it had been, it was decayed and—flesh was falling off its face and it oozed gore.

Nicolo flinched and made a disgusted face. “That is not me.”

“Probably not. Zombies are usually mindless and gross. They have limbs falling off and look like they just rose from the grave. They also eat brains. You’re...hot. So not zombie-like.”

Again she did something with the tiny device, then turned it toward him. “Here’s the mirror app. Take a look.”

He bent to study the reflection in the silvered surface of the device. Indeed, it had changed from showing a painting to a mirror. Marvelous. And diabolical. And yet...

“That is...me? I look...well.” He tapped his teeth again. They were white and not wobbling in their sockets. “Such a marvel.” His nose, long and with a bend at the middle looked like the same nose. His eyes were gray and clear. His hair seemed longer. As did his face look—well, healthier. Such a handsome fellow, eh?

Realizing he was mooning over himself, Nicolo cleared his throat and stood upright. “Did you say it was you who facilitated my rising from the grave?”

“Inadvertently.”

He quirked a brow.

“When I was inspecting my find, the bow slipped across the violin strings. Played a few notes. But I didn’t do it on purpose. It was accidental.”

“You have the black violin?” Nicolo’s heart thumped once, and he winced at the aching remembrance of that vile instrument.

“I do.”