A Quick Bite (12 page)

“Well.” Martine shrugged. “You didn’t think I’d leave you to have to deal with this on your own, did you? My girls helped set him free, so I’ll help you clean up the mess the children have made.”

When Marguerite hesitated, Martine said, “It shouldn’t take long. Perhaps on the way back we could stop for a manicure and do some shopping. Everything here is so much less expensive than in England.”

The tension eased from Marguerite’s shoulders, and she nodded. “That would be nice. Then we can drop into the grocery store. I need to pick up food for the twins for your stay here.”

Lissianna began to relax as the women moved toward the door, then stiffened again when her mother glanced back, catching her with a piercing look. “I know you have to go to work soon, Lissianna, but you
will
come back here afterward, won’t you? I think you should stay here this week so that you can visit with your cousins, don’t you?”

Despite the phrasing, these were not questions and Lissianna—already in trouble over Greg—didn’t want to ruffle any more feathers, so simply nodded a yes.

“Good. I’ll expect you after work,” she said firmly, before her gaze skated to Thomas and Jeanne Louise. “It wouldn’t hurt the two of you to spend some time with your cousins as well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeanne Louise said promptly.

Thomas merely grinned, and said, “You know me, Aunt Marguerite. I’m always happy to spend time with lovely ladies.”

Smiling faintly, she glanced at Mirabeau. “You’re welcome to stay, too, dear.”

“Oh…er…”

Lissianna smiled with amusement, aware that Mirabeau was searching desperately for a polite excuse to refuse the offer. Before she could come up with anything, Marguerite said, “Good,” then turned to follow Martine from the room.

Thomas chuckled. “Welcome to the family, Mirabeau.”

Chapter 8

Greg hung up the phone and sat back
on the couch to stare around his living room with something like bewilderment. After all his fretting over his flight to Cancún, he actually hadn’t missed anything. The flight had been canceled anyway because of technical difficulties…whatever that meant.

Greg had tried to book a seat on the next available flight, only to find out the next open seat wasn’t until Wednesday. It had seemed stupid to him to spend all day Wednesday in airports and airplanes, just for two days in Cancún before his flight back Saturday, so Greg had spent the past half hour canceling his hotel and return flight.

While the last twenty-four hours had been the most unusual—not to mention stressful—of his life, they hadn’t affected his vacation plans at all. Those had obviously been doomed anyway. It seemed fate had something other than a week of sun, sand, and half-naked gyrating women planned for him, Greg thought, rubbing absently at his neck.

His super was the first person who had noticed his
neck. The man had stepped off the elevator with a wide smile, commenting, “Locked yourself out, huh?” Then he’d peered at him more closely, and said, “What’s that on your neck? A vampire bite?”

The man had guffawed even as he asked the question, but—not in the mood for jokes—Greg had merely shrugged the question off as the super had unlocked his apartment door. He’d then thanked him for letting him in and arranged to get spare keys made for both his apartment and the building’s outer door. The super had promised to see to it and deliver them as soon as possible as he got back onto the elevator. Greg had completely forgotten his joke about his neck by the time he’d closed his door.

After locking it, he’d leaned against the solid wood door and heaved a sigh of relief at being home, only to grimace the next moment over the predicament he was in. His coat, keys, wallet, and briefcase were all back at that house. Losing his wallet was bad enough, it had all his ID and credit cards in it, but his briefcase held his appointment calendar and his most recent patient notes.

Unable to do anything about it, Greg had reassured himself that it was all replaceable and headed for his bedroom. After spending the last twenty-four hours in his suit, even sleeping in it, he was intent on a shower and change of clothes.

It was while shaving that Greg had noticed the marks on his neck. There was no purple bruising from a hickey, just two neat puncture holes about an inch apart. The super’s words had floated through his mind as he’d examined them. “
What’s that on you neck? A vampire bite?
”

The words had sounded as ridiculous in Greg’s head as they had when the man had spoken them, and he’d given an uncomfortable little laugh and turned away from the mirror to get dressed. Once finished, he’d called the air
port, but once that task was done, Greg found his fingers moving repeatedly to his neck. Worse yet, different memories were flooding his mind and painting a picture in his head. Marguerite accusing Lissianna of biting him when she’d found them in the bedroom, then explaining that Greg wasn’t dinner. Thomas telling him that Lissianna’s phobia was like Greg’s fainting at the sight of food and Lissianna saying her phobia was hemaphobia.

Then there was the conversation between the women in the back of the van on the way into the city. They’d talked about Lissianna’s not being able to read him, which was why she’d bitten him. And one of the twins had commented that she wished she could feed “off the hoof, too,” that it sounded much nicer than
bagged blood
.

Greg continued to rub the little wounds, his mind spinning these facts over and over and causing the oddest ideas to enter his head. Ideas so crazy and impossible he was almost afraid even to think them…but they would explain a lot about his own behavior that he hadn’t understood and which had—frankly—alarmed him: like climbing into the trunk of a strange car, then letting himself be tied down.

Greg shook his head in an effort to shake the crazy thoughts from his mind, but they stubbornly persisted, and he finally retrieved a pen and notepad and drew a line down the center of the top page. He then wrote Vampire/Not Vampire at the top and began to make his list, including all the conversations and noting the physical evidence of the marks on his neck as well. These all went on the Vampire half of the sheet. Then he turned his attention to the Not Vampire side and hesitated. Finally, he wrote “
crazy, impossible, and don’t exist
.” Compared to the Vampire side, the arguments against it were pretty weak, he noted with frustration, then gave a shaky laugh.
It seemed that everything to do with Lissianna was frustrating in one way or another.

A knock at the door interrupted his ruminations and Greg glanced at it with irritation, then tossed the pad on the coffee table and stood to answer it. No one had buzzed, so it had to be the superintendent with the spare keys he’d promised. That was something at least. With those and the extra set of car keys in his desk drawer, he’d be free to catch a taxi to his office building to retrieve his car. Then maybe he’d go out and grab something to eat, he thought as he unlocked and opened his apartment door.

Greg’s smile froze, and his plans died a quick death as he saw who waited in the hall. Marguerite and Martine.

Greg slammed the door, or tried to, but Marguerite had slid a foot in the way, preventing it closing. The next moment, he felt pressure and was forced backward as the door began to open. He redoubled his efforts to force it closed, but had no effect. The woman was incredibly strong, alarmingly so.

Cursing as the door was forced open, he began to back down the hall as the women stepped inside and closed the door behind them.

Marguerite was the first to speak. Smiling brightly, she lifted the items she held, and announced, “We brought your things.”

Greg stared at his briefcase and overcoat, his brain working furiously. They shouldn’t be there. This was a security building. The doorman should have stopped them in the lobby and called him to see if they were allowed up, but he hadn’t. He’d apparently sat idly by and let them saunter in.

“Martine, I cannot control him. Can you?” Marguerite
asked suddenly, and Greg realized he’d been simply standing there staring at them while he tried to sort out what to do. He started to dodge to the right, thinking to make a break for the bedroom and somehow barricade the door, but Martine suddenly lunged forward and touched his arm, and just like that, Greg went still and calm. In the next moment, he had the sudden compulsion to walk into the living room and seat himself on the couch. It came from nowhere and was impossible to resist.

Turning on his heel, Greg walked slowly into the room, Martine holding his arm as if he were escorting her. They sank onto the couch as one, but she didn’t release him. Not that he seemed to be able to care. Greg watched with blank disinterest as Marguerite settled in a chair across from them.

“Will we be able to wipe his memory?” Lissianna’s mother asked with concern.

Martine turned to peer at Greg and he felt a brief ruffling in his mind. That was the only way he could think to describe it, it was like a creeping across his scalp. After a moment, she glanced to the notepad he’d left lying on the coffee table, and said to Marguerite, “You’d better take a look at this.”

“You haven’t had your lunch break yet. You must be hungry.”

Lissianna glanced up with a smile as her coworker Debbie James walked into her office. Fifty years old, with salt-and-pepper hair and a mothering attitude, Debbie was Lissianna’s favorite coworker.

“No, I haven’t, and I
am
hungry, but I think I’ll wait till later to—”

“Did I hear someone say they were hungry?”

Lissianna glanced to the door as Father Joseph walked into the office. She immediately glanced in question toward Debbie, but the other woman looked just as bewildered as she felt at the sight of the man. Father Joseph often worked long hours in the shelter, but usually left as they arrived to start their shift. Lissianna had never known him to be in the shelter at this hour…Unless there was an emergency that needed tending. That thought made her ask, “Is there a problem, Father Joseph?”

“No, no. Why would you think so?”

“Well, it’s so late—” she began.

“Oh, I see,” he interrupted, then looked away, his gaze shifting around the office before he blurted, “insomnia. I occasionally suffer insomnia.” He smiled brightly, then held up a plastic food container. “So I was cooking to pass the time, and I made a batch of soup, then I thought I couldn’t eat the whole batch myself so I brought some over for you girls.” He beamed from her to Debbie.

“Oh, wow, that—I’ve already eaten,” Debbie said abruptly, as he opened the resealable plastic container, and garlic immediately permeated every corner of the room.

“But Lissianna hasn’t,” Father Joseph smiled at her brightly. “Have you?”

“Er…” Lissianna peered at the soup dubiously. It was white and creamy, and could have been cream of potato, but it reeked of garlic. Lissianna rarely ate food anymore, and the smell of garlic was pretty strong, not that she didn’t like garlic. She did, but the smell coming from the Tupperware was
really
strong. On the other hand, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

“I just finished making it. It’s still warm. Here.” He
held out the container, then reached in his pocket and retrieved a spoon and handed it over as well.

Lissianna accepted the soup and spoon and forced a smile. When Father Joseph stared at her expectantly, she realized there was nothing for it and scooped out a spoonful. The moment it hit her mouth, she regretted her innate politeness. The scent of garlic had been strong, but that was nothing next to the taste. It was almost as thick as mashed potatoes, but it wasn’t cream of potato soup. If she were to hazard a guess she would have said it was straight puréed garlic, warmed up. At least that’s what it tasted like, and it was so strong it burned her mouth and throat as she swallowed.

“Lissianna!” Debbie shouted with alarm as she began to choke. Rushing around the desk the other woman took the plastic bowl from her and began to slap her back.

“Debbie!” Father Joseph cried. “Give her some room to breathe.”

Lissianna was vaguely aware of Father Joseph grabbing the other woman’s arm to pull her out of the way and she was grateful for it as she rushed past them, into the hallway, and straight to the watercooler. It seemed to take forever to get to the cooler, grab a plastic glass, and fill it with water. Lissianna was almost tempted to kneel before the bloody thing, stick her mouth under the spout, and let the liquid pour straight in, but managed to restrain herself. She gulped the water down with relief, then filled it again. It took three glasses before her mouth stopped burning.

Starting to feel a bit better, Lissianna grabbed a fourth glass and turned to walk back into her office, pausing at the sight of Debbie and Father Joseph in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Debbie asked with concern.

“Yes, yes. It was just a little…er…strong,” she said delicately, not wanting to hurt Father Joseph’s feelings.

Debbie peered down at the bowl she held, lifted out a spoonful, and took a careful lick. Her face immediately flushed red, then paled. She shoved the bowl into Father Joseph’s hand, then flew forward to snatch at the glass of water. Lissianna gave it up without a battle and immediately turned to fill a second glass as Debbie downed the first.

It had taken three glasses to put out the fire in Lissianna’s mouth from the spoonful of garlic. It took four for Debbie’s small lick. Once they were both relatively recovered, they turned to face Father Joseph. He was glancing from them to the soup with disappointment.

“I guess it didn’t work,” Father Joseph muttered.

“Didn’t work?” Debbie asked.

“The recipe,” he said on a sigh, as he put the lid back on the container.

“Well, it cleaned my sinuses,” Debbie said with a wry grin. “Maybe you should save that recipe for when one of us has a cold.”

“Hmm.” Father Joseph turned away and trudged up the hall, looking terribly disheartened.

“That was absolutely the worst soup I have ever tasted,” Debbie said as soon as the man had turned at the end of the hall and disappeared from sight.