Malcolm drummed the eraser of his pencil on his leather desk blotter and watched a bank of melting ice plummet from the roof outside his office. Something about the finality of that thud as the ice shattered on the balcony reminded him of his heart. Damn. Hadn’t he figured out how to live in the human world? One hundred and fifty years of peace and solitude had served him well. Then Abby had sauntered into his office and fixed him with those hazel eyes.
What was it about this woman? He was used to come-ons from coeds and colleagues, and he was impervious. When he’d lost Sarah, he put his heart into cold storage. Memories of her surfaced unexpectedly when the scent of the lilacs she’d planted sweetened his property in the spring or when a new student roll listed a coed named Sarah. He’d allow himself a brief moment to savor the recollection of her body under his. That lovely memory was usually chased by a hammering guilt and grief, and he’d dive back to his seclusion. With Abby’s appearance, the closed chamber of his heart released a feeling he hadn’t experienced since the nineteenth century — hope.
Like the first time he’d seen Sarah, when she flirted with him at the Harvest Ball, Abby held the promise of good things to come. He remembered when she’d been his student and the day she’d come to his office, just when he’d hit his lowest ebb. He was so struck by her sincerity when she’d told him how he’d inspired her that he couldn’t even think of a reply. Inspiring? Not an adjective he’d use to describe himself. Not anymore. He’d lapsed into a life of endless gray, and his students all had the same face. Abby was a woman who saw possibilities at every turn. He rarely thought beyond the next exam; she envisioned her students on graduation day, proudly accepting their diplomas and making their way in the world.
And then there was the matter of her body, soft and supple as south Indian silk. He massaged his temples. Leave her alone, you fool.
• • •
“Abby, did you hear me?” Kyle waved his hands in front of her.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, you asked about costumes?” Abby shook her head from thoughts of Malcolm — for about the hundredth time that day.
“Go check the FedEx deliveries. We should have received that taffeta you ordered.”
“Oh, right. I mean, absolutely. I’ll get on that.” She backed out of Kyle’s office while he shook his head at her.
“We’re on a very tight deadline, Abs. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Just a bit distracted today.” She closed the door behind her and took a deep breath before considering her next destination … the campus post office.
Distracted? No shit.
This called for some brain thrashing. Exhibit A: Garden-variety woman. Exhibit B: Superman … and possibly something else. No, don’t go there. Where’s your common sense? Wake up, Abby. Her fascination with Malcolm would probably fade when she didn’t have to see him every day. Once the play was over, he’d retreat to his reclusive lifestyle, and she could go back to thinking about the next production. And what were Kyle and his creepy crony up to? Making sure Malcolm’s portrayal was authentic? Seemed mighty odd.
Let’s just get past this play.
Stepping up her pace, she arrived at the post office, picked up the parcels of material that had arrived from New York and rushed to the costume mistress across town. Mental note: set up sewing machine at home for last-minute alterations. She checked her watch, two P.M. She’d have just enough time to visit Pat, and then grab a veggie burger before the four P.M. rehearsal.
Patricia Wiggins, the best seamstress Abby had ever known, was leaning against the open door to her shop, Retro Mania, when Abby approached. The shop specialized in vintage clothing, costuming, and alterations. She was smoking a cigarette through a long black holder … à la Holly Golightly, though that’s where the resemblance stopped. Patricia was more zaftig than svelte. And her clothes were recycled gypsy, flowing, gauzy fabrics sprinkled with tiny bells that tinkled when she moved. Her wrist-to-elbow arm bangles would have weighed down a smaller woman. Everyone said Patricia was a gypsy, and some even called her a witch because she had a little fortune-telling slash séance business on the side, but Abby just thought she was highly intuitive. Over the years, she’d asked Pat for advice more than a few times, and the clairvoyant woman had always come through with profound insights.
“Hey, lady.” Abby kissed Pat on the cheek. “I brought the material for you to do your magic. Sorry it’s so late, and as you know, we’re on a tight deadline.”
“No problem. I can always use real magic to help me with the straight seams. I’ve almost mastered set-in sleeves, but I think I used one too many spider legs the last time I tried. I ended up with so little give that I had to recycle the sleeves as jock straps.” She chuckled. “I’m just kidding.”
“I never know when to take you seriously.” Abby didn’t laugh.
“What’s with the long face?” Patricia motioned for Abby to enter her shop, where Pat’s three black felines played hide and seek among racks of jewel-toned costumes.
“Sorry. I’ve got the weight of the world on my shoulders.”
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with that hunk of a professor, would it?”
Abby froze in her tracks. “Geez, Pat, does nothing escape you?”
“I keep tabs on the people I care about, and for better or worse, you’re one.” She put her arm around Abby’s shoulders. “Tell me if you want me to butt out. I know you had to bring me the material, but I was going to get in touch with you today, anyway.”
“I could use some advice.” Abby thawed enough to plop on Patricia’s overstuffed loveseat, which rested inside a canopy of palm trees at the back of Pat’s shop. Abby never understood how Pat could grow palms inside, without natural sunlight, in non-tropical Pennsylvania, but Pat and her shop embodied quirks and mysteries.
Pat sat next to Abby and took her hand. She closed her eyes, paused, and then began speaking with her eyes still shut. “Promise me you won’t freak out.” She peeked at Abby with one eye.
“I promise, and believe me, I’m already beyond freaking out.”
“All right.” She patted Abby’s hand. “Here’s what you need to know.” She took a deep breath and blew it out through puffed cheeks. “Malcolm McClellan is not exactly of this world, but you can trust him.”
“Oh, geez, I’ve been driving myself crazy.” Abby’s pressed her hand to her heart. “Is he really, truly what I think he might be?”
Pat looked sideways at Abby. “What do you think he might be?”
Abby chewed on her lip. Her lungs constricted, and she thumped her chest with her fist to get the words out. “I’ve got stacks of research that point to him being something besides human, but there’s one characteristic that doesn’t line up.”
Pat grimaced. “You mean the one about tolerating daylight?”
Staring wide-eyed at Pat, Abby said, “All right, fill me in.” She slumped back into the loveseat and gripped the padded armrests. “I’ve been wrestling with myself ever since I saw those vintage photos at his house. And then on the ghost tour, our guide read an old letter that mentioned a soldier named Malcolm in the Civil War. It gave me chills. The truth is, my one thread of hope has been the daylight thing.”
“Not to dash your hopes, my dear, but some creatures of the night have special abilities.”
“Oh, criminy.” Abby squeezed her eyes shut, and then had to force them open to look at Pat. “He’s a vampire.”
Pat nodded. “I’m afraid so, but it’s not the end of the world. You have feelings for him, don’t you?”
“Oh, God, right now I don’t know what I’m feeling.” Abby threw up her hands. “I’ve always been attracted to him, but when I thought he might be, you know, a vampire — ” she grimaced, “ — I just didn’t see how that could compute.” She clutched her throat. “As a fantasy, the neck-biting stuff is kind of romantic, but in reality, it totally creeps me out. Besides, I’ve never believed in anything paranormal.”
She squinted at Pat. “However, all these years I knew there was something special about you. Every time you’ve told me something was going to happen, it did. Like the time I got the lead in Our Town, in spite of Pamela Shields trying to sabotage me. You warned me about that.”
“I didn’t know specifically what she was going to do, but I knew she was up to no good.” Pat screwed up her nose. “And that’s another thing. I hate to have to tell you, but Miss Shields is back in Gettysburg.”
Abby sat up straight as a poker stick. “Why?”
“She wants your job.”
“Super. Just what I need.” Abby rolled her eyes. “I’ll have to make sure the theater’s locked up when we’re not rehearsing. She’s been known to steal things. When my dress disappeared from wardrobe the day before the Our Town opening, I knew Pamela was the culprit.”
“She’ll be looking for ways to trip you up, so be very careful.” Pat screwed up her nose. “And that’s not all. Don’t trust Kyle. Those goons from Night Fright are vampires, and they’re after Malcolm.”
“What?” Abby threw up her hands, and then she got up from the loveseat and started pacing. “Has the whole world gone crazy?”
“No, but your little corner is hell-bent for leather. Look, I’m sorry I put you on anguish overload. Don’t worry too much about Pamela or Kyle now. I’ve got my eye on them, and you’ve got enough to digest sorting out your feelings for Malcolm.”
Abby shivered, violently. She’d maintained her cool for as long as she could, and suddenly the reality of Pat’s news came crashing down like an old theater set. Oh, God’s green earth. Her hand went to her mouth, and she raced to Pat’s bathroom, where she barely made it to the toilet. She spewed the remnants of her breakfast. When she thought the stomach upheaval was done, she splashed water on her face and stared in the mirror. Malcolm really is a vampire. Vampires really do exist. Terrified, she had to return to the bowl for another round. This time, she didn’t look at herself in the mirror after she cleaned up.
Taking baby steps, she returned to Pat, who held out a ginger ale.
“Thanks,” Abby said shakily.
Pat wrapped her arms around Abby. “Would you like a tension tamer?”
“Like Xanax?”
“No, just my homeopathic concoction.”
“I’d love one, but I’d better not. I need to get back to work.” Abby blinked hard.
“Well, try not to worry. I’m here for you whenever you need me. There’s a lot more to this world than meets the untrained eye. I’ll help you understand it.”
“Thanks, Pat.” Abby chewed on her lip.
“And while you’re getting used to the idea of the man you care about being a vampire, remember that feelings don’t lie. And don’t try to intellectualize the situation, just feel it.”
Abby headed back to the theater, her mind racing. She wouldn’t detour for a veggie burger now. Just the thought of food made her gag. So many conflicting thoughts bombarded her brain. Yes, she was attracted to Malcolm, and Pat said he was trustworthy, but in her heart of hearts, she already knew that. The fact that he was a vampire was creepy beyond belief, but that wasn’t what bothered her most. No, the main issue was this man who had kept his identity hidden for who knows how long was now on a stage acting out his base nature. What would that do to him, and would the audience pick up on his otherworldly ways? Maybe it was her protective nature, but more than any other feeling that swelled in her heart, she feared for him.