"I had nothing to do with the spray paint—"
Creepy Man appeared. "Dinner is ready. Shall I put those in some water, miss?"
"Please," I said, though I didn't want to part with them.
"Thank you, Jameson," Alexander said.
Alexander waited for me to exit the room first, straight out of a Cary Grant movie, but I was unsure which way to go.
"I thought you'd know the way," he teased. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Sure, anything." Wait a minute—anything? So I said, "Actually, water will be great!"
He returned a moment later with two crystal goblets. "I hope you're hungry."
"I'm always hungry," I flirted. "And you?"
"Rarely hungry," he said. "But always thirsty!"
He led me into the candlelit dining room, dominated by a long uncovered oak table set with ceramic plates and silver utensils. He pulled out my chair, then sat a million miles away at the other end of the table. The five wildflowers stood in a crystal vase blocking my view.
Creepy Man—I mean, Jameson—wheeled in a creaky cart and presented me with a basket of steamy rolls. He returned with crystal bowls filled with a greenish soup. Considering the number of courses, the slowness of Jameson's service and the length of the table, we were guaranteed to be here for months. But I didn't care, I didn't want to be anywhere else in the world.
"It's Hungarian goulash," Alexander stated as I nervously stirred the pasty soup. I had no idea what—or who—was in it, and as Alexander and Jameson waited for my reaction, I realized I'd have to taste it.
"Yum!" I exclaimed, slurping down half a spoonful. It was way more delicious than any soup I'd ever eaten from a can, but one hundred times as spicy!
My tongue was on fire and I immediately chugged down my water.
"I hope it's not too spicy," Alexander said.
"Spicy?" I gasped, my eyes bursting. "You've got to be joking!"
Alexander motioned for Jameson to bring more water. It seemed like an eternity, but he returned with a pitcher. Eventually I got my breath back. I didn't know what to ask Alexander, but I wanted to know everything about him.
I could tell Alexander had fewer friends than I. He seemed uncomfortable in his own skin.
"What do you do all day?" I inquired like a TV reporter breaking the ice.
"I wanted to know the same thing about you," he offered.
"I go to school. What do you do?"
"Sleep."
"You sleep?" This was major news! "Really?" I asked skeptically.
"Is there something wrong with that?" he said, awkwardly brushing his hair from his eyes.
"Well, most people sleep at night."
"I'm not most people."
"True…"
"And you're not either," he said, staring at me with his soulful eyes. "I could tell when I saw you on Halloween dressed as a tennis player. You seemed a little too old to trick-or-treat. And you had to be different to think that was a costume."
"How did you get my info?"
"Jameson was supposed to return the tennis racket to you but gave it to a blond soccer player who said he was your boyfriend. I might have bought the story if I hadn't seen you smack his hand and drive off without him."
"Well, you're right, he's not my boyfriend. He's a totally lamoid jerk at school."
"But fortunately he also told Jameson your name and address to back up his story. That's how I knew how to find you. I didn't think I'd find you exploring the house again."
His dreamy eyes stared right through me.
"Well…I…"
Our laughter echoed in the Mansion.
"Where are your parents?" I asked.
"Romania."
"Romania? Isn't Romania where Dracula lived?" I inquired, hinting.
"Yes."
My eyes lit up. "Are you related to Dracula?" I asked.
"He never came to a family reunion," he teased in an anxious voice. "You're a wacky girl. You certainly give life to Dullsville."
"Dullsville? No way! That's what I call this town!"
"Well, what else could we call it? There isn't any nightlife here, is there? Not for people like me and you."
Nightlife. People like me and you. You mean vampires, I wanted to say.
"I preferred living in New York and London," he went on.
"I bet there's a lot to do there at night. And a lot of night people." Just then Jameson came to take the goulash away and served us steak.
"I hope you're not a vegetarian," he said.
I peered down at my dinner. The steak was medium rare, more on the rare side, as the juice spilled onto the plate and into the mashed potatoes.