“Is that an ‘I’m thinking’ gesture or an ‘I have a headache’ gesture?” he asked.
“Thinking. Weakened old vampire. Diluted. I read something like this.”
I ran upstairs and snatched my copy of Spectrum of Vampirism off my nightstand. As I sprinted down the steps, I called out, “Normally, it doesn’t take me this long to finish a book. This thing reads like stereo assembly instructions, in Korean. But listen to this:
“ ‘Of the many shades of vampirism, the most weakened and diluted state is that of socalled ghouls, vampires who have been embalmed. Because some vampire fledglings are believed to have been murdered or attacked by animals, they are embalmed and treated for burial. Despite the blood being drained, the vampire will survive the process if the heart and brain are left intact, which sometimes happens with lazy or inept embalmers.
“ ‘Reports of this phenomenon can be found as early as ancient Egypt. The nightmare of cursed mummies rising from their sarcophagi was born of priests skipping steps in the mummification process on newborn vampires. Embalmed vampires rise on the third day, deprived of the vampiric blood that turned them. They are able to withstand serious injuries, though they heal more slowly than full-fledged vampires. They also lack the strength and agility of vampires. They can withstand weak sunlight and require only small amounts of blood to survive.’ “ I looked at him expectantly. He shrugged.
“He’s a ghoul. I knew it!” I yelled.
Gabriel laughed. “No, you didn’t.”
I grunted in frustration. “I know. What should I worry about first? Him hurting her as a human or biting her and trying to turn her? Because I do not want to think about an eternity with Grandma Ruthie in it.”
“Actually, ghouls aren’t that dangerous,” Gabriel said. “They’re only interested in dead blood. It’s the only thing they can digest. So they don’t go around biting people. And they can’t turn a human into a vampire. They can only create other ghouls. The question is, what do you do with this information?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I could warn her,” I said. “Or I could let it play out for my own personal amusement.”
Gabriel tsked and lifted my chin. “The Jane I know and love wouldn’t let her grandmother suffer for her own personal amusement.”
“Oh, baby doll.” I snickered and kissed the tip of his nose. “I don’t think you know me as well as you think you do. So, what are we up to this evening? You want to go see another movie? Or we could just hang out here.”
Gabriel’s face tensed, all of the breezy charm of the last few minutes melted away.
“Actually, I can’t stay. I should have mentioned I was just dropping by on my way to the airport. There’s a quarterly staff meeting at my hotel that I can’t afford to miss again. I like to put in an appearance every couple of months; it tends to keep the humans honest.
I’m flying out to Atlanta tonight. It’s just for a few days. I’m sorry I forgot to mention it.”
“I could come with you,” I offered. “I love Atlanta. Well, I’ve never been there, but I’m a big fan. You know, Gone with the Wind, the Braves, the Turner Broadcasting System.”
I was really grasping with that last one.
“It wouldn’t be any fun for you, Jane. I’ll be in meetings all night. I’d hate for you to wander around alone. Who knows what sort of trouble you could get into?” He meant for it to be a joke, but there was a brittle, too-bright quality to his voice.
“I really don’t mind,” I said, acting oblivious to his hasty refusal. “I’d like to see the hotel.
I feel I only know the Hollow version of Gabriel. I’d like to see what you’re doing when you’re out in the world.”
Gabriel seemed to grasp the double meaning. We stared at each other for a long time. I was practically daring him to make another lame excuse, another lie. I was done letting him off the hook. He could keep making up stupid stories if he wanted to, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Gabriel’s mouth set in a thin, cool smile.
“Not this time, Jane,” he said, standing abruptly and kissing me on the temple. “I’ll see you when I get home.”
He was halfway to the door when I finally worked up the nerve to say, “You know, eventually, you’re going to run out of excuses. You’re going to have to tell me the truth.”
His smile was quick, effortless, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Is that another Jane-ism?
Your version of ‘Have a nice trip’?”
I glared at him, refusing to be charmed.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said quietly, and walked out.
The click of the door closing behind him seemed to echo in my ears, a harsh, metallic scraping that bounced off the sudden emptiness of the house. Alone again, I continued to tap at the computer keys, afraid of what I might do without something to occupy my shaking hands.
Offspring are considered the purpose of marriage, so newlywed weres should expect heavy pressure for babies early on. Many couples receive layette sets as wedding gifts.
—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were
When I heard the baby crying on my front porch, I thought I was having a nightmare. Still in bed, I stuck a finger in my ear and wiggled it, hoping to pop loose whatever might be causing that godawful noise. But it persisted. I sat up. There was weak sunlight peeking around the edges of my blackout curtains. Judging by the why why why? reaction radiating from my internal clock, I guessed it was around five P.M.
I’d managed to race into bed before dawn the morning before. About an hour after Gabriel left my house, I Googled directions to his hotel and decided that I was going to drive down there to see what he was up to myself. I’d crossed into Tennessee by the time I realized that I was behaving like a crazy person. I pulled Big Bertha off onto the shoulder just outside Union City and leaned my head against the steering wheel. What was I doing?
What was my plan? Was I going to follow Gabriel around with a pair of binoculars and spy on him? Break into his hotel room and tell him I just couldn’t resist surprising him?
Gabriel had told me he didn’t want me there. At best, I would find nothing was amiss and look like an annoying, clingy psycho who didn’t respect boundaries. At worst, I would go to Atlanta and find him shacked up with some other woman or find that he wasn’t in Atlanta at all. And what could I do then? I would have a meltdown in the middle of a strange city with no connections, no friends, nothing. I would probably wander the streets in a daze until the sun came up and I was a little pile of Jane ashes on the sidewalk.
This was definitely a Marianne move, and not in the good way.
I drove back to the Hollow and pulled into the driveway just as the sun was rising over the roof of River Oaks. I dashed into the house and pulled the covers over my head, falling into a fitful sleep. Nightmares about crying babies fit right into that.
The baby’s squalling was soon joined by pounding on my front door. I stumbled down the stairs, calling for Aunt Jettie in a voice that couldn’t be heard by my visitor. No response.
My dead aunt picked a fine time to become a social butterfly.
Careful to stay in the cool, dark recess of the foyer, I opened the door to find Mama Ginger standing on my front porch, holding a squirming bundle of pink blankets.
“What—what the—this had better be a hallucination,” I stammered.
“Jane!” Mama Ginger squealed. “I’m so glad you’re home! This is Neveah. We call her Nevie for short.”
“Neveah?” I repeated as she bustled into the house, trailing blankies and diaper bags.
“It’s ‘heaven’ spelled backwards, isn’t that clever?” Mama Ginger trilled, putting the baby into some sort of collapsible bouncy thing she pulled out of her bag.
“Way to sentence a kid to a lifetime spent popping out of cakes,” I muttered. I felt an immediate flash of guilt when the baby opened her heavily lashed blue eyes and focused on my face. I patted her tuft of dark hair gently. “I didn’t mean that.”
OK, I totally meant that.
Mama Ginger popped a pacifier into the baby’s mouth, which temporarily stopped the earsplitting wails. “I was supposed to babysit little Nevie tonight, but poor Floyd is having an emergency down at the Goose Lodge and needs my help.”
Floyd frequently had emergencies down at the Goose Lodge, most of them involving injuries sustained while fistfighting the pinball machine.
“So I figured you wouldn’t mind watching her while I just popped over to the emergency room,” she said, hoisting her purse onto her shoulder.
“Wait, what? No!” I cried. Mama Ginger was startled as I cut her off at the door, trying to comprehend how I’d managed to beat her there. “I don’t know how to take care of a baby!”