“He didn’t float. He walked. Gracefully,” I added.
“Did anyone notice if he had a reflection as he walked past the artwork? Did you see him in the glass?”
I rolled my eyes. “He is
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” Mostly.
Marco opened his mouth to argue, but before he could make another case for the undead, Sebastian returned, a slip of paper in hand.
“Here’s the phone number and address we have on file for Becca,” he said handing the paper to me. I cringed in anticipation of a cold, clammy hand but was met with normal flesh. I gave myself a mental shake. I’d been watching too much
“Thanks,” I said, slipping it into my purse as I rose.
“I would appreciate it if you would keep me apprised of your findings,” Sebastian said as he led us back toward the front door. “And please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
I nodded, thanking him for his time, even though I had the distinct feeling that last offer was a hollow one.
Especially if he was the blood drinker we were after.
Chapter Six
The first thing I did when we got back to the car was dial Becca’s number. It rang seven times, then unfortunately went to voicemail, where I left her a message with my name and number, asking her if she could please call me back.
“So, what do we think of Fang?” Dana asked as I hung up.
That was a loaded question. I thought he was hiding something, for certain. But whether it was about Alexa’s death or his own unique drinking problem, I wasn’t sure. And adding to that uncertainty was the shiver still sitting mid-spine that his icy blue eyes had created. Dangerous, intense, seductive. Totally unnerving.
So instead I shrugged. “Question mark?”
“Good way of putting it,” Marco said, nodding in the passenger seat. “You can never be sure what vampires are capable of.”
Dana and I did a synchronized eye roll. “Seriously, Marco?” I said. “You can’t really believe there are vampires among us?”
Marco blinked at me in the rearview mirror. “Hello? Did you not hear the man? There are two-hundred and seventy-five thousand real vampires among us.”
“Two-hundred and seventy-five thousand
“Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe,” he annunciated, waving me off. “I’m still glad I’m wearing a turtleneck, because that guy – Hey, did you guys just roll your eyes at me?”
After all that eye-rolling and vampire questioning, I’d worked up an appetite. Luckily, there was an In-N-Out Burger conveniently situated just off Laurel Canyon, after a minimum of whining on my part about my starving baby, Dana agreed to stop.
Marco ordered a protein burger – meat, lettuce, tomato, no bun – saying he was watching his carb intake now that he was seeing Gunnar. Dana ordered water, saying that everything on the menu was loaded with fat and non- organic pesticides. I ordered a double, double with extra cheese, a side of animal style fries and a Neapolitan shake, saying nothing.
Marco looked at my tray. Back up at me. Back to the tray, then down at The Bump.
“Hey, the burger and fries are for the baby,” I explained. “I’m only eating the shake.”
He shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Once we’d fully consumed our lunch (me and Marco making little yummy sounds throughout and Dana making little disgusted sounds throughout), I stopped for a quick pee break, then we were back in Dana’s mustang.
I tried dialing Becca’s number again, but again got voicemail. This time I didn’t leave a message. Instead, I plugged the address into Dana’s GPS and we hit the freeway.
The address on the paper Sebastian had given us was just off Sunset, east of the 101. While Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood proper was full of souvenir stands and tourist stops, the east side was full of crumbling apartment buildings and trash can fires. The architecture here was mid-century modern meets eighties crack house, the glamorous homes of the semi-famous from Hollywood’s heyday having deteriorated into tenements that now housed rats the size of purse-dogs. If this is where Becca was living, it was clear that the vampire gig wasn’t a big money maker.
Becca’s building was a square block of concrete set between an adult film shop and a liquor store having a sale on Marlborough cartons. We circled the block, then found a spot on the street two buildings down. Dana beeped the car alarm twice, just for good measure, and said a small prayer that her baby would still be there when we got back, before following Marco and me into the lobby of Becca’s building.
The floor was a cracked linoleum, the walls a dull grey, and the scent a mix of urine and Chinese take-out. A set of stairs sat to the right and an elevator to the left. Unfortunately, the elevator held a cardboard sign with the words “Out of order” written across it in sharpie. Fab.
“What floor does Becca live on?” I asked, eyeing the stairs versus my wedges.
Dana checked the paper again. “Unit Four-seventeen.”
Fourth floor. Sigh.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” I huffed, taking the first flight just a step behind Dana and Marco.
By flight number two, I was feeling the burden of carrying fifteen extra pounds. By flight number three, I was getting winded. By flight number four, I felt like a hippo was sitting on my chest, and I was carrying hundred pound barbells on my shoulders.
“I (pant) hate (pant) stairs (pant, pant).”
“You okay?” Dana asked, concern puckering her brow.
“You’re not gonna drop a baby on us here. Are you?” Marco asked, panic in his eyes.
I shook my head. “I’m fine. I just need (pant, pant) a second.”
“I think it’s just down here,” Dana reassured me, indicating a hallway to our right filled with closed doors and painted-on numbers.
I did a couple of deep Lamaze breaths to slow my panting, then followed her until she stopped at four- seventeen, a unit at the end of the corridor near a garbage chute that reeked of diapers and rotting food. I quickly plugged my nose. It nature’s cruel trick on the pregnant that just when you’re the most queasy you’ve ever been in your life, your sense of smell suddenly goes into hyper drive, picking up every lovely nuance of scent.
Dana shot me another look. “You okay?”
“I’b fine,” I said, sounding like I had the mother of all colds. “Let’s do dis.”
Dana nodded, knocking on the door. We waited, listening to silence on the other side. Nothing.
Dana knocked again, as I breathed heavily through my mouth, willing my gag reflex not to engage.
Again, no answer.
“Maybe she’s not home,” Dana suggested, putting an ear to the door to listen for sounds.
But I wasn’t ready to give up that easily. I’d just climbed up four flights of stairs. I was not going home empty- handed. I knocked with my free hand, waited a two-count, then tried the door handle.
What do you know, it turned easily in my hand.
Dana and Marco both registered my own mix of surprise and concern on their faces. This was not a good sign. No one in this neighborhood would leave their front door unlocked. In fact, no one I knew in L.A. left the door unlocked at all – even when they were home.
I carefully pushed it open a crack.
