Dead is the New Black (4 page)

A flash of irritation crossed his features.
“Let me just say that, while Vampires—upper case V—have existed for
many thousands of years, the traits attributed to us such as you
described them came directly from Bram Stoker’s imagination, and
are a complete fabrication. It was, and continues to be, fanciful
fiction, nothing more.”

“But there is such a place as
Transylvania.”

“True. But Stoker, or Bramble as we used to
call him, never actually went there.”

Christie, Theramin,
and
Stoker? Who
else
had Dr.
Van Graf known personally?

“Originally,” he was saying, “Bramble was
going to set his story in Austria, but when he looked at a map of
Europe, he decided on Transylvania as being more exotic, remote, a
place where a character such as Count Dracula might have existed. I
tried like hell to talk him out of it, but he cited literary
license as his justification and did as he wished, stubborn
Irishman that he was.”

Dr. Van Graf smiled to himself as though
remembering his nemesis fondly. “While he wrote several other books
and was many years the business manager of London’s Lyceum Theatre,
Dracula
is all most of the world knows of
him.”

Well, all that was very interesting, but it
still didn’t answer my question. “You are a Vampire, though,
yes?”

He blinked a few times, and his smile didn’t
reach his eyes. “True, Mrs. Scott. But Vampires are an ethnic group
in the same way as Slavs or Hispanics or Celts. Stoker’s book
condemned us forever, though I’m sure that wasn’t his intent. He
simply wanted to write a thrilling story.”

“And just so we’re clear on this, Vampires
aren’t members of the undead?”

“The undead was a term coined by Stoker. Long
story, short, he was a sickly boy and didn’t even walk until he was
seven. To entertain him, his mother told him stories of the plagues
and where some people who were thought to have succumbed and were
even buried, awoke and climbed out of their graves at the last
minute, thereby seeming to come back to life from death.”

“How
awful
.”

He nodded. “Those sorts of stories and images
would have had a powerful effect on Bramble’s imagination. Having
said that, Vampires have sadly been topics of constant ridicule and
persecution. I’ve made it my business that this docudrama should
reveal the truth and set the record straight once and for all.”

Watching me, his eyes were curiously
bright.

“Have I set your mind at ease, Mrs.
Scott?”

“Yes,” I lied. “Thank you.”

Like I said, I needed a job and I needed it
now. I wanted to believe him, needed to. So if I were hired, I’d do
my best to accept what he’d said as truth. Then, if things started
looking iffy, I could always make a hasty exit. Probably.

He stood. “Well, I think we’re done
here.”

Slowly I rose to my feet. This interview was
obviously over, and I was still unemployed. But before I could
thank him for his time, he interrupted me.

“Mrs. Scott, I find you to be neat, clean,
smart, personable, dedicated. You are desperate for a job—don’t
deny it—and I am equally desperate for a housekeeper. If it works
for you, it works for me. You’re hired.”

It took a moment for the words to penetrate
my skull, but when they did my heart skipped a whole bunch of
beats.

Stomping down on my urge to let go with a
nervous giggle, I said, “It definitely works for me. Thank you. I
won’t let you down. I promise.” I felt tears sting my eyes, and
blinked them away. “When would you like me to start?”

“Now,” he stated. “Today. This minute. Can
you?”

“Oh, um, yes. Well, almost. I just have to
arrange for my mother to be cared—”

“Bring her.”

I looked up, my brows lifted in surprise.
“Bring her? Bring her where?”

“Here,” he said. “I understand she’s ill and
needs looking after. Forgive me, but I spoke with the agency
earlier to find out why someone with your abilities was applying
for a housekeeper’s job for which she had no professional
experience. So, as far as your mother is concerned, we have plenty
of room and this way, you won’t be worried she’s not being properly
cared for.”

Just who was this guy? Where had he come
from? Was he too good to be true? Dear God, he wasn’t planning on
making a meal of me and my mother? The agency had a signed contract
that clearly stated Dr. Van Graf would not feast on my blood, but
what about my mother’s?

I was willing to take the plunge and keep my
options open, but my mother was a whole different story. Could I
keep her safe and get her out of harm’s way if the need arose?

Dear God, what had I gotten myself into?

Before I could
think myself into a thorough tizzy, Van Graf said, “I’ll send my
men to bring whatever you need for you and your mother. You both
will be perfectly safe here. I give you my word.”

I searched his deeply blue eyes for any signs
of duplicity. I saw none, but instead, was once more overcome by
that dreamy, languid feeling. Any reservations I had died on my
lips, unspoken. All I felt was an odd sense of peace and
well-being.

“‘Kay,” I murmured. “Mm-hmm.” I yawned,
covering my mouth with my hand. “Honestly, I’m neither bored nor
sleepy, so I don’t know why I suddenly feel so…so…”

“You need not explain.” His tone was soft,
and though I didn’t know why I felt such lethargy, I got the
distinct impression he did. He cocked his head and seemed to study
me, but made no further comment other than to continue with, “We
can work out the details, go over your responsibilities, and do the
employment and tax form paperwork when you return. The snow has
stopped for now, but it looks as though it may really hit us
tonight. The sooner you get back and settled in, the better.”

Either through timing or some subtle signal,
there came three knocks on the door and it opened. The current
housekeeper virtually floated into the room.

Dr. Van Graf stood and turned to me. “The
address on your resume is current, Mrs. Scott?”

I nodded.

“Superb.”

“Oh. Um. Thank you, sir.” My words seemed
wispy and distant, even to my own ear. “Thank you so much for this
opportunity.”

He smiled as his eyes met mine. “You can
expect Igor and Wolf in about an hour.”

Igor and Wolf? No. Really?
Igor and Wolf?

I didn’t know whether to laugh or pee my
pants.

“Leech,” he said to the housekeeper. “Mrs.
Scott is now in my employ. She and her mother will be taking up
residence here later today. Please have rooms readied as soon as
possible.”

The woman’s brows arched only slightly as she
stabbed a look into her employer’s eyes. With a quick glance in my
direction, she cleared her throat. “As you vish, sir.”

“By the way,” he added, his lips curving into
a wry smile. “I informed Mrs. Scott as to what a great sense of
humor you have.”

Dead silence reigned while they stared at
each other. Finally, Leech nodded. As though she were reading the
yellow pages aloud in search of a root canal specialist, she
pronounced, “I am more fun den a barrel off monkeys.”

“As you escort Mrs. Scott to the door, why
don’t you tell her one of your jokes.” Turning to me once more, he
said, “I have arrangements to tend to. It’s a pleasure meeting you,
Stephanie. May I call you Stephanie?”

“Yes, of course.”
And may I
call you whenever I need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?
“Thank you again, Dr. Van Graf. I promise I’ll do a good job for
you.”

“I do not doubt that we’ll be a fine fit,” he
said quietly. “No doubt whatsoever.”

Well, that sure could be taken two ways. I
wondered in which way he meant it?

I know the first thing that popped into my
mind—muddled as it was at the moment.

He said nothing further, but quickly left the
room. As soon as he was gone, Leech gestured for me to follow her
down the hall. As we walked, she said in her morose monotone,
“Three vampires valk into a bar.”

“It’s okay, Leech,” I rushed. “Please don’t
feel obliged to tell me a jo—”

“De barmaid approaches.” She stared straight
ahead as she spoke, walking along the gallery as though she were in
a trance. “‘Vat vill it be?’ says de barmaid. De first vampire
says, ‘I vill heff a mug uff blood.’ De second vampire says, ‘I,
too, vill heff a mug uff blood.’ De terd vampire speaks up. ‘I vill
heff a glass of plasma.’ De girl turns to de bartender and says,
‘Order up; two bloods and a blood light!’”

This punch line was followed by a chuckle
that sounded more like a cat choking up a wet hairball. Leech
continued making that sound and snorting through her nose until we
reached the front door.

Her hand on the knob, she turned to me.
“Velcome to Moonrise Manor. De Herr Dock-tor seems pleased mit you.
I am heppy to leaf him in zuch gapable henz.” She opened the door
and followed me onto the veranda.

“Thank you,” I said. “I should be back in a
couple of hours. I’m aware you have several guests. Will I have any
duties I need to be prepared to perform this evening?”

Leech stepped back into the threshold and
crossed her arms. “Not tonight. Ve all vill probably be watching
our favorite TV show.”

The undead watched television shows? Who
knew? “May I ask what that is?”

A gleam sparked in her obsidian eyes.
“Boardwalk Vampire.”
Again with the
hairball gag. She continued to giggle and chortle as she closed the
door, leaving me to return to my car in a bit of a daze.

Sliding behind the wheel, I buckled my seat
belt and turned the key in the ignition, then gazed at my
reflection in the rearview mirror.

What in the hell had just happened? Now that
I was away from the house, my thoughts seemed to clear, my brain
unfuzzed, leaving me with the distinct impression I’d just
experienced some kind of waking dream.

Was I really going to be working for a
Vampire? And living in his house? With my
mother?
Dr. Van Graf had sworn we would be safe and he
had such an expression of sincerity, I believed him. I probably
wanted to believe him more than I actually did, but I needed a
place to live and I needed a job and I needed to care for Mom, so
the incredibly attractive Dr. Van Graf just
had
to be on the level.

Part of me was elated and relieved. A job.
Money. Security. A roof over my head. At last. But part of me—that
back-of-the-brain nagging part—was worried I’d just made a horrible
mistake.

Releasing the parking brake, I had the
distinct impression I was being watched. As I started to pull into
the driveway, a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my
attention. I turned my head in time to see the curtain in the
topmost turret flutter, as though someone had pulled it aside and
then quickly stepped back. The telltale curtain confirmed my
suspicion. But who was watching me, and why? Simple curiosity, or
something more…sinister?

In movies, the heroine shakes her head and
dismisses these kinds of warnings as just her imagination running
wild, or a trick of the light, or an errant breeze, but this wasn’t
a movie and I’d just accepted a job as housekeeper to a vampire.
Oh, excuse me.
V
ampire.

Of course somebody was
watching me.

As I headed for home, however, I couldn’t
shake the feeling that whoever or whatever had been in that tower
window had not been watching me out of curiosity, but out of
malice.

I should have known right then and there to
drive away—and never look back.

***

We live in Sequoia City on the western slope
of the Sierra Nevada in northern California.
California, land of fruits and nuts,
as my mother used
to say. She still does on those rare days when she’s lucid. In her
former life, she’d taught poetry at Stanford and had many of her
own poems published. But those days were gone now. These days, Mom
lives in a confusing world where poems and poetry do not exist,
have never existed.

Since Mom’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis six years
ago, she’s been with me in the house I bought back when I was a
popular romance novelist and the money was rolling in. Like most
people, when my career was flying high, I thought it would last
forever. As to that topic, my mom had warned,
Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched
, and,
Don’t put all your eggs in one basket
.

Sadly, the only thing I got from her words of
wisdom was stay away from poultry farming.

Boy, was I ever naïve.

Or stupid.

Or both.

Even before she developed Alzheimer’s, my mom
never was politically correct. She often burst forth with
cleave-to-the-bone remarks whenever she felt so inclined. Which was
whenever she was awake. She had opinions on everything, and voiced
them loudly, especially on topics most people tend to avoid in
polite conversation: politics, religion, gun control, and whether
Snooki or Kim Kardashian would win the
thickest-layer-of-sticky-lipstick contest. Mom’s biases swirled
around her like debris from a tornado. She would occasionally fling
a cow or car from the tempest, inflicting wounds on the innocent.
She didn’t intend to hurt; she just didn’t know how not to.

I love my mom, but she could be a gigantic
pain in the ass. Still is, only now the pain has crept up into my
heart.

“Where are your kids?” she demanded as I
hurriedly tossed all her meds into an open suitcase on the bed.
From her wheelchair by the window, she looked around the room as
though I’d somehow misplaced her grandchildren.

“They’re at school, Mom.” Telling her Kimmie
and Jace didn’t live with us anymore would have no meaning. She
wouldn’t remember anyway. “Now, don’t change the subject. What do
you think about going to live with a vampire?”