A gasp of amazement slid from her lips as she did. Beyond lay a bathroom bigger even than the bedroom she'd been given. "Luxurious" did not describe it; even "opulent" was a poor description. Toilet, bidet, sinks, shower, and Jacuzzi—all were done in white, with gold accessories. And the gold looked real to Terri. The floor was a rich black marble with gold and white shot through, and mirrors were everywhere. The room was positively decadent. And it raised possibilities in her mind that were even more wicked.
Terri pulled the door closed and made a beeline back into her own bathroom. It was only once she had that door safely closed behind her that she wondered why, since the master suite had its own bathroom, there was a connecting door to hers. It didn't bother her that the rooms were connected; she wasn't going to lock the door or anything. Her cousin would hardly leave her where she wasn't safe. She was just curious as to the reason for the connecting door.
Shrugging the question aside, Terri moved to the vanity and opened her case to begin unpacking.
"I don't know what the big deal is."
"You cannot feed on my guests. Period," Bastien said firmly. He'd been lecturing his cousin since the elevator doors had closed.
"You're so squeamish, Bastien." Vincent laughed. "I'd like to see you have to hunt your food the old-fashioned way like I do. It gets a bit tiring, you know. Constantly prowling around, looking for dinner."
"Yes. I know. I did have to do it myself, if you'll recall," Bastien said. "And I know it can be a bother, but still—no feeding on my guests. Now, be a good cousin and go find a snack to tide you over for the night.
Not
the people in my apartment."
"Oh, fine," Vincent agreed. He arched an eyebrow. "But first maybe I should help you order some takeout."
"I can manage on my own, thank you," Bastien replied. In his more than four hundred years of life, no one had ever before suggested that there was something he couldn't do. He'd been competent practically from birth.
"No?" Vincent asked lightly. "I bet you've never ordered takeout before. I doubt you've ever even had to deal with it. The closest you've probably ever gotten is asking your secretary to arrange catering for a business meeting."
Vincent was right on the money, but Bastien kept his mouth shut, refusing to acknowledge it.
"Will you do McDonald's, Chinese, pizza, or subs?"
"What are subs?" Bastien was surprised into asking.
"Oh ho! You don't even know," Vinny crowed.
"Oh, all right. I've never done takeout before," Bastien admitted. He was more the wine and caviar type when it came to dating. Of course, they hadn't had takeout the last time he'd dated. "Now, what are subs?"
"Submarine sandwiches. They're large buns, like French bread, sort of, with meat, cheese, lettuce, and things inside."
Bastien made a face. "They sound absolutely disgusting."
"They do rather, don't they?" Vincent agreed. "I don't suppose you asked Terri and Chris what they'd like?"
"No," he admitted, and was irritated with himself for not doing so, but he rarely asked anyone what they wanted. He was the decision-making guy; he usually decided what was in the best interests of everyone else and did it, or else arranged to have it done. He would do the same now, he decided. "Which is the healthiest choice?"
Vincent considered. "Probably submarines. At least, if the commercials are true. They have all the nutrition a growing human needs… and you can lose a hundred pounds eating them."
"What?" Bastien asked.
"Seriously," Vincent said with a laugh. "Some guy ate them every day for every meal and lost a ton of weight." He paused and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Mind you, he also apparently walked to the sub shop to get them, so maybe that's why he really lost the weight."
"Vincent," Bastien said with exasperation, "which takeout foods are healthiest?"
"Subs," Vincent insisted. "It's got your four basic food groups. Or is it five?" Raising a hand, he began to count off fingers. "Dairy, bread, meat, vegetables… I think there are four for humans."
"Whatever. I'll get subs."
"I'll come along and help you," Vincent offered. The elevator doors opened onto the parking garage.
Bastien shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll be fine. Besides, I have to take care of a couple of matters first."
"Chris's clothes?"
"That's one thing, yes," Bastien admitted as he led the way through the nearly empty parking garage. It was past working hours on a Friday night, and most of the employees had left for home already.
"And the other?"
"I also have to track down Mrs. Houlihan and wipe her memory."
"Why bother? No one will believe the old bird. They'll think she's batty."
"And what if they don't?" Bastien snapped, then paused and turned a narrowed gaze on his cousin. "Please tell me you generally erase the memories of your meals, that you don't leave them wandering around shrieking, 'I was bitten by a vampire.' Surely you have that much sense?" It wasn't really sense Bastien was worried about. It was the adrenaline rush Vincent seemed to enjoy. Risk-taking was like a drug to him.
"Of course, I do," his cousin replied.
Relieved, Bastien began to walk again. Vincent went on, "I would have wiped the old bird's memory, but you guys walked in. I managed to veil the editor's memory though, and I'd have taken care of the housekeeper too, but you and Sleeping Beauty came rushing in."
"Sleeping Beauty?" Bastien glanced curiously at his cousin.
"The name suits her," Vincent said with a grin. "Just looking at her, you can see she's got passions waiting to be woken."
"You can?"
"Sure. She's like ripe fruit, ready to burst out of her skin."
Bastien gave a start. That description, the term ripe fruit, had come to mind when he'd first seen her. Apparently it had entered Vincent's head as well. "Why do you say that?"
"The way she walks, dresses, talks." Vinny shrugged. "All of the above."
"Yes, but—"
"So, where does this Mrs. Houlihan live?" Vincent interrupted, and Bastien's mind shifted gears to the most important problem at hand: His housekeeper. His ex-housekeeper. And her whereabouts.
Irritation returned to him, and it focused directly on the man walking beside him. He said, "She lives, or did live, in the penthouse."
Vincent whistled through his teeth. "And she left everything behind when she went? I don't think she even stopped for a coat! Not a good sign." He shook his head as he contemplated, then got over it and asked, "So, where do you think she went? Her son's? A daughter's?"
"She has a son and daughter?" Bastien asked. He was so surprised that he stopped walking again.
"How the hell am I supposed to know? I was just guessing," Vincent said with a laugh. His gaze sharpened. "Don't
you
know?"
"I haven't any idea if she even has family in New York," Bastien admitted with an unhappy sigh.
"Dear God, Bastien! She worked for you, and you haven't a clue if she has kids or family? Man! You're a piece of work. You get all squeamish about me feeding off humans, but you're the one who treats them like cattle."
"I do not," Bastien protested.
"No? What's her first name then?"
"Whose?" he muttered
"Your housekeeper's."
Bastien grimaced and turned to his car. He had stopped behind it, and ignoring his cousin, he retrieved his keys from his pocket and pushed the button on the remote to unlock the doors. He felt some relief upon getting inside. Until his cousin slid into the passenger seat.
"It's Gladys," Vincent announced with more than a little satisfaction.
Bastien ignored him. He inserted the keys and turned the engine over.
"I always find out my donors' names before I feed," his cousin continued in prim tones as Bastien backed out of the parking spot and drove toward the exit. "I don't like to treat them like cattle. Hey!" he cried out, grabbing at the dashboard to prevent flying through the windshield. Bastien had slammed on the brakes half inside the parking garage, half out on the edge of the street.
"That's why they make seat belts," Bastien said with grim satisfaction. He leaned past his cousin to open the passenger door. "Out."
Vincent peered at him in surprise, then grinned his very irritating, very knowing grin. "Okay. Deal with the matter on your own, if you like. But it's true, you know. You may not feed on humans anymore, but you still treat them like cows."
"And you don't, of course," Bastien sniped as the other vampire slid out of the car.
Vincent straightened on the pavement, turned, and bent to peer back in. "No, I don't. Some of my best friends are human." He waited a moment to be sure that sank in, then asked, "Can you say the same?" He straightened and slammed the door, leaving Bastien staring after him as he walked off down the sidewalk.
Chapter Four
"Damn," Bastien muttered, hitting the button to lock all the doors as he sat back in the driver's seat. Galling as it was to contemplate, Vincent might have a point. Bastien didn't have a single, solitary friend who was not of his own kind. He had human business acquaintances, but only out of necessity; and he kept them at a distance as much as possible, dealing with them only to the degree that business required.
And no, he hadn't taken the trouble to learn Mrs. Houlihan's first name, or anything else about the housekeeper. Why bother? She'd just die eventually anyway and have to be replaced like the last one. And the one before her. And the one before her. As all humans died.
Did he treat mortals like cattle, despite the fact that he no longer needed to feed off them directly? Bastien hated to admit it, but perhaps he did.
"Damn." He let his breath out on a slow sigh, then gave a start when a tap sounded on his window. Turning, he peered out at Vincent, who was gesturing for him to roll it down. Bastien hit the button to do so.
"I just thought I should mention, you might want to check with Sleeping Beauty and be sure she isn't vegetarian. She looks the type." On that note, Vincent straightened and started back off down the street.
Bastien hit the button to roll the window back up, then reached grimly for his cell phone. He punched in the number to the apartment, not at all sure that either Terri or Chris would answer a phone that wasn't theirs. Fortunately, Terri did, picking up the phone on the third ring and saying politely, "Hello, Argeneau residence."
"Hi, Terri, this is Bastien Argeneau." He paused and grimaced at the pompous ring that had. The Argeneau part hadn't really been necessary, had it? He plowed on: "I was thinking of picking up some subs for supper. Is that all right? You aren't a vegetarian, are you?"
"That sounds great!" Terri said. "No, I'm not a vegetarian. Can you pick up some chips and pop with that, too? Barbecue chips, Dr Pepper, and make my sub an assorted, please. Everything on it, including hot peppers."
"Er… yes. Assorted. Everything. Hot peppers," Bastien repeated, tugging out his small notepad and pen to scribble down her order under Chris Keyes's address. "Barbecue chips and Dr. Who?"
"Pepper. Dr Pepper," she repeated. "Shall I check with Chris and see what he wants?"
"Er, yes. Sure. That would be good," he agreed, then winced as she set the phone down, apparently on a table, because the
clack
in his ear was almost painful. Several moments passed as he waited; then she was back.
"Hello?"
"Yes, I'm here."
"Chris wants a meatball sub, plain chips, and Canada Dry ginger ale."
"Meatball, plain chips, Canada Dry," Bastien muttered, then stilled. "A meatball sub? Like what they put in spaghetti Bolognese?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Okay." Silence reigned between them briefly; then he cleared his throat. "Is everything okay up there?"
"Fine. Chris is watching television, and I'm unpacking," she said. "Where are you? You can't have gone far. You didn't leave long ago."
"No, I'm downstairs in the parking garage, just leaving actually," he admitted. "I just thought I should check and be sure you weren't a vegetarian or anything. I wouldn't want to bring home a sub and find you couldn't eat it."
"Nope. Not vegetarian. I love meat."
Bastien smiled at her enthusiasm. At least there was
something
Vincent had got wrong.
"Are
you
a vegetarian?" she asked curiously, then gave a laugh. "Well, I guess not, or you wouldn't be suggesting subs. Well, I suppose you could be," she corrected herself. "You could like vegetarian subs. But you just don't seem the veggie type to me."
"Don't I?" he asked with a grin. "What kind of guy do I seem to you?"
"A steak man. Rare," she said firmly. Then, "Am I right? You like your steak rare?"
"Very rare," he said solemnly. She responded with a tinkle of laughter that helped ease some of the tension he had been feeling since talking to Vincent. As Bastien listened to the sound, he was suddenly aware of a distinct reluctance to hang up the phone. He'd rather sit and talk to her than take care of business. Mind you, he'd rather talk to her in person, where he could watch the way her eyes danced with humor when she spoke, and the way her face became expressive and animated, and how her hands flew about like two birds as she described things. He'd found her charming and quite distracting on the way home from the airport.
"Well, give us a call if you have trouble finding Chris's apartment, and I'll put him on the phone to give you directions."
Bastien nodded. She was telling him to get off the phone and get moving. It felt almost like a rejection. It seemed she wasn't as eager to sit there talking as he. He cleared his throat and said, "Yes, I'll do that. Bye." He disengaged the phone before she could respond, embarrassed and a touch angry at his eagerness to talk to her. She was only a human, he reminded himself—not really worth wasting time on. She'd be around for another thirty to fifty years, then drop dead, be put in the ground, and turn to dust as Josephine had.