Page 2 of Valentine's With A Vampire

He inclines his head. A carved wooden door stands to the left, likely leading into a lounge or sitting area. “Let’s try the parlor.”

I follow them into a cozy room with a fireplace crackling on one wall. Overstuffed chairs face the flames, and a faint glow from decorative lamps reveals shelves filled with old, leather-bound books. Paintings decorate the walls, each depicting scenes that look suspiciously alive—like the brushstrokes themselves shift when not watched directly. The back of my neck tenses again, though the warmth lulls the tension in my muscles.

Crystal motions to a chair, and I sink into it, reluctantly grateful for the comfort. She sets a porcelain teacup on a small table in front of me. The tea steams, carrying an aroma of honey and chamomile. “Is that for me?”

She nods. “Yes. We brewed it the moment we sensed your arrival.”

I blink at the loaded phrasing. “Sensed my arrival?” The words sound bizarre, but it seems normal for them. I reach for the cup, inhaling the sweet steam, though I hesitate to drink. “This is quite the place you have.”

Her lips curve in a pleased smile. “Our home for a few centuries now.” She nods toward Etienne, who stands near the fireplace, arms crossed. He looks amused, probably reading the confusion in my eyes.

Centuries. That has to be a joke. They both appear to be in their early thirties, maybe. My mind conjures thoughts of a theme hotel, with maybe a year-round Halloween vibe, or a live-action role-play community. They play their roles well. A glance at the mirror above the fireplace reveals both of their reflections. That at least disproves the silly vampire idea swirling in my head. The idea that they might not cast a reflection is absurd. Yet the entire scenario is also absurd.

Etienne steps away from the fireplace. “Should we call for Throk, my dear? Mechanic,” he says to me.

Crystal inclines her head. “Yes, but Throk might be busy at ‘Mystical Motors’ or out with Suzette. We could send a message, and Declan can rest here until the morning.”

I shuffle forward in the chair, ignoring how comfortable it is. “If he’s the mechanic, I’d prefer to see him now. My van is stuck on the side of the road. I don’t want it vandalized, or...worse.”

Crystal’s eyes narrow, not with anger but with some quiet amusement. “No one will touch your van. Evershift Haven isn’t that kind of place.”

A soft knock draws my gaze to the doorway. Another figure stands there. This one has porcelain-pale skin, wide eyes, and hair pinned up in a neat bun. Her attire is a conservative black dress with a white apron at the waist. She appears hesitant, almost transparent in the flickering firelight. She looks at Etienne and Crystal, then looks at me. The swirl of the firelight catches a faint glow at the edges of her silhouette.

Crystal nods in greeting, a gentle tilt of her head. “Misty, wonderful timing.”

Misty’s voice shakes. “There’s a message from Grizelda.” Her gaze flicks to me. “She was wondering if we have a new visitor.”

Crystal smiles. “We do.” She points in my direction. “Declan Stewart.”

A slight bow from Misty. Her outline wavers, as though a gust of wind passes through her. My heart hammers. She’s too pale, with the edges of her figure nearly blending into the background. That’s a special effect I can’t easily explain. My mind grapples with illusions I’ve seen in big city attractions, but never something this convincing in a random small town.

Misty’s voice stays soft. “Should I let Grizelda know he’s safe?”

Crystal nods. “Please do.”

Misty moves backward through the doorway, literally. She doesn’t turn around. Her entire body drifts like a cloud. Themoment she’s gone, a subtle tingle ripples across my arms. My rational mind flails for an explanation. The quiet in the parlor bears down, broken only by the crackle of logs in the fireplace.

I place the teacup down, ignoring the swirl of honey-colored liquid. “That woman looked...transparent.”

Etienne’s gaze flicks to the spot where she vanished. His tone is calm. “Misty Caldwell is our housekeeper. She’s quite friendly, though she startles visitors.”

My breathing catches in my throat. “Is she wearing some kind of advanced costume?”

Crystal’s smile grows sympathetic. “She’s a ghost.” Her posture doesn’t suggest any hint of a joke. There’s genuine sincerity in her voice.

A thousand retorts crowd my brain. This entire situation has to be an elaborate hoax. My grandmother’s mention of quirky Montana towns never included phantasms. Though a memory stirs of childhood bedtime stories—Bethany used to speak of a hidden place where magic thrived. I always assumed those were old folk tales or creative nonsense to amuse me.

I swallow the impulse to argue. “I’d like to call a tow truck, or any mechanic you have.”

Etienne moves to a writing desk near the window. His fingertips trace the edge of a small phone cradle that looks oddly antique. The device upon it resembles an old rotary phone, polished to a high shine, but with no dial. He runs a hand across it, then glances my way. “Throk doesn’t always answer quickly. Shall I attempt to ring him?”

I stand. “Yes.”

Etienne makes a call, looking surprised before speaking. “Hello, Throk. I didn’t know if you’d answer. We have a situation...” He quickly explains my arrival to the mechanic before handing me the phone.

“This is Declan Stewart. I’m a...traveler, and my van broke down near your town. They said you’re the mechanic.”

He sighs. “Sorry, sir. Not the best timing. I’m in the middle of an engine enchantment. I can swing by in the morning.”

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