Page 33 of Kept
“Indeed,” his voice suddenly sounds not so bright and happy.
“Yeah. I found this manuscript, I told you about it, it is written in the form of a book purporting to be a journal, but I’m really enjoying it.
“I don’t think youdidtell me about it,” he says quietly, “what is the title of this book?’
“Yes, I did,” I frown, “I asked you when you first started if you lost a book.
“Well, as cryptic as I like my puzzles,” he says quietly, “I don’t believe that constitutes saying; ‘I have found a book purporting to be a vampire’s journal.”
“No,” I giggle, “I guess not. Hang on.”
I walk over to where I had put the book and tuck it under my arm, make my way to the minibar for a small bottle of wine, and take both back to bed, where I slide into the crisp, white sheets and sigh in contentment.
“Sorry. I just had to get comfortable. The book is called ‘Mors Rapit Omnia’ I looked it up, it means..”
“Death seizes all things,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Josephine, where are you right now?”
“I told you, Vegas.”
“Yes, but where?”
“The Hotel Dolphina.”
“You need to leave.”
“What?”
“You need to pack up and get the hell out of there. Catch the first flight home. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport.”
“What? James, you’re not making any sense. I can’t leave, Margarita will worry.”
“Where is Margarita?”
“She went to meet her boyfriend. He is staying here.”
“And tell me, Josephine,” he says, his voice quiet, even, “is this boyfriend an older man, extremely rich?”
“I’m not sure about how old he is, but he is loaded, yeah. James, what is this about? You are frightening me.”
“Josephine, if I told you vampires were real. If I told you that book you holdisactually a journal, and that I have one just like it, would you believe me?”
“No.”
“It is real.”
“Goodnight, James.”
I hang the phone up, frowning, and then decide to switch it off entirely before hurling it onto the nearby sofa.
“Why must I be attracted to cheats, weirdos and fucking arseholes? Why can’t I just find a nice, ordinary man without any baggage?” I moan.
‘Fucking James - nutjob. Maybe I will date the cop.’
I flick open the book once more.
New Entry.
I could smell her the moment she walked into the house. She had drunk so much milk she smelt like a goddammed Friesian.
