Page 3 of Soul of A Vampire

She opens her large brown purse, rummages for a moment, then hands me a piece of card stock with handwritten names. Mine is the third, but all are familiar.

I sniff the paper, but there is no scent aside from hers on it. Whoever left it for her was careful. Strange. I hand it back. “Thank you.”

“Do you know the other names?”

I like this woman. She’s determined. It should be annoying to have her prying into my business and that of my family, but I can’t help enjoying her gumption. “Do you want that answer or the first, Britta?”

Caught, she scrunches her pert little nose. Brushing her shoulder-length blond hair away from her cheek, she asks, “What does Scrim Hall mean?”

Lilac and vanilla fill the air as her hair shifts back into place. She drinks the rest of her tea, puts the cup on the saucer, and sits back with her phone recording every word. She wouldn't look so calm if she knew what I wanted to say to her, do to her. If she knew how attracted I am to her, she’d run far and fast.

Get a grip on yourself.

“A scrim is a blackout curtain used in the theater. It hides light and the goings on backstage. My mentor and teacher named this school many years ago, as the irony suited his sense of humor. Scrim Hall hides in plain sight.”

“That’s it?” Her pink lips purse and it’s all I can do not to grab her and kiss her. “That’s all I get for showing you why I came out here?”

I have to hold back a laugh. The problem is, I don’t want her to leave too quickly. It’s a mistake. I should scare her off in a way that ensures she’ll never return or write any kind of story, but I can’t do it. “You asked what the name means, and I told you. Why would a list of random names make you drive out here?”

“Why do you have to hide?” She props her phone-free hand on her hip and narrows those stormy gray eyes at me.

“Is this your idea of quid pro quo?” Lord above, she’s the most adorable thing. Why isn’t she afraid of me? That’s what I should ask her.

She nods.

“People do not always understand a place like this, or its people. We’re different, and society doesn’t like anything they can’t understand. The man who started this school wanted to protect us from a cruel world.” There’s enough truth in it that I can see sympathy softening her gaze, and she lowers her fist from her hip.

“People suck.” She sighs. “I was going to ignore the list, but it showed up so mysteriously… I was curious, so I looked up the names, and each was the name of an orphan who had disappeared. The strange thing was, no one searched for them, or if they did, I couldn’t find the evidence. That was the thing that made me look up Scrim Hall. I searched for hours before I found this place in an advertisement for a butler.”

“That was many years ago. Morris is still with us. In fact, he made the tea.” It’s odd she would search so hard for a place that has little meaning to all but a few.

“And the man who brought you here?” she prods.

“Wentworth Pettigrew left a few years ago and we’ve not heard from him since.” My chest tightens with the loss.

“I’m sorry.” Sympathy reflects in her eyes.

“Empathy is probably a detriment in your line of work.”

Squaring her shoulders, she stares at me. “Perhaps, but having no feelings at all is a miserable way to live.”

I have no idea if she’s talking about me or someone else, so I don’t comment. Instead, I ask, “Are you driving all the way back to New York today, Britta?”

“How do you know I live in the city?”

I have known this woman for minutes, but I want to learn everything about her. If I told her I could smell the scent of New York City on the bottoms of her shoes and the New Jersey parking garage on her car, would she be offended, freaked out, or even more curious about me? None of those are good for my brothers or me. “The news station is in the city. I made an assumption.”

She relaxes. “No. I have a room at that little hotel in Havendoor for tonight. Are you concerned for my safety, or is it something else, Mr. Becket?”

“Oliver.”

She blushes. “Oliver.”

Never, in my entire life, has the sound of my name made me hard, until this moment. What the hell is it about this woman? “There are a lot of deer and other animals at night. I wouldn’t wish you to have an accident on these country roads in the dark.”

She stands, and her white blouse slips off one shoulder. Quickly fixing it doesn’t hide the scent of her arousal.

Is that because of me? Is she always easily turned on? I need to get a grip. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll show you the house.”

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