Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home

"Seraphina!" Archie's expression was a cross between happy and horrified. I felt the same way. I was thrilled he was still breathing and pissed off he hadn't bothered to let me know. Or my parents. Or any of his coworkers at PRIS.



"Wait," said Ralph. He looked at Archie. "You're not Stan?" His gaze slanted to me. "And you're not Libby?"



"My first name is Archibald," said Archie. "I switched to my middle name when I started working for the Consortium."



"I've always hated my first name. I go by Libby now." I glanced at Ralph. His expression was thoughtful. I realized I was still wearing his shirt. Someone must've loaned him one. Too bad. Viewing him without a shirt was like indulging in an all-day truffle. But I was not here to lust after Ralph. That was just a perk. I had bigger worries right now. The man who'd been like family to me had abandoned us. Why?



Almost ten years ago, when I was thirteen, we followed an anonymous tip to an isolated farm deep in the South Carolina woods. We'd been told "night-walkers" inhabited the dilapidated building and that outsiders who ventured onto the property were attacked by savage wolves. Come to think of it, that whole situation reminded me of Broken Heart's setup.



My mother and I did a perimeter check at the tree line. Perimeter checks were how my parents kept me away from the action. Anyway, Archie took his equipment around the barn and Dad went to the crumbling house.



The barn exploded. All we found of Archie were his glasses, one scorched shoe, and a melted EMF



detector.



"What happened?" I asked. "We thought you died in the explosion."



"A vampire saved my life."



"No, really ?" Hel- lo. I'd figured out he'd hooked up with the undead. I got it. Vampires were real. But I hadn't quite grasped that Archie had left behind his life on purpose. "Mom cried for weeks. She thought it was her fault."



"I'm sorry about that. I really am. Your mother is . . . well, your mother. I was tired of PRIS, Sera." He shook his head. "Libby. Patrick O'Halloran pulled me out of the blaze."



I gaped at him. "You mean poof boy?"



Archie blinked.



"Yes," said Ralph, chuckling. "That's Patrick."



We both turned to Archie, waiting for his explanation.



"He offered me unlimited funds to carry out real research." Archie stared at his clipboard, his cheeks mottling. "Making a clean break was one of the conditions of my agreement with the Consortium. I regret I was unable to say proper good-byes, but you know how Dora is." He made wriggling motions with his fingers. "She's got that thing she does with her eyes. I never could lie to her."



"Yeah. Me, neither."



We contemplated each other in silence.



"Trust me, Libby. I know you're here under duress, but you won't come to harm. Now, tell me what happened," he said in his serious-doctor tone.



I shrugged. "Beats me. The Mod Squad was closing in around me, I got really upset, and everything went nuclear. Things started exploding." I hesitated. "And I think I can hear fire singing."



Ralph nodded. "I . . . uh, think I can hear that, too."



"Really?" I turned to him, feeling so relieved. If I was nuts, he was, too. Was that a good thing?



"That tops the weird-o-meter," said Archie, shaking his head. Ouch. In a town full of weird, being told I was the weirdest wasn't comforting. "So, it had something to do with the dragon kissing me?"



I explained the woman in the cemetery, how she'd grabbed me, kissed me, and set me on fire. And then I'd set Ralph on fire. And ta-da . . . I can hear flame musicals.



"I'd like to try something," said Archie. "Both of you turn around."



Ralph and I shared a look. We stood up and turned around. I was uncomfortable. What was Archie up to?



I heard the rustling of cloth and then a scritching sound.



"What do you hear?" asked Archie.



"I'll take 'what is the sound of silence' for three hundred, Alex," I said. Ralph laughed.



"Seriously," said Archie, sounding annoyed. "What do you hear?"



"You. Babbling."



He sighed. Then I heard another scritching noise. A dulcet tone shimmied through me. I glanced at Ralph. He was already looking at me, his eyes dark. He took my hand and we turned, our gazes drawn to the lighter in Archie's hand. The flame was small, but its song was not. It was pure, cleansing, just like the fire.



"What are you two doing?"



I barely heard Archie's question. I reached for the lighter, but he pulled away. The fire went out.



"No!" Ralph pushed Archie against the door and I yanked the little plastic Bic out of his fingers. I flicked it on and the flame sprang to life, singing, singing.



Ralph dropped Archie, who landed with a thud. Then he joined me and, together, we listened to the song. For the first time, I heard words.



I looked at Ralph. "Is that . . . Def Leppard?"



"Yeah. It's 'Rock of Ages.'" He dipped his finger into the flame and it slid along his skin. When it hit his shirt, the material burned away. The flame danced on his wrist. So seductive. I leaned down and licked it. The fire invaded my mouth. Ambrosia. I embraced Ralph. His eyes pinned mine. He was burning. So was I. The flames feasted on his shirt, not on his skin. He was a vampire whose fire danced and loved, but didn't char or destroy. It loved me, too.



His arms surrounded me, and so did his flames. We burned together. I sucked in the fire and it raced down my throat. I felt the soot coat my tongue.



"L-Libby?"



I looked down at Archie, barely registering his look of terror. Then I saw the smoke curling out of my nostrils.



What the hell?



The door burst open and someone dressed in a silver hazmat suit pointed an extinguisher at me. White foam exploded from the nozzle and blanketed us.



The music was instantly silenced. "No!" I cried.



Archie and the fireman backed out. I didn't understand the look on Archie's face. Like he didn't know me.



The door shut and we heard the lock snick.



Ralph and I looked at each other.



"That was weird." He stepped back, wiping off his face and shaking the foam off his hands. Then he scrubbed at his hair.



"Yeah." I flipped the wheel on the Bic. Flick. Flick. "It won't work." Panic wormed through me. I thrust the lighter at Ralph. "Fix this."



"No, Libby." He held up his hands. "I don't want the fire. It's . . . wrong."



"Wrong? How could it be wrong?" Was he insane? I needed the flame. We needed it. "Please, Ralph." I was desperate to have fire again. I knew I was acting a little crazed, but I couldn't stop myself. Fire was life. Desperation made me flick the wheel over and over, but it never sparked.



"Libby. Stop." He plucked the useless lighter from my hand. I reached for it and he pushed my hand away. "Damn it! Enough, already."



I sucked in a breath. I was shaking. And cold. Had they kicked up the air-conditioning again? "What's wrong with me?" I whispered. "Why do I need it so much? And why can you resist?"



"Two reasons," he said. "Michael and Stephen."



I stared at him. "I don't understand."



"My sons," he said. "What I feel now . . . what I feel for you, it can't be more important than my sons. They're only three, and they need me. I need them. You . . . me . . . this fire thing . . ." He shook his head. "I can't do this. Feel this way. No more fire."



No more us. My heart dropped to my toes. He thought our attraction was just about the flame. The dragon magic. The implication still hurt.



He tucked the lighter into his pocket. We were covered in puffs of white. I wiped off my face and arms. I tried to rein in my emotions, but they were a tornado.



The door opened and Archie poked his head in. "Ralph, come on."



"Wait a minute," I said. "What about me?"



"I'll be back for you," said Archie.



I looked at Ralph. He stepped toward me, hand stretching as if to take mine, and then he hesitated. He dropped his arm. "Everything's going to be okay, Libby."



He turned and slipped through the door. After it was shut, I heard the lock engage. I was a prisoner. No fire. No Ralph. No hope.



My eyes opened. What the hell?



The last thing I remembered was Ralph leaving the examination room. I was lying on a somewhat comfortable bed in a small, white room. These people really had a thing about white.



I'd been dressed in a pair of pink silk pajamas that were way too big. Patsy. She was at least half a foot taller than me and pregnant. Good thing the pants had a string tie. My bare feet touched the floor, but it wasn't cold. It wasn't tile, either. I scrunched my toes against the slick surface. I'd never felt anything like it before.



My head felt fuzzy, but I didn't need all my faculties to know I was in a prison. Well, what did I expect?



One of the royal suites?



I stood up and looked around.



Behind me was a small door. I pushed a silver button next to it, and the door slid open. The bathroom was tiny. A stand-up shower, toilet, and sink with mirror. One shelf on the opposite wall with towels, wash cloths, and a small assortment of soaps and shampoos.



I used the facilities, then wandered back into the other room. Other than the bed there wasn't any furniture. No TV or magazines, either. I looked at the ceiling. I couldn't detect any video cameras, but I knew I was being monitored. I knew Archie . . . no, Stan, had probably built this facility. He was brilliant. Stan wasn't just a gifted scientist; he also held degrees in medicine and engineering. He understood things about the world most people never would.



An intense paranormal experience had drawn him into PRIS, and soon he left his highbrow research job at a pharmaceutical company to work full-time with my parents. I was three or four years old when he joined us, so I'd grown up with him. Stan wasn't the kind of person you could get close to. He was too analytical. He picked apart everything, which made him a great scientist and a lousy conversationalist. The man had no social skills.



Still, when he died, I'd cried for weeks. He'd been part of our family. I didn't know how to feel about his betrayal. I couldn't decide if I was mad or sad about him walking away from us so easily. And he joined up with the very creatures we'd tried to find. My whole life my parents had researched the paranormal. Oh, they got lucky every now and then, but mostly they got nada. Their enthusiasm and persistence never waned. My mother didn't know the meaning of rejection. She didn't care that other people laughed at her and PRIS. Usually when she and Dad were invited as "experts" on talk shows, it was only to make them look like crackpots.



I sat on the bed and let my feet swing back and forth. My wrist still ached where I'd slit it to feed Patrick. I remembered Ralph had said vampire saliva had an enzyme that healed feeding wounds very quickly. He was puzzled about why mine hadn't healed.



I sighed. Were my parents looking for me? Were they okay? I had to believe the best, because the worst was unthinkable. You've never met two people who so believed in things that couldn't be proven. My mother had faith . The kind of faith that was unshakable. And my father believed in her - even when she claimed to be kidnapped by aliens and used for experimentation. You could never accuse my mother of being boring.



Once again I stood up, then I walked to the clear door of my cell. I tapped my fingernails against the plastic. It was at least a foot thick. The cell across from mine was empty. The hallway was dimly lit and I couldn't see down to either end. I heard nothing.



I turned around and assessed the space. There was enough room to do yoga. I didn't know how long I would be kept here. I didn't think the queen would let me go. Unless they figured out a way to make me permanently forget everything I'd seen. Or killed me.



Fear uncoiled and slithered through me. I didn't know what would happen next. I couldn't be sure they wouldn't just kill me. Ten years ago I would've said Stan would never have allowed such a thing. But I didn't know him anymore.



I wanted to think Ralph would prevent them from doing anything too drastic. He was one of them, though. And he hadn't stopped them from putting me in this prison. I couldn't stop the little bump-de-bump my heart did when I thought about Ralph. But he didn't feel that way about me, obviously.



What was with the fire? What was with the dragon? How had the dying woman changed me? And how had I changed Ralph?



He was a father.



I couldn't wrap my brain about that fact. He was damned sexy for a daddy. Not to mention he was undead. How did a vampire raise mortal children? How did a vampire even have kids?



For all our studies of these creatures, we had to rely heavily on mythology, folklore, and eyewitness accounts. It had never occurred to me that vampires might have the same hopes and worries as humans. And Ralph didn't want me. He thought the fire bound us, and maybe he was right. But I wanted him anyway.



I'd never really had a boyfriend. I'd never settled anywhere long enough to meet men, much less date them. Only one had stuck around long enough to meet my parents - on the slim chance he might actually make it into my pants - and that had been the end of the relationship. Hey, love me, love my parents. So far, no man I'd managed to date had been able to do either one. Honestly, Ralph was the first guy to whom I felt va-va-voom attracted. Most of the time, I knew I was supposed to feel a certain way. I could look at Brad Pitt and think, "He's cute and, hey, nice abs." But that heart-pounding, knee-shaking, palm-sweating attraction between two people had never been mine to experience . . . until Ralph scooped me into his arms and kept me safe from the wolves. Oh, what did it matter? Talk about being from two different worlds. Sheesh. I shut out the rest of my worries. I couldn't do anything until they let me out. I needed a clear mind and to restore my sense of calm. The clothes were too big for me to do a yoga routine, so I shucked them. Luckily, I still had on my underwear, but no bra. Oh, well. My parents and I once lived in a nudist colony, where the phrase "let it all hang out" was taken literally. I was very comfortable with my body. Nudity was nothing to be ashamed of, and I wasn't.



I shucked off the pajamas and put them on the bed. Then I put my palms together and stood in Mountain pose. Breathe in. Breathe out . I decided to do Sun Salutation. I focused on the poses and pushed away mental distractions. I did Cobra pose: I stretched out on my stomach, then put my palms flat on the floor, lifted my torso off the ground, and bent back, my eyes raised to the ceiling.



After a few seconds, I realized someone was watching me. I released the position and rolled to my knees, crossing my arms over my breasts.



Through the clear door of the cell, Ralph pried his baby blues off my chest and grinned sheepishly. "Uh . . . hi, Libby."