CHAPTER TWENTY || COLE
“Good morning. How can I help you?”
The portly, middle-aged man behind the counter looked up at me as I stepped through the door and flashed a friendly smile. He was alone in the store—not surprising, since he’d just opened less than five minutes ago. “Anything in particular you’re looking for today?”
I closed the door behind me and flipped the deadbolt. For good measure, I turned the open sign around so it read closed.
“Yes,” I told him, turning back around. He froze, his eyes widening. I added, “I need to see your security camera footage.”
“I can’t release that,” the man replied.
His voice didn’t waver, but his eyes flicked down to a spot below the counter. Maybe a silent alarm—or a gun.
“Reach for it, and I’ll make you regret being born,” I told him.
The man reached for it.
Scowling, I blurred across the room with vampiric speed, through the waist-high swinging doors beside the register, tearing one wooden flap off its hinges. I caught him by the shoulder before he could pull the handgun he’d been reaching for, forcing a horrified gasp from him.
A lot of firepower for an automotive shop—then again, this was Los Angeles, and anything could walk through his doors.
I spun him around and caught his gaze before he could have a heart attack—or ruin my shirt by putting bullet holes in it—and then I pressed him with hypnotic power.
He went under my spell immediately, his expression going tranquil.
“You feel very calm,” I informed him.
“I do,” he agreed.
“Nothing bad will happen to you, as long as you do what I say.”
“Okay.”
It shouldn’t have made me uneasy, but I didn’t like how blank he looked—like I’d hit the off switch on his personality. At least when I’d put Sam under a suggestion, I knew she’d chosen it. This felt… ugly.
“What’s your name?”
“Paul,” he murmured, eyes glazed, giving me a happy smile that revolted me.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. I was getting soft in my old age. More loudly, I added, “Do you have access to the security footage out in the alley?”
I probably should’ve led with that.
Paul nodded happily. “Sure do.”
“Okay, so here’s what’s going to happen, Paul.
You’re going to pull up all the footage from the cameras in the alley from two nights ago, between one a.m. and three a.m. You’re going to send the files to me.
Then you’re going to open the store and forget that I was ever here. Can you do that, Paul?”
He nodded, then coughed. Belatedly, I noticed the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. I frowned at him. Not only was the habit unseemly, it was obviously already affecting his health.
“Why do you smoke?” I asked, surprising myself.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I used to enjoy it,” he said slowly. “Used to enjoy the excuse to step outside.”
“And now?”
“Now I can’t quit.” He paused, voice still neutral. “I’ve tried.”
“But you wish to stop?”
“I keep trying, but it never sticks.”
“Why not?”
“Whenever I feel stressed, I smoke,” he said, still monotone. “That’s what happens every time. I get hit with a craving and I cave.”
“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” I muttered. Vampiric rehab services weren’t a thing.
He gave me a glazed, dopey smile that made me want to throw something. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Right,” I said, grinding my teeth. “Don’t worry about that.
” I sighed and pushed harder with my gaze.
“Listen, Paul. In addition to the footage, there’s one other thing: you’ll try quitting smoking again.
And when you feel stress, you’ll…” I paused, frowning.
What was a human, life-affirming alternative to smoking? “…take a short walk.”
“But the cravings—”
“You don’t crave cigarettes anymore.”
“I don’t?”
“No. Instead, you crave… chewing gum. Or maybe a bit of hard candy. Or a cough drop. Your choice, really. But never cigarettes. Starting… err, right now.”
A little shaky on the dismount, maybe. But I mean, why the hell not?
Then I broke the compulsive spell on him.
Paul blinked, then gave me a rueful smile. “Right, I’ll grab you that footage.” He paused. “Why did you say you needed it?”
I arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t.”
“Right, of course.” Then he turned and hurried into the back area.
I followed him into a small manager’s office, scowling to myself.
First, I hadn’t been able to watch Eli accept my vampirism without knowing the full truth—even though I’d known he wouldn’t react well—and now I was standing in an automotive parts store, feeling bad about hypnotizing strangers to get what I wanted, when I’d never done felt that way before.
Hell, I was now doing favors for them… out of the kindness of my heart.
Except I didn’t have a heart.
Did I?
Paul absently fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tossed it in the trash, all without seeming fully aware he was doing it.
And Eli was ever-present in my mind.
When he walked out the door last night, it had hurt.
Nothing had hurt in hundreds of years. Nothing had frightened me, either.
Or made me feel even a speck of pity. Or even genuine anger.
And since meeting the young doctor with the strangely intense dark eyes—like they had seen eons rather than decades—I had felt all of the above.
And my motivation for hunting Joseph’s killer was all wrong, too.
And underneath it all, I just wanted him. I wanted Eli back. I wanted him to look at me and see me. Not someone he ought to have been afraid of.
It was a poison. A sickness. A plague.
But the most frightening thing of all was that I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted it to stop.
For the first time since I had become a vampire, the world around me seemed like it belonged to other people too.
Like everything around me actually mattered—just because it did, inherently—in some way I wouldn’t have been able to explain, even if I’d had another eight hundred years to try.
And that was all because of Doctor De La Cruz. Because of Eli.
He had somehow given me back the world.
Tears sprang to my eyes at the thought, and I let out a choked sob without any warning at all.
Paul looked at me strangely. “You okay, buddy?”
I let out a startled laugh at his question.
He actually seemed like he meant it. And oddly enough, I was abruptly glad I’d done him a favor—and perhaps added years onto his lifespan by banishing his desire to smoke. Because Paul seemed like a nice enough guy, didn’t he? I didn’t even blame him for reaching for the gun.
The world needed more folks like Paul.
“Not really,” I told him, letting out another high-pitched giggle.
I sounded halfway to madness. And I still wouldn’t have traded it.
Not for anything.