Chapter 13
Thirteen
JULIAN
“Apleasure to meet you, Maris.”
It’s old-fashioned but I’m vampire enough to show I’m obsessed with the woman in front of me. I lean in, take her hand, and drop a kiss to the back of it. “I’d love to come inside. Thank you.”
The old wives’ tales got some things right.
Maybe not with the whole demonic possession and death by sunlight thing but an invitation is the only way a vampire can come inside someone’s home.
Formal, informal, written, verbal, it could be a damn smoke signal for all the fates cared, so long as it was consensual.
I hear Maris’ soft intake of breath. When I look up at her, her cheeks are pink and her eyes wide.
She looks younger like this. Nothing at all like the bloodthirsty little murderess I know her to be.
Not even the bruise on the side of her face and split lip mar the innocence I see in her right now.
The cut above her eye looks like it’s been opened recently.
Anger flares in me at the thought of someone hitting her, but then I see the back of her last victim’s head in my mind and the savage parts of me yearn for the brutality that I know lives in Maris.
She might have been hit but she got her revenge.
My murderess.
She can be vicious but right now she’s docile. Pink cheeked like she’s a teenager greeting her crush. I like the way this kind of innocence colors Maris. She’s pretty like this. Delicate.
Mine.
Maris holds the door open wider for me and I enter. “I hope I’m not intruding. If you don’t have time for a visit, I can come back later,” I offer.
I’ve been watching her house all goddamn day.
It took a little bit of finagling but luck was on my side and I was able to call off work today under the pretense of working from home to catch up on paperwork.
I finished the paperwork hours ago, dutifully completed while keeping a watchful eye on my neighbor.
She didn’t stir, not even a look out of a window.
There’s a feeling to homes when you know the people inside are sleeping.
It’s like the home, boards, bricks and mortar are all sleeping too.
A slumbering giant with slow and heavy energy.
This home feels that way even with us standing in the brightly lit foyer.
It’s a beautiful home. The floors shine in the sunlight and a grand staircase leads up to the second floor.
The molding and original plasterwork is beautifully done and the foyer is painted a rich green, making it all feel bigger than the space really is.
A grandfather clock ticks away to the left of us.
It’s taller than me and I smile seeing it.
It’s the kind you wind up with a key to keep going.
I turn, taking in the space above us where a sparkling chandelier sits dark.
It would be overkill with the afternoon sun lighting the room but at night the chandelier would be a beauty.
Every part of this house would be a sight to behold.
I look through the open doorway beside the grandfather clock to the living room and to the right of us is a hallway that leads to what I know is her kitchen.
“You have a lovely home,” I tell her and I’m not lying.
A place like this, with all of its original glory still intact and tended to, is rare.
If Maris was in a corset or petticoats, it would be easy to forget what time period I’m in.
Though the older I get, the easier that happens.
That’s the way of things, isn’t it? No matter if you’re mortal or immortal, time has a way of making you feel it. No one escapes.
“It’s my family’s home,” Maris says softly and closes the door.
“Doesn’t that make it yours?”
She pauses and then nods after a hard swallow.
I watch the delicate movement of her throat before she speaks.
Two rosebud lips part and Jesus Christ, what am I doing?
Waxing poetic about her the way I would have when I was still human.
I take a step back from Maris to regain some semblance of calm as she speaks.
“I guess it does but this place, it doesn’t really belong to just one person. It’s bigger than that.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and gives me a shy look that has me encouraging her.
“Tell me more. Who does this place belong to then?”
“The town,” she says. Her eyes stray to the grandfather clock and she smiles.
“This was the first home built outside of town. My great-great-great-great grandmother Isla Martinez helped found the town. Vesper Point wouldn’t be here without her and she loved Vesper Point so much that this place,” she extends a hand out to sweep over the foyer, “this home became Vesper House. So it’s not just mine.
It belongs to Vesper Point even if they-” she stops short, the hand she’s holding gets tucked back by her side and she shakes her head.
“Sorry.”
“For what?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Sometimes, I sound like a whack job about this place. I-I’m alone too much.”
“It’s a historic place. I saw the plaque outside,” I say with a nod towards the front door and make a note of Maris being alone.
Alone is good. Alone means she’s all fucking mine.
It’s true. I did see the Historic Places boasting her family’s hand in Vesper Point’s origin.
Her family came from money and from the looks of how well she’s maintained her familial home, they still do.
I look her over with new eyes. Interesting, beautiful, and rich.
She’s as unexpected a treat as Father Paretti was.
“I think you did Isla justice with what you said. You shouldn’t stop yourself. You’re good with your words.”
Maris ducks her head. Her dark hair moves over her shoulder in a silky fall. I wonder what her hair feels like. Soft as silk, I bet.
“I work at the paper, so I like to think I’m okay with them at least, but thank you.”
“You work at the paper?”
The Vesper Point Call.
I remember the small office across from the burger joint. I saw the light on last night when I was walking downtown and wondered who it might be. Was it Maris that had been working? Is that why she was in the graveyard so late at night to kill?
“I do,” she says and motions for me to follow her. “I can make us a cup of coffee if you have time?”
“I always have time for coffee.”
Maris hesitates in the hallway entrance and looks back at me. “I would love the company.” Her smile is tentative but hopeful. She wants me to stay. “But only if I’m not keeping you from something important. I know you’re probably busy at the hospital.”
I didn’t have a single appointment booked today at the hospital and I’m sure if I had gone in, the only thing that would have kept me busy was Liz sniffing around me for a date but Maris doesn’t need to know that.
“I didn’t have enough this morning if I’m honest, so you’re really doing me a favor.
” I’m not lying. I only had one cup while I did my paperwork and another cup just didn’t make it on my list with the vigil I held watching Vesper House.
She doesn’t look convinced. She’s tense, eyes darting past me to the door and then back again while she twists her hands together like she’s trying to stop herself from reaching out to touch me.
Maris opens her mouth to speak and then decides against it and closes it again.
What the fuck has been going on in Vesper Point that she’s this nervous about believing that I’d choose to have coffee with her?
Instantly, the little charming seaside town is on my shit list. A woman as beautiful as Maris, one as connected to the founding of this town, should have visitors.
She should be in a busy newspaper office with a team, there should be some idiot local who thinks they’re meant for each other just because they made mud pies as kids but there’s none of that.
Instead, the house she claims belongs to the town sits silent and dark and Maris is here alone. She’d said Father Paretti had been nice to her but she’s killed two men that I know of. Shit. Did I eat the only person that was nice to her in this place?
Fuck. I bet I did.
I clear my throat. “There’s nothing more important than getting to know my neighbor, especially in a place like this.”
Maris’ brow furrows but at least she starts walking again. “What do you mean like this?”
I have to tread carefully. Maris loves this place. I heard it when she talked about Vesper House, but even so, it’s easy to tell the girl is lonely.
I look around the hallway as we walk. Family pictures and portraits line the walls. Several generations of Maris’ line stare back at us. Some with smiles, others with a quiet stoicism and shrewdness that I know lives in Maris too.
“I mean to say that Vesper Point seems like the kind of place that’s quiet, and the quiet is good but without good company it can be…” my voice trails off and Maris finishes the sentence for me like I knew she would.
“Lonely.”
I tuck my hands in my pockets and nod. “Yes, that’s it. I haven’t had a lot of time for company lately, not with the way my schedule was in Seattle. It’s a shock slowing down and realizing that I’m suddenly, very, alone.”
“I can understand that,” she says, leading me into the kitchen.
Until now this room has been the one I’ve seen the most of.
I kept watch, pretending to do dishes for two whole hours today hoping Maris would make her appearance.
I’d used the time waiting for Maris to conduct a thorough study of the space from my window.
The room is exactly like I thought it would be.
Bright, airy, slightly retro in appearance.
The stove is black and chrome, gas, of course.
The countertops are thick soapstone, a soft white that pair well with the light teal cabinets.
There’s a circle table for four at the center of the room and a thick rainbow woven rug in front of a door that I assume leads out to the back porch I’d spied.