Chapter Seven
SEVEN
Ben’s fork was halfway to his mouth when Eleonore abruptly disappeared out of her chair. An instant later, she reappeared, pinning the man who’d grabbed her shoulder to the wall. Her mouth was wide open, displaying shiny white fangs.
“A vampire!” someone cried out. “A daywalking vampire!”
The other patrons began screaming.
Ben dropped the fork, stomach plunging and pulse spiking. “Eleonore—”
“No one touches me without permission,” she told the man in a deadly voice. “I should rip out your throat.” To punctuate the threat, she snapped her fangs inches from his face.
The man had gone from cocky to terrified in an instant, and a wet patch appeared on the front of his jeans. “Jesus, lady, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
The hysteria was spreading as people babbled about vampires. Multiple patrons had gotten their phones out and were documenting the scene. Ben needed to do crisis management, and fast.
He stood, nearly knocking the table over. His body was too big for this damned furniture. He hurried toward Eleonore, holding his hands out placatingly. “Please let him go, Eleonore.”
Her head whipped around and she pinned him with a hard stare. “Are you ordering or asking?”
“Asking,” he said, hoping a softer touch would calm her. “He definitely shouldn’t have touched you without permission, but you can’t murder him in the middle of the restaurant.”
“I absolutely can,” she said. The man whimpered, and she grabbed his hair to jerk his head to the side. Even Ben could see the frantic flutter of the man’s pulse in his exposed neck. “See?” she asked, fangs hovering over his jugular. “It would be so easy.”
A cacophony of voices filled the air.
“I’ve never seen a vampire before.”
“Is she going to kill him?”
“If she does, I’m recording for GhoulTube!”
This needed to stop for everyone’s sake. Ben took a deep breath and edged closer. He didn’t dare touch Eleonore’s shoulder to try to pry her off the man—he liked having his windpipe inside his body, thank you very much—but he had a responsibility to fix this situation, since he was the one who’d ultimately caused it by bringing her here. It was time for a more direct approach.
“Eleonore,” Ben said with all the firmness he could muster. “Let him go.”
She released the man instantly, though she snapped her teeth one last time. Then she turned on Ben, rage burning in her eyes. “I thought you were asking, not ordering.”
He looked over his shoulder at the people watching avidly and scowled. “Stop rubbernecking,” he told them. Then he shifted to put as much of his body between her and the room as possible. “I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “I know he frightened you.”
Eleonore stiffened. Her mouth opened, then closed again. The blind fury receded, replaced by a look of consternation. “I wasn’t afraid,” she finally said. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
There was something haunted in her green eyes now, though, a shadow he recognized. Maybe she wasn’t truly afraid, but she had been triggered by the sudden touch. A tremor raced over her arm and settled in her right hand, which twitched at her side.
Compassion joined the chaotic stew of Ben’s emotions. “I know,” he said softly. “You thought there was a threat and you reacted accordingly. How about we get you home, away from all these people?”
She blinked, looking like she’d just remembered there were other people on the patio, then leaned to look around him. He heard her soft inhale. “They’re all staring.”
“Let’s get you out of here.” Ben fished in his pocket for his wallet, then threw a clump of bills on the table—way more than the meal cost, but hopefully enough to convey his apology. He reached for Eleonore, then hesitated. “May I?” he asked.
She looked at his fingers for a moment, then nodded.
Ben gently took hold of her upper arm and brought her close. He steered her out of the restaurant, angling his body as best he could to shield her from curious eyes. His own cheeks burned with embarrassment—as a rule, he tried not to involve himself in anything that might qualify as a “scene”—but he was more worried about Eleonore.
That had looked an awful lot like a PTSD reaction. And if she’d truly been trapped for centuries, forced to commit assassinations at the whim of a wicked witch, he couldn’t imagine the depth of that trauma or how to even begin tackling it.
Ben paced back and forth in his bedroom, smacking his forehead with his palm. Now that they were back at his house and the immediate crisis was over, he was free to freak out properly.
What had he been thinking, taking Eleonore out to dinner in public? He barely knew her, and what he did know should have prepared him for some sort of calamity. She was angry, violent, and traumatized, with no knowledge of the modern day. Of course she’d been overwhelmed.
Eleonore was currently holed up in his spare room with the door shut. The wind had kicked up, whipping past the windows, and Ben twitched at the slightest creak of the house, wondering what Eleonore was doing. Was she shredding his best pillows? Baring her fangs at passersby who spotted her through the window? Sharpening her knives in preparation for gutting him?
Or worse…was she sad?
Her eyes had looked so haunted as he’d guided her out of the restaurant, and she hadn’t spoken on the drive home. When it came to fight, flight, or freeze, Ben generally fell into the freeze category, but Eleonore’s instincts were firmly in the fight camp. Perceiving danger, she’d lashed out. Once the danger was proven inconsequential, she’d probably felt as ashamed as he did after recovering from one of his panic attacks.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket. He pulled it out and grimaced at the sight of Gigi’s name on the caller ID. Not that he didn’t love Gigi, of course, but he could use a few hours of quiet.
He lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey, Gigi.”
“Benjamin Handel Rosewood, what the hell are you doing?”
Her tone was…strident. The use of his unfortunate middle name didn’t bode well either.
“Ah, come again?” Ben asked.
“It’s all over social media. You and some vampire tried to murder someone at Brittany’s!”
He winced. “Oh. That.”
“Yes, that!” She was increasing in volume, and he imagined steam coming out of her ears. “Putting aside the ethics of public execution by vampire, you know I’m running for mayor. My image has to be squeaky-clean.”
He sat on the edge of the mattress, rubbing his temples. The rug beneath his bare feet had been hand-tufted by his mother, the colors a spray of springtime over the hardwood floor. He dug his toes into the worn fabric—right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. “I fail to see what your image has to do with what happened tonight.”
“It’s a small town, dumbass. Everyone knows we’re related.” There was a commotion on the other side of the line—the low, familiar voices of his parents saying something unintelligible to Gigi. She sighed and asked, “Who was that vampire, anyway?”
There was no way to explain without looking pathetic, incompetent, or of questionable sanity. “A…friend,” he said weakly.
That set off a flurry of hushed arguing and another minor commotion before a new voice took over. “That’s wonderful!” Ben’s mother, Violet Rosewood, said. “How did you meet her?”
He groaned. “It wasn’t a date, Mom.”
“If you say so, honey. What’s her name? What’s she like?”
“She tried to kill someone, Mom,” Gigi said in the background.
“Oh, hush. All I saw was a woman protecting her personal space.”
“By threatening to rip his throat out ?”
“Your father’s said worse after the full moon.”
“That’s different. Everyone’s aggressive on the full moon. She’s a vampire .”
“So? It might be nice to diversify the Rosewood-Levine bloodline. Get a few new species in there to liven up the holidays.”
“We are not dating,” Ben said loudly to interrupt the argument. “Much less reproducing.”
“You’ve never mentioned a vampire friend before, though,” his mother said.
His father’s voice sounded in the background. “…the café?” was all Ben caught.
“Oh, that would make sense.” Violet sounded disappointed. “Is she one of the contractors for the café?”
If it would end this line of interrogation, Ben would agree to just about anything. He loved his parents dearly, but they’d been getting broody about the lack of grandchildren. “Yes,” he said, seizing the excuse. “She’s, ah, a consultant.”
“You need a consultant to serve coffee?” Gigi asked skeptically. “Or are you putting bloodletting on the menu?”
Inspiration struck—a way to explain Eleonore’s presence and her…dramatic…tendencies. “It’s for the theatre,” Ben said. “You know, that stage I’m putting in? I want to start hosting stand-up comedy, open mic nights, some solo shows. She’s a performance artist, very experimental.” He wasn’t typically a great liar, but this was sounding pretty good, so he forged on. “Tonight’s scene was actually supposed to help promote her latest show. Viral advertising through found footage, that sort of thing.” He prayed that actually was the sort of thing an experimental performance artist would do to advertise.
There was a long pause. Ben clenched his jaw and fidgeted, hoping they’d buy it.
“You’re already booking shows?” Gigi asked. “That’s awesome! Weird way to advertise it, but you can workshop that.”
Ben exhaled a sigh of relief. “Yeah, I’m meeting with a few people. I thought about adding the stage later, but I think it would be great to celebrate the café opening with the Emporium’s first artist-in-residence.”
Damn, this was good. He mentally high-fived himself.
“You know, this actually sounds like a great opportunity,” Gigi said. “Have you read my manifesto yet?”
Her list of campaign goals and promises was sitting in his inbox, unopened. “Not yet, but again, I think you should probably call it something besides a manifesto.”
“It’s a little serial killer, huh? Well, part of my platform involves increasing access to the arts for lower-income members of the community.”
That sounded like Gigi. She’d always loved music, even if she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. “Great, we can definitely host a few campaign events at the Emporium, if you like. Get you up onstage to make some speeches.” He heard a noise from the other room—footsteps padding over the floor, then the creak of the door—and stood, preparing to say goodbye to his sister so he could figure out next steps with Eleonore. “Hey, so—”
“It’ll be the perfect opportunity to announce my candidacy,” Gigi said, barreling on as she often did when excited. “The opening night of the café is going to be a big draw anyway, and after I talk about my campaign promises, people can watch the show.”
Eleonore was moving around the apartment. “Uh-huh,” Ben said distractedly, the majority of his attention fixated on whatever Eleonore was doing in his living room. It sounded like she was muttering to herself, and there was a metallic sound he hoped didn’t involve weaponry.
“It’s brilliant, actually,” Gigi said. “Proof that my promises aren’t just words. I can say I support the arts, but if I’m not actually in person supporting the arts, it doesn’t count, right?”
“Right,” he said, not having processed a word. That clanking made him think Eleonore was in the kitchen. Did she need more blood? She was talking again, though he couldn’t tell what she was saying except that it was one word or phrase repeated over and over with increasing levels of irritation.
“Thank you so much,” Gigi gushed. “This will kill two birds with one stone. Explain away the scene tonight while providing a platform for my campaign announcement. Three birds, I guess, because it’s extra publicity for the café’s opening and the show. I’ll make sure there’s a crowd!”
“Sounds good—wait, what?” His attention snapped back to the conversation in time to realize what she’d said didn’t make sense.
“You’re the best, Ben. This is going to be awesome .” Then Gigi made a startled sound. “Shoot, I’m late for dinner with my fashion adviser. Got to go!”
“Your what?” He was still trying to catch up with whatever conversation she’d been having with him while he was tuning out. A banging noise started emanating from the kitchen.
“When you get the chance, can you email over her name and the title of the show? I’ll chat with the team about how best to promote it. Love you, bye!”
Gigi hung up.
Ben stared at the phone in his hand. He considered himself an intelligent person capable of following most conversations, but Gigi was like a tornado when she was on a mission: whipping through life, rearranging everything and everyone as she saw fit, and Lycaon help the storm chasers who tried to keep up.
He ran the conversation back through his mind to hopefully piece together the missing narrative.
Gigi’s platform involved supporting the arts.
She wanted to announce her mayoral campaign.
She also wanted to kill a number of birds with one metaphorical stone.
“Oh, fuck.” Ben sank back onto the bed, hand clapped to his mouth as he realized what he had inadvertently agreed to.
Gigi wanted to announce her mayoral campaign and passion for the arts at the official opening of the Emporium’s new café and theatre…after which her supporters would be treated to a live theatrical performance.
By Eleonore.