Chapter 15 #3
As something of an eccentric individual myself, I was hardly in a position to judge others, but between the odd hours he kept, his insistence on formal manners, his eschewing technology, and his dramatics, he was more than unique.
After my conversation with Daphne, it seemed possible that Christopher could be a vampire. He certainly had the temperament for it.
Now that I thought of it, I’d seen him the morning of my disastrous attempt at fishing, on the boardwalk. The same morning the mystery vampire had attacked another victim…
“You’re looking perturbed. Is something bothering you?” Beckett asked when I finally entered his study. He was seated at his desk, going through papers.
I considered saying something to him, but Beckett had been very clear he didn’t want to be involved in the issue, and I respected that he didn’t want to get involved in supernatural politics. Besides, right now I didn’t have any proof. Just vague intuitions.
I’ll clear it with Daphne, first. Maybe she can get a whiff of Christopher and tell if he’s a vampire or not. If he is, then I’ll bring the issue to Beckett.
“It’s nothing,” I said.
Beckett narrowed his eyes, then leaned forward to better study me. “Whatever has you looking like that isn’t nothing.”
Perhaps, though, I could test the waters?
“Now that you mention it, I am just wracked with anxiety about the famished vampire and his—or her—shenanigans, so I’ve been thinking about who it could be,” I said.
Beckett rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry I asked. You’re finished working for the day, yes?” he said, firmly ending the conversation.
“Yeah. I finished a while ago, I just came back to check in with Christopher and say goodnight to him.”
“I see.” Beckett stood up, his desk chair scraping the ground. “I’ve noticed you’ve been scaling back on your hours. I’m very proud of you.”
I strolled across the study. “I did say once I got my systems into place I would be able to cut back,” I pointed out.
“I didn’t doubt your abilities,” Beckett said, sauntering so we met at the center of his study. “But I did wonder if you’d be able to curtail your habits.”
I had to tilt my neck back so I could properly look up at him given how much taller he was than me. “That’s what my Algoma guidebook is for. Also, you know it wouldn’t kill you to go out and mingle a little with some folks. The area is quite charming.”
“Now that you mention it, I have heard good things about the winery,” Beckett said, his voice mild.
I made a face at him. “You know, given how old you are, you’d think you would have had the time to learn how to become a comedic master.”
“I think I’m hilarious.”
“You also hold onto maid uniforms.”
“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“No. And once winter hits, I’m going to make you binge watch that Marie Kondo tidying show with me. Or maybe Hoarders.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll learn.”
A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Beckett’s lips. “I don’t go out much during the day because I don’t want the locals to be able to recognize me.”
“So what if they do? It’s not like they’d be around to recognize you for long. They’ll die off with a human’s naturally short lifespan,” I pointed out.
“Perhaps, but things are different now given cellphones and the culture of taking photos for all occasions and at any moment,” Beckett said.
“I still think you could risk it,” I said. “You just need to invest in some stronger glamours in the future.”
“You seem very invested in me going out into the public,” Beckett said, clearly amused.
I thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, because I think it would be fun to go around with you.”
Beckett paused. “You’re serious.”
I frowned. “Of course. I always say what I mean.”
Beckett studied me for a moment, his wine-red eyes so intense I swear I started to melt like gooey milk chocolate. He leaned down, bringing him much closer to me.
We stared at each other, I’m not sure if it was for seconds or minutes—it felt weirdly like both to me.
Beckett shifted. “Abi—”
His phone exploded in a cacophony of chimes. He flinched, but I jumped, startled by the abrupt interruption of our conversation.
“That’s the video camera doorbell,” I said, having to pitch my voice louder than usual to be heard.
Beckett pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Who would be visiting now? All the contractors are gone for the night, right?”
“Yeah. And they all know to use the back kitchen door, anyway.” I nosily leaned in so I could see his cellphone screen as Beckett brought up the live feed.
Gandalf stood by the front door. Or at least a man who exactly resembled how I pictured the character: long, white hair that glinted like silver, a perfectly groomed mustache that hung past his chin, and wire framed spectacles that magnified his eyes so they looked extra large.
I couldn’t see much besides his face as he peered into the camera. “Hello? Is this thing operational? Helllooo? This is the residence of a Beckett Kinge the stodgy vampire in hiding, yes?”
My eyes bugged at the casual talk, but Beckett narrowed his eyes. “I believe that’s the Paragon. But why would he be in these parts?”
“The who?”
“You’re about to find out. Come on.”