The Vampire Always Bites Twice | Wattys 2022 Grand Prize Winner

18

Isla, Home? Alone? Not Happening

"Greg! Fancy seeing you here!"

While Greg was looking fine in his fancy suit, he did not look fine or fancy to have seen me. Maybe I had laid the fake surprise on a little too thick. Oh well, cause I wasn't letting it up either. Waving my gloved arm, I trotted over to where the vamp had exited his cab and frozen on the sidewalk, the fringe of my flapper dress swinging around my knees.

Glad I took the gamble on dressing up (the place was a speakeasy). Greg was ready for a black-tie affair. Although his black suit and tie and crisp white shirt were plain bordering on nondescript, he pulled off the classic look well.

"Don't you shine up like a new penny," I said as I reached him.

He stared at me, expression somewhere between confusion and panic. "You keep turning up like a bad one."

"Or a lucky one."

"So lucky that you just happen to show up at this bar tonight?" he sighed, nodding at the line formed around the corner. "My secretary told you I'd be here?"

I snorted. "Seriously? Here I was about to ask if you were the one stalking me like a bloodthirsty creature of the night. I'm just out for a drink. You?"

He raised a brow at me.

So I may have craned my neck a bit. Just a smidge.

The Bok building, in all its art deco glory, used to be a high school from the 1930s right up until '13. One acre of land and eight stories tall, it towered over most other buildings in this South Philly neighborhood. It had only been converted into art studios and galleries and boutiques and small, locally sourced gluten-free vegan bakeries within the last few years, complete with a swanky speakeasy on the rooftop.

Of course, I'd heard of Irwin's before last night. It was the hottest spot for vamps to take their blood donors these days. Apparently. And, as it turned out, much more exclusive at the entrance than I had anticipated. I was freezing my nips off in this roaring 20s getup standing around waiting for my vamp to show up.

I mean, he's not my—you know what I mean.

And, 'aight, fine, so Phoebe may have confirmed a suspicion of mine in the very awkward phone chat I'd had with her this afternoon – I don't see why she felt the need to tell me her boss was under the weather, whatever that meant – but assuming Greg would come here next was all me.

Speaking of being under Greg, or... yeah, sure. Speaking of Greg, up close I noticed his skin was ashy and gray, especially under his eyes. His bones seemed more prominent. Is it possible for vamps to lose weight overnight? They always come off as glowing and ethereal those perfectly reanimated sons of bitches. But Greg looked, well, dead.

Not that it was a bad look on him.

"You look like I could buy you a drink regardless. I hear they got some high-quality veins on tap—Oh!" I feigned surprise. "Unless you're here on business?"

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose, his whole face scrunching in a kind of cute display of exasperation. Either that or he was suffering from one heck of a sinus headache.

"Isla, what are you doing?"

Delaying my untimely demise, I guess. I don't know. What else could I do? You couldn't have expected me to just sit around and wait for whoever trashed my apartment to come back for me, could you? Well, I couldn't. Uh uh, not me. I just spent the whole afternoon cleaning up the mess and pacing and chugging coffee and working up the nerve just to call Greg's office because, honestly, where else could I go right now?