“You live in a—” He groped for the right word. “Warehouse?”
She shook her head. “This is the basement. Where I make my—” She stopped. Maybe she shouldn’t go into what she made. It might lead back to why they found themselves in this predicament to begin with.
It didn’t seem to matter to Mr. Deveraux anyway because he didn’t pursue it. “So show me the rest of the place,” he said. “I hope it’s nicer than this.”
Sophie bridled at his condescending tone. “It’s a very nice home. I happen to love it.”
“Then show me.”
Sophie started upstairs. Slowly. Even though she had been quick to snap at his insult, she was fully aware that Mr. Deveraux, until very recently, had lived in a mansion in the best part of the city. She, on the other hand, lived in a cottage on the edge of town, and while she did love it, he might not recognize its charm or appreciate its character.
And he did not.
When she completed the tour (it took about a minute), he lapsed into stunned silence.
Then he said, “Well. We can do something about this right off. We’re moving to the mansion. It does belong to me, after all.”
“But what about Mrs. Deveraux?” Sophie asked, trying to point out the obvious.
He snickered. “What about her? It will give me great pleasure to throw my wife out on her pretty butt. She and her boyfriend can find their own place to live.”
Sophie felt a chill. She didn’t ask how he planned to accomplish such a thing because she knew. Mr. Deveraux had no intention of throwing his wife out. He had something much more sinister in mind for her, and for the boyfriend. “I won’t be a party to murder,” she said.
She expected an outburst. Instead Mr. Deveraux changed tack again. “I think I’m hungry,” he said, his voice reflecting confusion and awe. “For food. Human food.”
Sophie panicked. Was he hungry for humans? Had he gone from drinking blood to actually craving the corporeal body? Was that a result of the melding of their species? She hadn’t had time to consider all the ramifications of a vampire and human commingling of the flesh. This one was pretty awful.
Mr. Deveraux started to laugh. “No, silly. I mean I’m hungry for steak. Steak and French fries. Maybe a beer.”
Sophie shook her head “I don’t have steak or beer,” she said. “I’m a vegetarian and I don’t drink alcohol. I could bake a potato for you though.”
A long, exasperated sigh escaped Mr. Deveraux’s lips. “For the first time in a century and a half, I can enjoy real food, and I get trapped inside a teetotaling vegetarian? Well, let’s get one thing straight right now, missy. If I have to live life as a woman, you are going to have to make a few concessions, too. And the first is finding me a steak and a beer.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Sophie said. “I told you I don’t eat meat. I can’t even bear to touch it. You’ll have to learn to—”
Sophie didn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t. Her breath was cut off. Pressure built in her chest. It felt as if Mr. Deveraux had inflated a balloon that squeezed against her heart and cut off her oxygen. Gasping, she fell to her knees. The pain got worse and her vision began to fade. She was losing consciousness, darkness closing in until it surrounded her, beat her down, and she knew what it felt like to be dying.
And then it was over.
Sophie rolled onto her back, panting and clutching at her chest.
Mr. Deveraux’s voice cut through her fear. “We have to coexist, Sophie. Let’s try to make the best of it.”
It was the first time he had used her name. Somehow it chilled her as nothing else before. She gathered her wits about her and sat up. Her nightgown had bunched up around her waist and she tugged it into place, embarrassed that she had so exposed herself. Mr. Deveraux seemed strangely absent from her mind, as if he was giving her time to compose herself. It did not comfort her. This demonstration had made it plain that he was in charge. He had given her physical beauty and taken away free will.
“Are you all right now?”
Sophie pushed herself into a standing position. “What do you think?”
He ignored the sarcasm. “Do you live alone?”
Another abrupt change of subject that sent ice through Sophie’s veins. “Yes.”
“No boyfriend? Husband?”
Sophie shrugged, “No.”
“Widowed, then?”
“No.”
Sophie felt a gentle probing of her mind and, more disturbingly, of her body. Then she felt Mr. Deveraux’s startled reaction. “You’re a virgin? You lived eighty human years and never had sex?”
He said it as if it was a terrible failing on Sophie’s part, as if she had somehow let him down.
“Oh, this gets better and better,” he moaned. “No red meat, no alcohol, and no sex. What fresh hell is this?”
Sophie squared her shoulders. “I wanted to save myself,” she said with great dignity. “For the man I loved.”
“Oh? How’d that work out for you?”
His disdain cut like a whip. It also triggered a flash of temper. “At least my wife didn’t set me on fire to get rid of me,” she snapped.
Mr. Deveraux lapsed again into silence. Sophie congratulated herself on the tiny victory and went into the kitchen. She could use a cup of tea.
“Coffee,” Mr. Deveraux corrected.
“No,” Sophie responded. “Tea.”
She waited for something to happen, for Mr. Deveraux to hurt her again, but he didn’t. Once again, he was strangely absent. He seemed to feel the same things she did. Perhaps his display of cruelty backfired because the pain inflicted on her came back to torture him.
She fixed the tea and sat down at the kitchen table. Her head spun with confusion and anxiety. She had no idea what she should do. On the one hand, she could live her dream. She was sitting here in the body of a beautiful twenty-year-old with the unlimited possibilities that offered. On the other hand, she shared that body with a man who could inflict pain. A man who was not very nice. Who might even be—she gulped at the thought—wicked.
She wished she could talk to someone about her dilemma. Her sister, maybe. But Belinda lived in San Diego and was caught up in some intrigue of her own. Besides, to Sophie’s dismay, Belinda teetered on the knife-edge of white and black magic. Sophie couldn’t always trust her advice.
Sophie sipped at her tea. She watched herself, her reflection caught in the window over the sink. Her hair fell in a straight, shiny sweep to her shoulders. Her eyes shone with bright expectation. If she saw this woman in a café or restaurant, she would be envious. Wonderful things happened for beautiful women. Boyfriends and husbands, families who showered them with love. Beautiful women learned early what they could get with a dazzling smile.
Sophie had never before possessed a dazzling smile.
Mr. Deveraux made fun of her when she said she had not had sex because she had saved herself. Sophie realized he probably knew the truth. No opportunities had ever presented themselves. She had never had a boyfriend.
“We’re going to do something about that.”
Mr. Deveraux was back. His tone this time was not caustic but actually cheerful. “I’ve been taking a test drive thorough the neighborhood,” he said brightly. “It’s not too bad in here. You’ve got a brain, a fairly good one for a female. Business sense. A knockout body. Sophie, you’ve got potential.”
Sophie was almost afraid to ask. “Potential for what?”
“Why, for just about anything. This night cream, for instance. Great idea. We can do something with it.”
Sophie shook her head. “I’ve been thinking about that. Look what happened to me—to us. If we started going around setting vampires on fire, it would certainly attract unwelcome attention from the community. Once or twice is an accident; more than that is war.”
He clucked his tongue. “No. You don’t understand. We’re not going to use ash.”
“What then?”
“We’re going to use blood.”
“Blood?”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about it, too. You were correct in assuming the ash was the concentrated essence of a vampire. Concentrated being the key word. You got the whole enchilada. Something else I’d like to try, by the way. Blood, on the other hand, is a vampire’s source of physical energy. Blood keeps a vampire strong and controls the outward signs of aging. Get it?”
Sophie nodded. The way Mr. Deveraux explained it made perfect sense. If they added blood to her cream, the user would get the benefit of youthful beauty without—
What was she thinking?
Sophie squeaked in protest. “If we thought setting vampires on fire would be a problem,” she said, “what do you think will happen if we start bleeding them?”
“Well, I admit there are some wrinkles to iron out.”
He said it in an offhand, casual way that made Sophie wary. “What are you up to?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Well, conjoined less than a day and you have me figured out. All right. I’ll confess. We need a test subject, right?”
Sophie nodded.
“I have the perfect person in mind.”
Since it happened to be her mind, too, Sophie knew exactly who that perfect person was. “How do you expect to get Mrs. Deveraux to agree?”
A hush settled deep in Sophie’s consciousness. It was neither peaceful nor serene but heavy with foreboding. She shivered involuntarily.
“I cannot be a party to evil,” she said, for what seemed the thousandth time.
A flare of indignation burned through her. “You have already been a party to evil,” Mr. Deveraux answered with contempt. “You made the damned cake that murdered me.”
Sophie squirmed in the heat of his accusation. “Well, we won’t have to kill her, will we?”
In a flash the indignation was gone. “Of course not. What good would it do to kill her? We need to keep her alive to use her blood, don’t we? And if it works, we’ll pick only the most wicked vampires to drain. The gods know there are plenty of them around. Think about it, Sophie. We’ll be performing a public service. Ridding the world of bad vampires and offering mortal women the gift of beauty. It’s perfect.”
Sophie sighed. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering Mr. Deveraux’s plan. But some of what he said made sense. Mrs. Deveraux was not exactly an innocent. She had murdered her husband. On his birthday, no less. And there were lots of bad vampires around wreaking havoc and taking innocent lives. This would get them out of circulation.
Besides, she was a partner in this enterprise. She would use her good influence to counterbalance any evil Mr. Deveraux tried to sneak by her. Like exacting revenge on the guests at his party who carried on as if nothing had happened after his death.
Sophie knew Mr. Deveraux was sensing the shift in her thinking. She could feel it in the shifting of his own disposition. Warmth flooded her system.
“How are we going to approach her?” Sophie asked at last.
Mr. Deveraux greeted her question with a mental clap of approval. “That’s my girl. Sophie, this is going to be the start of a great adventure, I promise. Now go get dressed and throw some things in a suitcase.”
“Suitcase?”
“I told you we would be moving to the mansion.”
Sophie stood up slowly from the counter and looked around. “I’ve lived here a long time. Do we have to move?”
He released a snort of impatience. “You’ve seen the mansion. You can’t possibly expect me to live here.”
But when he sensed the spark of anger his remark provoked in Sophie, he added, “But we’ll keep this place. You can come visit anytime you want. How’s that?”
Sophie thought about it a minute. She had seen the mansion. And the grounds. And the cars. What would it hurt to experience them, too?
She moved toward her bedroom. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “How are we going to approach Mrs. Deveraux?”
Mr. Deveraux remained silent for the time it took Sophie to throw some things into a battered valise. She felt timid, at first, getting dressed with Mr. Deveraux here. But she did it by standing away from mirrors and only stepping in front of one to comb her hair. Seeing her reflection sent a thrill once more along her spine. She was truly, wonderfully beautiful.
Her dress, however, looked like a rag on her youthful frame.
Mr. Deveraux clucked his tongue. “We need to go shopping. Your taste in clothes runs to the archaic.”
Sophie didn’t argue. He was right.
She smiled at her reflection. She couldn’t help it. Just as she couldn’t help the thrill of anticipation coursing through her. Mr. Deveraux had said they were embarking on a great adventure. She’d never had a great adventure.
She turned away from the mirror and snatched up the suitcase. “Okay. What’s the plan?”
Mr. Deveraux was smiling, Sophie could feel it. “You promised my wife a party, right?”
Sophie nodded.
“Well, it just so happens that Mrs. Deveraux has a birthday of her own coming up. Next week, in fact.”
“Do you think she’ll recognize me?” Sophie asked, casting another approving glance at her reflection.
“Doesn’t matter. You can tell her you’re Sophie’s granddaughter. Her business manager.”
Sophie smiled. It could work.
“Of course it will work, Sophie,” Mr. Deveraux said. “It’s all going to work. Now let’s go see a woman about a party.”