The Last True Vampire (7 page)

“Hey, kiddo,” Claire greeted as she opened the door. Vanessa was beaming, her long blond hair pulled up in a haphazard ponytail with a bit of pink ribbon. She was wearing a ruffled pink skirt and a matching blouse, white with pink polka dots. Claire’s heart constricted in her chest. There was so much pride in Vanessa’s young face. And still she was much too young to shoulder so much responsibility.

“Check you out!” Claire stepped back to let Vanessa inside and smoothed a hand over the frilly fabric of her skirt.

“Do you like it? I went down to Tina’s store like you said. Did you know she’s got designer clothes and stuff? I got this outfit and three others. Plus a backpack!” Vanessa turned to show off the pastel pink bag that hung from her shoulders.

Claire smiled. It wasn’t hard to tell what Vanessa’s favorite color was. “Awesome,” she replied. “You look so pretty. All of the kids are going to love your outfit.” Claire had not-so-fond memories of her own first days of school, wearing ratty, dirty clothes and being made fun of by girls whose parents cared enough to buy them new pretty outfits. Or, you know, wash a load of laundry once in a while. “Hey, why don’t you turn around and let me fix your ponytail?” Vanessa whirled around and Claire untied the ribbon and removed the elastic band, smoothing out the ridges and bumps as she combed through her hair with her fingers and gathered it back up. “Did you get some supplies? You’re going to need pencils and notebooks and stuff, too.”

“Yep,” Vanessa said with a smile. She pulled a folded-up piece of paper from her skirt pocket and waved it in the air. “I got everything on the school supply list.”

“I’m glad,” Claire said with affection. She wound the elastic back over the ponytail and retied the ribbon. There were days that she considered suggesting that Vanessa move in with her. But she knew that without going through the proper channels that wouldn’t be a good idea. Nothing like effectively kidnapping someone’s kid to complicate your life. “Have you eaten anything yet today? I can make you some eggs and toast before you catch the bus.”

“I’m okay,” Vanessa said. “I had some money left over, so I bought a box of granola bars and some fruit cups. We get to eat snacks before lunch, so I’m saving them to eat at school.”

Claire’s stomach knotted up so tight she thought she might just throw up. Despite her shitty life, Vanessa was so positive, so oblivious to her circumstances. Either that or she was simply a good pretender. Something Claire knew far too much about.

“Well, I guess I better go to the bus stop. I don’t want to miss it. I just wanted to show you my outfit.”

Vanessa headed for the door and Claire followed. “Have a great first day,” she said as she opened the door. “I want to hear all about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Vanessa replied. “Bye, Claire!”

“See you, kiddo.”

Angry tears stung at Claire’s eyes as she closed the door. On the flip side of wanting to adopt Vanessa, there were days that she wished she lived as far away from Vanessa as humanly possible. The residual hurt Claire felt was just too damned much and it dredged up memories that she had spent years trying to bury.

It broke Claire’s heart to think that something as simple as a few secondhand clothes and a cheap backpack had given Vanessa so much joy. That she’d been proud of the way she looked and excited that she had a measly granola bar and some overprocessed fruit to eat for a snack. Claire looked down at the Patek dangling from her wrist. She could buy Vanessa
new
clothes, get her some decent, healthy snacks, if she’d just fence the damned thing. But even considering the possibility of parting with it opened up a cavern in her chest.

You’re not her mother, Claire.

True, but shouldn’t someone have been?

Claire’s mood soured as she got ready for her shift. No doubt she’d be a ray of sunshine today. She hoped no one would give her too much crap. And though her bitterness wouldn’t do anything for her ability to provide decent customer service, it would do wonders for her tonight. She might not be ready to part with the watch, but some poor chump in the city was going to give her a helping hand. Whether he wanted to or not.

After a quick shower and an English muffin, she headed out the door. She stopped at unit 216, glaring at the door as though her focus might cause the wood to burst into flames. Claire brought her fist up to the door, ready to pound out her frustration on the planks. A string of angry insults sat at the tip of her tongue. A tirade that she’d been waiting to unleash on Carlene for months. Claire’s fist shook with barely restrained rage and a lump the size of a goose egg lodged itself in her throat.

What good would it do to give Carlene a piece of her mind? Would it change her behavior? Drive some sense into her? Would it snap her out of her addiction and transform her into a responsible parent?

Claire knew the answer. The only thing she’d accomplish by tearing into Carlene would be to hurt Vanessa. And that’s not what she wanted.

She took a steadying breath and headed down the hallway. Holding on to the anger of her past wasn’t doing her any good now. It had taken a lot of effort to move past that and she couldn’t let herself fall into old habits. Send positive energy out into the universe and the universe will inevitably send good things your way. She just had to remind herself of that.

Okay, universe. You can start sending those good things any time now.

She was more than ready for a good thing or two in her life.

CHAPTER

5

“Order up.”

Claire headed for the window to retrieve the two plates of burgers and fries and flashed Lance, the diner’s owner and sole cook, a smile. “Can I get a side salad when you get a second? Apparently, ‘It’s a salad kind of day.’”

Lance chuckled at Claire’s mocking tone. “I’ll get right on that.”

Waitressing was sort of like hustling in a lot of ways. It was all about managing people. Telling them what they wanted to hear, giving them her undivided attention, making them feel important and in charge. And steering them toward what she wanted from them. In this case, a good tip. Since Claire made all of about two dollars an hour from Lance, the rest of her weekly earnings were determined by tips. So it was vital to her well-being that she convinced every one of her customers to throw down their hard-earned dollars for her.

“Here are your burgers”—she set the plates down in front of the two men at table three—“and I’ll be right back with some ketchup and mustard. Can I get you guys anything else?”

She turned her attention to the shier-looking guy and winked. His cheeks flushed and he gave her a wide grin. “I think we’re good. Thanks.”

“Well, you guys be sure to holler if you need anything, okay?” Let the mark think he’s running the show.

“We will. Thanks.”

“I’ve got your salad!” Lance called from the kitchen.

As Claire crossed the diner and headed for the service window, the bell above the entrance chimed. She shot a quick look over to see a man walk in wearing black slacks and a black shirt with a thin white tab collar around the throat. Though she’d never been a particularly religious person, something about the priest’s demeanor rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was his jet-black hair and equally dark eyes. Coupled with the black of his clerical outfit, his appearance was overall more sinister and less the calm, comforting vibe you’d get from a member of the clergy.

“Hi!” Claire greeted him with a bright smile as she rounded the counter. “Go ahead and have a seat anywhere. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

The sensation of tiny insects traveling the highway of her spine set Claire’s internal warning sensors off. She watched from the corner of her eye as the priest took a seat on one of the high stools at the counter and rested his hands in front of him, his fingers woven together as though in prayer.

“You okay, Claire?” Lance craned his neck through the service window and took quick stock of the dining area. “You look a little rattled.”

She gave a nervous laugh and slid the plate of salad off the sheet-metal serving area. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little chilled.”

“You better not get sick,” he chided in a playful tone. “I can’t afford to not have you around.”

“Don’t worry, Lance. You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

Claire kept her eyes focused on the salad, but she felt the priest’s eyes following her. She set the plate down at table five. “Can I get you anything else?”

The woman looked up from her iPad. “No thanks.”

“All right, then, enjoy. And let me know if you need anything.”

For a moment, her steps faltered with indecision. Her stomach curled up into a ball as she approached the counter, grabbing a menu from a rack near the cash register. She plastered the widest, fakest smile she could muster on her face and slid the menu in front of the priest. “We serve breakfast all day, so feel free to order anything from the menu. Just give me a holler when you’re ready.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you.”

His lips spread into a seductive smile that made Claire’s skin crawl.
Eww
. If she’d thought the priest was strange before, he’d just cranked his creepy factor up to a ten. He exuded a strange calm and a laser focus that unsettled her, and it took a hell of a lot to throw Claire off her game. No way in
hell
was this guy a real priest. He was working an angle. It took a con to know a con and this guy was on the take.

She just needed to figure out what his angle was.

Her feeling of unease intensified with each passing moment. Claire busied herself by wiping down tables and refilling salt and sugar shakers, but even that wasn’t enough to distract her. As far as she could tell, the priest hadn’t looked at the menu once. Rather, he seemed more interested in studying her, those dark, emotionless eyes tracking her every movement like those of a predator waiting to pounce.

Hustlers were superprotective of their territories. Like bears in the woods, they didn’t play well with others and often patrolled their individual turfs, making sure to keep any squatters from moving in on their hunting grounds. Claire had known it was a mistake to hit that pool hall. Maybe the priest was here to deliver a message. Something along the lines of,
Stay off my street or I’ll bust you in the face.

Not good.

And like animals, a good hustler could smell fear. She’d always had a good bead on people, and the priest was as cool and composed as they came. Which meant Claire needed to pull her shit together. She couldn’t show any sign of weakness. If she was lucky, she’d get off with a warning. Worst-case scenario, he’d try to rough her up to drive his point home. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been on the receiving end of a little physical persuasion, but Claire was going to do everything in her power to avoid it tonight.

“Are you ready to order?” She clutched her pencil so tight that she thought it might snap in her grip.

He gave her a wan smile and said, “I’ll just have coffee. Black.”

Of course. As black as his soul, no doubt. “Sure.” Claire infused her tone with cheeriness as she grabbed a cup. “Decaf or high-octane?”

“Whatever you prefer.” That same unnerving smile.

She grabbed a pot from the warmer and poured him a cup. She slid it over to him, but he made no move to take it, simply continued to watch her. “Sugar is right over there,” Claire said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Good lord. The
Mona Lisa
had nothing on this guy’s smile.

Claire suppressed a shiver as she made the rounds, checking on her other tables. She wished they were busier tonight. If anything, her brain needed the distraction. Salad Lady paid her check and left a fifty-cent tip—not stellar—while the burger guys were still working on their fries. That left Claire nothing to do but spend a little quality time with the priest.
Awesome.

“How’re you doing over here?” she asked with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “Can I get you a slice of pie? We’ve got a great Dutch apple today.”

“No thank you. The coffee is fine.”

His voice was smooth and slick, as though coating her senses with oil. His words weighed her down—or was that just exhaustion rearing its ugly head? Either way, it caused Claire’s stomach to curl into an anxious knot.

“Tell me, do you live around here? I know most of my parishioners, but I have to confess, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at mass.”

Right.
Like he was even remotely concerned about never having seen her at church. “No, I live across town,” Claire replied, the lie slipping with ease from her lips. “And I’m not Catholic.”

“A shame. And yet you commute all the way here for work?” The priest quirked a dark brow.

“Gotta take the jobs when and where they’re available.” Claire made a show of focusing on busywork, filling ketchup bottles and whatnot. Anything to give him the impression that she wasn’t paying him much attention. “And bus fare is cheap.”

“An honest job for an honest life,” the priest remarked. “Tell me, Claire, do you live an honest life?”

She was wearing a name tag, but still the priest’s use of her name sent a zing of adrenaline through Claire’s bloodstream. The intimate murmur, the way he enunciated each letter, was like an unwelcome caress. Her pulse picked up as a riot of butterflies took flight in her stomach. There was something seriously off about this guy.

“I’m sorry, but the sort of life I live is none of your business.” Even if he was a priest, he had no right to ask her a question like that. Nosy much?

“But I’m afraid it
is
my business, Claire.”

His eyes met hers and for the first time Claire realized that his irises were so dark, she couldn’t even discern a pupil in their nearly black depths. Her intuition spiked.
Dangerous! Get away. Get away, now!

“Who are you?” Claire asked, her body flushing with heat. She found it difficult to draw a deep breath and her lungs ached.

“I’m just doing God’s work.” He pushed a five-dollar bill across the counter and slid from the stool. Without another word he turned away and strode out of the diner.