Walking Shadows (23 page)

"Hey." He leaned close and I melted towards him. "I wish I didn't have to go
early."

"Me too." His breath was warm and intoxicating. Magnetically, I leaned closer, and our
lips brushed, the merest hint of a kiss. "Why don't we try again tomorrow?"

He wrapped his uninjured hand around mine and pressed my palm to his cheek. "I'm not sure I
can make it. Adrian has a habit of changing all my plans."

"Oh."

"I'll try, though."

"Well, if it's, I mean, it's no biggie. If you don't want to."

"It's not that. I want to see you."

The challenge I was about to make failed to emerge, mainly because he finally kissed me, gentle
and quick.

"I do mean it, Lissa," he said when he drew back. The back of his long, knobbly fingers
brushed down my cheek. "You know that, don't you? I want to see you."

In his eyes, it looked true.

"What's changed?" The question burst out of me, along with instant regret. I knew the
rules for this sort of thing. This was a little holiday fling. Nothing serious. Don't ask questions
like that.

"Nothing," he said.

Liar.

"I'll see you here tomorrow. Around nine?"

"Sure." Why so late again? What did Adrian get up to that kept Evan busy so long? The
late hour suited me, since I'd insisted on accompanying Gary to the safe house. But damnit. Damnit.
I wanted to see Evan. I wanted it back like it had been on Sunday. "We'll call that a date. I
mean a deal."

"A date," he grinned, "I'm alright with that."

Whatever else was going on, the kiss was real enough. Lingering and passionate and everything
else from that glorious Sunday. Yet something else was in it. Something sad.

The St Kilda tram showed up and Evan boarded it and rumbled off into the night. I walked through
the city, across the bridge, home, feeling puzzled and strangely hollow.

At home, Kate was sitting in the living room, not really reading. The moment I was through the
door, she took her book into her room and shoved her door shut with huffy finality. There went any
vague ideas I had about seeking advice from a sympathetic sibling. I wanted to knock on her door,
but I didn't want any more conversations about how she would like me to help slayers to kill my
friend.

A spasm of anxiety made me draw a sharp breath. For months now Kate and I had been able to talk
about anything and everything, and we had. And now this stupid attitude she had to Gary was ruining
that.

In my room, Gary was still sitting cross-legged on the end of my bed, watching dumb late night
television. I was hardly going to talk about Evan with him.

"I didn't mean to be gone so long," I said. "Did Kate give you any
grief?"

"I've been watching TV." In other words, if she had been trying, he'd been oblivious to
it.

I dumped my bag on the floor and stretched out on one side of the bed, watching the picture over
his shoulder.

"What's on?"

"That thing. With the forensics."

"Any good?"

"You mean apart from the science being unscientific?"

"Yeah."

"It's ridiculous." He grinned as though the inherent absurdity was part of its charm.

We watched for a while, Gary perched right up close to the TV. I considered warning him the TV
radiation would ruin his eyes - something Nanna used to say to us when we were little - but I didn't
have the heart for such meagre bantering.

During an ad break, Gary turned to me. "How did your meeting go?"

Meeting. Yep. That was sort of it.

"I don't know. I think," and a few things slid into place, though I still didn't
understand it, "I think a friend and I were saying goodbye to each other, and I don't know
why."

And then the show started again and he turned back to the screen, leaving me with an insight that
was as yet of no use to me.

I woke up under the covers in my pyjamas. I'd chased Gary out of the room
temporarily so I could change. On his return, I'd dared him with a look to comment on my choice of
nightwear. Christmas sales in Myers Menswear had furnished me with satin-shiny shorts and button-up
top in midnight blue with rocket ships, starbursts and little green aliens all over them. I'd picked
them up because they were funny. Gary had given me an odd little smile, like he thought so too.

He'd returned to watching television while I climbed under the bedding. I had no memory of when
he'd moved to his current position, seated on the floor, his back to the bed, reading. My bedside
lamp was on the floor beside him.

My hand had drifted outside the confines of the mattress and was resting against his arm. I
patted his shoulder vaguely, unable to articulate anything yet.

Gary put his book aside and glanced up at me.

"Did you sleep well?"

Something grumpy and cavewomanish emerged in reply.

"You make noises in your sleep."

"Mmmph."

"You were having a nightmare one time."

Par for the course, that. Sometimes with extra accompanied whimpering and shouting.

"I tucked you in and said 'there there' and you were fine."

Not everyone has their nightmares eased by a solicitous vampire. My life is strange.

"Gotta shower," I managed to get out. "Got work."

Lurching out of bed, I gathered some clothes and staggered out to the bathroom, leaving Gary to
his book.

The first really articulate thought that came to me during the shower was,
That was probably
the weirdest sleepover ever in the history of sleepovers.

A considerably more human me came out of the steam dressed for work, and seeking coffee like
flowers seek the sun.

Kate, standing in the kitchen, thrust a cup of freshly brewed plunger coffee at me. She looked
simultaneously aggrieved and nonplussed.

"Did he sit down there all night?" she asked.

"Where?"

"On the floor?"

"Oh, probably. He was watching TV when I fell asleep. He must have moved not long
after."

"I mean doesn't he sleep?"

"No. He gets a lot of reading done, though. And he watches a lot of really awful
television."

"I thought you and he, that you were
with
him."

My turn to be nonplussed. "
With
him?" Comprehension dawned. "You mean, in
the
biblical
sense? No. No! What on earth? Christ almighty, Kate. I don't
do
the
undead. On first principles. Where the hell did you get that dumb idea?"

The vehemence of my response must have convinced her. Now she was all shocked embarrassment.
"In all those books and films people, women, are always falling for them."

"Kate, real vampires aren't like they are in the books. Real women aren't like that either.
And anyway, even if I was like that - this is
Gary
. He's my
friend
. I do not have the
hots for him."

"But you've been so thingy about him."

"I think it's established that I can care deeply for someone without wanting to have sex
with them. I have lots of friends I don't have sex with, Kate. Hardly any of them. And anyway, how
do you know where Gary was sitting all night? Were you spying on him?"

"I looked in a couple of times."

Fury had woken me up very effectively. I shoved the half-full coffee cup onto the bench and
stormed off to my room.

Gary, still on the floor, glanced up.

"How often did Kate stick her face in here last night?"

"Four times," he replied unerringly. "She stopped when I asked her what she
wanted. After that she listened at the door a couple of times."

I started hurling things around in search of my shoes.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No. I'm mad at Kate."

"Oh." Face back into his book.

"I have to go."

"Okay."

"Have you got enough to do?"

"Yup." He lifted the book he was reading and waggled it briefly.

"Wuthering Heights?"

"Yeah. Never read it before. Do you think Heathcliff was meant to be undead, after he got
back?"

That startled the anger out of me for a moment. "I don't know. I've never thought about
it."

"Probably not," Gary decided. Then, out of the blue, "Why did Kate think we were
having sex?"

Damn his excellent hearing.

"She can't get it through her thick skull that we could like each other just because we like
each other. She thinks you must have some mysterious, powerful hold over me for me to care this
much."

"Do I?"

"Absolutely. What librarian could resist your vast bibliography of specialist
literature?"

"I thought it might be that."

"You dag." He had managed to restore my good humour. "Are you sure you won't be
bored? Kate will be at work so you won't have to put up with that nonsense all day."

"You've got a lot of books. I'll be fine. And I'll meet you at the library after work, if
you still want to come to this thing tonight."

"I'm coming," I stated firmly. "See you tonight then." I bent to drop a kiss
on the top of his head, then ruffled his hair to make him pull a face. Thus rewarded, I laughed,
scooped up my bag and headed out.

Kate had gone. I paused to call back, "Just pull the door closed behind you when you go. And
be careful!"
Dammit!
"Maybe I should come back to…"

"I'll meet you at the library," he said, loudly and with finality.

And so, to work.

My private life might be fraught with mayhem, but the library was always a place of refuge for
me. Hours of the usual daily activities, interspersed with assisting readers and restoring order to
the shelves supplied the balm I required.

Gary was at the front door when we closed. Beatrice, recognising him, waved and he nodded back
politely. I left my bag in the staff room, jamming what I needed into my pockets - phone, wallet,
keys, tram ticket - figuring that when I was spending time with that awful crew, the less encumbered
I was if I needed to run, the better.

"You really don't have to come," he said again as we waited for the tram. "I'd
actually rather you didn't."

"Look, Gary, I know it's not exactly prudent. But…" I struggled to articulate why
I was so adamant. "I need to know what's going on," I said at last. "And I want to
make sure you come back home afterwards."

Gary's expression was disbelieving. I didn't know what else to say. I felt an urgency about
keeping an eye on the situation that I couldn't explain further. Perhaps I was driven by the
illusion that if I knew what was going on, I could control it. Mainly I knew that if I stayed at
home waiting for him to come back, I'd be crazy with anxiety inside an hour.

Two tram rides later we were at the door of an old brick house in the heart of the Jewish
district in Elsternwick. A few steps led up to a small semi-circular landing which shielded the door
from the street. The house curved out to the right of us in a large bay window. Curtains were pulled
firmly across the row of lead lighted panes and narrow wooden frames.

I don't know which struck me as more offensive - that this lovely part of town, with its
synagogues, shabby-chic restaurants and European bakeries had vampires in its midst, or that it had
Smith's gangster bolt-holes.

Gary rapped smartly on the door. No answer. He knocked again. The door opened, mid-bang, and a
good looking young man with dark hair, flushed olive skin and a nasty scowl was at the door, glaring
at us. "Wrong house," he snapped, "Bugger off."

"We're here with Mundy and Smith," I said, throwing a good deal of haughty confidence
into it, like I'd seen in the movies. The young man appraised us then opened the door wide and stood
back. He didn't leave enough room and my attempt at bravado came a cropper on having to brush
against his hard torso as I squeezed past him.

Gary was still outside. I glanced back.

"You have to invite me in," Gary said to the young man, who grinned unpleasantly.

"What happens if I don't?"

"I don't come in, or I try and start bleeding from every pore, and either way you'll have to
explain that to Mundy and Magdalene."

A moment for deliberation, to show that he wasn't scared by the idea, then the guy said, "Be
my guest, Mr Vampire. Come on in."

Gary crossed the threshold without a shiver, and the doorman drew back so Gary wouldn't brush
against him.

"Where did that 'bleeding from every pore' thing come from?" I murmured as we walked
straight down the corridor. Doors remained firmly closed on the rooms to the right of us.

"Saw it at the cinema last year. It was repulsive," he whispered back, looking pleased
with himself.

"Couldn't you have just come in?"

"Um. I don't think so. Not here. Besides, I don't want them to know I can do that. It's
private."

The corridor opened into a living room where a group was already waiting.

I saw Mundy first, standing by an unused fireplace, looking lopsided with one arm propped against
the mantle, the stump of the other hovering, with the sleeve of his shirt flapping at the end of it.
He did not deign to look at me at all.

On the far side of the fireplace, Magdalene stretched out comfortably on an overstuffed armchair.
Her big, soft body and cherubic face were easily recognisable, though she had abandoned the French
Boudoir look for the simple Melbourne dress uniform - black trousers, black flowing shirt, shimmery
black jacket. And, of course, black boots. It made her look like a giant blowfly. She was laughing
at something, perhaps the same something that had put that bitter expression on Mundy's face.

Smith stood impassively beside her. He nodded at the doorman, who had come in behind us. When
Smith's mobile phone rang, the sheer predictability of the ringtone being
The
Godfather
theme tune made me think less of Mr Smith.

"Yup." He listened for a few moments. "Bring him over." He hung up.
"Another one on the way. We should get ready to move out." He nodded at the young man.
"Get the others in here, Frank."