Chapter 7: What You Say

With my bag over my shoulder and my clenched hands shoved down deep into the pockets of my sweatshirt I let my feet carry me in the familiar direction of our own bohemian central, Fortune Petite. It was the part of town my mother would have called "shabby", but to me it was home. Lost in thoughts like these, I almost forgot who it was accompanying me on this little trip.

"Well aren't we in a hurry."

"Maybe I am."

"What, not happy to see me?"

"Have I ever given any indication that I was happy to see you on any occasion?"

"Ouch," he feigned a blow to the stomach, "such harsh words from someone who's been offered an invitation to dinner."

"You didn't invite me – you threatened me."

"Threatened, persuaded, however you want to call it…now," he said, perusing the new surroundings, "where would you like to go?"

"Home."

"Well, yes, I'm sure we can do that later," I swear he was grinning so widely I could see every tooth in his mouth.

"Hilarious." I began to feel completely naked under his gaze so I walked into the first restaurant I saw; a burrito place. One of my favorites actually, and here I was ruining it for myself by bringing him here. I figured he wouldn't be ordering, but he began to skim through the menu as soon as we were seated. At least the restaurant was almost completely packed; call me naïve, but I still found security in numbers.

Lestat was first to break the silence, "Order whatever you like".

I took a hard look at him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"You know what I mean."

"I'm sure that I don't." He smiled again. My hands were becoming fists under the table.

"Ugh. Never mind." The waitress had just stepped up to our table. I immediately ordered the largest (and most expensive) drink on the menu, which I then began to regret when the realization struck me that if I were to get drunk things would only get worse. Lestat asked for nothing but a glass.

As far as conversation was concerned, I was finished. Lestat didn't need me to have a conversation anyways. So we sat there, waiting. The palpable silence coming from our table was like a black hole, drawing in the noise of all the other restaurant patrons. No problem for me; I was perfectly happy sipping my giant margarita staring at the "authentic" Mexican art lining the walls.

Lestat cleared his throat. "Here's an idea. Let's start this over again."

"Start what over again?"

"I didn't bring you here to stare at the walls."

"You didn't?" I gave him my best sarcastic smile.

"No, I didn't." He reciprocated the gesture. Needless to say his was much better than mine. "Since you've been so obliging in accompanying me to dinner, I'll do something for you."

"And what would that be?" Skepticism was leaking from my mouth.

"You ask me a question, anything you want, and I'll answer it." His eyes flickered with intrigue.

"Anything?"

He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. "Anything."

"And you'll answer me truthfully?"

"Of course!" He had the gall to look offended.

"Alright, let me think for a second." I can't lie; he'd definitely aroused my interest - it was the damn journalist in me, always jumping at the chance to question like some ridiculous Pavlovian dog. The thought crossed my mind to ask him about the kiss we'd shared at our last meeting, but I dropped it quickly, hoping Lestat was minding his own business in his own head. Then it hit me, the perfect question. Granted, it would only work if he answered with complete honesty (like that was going to happen), but it was worth a shot.

"I've got it." I said, trying to restrain the excitement in my voice.

"Well then, ask away."

"I want to know what is true and what is not."

"I'm afraid you'll have to clarify that a little," he said with a somewhat startled look.

"About vampires – all the folklore - crosses, garlic, mirrors, whatever – what's true and what isn't."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with my reading your little story, now would it?" He let the corners of his mouth curl up just enough for me to see his fangs.

"No, I'd say it has more to do with the trespassing." I said point-blank.

"I must say Evie, that is the question of a true journalist!"

"And that is the answer of a true politician," I threw back at him.

"Now wait a minute," he was faking offense again, "you haven't even given me a chance!"

"Fine. Go."

"Well as you've experienced firsthand," he paused to grin at his own little victory, "we don't need to be invited anywhere – we can move as we please."

"Uh huh." I was hardly amused.

"Crosses are a no, surely your musical experience has shown you that my fans love to regale themselves with all sorts of imitations…obviously that would negate holy water as well. I certainly don't care for garlic, but it has yet to do me any bodily harm." He paused for a second, thinking I suppose. "A stake through the heart and chopping off my head won't do much either."

There went all my hopes. Not that I actually could have ever actually done anything like that.

"The lack of reflection is true, but then we hardly need to see ourselves in a mirror to know we are perfect in every way." This idiotic statement was accompanied by a flourish of the hand. I should have expected that.

"Still," he continued, "obviously we show up on camera, or I wouldn't be able to shoot videos so well."

"Obviously." What was I thinking, giving him an excuse to talk about himself. "And daylight?"

"Ever seen me during the day?" Patronizing bastard… "Now, perhaps you'll permit me to ask you a question?"

"I make no promises."

"I'm glad we're on equal footing here." He stopped me before I could make a retort, "What do you fear the most?"

Like hell I was going to tell him that!

"Vampires," I said, and started to get up to leave. I actually made it out of the restaurant and partway down the street.

"Remind me never to ask you on a date."

"No worries there."

I thought he would make another smart remark, but instead he stiffened and looked around. I started to ask what was wrong but he put his hand over my mouth momentarily, listening. Then he grabbed my other hand, giving me look that said now was not the time nor the place, and started half leading me back towards my apartment. I was almost jogging trying to keep up his pace. When we reached my apartment building he looked around again, as though he suspected we were being followed. Then he swiftly kissed me on the cheek and gave me gentle but urgent nudge up the stairs.

This time when I collapsed onto my couch it was only confusion that clouded my mind. What could possibly be so bad that it would have a vampire scared?