He did not remember how he had gotten to his room when morning came, only that the freezing cold of the central air lured him from sleep hours before it should have. Carmilla had gone to work at her high-profile law firm. She was a formidable attorney, charming, seductive, authoritative. She had been working for opposing counsel when he had first met her, a single glance across the expanse of room enough to fan the flame of interest. None of her associates knew where she spent her nights or her long weekends. None of them would have believed her. Josef had not been forced to pay out the exorbitant amount they had been trying to sue him for, and gained her in the bargain. It had been, he told Mick, a most successful venture.
The house was quiet throughout the day. His housekeeper kept similar hours to the rest of them and never came until late afternoon. Most of his security staff did the same, although there were all manner of alarms and a computer that kept constant records of vampire activity in the off hours. Nothing should have woken him and yet something had. It took him a moment to discover what it was. It was the sound of the refrigerator opening, the odd little sucking noise the door made when it pulled away from the suction that kept the cold in. He was unaccustomed to it, for only Carmilla ever ate anything and that was usually only in the evening, since she left too early each morning to bother with breakfast.
Emerging into the kitchen archway, his eyes traveled up the long bare legs to the black shorts and ripped top the girl was wearing as she eyed the contents of the refrigerator with distaste. For several blissful hours, he had forgotten her existence, or perhaps hoped the whole thing had been no more than an embarrassing nightmare.
"From the size of this place, I was expecting at least some decent horderves. What is this crap? Stuffed tomatoes? Crab feet? Sushi? Tell me you have an actual cook, and don't just rip things off from those stuffy award banquets you obviously go to. God, what is this stuff?" She had taken the lid off a container and shuddered when she smelled it, shoving it back into the meticulous contents of the refrigerator. Carmilla kept it as neat and orderly as she kept her appearance, or the sets of diamonds in her jewelry box.
The silver-plated clock on the far wall read a quarter past ten. The brandy that had tasted so good the night before had left after-effects in his blood. They would have been worn off by the time he rose, if he had been allowed to sleep his proper hours. It made the world much less attractive, and his annoyance that the girl was rummaging through his kitchen cabinets all the more profound. She looked about twenty or so, dangerously close to his favorite year, and had the natural graceful movements of a dancer. So far he had said nothing and she used his silence to remark, "I figure after last night, the least you can offer me is breakfast."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well, I woke up in a strange house, with a strange man, in a strange bed. That must have been some roofie you slipped me at the rave."
This fact did not seem to concern her too much as she dumped a load of plastic containers onto the counter and started smelling the contents. Josef was annoyed that she would imply such a thing, no matter how devious the circumstances appeared. The last time he had attended a "rave" had been the seventies. He had woken up in a back ally missing just about everything of value that he owned, with a bullet in his chest. Normally, he was not one for vengeance, at least not of an obvious nature, but the ungrateful git that had shot him had worn quite a horrified expression when he met his fate. Even his blood tasted like white trash.
"I had nothing to do with whatever happened to you last night. I found you unconscious in the street. Are you telling me you don't remember any of it?"
"Not a thing." She cheerfully added a cherry to the ice cream sundae she had just finished making in one of his expensive crystal bowls and examined it from all angles. Just because he never ate didn't mean his cupboards weren't stocked with the finest crystal. Now and again, he would take one out and throw it just for the hell of it. Real crystal breaking sounded so much more impressive than mere glass.
Exasperated, Josef asked, "Then how do you explain the cut on your forehead?" He watched in amazement as she did not even bother to feel it. No doubt she had noticed it in the mirror in her bathroom when she had gotten cleaned up. He wondered why he had not heard the water running, and then remembered she was eight rooms down the hall. Naturally, his vampire senses would not have picked up on it, for it was normal, much more normal than rummaging through the kitchen for silverware.
Dropping another four cherries onto the mound of chocolate-saturated sweetness, she replied seriously, "Now that was not very nice of you. I can't have given you that much of a fight." Ignoring the incredulous look he was giving her, she pranced over to the couch and sat down with a plop, stretching her long legs out across the antique coffee table. Picking up the remote for the enormous flat screen television, she started flipping through channels as if she owned the place, or was visiting for the summer.
"What, exactly, do you think you are doing?" Josef could not halt the annoyance in his voice, for he was suddenly wishing he had either drained her the night before or left her right where he had found her.
"I'm going to eat my sundae and watch whatever trashy daytime programming is on. Then I am going to take a long shower in your steam room, and after that I'll decide whether or not to call the cops." She sent him a flamboyant grin over the side of the couch before jamming an enormous spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, making a loud sucking noise as she pulled the spoon back out. There was an immediate squeal as all the cold rushed to her head, but Josef had reached for the phone and was punching in Mick's number. He did not give a damn if his friend was asleep or not. It was Mick's fault he was in this mess.
The one time I tried to do something nice…
The phone rang. And rang. And rang again. Josef dropped his head to the counter in despair.
The television flipped past an infomercial, a sleazy soap opera, and stopped on reruns. He heard a familiar voice and froze. Dread passed through him. The repulsion on his face was evident as he wheeled around to stare at her, quite contentedly settled among the pillows, licking her spoon as she watched her program. If he never heard that theme song again, it would be too soon. The irony that she would choose Buffy the Vampire Slayer was not lost on him, neither was the profound desire at that moment to believe staking a vampire really worked. Even nonexistence had to be preferable to this unique brand of Halloween-induced hell.