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“That’s all?”
“I’ve had this piece for over a year now. I will be happy to see her go to a good home. You seem to appreciate her as much as I do, so I’m willing to give you a discount.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind. I’ll take her.”
I thumb through the American bills in my wallet to pay, adding in a few extra, while the old woman takes the canvas down from its hook and delicately wraps it in some brown paper.
“What a perfect end to the day,” the woman says.
She hands over the wrapped painting, and I realize it’s gotten later than I thought.
“Enjoy the city,” the vendor says, beginning to shut down her stall and collapse her beach umbrella.
I wave to her as I walk away.
Looking up at the dimming sky, I wish I could stay out and experience the bustling nightlife in the city center, but I’m not that stupid.
Maybe in another life—one when vampires don’t rule the city streets at night.
As if triggered by the very thought of vampires, my witchy sixth sense tingles, giving me a warning sign, prickling like someone is watching me.
I still, glancing around for the danger my intuition has picked up on. The crowd has thinned, but I can’t see what’s making my alarm bells ring.
I turn slowly, but no one is there. There are no soulless black eyes staring out at me from the shadows, no pointed fangs poised to strike my jugular.
Okay, now I’m just freaking myself out.
It’s just the bloody tales of vampires and wolves getting the best of my imagination. Still, I should make my way back to the hotel.
It’s better to err on the side of caution. There’s only an hour of sunlight left. I might not wander as freely as the other tourists, but I can enjoy a nice dinner and an enormous glass of wine on the patio of the restaurant below my hotel room.
Then I’ll see about that soaker tub, putting the aromatherapy bath bombs I bought to good use, and melting the stress from my muscles.
That sounds like the perfect end to a hectic day.
* * *
FINN
A vampire’s slumber is not the same as a human’s sleep. For starters, our schedules are swapped. As the humans rise with the sun, we vampires are forced back to the shadows, lest we be burned to a crisp in a matter of seconds by the sun’s deadly rays.
Our daysleep is akin to shutting off a machine. Or maybe it’s closer to a miniature death in time chunks. It sounds macabre—and it is—but it has its benefits.
There is no tossing and turning, no waking up and still feeling tired, and best of all—no nightmares. Vampires don’t dream. We can, however, hibernate for extended periods of time—centuries if we want to.
Sebastian has considered it occasionally over the years.
Speaking of…
I lift my gaze to the clock tower in the distance, squinting against the light of the sun still hugging the horizon and painting the sky in hues of pink and purple.
Half seven.
There’s still a good two hours before the Bastard King of the French Quarter wakes from the dead for the night.
Sebastian is the only vampire I know who still slumbers in a coffin instead of a bed. I’m convinced he does it purely for theatrics. There’s no way being stuffed into a wooden box is as comfortable as a posturepedic king with a pillow top.
Or maybe it is for him because most days this past decade, it seems he doesn’t want to emerge at all.
