“Sounds yummy. And stand you?” I laughed somewhat grimly. “I may never let you guys go home!”
“Oh, yes, we’ll just see how long that opinion remains once Kristoff shows up and apologizes for being such a butthead.” Her voice dropped suddenly. “Speaking of that . . . do you want me to tell Ray? About you being a Zorya and Kristoff and the you-know-whats and all the rest?”
I rubbed my forehead. Lately I seemed to always have a nagging, low-grade headache. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m not a Zorya anymore, and given this morning, I think I just need to face the fact that Kristoff isn’t ever going to-Crap. Someone’s at the door again.”
“Use the cannibal line this time. I guarantee you it’ll work.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested,” I was saying even before I had the door all the way open. My excuse dried up at the sight of the man standing on the steps. “Gark.”
“What?” Magda asked. “What about a park?”
The man raised an eyebrow at me. “You are Pia Thomason?”
“Ack!” I said, and slammed the door shut in his face. “Oh, my God, Magda, it’s him!”
“Him? Him who?”
A shivery déjà vu sensation washed over me as I leaped over to the couch, shoving aside the curtain on the window just enough to peek out at the man. He knocked at the door again.
“Him the messenger. Good Lord, we’ve already done this!”
“We’ve done what?” Magda sounded confused.
“This, we’ve done this! This was the dream I had this morning.”
Muttered conversation was audible on the phone for a moment before Magda uncovered the mouthpiece and said, “Honey, would you go down to the basement and get me that bottle of olive oil? The Italian one. Pia’s having a crisis, and this may take a few minutes.”
I heard Ray say something as he moved off to do Magda’s bidding.
“I’m not having a crisis,” I hissed, peeking out at the man on my porch. “I’m just facing the messenger, that’s all. Just a vampire come to do God knows what to me.”
“Ray sends his love, by the way, and says he hopes your crisis isn’t a serious one,” she said in an aside before continuing. “How do you know the man is the messenger? Maybe he’s someone else. Maybe he’s another religious type. Or maybe he’s trying to sell Girl Scout cookies.”
I eyed the stranger again as he raised his hand to knock. “He’s around six feet tall and is wearing a very tailored black sports coat with matching pants, a scarlet shirt that looks like it’s made of raw silk, and shoes that probably cost more than my car.”
“That could be anyone,” Magda insisted, the sounds of chopping accompanying the words.
“And a fedora that’s angled to shade his face from the sun. I covered all this in the dream! Although that messenger turned out to be Andreas, and this guy is definitely not Kristoff’s brother.”
Silence followed for a moment. “OK, that description does sound like a you-know-what.”
“Vampire.”
“Yes. Ray, my cherub of delight, that is indeed a bottle of olive oil, but it’s Greek, not Italian, and I will not put Greek olive oil in spaghetti. Would you mind . . . Thanks, love. Mwah.” Magda was silent for a moment as faint sounds of footsteps fading away were audible even on the phone. “All right, he’s gone again. Pia, you’re going to have to let the vamp in.”
“I don’t want to,” I said stubbornly, turning my back on the window, glaring suspiciously at the bedroom. I knew full well that Kristoff wasn’t going to walk out of there, as he had in the dream, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking. “My life is going really well right now. Kind of. Somewhat. Oh, hell, it’s a nightmare, but that’s only going to be made worse by involvement with the Moravian Council, or whatever it is the vamps call themselves.”
“From what I remember of them, you’re not going to have a choice. They seemed kind of pushy.”
The knocking at my front door got even louder. Obviously the messenger was getting tired of waiting. “I don’t care. I have to get rid of this guy. What is it vamps don’t like? Garlic and holy water? I don’t have any of the latter, but I have garlic bread. You think that will work?”
“Pia, sweetie . . .” Magda’s voice took on a frustrated tinge as I marched out into the kitchen and dug through a bag until I found a loaf of garlic bread. “I really don’t think pretending none of this exists is the answer.”