What the hell had just happened?
He looked down at the pile of clean clothes in the cart. Someone's jeans, a few t-shirts, and what appeared to be a week's worth of socks. His stomach twisted with guilt.
Great. Now he was a thief on top of everything else.
Charlie gathered the clothes into his arms. He'd return them somehow. Maybe he'd leave them at the laundromat with an apology note. And money for the detergent he'd destroyed.
If he survived long enough.
The hunter had addressed him by his name. Well, he'd added 'Dracul' for some reason, but he'd gottenCharlieright. Some kind of mix-up?
It had to be.
And it was a good thing vampires didn't need to use the bathroom or Charlie would have pissed himself when faced with that stake.
Would that have made his humiliation any worse?
And what should he do now?
Did the hunter know where he lived?
If there was even the slightest chance he did, Charlie couldn't go home.
So where could he go?
It wasn't like he had the money to pay for a hotel.
But he had an old friend from school who lived only six blocks away…
His old friend Brent.
Charlie was fairly sure that Brent would let him crash at his place. He was a kind soul. Probably the kindest Charlie knew. Not thebrightestsoul, but considering his circumstances, Charlie would pick friendly over smart.
He could really use a friend right now.
Charlie hurried through the empty streets, soap suds still clinging to his hair, cherry syrup making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his chest. A police car turned the corner ahead, and Charlie ducked behind a parked van until it passed.
Everything about this night had gone wrong. Everything aboutthe last three weekshad gone wrong.
Brent's apartment building squatted between a Chinese restaurant and a used bookstore, both closed for the night. Charlie buzzed apartment 2B and waited.
Nothing.
He buzzed again. Held it longer.
A window scraped open two floors up.
"What?" Brent's voice drifted down, thick with sleep.
"It's Charlie. I need—can I come up?"
A pause. "Dude, it's like midnight. Are you okay?"
"I'm..." Charlie looked down at his syrup-stained shirt and the pile of stolen laundry in his arms. "Not really."
"Give me two minutes."
The window slammed shut. A few minutes later, the building's front door clicked open.
