As soon as I see the bodice, I know he’s found a winner.
He shows me to the dressing room, pulling the curtain closed and leaving me to change. I place my clothes on the small bench provided before gently removing the dress from its hanger.
It slides on easily and fits just right. Black satin and lace, fitted long sleeves, beads trailing up the arms and along the hem. And the bodice of the dress—a mysterious yet regal high neck with an embellished waist.
I admire myself in the mirror, grinning at the ironic choice. Not a vampire. But still a beast.
One that bites.
If I’m going to a party with the wealthy, the elite—and Ric—the last thing I want is to appear weak.
Like a victim.
Or prey.
Satisfied I’ll be neither, I step out of the dressing room ten minutes later and find the store owner at the checkout counter.
“You liked it?” he asks with a smile, taking the dress and slipping it into a zippered bag.
When I nod, he taps buttons on a brass cash register and tells me the price. “Cash or card?”
“Card.” I blink at the number and open my purse. The rental amount would get me three sexy milkmaids, but at least I have a costume worthy of a Parisian chateau.
“And the book?” he asks.
I’m still holding the collection of essays on the undead. A prickle of instinct has me setting it atop the glass counter. “Yes, please.”
As I sign the receipt, I say, “You never told me what the stories were. About the Marteaus.”
“Couldn’t you guess?” His grin is feral. “They’re vampires.”
Surprise squeezes a breath from my chest. “What?” My laugh sounds weak and watery. “But that’s crazy.”
He lifts a shoulder. “As I said. Stories.” With a serious expression, he holds up the book. “But if you’re interested in the family history, you might enjoy a visit to Père Lachaise Cemetery.”
“A cemetery?”
“Oh, yes.Parisian cemeteries are world-renowned, and the Marteau enclosure is truly something special.” He looks at me intently as he slides the book across the glass. “I think it will interest you.”
He takes a business card and writes on the back. “I can hold the dress until you return.”
He hands me the card, and I get the feeling hewantsme to visit the cemetery. I stare at the name and address he wrote down, along with Metro directions.
“You must send a lot of tourists there,” I say, trying to make sense of his odd suggestion.
“Only those who need to go.” His expression is suddenly grave.
“Surely, you don’t believe the rumors,” I say. “They’re ridiculous.” Crossing my arms, I hold the book to my chest. “There’s no such thing as vampires.”
Placing his hands on the counter, he leans in and whispers, “No. But the question isn’t whether or not the Marteaus are vampires.”
His gaze flits to the book and then back to me. “But why the rumors started in the first place.”
23
By the time I reach the cemetery, the weather has shifted. Roiling clouds cast the world in shade, the air thick and heavy with the threat of rain.
The entrance is not what I expected. Instead of a fence, I find towering stone walls. And instead of green grass, wide cobblestone paths meander through the graves.
