Before she could respond, Grady gave her an assessing look and said with an ironic smile, "Oh, and I'm quite certain I am. " Then he turned to the policeman, effectively dismissing any complaint she might have been moved to make. "Any news, Linwood?"
Macey was only too happy to make her escape, sore feet notwithstanding. She didn't look back as she started off down the sidewalk, cheeks still burning over her rash suggestion that a vampire might have attacked the young woman.
And the fact that Grady heard it.
Not that it mattered. Surely she'd ever see the man again, and thank goodness for that.
As she rushed along, she continued to berate herself. That strange book had captivated her, and the story didn't want to leave her alone. For the last two nights, she'd been having those same nightmares of being stalked and hunted by red-eyed vampires.
And the oddest thing had happened at the library earlier today. Macey was secretary to the director of accessions (with aspirations of being head librarian herself one day), and Dr. Morgan had received a visitor early this morning.
Although, as it turned out, the visitor hadn't been looking for Dr. Morgan. He was a nice-looking young man, and he came into the office, folding up a very large, dripping umbrella but carrying nothing else. That in itself was unusual, because just about everyone who came into the library was either in possession of one or more books, or was carrying something in which to put one or more books. Or was at least looking for a book.
The young man looked intently at Macey, who'd enthusiastically taken a break from typing up the twenty-third card catalogue file she'd done since eight o'clock. Typing up card catalogue files was much more tedious than one would think, as she'd quickly learned. She preferred to be walking among the labyrinthine stacks, discovering or re-shelving books and old manuscripts-or, better yet, poring through a newly acquired tome herself, practicing the classification of the title and where it would go on the shelf. And you never knew what sort of fascinating information you could find paging through a book.
But when she looked up at the visitor, Macey's first impression was that he might be a gangster. She wasn't certain why she had that thought. Maybe it was the commanding way he looked around the room. Or the sense of something being off, or evenBy the time shes blood dangerous about him.
A sharp spike of nerves made Macey fumble with the pencil she'd picked up. The newcomer carried himself with confidence and boldness, and he was dressed expensively in spats and a tailored suit. A bloodred handkerchief, silky and patterned with black dots, stuck up from his breast pocket, folded in perfect, fan-like creases. She found herself looking at his silhouette beneath the fitted jacket to see if she could spot the bulge of a gun, and wondered what she would do if he pulled one out.
And the way he looked at her was odd. It sent a gentle prickle over the back of her bare neck and across her shoulders, almost as if a chill draft brushed her skin. In fact, she felt a distinct chill lifting the hair at the back of her neck, and she wondered if he'd left the outside door open when he came in.
"Miss Gardella?" He stepped closer to her desk. No one else was around; the rest of the department was at lunch.
Macey looked up at him. "Pardon me?" she asked, rising while trying to hide the fact that her knees were shaking. What on earth was wrong with her? At least her voice came out calmly and steadily. "May I help you?"
He looked at her more intently, and for a moment, Macey felt as if her insides wavered. . . as if her vision swung and shivered. For just an instant, she felt dizzy. "I'm looking for Miss Gardella," he
said, still focused on her.
She shook her head, and it took great effort to pull her gaze away from his. Her heart was pounding and she felt. . . soupy. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm not aware of anyone by that name. If you'd like to speak to the director, Dr. Morgan, he might be able to help you. Do you know in what department she works? The university is a large place, and I'm new here. "
The man's brows drew together and annoyance colored his expression. His eyes flashed red for an instant, then she dismissed the thought as being due to her fanciful imagination and cloudy head. Am I coming down with something?
"No, that won't be necessary. I must be mistaken. " The man turned and strode out of the office before she could ask his name.
It was only after he left that it sunk into her thoughts that he'd asked for Miss Gardella. In fact, it seemed as if he'd initially called her Miss Gardella.
Gardella was the name of the family of vampire hunters in Mr. Starcasset's book.
How coincidental.
The dance club called The Gyro was loud and crowded, just the way the flappers liked. Good music, a big dance floor, tables packed in together on the sides, and, if you were daring and knew the right word or phrase, entrance through a secret door behind the musicians. Not that Macey ever went through that door. . . at least, not so far.
The wall behind the dais where the piano stood appearBy the time shes blooded to be an innocent panel of mirrors, but the third one was the secret door. Macey knew this because she'd seen it slide open once, and because Flora had told her.
"Do you know the password?" Macey'd asked her friend, jiggling her foot in time to the music. The ice in their glasses of tea clinked gently on the table.
Flora shook her head, and her tight reddish-blond curls hardly moved at all. "No, but I think Jimmy does. "
Jimmy was Flora's older brother, and he often accompanied the two of them when they went dancing-although he hadn't tonight. Macey liked it when he came along because he was a deterrent to anyone who might bother them. And every day in the papers, there were stories about gangster shoot-outs, police raids, and other violence related to the so-called beer wars. Since she and Flora weren't about to stay in like two old maids with their cats (not that either of them had any cats), it made for a more relaxing night when the massive, smashed-nosed Jimmy came with them.
Macey suspected he probably knew more about what went on behind the secret door than he let on, and more than once she was certain she'd seen the bulge of a firearm under his arm, beneath his coat. But he was Flora's brother, and she'd known him for more than a decade because she and Flora had been friends since they were ten. The two girls had grown up on the same street in Skittlesville, walked to the same school, and had the same ferocious piano teacher.
In fact, that was how they'd come to be such good friends-bonding over their mistreatment by Mrs. Pevensey. Macey's mother died when she was very young, and her father-who worked for the British government-had promptly sent her as far away from him as possible. She was shunted off on several family members from the countryside of England to New York, and finally to farm country in the Midwest when she was ten. From then on, Macey was raised by a distant cousin and her husband, who owned a timepiece shop in the tiny Wisconsin town. Then Macey's father had proceeded to get himself killed in the Great War. She was left with only vague memories of him-a tall, dark, and austere man.
Her memories might be vague, but her feelings toward him were not. Loathing, disgust, and pain rose inside her whenever she thought of being shipped off and abandoned by someone who was supposed to love her-at least a little.
"Any luck finding a job?" Macey asked, leaning close to her friend so Flora could hear her over the music and loud conversation. They'd moved here from the tiny town of Skittlesville together, initially getting jobs at the same secretarial pool. They'd always helped and encouraged each other all along the way. But in the last few months, since Macey got her dream job at the university library and Flora lost hers at the pool, she'd seen less of her friend.