Of Love and Vampires by Avis Black

Author:Avis Black
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: The Slash Press
Published: 2015-05-15T22:00:00+00:00

About an hour later, Taillemache’s carriage drove up again, and I kept a sharp eye on it. The carriage’s weight shifted as someone exited through the door on the opposite side, and I saw shadowy feet moving on the cobblestones beneath the vehicle. Then the carriage drove off, and Mr. Lamppost was back again.

For the rest of the afternoon, I kept glancing at Clara, wondering what to say. I ought to warn her. But after such a long friendship with Taillemache, I knew she would be furious if I interfered, and might not even believe what I said. Besides, it was likely she had no knowledge of men who lust after other men.

A strange, distant noise interrupted my brooding. Before I could sort out what it was, Mr. Lamppost distracted me. Something was bothering our neighborhood denizen. He was twitching the way a horse does when being harassed by a cloud of flies. After many jerks, he left his station and came striding purposefully towards our door. Clara too, watched with apprehension as Mr. Lamppost entered our shop.

He walked straight up to me and said with menace, “Do something about your ridiculous friend, or I will kill him.”

Then he spun around and left.

“What was that for?” said Clara, staring after him.

“I don’t know. Could you mind the counter a moment?”

I began to understand--well, not really--but I began to grasp the problem after I exited the shop. An appalling sound was coming from the corner by the eatery. With a theatrical gesture, Mr. Lamppost slid his fingers in his ears. Our news seller was holding a magazine in front of his face as if unable to bear the sight of another’s shame.

Tin cup in hand, Maurice was standing on the street corner, blowing into a harmonica.

Wincing, I made my way up to him, and he broke off. “Maurice,” I asked as delicately as possible. “Are you tone-deaf?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t matter. Harmonicas are pre-tuned. You can’t go wrong with one.”

“I’m afraid you’re managing it.”

“I am? Do you think I need to try something else?”

“Yes,” I replied emphatically.

Maurice pocketed the harmonica with irritation. The grateful news seller applauded, along with some of the patrons seated inside the eatery.

Stung, Maurice replied, “All right. I’ll take it back to the pawnshop. But I do possess talents, and I’ll show you some of them later.”

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