aside, Terri moved to the vanity and opened her case to begin unpacking.
"I don't know what the big deal is."
"You cannot feed on my guests. Period," Bastien said firmly. He'd been lecturing his cousin since the elevator doors had closed.
"You're so squeamish, Bastien." Vincent laughed. "I'd like to see you have to hunt your food the old-fashioned way like I do. It gets a bit tiring, you know. Constantly prowling around, looking for dinner."
"Yes. I know. I did have to do it myself, if you'll recall," Bastien said. "And I know it can be a bother, but still—no feeding on my guests. Now, be a good cousin and go find a snack to tide you over for the night. Not the people in my apartment."
"Oh, fine," Vincent agreed. He arched an eyebrow. "But first maybe I should help you order some takeout."
"I can manage on my own, thank you," Bastien replied. In his more than four hundred years of life, no one had ever before suggested that there was something he couldn't do. He'd been competent practically from birth.
"No?" Vincent asked lightly. "I bet you've never ordered takeout before. I doubt you've ever even had to deal with it. The closest you've probably ever gotten is asking your secretary to arrange catering for a business meeting."
Vincent was right on the money, but Bastien kept his mouth shut, refusing to acknowledge it.
"Will you do McDonald's, Chinese, pizza, or subs?"
"What are subs?" Bastien was surprised into asking.
"Oh ho! You don't even know," Vinny crowed.
"Oh, all right. I've never done takeout before," Bastien admitted. He was more the wine and caviar type when it came to dating. Of course, they hadn't had takeout the last time he'd dated. "Now, what are subs?"
"Submarine sandwiches. They're large buns, like French bread, sort of, with meat, cheese, lettuce, and things inside."
Bastien made a face. "They sound absolutely disgusting."
"They do rather, don't they?" Vincent agreed. "I don't suppose you asked Terri and Chris what they'd like?"
"No," he admitted, and was irritated with himself for not doing so, but he rarely asked anyone what they wanted. He was the decision-making guy; he usually decided what was in the best interests of everyone else and did it, or else arranged to have it done. He would do the same now, he decided. "Which is the healthiest choice?"
Vincent considered. "Probably submarines. At least, if the commercials are true. They have all the nutrition a growing human needs… and you can lose a hundred pounds eating them."
"What?" Bastien asked.
"Seriously," Vincent said with a laugh. "Some guy ate them every day for every meal and lost a ton of weight." He paused and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Mind you, he also apparently walked to the sub shop to get them, so maybe that's why he really lost the weight."
"Vincent," Bastien said with exasperation, "which takeout foods are healthiest?"
"Subs," Vincent insisted. "It's got your four basic food groups. Or is it five?" Raising a hand, he began to count off fingers. "Dairy, bread, meat, vegetables… I think there are four for humans."
"Whatever. I'll get subs."
"I'll come along and help you," Vincent offered. The elevator doors opened onto the parking garage.
Bastien shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll be fine. Besides, I have to take care of a couple of matters first."
"Chris's clothes?"
"That's one thing, yes," Bastien admitted as he led the way through the nearly empty parking garage. It was past working hours on a Friday night, and most of the employees had left for home already.
"And the other?"
"I also have to track down Mrs. Houlihan and wipe her memory."
"Why bother? No one will believe the old bird. They'll think she's batty."
"And what if they don't?" Bastien snapped, then paused and turned a narrowed gaze on his cousin. "Please tell me you generally erase the memories of your meals, that you don't leave them wandering around shrieking, 'I was bitten by a vampire.' Surely you have that much sense?" It wasn't
"I don't know what the big deal is."
"You cannot feed on my guests. Period," Bastien said firmly. He'd been lecturing his cousin since the elevator doors had closed.
"You're so squeamish, Bastien." Vincent laughed. "I'd like to see you have to hunt your food the old-fashioned way like I do. It gets a bit tiring, you know. Constantly prowling around, looking for dinner."
"Yes. I know. I did have to do it myself, if you'll recall," Bastien said. "And I know it can be a bother, but still—no feeding on my guests. Now, be a good cousin and go find a snack to tide you over for the night. Not the people in my apartment."
"Oh, fine," Vincent agreed. He arched an eyebrow. "But first maybe I should help you order some takeout."
"I can manage on my own, thank you," Bastien replied. In his more than four hundred years of life, no one had ever before suggested that there was something he couldn't do. He'd been competent practically from birth.
"No?" Vincent asked lightly. "I bet you've never ordered takeout before. I doubt you've ever even had to deal with it. The closest you've probably ever gotten is asking your secretary to arrange catering for a business meeting."
Vincent was right on the money, but Bastien kept his mouth shut, refusing to acknowledge it.
"Will you do McDonald's, Chinese, pizza, or subs?"
"What are subs?" Bastien was surprised into asking.
"Oh ho! You don't even know," Vinny crowed.
"Oh, all right. I've never done takeout before," Bastien admitted. He was more the wine and caviar type when it came to dating. Of course, they hadn't had takeout the last time he'd dated. "Now, what are subs?"
"Submarine sandwiches. They're large buns, like French bread, sort of, with meat, cheese, lettuce, and things inside."
Bastien made a face. "They sound absolutely disgusting."
"They do rather, don't they?" Vincent agreed. "I don't suppose you asked Terri and Chris what they'd like?"
"No," he admitted, and was irritated with himself for not doing so, but he rarely asked anyone what they wanted. He was the decision-making guy; he usually decided what was in the best interests of everyone else and did it, or else arranged to have it done. He would do the same now, he decided. "Which is the healthiest choice?"
Vincent considered. "Probably submarines. At least, if the commercials are true. They have all the nutrition a growing human needs… and you can lose a hundred pounds eating them."
"What?" Bastien asked.
"Seriously," Vincent said with a laugh. "Some guy ate them every day for every meal and lost a ton of weight." He paused and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Mind you, he also apparently walked to the sub shop to get them, so maybe that's why he really lost the weight."
"Vincent," Bastien said with exasperation, "which takeout foods are healthiest?"
"Subs," Vincent insisted. "It's got your four basic food groups. Or is it five?" Raising a hand, he began to count off fingers. "Dairy, bread, meat, vegetables… I think there are four for humans."
"Whatever. I'll get subs."
"I'll come along and help you," Vincent offered. The elevator doors opened onto the parking garage.
Bastien shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll be fine. Besides, I have to take care of a couple of matters first."
"Chris's clothes?"
"That's one thing, yes," Bastien admitted as he led the way through the nearly empty parking garage. It was past working hours on a Friday night, and most of the employees had left for home already.
"And the other?"
"I also have to track down Mrs. Houlihan and wipe her memory."
"Why bother? No one will believe the old bird. They'll think she's batty."
"And what if they don't?" Bastien snapped, then paused and turned a narrowed gaze on his cousin. "Please tell me you generally erase the memories of your meals, that you don't leave them wandering around shrieking, 'I was bitten by a vampire.' Surely you have that much sense?" It wasn't
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