in. He surveyed the building and found the right side of the building on the second floor was lit. So, someone was home there. Both sides of the building’s third floor were lit. Best bet would be an apartment on that floor, so he strolled up the steps to study the buzzers.
P was labeled only with initials—M.J.F. It must have referred to the penthouse, and chances were that the resident wanted privacy. An empty name slot on the second floor indicated a vacant apartment. 2B said J. Vernon, so Vorigan deduced that the right side of the second floor was 2B, and J. Vernon was home. If like in most buildings, there was some sort of order as far as the labeling of apartments, perhaps under 2B was 1B?
1A said N. Nourie, but the left side was dark. Perhaps he was out. And even though there was no name next to 1B, the vampire’s presence and furniture made it clear that the B side of the building was occupied. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to put his name on the mailbox yet. Damn. Vorigan still didn’t know his name.
3A was labeled G. Wyneth, and 3B said M. Morgaine. Odd names. However, I’m not interested in seeing them anyway.
He pushed the buzzer on the right, 3B. A female voice answered a millisecond later, as if waiting next to the intercom. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Er, uh, no. I was just wondering if—” A quick pop and silence let him know he’d been cut off.
“Damn.” He should have had a simple speech rehearsed. But the query about an appointment threw him. All right. Time to try again.
He buzzed 3A and waited. Eventually, a lovely female voice drawled, “Who is it?”
“Hello. I’m here to see Mr. Vernon, but his bell doesn’t seem to be working. Could you buzz me in?”
“Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin…”
“Excuse me?”
She giggled.
“His lights are on, and I know he’s expecting me. If you would be so kind as to buzz me in, I could knock on his door.”
“Well, we’re not supposed to do that, but if the super’s doorbell isn’t working, he’ll never know you’re here. Y’all probably came to see the apartment for rent, right?”
“Yes, exactly. I—uh, I have an appointment.”
“All right, sugar. Just mosey on up to the second floor. It’s the door on your right.”
That sounded enough like an invitation to satisfy the “rules.” Once again, he wondered why vampires had to be invited in when a human burglar did not. Clearly the powers-that-be were prejudiced against the dark ones.
The outer door buzzed, indicating it was unlocked, and Vorigan snatched it open before the young woman could change her mind.
Once inside the hallway, he paused long enough to listen for doors opening. Hopefully the young woman hadn’t decided to alert anyone to the presence of a stranger in their building. The halls remained quiet.
Fortunately the apartment he wanted was easy to locate. He knocked on the door marked 1B in brass letters, just to the right of the front door.
He waited—and waited.
No fuckin’ way. The guy’s a squatter? It was the only explanation. If he had no electricity and no name on the buzzer…
He knocked louder. “I know you’re in there.”
Finally the door flew open. The guy started to say something that sounded like, “Sorry,” but he froze when he saw Vorigan. He was as handsome as Vorigan had remembered. But then, he would be. Vampires didn’t age, so wrinkling skin and gray hair never entered the equation. He should be grateful, right?
As his protégé’s handsome, almond eyes rounded, Vorigan spoke quickly. “Hello, old friend, you may not remember me, but—”
“Oh, I know who you are all right.” The soft brown eyes turned black and cold.
“You remember me? I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be,” the guy said, and slammed the door.
“Oh, now, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m here to help you.”
The door didn’t reopen. Vorigan knocked again, realizing his effort would probably be met with the same refusal, but
P was labeled only with initials—M.J.F. It must have referred to the penthouse, and chances were that the resident wanted privacy. An empty name slot on the second floor indicated a vacant apartment. 2B said J. Vernon, so Vorigan deduced that the right side of the second floor was 2B, and J. Vernon was home. If like in most buildings, there was some sort of order as far as the labeling of apartments, perhaps under 2B was 1B?
1A said N. Nourie, but the left side was dark. Perhaps he was out. And even though there was no name next to 1B, the vampire’s presence and furniture made it clear that the B side of the building was occupied. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to put his name on the mailbox yet. Damn. Vorigan still didn’t know his name.
3A was labeled G. Wyneth, and 3B said M. Morgaine. Odd names. However, I’m not interested in seeing them anyway.
He pushed the buzzer on the right, 3B. A female voice answered a millisecond later, as if waiting next to the intercom. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Er, uh, no. I was just wondering if—” A quick pop and silence let him know he’d been cut off.
“Damn.” He should have had a simple speech rehearsed. But the query about an appointment threw him. All right. Time to try again.
He buzzed 3A and waited. Eventually, a lovely female voice drawled, “Who is it?”
“Hello. I’m here to see Mr. Vernon, but his bell doesn’t seem to be working. Could you buzz me in?”
“Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin…”
“Excuse me?”
She giggled.
“His lights are on, and I know he’s expecting me. If you would be so kind as to buzz me in, I could knock on his door.”
“Well, we’re not supposed to do that, but if the super’s doorbell isn’t working, he’ll never know you’re here. Y’all probably came to see the apartment for rent, right?”
“Yes, exactly. I—uh, I have an appointment.”
“All right, sugar. Just mosey on up to the second floor. It’s the door on your right.”
That sounded enough like an invitation to satisfy the “rules.” Once again, he wondered why vampires had to be invited in when a human burglar did not. Clearly the powers-that-be were prejudiced against the dark ones.
The outer door buzzed, indicating it was unlocked, and Vorigan snatched it open before the young woman could change her mind.
Once inside the hallway, he paused long enough to listen for doors opening. Hopefully the young woman hadn’t decided to alert anyone to the presence of a stranger in their building. The halls remained quiet.
Fortunately the apartment he wanted was easy to locate. He knocked on the door marked 1B in brass letters, just to the right of the front door.
He waited—and waited.
No fuckin’ way. The guy’s a squatter? It was the only explanation. If he had no electricity and no name on the buzzer…
He knocked louder. “I know you’re in there.”
Finally the door flew open. The guy started to say something that sounded like, “Sorry,” but he froze when he saw Vorigan. He was as handsome as Vorigan had remembered. But then, he would be. Vampires didn’t age, so wrinkling skin and gray hair never entered the equation. He should be grateful, right?
As his protégé’s handsome, almond eyes rounded, Vorigan spoke quickly. “Hello, old friend, you may not remember me, but—”
“Oh, I know who you are all right.” The soft brown eyes turned black and cold.
“You remember me? I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be,” the guy said, and slammed the door.
“Oh, now, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m here to help you.”
The door didn’t reopen. Vorigan knocked again, realizing his effort would probably be met with the same refusal, but
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