“Ghostbusters.” Stuart's voice rang out slightly slurred. I could hear the noise in the background fall away as he no doubt was stepping out of the bar and onto some cold, wet side street. “To what do I owe this 4am phone call Cat?”

“I'm sorry Stu, but I'm glad you're up.” I sighed, hoping not to sound as exasperated as I felt.

“Oh, I'm up darling.” I could hear him swig from his pint, gulping down his Guinness. “What's the trouble? Or are you calling for a chat?”

“Believe me Stu, I wish I was calling for a chat. I think Will might be dead.”

“Well, technically he's already dead. Not sure if they go over that in Sex and the City of the Undead, but --”

“Stuart! You know what I mean.”

“Alright. Is he a bloody heap of bubbling entrails?”

“No.”

“A charred pile of rubbish flaking away in the wind?”

“No.”

“Well then he hasn't suffered the final death.”

“Dammit Stuart! He's unresponsive. He's just lying on the bed completely comatose.”

“Listen sweet cheeks, what you two do in your private time is none of my business.”

“Stuart cut the Vaudeville act! I'm scared and I need your help.”

“Okay.” I could hear him taking a deep sobering breath. “When did he last feed?”

“I'm not sure. I mean he fed from me a few nights ago, but he usually keeps donor blood at the house.” I suddenly felt a little squeamish telling Stuart what felt to me like intimate details of my sex life.

“He's unresponsive you say?”

“If I didn't know any better I would think he was black out drunk.”

“Well, that makes two of us!” Stuart laughed and I heard the sound of glass clinking against something.

“He's drunk?” “Not exactly. He's got food poisoning though that's for sure. Will's system can scrub out even the highest blood alcohol level. My guess is whatever or whoever he fed from, was on some serious drugs. Possibly a vamp irritant.”

“Great. I have a high vampire passed out on my bed and no way to get him home.”

“Sorry kid, but it's a little more serious even than that. You're gonna have to call the meat wagon on this one. He needs to be tested and possibly monitored until dawn.”

“I'm going to fucking kill him!”

“Oh, well in that case, just drag his ass out onto your widow's walk and call Molly Maids in the morning dear.

“Ugh. What's the number for the meat wagon?”

“Where did you get that?” Sig gasped. He was leaning back, afraid to even touch it.

“Ask her.” Cynthia had a look of utter satisfaction on her face.

“What are you?” Sig turned on me. Despite his cream puff appearance the elder vampire was suddenly terrifying.

“ I'm a tour guide.” I stammered. “I use it as a costume piece and for protection.”

“Where did you get it?” Sig pointed at the offending weapon buried an inch deep in the coffee table.

“A friend.” I was not about to drag Stuart into this. The poor guy was just trying to be nice after all. Cynthia pulled a large file folder from her bag. I was beginning to wonder what else she had in there. A lamp? A parrot? She was like a demonic Marry Poppins. The thought struck me, and in my state, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to fight back the tide of hysteric giggles bubbling up in my chest.

Cynthia slapped the folder down on the table and opened it. It was full of papers and photographs. Surveillance. She slid a black and white eight by ten my way. I bit down harder on my cheek until the metallic taste of blood met my tongue.

     There was a room off the entry way that was so authentic, I almost did forget what era I was in. Will went over to a table that held an antique gramophone. I thought he might play a record, but instead, opened the door of the cabinet the player sat on, revealing a stereo underneath. It may have been historic, but his house was wired for sound. Van Morrison played softly on the air. “You know the night's magic seems to whisper and hush...”

     “May I have this dance.?” Will asked, as he turned from the cabinet.

“You are smooth, I'll give you that.”

“Years of practice.” He said and swooped me up in his arms before I could even say Moondance.

“You know, some say that the way a man dances, is akin to the manner in which he makes love.” I said, as Will twirled me through the salon. The way he was dancing made me hope that adage was true. Something told me it was. Years of practice, and all.

“Are you being coy Miss Lovelace?”

“Just making conversation.” I said.

“Oh in that case.” Will dipped me. Actually dipped me. He pulled me up and straight into his mouth which was soft, and a little cool. Vampires are never very hot to the touch. A side effect of their condition. Kissing him made all the air in the room go out, and the only substance to breathe was that single, spontaneous, electric act. The magic was staunched however, when I got the uncanny feeling we were being watched. I pulled away, looking over Will's shoulder, and jumped.

“What is it?” He asked, looking behind him.

Anna Harston stood not three feet from Will's back, that vacant stare that was so cold and unrelenting.

“Your wife,” I whispered, unable to form any more words than that. Will shot over to the where I was pointing, and all but walked through the specter of his long dead wife. She disappeared and an oval frame hanging on the opposite wall came crashing to the floor. We both jumped. It was a carved cherry wood wreath encircling a portrait of two women. Mother and child. “Will, who is this?” I asked picking up the painting. I had a pretty good idea of who it was.

“It's my wife, and my daughter.” He sighed, before taking the frame and placing it back on the wall.

“This is who I've been seeing.” I pointed to Anna.

Will was desperately trying to scrub his face of the emotions that were playing across it. For the first time since I'd known him, he was unsuccessful at it.

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5 stars! Very funny...totally hot...can't wait for more! ~Kit Kat

My husband is British and I am Dutch (both "straight of the boat") so I had a real good chuckle reading about some of your characters in Deadville. Can't put it down! ~ Syl Cerri

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