Page 6 of Vampire Claus

“Oh, not really. I only started raising money after Thanksgiving. I’d go on shopping trips when I could hitch a ride with a cousin who has a car. Storing all the shit was a problem, though, because my place is fucking tiny. Like, two hundred square feet small.”

“Hmm. That sounds gigantic after the cell I lived in at my monastery.”

Paul shot a glance back over his shoulder. “Ah man, we’re not gonna play who’s had it worse. You ended up with ninja skills and super powers. I’m a short order cook. I win.”

Taviano laughed. “Let’s call it a draw.” Paul flashed him a grin and it was the sweetest thing Taviano had seen in a very long time. He wanted to see it again. Besides, he might actually have started to remember how to talk normally. How to banter.

Or at least, not act like a monstrous recluse who ate everyone he met.

“Where are we going now?” he asked. “Your tiny cell?”

“Yeah. My place.” Paul’s ears turned red. “I need to change or I’ll scare the shit out of the kids at the shelter.”

A new scent surrounded Paul. It took a moment for Taviano to process and isolate it from the essence of rosemary and lemons.

It was pheromones. Arousal. The idea of bringing Taviano to his apartment excited Paul.

For that matter, it excited Taviano.

Three

Trailing behind Paul,Taviano began to wonder why he was there. Serving as protector and porter to a would-be Christmas elf… It seemed ridiculous. Yet Paul radiated happiness as he told random stories about diner patrons he’d asked for money. Taviano hadn’t experienced that in a very long time.

There were certainly worse ways to spend a Christmas Eve. As his demon remained calm and apparently disinterested, Paul seemed to be in no danger. Taviano found himself smiling and loose-limbed, and so he chose to see how matters progressed.

They walked along Charter Street to an increasingly shabby neighborhood. Paul steered over and around snow piled into mounds of ice mixed with dirt. The bags of gifts were light in Taviano’s arms as he focused on the luminous man. Chattering and gossiping, Paul led them away from the lights and noise of busy Boston streets. Eventually they turned down a dark road littered with empty cans and trash bags.

Paul stopped at a heavy metal door situated in a brick wall. The setting was barren; Taviano couldn’t imagine someone living there. He wondered amusedly if Paul actually planned to mughim.

Paul pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and stuck one into the big lock set in the metal door. From the dents and scuffs around the handle, it was obvious more than one person had tried to break in. Taviano couldn’t fathom why.

When Paul finally pulled the heavy door open and entered the building, Taviano was moderately curious. Would the magic that protected a home from his kind prevent him from following? He stepped gingerly over the threshold.

No, that was easy. Apparently many people traveled in and out of the common spaces of the building. No one could claim it as a personal sanctuary.

Paul’s apartment would likely be the barrier, though.

They climbed three flights of stairs to a door marked with a “4” in spray paint. Paul fumbled with his keys before unlocking the deadbolt and handle. He pushed the door open and went through, calling behind him, “Put the bags anywhere.”

Taviano stopped in the hallway. His toes brushed rubber molding that separated the concrete floor from the linoleum of Paul’s apartment. To his vampire eyes, it appeared as if a thick pane of glass covered the doorway. From years of testing when he was newly dead, he knew he lacked the power to force his way through the barrier.

Bronislav had warned him about the barrier magic and the many other prohibitions. After a handful of years, though, he’d dared to rebel and try to enter a few homes uninvited. Always he failed. Once, he even let the bloodbeast out entirely to see if it could break through. That had proved to be a costly mistake, and still he failed to get inside by force.

Taviano said, “I’ll wait out here.”

Paul paused in the middle of yanking off his damaged sweater, his head and arms all in a tangle. “Dude. Please come in.”

And like that, the barrier dissolved. Whatever its source, simple words of uncoerced invitation were enough to send it back to the ether from which it sprang.

The casualness of Paul in welcoming a predator, a killer, into his home warmed Taviano’s heart. Paul had seen a fraction of what he could do. Even if he didn’t guess the extent of his risk, he had to know at some level that Taviano was dangerous. Yet he didn’t hesitate to open his home.So naïve. So sweet.

Taviano grinned as he stepped over the threshold and tested out the jargon he collected from Paul.Whatever, dude.

The apartment was indeed small, a studio with exposed brick walls and two white-cased windows. Through them he could see a fire escape and then, across the street, a tiled roof. The latch on the right window had broken.Foolish man, he thought as he watched Paul hop on one foot to take off a boot.Let a monster in the front door. Invite a robber through the window. How are you still alive?

He surveyed the rest of Paul’s home. An open door revealed a small bathroom. The opposite wall contained a two-burner stove, a sink, and a half-sized refrigerator. A wooden café table sat with two mismatched chairs. A futon couch along another wall likely served as Paul’s bed.

Next to it was a milk crate on which sat a tiny Christmas tree, wrapped in blue and yellow lights. A few small ornaments dangled from its boughs, though no presents rested underneath. That struck Taviano as sad, given the work Paul had gone through to gather gifts for the homeless youths.

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