Bloody Fabulous: Stories of Fantasy and Fashion

Bloody Fabulous: Stories of Fantasy and Fashion Page 30

“Do you need me tomorrow?” Olivia asked.

Just in case tonight’s efforts failed, Evelyn told her to come back in the morning. Disappointed, Olivia schlepped out without saying good-bye.

Unaffected by the dramatics, Evelyn returned to her work, skipping supper in order to be ready.

Once again Gray arrived without warning or sound. Surprise mixed with instant fear. She only had his word he wouldn’t kill her. This time he wore tight black jeans, cowboy boots with silver buckles, and a white T-shirt with a design of black wings spread across his chest.

Proud that her voice didn’t warble, she asked, “Something wrong with the door bell?”

Smirking, he glanced at the security video screen. “I’m camera shy.”

She considered. “It must be difficult to avoid them. They’re all over the place, and everyone has a camera on their cell phone.” Another connection popped into her mind. “Is that why Camilla avoids the public?” And probably why the light had been so dim at the party.

His smirk faded. “It helps that we are creatures of the night, but it does limit our . . . social life.”

An image of him hunting a hapless person to feed on popped into her head.

“It’s not what you think,” he said as if he could read her mind. “We have volunteers who donate blood. It just would be nice to go out without worrying. To be able to attend a Broadway musical instead of lurking in the shadows.”

“A musical? Really?”

“Did you think all we do is read Dracula and watch re-runs of True Blood?” Amusement sparked.

“Since I didn’t know you existed until yesterday, I haven’t had the time to imagine what your . . . social life is like.”

“It’s better than yours,” he said.

Not about to dignify his comment with a response, she gestured to the area she had prepped. “Please stand—”

He was there before she finished her sentence. And the smirk was back. Wonderful.

Evelyn tried a number of different cameras, backgrounds, and techniques. Then she mounted her camera on a tripod and instructed him to keep still, hoping a long exposure would work. She set it for one minute, then five, then ten. Nothing.

Next test involved covering Gray’s bare skin with make-up. He agreed and sat still as she spread the liquid foundation on him. Although his skin felt cold, it was . . . normal.

Feeling awkward with his proximity, she asked, “Why do you think your social life is better than mine?”

“Our queen has been interested in you for a year. We’ve been watching you to make sure your withdrawal from regular society wouldn’t make waves.”

Unease rolled in her stomach. “Withdrawal?”

“We are a close-knit group. We limit contact with outsiders to a bare minimum. Discovery of our . . . existence wouldn’t be well received.”

She huffed. “Are you sure? There’s a reason books and shows like True Blood are popular.”

“We’re more concerned about the military.”

“Oh.” She considered. “My friends and family would be alarmed if I disappeared.”

“Friends? Your only friend, Vincenza Salvatori, has successfully interviewed with Good Morning America to be their executive make-up artist. According to our sources, she has accepted the job and is scheduled to start next month. At a considerable higher salary than what you pay her, by the way.”

Her hands stilled as his words sunk in like acid sizzling through her heart. Why didn’t she tell me? I would have been happy for her. Or would I?

To avoid the hurtful truth, she said, “My mother will tear this town apart looking for me.”

“When’s the last time you talked to your mother?” he asked.

“Last week . . . I think.”

“You don’t know?”

“Do you know exactly when you last talked to yours?” she snapped.

“No.”

“See?”

Gray gave her a flat look. “My mother’s been dead over a hundred years. What’s your excuse?”

“I’m very busy. Which your vampire spies should be well aware of.”

“We are. And we also know that you haven’t called your mother in over a month.” He leaned back, looking smug. “So we have at least a month before your mother even realizes you’re gone.”

Evelyn clamped her mouth shut. Gray’s blatant attempt to distract her wouldn’t work. She finished covering him and snapped a few photos. When she pulled them up on screen, the make-up appeared as tan blobs.

“Give up?” Gray asked, peering over her shoulder.

“No. I’ve more things to try.”

He swept her hair to the side and brushed his lips over her neck. A strange tingle shot through her, igniting fear and she’d like to say revulsion, but to be honest it was more akin to desire.

“It’s two hours until dawn. And unless you have a bottle of A positive in your fridge, I’d better go before I rip into this lovely throat. Until tomorrow . . . ” He kissed her neck and was gone.

She groped for the chair and collapsed into it, suddenly exhausted. Nothing she tried tonight had worked. At least she could rule out capturing a digital image. The next logical step would be to try her old film cameras. And that would require a number of items she no longer owned.

Wednesday

The studio door dinged, waking Evelyn. She had fallen asleep at her desk. Buzzing Olivia in, Evelyn handed her a list of supplies along with her company’s—E. Mitchell Studios—credit card. She had been so proud when her company’s name had been painted on the glass doors to her studio. It was simple and genderless and hers.

Renewed determination not to lose her business pulsed through her body. After Olivia left to go shopping, Evelyn sucked down an extra large cup of coffee and dug through old boxes until she found her thirty-five millimeter cameras.

When Olivia returned with the supplies, her assistant helped Evelyn clean out one of her walk-in closets.

“What are you using this for?” Olivia asked as she dragged out a dusty container of old photos.

“I’m converting it into a darkroom.”

The girl paused and wiped her hands on her tattered jeans. “Darkroom? What’s that?”

Now it was her turn to pause. “Didn’t they teach you how to develop film in art school?”

“Not in my classes. I majored in new digital media and experimental photography. Not ancient history.”

Evelyn suppressed a sigh. Despite her own troubles, she wouldn’t be remiss in her mentor duties. “Tomorrow I’ll show you how to make pictures the old fashioned way.”

Olivia wasn’t quick enough to hide her frown, but she continued to lug boxes and even asked a few token questions about the process. After they had set up the darkroom, she sent Olivia home.

Loading her Nikon with black and white, thirty-five millimeter film, Evelyn lamented the demise of Kodachrome film. She could have hoarded a few rolls, if she had known . . . well, if she had known, then she would have kept her big mouth shut on Sunday night.

She hardly reacted to Gray’s silent arrival. Funny how you could get used to anything. Evelyn glanced at her war photos. Well, almost anything.

He noticed the boxes littered around the studio. “Are you finally accepting your fate and packing?”

“No. I’m trying a new tactic tonight.”

Gray examined the mess, picking through the piles of camera equipment. “Some of these are antiques. I remember when the Nikon L35 was first released. It caused quite a sensation.”

When she connected that comment to the one about his mother, Evelyn realized he might have been around during the early years of photography. She asked him a few questions and soon they were discussing the evolution of the camera—a subject that fascinated Evelyn.

With a genuine smile, Gray said, “I don’t know why you’re so resistant to working for our queen. You’ll be among people with similar interests.”

It was as if he had thrown ice cold water on her, snapping her to her senses. Once again, he had distracted her.

“If you please . . . ” She swept a hand toward the backdrop.

With a sigh, he posed with his arms crossed. “I don’t know whether to admire your determination or point out the fact that you’re wasting time.”

Ignoring him, she took a few test shots to familiarize herself with the camera. Evelyn then burned through ten rolls of film.

After Gray left, she was too exhausted to do more than crawl up the stairs to her apartment and fall into bed.

Thursday

“Uh, Evelyn? I think I did something wrong again.” Olivia passed her a negative. “I’m not sure ’cause it’s hard to see with this red light.”

She peered at the image. Shirt, pants and boots on an invisible man. No Gray. They had been developing film all day in the darkroom, and the results were the same. All ten rolls.

Dejected, Evelyn sent Olivia home, glad to be alone. The girl had complained about the smells, the chemicals, the red light, and how labor intensive it all was. Evelyn would have enjoyed returning to her photographic roots in the darkroom if the stakes hadn’t been so high.