"That's because I'm looking for you. You're coming to Sam's birthday on Thursday night, right? And don't give me any excuses about work,” she added, anticipating Sarah's response. The break starts Friday, so I expect you to show up and get drunk like the rest of us."
"Linda, I really—"
"And bring a date."
"Right. Where do I find one of those again?"
"Foolish girl. It would help if you'd say ‘yes’ once in awhile. Look at you. I know you get offers. In fact, my cousin Tony was asking about you a couple weeks ago, after my mother's birthday party.” Seeing the look on Sarah's face, she rushed ahead, saying, “Don't worry. I didn't give him your number. Even I know he's not your type, although, come to think of it, I'm not sure exactly what your type is. But,” she added, the gleam of gossip in her eye, “speaking of Tony, did you hear about Trish Cowens?"
Sarah's stomach knotted, and she forced herself to exhale and fake a frown of confusion. “Trish Cowens?"
"You've got to pull your nose out of the books once in a while, girl. Patricia Cowens, the daughter of William Cowens? You know, the bazillionaire who invented . . .” Linda waved her hand in the air. “Something or other, I don't know. But that's not the story. She's a student here at the university, and she's gone missing. Her daddy's whipping the local police into a frenzy trying to find her."
"That's awful,” Sarah said in a low voice. She was having trouble focusing on the here and now. Her mind kept wanting to replace the smiling picture of Trish Cowens with the terrifying images from her dreams.
Linda sobered immediately, as if aware she'd been gushing over someone else's tragedy. “Of course, it is. Tony says they're working night and day—"
"Wait,” Sarah interrupted. “What does your cousin have to do with this?"
"Oh,” Linda said, scrunching her face in thought. “Tony's a cop. I thought you knew that. A detective actually. He and his partner . . .” Linda paused, eyeing her speculatively. “Now there's a possibility for you. Dan's good-looking and much more, um, cerebral than Tony. Of course, I think he's on his third divorce,” she added, frowning.
"Linda,” Sarah said patiently. “What does Tony have to do with Trish Cowens?"
"He and Dan are in charge of her case,” Linda said, surprised. “Didn't I mention that already?"
"No,” Sarah said absently. “No, you didn't."
"And that's not all.” She moved closer, glancing around to make sure they were alone. “They think vampires are doing it."
Sarah blinked in confusion. “Doing what?"
"Stealing those girls!” Linda exclaimed, as if it was Sarah who wasn't paying attention.
"Girls? Plural? As in more than one?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Well, yes. I think it's three or four, I'm not sure. But, Sarah, vampires!"
"Yeah, I got that. Why?” she asked suddenly.
"Why?” Linda parroted, her expression confused.
"Why do they think a vampire's involved? I mean why would a vampire do that?"
"For blood, of course!"
Sarah frowned, thinking about Raphael and his gang, about Raj. She tried to imagine any of them kidnapping women off the streets, especially when there were beautiful women like those in that club Saturday night, women who offered themselves eagerly. “I don't think they need to do that, Linda. Not anymore anyway."
Linda scowled at her, dissatisfied with the reaction to her big news. “Well, I don't know,” she said irritably. “Tony said the missing women had all been to those horrible blood houses or something. He didn't want to talk about it really, but his mother squeezed it out of him.” Linda shrugged loosely as if shaking off the entire subject. “Anyway, I'm sure they'll find her. You know freshmen. First time away from home, they go a little nuts. Okay, sweetie, I've got to run.” She gave Sarah a quick peck on the cheek. “See you at the party, and wear a dress, for God's sake!"
Sarah ignored the comment about a dress, putting it in the same category as her sensible boots. “I'll be there,” she said, instead. “And give Sam my love."
She watched her friend dash off between the buildings, thinking about vampires and the dark, windowless room Regina had woken up in. The kind of room in which a vampire might choose to hide his victims.
Later that afternoon, Sarah sat in her home office, hunched in front of her computer, staring intently at the monitor, waiting for the secrets of the universe to be revealed. Or at least the next chapter of the book that was supposed to get her tenure. Unfortunately, there was nothing but a blank screen staring back at her. When the monitor reverted to her screen saver, she jerked back in surprise. How long had she been sitting here lost in thought? She pushed away from her desk with a sigh, not even bothering to save her work. She hadn't typed more than a hundred words and none of it was worth keeping. Her stomach growled, reminding her it had been hours since lunch.
She thumped noisily down the weirdly narrow stairway, heading for the kitchen. The duplex she lived in had once been a single home. When someone had divided it in two, they'd made her half slightly smaller, with the cut right down the middle of the existing staircase, leaving each unit with a squished set of stairs, like something you'd see leading to an attic that no one ever used. Fortunately, Sarah was petite, five-foot-four in her stocking feet, if the socks were thick —although her much taller brothers had simply called her Shrimp. She wasn't skinny, but she was fit and toned, so who cared about a number on the scale?
Rounding the newel post at the bottom, she scuffed her way in stockinged feet to the kitchen and pulled open her freezer door. A dazzling array of Tupperware containers greeted her, all carefully labeled, courtesy of her landlady Mrs. Maglietto. Mrs. M. had sort of adopted Sarah, when she'd discovered there was no family nearby. An inveterate gossip, she always seemed to know when Sarah was coming and going, and frequently met her on the porch with whatever casserole she or one of her many daughters had prepared that day. Sarah didn't mind. She'd been close to her family before everything fell apart. Sometimes she missed that sense of belonging, of knowing someone cared about her, that they'd miss her if she died . . . or if she was taken by one of the human monsters who haunted her dreams.