Despite the phrasing, these were not questions and Lissianna--already in trouble over Greg--didn't want to ruffle any more feathers, so simply nodded a yes.
"Good. I'll expect you after work," she said firmly, before her gaze skated to Thomas and Jeanne Louise. "It wouldn't hurt the two of you to spend some time with your cousins as well."
"Yes, ma'am," Jeanne Louise said promptly.
Thomas merely grinned, and said, "You know me, Aunt Marguerite. I'm always happy to spend time with lovely ladies."
Smiling faintly, she glanced at Mirabeau. "You're welcome to stay, too, dear."
"Oh... er..."
Lissianna smiled with amusement, aware that Mirabeau was searching desperately for a polite excuse to refuse the offer. Before she could come up with anything, Marguerite said, "Good," then turned to follow Martine from the room.
Thomas chuckled. "Welcome to the family, Mirabeau."
Chapter 8
Greg hung up the phone and sat back on the couch to stare around his living room with something like bewilderment. After all his fretting over his flight to Cancun, he actually hadn't missed anything. The flight had been canceled anyway because of technical difficulties... whatever that meant.
Greg had tried to book a seat on the next available flight, only to find out the next open seat wasn't until Wednesday. It had seemed stupid to him to spend all day Wednesday in airports and airplanes, just for two days in Cancun before his flight back Saturday, so Greg had spent the past half hour canceling his hotel and return flight.
While the last twenty-four hours had been the most unusual--not to mention stressful--of his life, they hadn't affected his vacation plans at all. Those had obviously been doomed anyway. It seemed fate had something other than a week of sun, sand, and half-naked gyrating women planned for him, Greg thought, rubbing absently at his neck.
His super was the first person who had noticed his neck. The man had stepped off the elevator with a wide smile, commenting, "Locked yourself out, huh?" Then he'd peered at him more closely, and said, "What's that on your neck? A vampire bite?"
The man had guffawed even as he asked the question, but--not in the mood for jokes--Greg had merely shrugged the question off as the super had unlocked his apartment door. He'd then thanked him for letting him in and arranged to get spare keys made for both his apartment and the building's outer door. The super had promised to see to it and deliver them as soon as possible as he got back onto the elevator. Greg had completely forgotten his joke about his neck by the time he'd closed his door.
After locking it, he'd leaned against the solid wood door and heaved a sigh of relief at being home, only to grimace the next moment over the predicament he was in. His coat, keys, wallet, and briefcase were all back at that house. Losing his wallet was bad enough, it had all his ID and credit cards in it, but his briefcase held his appointment calendar and his most recent patient notes.
Unable to do anything about it, Greg had reassured himself that it was all replaceable and headed for his bedroom. After spending the last twenty-four hours in his suit, even sleeping in it, he was intent on a shower and change of clothes.
It was while shaving that Greg had noticed the marks on his neck. There was no purple bruising from a hickey, just two neat puncture holes about an inch apart. The super's words had floated through his mind as he'd examined them. "What's that on you neck? A vampire bite?"
The words had sounded as ridiculous in Greg's head as they had when the man had spoken them, and he'd given an uncomfortable little laugh and turned away from the mirror to get dressed. Once finished, he'd called the air port, but once that task was done. Greg found his fingers moving repeatedly to his neck. Worse yet, different memories were flooding his mind and painting a picture in his head. Marguerite accusing Lissianna of biting him when she'd found them in the bedroom, then explaining that Greg wasn't dinner. Thomas telling him that Lissianna's phobia was like Greg's fainting at the sight of food and Lissianna saying her phobia was hemaphobia.
Then there was the conversation between the women in the back of the van on the way into the city. They'd talked about Lissianna's not being able to read him, which was why she'd bitten him. And one of the twins had commented that she wished she could feed "off the hoof, too," that it sounded much nicer than bagged blood.
Greg continued to rub the little wounds, his mind spinning these facts over and over and causing the oddest ideas to enter his head. Ideas so crazy and impossible he was almost afraid even to think them... but they would explain a lot about his own behavior that he hadn't understood and which had--frankly--alarmed him: like climbing into the trunk of a strange car, then ietting himself be tied down.
Greg shook his head in an effort to shake the crazy thoughts from his mind, but they stubbornly persisted, and he finally retrieved a pen and notepad and drew a line down the center of the top page. He then wrote Vampire/Not Vampire at the top and began to make his list, including all the conversations and noting the physical evidence of the marks on his neck as well. These all went on the Vampire half of the sheet. Then he turned his attention to the Not Vampire side and hesitated. Finally, he wrote "crazy, impossible, and don't exist." Compared to the Vampire side, the arguments against it were pretty weak, he noted with frustration, then gave a shaky laugh.
It seemed that everything to do with Lissianna was frustrating in one way or another.
A knock at the door interrupted his ruminations and Greg glanced at it with irritation, then tossed the pad on the coffee table and stood to answer it. No one had buzzed, so it had to be the superintendent with the spare keys he'd promised. That was something at least. With those and the extra set of car keys in his desk drawer, he'd be free to catch a taxi to his office building to retrieve his car. Then maybe he'd go out and grab something to eat, he thought as he unlocked and opened his apartment door.
Greg's smile froze, and his plans died a quick death as he saw who waited in the hall. Marguerite and Martine.
Greg slammed the door, or tried to, but Marguerite had slid a foot in the way, preventing it closing. The next moment, he felt pressure and was forced backward as the door began to open. He redoubled his efforts to force it closed, but had no effect. The woman was incredibly strong, alarmingly so.
Cursing as the door was forced open, he began to back down the hall as the women stepped inside and closed the door behind them.
Marguerite was the first to speak. Smiling brightly, she lifted the items she held, and announced, "We brought your things.'"
Greg stared at his briefcase and overcoat, his brain working furiously. They shouldn't be there. This was a security building. The doorman should have stopped them in the lobby and called him to see if they were allowed up, but he hadn't. He'd apparently sat idly by and let them saunter in.
"Martine, I cannot control him. Can you?'" Marguerite asked suddenly, and Greg realized he'd been simply standing there staring at them while he tried to sort out what to do. He started to dodge to the right, thinking to make a break for the bedroom and somehow barricade the door, but Martine suddenly lunged forward and touched his arm, and just like that, Greg went still and calm. In the next moment, he had the sudden compulsion to walk into the living room and seat himself on the couch. It came from nowhere and was impossible to resist.
Turning on his heel, Greg walked siowly into the room, Martine holding his arm as if he were escorting her. They sank onto the couch as one, but she didn't release him. Not that he seemed to be able to care. Greg watched with blank disinterest as Marguerite settled in a chair across from them.