Walter pushed open the door, stepped out, and offered her his hand. She was glad to be away from Zadok, and she eagerly followed the red-haired vampire.
Walter bowed to her, climbed back into the carriage, and shut the door without a word of goodbye. With the crack of a whip, they left her there. Technically, the church bells had not yet struck the hour and she was early. But she knew he was waiting for her regardless. With a shuddering breath, she tried to steel herself against what was about to happen.
It was time.
12
The sound of laughter, glasses quietly tinkling, and of silverware meeting porcelain greeted her as she stepped through the door. Along with the smell of food, the warmth of the room complimented the elegantly decorated interior. Boston had only the one real French restaurant, although many different establishments drew inspiration from their cuisine.
Despite the murders and the disappearances in the city, the restaurant was crowded. It was filled with people, and the feeling of their emotions washed over her. The comfort that came with company. The enjoyment of not being alone.
But they felt like stars circling a black void. One she could sense waiting upon the edges of the room like a cloud. He was here. She did not doubt it. He was like the rushing river underneath a bridge.
The dining room was on the smaller side. It felt, for lack of a better word…intimate. Different from the bustling grandeur of the Parker House, and far more refined than the Oyster House or the Green Dragon. It felt distinctly European.
It should have been a rare treat to come here. Instead, it filled her with nothing but nervous anticipation and dread. She wondered if she would live to see the morning. Hell, she wondered if she would live to see nine o’clock.
“Mademoiselle,” greeted the maître d’, a very polished looking gentleman standing behind a small counter by the door. He was as French as the décor and as well-kept. “Welcome, welcome! I believe I know who you have come to meet.” He gestured with a white gloved hand as he began to walk into the restaurant. “The monsieur has been expecting you.”
“I’m certain he has,” she muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, never mind.” She waved him off. The man, seemingly perturbed at anything that missed a beat in his expected routine, turned back to leading her through the restaurant.
A table by a window was their destination. The sight of the tall figure standing there with his hands clasped behind his back sent her heart beating into a faster tempo after skipping a few in its eagerness to double its efforts. She pulled up her steps and froze like a deer spotting a hunter.
“Is something the matter, mademoiselle?”
“Very much so.” She did not take her eyes off the man—the creature—who had yet to turn to face them. She had been in his presence before, but it always seemed so brief and hurried. This was going to be a much more drawn-out affair. “There is nothing you can do about it. Thank you. You may go.”
Heeding her dismissal, the head waiter bowed and, without another word, left her to her plight.
The figure at the window stayed stoic and unmoving. If she hadn’t known better, she would have figured him for a ghost. He looked so very detached. He was a silhouette cut against the lights of the street and the crimson clouds beyond. He looked out at the passing people, carts, and horses that crossed in front of him.
She wondered how much of his existence he had spent watching the living. Last night, when he had kissed her—the thought made her cheeks grow warm—she had felt so many years stretch out behind him. So much time lived within his soul that she found she could not fathom it.
“A city so young and full of life…it is charmingly naïve in its hope for a new nation. It will mire in death soon enough.”
Maxine was not certain whether it was his voice or his words that cut her to the quick and made her hair stand on end. They came from him in a bass rumble, and with them came such unwavering darkness.
“More quickly now that you have come.” She was honestly surprised she found her voice at all. “Each morning I read that more have been taken. You are to blame for these disappearances?”
“Of course.” He finally turned to look at her, his crimson eyes glinting in the candlelight of the establishment. “You answered my