Charleston Past Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page A

senses that I’m not a lethal threat, she knows to be cautious of the unknown. I stare into her eyes and wonder what has happened to her to make her so determined and independent.
    Opening the steel reinforced door, I lead her down the minimalist, sconce-lit hallway toward the elevator. Long ago, we built this underground home beneath a once marvelous plantation estate, not unlike the one I grew up in on the banks of the Ashley River. Situated on over fifteen acres, this historic property is accessible from only one lone dirt road. At the end of that is an iron security gate that spans the width of the road. Even if curious history buffs wanted to trek the two miles in on foot, all they would find is a crumbling, once-grand plantation house. We keep the taxes paid and haven’t had any issues in the eighty years we have resided here.
    She is looking all around at the spacious rooms that open up off the vast hallway. The décor is modern, in pale tones of soft grays and slate blues.
    “How many live here?”
    I hold her hand and tag the elevator button before answering her, “Usually four of us. We tend to travel a lot.”
    “I see. And everyone, I guess, including the guy I saw earlier, must be out tonight?”
    “That’s right.”
    We step into the elevator and reach the main floor in no time. The elevator opens and she holds my forearm tightly as we step out into blackness.
    Her eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness, but we are in a hidden interior corridor. I place my palm flat against a touch screen scanner. The red light moves across and back one time before the weathered, twelve-foot-high panel door slides open.
    The wide-planked heart pine floors creak and groan beneath our feet as we make our way down the once grand hallway. Now hand-painted silk wallpaper hangs in tatters around the detailed wainscoting and carved moldings that are covered with over an inch of dust. She seems entranced by the home and stops near the front entrance to step cautiously into the music room. A lone Steinway, its wood warped and dusty, sits in the center, and across from it hangs an enormous baroque style gold gilt mirror. I wait patiently as she stares around in wonder.
    “This place is dreamy. I love homes like this … so much character.” She turns to me, her light jade eyes sparking. “Don’t you?”
    “Yes, Calla,” I reply, “I always have.” I lean a shoulder against the fourteen-foot doorframe and let her explore. As I watch her, I try to recall the last time I has a casual conversation with a human woman. It has been decades.
    She traces her finger through the dust of the white Carrera marble mantel and asks, “Do you live below for safety?”
    “Yes.”
    She turns, and her eyes meet mine through the streaks of moonlight spilling in from the tall windows. “Can you go out in sunlight?”
    “No.”
    “What will happen?”
    I drag in a deep breath through my nose. “It wouldn’t be pleasant. Almost immediately I would suffer severe burns and within about one to two minutes I would ignite. At that point, there would be no recovery.”
    “Damn.”
    “Agreed. Now let’s go, it will be dawn in a few hours and I have every intention of getting you home safely.”
    “Wait. How are you planning to get me home? You’re not gonna do that Houdini thing again, are you? ’Cause that sucked in the worst way and I’d rather take my chances walking or hitching than go through that again.”
    I shake my head in exasperation at this perplexing girl. Walking over to her, I take her hand and lead her outside, down the wide porch and around the house toward the old shed.
    “No, Calla, we only traced because it was one hundred percent unavoidable. In fact, I’ve never traced with a human before, only alone or with others like myself. To be honest, I’m surprised that you made it. But had I not traced us, the gunshot would have killed you.” And that is something that I never would have permitted.
    She begins to tremble,