Downside Rain: Downside book one Read Online Free PDF Page B

as I may have.
    The
impulse to fade out fights with the vampire’s compulsion. I have no control
over a single molecule. My body pulses unpleasantly as his hands touch,
release, touch, release. The contractions caused by flesh rapidly solidifying
and as rapidly dispersing make me nauseous and I ache, as though my body is a
single spasming muscle. A tiny relieved sigh escapes me when his hands drop.
    Vampires
breathe once a minute on average and it’s just my luck to get the full glory of
George’s breath in my face. “Ew, George! You’ve been eating garlic.” My eyes
water.
    Vampire
mythology is amusing. Why should garlic repel and hurt vampires? Because it
stinks? Ha! Slivers of raw beef marinated in garlic is a vampire favorite, they
suck out the bloody juices and discard the meat.
    The
big vampire grins and deliberately huffs in my face. I make another noise of
disgust. He waves me into the compound.
    I
tap my teeth with an index finger. “You got something there.”
    Gargoyles
perch on the eaves; they make marvelous watchdogs. One shrieks an obscenity and
I give it the universal finger as I reach the covered porch. I shouldn’t
irritate the little monsters. An annoyed gargoyle will spit, or worse. Gargoyle
piss stinks so bad you forget to breathe.
    George
is picking at his teeth with a fingernail.
    Capucine
opens the door before I can lift and release the heavy knocker. “Oh, here you
are,” she says in a voice like a yawn, as if she isn’t waiting for me. Vampires
can communicate silently when they want to and I’m sure George alerted her when
I approached the compound.
    She
looks like a fashion plate, but Capucine is Muscle, one of Alain’s bodyguards. I
trail after her tall swaying figure along a paneled corridor. Her high heels
click on the marble floor, curling ash-blond hair swishes over her back with
each exaggerated hip roll. Capucine doesn’t care for me and the feeling is
mutual. Her disdain for wraiths is palpable, as overt as her distaste for
humans. Unless she’s sucking on them.
    The
place reminds me of a monastery, narrow passageways with high ceilings, cool
and slightly musty. We pass a door recessed in a high arched lintel; a piano
tinkles from within. Another door stands open, allowing me to look into a
library of dark paneled walls and deep plush carpets, floor-to-ceiling shelves
holding leather-jacketed books. Did any come from Upside? One of these days I
shall ask Alain to let me spend an hour or two in his library.
    Capucine
leads me left along another corridor into a vast empty hall, the high ceiling
lost in shadow. Man-high candelabra circle the place but the candles are unlit.
    She
pushes open a door at the far end of the hall. I have to squeeze past her and the
doorframe to cross the threshold. She closes the door forcefully, leaving me
alone with Alain in his study.
    With
two-feet-thick walls, Alain’s home is always cold, so the fire crackling and
spitting in the small marble fireplace provides welcoming warmth. Light and
shadows dance over the dark wood-paneled walls. A gold glow radiates from tall
candelabra in each corner of the room. Alain could turn on the electric lights,
but . . . drama.
    He
lolls on a brown leather sofa, one leg draped over the arm, the other bare foot
on an ancient faded carpet which covers most of the floor. A book lies open in
his lap. He wears a silk robe in gold-trimmed burgundy loosely belted at the
waist, and how he lounges reveals a long lean leg with bulging calf and a wide
V of smooth naked chest. He’s a handsome man: olive-skin, dimpled chin, full
bottom lip and moss agate eyes. His short sable-brown hair is brushed back and
unruly on top, and a little stubble mottles his chin and wide jaw.
    Great-grandmothers
speak of girlhood crushes on young Alain Sauvageau. Now they are caricatures of
their youth with brittle bones and crepe-paper skin, yet Alain looks no older
than his mid-thirties. He can’t be human. If I ever figure out what he is,