Haunted Love Read Online Free PDF

enemies, and the occasional celebrity of the day, trying to make our peace before passing through the famed pearly gates.
    It’s usually a comfort, watching over Zachary, a way to hold the loneliness at bay. Yet at moments like this, when he’s in danger, I feel every inch the predator defanged.
    I zero in on the nearest lakeside dock. Where did the fiend go? I never should’ve taken my eyes off it. Not that I can warn my angel, not that I’m useful in any way.
    Zachary scans the shadowy trees. In his matte black cowboy shirt over black jeans and boots, he makes a dashing, romantic figure. My fingertips twitch at the sight of his golden hair, lit by the moon.
    He’s come from working as a waiter at a vampire-themed Italian restaurant located a few blocks south. There, the danger is pretend.
    It’s past 3 A.M. a few hours before sunrise on New Year’s Day, on the wide hike-and-bike trail surrounding Lady Bird Lake. It’s a natural border, dividing downtown Austin, Texas, from its south side.
Lake
is something of a stretch. It looks more like what it is — a dammed section of the Colorado River, lined with trees, brush, and parkland — a playground for waterfowl and boaters, famous for its bats.
    You can see across it, stroll from one side of the bridges to the other in only a few minutes. Perhaps I’m biased from having resided on the coast of Chicago’s formidable Lake Michigan, but, to me, it’s more of a water feature than a lake per se.
    I slip in my earbuds and raise the volume on my palm-size monitor-com. Now I can hear Zachary’s footsteps on the sandy path and the whiz of a stray bottle rocket, punctuated by a loud popping sound.
    Last autumn this park was the scene of a handful of murders — the victims found punctured, nearly emptied of blood. Locals hoped that would be the last of it.
    Zachary exudes caution. He carries a heavy flashlight, though it’s not turned on. He’s not emitting heaven’s light or showing his wings either, though he regained those powers during our brief time together. My angel makes every effort to operate incognito.
    “Reso, reso, resolution,” begins a stocky figure, who’s somehow doubled back to end up behind Zachary. “Resolved.”
    Turning, my angel draws his sword from the scabbard with one hand, clicks on his flashlight with the other, and shines it in the eternal’s — I mean, vampire’s — face.
    “Happy New Year, Mitch,” he replies. “I’ve been looking for you.”
    Mitch isn’t displaying his fangs, and his cornflower-blue eyes look as cool as creation. He’s dressed up, too. No PJ bottoms or camouflage pants tonight. Instead, he’s shaved and sporting jeans with a long-sleeved black T designed to mimic a tuxedo shirt, jacket, and tie. He’s also holding a cardboard sign, though I can’t see what it says.
    “Hap, happy,” Mitch says. “Happily ever after. The end is beginning. It’s the beginning of the end.”
    Mitch has been homeless for as long as anyone can remember and is affectionately thought of as a local celebrity. Before he first rose undead, Mitch had been pure of heart — so pure that he could identify Zachary, even in human form, as an angel. Typically, only quite young children possess that level of goodness, innocence, and faith.
    Some say that Mitch used to build wells in Ecuador with the Peace Corps. Others claim he was wounded in Vietnam. What I know is that Mitch is young for our, or rather,
his
kind. He was infected only last September, and for months, he’s been sustaining himself on pig’s blood with the love and support of friends.
    “We need to talk,” Zachary begins. “About that kid you drained last night. . . .”
    Mitch stares at his torn sneakers. “He was a druggie, drug dealer.”
    “He was fourteen. Desperate. Both of his parents lost their jobs last year. He has five younger siblings. They’re struggling to make rent.”
    “Mean, you’re mean. I mean, I didn’t mean it that way. I was just saying