Free Verse of the Vampyre by Diana Killian Page A

family. Witches were casting spells on her.
    She sat up, her feet touching cold floor, and shivered. Winter was coming. She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror. She needed a haircut.
    “Anything else wrong?” Grace asked her reflection.
    Well, there was the fact that someone had deliberately tried to scare the heck out of her the night before. Grace debated whether she had made the right choice in not going immediately to the police station. But what would have been the end result? She had been followed but not assaulted. She did not have a description; she was not positive that her follower had been in costume. And if she did reveal her suspicion to the police, they would surely dismiss it as a Halloween prank. For all Grace knew, it was a Halloween prank. She hadn’t been harmed; she hadn’t even really been threatened.
    She should still file a complaint; that was common sense, but she didn’t want to bring any more police attention to herself than she could help, because of Peter.
    Peter.
    There was another problem. She really did not feel up to facing Peter this morning.
    After several minutes of pacing she decided to call him.
    For a split second she believed she was going to get away with talking to the answering machine, but Peter picked up on the second ring. She could picture him, hair damp from the shower, bare skin smelling of soap and shaving lather. He would be barefoot, bare-chested, a white towel draped around his shoulders. The kitchen would smell of coffee and bacon as he moved through his comfortable morning routine.
    His voice, a bit huskier in the mornings, answered.
    “Hi, it’s me,” she started in. “I’ve been thinking about yesterday, and um…I think it would be a good idea to…um, give each other some space.”
    She could imagine what he thought of that euphemism. There was a pause during which the line seemed to crackle with things unsaid; then Peter was crisp and to the point. “I’m leaving on a buying trip this morning, so you’ll have all the space you require.”
    She was both relieved and disappointed. “How long will you be gone?” she asked after a moment.
    “I’m not sure. A few days perhaps.” Before the previous day it would have been natural to question him; now it was like talking to a stranger.
    “All right,” Grace said, equally crisp and to the point. “In that case I’ll cover for you. At the shop I mean.” Of course she meant at the shop; she hardly needed to clarify that she wasn’t covering for his involvement in a crime—she knew he wasn’t involved in any crime!
    “Thanks.” His tone was dry. There was another pause. Grace waited. Her heart was pounding hard. Love or an anxiety attack? It was beginning to feel like the same thing.
    Peter severed the connection.
     
    He was gone for a week, and there were no robberies. That was the good news. It might also be the bad news. She didn’t know how the police might interpret it. She only knew that she missed him. Peter had gone on buying trips before, but then his absence had been eased by phone calls and even a postcard or two. This time there was nothing. He might have dropped off the face of the earth.
    Grace tried not to miss him or even think about him. There was plenty to do between rehearsals, her book and minding the store. Of the three, working at Rogue’s Gallery was the least demanding. Peter had everything organized so that the shop practically ran itself. But Peter’s absence was most noticeable at Rogue’s Gallery. The littlest things reminded Grace of him: his coffee mug sitting on his desk, his olive waxed jacket hanging on the coatrack, the silver fountain pen he always used. Reminders of his presence were everywhere.
    Everything in the shop had been handpicked by him, from the vintage movie poster for the 1925 Raffles to the red lacquer Japanese screen embellished with a terrifying dragon—and a terrifying price tag. Peter catered to clients of imagination and