Free Dance Until Dawn by Berni Stevens Page A

confusion. The duvet and the pillows had gone from my bed. Only the bare mattress remained to mock me. When had I done that? Why?
    A strange compulsion made me go to the window and look down to the street below. As I looked, a tall dark-haired man looked back up at me. His eyes reflected the light from the nearby street lamp, and his eerie gaze went through my body like a lightning bolt. Gasping, I clutched at the windowsill. I shut my eyes tightly, and when I opened them again, he was gone.
    I returned to the present, and discovered I was very close to the shop window, with my fingertips still pressed to its cold surface. I shivered and turned to find Will watching me.
    ‘You were outside my flat … ’
    ‘So your memory is beginning to return?’ Will looked pleased.
    ‘I couldn’t see myself in the bathroom mirror … ’
    ‘No shadows, no reflections.’
    ‘I’m not sure I can cope … ’
    ‘You will get used to it in time, I assure you.’
    ‘Well, at least I won’t have any more fat days.’
    He raised a dark brow.
    I was making an effort to regain some sense of proportion. Inside I was screaming – screaming so loud, and so hard, that I knew I’d never stop. I’d never be able to put makeup on again, or dry my hair in front of a mirror – even supposing I could get hold of something as trivial as a hair dryer. How would I ever know if I looked presentable enough to go out? What the hell did I look like now?
    Will regarded me seriously for a moment, then said gallantly, ‘I very much doubt you ever had any “fat days”, whatever they are.’
    ‘I had at least five a week. Dancers have to rehearse in front of full-length mirrors. There’s nothing quite like a studio full of skinny dancers to make you feel like Jabba the Hutt.’
    He favoured me with a slight smile but didn’t make any further comment, and we continued on up the hill. He probably had no idea who Jabba the Hutt was anyway, so my feeble attempt at a joke would have fallen flat.
    I slowed as we neared the place where Maxwell’s restaurant used to be. It was still a restaurant, noisy and busy as always, virtually seething with life. I could
feel
it.
    Will stood quietly watching me, his calm presence strangely soothing.
    ‘I used to come here a lot when it was called Maxwell’s, meeting friends for birthdays.’
    ‘Although you were always searching for that elusive something I believe, which I intend to provide.’
    I was amazed at his words. His utter confidence bordered on arrogance, considering the circumstances.
    ‘You are altogether too full of yourself.’
    He didn’t reply. After a few minutes’ silence, I tried again.
    ‘What makes you think I will ever want anything from you?’ My sarcastic tone would have wilted a lesser man, but Will merely turned to me and said calmly, ‘Vampire intuition.’
    Whatever the hell
that
was. We started to walk towards Jack Straw’s Castle. So many things had changed. I could remember when it had still been a famous pub, but unfortunately it had recently been redeveloped into luxury flats, and swiftly sold for exorbitant prices. Although, to be fair, who wouldn’t want the chance to live in a historic listed building, overlooking the Heath, yet still within walking distance of Hampstead Village and its shops? I’d have given a kidney to live there. Of course I realised undead kidneys might not be too useful, when all is said and done, so there was another money-making option out of the window.
    ‘A walk on the Heath would be good,’ Will suggested, mercifully interrupting my bizarre train of thought.
    I looked at him, horrified. ‘At this time of night? Are you mad? It’s not safe.’
    He laughed derisively at that. ‘
Bogeymen
going to get us?’
    ‘Well, muggers or even rapists might.’
    Still laughing, he shook his head. ‘Very unlikely, plus I am far more likely to be propositioned on the Heath than you are.’
    It would have to be one suicidal son of a bitch to try