I didn't dare bring him into the main part of the house-Jessica and Marc were probably around, and I didn't quite trust George enough to just let him go like that movie Born Free. So I brought him through one of the basement doors, helped him strip, and stuck him under the shower we had down there.
He seemed to like it, creepy darkened basement notwithstanding, first standing like a hairy lump and then stretching a bit under the beating warm water. I dared leave him for just a moment, superspeeding my way through the house to grab some of Marc's clothes. Marc, shaving, didn't hear me or see me, and I'd explain later.
George was shaking his head under the spray so his long strands flew when I got back to the basement, and I let him enjoy the shower for another ten minutes. I almost couldn't bear to turn it off; seeing him clean and almost happy gave me a glimpse of the man he once had been.
Not a bad-looking one, either, under all the mud. Tall and thin, with long arms and legs that were sleekly muscled, and a broad back and a great, tight butt. Very pale, of course, but a clean, open-looking face with thin lips. He looked like a swimmer, in fact, all gangly limbs and big feet. And big, uh, other things, but I was trying to stay clinical.
"So, why'd you come after me?" I asked.
No answer, big surprise.
"It's creepy," I added, "but kind of cute. You must have thought I was in danger from Sinclair." I snickered, remembering seeing Sinclair practically knocked out of his loafers on the front lawn. "Well, Alice is on her way, so you'll be back home soon."
When the water started to get chilly, I shut it off and draped George in a humungous beach towel. Impersonal as a nurse, I briskly dried him off, helped him get dressed in a set of Marc's scrubs, then combed out his long hair. Under the light, it was past his shoulders-which was weird, vampires couldn't grow their hair-and brown with gold highlights. It must have been long when he'd died. What had he been? Rock drummer? Motorcycle racer?
"There now!" I said, stepping back to admire him. "You look great. If you can just resist rolling around in the mud, you could almost pass for an ordinary creature of the night."
"Majesty?" I could hear Alice calling me-I must not have heard her car over the sound of the shower. "The king said you were down here."
"Yeah, come on down, Alice." She tentatively crept down the stairs, obviously ready to be yelled at. It was tough work reminding some of these guys that I wasn't Nostro with red highlights. "Look who I found! Doesn't he look great?"
She stared. "George?"
"In the undead flesh." I reached up-way up-and tousled his hair. "He must have followed me home. Or picked up my scent and followed that. You should have seen him tackle Sinclair. It was great! Disrespectful," I added with mock severity, "but great."
"Again, Majesty, I'm so's-"
"Alice, for crying out loud. You've got your hands full, I know that. In fact, I should get you some help." What other vampire could I trust with such a tedious but important, job? Maybe I'd find one at Scratch.
"He looks"-she was circling around him, a good trick since she had to actually go through the shower to do it-"different. It's not just being clean. He's been clean before."
"It's the scrubs," I decided. "They make him look smarter."
"Nooooo, with all respect, I don't think that's it." She looked at George, then me, then George. I waited to hear her theory. Alice looked like a demure fifteen-year-old in her plaid skirts and headbands, but she was really, like, fifty years old. And no dummy, either. "Ah, well."
That was her big theory?
"We've taken up quite enough of your evening, Majesty. Come on, George." Alice put her hand out and clutched his forearm, which he yanked back so quickly she almost fell into the shower. He didn't growl at her, but he showed his teeth.
"Uh-oh," she murmured.
"Maybe he wants to stay here with me," I said, a little surprised.
"I don't think it's a maybe. Perhaps if you helped me get him out to the car..."
"You know what? Let him stay."
"Majesty, you live in the city. I'm not sure that's wise. He might-"
"He's had plenty of chances to pounce-heck, he didn't do anything to Sinclair except knock him out of the way. I know! I'll let him feed on me and then he can just stay in the basement for a couple of nights."
"You'll let him feed?"
I didn't take offense at Alice's reaction. It was well-known that I wasn't the biggest pro-blood giver among vampires. Except with Sinclair, the whole thing kind of squicked me out.
Well, Sinclair was over! The past! I was going forward, not back. And while I was at it, the hell with Jessica, too. I had two new friends: the devil's daughter and George the Fiend.
It sounded so ridiculous I didn't dare dwell on it; instead I chomped on my own wrist until my sluggish blood started to flow, and held my arm out to George.
"Thish thould do it," I slurred. My life isn't horrible and weird. My life isn't horrible and weird. My life-
"I must admit," Alice commented, her red hair seeming to glow against the gloomy basement bricks, "when I rose this evening, I hadn't foreseen any of tonight's events."
"Thtick with me, bay-bee." George had grasped my wrist, lapped up the blood, and was now sucking like a kid with a Tootsie Pop. "Ith a new thrill every minute."
Alice reluctantly left, I managed to get my arm back, and then I made George a nest in one of the empty basement rooms-one of the inner windowless ones-with a bunch of clean towels. I went upstairs to find a pillow, saw the usual unrelieved darkness outside was now a dark gray, and hurried back down, hauling a wool blanket out of one of the linen closets on the way. George was already stretched out on the towels, sound asleep.
I left him the pillow, locked the door-compassion was one thing, carelessness something else-and went up to my room.
It had been an unnatural night, that was for sure. Good in some ways-bad in others, and, ultimately, challenging.