Call of the Vampire by Gayla Twist Page A

bells.
    “Oh, I’d say from when you were three, then every time I saw you after that for at least a couple of years.” That was before she had moved in with Mom and me.
    “And what did you tell me about it?” I asked.
    “As little as I could,” she said, busying herself with stirring sugar into her tea.
    “Why don’t you like to talk about when you worked there?” I asked as gently as I could. She was having a good day, and I didn’t want to ruin it.
    “I just don’t,” she said firmly.
    “Okay.” I nodded, letting it drop. I tried to think back if there was anything I could dredge up out of my memory from when I was very little but came up with nothing. I may have asked her a zillion questions when I was younger, but I doubt she’d answered many.
    Grandma spent some time looking at the photograph. I saw her blink hard a couple of times, and I wondered if she was upset. “Would you like me to put that back in the album for you, Grandma?” I asked. There was no reason to let her dwell.
    “Would you, sweetheart?” She handed it to me. “And while you’re up, you’d better hide the kettle. Lord knows I don’t want to get caught with it. They’d throw me out, and I’d have to sleep on a bench in the park.”
     
    It was late afternoon by the time I finished my visit with Grandma Gibson. She was getting tired, and I had formulated a new plan that I wanted to put into action immediately. While I was driving home, I stopped by a card shop. For a moment, I was tempted to get a card with an illustration of little boys playing basketball on the front that read, “Happy first birthday. You’re number one!” but wasn’t sure what vampires thought of offbeat humor. Eventually I decided on a blank card with two swans on the front gliding across a pond.
    Back in my VW, I searched around the floorboards until I found a pen, then wrote in the most legible hand I could manage:
     
    Dear Jessie,
     
    Colette Gibson was my great grandmother’s sister. She used to work at the castle and disappeared when she was a teenager back in 1935 or 36. Did you know her?
     
    I spent a long time trying to decide how to sign off. I couldn’t write Love or Your friend or Best wishes. Finally, I decided on
     
    Thinking of you,
    Aurora
     
    As an afterthought, I wrote:
     
    p.s. Don’t you read books anymore?
     
    I slid one of the copies of the Lillian-and-Colette-in-front-of-the-castle photo into the envelope along with the card and sealed it. On the outside, I wrote, Mr. Jessie Vanderlind.
    By the time I was standing outside the Vanderlind Castle gate, it was dusk. I wondered if vampires could rise when there was still a little bit of light, or did they have to wait for nightfall.
    “Are you lost or something, Miss?” a guard posted at the immense iron front gate asked as I got out of my car.
    “Miss Aurora Keys to see Mr. Jessie Vanderlind,” I told him. The guard was wearing the dark purple jacket with black pants, white shirt, and black tie.
    “Sorry, Miss.” He shook his head. “Mr. Vanderlind isn’t expecting you.”
    “How do you know?” I asked. “Don’t you have to call up to the house to check or something?”
    “No need,” the guard told me. “The Vanderlinds never expect anyone.”
    “Well, I have something for him,” I said, extending the envelope through the bars. “It’s just a photo that he asked me about. I told him I’d make him a copy.”
    The guard eyed the envelope suspiciously. “You spoke to Mr. Vanderlind about a photograph?” he asked. “And where did this happen?”
    I met his incredulous look with a steady gaze. “At the library. He goes there on Thursday nights.”
    This time the guard nodded and accepted the card. “I’ll see that he gets it.”
    “Thank you,” I said, smiling at him before hopping back into my car and driving home.
     
    Another endless week of trying to focus on anything but obsessing over Jessie. I was not a boy-crazy kind of girl. I liked guys, and