Shadows in Savannah by Lissa Matthews Page B

the cobblestone street, doing his very own disappearing act.
    The citizens of the cities he visited never saw him unless he wanted them to, and he rarely ever did. He was happy out of sight. Sometimes he liked making skin crawl with unease, hairs stand on end out of an uncertain fear, a ripple of fabric that should never have moved causing question and suspicion. That was his entertainment.
    And until tonight, until he’d seen the beautiful man, it had been enough.
    The cobbled stairs leading to a lower, no longer used level of the walkway put him in front of a disregarded iron gate, beyond which were the infamous tunnels beneath the city of Savannah.
    He’d heard the stories. The myths and fables and ghost stories. He’d heard all the denials and explanations of why none of it could possibly be true. But he hadn’t been satisfied. He’d wanted to see, explore for himself and being a creature of the night, he was able to do so unseen, unheard, and relatively undetected.
    There were others in the tunnels. Others like him. Others not so much. It was no wonder Savannah kept such a tight lid on their hidden secrets. It was fascinating, the dark underworld of such a city prized for her Southern charm and beauty.
    It didn’t matter that many of the creatures beneath the city streets could cloak themselves when they desired or were forced to do so. They were there and many of the city’s patrons knew it. Or, at least heavily suspected it.
    Within the tunnels were doorways and mazes that became more intricate, more elaborate, the deeper one went.
    He’d swear it was a scene out of a movie if he hadn’t seen it for himself. It had a Phantom of the Opera feel to it that was haunted and full of wonder.
    He was always taken aback when something could exceed his expectations, when a place could steal his breath and light his soul. Or, make him think in prose, in varying shades of purple.
    Jorge turned right at the first bend in the tunnel, then through another, smaller gate.
    He walked parallel to the river and, though he hadn’t ventured there, he’d heard of a few tunnels leading directly under the water. Perhaps he’d visit them. Perhaps not.
    Small ripples washed against the cobblestone from the outside. Inside, the walkways were paved exactly as the historic city above. Including the walls.
    Some areas were damp, with trickles of the river or rain water, but many were simply musty and chilled from being underground.
    As he traveled deeper, voices and laughter reached out to him, echoing off the stone caverns. He followed the sounds.
    “Jorge, mi amico .”
    Roberto, a vampire dating back to the seventeenth century where he’d been a wealthy nobleman, smiled as Jorge ducked his head and stepped into the candlelit room. Old tapestries hung from the walls, depicting wine vineyards in Italy. Wine barrels lined the longest wall and Jorge imagined they were filled with blood. Most vampires could train themselves to take liquids or foods on very small quantities as they once could when they’d been human, but Roberto would need rich blood to sustain himself.
    “Good evening, friends. What are we celebrating?”
    “Why, how good it is to be alive, of course.”
    The creatures burst into a fit of laughter again at their joke. Creatures because none were human.
    Including himself, there were three vampires total. A ghost. And two demons, who could masquerade as humans better than any vampire could.
    The creatures residing in the tunnels fascinated him, but the man up above, in the hotel, fascinated him more.
    “You missed our card game,” Roberto commented. The jovial voice brought Jorge back to the present.
    “Did I? And what was tonight’s wager?”
    “The only thing we have to bargain with, of course. Time.”
    Jorge joined in on the laughter. It was true. None of them had anything of material worth that another couldn’t procure for himself with minimal effort. But they could bet time. More or less. Being otherworldly