Walking Shadows by Narrelle M. Harris

you going out with anyone, honey?"
    "No, Dad." My last potential boyfriend was slaughtered by a vampire. Kind of puts
you off.
    "That's a shame, sweetie. You're lovely. A lovely librarian."
    "Dad, you're drunk."
    "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry."
    Apologies were nothing new, either
    He lurched onto a new bad subject. "How's your Mum, by the way?"
    How the hell was I supposed to answer that one? "Fine. Last I heard." In fact, the last
I'd seen of her was on a departing tram after I'd threatened to set her on fire if I ever saw her
anywhere near my sister again.
    "Yeah, well. She's a survivor, your mum."
    "When will you be in Melbourne?" Anything to change the subject.
    "I'm coming this week." He sounded more cheerful, "I thought we could all go out
to dinner."
    Argument was fruitless. Kate must have already told him it would be all right. She's the
peacemaker in the family. Which makes me the guerrilla insurgent, I suppose.
    "Fine."
    "And if there's anyone you'd like to bring along…" Hint, hint. I imagine he is
where I get my subtlety from.
    Yelling at him for not listening would not have helped, so I ignored the comment. "I suppose
I'll see you when you get into town," I said. "And Dad, it would be good if Anthony could
meet you while you were sober."
    A moment of silence ended with the bitterly spoken: "You're so much like your
mother."
    Sticks and stones are nothing to words. He hung up. My hand fumbled with the cancel key and I
clumsily tucked the phone back into its pocket.
    Deep breaths tamped down the tears that threatened. These things were done and past and I was
getting on with the now. I deliberately put my father out of my head. If he kept with tradition, he
probably wouldn't show up anyway.
    My Nanna Easton always told me that there was nothing like keeping your hands busy to keep your
mind off upsetting things. This no doubt explained the prodigious amount of knitting, sewing and
baking she did.
    I'd always preferred distracting my emotions with my brain. Only one diversion came to mind. I
had to find Gary and Alberto. I suspected it was not a good idea, but I was desperate to override my
sudden distress.
    When Gary had traced his finger over his map, looking for his rendezvous point, I'd only vaguely
registered where he was looking. Consulting my own map now, I tried to correlate my memory with the
locations labelled so clearly. He had traced the upper street, as I recalled, at the farthest end
from the entrance.
    Right. I jammed the map into my bag and strode up the dirt road. Delicious scents wafted from a
bakery as I passed, and my stomach spasmed with nausea. Distress had that effect on me. Further
along, the warm, waxy smell of the candlemakers was more soothing. Both stores were full of people
and I couldn't imagine any undead tete-a-tete occurring within. I kept going until I had run out of
stores.
    I looked at the last shop on the block, then back at the map. Then back at the shop. At the
undertaker's shopfront, with unfinished coffins displayed artfully in one window, next to a tiny
ornate black coffin.
    "You've got to be kidding me." I actually said that aloud, figuring that one good
cliché deserves another.
    It was as well that I knew that vampires didn't actually sleep, let alone in coffins, or I would
have wondered what kind of cheesy, teeny creature of the night was loitering in the vicinity.
    The door swung open easily, but the workshop was empty. The space was festooned with exhibits of
nineteenth century funerary props on one side and planks of wood and carpentry tools on the other. A
rear door led to a darkened space which stored a couple of replica funeral carriages from the gold
rush era. One carriage was obviously for the posh people, being all glass sides and black velvet
curtains. The other, a plain black wooden vehicle, was for everyday wear. Murmurs emanated from the
shadows behind the posh one.
    Announcing myself would have been sensible and polite, but I was struck, belatedly and