"Is this his warehouse? Does he own the whole thing?"
Vasily nods. "Has owned for long time. Before staking, he lived at monastery but has office in apartment downstairs. Now he lives here."
Outside on one of the monitors, I see a van drive up and park on the curb. Vasily points to one monitor.
"Cleaners are here," he says. "Come to clean up construction mess. Clean carpets and floors on each level."
"Should I do anything?"
"Just play piano or watch TV. They do this floor first and won't take long – maybe one hour."
The cleaners consist of a couple of men dressed in white overalls with a large industrial vacuum and carpet cleaners. They move through the large space with amazing efficiency and then clean the carpets in the entry, which have accumulated dust from the drywalling that's been done in the loft.
While they're still cleaning, I become bored of hearing about the latest armed robbery and murders, so I turn off the television and play piano for a while, practicingBalladelike a good servant.
Suddenly, I hear a tremendous crash from outside. I go to the row of video monitors and check out the screens. Then I see it – a car smashed into the cleaning van and the vehicle was knocked into the street, the other car's hood crumpled, its engine smoking. Someone slumps out of the driver's seat and onto the road.
Vasily grabs a cell phone off his desk.
"Let me help," I say. "I've taken first aid."
He shakes his head. "No," he dials a number. "You stay safe. I'm calling it in now. You stay here."
He leaves me alone and I go back to the video monitors and watch as Vasily and the cleaners discuss the situation on the sidewalk and someone else speaks with the driver of the errant car.
I go to the door and see that it's held open by a corner of the carpet that the cleaners were working on. I go through the empty anteroom and to the elevator. Beside it is a stairwell with a glass door and window. When I press the elevator button, nothing happens – Vasily must have had it stay on the main floor for security reasons. I try the door to the stairs, not really knowing why, but checking to see if it's open. It is.
I can't help it – I go down to the lower floor and to the door to the apartment where Julien has his office. I try the door, my heart in my throat, and it's unlocked. For a moment, I debate with myself whether I should open the door. If I do and someone's there, Julien will be angry that I left the apartment. Perhaps Vasily will get in trouble – but it really wouldn't be his fault that the cleaners accidentally left the door ajar.
I'm just so curious about Julien – this vampire who's claimed me in Michel's absence. Inside, the apartment is Spartan – just a massive open space with hardwoods and exposed brick and ductwork like upstairs. A platform bed sits in one corner, messy, unmade. Piles of papers, books, magazines, boxes, and what looked like scrap furniture lay about, giving the space a cluttered look. A telescope sits in a window.
As I stand there, a naked woman comes out of a room. A shock goes through me – at first, I think it's either a model or a drug addict, for she's tall and thin, her eyes hollow, her skin grey. Long brown hair, greasy. Dark eyes. Tattoos on her arms and one on her hip. About my age, but she looks ill, pale, skinny.
I can see bite marks on her neck and shoulder.
"Who are you?" the woman says, stopping in the center of the space.
"I'm Eve. I'm staying upstairs," I say. "Who are you?"
"I live here," the woman says.
"You live here?"
"Yeah. I'm with Mike. I'm Kate."
"You and -Mike?" I stare at the floor, my muscles tightening. "Don't you mean Julien?"
"No, you know. Mike. French guy. Vamp. With the big teeth?" She coughs, a raspy sound. "Julien's the monk. Are you one of his pets?"
A feeling of numbness floods through me.
"No." I grind my teeth, dig my nails into my palm. "I'm no one's pet."
"Oh, yeah?" The woman seems unconcerned that she's naked. "Then what's that bite on your neck?"
"How long," I say, barely able to get the words out, "how long have you been living with Michel?"
"Six months but I just got back from County last week." The woman looks at her arm, rubs it. Even from where I stand, I can see needle tracks in her arm. "The court gave me an option of rehab or 30 days, so I did the time. Forget that shit." She wipes her nose on a wrist.