Chapter Twenty-Three Amelia

TWENTY-THREE

Telegram sent from George, Treasurer of The Collective, to The Collective’s Board of Directors

Confronted quarry outside of WI house where he was hiding. Stop.

He flew off before we could apprehend. Stop.

Based on wind patterns believe he is flying back to Chicago. Stop.

(Wish I could fly too. Stop.)

(Would simplify this WHOLE endeavor. Stop.)

(Plus flying is just really cool. Stop.)

Am bringing back gift of foam “Cheesehead” as penance for losing quarry when justice was nigh. Stop.

Amelia

After waiting twenty minutes for Reggie to come back to bed, I began to worry. I scoured the cabin and the area around it, but save for a few sets of footprints in the snow about ten feet away from the front door, there was no sign of him anywhere.

By early afternoon I gave up on waiting for him to come back.

Had I seriously been stood up for sex by a vampire? After I’d finally listened to Sophie and decided to give into my attraction? Reggie had seemed super into the idea of sleeping together when we were in my bedroom, and I didn’t think he’d faked it. But maybe he had?

God.

This was the exact opposite of what my self-esteem needed.

There was still a pint of chocolate sorbet in the freezer. Even if finishing it off in one sitting was cliché, I decided there were worse clichés to live out.

But once I had the sorbet in front of me, I thought of everything Reggie had done to get it.

I would brave a blizzard just to see you smile.

And then there was the mountainous stack of horrendous pancakes he’d left for me on the kitchen counter. He’d been right when he’d worried he’d used too much baking soda, but it didn’t matter. He’d made them for me, with no idea of what he was doing, just so I’d have something special to eat for breakfast.

He’d been nothing but kind to me. And now that I was looking around the kitchen, I saw that wherever he’d gone, he’d left behind all his stuff in his hurry to get there.

Including his phone. And Old Fuzzy.

That’s when the panic set in. Something was wrong.

There was only one person I could think of to talk to about this situation. It might not get me anywhere, but the more time passed, the more I knew I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing.

With the half-finished pint of sorbet in one hand and my phone in the other, I scrolled through my contacts, hoping that I’d added Frederick at some point.

Bingo. There he was.

AMELIA: Hi Frederick

AMELIA: This is Amelia Collins

AMELIA: Sam’s sister

AMELIA: I think we met at a party at my brother’s house a few months ago

AMELIA: Can you call me?

My phone started ringing immediately.

“Frederick?” My heart was in my throat.

“Am I speaking with Ms. Amelia Collins?” Frederick’s manner of speech was oddly formal in such a specific way that I was immediately able to place him. I also remembered he was a huge Taylor Swift fan. Which, now that I knew he was a centuries-old vampire, was equal parts fascinating and bizarre.

“This is Amelia,” I confirmed. “Sorry if this is totally out of the blue, but your friend Reggie was up here in Wisconsin with me for a family trip. But now he’s disappeared, leaving all his stuff behind. I’m very worried.” I almost added, and I’m hurt , too. But I cut myself off before I could ramble any further. I didn’t know if Frederick had even known Reggie had been up here before I’d called. No need to embarrass myself beyond hope of recovery right off the bat.

“Hmm,” Frederick said. “That is very strange. He’d told me he planned to stay with you until the snowplows arrived.”

My cheeks went warm at the implication that I was important enough to Reggie for him to have told Frederick about me, even as the knot of dread in the pit of my stomach twisted tighter at the concern in Frederick’s voice.

“You think something bad might have happened to him?” I asked.

“Possibly,” he said. “What was the last thing that happened before he disappeared?”

My mind shorted out as my mouth tried to form words. How could I possibly answer that question without bursting into flames?

“Well,” I began. “It was…He was…”

“Did he say anything to you about wanting to leave?” he prompted. “Or did you have a fight? I know he can be insufferable.”

“No,” I said quickly. “We didn’t have a fight. We…”

Frederick was quiet as he waited for me to elaborate. When I didn’t, he chuckled. “ Oh ,” he said, seeming to piece together from my silence everything I hadn’t told him. Was it possible to die of embarrassment? “In that case, yes, there’s reason to be very concerned.”

Oh, no. “You think so?”

“Yes,” he said. “I have known him for a very long time, and I wouldn’t have thought even a mob of angry torch-waving villagers could have gotten him to leave your side if you had just…”

I opened my mouth to clarify that we hadn’t technically just anything but bit my tongue at the last moment. Better to just drop it and move on.

“What do you think happened to him?” I asked.

He hesitated. “Has Reginald told you anything about The Collective?”

A possibility I hadn’t let myself entertain until now came crashing in. “The vigilante vampire mob that’s after him for something he didn’t do?”

“That’s one way of describing them.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “I told Reginald that if he kept behaving the way he did in the late nineteenth century there would eventually be consequences. But did he listen to me?”

He paused long enough that it felt like he was waiting for me to respond. “I’m guessing he didn’t?”

“He didn’t,” Frederick confirmed, sounding like a disappointed parent.

“And do you think they followed him here? That that’s why he disappeared?”

“I’m not certain,” Frederick said. “But I believe it is entirely possible his strategy of using your fake relationship, and Wisconsin, to hide from his pursuers has stopped working.”

Frederick’s words were a punch in the gut. I reminded myself it made no sense to be hurt. Why did it matter that he’d had an ulterior motive for going along with this fake dating ruse? Hadn’t the whole point of my suggesting it in the first place been to hide, too?

But somehow, this felt different. I’d never misled him about why I was doing this. Or jeopardized his safety, the way it sounded like he may have jeopardized mine.

Frederick must have picked up on something in my silence because his next words were conciliatory. “He cares about you,” he said. “He’d probably stake me on the spot if he knew I was telling you this, especially since I don’t think he’s even admitted it to himself. But I have known Reginald for over three hundred years. Whatever his reasons for beginning this arrangement with you might have been, it is obvious to me it has become so much more.”

I closed my eyes, letting Frederick’s words wash over me. My emotions were a complicated tangle, with joy that Reggie cared for me jumbled up with fear over his safety—as well as some mild panic at the realization that I cared for him, too.

“I firmly believe everything will eventually work out just fine,” Frederick continued, his tone gentle. “The buffoons chasing Reginald have been at it on and off for nearly one hundred and fifty years. It’s taken them all this time to find him, despite the man being as inconspicuous as a fireworks display. They are delusional, ineffectual idiots.” And then, as if he’d sensed the earlier direction of my thoughts, he added, “Additionally, please know that you’re in no danger. You’re not who they’re after. Even if you were, they cannot enter your home if you don’t invite them inside.”

That was reassuring. “If Reggie gets in touch with you, please call me right away.”

“I will,” Frederick promised. “In the meantime, try not to worry.”

So much easier said than done.

·······

Time slowed to a crawl after I got off the phone with Frederick. I tried distracting myself by catching up on work emails, but to my immense frustration, I was way too frazzled to focus on the latest missives from the Wyatt Foundation. How was it possible that the last foreign return they’d filed had been for an ironworks in Milan in 1923?

I’d have to figure that out when I got back to Chicago. I didn’t have the wherewithal to think about it right then.

In the meantime, I checked the weather forecast. It often took days for snowplows to dig out this part of the state, but when I saw that the forecast had temperatures rising into the fifties by the next afternoon, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Warmer weather wouldn’t melt all the snow overnight, but the major streets would likely be drivable by tomorrow.

That meant I could hopefully be out of there soon, and go to wherever Reggie might be.

I ran to my bedroom and started throwing the handful of things I’d unpacked back into my suitcase. I’d keep an eye on road conditions online and leave the second it seemed safe enough to drive.

When night fell and there was still no word on Reggie, I was so frantic for distraction that I started reading an e-book Sophie had gifted me shortly after Reggie and I entered our arrangement. It was called The Date Who Was Fake—until He Wasn’t , by an author I still couldn’t believe was actually named Vixxen Stampede. When Sophie sent it, I’d rolled my eyes at how obvious she was being, but right then it seemed a good alternative to anxiously pacing the cabin.

I had just gotten to the part of the book where Cynthia and Rafe, the two fake dating protagonists, had finally kissed for real, when my phone rang. I leapt for it.

“Reginald is fine,” Frederick said right away when I answered. “He sent word through secure channels that The Collective found him outside your parents’ cabin, but that he succeeded in giving them the slip.” He cleared his throat. “He told me to tell you that, quote, I left to lure those assholes away from you and your house and have been losing my fucking mind trying to find a pay phone to call you ever since , end quote.”

Dizzying relief swept through me. He was okay. He’d wanted to let me know why he left, but couldn’t. “Did he say anything else?”

Frederick hummed his assent. “Reginald also wants you to know that he is incredibly sorry for leaving you alone without saying goodbye, and that he only did it out of concern for your safety.” A long pause. “He also said that leaving you when he did is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. He placed special emphasis on the word hardest , but out of concern for my own sanity, I refuse to analyze why that might be.”

My cheeks flamed at the double entendre. “Is he hurt?”

“He’ll eventually be fine,” Frederick said. “Most of the harm done to him was to his ego. There was an in-air run-in with a flock of Canada geese that he didn’t say much about, but I suspect they’re what kept him from reaching out sooner.”

“So he really can fly, then?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I’m surprised Reginald hasn’t boasted about what an excellent flier he is. When The Collective accosted him, he simply took to the air.”

Wow. It must be incredibly convenient to be able to do that. Realizing I still had almost no idea what was normal for vampires, I asked, “Can all vampires fly?”

“No,” he said tersely. “I cannot fly.”

“Do you have special abilities, too?”

“Yes, but…We’re getting sidetracked.”

I got the sense that special vampiric abilities were a touchy subject for him, so I let it drop. “I can’t leave here until the snowplows come, but I feel like I need to do something, knowing he’s in trouble. What else can you tell me about The Collective? Are there any online resources I can read for more information about them?”

“There’s not much about them online,” he said. “They aren’t modern enough to know how to use the Internet well. I have heard they quite enjoy staging blood bank break-ins the morning after stadium concerts, but that’s more rumor than substantiated fact. Not to mention tacky, if true.” He paused, and then added, “I can tell you that they pose as humans most of the time. The latest I’ve heard is that they run a farce of a nonprofit organization that doesn’t do much of anything besides hold board meetings.”

My eyebrows shot up. Vampires, I knew nothing about. But nonprofits, I understood. At least when it came to their tax returns. But something about this didn’t add up. “Why would vampires need a nonprofit?”

“I have no idea,” Frederick admitted. “Probably to make themselves feel important. Near as I can tell, that’s why they do just about everything.”

“Do you know the name of the nonprofit?”

“It’s probably just The Collective ,” he said. “ The Annals of Vampyric Lore may have something about it. I know it contains at least a few entries about them.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “ The Annals is what you might get if you crossed a vampire history book with a human encyclopedia. It’s wonderfully thorough.”

When I got back to Chicago, I would ask for login credentials to my firm’s GuideStar account so I could look The Collective up there. GuideStar allowed users to search public records for all nonprofit organizations with federal tax-exempt status. The Collective was probably too common a name for GuideStar to yield useful results, but it was worth checking.

I couldn’t do it until I had access to the firm’s account, though.

“Where can I find a copy of The Annals ?” That didn’t sound like something I’d be able to check out of my local library, but maybe the University of Chicago had it somewhere in its massive stacks. They had all kinds of weird books in their basement.

“I happen to own the complete set.” The pride in Frederick’s voice was unmistakable. It reminded me so much of how Dad spoke of his favorite history journals I couldn’t help but smile. “Making fun of me for owning it is one of the few things Cassie and Reginald enjoy doing together.”

“Could I take a peek at it when I get back to Chicago?”

“Of course,” Frederick said. “But do limit yourself to the sections pertaining to The Collective. As fascinating as I find vampiric history, there are large sections of it that could be upsetting for a human to read. Which I’m sure you can understand.”

No more needed to be said about that. “I’ll stick to what I’m looking for,” I promised. I glanced back at the living room couch, where Reggie had left most of his belongings. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I said, “Reggie left his phone behind, so I don’t have a way to get in touch with him. But if you talk to him—”

“I expect he will arrive this evening,” Frederick said. “He didn’t want to return to your cabin in case him doing so led The Collective back to you. I can pass on any message you like.”

This evening ? He’d only left the cabin that morning. The idea that Reggie could fly that fast stunned me. “Okay. When you talk with him, can you tell him that—”

I stopped. What did I want Frederick to tell him?

That I was relieved he was okay? That I’d been worried about him?

That being this worried about someone I’d only just met terrified me?

“I’ll tell him to call you,” Frederick offered. “You can take things from there.”

“Yes,” I agreed, heart in my throat. “Please do. And thank you.”

·······

I was just settling down to an evening glass of wine and the rest of Sophie’s e-book when I heard the telltale signs of a snowplow making its way down my street.

I sprang to my feet and ran to the front window. It was past eight o’clock and very dark outside, but sure enough, there was Joe McCarthy, the elderly man who’d been clearing this area since I was a kid, driving down the street in his makeshift pickup truck snowplow.

If he’d already made it to this street, the major roads should be just fine by the next morning. All I’d have to do would be use Dad’s snowblower on the driveway and throw my suitcase in the car, and I could be off.

Grinning, I texted Frederick with the update.

AMELIA: I’m getting plowed!

FREDERICK: That’s what she said

I stared at my phone. I didn’t know Frederick well, but what little I did know made it hard to imagine him making such a crass joke.

FREDERICK: This is Reggie by the way

FREDERICK: Freddie’s letting me use his phone

FREDERICK: I just got to his house. I was just about to call you.

FREDERICK: I would have called you MUCH earlier in fact if there were even one fucking payphone still in operation between Door County and Chicago

It was like all the fear and anxiety I’d been carrying since that morning left me all at once. My whole body felt limp as a noodle as relief washed over me.

AMELIA: I was so scared when you didn’t come back

FREDERICK: I’m fine I promise

FREDERICK: I’m so sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye

AMELIA: Can you call me?

AMELIA: It’s weird texting you and seeing Frederick’s name

My phone rang ten seconds later.

“Hey.” Reggie’s voice was bright and clear. My relief grew. He really was all right. “You okay?”

I glanced at my half-drunk glass of wine. “I’ve been better,” I admitted. And then, because I couldn’t resist, I teased, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been ghosted for sex, you know.”

He groaned, so loudly and theatrically I couldn’t help but laugh. “Trust me, leaving you right then was the last thing I wanted to do.” And then, in a voice full of apology, “But I had to. I would never have forgiven myself if something bad happened to you after I essentially led them right to your door.”

His tone was so sincere I didn’t doubt for a second that he meant every word of it. “It’s okay,” I said. “ I’m okay, too.”

Reggie let out a sigh of relief. “Amelia, I am so glad.”

I paused, thinking through my next words carefully. If I regretted what had happened before he fled, if I wanted to put a stop to whatever was blossoming between us, this felt like the time to let him know. I could say we shouldn’t have let ourselves get carried away. I could end this before it went any further.

I didn’t regret what happened, though.

I only regretted that we didn’t get to see it through.

Wanting him so much was never part of the original plan, to put it mildly. But I wanted him all the same.

“I didn’t want you to leave, either,” I admitted. “I hated that you didn’t come back to bed like you said you would.” And then, braving much, I asked, “Could we try it again when I get back home? This time without anyone fleeing the scene?”

The snowplow outside was getting louder. Snowplow Joe was making quick work out there. Maybe I could even leave for Chicago tonight if all the stars aligned.

Reggie chuckled. “I would love nothing more.”