Crouching Vampire, Hidden Fang

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“He’s here.”

“Is he? Where? Let me see.”

The air moved behind me as Magda hurried over to peer around me. “Are you sure that’s him?”

I nudged aside the heavy blue tweed curtain, creating an infinitesimally small gap between curtain and window that allowed me to eye the man who stood on my front step. “It has to be. Just look at him.”

“I would if you moved your hand . . . Ah.” Magda had what I thought of as an opera singer’s voice, rich in timbre, and with a Spanish accent that managed to be simultaneously charming and sultry. “Well, it’s true he is wearing dark glasses. But lots of people wear those.”

“At night?” I asked.

She pursed her lips. “He doesn’t have long hair like Alec had.”

“No, but he’s got a widow’s peak. That screams vampire. So does the fedora he’s holding.”

“Bah. It’s just a hat.”

I pointed. “That is not just a hat. It’s leather and stylish, and all the vamps I’ve seen have worn something similar.”

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