Demon Night

habit of covering them.”
    She fingered the cross again. It had taken her a long time to get over the instinctive need to hide her scar when someone’s gaze rested too long on her neck. Now she was more likely to call attention to it, make them aware of what they were doing.
    Except with Ethan she hadn’t—and she thought now that she’d deliberately covered the scar with the necklace. Hiding it—or just not wanting to know if he was the type to stare?
    She glanced up at him, realized he was waiting for her to continue, and picked up where she’d left off. “And before I know it, I’ve told them about my parents’ divorce, my dad’s leukemia, my mom’s latest marriage to the composer in Paris, and about Jane and Dylan.” Her voice wouldn’t convey her bemusement, so she added, “It usually doesn’t go that way. Typically, it’s all about the customer, but I had no control over that conversation. He did. But they were fun to talk to, so I didn’t even think about how weird that was until afterward. After the other thing.”
    They were at Cole’s now. Iron bars striped the front of the glass doors and the restaurant’s large, street-side windows. Melody led a group of four past the hostess podium, a clutch of menus in her hand, her hips swaying in time with Janis Joplin’s earthy voice.
    Charlie checked her watch. “You want to come in? Protecting me from the bloodthirsty undead deserves at least a drink, and I’ve still got about ten minutes.”
    Ethan studied her for a long moment, his face impassive. Faint lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. It was difficult to determine if they were wrinkles or tan lines. If it was from the sun, it had been kind; he wasn’t at all weathered.
    How old was he? Mid-thirties?
    His nostrils flared slightly and he looked away from her. “I’d best not, Charlie.”
    “All right.” She concealed her disappointment with a smile, shifted awkwardly on her feet. What should she do now? Shake his hand? A thank-you kiss to his cheek? She probably couldn’t get up that high.
    And what the hell did I’d best not mean?
    Dammit. She’d best not make herself go crazy wondering, or make an embarrassment of herself by asking him. “Another time, then. Thanks, Ethan.”
    Her hand was on the long iron bar that served as a door handle when his voice stopped her. “You’ll finish your story when I walk you home?”
    She averted her face to hide her relieved smile. “I can do it now. There’s not much more.” Tucking her coat a little closer around her body, she stepped up onto the bench seat and sat on the top. She wasn’t on level with Ethan, but at least she didn’t have to crane her neck up so much this way, and she didn’t think he’d sit.
    “So I was talking to them, and wiping the area next to them to look like I was busy. The bar is dark wood, sealed with a varnish, and I always keep it clean. Shining. Anything sitting on it reflects—not perfectly, just a gleam. And that’s when I notice that even though his hand is on the bar, there’s no reflection. Her hand and sleeve do, her glass does, his glass does…but not him or his clothes.”
    Ethan didn’t respond, just studied her face with that steady, quiet expression. Charlie dropped her gaze to her hands, then to the side. The ashtray at the end of the bench had a single butt crushed into the sand. Whoever it was had probably sat alone in the cold, sucking down the cigarette as quickly as possible before returning to his party.
    She touched her fingers to her lips and forced herself to meet Ethan’s eyes again.
    “So I’m thinking that it’s strange, but it’s not frightening—until I have to turn around to use the cash register. There’s a mirror on the wall back there, mostly hidden behind the shelves of bottles. And I can see her , I can hear them talking, so I know he hasn’t gone to the restroom or anything…and then his glass lifts into the air.”
    Even now, the thought of that floating glass made her heart skip and race.
    As if Ethan heard it, his gaze fell to her chest. “Were you frightened then?”
    She shook her head. “I was trying to convince myself that I hadn’t seen it. And it’s not like they were drinking blood. He had an orange juice, for God’s sake—she was teasing him about it. It was only after, when I couldn’t stop thinking about that glass, that I realized what he was. What they were. But even then…”
    She pulled off her cap, stuck her hand into