Despite all, I do love you, Frederick. In time I hope you come to understand I have only ever had your best interests at heart.
With kind regards,
Your mother,
Mrs. Edwina Fitzwilliam
After Frederick and I got off the train we walked towards Sam’s apartment in lockstep. Even though we sprang apart the instant the train stopped moving I could feel his touch as acutely as if we were still embracing.
Frederick drummed the fingers of his right hand rapidly against his leg—what I’d come to recognize as his most obvious nervous tell. He kept his eyes straight ahead, not sparing me so much as a sideways glance.
“I have made a list of several topics of conversation for this party,” he said, repeating himself from earlier in the evening. He slid his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and extracted a small, folded piece of paper. His hand was trembling. He must have been affected by what happened between us on the train, too—because his hands rarely shook, and he never repeated himself.
The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.
“You already told me that,” I said.
A car drove by us, its windows rolled down. Hip-hop music I didn’t recognize blasted on its radio.
“I already told you that?”
“You did.”
“Oh.”
Fortunately, it wasn’t far to Sam’s building. When we got there I pushed the buzzer on the front door panel to let Sam and Scott know we’d arrived. The door lock clicked a moment later, and I grabbed the door’s handle to pull it open.
Frederick put his hand on my upper arm, stopping me. The urgency of his touch cut through my thick winter coat like a knife.
“Remember? I need explicit permission from them before I can enter their home.”
I blinked, trying to understand what he was saying. “What?”
He looked away, sheepish. “Remember, when we watched Buffy, how I told you that some vampire legends are rubbish while others are legitimate? This one is legitimate.”
Then it clicked. That evening with him on the couch, when we’d discussed Buffy—shortly before I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder.
“Oh,” I said abruptly, warming at the memory. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry I forgot about that.” I pointed at the button I’d just pushed. “But they unlocked it for us. Isn’t that enough?”
“No.” His eyes were on his shoes. He was embarrassed, I realized. My heart clenched. “It . . . must be a direct, explicit invitation. Could you possibly text Sam or Scott and ask them to invite me in?”
Laughter drifted down to us from an open window. The party was already in full swing. “They’re going to think that’s weird, Frederick.”
“Be that as it may, I don’t have much of a choice.”
Just then, a guy I recognized as Sam’s downstairs neighbor appeared in the doorway, dressed in a bright pink leather minidress that stopped about six inches above his knees. He had an occasional gig as a burlesque dancer at a club in Andersonville, if I remembered correctly.
He was fumbling around in a purse he carried that matched his outfit. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Frederick gaping at him and his outfit in stunned silence, his dark eyes wide as saucers. I ignored him.
“Jack!” I exclaimed, hoping to get his attention, and hoping that was actually his name.
He looked up.
“Cassie?”
“Yeah, hi.” I looked over my shoulder at Frederick, who nodded encouragingly. “Can we come inside?”
“You heading up to Sam’s?”
“We are.”
He opened the door wider for us and motioned for us to come inside. “Sure. I’m just on my way out.”
I glanced questioningly back at Frederick, who gave me a subtle nod that I interpreted to mean good enough for me.
“Thanks, Jack,” I said. I made my way across the threshold, Frederick close behind me. He let out a quiet sigh once we were both safely inside.
Fortunately, Scott was already waiting for us in the doorway to his second-floor apartment.
“Can we come in?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t betray how nervous I suddenly was. A loud cacophony of voices and some kind of avant-garde house music poured out into the hallway from inside.
“Of course,” Scott said. He gestured to the apartment behind him. “I’m just waiting for Katie to get here, then I’ll go back inside.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Katie? As in, Gossamer’s Katie?”
“Yeah,” Scott said. “We got to know her from all those nights visiting you at work. I was happy when she said she could make it.”