Chapter Eight

They had been talking on Facebook for weeks now.  He was introduced to her by a mutual friend.  They seemed to have a lot in common and things just kinda clicked between them.

They had agreed on drinks at the local bar Zodiac Bistro.  It was someplace they could both meet and feel comfortable.  She had wine, he had beer.  There were some nice appetizers to go with the drink, and the conversation seemed to be going quite well.  They discussed movies, TV shows, music and books.  She felt at ease around him; he found himself engaging with a smart woman for a change.

Barcat walked by their table.  She looked down at him, he sat and gave her that starving kitty look.  She picked a piece of beef off her plate and offered it to him.  He gulped it down, and rubbed her hand.  He walked up to him, he glared at the cat and BarCat, sniffing, decided he was not cat friendly at all.  Then he noticed she had another piece of that very rare and tasty meat.  He took the offering, rubbed her hand again, then sat and contemplated them both for a moment.

How could a wonderful girl like that end up with that one.  He decided to manage the whole thing himself. She would be protected better than she could do herself.  He stood up and walked to the next table

The walk home later was calm and casual; no one seemed to be in a hurry.  He had insisted on walking her home that late, as it was proper for a gentleman to do such a thing to make sure she was safe.  She felt comfortable with that, and allowed him to walk her to the door of her apartment building.

They walked up the front steps to the door and she started to look for her keys in her bag.  He touched her face, she looked up, and he kissed her.  It was long, and slow, and delicious.  She was so lost in the kiss she dropped her bag.

He started to help her gather up her things, but she was now rather nervous and dropped her bag again, and this time a thick long stick fell out and started to roll down the stairs.  He caught it and gave it a look.

It looked like an old wooden handle, with some designs scratched into the round, blunt end.  But what startled him was the very sharp point on the other end of the stick.

She quickly grabbed it from his hand, and scooped everything into her bag.  He looked quizzically at her. She explained that you can't carry a gun in the city, and mace is not legal.  Pepper spray was clumsy.  So she had come up with an alternative.  After all, a girl has to protect herself.

He nodded, but was looking a little disturbed.  He promised to call, turned and walked away. 

She entered the apartment building and thought, well, at least he didn't ask who she needed protection from.  There are more than just muggers and thieves in this town.  Some people need to be stuck with a wooden stake.

She entered the elevator and looked at the wooden stake in her bag.  It was made from a broom handle, from a witches broom, carved with sigils of protection and wards against evil, and was sharpened to a fine point.  She closed her bag, sighed, and pushed the button for her floor.   She wondered if she would hear from him again, or if he thought she was just too weird.

As he walked away, he realized he had been that close to blowing it.  She was carrying a wooden stake!  He thought to himself, I will not be calling on her again and decided he would create a new profile and move to another group on Facebook.  She obviously knows about vampires and he was not that desperate for a free meal.  He would find other prey elsewhere this evening.