When she met him for their tryst, maybe she could bring some little piece of hope about his existence. It was impetus enough to wait just a few minutes longer to touch Sebastian again. To kiss him. The glide of his fingertips a pleasure of its own...
Damn. Better get going now or have hormones make a different type of decision altogether.
She turned on her heels and headed to the laptop in Sebastian’s office. Google wouldn’t boot up fast enough for her, and she drummed her fingers against the wooden desk. As she waited, she ran through a list of otherworldly creatures, trying to pinpoint one capable of being Sebastian’s forebear.
After typing in a search term, the first result came courtesy of Wikipedia. The list of supernatural creatures was surprisingly small and unusable. She quickly dismissed ghosts, demonic possession, witches and extraterrestrials. Trying “preternatural,” “paranormal” and “supernatural” in the search engine proved equally useless. It wasn’t until she stumbled upon an entry for “mythical creatures” that she struck gold. “Here we go,” she exclaimed.
The more she read, however, the less elated she became.
Some of the creatures were common enough: banshee, centaur, dragon, elf, gremlin. Some of the others had to be someone’s idea of a bad joke. Hibagon? Magnathorax? “Phooka” had probably been named by some thirteen-year-old who’d giggled the entire time he’d been writing it down.
Going through and researching every single one was going to take time. And of course, that was the biggest problem she faced. How much time would Sebastian allow her with him? Surely there would come a turning point when he got tired of her presence, or when he found someone more desirable or more suited to his lifestyle. God, she didn’t even want to think about if she grew sicker. When she could no longer care for herself. The affluent vampire seemed unlikely to be at an invalid’s bedside. And that’s what she would be, no doubt about it.
The doctors offered her only uncertainty, unable to pinpoint the reason for her seizures in the first place. Her illness almost as mysterious as Bast’s. They leaned toward believing it was a brain tumor too small to be detected, but it could have been some metabolic disorder lab tests hadn’t yet detected or possibly just a malformed brain. She had a feeling she could meet with a dozen different doctors and walk away with a dozen different reasons. None of them felt confident in suggesting she’d live a long life without a definite diagnosis.
She neither had the money nor the patience for their poking and prodding. Preventing the seizures with anticonvulsants seemed the best course for now. Too bad the cost ate every bit of her meager income provided by the government. Every bit.
But thinking about that was for another day. Right now, she had a sick vampire who needed her help. While still able, he would be her focus. Just because Richard felt he no longer needed her didn’t mean no one did. Sebastian appeared to want her around. Maybe even needed her a tiny amount. She would be there for him.
Fingers poised over the keyboard, she began her search. Maybe by the time he finished his swim, she could at least have crossed a few creatures off the list. First stop? Phooka.
Alice sighed. Over half a million hits for that word alone. There had to be a better way to narrow down the search.
Frustrated, she pushed a hand through her hair and forced her mind to use some sort of logic to help her out. Eyes closed, she tried to come up with some distinguishing marks or maybe distinct personality trait she’d seen displayed in him.
She snapped her fingers as she happened on one. Sebastian’s eyes had a habit of changing. At least twice they’d become almost pearlescent. The next time, she’d have to see if she could get a closer look or maybe borrow a cell phone to capture the image. What did a Phooka’s eyes look like? She leaned closer to the monitor, selecting the image link, which would supply the information she needed.
As an agonized scream rent the air, the hair on the back of Alice’s neck stood ramrod straight.
“Sebastian,” she whispered.
Fueled with concern, she rushed from the room and headed for the pool. He’d made it through a good six hours without getting sick. She’d thought, assumed, he was getting better. How naïve.