In this holiday snippet, we find our snarky vampire Arthur lowering himself to mingle with the masses at a Christmas village on the off chance he might meet one of his own kind, but first he has to pass muster–
“Arthur Middlesworth, Esquire, at your service.” I give the nameplate on her desk a slow glance. “And I’m assuming you are Cora Herbert.”
Cora snorts with a derisive tone, touching my fingers with the tips of hers, then withdrawing them.
“Next thing you’re going to say is that’s your real name, right? Along with that accent.”
I raise my eyebrows at her snarky tone, not wanting to admit it matches mine.
“I assure you, madam, I was born with this name, and the accent developed when I learned to talk.” I give the beaver silk surface of my hat a perfunctory brush and pick an imaginary piece of flotsam from the lapel of my perfectly tailored jacket. Anxious as I may be to take off my greatcoat, I’m most certainly not about to consign it to a plebian hook in this hellhole. Settling for a compromise, I shrug it off my shoulders and drape it over my arm, deciding to keep my gloves on. One never knows what one might pick up in places like this. I might be undead and therefore immune to human diseases, but not to noisome offal.
“That chair good enough for the likes of ya or do ya wanna keep standing?”
With a sniff, I perch my still-delectable behind on the very edge of the seat she’s indicated with a wave of her hand. I spare a glance at the yellow, tobacco-stained tips of same and hold back a shiver at the thought of my dove grey gloves needing yet another laundering.
Read more Sunday Snippets here: