‘Fancy meeting you here,’ I say, nodding at Lucy with what I hope comes across as a friendly smile. She laughs in return, and the sound hits me straight in the chest. She’s different here– smiley and relaxed– and it strikes me that this is the first meeting we’ve had where I’m neither flashing her nor arguing with her. I try to hide my wince at the thought.
‘This is the last place on earth I expected to run into you,’ Lucy chirps. She’s still grinning, and I notice the way the action perfectly fits her face, like smiling is her default mode.
Fiona is visibly confused as she looks between us. ‘You two know each other?’
‘We’re acquaintances,’ I say. ‘She’s friends with my cousin.’ I don’t mention that we’re acquaintances who are currently sharing an extremely small living space. I don’t know why, but I don’t want Fiona to know that particular detail.
There’s a quirk in Lucy’s expression then, just a momentary flicker, like she’s figuring something out. It seems like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t, and then before I know it, Fiona whisks her away.
‘Come on,’ I hear Fiona say, just before the door closes behind them. ‘He’s through here. You’re going tolovehim.’
And I hate to say it, but I feel the faintest tug of jealousy in my throat.
I’m anidiot.
I plough through the rest of the jobs on Fiona’s list with renewed vigour, and then find her, still with Lucy, as the two of them coo over something in one of the cages. Yep, it turns out that theheFiona thought Lucy would love is actually an animal. I’m not sure why that didn’t cross my mind considering that we’re in a literal animal sanctuary.
Like I said, I’m an idiot.
‘Bram,’ Lucy calls out as she sees me, and I try to ignore the buzz in my chest at the sound of my name on her lips. ‘Come and meet Lestat.’
Chapter Five
LUCY
I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about bats in any great detail before, but something about Lestat, the geriatric Brandt’s bat, is getting to me.
He’s a tiny thing, barely the length of my palm in these unwieldy gloves Fiona has had me wear to hold him. I’m amazed he made it a year, let alone forty-two, which she tells me is his minimum age. He’s baring his teeth at me, mostly broken now but for two prominent fangs. It’s no wonder they called him Lestat. It’s perfect for an ancient vampire.
I kind of love him.
He’s not sure about me, though, and I don’t blame him. I’m not the most confident bat handler, and while I’m being extra careful not to hurt his injured wing– the reason he’s in the sanctuary– I’m just trying to make it through this intense anxiety that I’ll damage him in some way and have the murder of Britain’s oldest bat on my conscience forever.
I hear Bram clear his throat just to my left, and that reminder that he’s right there seems to soothe me and unsettle me at the same time. I couldn’t believe my eyes when Fiona and I openedthat shed door to find him there, arms at full extension over his head and a good three inches of perfectly toned midriff exposed as he stretched to stack the box.
Fiona even took a photo of the whole scene, which I thought was bold, but each to their own. She hasn’t explained what he’s doing here, and he hasn’t offered the information either. My curiosity is piqued. It’s not often that I feel my reporter senses tingling, but they’re tingling like crazy now. There’s a story here, I know it. But right now I have to focus on the story that is currently trying to nibble his way through the leather gloves I’m wearing.
Fiona chuckles a little to herself as she reaches to grab the little vampire from my hands, and I’m simultaneously disappointed and relieved.
‘Do you want to hold him before we let him have a rest?’ she asks Bram, and I can almost feel the tension that ripples through his body. He clearly doesn’t want to do that at all.
‘I will,’ he says gruffly, and I whip my head around to look at him. I wasn’t expecting that. He hasn’t said a single word since I called him over, just stood there the whole time looking at Lestat with the same expression on his face– an expression like he’s barely holding himself together.
Is this gruff, six-foot-whatever man scared ofbats?
I almost want to laugh, but I don’t, especially when I shake off the leather gloves and he takes them from me with a heavy sigh. He obviously doesn’t want to hold Lestat at all, but he agreed to do it almost immediately. Why?
I study him while he pulls the gloves on and nods to Fiona. She eases the writhing creature into his waiting hands, and I see the tension grip him even more tightly as Lestat’s tiny claws sink into the leather. His shoulders are halfway up to his ears now, a muscle in his jaw ticking as his lips tighten together.
It has entirely the opposite effect on Lestat. As soon as he’s placed in Bram’s gloved hands, the elderly bat seems to relax entirely. He stares at Bram, who is staring right back, but while Bram looks as if he’s a millisecond from panicking and flinging Lestat towards the ceiling, the tiny bundle of fur makes himself even more comfortable, sinking down into the worn leather with his broken teeth bared. It almost looks like he’s grinning.
I quickly pull my camera out of my bag to start taking photos, and Bram catches my eye and raises an accusatory eyebrow. I can’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bram’s clear discomfort and Lestat’s absolute relaxation is just too much to resist.
‘He likes you,’ I say, and Bram looks up at me, a shocked smile breaking through his tension. I snap another photo before that smile can drop, and when I check it, it’s the best one yet. The backdrop of black denim and tattoos adds just the right amount of drama to the shot, and out of context, the slight curl of Bram’s grin looks totally different– almost seductive.
‘Like a bat out of hell,’ I mutter to myself, and then I scribble the phrase down in my notebook before I can forget it. It’ll make a great headline.
And then Bram is squirming, fidgeting, looking up at Fiona with something like desperation in his eyes as he thrusts his handful of bat towards her.