Keen's Turn: The Vampire's Appeal

Chapter 8: Elicit Appeals (first quarter)

✶✞ Hidden joke in this one. Should I do that? Should I mark each chapter with hidden layers, puzzles, or jokes? ✶✞

Walking wearily back from the subway to his apartment building, Jared kept up a constant watch, his mind a mess of near misses and missed chances.

I shoulda gone for him in the stairwell. I had the water bottle. Or before that. God, I can't believe I walked right into that. I am such a fucking idiot! I am the hugest fucking idiot!

Stopping in front his building, he ran a hand down his face.

What the fuck do I do now? I hafta meet him again to fight? Walk into another one of his fucking traps? I'm not gonna make it!

He took a few quick breaths and stepped into the light of the lobby.

Think. C'mon. I need a fucking plan.

He cast his eyes about the dingy room, with the stairwell in the corner leading up to his warded apartment.

He knows where I live. Where does he live? That's the way to get a vampire, right? In his lair?

If he could figure out where the vampire made his nest, he could attack him while he slept, Van Helsing style.

But how do I find him?

His gaze fell on the payphone in the corner, with an old phone book composting on the shelf beneath it. He hesitated.

Christian Keen... He did make a big deal about his name...

He walked over to the yellow volume and pulled it out, propping it open on his hip to thumb through it. It was years out of date, but he figured that hardly mattered. He shot a glance over his shoulder, then focused on the book.

Keen... K...E...E...

He ran his finger down the lines of names.

Keeling, Keels, Keely, Keen—okay, Augustus, Claudia, Edward—wait.

No entries.

No entries? Nothing?

Was he spelling it wrong? He tried a few alternatives.

No entries.

Damn.

He slid the book back onto the shelf.

What'd I expect, a tombstone address?

With one hand on the Seal in his pocket, he slunk up the stairs to his room, moving past the mezuzah with a swell of relief.

Okay. But then how can I find him?

He made to get ready for bed, pulling off his shirt and wincing as his sore wrist flared. The wounds in his side and calf, though not any better, at least showed no signs of infection. He sterilized and patched the new one from the pencil, gritting his teeth against its pain and its memories.

I can't keep fucking doing this. I need a better plan.

He eased onto the bed, only to be confronted with his handiwork above. He shut his eyes.

I'll figure something out... Tomorrow night...Saturday?

He opened his eyes.

Shit, do I hafta fight?

No. The vampire had said next Saturday—why not this Saturday? He scratched at a bandage, staring at the lumpy ceiling.

Does he have other plans? Like what? Stalking?