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He stretched his gaze along the carriage. There were seats for others inside the compact conveyance, but— “No, I am perfectly fine standing outside on this smooth pavement. Such wicked alchemy you’ve concocted to make this vehicle travel without a horse is not something in which I wish to partake. I have avoided the devil’s work all my life. I shall not soon subscribe to such folly in my afterlife. As it is.”
    â€œYour afterlife is because of me, I’m afraid.”
    â€œHow so? Did you summon me from the grave? You are a witch!”
    She held up both hands, one of which still held the mysterious device containing his image. “Chill, Paganini.”
    â€œI am rather warm in this attire. These are my funeral raiments. I’ve seen people wearing so much less. And you in your odd trousers and shoes. What has become of the gowns the women once wore? Your attire is freakishly masculine.”
    She bristled at that statement, but then set back her shoulders, proudly. “I may be a freak, but the clothes are common for women nowadays. The world has changed a lot in a hundred and seventy-five years.”
    â€œOne hundred and...” He gaped. Truly, it was well beyond the 1920s in which Mary Grace had been buried.
    â€œLike I said, we need to talk. I suppose I can’t interest you in climbing back into the coffin and letting me bury you again?”
    â€œAre you— That is perfectly ghastly! You are worse than a witch, you—”
    â€œYes, yes. But since you know witches exist and suspect I am one, I need to set you straight right from the start. Get a load of this.”
    She grinned widely, and Nicolo watched her upper incisors descend. They were pointed and sharp and—mercy, he knew what she was. He hated that he had such knowledge of the paranormal creatures that existed in this world. But he did because he’d had far too many conversations with the devil Himself.
    And he knew what this woman was. “Vampire?”
    She nodded and grinned. Surely the world must be overrun with her sort? For the very first person he should converse with would be a blood-drinking vampire? Perhaps crawling back into his coffin would not be such a terrible idea after all.
    No. He was alive. And he wanted to remain that way.
    â€œNo,” he said defiantly. “I will not get into that conveyance with you today. Good day, vampire.”
    And he strode off down the smoothly paved road, not sure where he was headed, but dearly hoping that his path landed him at the nearest tavern with a kindly serving wench who would take pity on his empty pockets and allow him a drink. Or two. Or many. Drunk seemed to be the only way to handle the day’s events.
    Quickening his pace, he tried to ignore the vehicle rolling backward toward him. He had walked a great distance from the cemetery, but he was not tired nor were his muscles taxed. In fact, he felt good. Remarkably good. He couldn’t remember a time during his first life (that’s what he was calling it; how else to term it?) when he’d felt so utterly alive. So vital. So strong.
    And he wanted to keep this strength. And figure it out.
    The carriage stopped and out jumped the woman. She marched toward him. Petite and very pretty, despite her messy blond hair that seemed to fall in twists down to her elbows, and the terrible clothing that made her resemble a boy. He was surprised at her insistence. And even more surprised when she grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.
    â€œTake your hands off the coat,” he insisted. “It is fine velvet.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, velvet is cheap nowadays, buddy. Get over it. So the fact I’m a vampire didn’t freak you?”
    â€œFreak me? You mean, you expected me to run screaming from you? I know of your sort, blood drinker. Have never met one, but I do have knowledge of the occult.”
    â€œWe call it the paranormal. Vamps, witches, werewolves, demons.