deep_red_bells | It's a small crime and I got no excuse...is that all right with you? [for <lj site="livejournal.com"

She couldn't shake the eerie feeling that she was being watched.

And it was very possible that yes, she was being watched, and simply hadn't spotted the one doing the watching yet. Either way, her anonymous admirer had either made a very good study of her, or had just lucked out with his choice of meeting places. The rare bookstore was an absolute paradise for her closet bibliophilism, but it also had a dim, mysterious sort of feel that had her constantly glancing over her shoulder, expecting someone to be breathing down her neck...or not breathing at all, she supposed, would be more accurate.

It seemed to be par for the Slayer course. You needed at least one forbidden little tryst with a vampiric suitor. Hell, in Buffy's case, there'd been two. Baileigh clearly had some catching up to do.

A wry smile touched her lips, fingertips brushing over a display of a set of Jane Austen novels that one could own for the low, low price of $8,500. Maybe her secret admirer would be kind enough to actually tell her his name. If she was lucky.

And if, she added silently, pulling out her cell phone and glancing at the time--8:52, eight minutes away from their pre-arranged meeting time--he decided to show up.

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Argosy in Midtown Manhattan was the perfect choice. The place had a dense and mysterious feel to it, and Daniel, bless his old soul, particularly liked the fact that the books were stacked up to the ceilings and that the lighting on all floors were dull and dim. It gave him an opportunity to hide within the shadows.

The two hundred year old vampire watched as she perused a set of old books. Baileigh was early. The fact pleased him somewhat, and the corner of his lips curled up into a small smile. He could sense that she was expecting him.

Careful not to close the distance between them as he leaned his shoulder against one end of the bookshelf...

"If you, passing, meet me, and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you? ... Walt Whitman." His voice was but a mere whisper but it carried well in the silence. "Do you read?"

As much as she was expecting him, she still gasped softly in surprise at his soft call and nearly dropped the book she'd just picked up. She cradled the volume to her chest, her free hand shoving her hair behind her ears as she turned to the direction of the low voice but could not see the source. "I do," she admitted, clearing her throat quietly and replacing Yeats' The Tower back on the shelf. "I like Whitman. Song of Myself is probably my favorite. 'I am large, I contain multitudes.'"

Fingers strayed from the bookshelf to tug at the sleeve of her sweater, and she took a few hesitant steps in the direction of the whisper. "So...it's you."

"Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul." For a brief moment, Daniel remained standing where he was, allowing her to get a glimpse of him; a mere shadow in the dark. He'd chosen to remain anonymous. And now in his place, atop a book of collected poems was a stalk of white orchids.

Games. He liked playing them.

Oh...wasn't he a clever and quick one?

Baileigh sighed softly, almost resigned, and lifted the delicate flowers from the stack of books, cradled them carefully in her palm. "They're beautiful...but are you going to speak in quotations all night?" she drawled, glancing left and right to see if she could spot that dark shape again. "Or do I maybe get to know your a name? At least a name?"

His movements were quick, silent.

Standing in the next aisle, directly across from Baileigh, he breathed in the scent of her; intoxicating... it fueled his blood lust. He wondered if she could sense his hunger.

"Daniel." He'd give her that. No harm in telling her his name. He knew so much about her and she knew next to nothing about him. "I'm glad you came."

"Daniel." She repeated the name quietly, lips pursing into a little pout as she studied the flowers in her hand. The constant tingle across the back of her neck was to be expected--it wasn't exactly the smartest and safest thing to do, meeting a vampire in a small, shadow-filled area, and the sixth sense that came with her calling was reminding her of that.

"I'm...not sure why I did," she admitted, leaning against the bookshelf and releasing a breath slowly. "Intrigue, I guess."

He was watching her through the open spaces between the shelves, wondering about his fascination for her. He couldn't quite understand it, this constant yearning for the attentions of one slayer, and now that he had it... he couldn't even bring himself to face her.

Truth was, Daniel was afraid that if he did, he might be a) tongue tied, b) consumed by his thirst for her blood, c) consumed by his thirst for her blood...

Obviously, he'd acted on impulse. Boredom had a way of encouraging such acts. Boredom and hunger, and possibly... pure idiocy on his part.

"Do you always carry a stake with you?"

The question caught her a bit off guard and...actually, made her feel a bit guilty. Which was stupid, she had nothing to feel guilty for. She was a slayer, she was meeting a vampire--and even if she wasn't, that didn't really--of course she was armed, she was always armed, it would be foolish not to be.

"I do," she admitted, turning around to try and peer through the slats between books and catch a glimpse of him. "Call it a security thing." She paused, tucked her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, twirling the stem of orchids between her fingers, keeping her voice as even as possible when she spoke again. "I mean...after all. You and your kind always have your weapons on hand, so to speak, yeah?"

Daniel let out a chuckle. It sounded hollow, empty, as if he lacked the warmth of emotion.

"Good point."

He met her eyes for the briefest of moment, before he turned his back on her and flipped the pages of a novel... Frankenstein.

"In case you were wondering," he murmured softly. "I do feed on humans."

He was careful though. Always careful. He never turned them, never killed them. And lately, he'd started drinking from blood bags.

Baileigh stilled as their eyes met for a fleeting instant. She really did not need to allow herself to become so fascinated by him...

"Maybe I was wondering," she admitted quietly, forcing herself to stop trying to looking for him, focusing instead on the books around her, fingertip straying over the spines, examining the titles and authors. "Maybe I'm also wondering what the hell we're both doing here. It's a bad, bad idea."

And one that couldn't possibly end well, at that.

It's a small crime and I got no excuse...is that all right with you? [for <lj site="livejournal.com"

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