Chapter 2
About a year earlier, shortly after Bedelia had left New Orleans for Savannah, Henry Agron was working late in his office.
It had been an exceptionally long day.
Several business deals had failed to materialize, two construction projects were running behind schedule, and a dispute between subcontractors had consumed far more of his time than it should have. By the time he glanced at the clock, he realized he had once again missed dinner with his family.
He knew that by now his wife, Jeselle, had put their children to bed. Their son would have protested, insisting he was not tired, while their younger daughter would have demanded one more story before finally surrendering to sleep. Jeselle would be waiting for him, just as she always did, with a covered plate of food warming in the oven.
The thought brought a smile to his face.
Henry considered himself fortunate. He had built a successful business, earned the respect of the community, and returned each evening to a family he genuinely loved. Not many men could honestly say the same.
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes.
The stack of paperwork on his desk seemed no smaller than it had been three hours earlier.
With a yawn, he concluded that whatever remained unfinished would simply have to wait until tomorrow.
Savannah would still be there in the morning.
He gathered a few files, shut down his computer, and reached for his suit jacket draped over the back of a chair.
That was when he heard the knock.
It was a single, deliberate rap upon the glass door of his office.
Henry frowned.
The building had been closed for nearly an hour. Most of the staff had gone home long ago.
For a moment, he wondered if one of his employees had forgotten something and returned.
Then he looked up.
A woman stood on the other side of the glass.
Even through the door, he could tell she was extraordinarily beautiful.
And somehow, for reasons he could not explain, the sight of her sent an unexpected chill down his spine.
He cautiously approached the door, wrapped his hand around the glass doorknob, and pulled it open.
Standing before him was the woman.
Up close, she was even more striking than he had first realized. Her dark hair framed an almost flawless face, and her blue eyes seemed unusually bright beneath the hallway lights.
Henry frowned.
"How did you get in here?" he asked. "The building should be locked."
The woman smiled.
"May I come in?" she asked.
The question seemed oddly formal, almost old-fashioned.
Henry Agron did not understand the significance of what he was being asked. Had he known more about vampires, he might have hesitated before answering.
Instead, his Southern manners took over.
"Yes, please," he said, stepping aside. "Come in."
She entered the office.
"What may I do for you?" Henry asked. "It's rather late, and I was just about to head home."
"Yes," she replied, her voice carrying a note of genuine regret. "I realize that. Unfortunately, I must conduct most of my business during the evening hours."
Something about the statement struck him as peculiar, though he could not immediately say why.
The woman glanced around the office before returning her attention to him.
"I have made inquiries around Savannah," she said. "Several people informed me that you are a man who knows how to get things done."
Henry smiled slightly.
"That's a flattering description."
"Are you familiar with a property called Pecan Hill?"
He only needed a moment to think.
"Of course. It's an old plantation estate west of the city. It was once a beautiful place, but it's fallen into a terrible condition over the years. Last I heard, it was for sale at a bargain price. Frankly, the restoration costs alone would scare away most buyers."
"Why?" The woman asked.
"Because it would take a fortune to bring it back. Structural repairs, roofing, electrical systems, plumbing, landscaping—the list goes on. As far as I know, there aren't any serious interested parties."
The woman smiled.
"I wish to purchase it."
Henry was a bit shocked.
"You do?"
"Yes."
There was not the slightest hesitation in her voice.
"I would like you to arrange a complete renovation and restoration. I want the estate returned to its former grandeur, while incorporating modern conveniences, of course."
Henry let out a low whistle.
"Miss..."
"Dubois. Bedelia Dubois."
"Miss Dubois, you're talking about an enormous undertaking."
"I know."
"Depending on what we discover after the inspection, the project could cost millions of dollars or more."
Her smile never wavered.
"That will not be a problem."
For the first time in the conversation, Henry felt a flicker of genuine curiosity.
Most wealthy clients eventually asked about costs.
This woman had not.
Instead, she spoke as though money were little more than an inconvenience.
And somehow, despite the late hour, despite her unusual mannerisms, and despite the increasingly unbelievable nature of her request, Henry found himself believing every word she said.
What he did not realize was that Bedelia Marie Dubois had been purchasing property, managing fortunes, and persuading people to trust her long before Savannah had become the city they both knew.
Compared to two centuries of experience, convincing one tired businessman was hardly a challenge.
"I see," Agron said. "I can certainly make the arrangements, but I must admit that I'm beyond curious. Why does a young woman like you—and please don't mistake this for meaningless flattery directed at a potential client—want to purchase such a place? Surely you have the means to buy any home in the heart of Savannah. You could be surrounded by people your own age, people you could socialize with."
He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Is there a Mr. Dubois?"
A faint smile touched her lips.
"No," she replied. "Not yet. Though there is a man in New Orleans whom I love."
That answer only deepened Henry's confusion.
"Then I really don't understand," he admitted. "Why would someone like you want a moldy old plantation house?"
Bedelia's smile widened.
"I have several reasons."
She folded her hands in her lap and settled comfortably into the chair across from his desk.
"First, I once had a home outside New Orleans. It was not nearly as grand as this antebellum estate, but it was beautiful in its own way. Unfortunately, it was destroyed by fire."
For a brief moment, something passed through her eyes—a sadness so genuine and profound that Henry almost felt guilty for asking.
"Second," she continued, "I have lived in homes like Pecan Hill for centuries."
Henry chuckled softly.
"Centuries?"
"Centuries."
Her expression never changed.
"And third, I am a vampire and value my privacy."
For several seconds, silence filled the office.
Henry stared at her.
Bedelia calmly stared back.
Then he burst into laughter.
The sound echoed through the nearly empty building.
"Now that," he said between chuckles, "is a good one."
Bedelia merely smiled.
"I suppose I deserve that answer for being too nosy."
His laughter subsided.
"For that, I apologize."
"No apology is necessary," she replied, her eyes never leaving him.
Henry shook his head, still grinning.
"A vampire. That's certainly the most original answer I've ever received from a client."
"Most people seem to think so."
The amusement lingered in his eyes for another moment before he glanced at the clock.
"I'll tell you what, Miss Dubois. Tomorrow morning, I'll begin making inquiries about the property and assembling estimates. If you're serious about this project, I'll see what can be done."
"I am very serious."
There was something about the way she said it that caused him to pause.
Not because of her words.
Because of her certainty.
Most wealthy people spoke about their plans with enthusiasm. Bedelia spoke as though the future had already happened and she was merely informing him of the outcome.
"Very well," Henry said. "Then let's buy and restore Pecan Hill. I am up for a challenge, and Pecan Hill has been on the market so long, I am sure I can give them an acceptable lowball offer."
Neither of them realized it at the time, but that simple agreement would alter the course of both their lives.
Henry believed he had just acquired an unusually wealthy client.
Bedelia knew she had found something far rarer.
A human being, she might actually be able to trust.
Bedelia rose gracefully from her chair.
"I can see there is a certain credibility issue here," she said. "You believe I am joking about what I am."
Henry smiled.
"Can you blame me?"
"No," she replied. "Not at all."
Her expression softened.
"However, I find that I trust you, Mr. Agron. I believe I have much to offer both you and the city of Savannah, and trust is difficult to establish when one party assumes the other is telling stories."
She paused.
"Do you happen to have a large mirror somewhere in these offices?"
Henry thought for a moment.
"Actually, yes. There's one in the adjoining office. I use the room occasionally when I need to change clothes before meetings or formal events."
"May we use it?"
"Of course."
Curiosity now outweighed his desire to go home.
Henry crossed the room and opened the connecting door. He switched on the lights, revealing a smaller private office furnished with a desk, a wardrobe cabinet, and an ornate full-length mirror mounted against one wall.
Bedelia followed him inside.
Once they were standing before the mirror, she folded her hands in front of her.
"Look into the mirror, Mr. Agron," she said calmly. "Tell me what you see."
Henry raised an eyebrow but complied.
At first, nothing seemed unusual.
He saw the office.
He saw the furniture.
He saw himself.
Then his mind abruptly caught up with what his eyes were telling him.
His reflection stood alone.
Bedelia should have been standing beside him.
Instead, there was empty space.
Henry blinked.
He stared harder.
The mirror faithfully reflected every detail of the room, every shadow, every object, every wrinkle in his suit.
Everything except the woman standing less than a foot away from him.
A cold sensation crept down his spine.
Slowly, he turned away from the mirror.
Bedelia was still there.
He looked back.
Nothing.
His reflection remained alone.
For several long moments, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Bedelia broke the silence.
"I am sure you've heard enough vampire lore to know that vampires do not cast reflections."
Henry swallowed.
His heart was suddenly beating much faster than before.
He looked into the mirror again, almost hoping the image would change.
It did not.
Then Bedelia laughed softly.
The sound was warm and unexpectedly human.
"You have no idea how inconvenient that makes life," she said. "Most women can stand in front of a mirror and know whether they are looking their best."
She shook her head.
"I have spent over two centuries relying on the opinions of others. It is remarkably frustrating."
For a moment, Henry simply stared at her.
Not because she was frightening.
Not because she was a monster.
But because she was discussing one of the most impossible revelations of his life with the casual irritation of a woman complaining about a broken hairbrush.
And somehow, that made the situation far more believable than any dramatic speech ever could.
For the first time that evening, Henry Agron began to suspect that Bedelia Marie Dubois had been telling the truth from the very beginning.
"My God," Henry whispered.
His eyes darted from the mirror to Bedelia and back again.
"It's true."
The words emerged almost involuntarily.
"You really are a vampire."
For a moment, he simply stood there, trying to reconcile everything he thought he knew about reality with the impossible evidence staring back at him.
Then another thought suddenly forced its way to the surface.
"Are you going to kill me?"
The question escaped his lips before he could stop it.
Bedelia looked genuinely surprised.
Then she smiled.
"May I call you Henry?" she asked.
The abrupt change in subject caught him completely off guard.
"I... yes, of course."
"And please call me Bedelia."
Henry nodded.
Bedelia folded her arms and leaned lightly against the edge of his desk.
"Seriously, Henry," she said, her voice filled with amused disbelief, "if I killed everyone I liked and hoped would help me, I'd be living in some rotten cabin deep in the backwaters of the bayous."
Despite himself, Henry laughed.
The absurdity of the statement broke some of the tension.
"I suppose that's true."
"It is true."
She smiled again.
"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find competent people? People who are honest? People who keep their word? I've had people I trusted with my funds cheat me occasionally. I found them to be delicious."
Henry considered that. She said it humorously, but the meaning was there. Bedelia Dubois was not a person you tried to steal from and lived long after you did.
"As a businessman?"
"Exactly."
She pointed at him.
"You have a good reputation. You love your family. You pay your employees fairly. People trust you."
The compliment seemed strangely sincere.
"Those qualities are far rarer than you might imagine."
Henry studied her carefully.
"You don't seem much like the vampires in the stories."
Bedelia laughed.
"Oh, I'm afraid the stories get quite a few things wrong."
"But not everything?"
Her smile became mischievous.
"No. Not everything."
The answer sent another chill down his spine.
Yet oddly, he felt less afraid than before.
Bedelia seemed dangerous in the same way a hurricane or a lightning storm was dangerous—immensely powerful, deserving of respect, and certainly capable of causing terrible harm.
But not malicious.
At least not toward him.
Finally, Henry shook his head.
"I don't know whether I'm brave or completely insane."
"Why?"
"Because I've just discovered vampires are real, and my first concern is still figuring out how we're going to restore Pecan Hill."
Bedelia's laughter filled the office.
It was rich, warm, and entirely genuine.
"That," she said, "is precisely why I think we're going to work well together."
For the first time since looking in the mirror, Henry smiled.
Perhaps he should have been terrified.
Instead, he found himself wondering how long it would take to secure contractors, architects, and restoration specialists for an antebellum mansion.
Bedelia noticed the change immediately.
The fear was fading.
The businessman was returning.
And that, more than anything else, convinced her she had chosen the right man.