Apartment 13 (Paranormal Slash, MxM)

Roomies

As far as Westmore vampires went, Edwin was a bit of a failure. Not at the seducing and the bloodsucking part (he had that down) but the creating an underground empire of servants and blood slaves part. You see, it wasn’t often that a member of the Westmore coven, especially a child of the head vamp, left to pursue their own devices. Especially if those devices did not include forming a coven of their own but actually moving to a large city to live amongst blood bags.

Fortunately enough, he managed to convince the head vamp, he would never call the man his father , to let him leave. And well if that man was under the impression that Edwin would be returning, he was mistaken. He was out and he wasn't looking back.

The city he had chosen was far enough from his coven for him to escape but still close enough as not to arose suspicion that he wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon. After a good day’s sleep he managed to arrive at the city a little bit before sunrise. He used one of his connections to hook him up with a place on the outskirts of the city in what might have been considered a dangerous neighborhood if one didn’t possess the strength of ten mortal men.

The vampire stood in front of the building that would be his home. It was an older style apartment building that seemed frozen in time. Well, minus the fact that the paint had peeled off the window sills, the brick that made it up was a dingy brown--far from the brilliant red he was certain it was supposed to be-- and dried vines that crawled up the sides of it, reaching helplessly for the sunlight that wasn’t there. In Edwin’s eyes it was perfect.

He quickly went inside and glanced briefly at the mail lockers. There was an older style elevator to his left but if the duct tape across it meant anything, it was out of order. It wasn’t a big deal to him anyhow  and with a brief glance he darted up the stairs. There were four apartments on each floor, and he stopped when he got to the forth, almost passing it in his eagerness. A smile was evident on his face as he made his way to apartment number thirteen. The one was slightly tilted to the right and the three had long since fallen off but left and imprint on the door. He fished his key out of his pocket and stuck it in the door. The ability to enter without having to be invited in made him feel slightly giddy. He actually had a home.

The apartment was a large contrast to the outward appearance of the building. It was a nice size and had a rather cozy feeling to it. Edwin glanced out the window and saw the beginnings of sunlight peaking through the horizons. Sleep tugged at his eyelids and he swiftly marched towards it and yanked the burgundy curtains shut. He glanced at the couch, a cozy looking red one, and plopped down. He placed his hands behind his head. He would explore the city more when he woke up in the night. For now he had to rest.

               

Leslie yawned. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. He had been up all night harvesting herbs for his grandmother’s potion recipe. The first thing he wanted to do when he got into his apartment was head straight to the nearest soft surface and pass the fuck out. He opened the door and yawned before Heinrich materialized in front of him.

“Leslie, there is a dead man in our apartment.” The ghost stated, matter-of-factly.

The black haired warlock stared right through him and rose an eyebrow. “Oh?” He asked. “Aside from yourself?”

The ghost rolled his eyes and disappeared in a puff of white mist before reappearing in front of the couch. He pointed down at it with a scowl. “He does not appear to be breathing. So…” With his spectral hand he prodded at the man’s face. “It would be reasonable to discern that he is, indeed, dead.”

Leslie’s eyes grew wide and he dropped his bag of herbs before rushing over to the dead man. “Dear goddess!” He reached to touch the man’s face before frantically feeling for a pulse. There was nothing. A dead body was in his apartment. His hands roamed the corpse, looking to see if he could find the cause of death or any wound indicating there was a struggle. He could find none. He began to hyperventilate. He was going to go to jail. There was a dead body in his apartment and he had no reasonable alibi.