Frankie dropped us all home one by one, and it was the slowest drive ever. His Audi SUV crept its way through the streets of Toronto, the brand new snow tires crunching deep into the fresh snow that still had yet to be plowed. The plows were most likely focusing on the freeways and the main roads first, but even at 2 AM they still hadn't gotten to the streets we were taking.
I actually paid more attention to the car than the traffic, since it was the first time that I was aware that Frankie even owned a car. The fact that it was this nice said tons about all of the things we didn't know and urgently needed to find out about Frankie.
"There really needs to be a vampire superpower strictly about snow," I quipped and then glanced at Frankie who was driving with intense concentration. "There isn't one is there?"
"Only if it involves me crashing in the snow because my passenger keeps talking to me. Shh!"
"You're the crankiest driver I know," I muttered. "Crankiest African too."
Frankie scoffed but kept his eyes on the road. "I'm probably the only African you know." He nodded at the weather outside, tight-lipped. "Two years ago was my first winter experience ever. Twenty-six years I had spent avoiding this vile and treacherous weather, and now here I am."
"Why did you move to Toronto if you hate the snow so much?" Natalie asked. "We're kinda known for snow."
"My mentor insisted. As part of my preparation to become a vampire, knowledge of other cultures, particularly western culture, is an important requisite."
"But why Toronto? Why not someplace warm like Florida. Or California."
"When you visit those places, you will see for yourself. Not all vampire culture is as sophisticated and as forward-thinking as what Harry has established here in Toronto. He's pushing it as the model to follow, but some places are resistant to change and can be very hostile to vampires."
Benjamin nodded thoughtfully.
"Makes sense when you think about it. Kinda like how Chinatown in San Francisco is completely different from the one in New York."
"You do not want to go to the American south," Frankie warned. "Especially Texas. It is not a good place for a vampire."
"What about Montreal?" I asked carefully, trying hard not to give away the panic I was fighting down. "Is there a vampire city setup there too?"
"Montreal is strange," Frankie said and shook his head. "They're more scattered. Very traditional. It's the French in them to always want to do things their way. Very Canadíen if you ask me. You were recently in Montreal, no?"
"Yeah, but that was a family thing," I said as smoothly as I could, trying hard not to think of what we had done as a family. I tried to smile. "You're quite the chatterbox," I said. "I didn't think you could talk this much."
"Now that I'm not a spy, I can finally be myself."
"I was wondering why you still wanted to hang out with us," Stanley said.
Frankie grinned. "I wonder the same thing myself. I must admit that you have grown on me significantly. I actually enjoy your company."
"We're going to have a lot to talk about—"
The car skidded to a gentle stop, the back of the car threatening to perform the world's slowest fishtail. It was not our car in danger though.
We watched as a car spun through the intersection at speed, nothing gentle about how the back of the vehicle turned, first one way, then the other. The driver somehow failed to crash and careened off into the night, nothing but hope and a prayer keeping it on the road.
"I really hate this weather," Frankie said somberly.
"I'm going to shut up and let you drive now," I said.
"Good idea," Benjamin agreed nervously from the backseat. I looked back at him, squeezed into the middle between Stanley and Natalie. All three of them looked like they had shit their pants.
They dropped me off first, and I trudged through the snow to my place, noting how totally covered in snow everything was. It would have been perfect if some other night owl hadn't already walked through the snow ahead of me; new flakes were valiantly trying to fill those footsteps as if to erase any evidence, but it was slow work.
If anyone had bothered to salt the walkways, then it had done absolutely no good except to provide something for the snow to scoff at. From past experience, Oscar, the apartment supervisor, tended to go easy on the salt and then that bastard was slow in clearing the snow the next morning. Jerk.
It was peaceful, in only the way the first snowfall of the season can be. The night itself wasn't as dark, the lights of the city reflecting off the snow down below, and then up above, off the heavy, grey impenetrable cover of clouds. The entire city would be under a blanket of snow that would, for a while, hide all of its flaws, and quieten even the loudest complaint with the pretense of pure white beauty.
Damn, that was almost poetic. Makes it sound like I actually admire the snow or something. Just so we're clear about this: I fucking hate snow.
The footsteps in the snow that I was talking about? Yeah, those were going directly to my place.