Midlife in Glimmerspell

by Addison Moore

  “Them?” I meet his eyes with mine. “So it’s true? There’s some sort of sick subculture that’s obsessed with vampires, and that’s where the lore comes from?”

  “One would think. One would be wrong, though.” He leans back and holds his hands together as he studies me. “I’ve researched these deaths, Billie. I’ve seen the bodies, been with the coroner when they’ve examined them. These victims were drained of their blood so efficiently the coroner marveled at how it could have been done. I’m sorry. This will sound foreign to your ears, unbelievable even. But there are vampires, Billie, an entire underground network of them. They hold positions of power in their towns, in the city, in every level of government. And there are pockets of paradise as they’re called, where they can mostly be themselves—Glimmerspell just so happens to be one of them.”

  A moment of silence bounces between us.

  “So they’re here in Glimmerspell?” My heart riots against my chest and my adrenaline hits hard—it’s telling me to grab Harper and run all the way back to Mulberry Lake.

  “The vampires aren’t alone, Billie.” He sighs. “I’ve found evidence of werewolves and fae as well.”

  “Half-man, half-wolf?” I balk. “I can believe that people are stupid enough to guzzle human plasma, but you’re asking me to suspend reality if you think I’m falling for shape-shifters.”

  That scene from his shower flits through my mind, and it’s evident that my own body, my own newly acquired odd abilities have demanded that I suspend reality with or without a few hairy scary men thrown in for good measure.

  He nods. “They claim to be half-breeds, and although they are mythological menaces, they don’t do much harm in the here and now. The vampires, their subculture, if that’s what you’d like to call it, they utilize them for their own benefit.”

  “And what’s the benefit to the so-called werewolves?”

  “Money, power, that’s all. And that’s more than enough. But not all of the weres are aligned with this. Most of them are peace-loving people just like you and me.”

  “And the fae?” I blink hard as I say it, partially because I can’t believe I just said it.

  “Gorgeous shimmering creatures with a DNA structure similar to humans, enough so that they can hide in plain sight. They have a few abilities, the gift of luring people to do their bidding, especially those with weak wills. They’re hypersexual by nature, fun- loving and flirtatious.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’ve spent your fair share of time researching those sparkly little minxes?”

  He frowns before the hint of a smile curls into his cheek. “In my defense, they were hard to resist. Questions?”

  “I want to know more about the vampire subculture. They seem to be the ones in charge around here. Obviously they’re humans, Elliot. They all are. Maybe they’re just people who happen to be endowed with some sort of supernatural abilities?” What did Bizzy and Georgie call my time-travel tussles? “Oh! Transmundane! I hear that’s some sort of a subset of people who have certain otherworldly powers, and apparently there are all sorts of abilities that can be filed under that umbrella.”

  His eyes widen a notch as he studies me. “Where did you hear that word?”

  “You know it?” A breath hitches in my throat, and I don’t dare move an inch.

  “You know it?” He dips his chin as he shoots the question right back at me, those clear green eyes never leaving mine. “Yes, transmundane is the banner in which a myriad of supernatural abilities are filed under. The fae come from this subset. The werewolves and the vampires are completely different in nature. The were-people suffer a mutation of their genetics which allows them to shift into wolves. Same with the vampires, but the mutation is more or less a disease that freezes the body’s natural ability to age. First, it arrests the cellular structure—thus death occurs, then almost instantly all cells are rebooted—thus the victim becomes undead. All matter in the universe is on its path toward entropy. It is the natural course of existence. They’re impervious to diseases, they just go on and on without any relief from this life on the near horizon.”

  “Relief?” I balk. “Are you kidding? Believe me, if the free world could get their hands on some of that magic, we’d all be vampires. If any of it were true, we’d all be vampires by now.”

  “No, we wouldn’t.” His cheeks flex. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Don’t they just keep biting people to increase the vampire population? I’ve seen enough Halloween horror flicks to know that’s how it works.”

  “It does work that way, but only if the vampire doing the biting desires it to be so. A run-of-the-mill bite by a vampire does nothing more than puncture the skin at best. Vampires have a specific venom they release when they’re looking to transform someone into their kind. It takes about twenty seconds for the Vesper, the name for their venom, to be released into their victim’s bloodstream. After that, it can take anywhere up to seventy-two hours for the victim’s system to convert to the new genome pattern—that is, if their cells convert to achieve undead status. As it stands, there’s a fifty percent mortality rate—leading to a pedestrian death, of course.”

  “Fifty percent? In other words, that bite is as good as a death sentence. But I still don’t see why they wouldn’t want to transform the entire world into their kind, regardless.”

  “Would you risk biting Harper if you knew it might kill her?”

  I wince. “There’s no way. I guess I can see why the vamps aren’t ruling the roost.”

  “I never said they weren’t ruling the roost.” A dark laugh rumbles in his chest. “But yes, from what I understand, extreme caution is necessary.”

  “And once they’re transformed?” I cock my head his way. “Immortality?”

  “As legend has it, yes. According to the vampires, no. The aging process is arrested but not entirely. After thousands of years it begins to tick up again. Eventually, from what I understand, even a vampire can succumb to death, in the final sense as far as leaving the body. It makes sense, the Bible says to each man it is appointed once to die. And many of these vampires long for the day they can be reconnected with those they lost on the other side. It’s a curse to those who have it. But as in any large group of people, there is the good, the bad, and the just plain ugly. As it stands, there are two covens who make Glimmerspell their home. They belong to a larger network of covens that span worldwide. There are the Calders—they have control of the vampire world at the moment. They’re the moral majority, if you will. The Calder coven believes vampires should continue to live underground, functioning within society as contributing members. Since their lifespans are immeasurable, they have a committee that helps those in need of new identities and transfers should neighbors or friends become suspicious. Then there are the Faulkners.” He frowns as he says it. “They believe in world dominance. In allowing their kind to indulge in human blood and—”

  “Wait—don’t they all crave human blood? I mean, I’ve seen the movies. It’s like a foray into ecstasy with just one taste.”

  Another, far darker laugh rumbles from him, but Elliot doesn’t give a smile to go along with it.

  “It’s true. From the reports I’ve heard, it can be a heightened experience. Blood cravings are real, but they’re given a serum to help stave it off. Almost all of the blood the vampires need to fuel their bodies comes from animals these days. The Faulkners still partake in human blood, but it’s not only heavily frowned upon—if they’re caught they can be brought to a privy council called the Elites. They decide whether or not to prosecute the perpetrator. On some occasions teenagers or such can lose ahold of their restraint, and those are almost always excused events. But if someone is hunting the human population”—he nods to the pictures—“actions can be taken to prevent them from doing it again.”

  “What kind of actions?”

  He shakes his head. “Let’s just say they’re swift and final.”

  “And what about the werewolves?
Are they organized? Are they prevalent in Glimmerspell as well?”

  “Very. The weres fall under two groups as well. They call them dens. There’s the Broman den, the good guys. And the Dagen den, the lesser of the good guys. Compared to the Faulkners, there’s no bad guy comparison.”

  “And the fae?”

  “They’re the loosely transmundane. They’re the least of the disruptive of the three paranormal elements in Glimmerspell. They try to act as peacekeepers, but they’re not taken seriously.”

  “What about the transmundane? They have serious powers. I’ve heard they can see the dead, read minds, have visions of future events—and some can even time travel.”

  I felt a bit smug listing off that last attribute. But then, a part of me didn’t like Elliot writing off my kind so easily to begin with.

  “In fact,” I continue, “if all a vampire can do is live for a very long time in their current state, then they’re not so supernaturally inclined after all.”

  His brows hike as if this amused him. “They have abilities. They have strength, speed, and they can read people better than most humans, but that comes simply from living on this planet for so long. They’re nimble. They can climb better than most primates, and seeing that they’ve been around, they can grow quite gifted in their inclined field of choice. Some of the greatest musicians, artists, and writers have all been vampires.”

  “I’d buy that.” Although I’m still not sure I’m buying any of it. “What about sunshine? They’re allergic or something, right? Please tell me they sparkle. And what about driving a stake through the heart and garlic?”

  “Garlic is often used in cooking, and yes, vampires enjoy a good meal like anyone else. It has no bearing on them. The wooden stake to the heart—the wood needs to be from a Winter Bone tree, specifically harvested from Israel. There is a unique chemical makeup that has the ability to cause rapid aging in vampires. And yes, almost always results in death, almost. As for sunshine—it’s not as grim as lore would lead you to believe. No, vampires don’t sparkle in the sun, but they sweat profusely, and it also quickly leads to severe flu-like symptoms. Most vampires migrate to places that have few sunny days. Glimmerspell is ideal. The sun rarely breaks the cloud cover. Summers are short and rife with rainfall. It can snow well into July and start as early as September.”

  “What about mirrors?” I shake my head, trying to rack my brain for all of the vampireisms I’ve gleaned over the years, which apparently aren’t many.

  He nods. “It’s true. The reflection of a vampire can be almost invisible to the naked eye. It’s called the Narcissus Complex. It seems the first few vampires were distraught over their eternal youth in the beginning and asked that God Himself hide their reflection from themselves. Over the years this has become something the vampires can control. That mirror in the Haunted Book Barn?”

  “The vampire checker?” I nod.

  “It merely propagates the misguided narrative.”

  I sigh as I look down at the grisly photos. “Unsolved cases,” I say.

  “Unsolved,” he echoes. “But I believe the Faulkners are responsible.”

  “I don’t have any reason to doubt you.” My gaze hooks to his once again. “But the Faulkners may very well just be humans wishing they had this eternal—or quasi-eternal standing as it were.”

  “I’m not here to force you to believe anything. You wanted to know about Glimmerspell, and now you have the answers you seek. Come.” He stands and leads us out of the office and down another hall to the right. “I’d like to show you something out on the back patio before dinner. Would you like to grab your coat? It will just be a moment.”

  “I’m good for a few seconds out in the elements, especially the cold. Hot weather? Not so much. Let’s just say I’ve been having a few adverse effects as of late when I start to overheat.”

  “No danger of that out there tonight,” he says, opening a glass door that leads to an expansive back porch. But the star of the show isn’t the impressively large porch or the pristine snow, it’s the shimmering lights from the rest of this cozy little town that glitter like fallen stars in a blanket of navy night below us.

  The air is frigid and the wind is picking up as a few stray snowflakes blow off the evergreens to the right and left of the patio as if ensconcing Elliot’s home in a fortress. A full moon hangs low and it’s the chef’s kiss to this romantic scene.

  “Oh wow,” I say as he leads me to the edge of the balcony. “Too bad you don’t have a view.”

  A laugh bounces through him. “I’m not trying to flex, as Royce would say. I merely want to point out the lay of the land to finish off your accelerated education in all things paranormal.”

  “Geez,” I say through chattering teeth. “I can’t get over how stunning this is. As far as the eye can see to the left and right—that’s Glimmerspell, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” he says, brushing his chest over my back and instinctively I draw closer to him, hungry for whatever warmth he can give me.

  “Sorry.” I wince up at him. “I guess I’m not as tough as I thought. You’ve got some real arctic breezes going out here.”

  “Allow me.” He wraps his arms around my body from behind, and my heart gives a few wild wallops, blood courses through my veins like a fire, like a warning, and a brief spear of ecstasy rockets through me. “Is this okay?” he asks. “We’ll make it quick. I’ll warm you for medicinal purposes.”

  “Well, if it’s for medicinal purposes.” I bite down on my lower lip as I meet his gaze. If I were a person who believed in fate, destiny, romance, and whatever else the greeting card industry would like for me to buy into, then I would most certainly believe that this was the most romantic moment of my life. Take that, Harold. We had nineteen years and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding here has already edged out the top ten romantic moments of my life—and most of those consisted of him scowling at me.

  A growl trembles through Elliot’s chest and his lips curve slightly as he takes in my features.

  I’m not an expert at reading faces, but I’d bet good money I’m seeing some serious malevolent intent in the good detective’s eyes.

  “Glimmerspell,” he rumbles and he’s right back to glowering at me. He nods before us and I turn around. “There’s the lake to the left, half a mile wide, shoreline spans twenty-two miles. The depth can reach up to seventy-two feet. That’s about the equivalent of a six-story building. Nothing too remarkable. To the north of the lake is a narrow valley called Garden Glen. That’s where the fae like to hang out. To the right of Glimmerspell there’s the Nomadic woods. It stretches all the way to Canada. The werewolves have claimed that. The dens still battle for control, but it’s nothing too dramatic.”

  “And the vampire covens?” Each word is broken into far too many syllables as I shudder and shake in his arms. I’m greedy for the heat his body wants to give me as I press up against him with all my strength. But it’s his heady cologne, the natural musk of his skin that has me slightly intoxicated.

  “The Calders have a space in the pasture lands. There’s an underground lair there beneath one of their homes. And the Faulkners have an underground lair as well, directly beneath the community center, and it runs almost the entire length of the town.”

  “It’s a miracle this place doesn’t collapse.”

  “Glimmerspell is strong as iron. This frozen earth isn’t going anywhere.”

  I spin in his arms until we’re face to face.

  “And now, Billie”—he bows his head a notch, his eyes glowing as brilliant as the moon up above—“you have been given the true knowledge of who and what live and reside among you. Others know this truth. But not all, not everyone who lives here. They come by the knowledge as those who have it, deem it right to tell them. Morgan knows.” He nods. “As do Teddy and Sunny. I don’t know what Sadie knows. Royce suspected as much and I broke it to him a little over a year ago.”

  I blink up at him. “And do they believe it? I mean,
it’s one thing to know the lore, it’s another to consider it a reality.”

  “That’s not for me to answer.”

  A moment thumps by as my heart pounds relentlessly against his chest as if it were trying to escape the prison of my body and enter his.

  “Do you believe it, Elliot?” I can hardly catch my breath, I’m so taken by his comely features, those glowing eyes. The musky scent of his cologne can’t get into my lungs fast enough. My mouth is watering for just one kiss. My muscles are crying out to rake open his shirt and feel his bare flesh against mine. I’ve never hungered for another human being the way I am now. It’s not natural, not logical—purely animalistic.

  He gives a slight nod. “I know this to be true as gospel. All of it, Billie. I believe it all.”

  He bows his head down another notch, his eyes lingering over mine as his lips curve, and I can’t resist another moment.

  In one violent yank I pull him down by the back of his neck and land my mouth over his. An explosion of euphoria erupts in every cell in my body all at once. It’s as if I’ve waited for this very kiss my entire life, and now that I have it, I never want it to end.

  Elliot goes for the gold and penetrates my mouth with his tongue and it’s an all-out war breaking out between the two of us. A hard moan comes from me as I do my best to pull him closer to swallow him whole—

  “Holy heck!” a young girl screams at the top of her lungs and we pull away to find Harper and Royce standing there aghast. Behind them I spot Sadie and a boy who shares Cash’s features, Aiden, I’m guessing.

  “Oh my freaking gosh!” Harper shrills. “You have got to be kidding me, Mom!” Harper belts out a genuine scream and everything in me recoils at the thought of her seeing me like this. “Are you freaking insane? I’m dating Royce! You cannot be thirsting for his dad. That’s just freaking gross!”

  “GAH,” I wail as I shelter my eyes with my fingers from having to see the agony on Harper’s face, and I trot off around the side of the porch with Elliot hot on my heels.

  “This way,” he says, taking my hand and pulling us into an alcove that’s loaded with firewood. His lips curl slightly. “Unfortunately, the closest entry back into the house is just past the very people we inadvertently terrorized.”