Murphy's Law of Vampires (Love at First Bite Book 2)

by Declan Finn

  She shrugged. “I go to Church. That does not make me powerful.” She looked him up and down. “That might just mean that you are a wuss who has not updated his wardrobe since Mary Shelly.”

  “Byron” blinked. Definitely less Byron, more Anne Rice.

  A hand landed on her shoulder. She was tempted to break it off, but she simply looked over her shoulder. It was the bartender, holding a shotgun.

  “Maybe you bozos haven’t been paying attention,” he said in a rather thick brogue that marked him as an 1850s police officer, possibly recruited straight off the boat by a Tammany Hall recruiter. Amanda’s eyes flicked to the name over the bar. The bartender’s last name was Lynch. Another one? How many of them are there? “But this is my bar. Chasing out my customers is my priority, and who you socialize with is yours. And, not to mention, laddies, that this lady has been keeping the worst of you knuckleheads in line.”

  She sighed and shook her head. This was definitely a bad idea. “Thank you, but…” Amanda looked around her, at all the stares and the glares, at faces of stone around her. How ironic that I have humans trying to hit on me daily, but I should be looked upon as a freak by people I technically have more in common with.

  Amanda’s eyes focused on the door, and only on the door. She didn’t see the people between her and the exit, only the path to take around them. Her hands were balled into fists, and she didn’t even speak. She could feel her sinuses contract, as though she were about to break into tears, and her chest felt empty.

  She moved with quick, controlled steps. A fast walk. She stepped around, between, and across anyone in her way. Only one person tried getting in her way, and she barely noticed him as she drove her palm straight into his nose, snapping his head back with the force of the blow.

  She was out into the night air before she even noticed.

  And she kept walking.

  Somehow. There was nothing left for her. Humans who knew what she was wanted only sex from her, the vampyres down here held her in contempt, and the ones uptown treated her no differently.

  Maybe I should try Brooklyn, see if any of them have Marco’s sense of apathy about the superficial.

  When did I become an outcast?

  * * * *

  San Francisco

  Marco looked at his textbooks as his hands slowly and carefully whittled away. Every other page, he looked down at his progress. His hands had become so adept at this, he had finished the project in thirty pages.

  He lifted the oblong shape with one finger, balancing it there. The balance was dead center. Perfect.

  He had another wooden throwing knife.

  He grabbed another leg from another wrecked chair he had found in the hallway. The things colleges threw away was just awful.

  Another throwing knife later, a brief knock at the door started him away from the reading. “Ja?”

  “Can I come in?” the redhead asked. Yana was so obviously timid, it even showed in her knock. Probably why she prefers crossbows—less personal contact that way.

  “Jawohl.”

  The door opened and she walked in, as though creeping in by stealth.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. No one will hear you, honest. Everyone’s dead by now… asleep.” He gestured to the foot of the bed. “Would you like to sit?” Once she was seated, he asked, “You want to talk about what you saw, don’t you?”

  “Um, yeah…if you’re cool with it and all, about me butting my big nose into your life and everything; I mean, you only arrived here a week or two ago, you barely know me and—”

  Marco held up a hand to break into her endless sentence. “I find your cute little nose to be quite endearing, and we’ve already discussed enough for you to enter my personal life. As long as it stays between us…” He lowered the hand, noticed it still held the knife he was working on, and slid it into the textbook as a bookmark. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why did you move so… ?” She frowned, uncertain. “You didn’t even wait for us. You were our guy with the big gun thingy who backs us up.”

  “The heavy weapons specialist… I’ve never worked well in groups.”

  “How could you hurt that guy so calmly?”

  Ah, she means the rapist. “The same way I handle vamps: monsters are monsters no matter the form. I’ve trained myself to handle all sorts of predators. He was nothing.”

  Yana looked at him. “I saw something in your eyes when you did it. I saw…”

  “You saw in my eyes the echo of…” He drifted off a bit, staring past Yana. “I killed someone once. A mugger.” Catalano smiled to himself. “Human…after a fashion, I suppose. I hurt him. A lot.” His eyes locked onto her once more. “Predators are predators, Yana. No difference between the two. Be it a vampire or a back alley rapist, they only differ in degree.”

  “But…he was a human being,” she insisted.

  He arched a brow. San Franciscans…oy. “Was the rapist I maimed tonight human? If so, you have a very broad, not to mention exceedingly generous, definition of what’s human, Yana. There are as many evils in the real world as there are in the world you specialize in.” Marco leaned over and touched the back of his fingers along her cheek. “I’m just so glad that you don’t seem to know of them.”

  His fingertips glided behind her ear, down her neck, and off her shoulder, landing on the bed. “You’re such a sweet person, Yana, and I’m a little glad you’re not straight.” He gave a lopsided grin. “I’d ask you out, and probably propose on the third date. They don’t have women like you where I come from.” Well, there is Amanda…always Amanda… He patted her arm. “Get home, wouldn’t want Tara to get any ideas.”

  “Okie dokey. G’night.”

  She made it to the door when she turned and asked, “Do you ever think about it?”

  “About?” He replied, not looking up from his textbook.

  “About killing the guy.”

  This time, he met her eyes. “The mugger? Yana, I killed a man in self-defense. I don’t dwell on it, nor have I given a first thought to it since. As for guilt…”

  Marco grinned. “In all honesty, I sort of enjoyed it. Sleep well.”

  Chapter 14: Remember, Remember…

  September 11th, 12:06 am

  Doctor Robert Catalano opened his door to Amanda Colt standing on his doorstep. “Hi. How are you?”

  Amanda gave him a weary smile. “Do you really wish to ask?”

  Robert stood to one side to let her in, and said, “Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. Parlor or living room?”

  Amanda moved inside. “Living room. I don’t have fond memories of the parlor. Marco killed Lily there.”

  Robert shrugged and closed the door. I don’t know. Isn’t it every girlfriend’s dream to see her boyfriend’s ex set on fire? “Can I get you anything? We don’t have blood, but I recall you ingest food.”

  Amanda shook her head. “No thank you.” She slid into one of the living room chairs and slunk down. She looked almost boneless.

  Robert sat down behind his desk in the corner. “What can I do for you?”

  “It has been difficult without Marco here. His gangs eye me like I am a party favor, and many vampires do not want to be seen with me, given all the trouble my ‘pet human’ has caused.”

  Robert suddenly had an image of Marco on a leash. It didn’t really work, though, not with his son’s temperament. “As far as the gangs are concerned, you do realize that one phone call from Marco would have them all keeping a respectful distance.”

  One of Amanda’s eyebrows went up, and a wry smile crept across her face. “I am vampyre. If I want them scared, I do it myself.” She sighed.

  “Amanda, why did you come here? I can’t imagine it’s to complain about something you’re eminently qualified to handle yourself.”

  “I don’t have anything else to do. I have nowhere to go. I have already fixed the gang members at the hospital.”

  Robert blinked. “How does that work?”

  Amand
a paused, and forgot that she had not explained what she was doing. “The microbes that are part of my condition are transferred to any blood donor, enabling them to survive the donation. In the case of actively healing someone, I prolong the contact of saliva and blood, without the actual blood-drinking.”

  Robert furrowed his brow, thought it over a moment, and nodded, accepting it as reasonable. “Makes sense. When are the gang members going to get out of the hospital?”

  “If I continue with the treatments, maybe a week.”

  Robert leaned back in his chair, his brow still furrowed. He stared off at a point on the wall next to Amanda’s head, and he said, “When this first started, Marco swabbed a wound on one of the victims. Basically, I sent samples of vampire saliva to the CDC. Strangely enough, I never heard back from them.”

  Amanda thought, Oooh, that will come back and bite me later. I wonder if they have already sent those test results up the chain of command, or if they’re still running the tests? “It may be interesting.”

  “Have you ever considered growing the microorganisms? That way you don’t have to be bothered with the biting?”

  Amanda arched a brow. “You realize that we would have to quantify the amount of microbes in the blood that turns someone into a vampire before we did that.”

  Robert smiled slightly. “I figured. Nothing’s ever easy. Though I do wonder if the CDC people might be experimenting.”

  Amanda made sure to not smile. They tried that once. I had to kill the resulting horde. I’m not sure what’s worse, vampyres or government-sponsored mad scientists.

  “Let us hope that they don’t try too hard.” Or that they learned their lesson from last time.

  “Indeed. I would hate to see what they do with vampire white mice.”

  Amanda laughed. There may still have been one or two of those scurrying around somewhere. “True. By the way, have you heard from Marco lately?”

  Robert shrugged. “He sends me an email every once in a while.”

  “Me too. I wonder if he is carbon copying us?”

  He chuckled. “Maybe.” He leaned forward. “Amanda, I once asked you what your intentions were towards my son. Your reaction then makes me curious about your lack of reaction when Marco decided to leave.”

  Amanda studied him for a long moment. “Tell me what you really think.”

  Robert sighed. “Fine. Sure. I think you’re in love with my son. I’m damn certain he’s in love with you. My only real question is why the hell the both of you have been dancing around it for months. I can’t imagine it’s being a vampire, it doesn’t seem to bother him.”

  Amanda wasn’t even slightly surprised at the doctor’s perceptiveness. “Have you ever eaten at the CIA?”

  “I presume you mean the Culinary Institute of America. Yes. Once or twice.”

  “The dishes look nice.”

  “They’re beautiful. They look like art.”

  She nodded. “Exactly. But you still eat them. I may love Marco. But he is also an especially attractive hamburger. Marco might – and I mean might – have been able to get past the vampire part of me. But it does not mean that I have as well.”

  Robert laughed. “You know know what, Amanda? Sure.” He was still chuckling even as he said, “I’ve been a doctor for a while. I’ve seen hungry patients, especially when they were on hospital food a month. You don’t look like you’re going to …” He paused, frowned. “You know, everything I was about to say just sounds like a double entendre.”

  Amanda opened her mouth to supply the rest of the sentence, and paused. Eat Marco… bite him… devour him… drain him dry… suck him… “Rip his throat out?”

  Robert nodded. “Thank you.”

  “If that’s so, why would Marco not say something?”

  The doctor grinned. “Have you ever seen him openly express an emotion that wasn’t sarcastic or angry?”

  She thought for a moment. “Rarely.”

  “Exactly. Give him time. He’ll come around. You monopolized his days and his nights for nearly a year. I can’t wait to see what he’s like after a single semester.” He glanced to his watch. “Listen, I have to get to the clinic. Probably only there for an hour, but if you’d like to come along, I’ll live.” He glanced at the time. “If you’re certain that you’ll be able to make it back in time. I don’t want you to get a sunburn or anything.”

  She gave him a smile. “Certainly.” I could use the company.

  * * * *

  The clinic was just a small subsection of the hospital that Doctor Catalano worked in, but he seemed to enjoy it.

  Amanda looked around, trying not to breathe too deeply. If the average human thought that the antiseptic smells of a hospital were bad, they should have spent a day with her senses. Not only could she smell the antiseptic, she could smell each and every piece of gauze, every chemical, every bedpan.

  Amanda grabbed a bedpan off of a stack and thrust it at an orderly, “Scrub this again, I can still smell it.”

  The man looked back at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “Do it, or you can wear it as a necklace.”

  He took it away, muttering constantly, at least until she finally tuned him out.

  Amanda rolled her eyes, and kept scanning the halls. No one bothered looking at her more than twice, which is what she was used to. No one challenged her, probably because Marco had had a “talk” with them.

  Come to think of it, Marco has had a talk with a lot of people. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have a talk with him at some point? If he’s busy playing lord protector, how many think that I’m too weak to defend myself? Or does he think he’s merely making life easier on me by making certain I don’t have to? Either is possible. There are days I don’t think I know how his mind works. It could be some of each from column A and B.

  Amanda kept scanning the hall. If she was lucky, maybe she could get a line on a new vampyre attack. Can’t be that lucky, Marco’s men have done well at driving them underground. Literally.

  She blinked. She had a moment that was very rare in her long life. She had only developed a proper name for it in 1977. At first she thought it was like someone had walked over her grave, but she knew that feeling (literally), and then she was able to call it by its proper name: A disturbance in the force.

  The first time she felt it, it was like a ripple in time, space, a wrinkle in the air. That first time coincided with the creation of the first Gulag. Then the first Nazi death camp. Bhopal. Chernobyl.

  It was the sense that something evil had been born.

  Just breathe. It could be anywhere. There aren’t even vampyres here. In fact, the only blood I really smell here is…

  Amanda took a deep breath. Instead of the smells of the hospital, the scents had all been replaced by three scents: blood, sand, and corruption. It was a combination that she hadn’t smelled since… Oh darn.

  Afghanistan.

  Amanda’s eyes cast about quickly. The decay was something she could never explain, or really understand. She had smelled it on a Soviet agent once, long ago.

  How could he have survived?

  She turned, making a full three-sixty, then spun back ninety degrees.

  There he was, as bland and as ordinary as the first day she’d seen him. He was, once again, physically unremarkable. He was thin and slender, with brown hair and eyes, and that was about it. He had not aged a day.

  That was odd. When she’d seen him, he was busy being horribly, horribly murdered. Not even she could have survived what had been done to the mysterious creature she had known only as “Mister Day.”

  Day smiled at her, and waved his spider-leg fingers at her with his left hand, and raised his right. She could clearly see the small detonator, and his small, playful smile. He whispered, “Allahu akbar.”

  The only true thought that went through Amanda’s head was God, let me be fast enough.

  Time slowed to a crawl as she pushed her abilities to the
utmost. As she moved, she threw two stakes simultaneously. One went for the fire alarm, and the other went for the detonator wire.

  Day didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch. He was so deliberately still, he might have been stone.

  As she reached him, Day struck with his left hand, punching her right in the face, and rocked her back. Obviously, not a normal human, she thought as she crashed through a wall. A normal human hand would have been crushed at the velocity I was going.

  Amanda slid across the floor, past some patient beds, and was back up on her feet in the blink of an eye.

  Day stepped through the hole in the wall. He smoothed his black leather coat—was that Armani?—perfectly casual. “Madam Colt, how nice it is to see you again,” he purred. His accent was vaguely, almost generically Russian. It wasn’t from any area she could remember. “It’s been so long. Afghanistan, wasn’t it?”

  Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “I preferred the gunship that opened you up like a zipper.”

  Day rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. I’m sure you’re nostalgic for the old days, when you had air support.”

  “Weren’t they your people?”

  “A slight failure in target identification. It wasn’t like they had friend-or-foe systems for infantry.”

  “Is that your excuse?”

  “That isn’t an ex—”

  Amanda flicked her wrist, and three razor discs went straight for Day’s face and neck.

  Day simply cocked his head to one side, then another, and the first two discs flew past, trimming only a few hairs from his head. The third disc was suddenly in his hand, caught between his thumb and forefinger.

  She hadn’t even seen his hand move. The hand was faster than the human eye, but never the vampyre eye.

  “—cuse, if it’s true,” Day finished. He rolled the disc from one finger to the other and tossed it aside. “Do you wish to talk, or do you wish to fight? Because if you want me to kill you, I can arrange for that.”

  Amanda smiled. She slowly, raised her hand, and pointed at her hip pocket. She carefully reached into the pocket, and slipped out her iPhone. “Do you know my friend Marco?”