by L.H. Cosway
We stare each other down and I’m vaguely aware of Rita’s amused laughter.
“Oh for God’s sake,” says Delilah, pushing Ethan away from me and down into a seat. “I thought we agreed that you, Finn and my brother would avoid being all in the same place at the same time from now on.”
“Finn’s upstairs,” I say flippantly. “And you lot are the ones who came over here.”
“Yes well, we came to see if Rita would like to join us again in our hunt tonight.”
“You bet I would!” Rita puts in enthusiastically.
The fact that they’re going out of their way to include Rita irritates me, mostly because I’d bet my last snickers it was Ethan’s idea. Now that the lust spell is almost worn off, I’m remembering how much he gets on my nerves.
Delilah smiles at Rita, but the smile vanishes when she turns back to me. “There’s the three of you in it, yes, but that also needs to apply to you and my brother. You two should go back to not talking to one another at all. I’m sick of this squabbling.”
“Okay, Mother,” I reply snappily. Jesus, Ethan’s right, I am petulant.
Delilah scowls at me.
“Speaking of mothers,” says Rita, “mine just called. She, Alvie and Gabe will be home in about a half an hour, so would you three mind if we wait until they get here? They said they have news.”
“Of course,” Ethan answers her, with a well-practised smile of charm. More and more these days I’m becoming irritated by his too-polished way of interacting with people. Maybe that’s why I like to push his buttons. I enjoy seeing his genteel mask slip.
“Good news or bad news?” I ask.
She pulls a stray thread from the sleeve of her top. “Um, I’m not sure. She didn’t specify.”
“Well you told them you figured out how to kill the mists, right?”
“Yeah. It’s not about that. Apparently this warlock dude they visited has crazy psychic skills. He can cast spells that allow him to project his mind into another person’s and see their intentions.”
“Can he see anybody’s intentions, or just those who are in the room with him?” Ethan questions.
“Anybody’s, I think,” Rita answers with a shrug.
“Ah, this news should be interesting then.”
He clasps his palms together and sits back in his chair, a contemplative look on his perfect face.
Chapter Seven
You’re Lovable, But You’re Just Trouble
We spend the next half hour in awkward conversation, and it gets even more awkward when Finn comes down. He and Ethan don’t breathe a word to one another, however there are quite a few cutting looks being thrown back and forth. I make myself some tea and sit up on the kitchen counter, since there are no seats left. I look up at one point to see Ethan watching me closely.
“Has Marcel’s potion worn off yet?” he asks over the conversation of the others. Finn’s describing Pamphrock’s idea for modifying the fire extinguishers.
“Yes,” I answer, a half lie. I’m not sure whether the tingles I get when he looks at me now are from the potion, or just the usual “Ethan effect”. I see a small glimpse of the warmth on his face that he used to show me and I feel a pang of loss. It makes me remember the affection I once held for him. Who could have predicted it would be a vampire who’d be so troubling to my much abused heart?
“Good,” he replies, emotionless now. Delilah gives him a stern look, warning him to stop talking to me in case it escalates into another argument.
The front door opens and Noreen, Gabriel and Alvie spill into the kitchen, after which there are hugs and warm welcomes exchanged. I make tea for everyone, although Ethan and Lucas decline a cup. I’m half tempted to make a joke about adding a drop of blood so that it’ll be more their style, but I rein it in. I think I’ve made enough snooty comments to Ethan tonight as it is.
The atmosphere in the room gets hushed when Gabriel begins to tell us the news Noreen had alluded to over the phone. I take the razor Finn gave me out of my pocket and begin flicking it open and shut. The movement comes strangely easily to me. I’m antsy right now, and when I’m antsy I like to fidget.
Gabriel puts his hands around his mug, but he seems a little hesitant to start talking.
“Out with it,” says Rita impatiently when he still doesn’t speak.
“I take it you all know about the spells Neil can do,” he says finally, glancing around the room.
“Neil’s your warlock friend?” Delilah asks.
“That’s right.”
“Yeah, we know. Rita told us.” I interject.
“Okay,” says Gabriel. “Well, after Rita called to let us know that she’d figured out how to kill the mists we decided to make use of the trip by getting Neil to perform one of his spells. This was with the intention of projecting himself into Theodore’s mind.”
There’s an audible communal intake of breath during Gabriel’s brief pause.
“He managed to successfully connect with the sorcerer and discovered that he has an active affiliation with hell and can now bring entities over to this side whenever he likes. That’s what he’s been doing with the mists.”
“The bastard!” Rita exclaims.
“That’s what I said when Neil told us,” says Alvie with a quirky grin. Rita gives him a little fist bump.
“But that’s not all,” Gabriel goes on. “He’s been bringing the mists over here with a distinct purpose.”
“And what’s that?” asks Ethan.
Gabriel swallows. “He wants to drive the humans insane so that their numbers will dwindle.”
“Why though?” I interrupt.
“Because if the humans start to die out there’ll be less and less blood sources for vampires and they’ll be forced to leave the city. The ones who stay will end up fighting amongst themselves for the remaining humans to feed off. In other words, things on the south side will be left wide open for Theodore to step in and take control.”
Ethan rises swiftly from his chair at this piece of information. He paces back and forth across the small room.
“Well, I can’t say I find the thing about the vamps very upsetting,” says Finn. “But I can certainly see the disadvantages of Theodore having the run of the city. The DOH is still recovering its numbers, so if he gets rid of Whitfield and sets his sights on Pamphrock it’d be lights out for us.”
I can’t help watching Ethan as he paces. “Why are you so on edge?” I ask him. “These are the people who exiled you. Do you really care if they’re forced to leave the city? It’s not like they’d stay just to prove a point. They’d starve if they did that. Obviously they’ll just move on to some other place.”
Ethan laughs without joy. “Do you have any clue about my people? We do not simply bow down to an attack. We fight against it. Vampires have staked their claim in Tribane for hundreds of years. They will not simply run away with their tails between their legs. There will be a war even worse than the one we just fought.”
“So we keep killing the mists every night before they have a chance to infect people,” says Rita. “Theodore can keep bringing them over here and we’ll just keep killing them. Simple as that.”
“She has a point,” says Finn.
“But then the fight will never end. It could be a continual struggle for years and years,” Ethan objects.
“Well that’s nothing new. I’ve been killing vampires for years; it can’t be much different to killing chaos.”
Ethan hisses at him loudly and it makes me almost jump out of my own skin in fright. Delilah pulls her brother back to sit down in the seat he vacated a minute ago. She whispers soothing words in his ear and he visibly calms. Without realising it I’m flicking the razor in and out more rapidly, shifting it from one hand to the other in nervousness.
“Jesus!” Rita exclaims when her eyes land on me. “Where the hell did you learn how to do that?”
Everyone looks to me then and I let the blade fall to the floor.
“I
didn’t learn it. I was just fidgeting,” I explain.
“You were not fidgeting. You were flicking that thing around like a fucking ninja,” says Alvie. “I was watching you.”
“Is that the razor Finn gave you?” Rita asks.
“Um, yeah.”
She turns to Finn. “Where did you get it from?”
“I have a set of them. They belonged to my grandfather. He was a barber in his day.”
“Aha! So it has meaning for you?” Rita questions him further.
“Yeah, quite a bit actually. My grandfather taught me how to shave with them when I was in my teens.”
“A gift that holds meaning given to one who means something to you can be a powerful thing, especially so if the gift is bestowed upon a person with magic,” Noreen interjects sagely.
“Meaning…” Finn prompts.
“Meaning Tegan is your close friend and she has magic, which in turn means that when you gifted her the blade there was an exchange of power, or of skill to be exact. Through the giving of the gift you have also given her your talent for using it,” Noreen explains further.
Finn turns to me with a huge grin. “Score! That’ll save me the time teaching you how to use it.”
“Handy,” I agree, smiling back and bending over to pick it up from off the floor.
When I glance at Rita I see her shaking her head at me and smiling. “Every day it’s something new with you. Tomorrow we’ll probably discover that you can time travel or something.”
“That, too, would be handy,” I tell her, closing the razor and slipping it back inside my pocket.
“Can we get back to the topic at hand?” Ethan requests coldly. He seems annoyed that the attention is on me, or maybe that I’m being praised.
“Of course,” says Gabriel. “I plan to continue researching this matter. Perhaps there’s a way for us to break the connection Theodore has with hell. If we can do that then it’ll be one less thing he has to use in his favour.”
“Me and Alvie can help with that,” Rita adds.
“Thank you,” says Gabriel.
“Well, if that’s everything, we have a long night ahead of us. We better get moving,” says Delilah, rising from her seat. Lucas, Ethan and Rita follow her from the room. Gabriel heads upstairs to his room and Noreen and Alvie go out to the RV. That leaves me still sitting on the counter, alone in the kitchen with Finn.
He grins. “No need to thank me.”
“Thank you for what?”
“Uh, for giving you my skills with a blade. Now you’ve got your magic and expert knife-fighting chops. Any opponent you come up against will be hard pushed to get the upper hand with you.”
I laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. I must be in, like, super hero territory now or something.”
“And it’s all thanks to me,” Finn adds. “So, I’ll say it again, how are you going to thank me for this wonderful gift?”
“I dunno, bake you a cake?”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t got much of a sweet tooth. How about another kiss? I don’t think I got enough of one from you last night.”
I do my best to come across cool and unaffected. “If you want one, take one.”
At this he moves to stand before me at the counter, pushing my legs apart and standing in between them. He runs his hands up my thighs, taking in a deep breath. Instead of going straight in for my lips, he brushes his mouth along my jaw line. The sensual touch causes a small moan to escape me. Next he grips the back of my neck, his hands warm and solid against my skin. His mouth moves along to meet mine and he slips his tongue slowly inside.
I grip his shoulders, pulling him in closer. His hand moves from my breast, to my torso, to down between my legs, where his cups me gently over my thin black leggings. Then he starts rubbing, creating this delicious friction. For a little while I get lost in the vibrations that his hand cause to shoot through me. We continue to kiss, slow and languid, but intense. The movement of his hand gets more urgent and our breathing becomes hurried. My entire body explodes seconds later, as I tremble against him in orgasm.
“Fuck,” I hear him swear into my mouth.
I drag my lips from his and bury my face in the warm skin at the hollow of his neck. I love how he smells. Sort of like home, or maybe just homeliness? We stay like that for a while, holding each other, unsure whether to throw caution to the wind and run up the stairs to my bedroom.
“I thought you said you wanted to take things slow,” I mumble against him.
“Yeah, about that, it’s kinda hard sometimes.”
“I agree, it’s very…hard.”
He laughs and gives me a light slap on the thigh. He breathes out, pulling away from me. “I suppose we’ll just leave things where they are, for now.”
I look him up and down, embarrassed. “You sure you don’t want to, um…”
“I’m a big boy, I’ll be fine. I have some computer work I need to get done for Pamphrock, so I’ll be upstairs.”
He practically darts out of the room, as though afraid of what he might do if he stays around me a second longer. I saunter into the living room and flick on the television, but when I do all I find are a ton of news reports about muggings and fights, even a few murders. With a distinct chill, I switch it off and go back into the kitchen, deciding I’ll put the rubbish out.
I tie it all up in a black bin bag and make my way to the back door. When I first step into the garden I’m almost certain I can hear somebody’s voice. It’s a male voice and whoever it is sounds like they’re chanting, or praying maybe. It ceases immediately.
I squint my eyes in the darkness, making out Ira’s large form sitting cross-legged on the grass.
“Ira, what are you still doing out here?” I ask. “It’s getting late.”
Obviously it’s kind of stupid waiting for him to answer, but I do anyway. I’m convinced it was him I heard just now.
He sits still, watching me, not breathing a word. I put the bin down for a minute and walk over to him. Standing before him, I look around the garden. It’s dead quiet out here, and I can’t see any of the neighbours about. It had to have been him I heard.
“I thought I heard someone talking,” I say casually, turning back to glance at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Nothing, not even a nod or a shake of his head. I’m not backing down though, so I plonk myself in front of him and cross my legs the same as his.
“It’s sort of nice out here at night – peaceful,” I say.
I might as well be talking to myself for all the response I get. Ira closes his eyes and begins breathing deeply, as though meditating. I’ve seen him doing this a few times now.
“You know,” I continue, “if you have a reason for not talking around everyone you can tell me. I promise to keep it a secret. That way you’ll have at least one person you can speak to.”
He opens his eyes then and seems to be looking at me in a speculative manner.
“Cross my heart,” I say. “I won’t breathe a word. You can trust me.”
I think I see him opening his mouth, as if about to say something, but the words never come.
“I know you can understand me. I can see it in your eyes when I look at you. I’d like to hear you speak, Ira. We’re friends, at least I think we are. When you were an animal I really loved you, you know. You were such a comfort to me.”
When I still get no reply I remain silent, resigning myself to the idea that he’s not going to speak to me tonight, even if it was him I heard before.
A couple of minutes pass. I lean my head back so that I can lie on the cool, damp grass. The feel of it soothes me.
“I don’t know how to…be like this anymore,” comes a strange, accented voice out of nowhere. It startles me and I realise that I’d closed my eyes. I open them and look at Ira.
“Please tell me that wasn’t my imagination,” I say. “You did just speak, didn’t you?”
He inclines his head, nodding
. “I did.”
I give him a completely genuine smile and sit up to face him. “I’ve never heard your accent before. Where is it from?”
“It’s Polynesian. I was born on the island of Samoa.”
“That’s far away,” I reply.
“Very far away,” says Ira, a little mournful.
“What do you mean when you say you don’t know how to be like this anymore?”
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. When he does, he explains, “I don’t know how to be like a human. I spent twenty-five years confined in my animal form, voiceless, always on the outside looking in. Now that my true body has been restored I don’t know how to be in it. I feel like a stranger in my own skin.”
I stare at him, finding it odd to hear him speak so many words when he’s been silent all this time. “You’ll adapt. Twenty-five years is a long stretch. It’s going to take more than a few weeks for you to become the person you were.”
He soaks in my words, thinking them over. “I don’t speak because it’s my one last comfort to be without a voice, to be like I was as a dog.”
“Oh.” I reply, pausing. “Well, that makes a lot of sense. I’m sorry for being pushy. It’s just that I heard you praying and I really wanted you to talk to me. It’s strange living with a person who never speaks.”
That gets a small smile out of him. It transforms his tanned face into something warm and attractive, rather than the usual calm and detached expression he wears.
“You were praying, weren’t you?” I ask.
“Yes. I follow the Buddhist religion. It’s been so long since I could pray.”
“Are all the people on your island Buddhist?” I don’t think I know a single thing about Samoa, other than the fact it’s an island in Polynesia.
“No actually, most are Christian. My family was one of the few who were Buddhist.”
“How did you end up in Tribane?”
I’m asking a lot of questions, but I can’t help it. There’s so much I want to know about him.
Ira frowns. “My father lived here when he was a young man. He developed a gambling addiction and found himself in serious debt. Being a shapeshifter like me, he also moved in supernatural circles. One day a very rich warlock offered to loan him the money to pay off his debts in return for him spending the rest of his days as a bodyguard for the warlock’s family. My father agreed to the loan, but instead of staying and paying off his debt through labour, he left the city and returned home to Samoa.