The Vampires Of Livix Twin Pack (Volumes #1 & #2)

by Smith, J Gordon

  “Ok. Thanks.” I pulled the blanket closer about my chin. “Can you lock the door on the way out?”

  “That’s what I planned, but I don’t have a key to throw the deadbolt.”

  “Yes. Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it in a few minutes. The building front door automatically locks so I’ll be fine.”

  He waved sadly to me as he shut the door.

  I huddled alone.

  Garin called me the following morning as he promised and I asked him to check back the next day. I stayed home all day skipping both class and work.

  Oh, Bethany … What happened? I’ll miss you.

  -:- Nine -:-

  Garin called me again the following morning and invited me to his house for a movie that night. I agreed. Maybe my eyes would be less puffy by nightfall.

  He picked me up and drove me back to his house. “I’ve seen your little television,” he joked. The car coasted to a stop and we listened to the click click click of the turn signal, waiting for traffic to clear. Tall pines lined the road in permanent greenery obscuring the house and property. The way clear, Garin turned the car across the little crown of the road and into the downward sloped driveway. The car skimmed along like the bump and roll of a roller coaster with the pit of my stomach lifting. But it settled as Garin turned the car up by the front door and came to a stop.

  “Here we are.” He got out and met me climbing from the car. I wore jeans, a blue silk top, canvas tennis shoes, and had even put makeup on – the routine sustained my happy distraction and so my mood settled in a better state. The sun set against the horizon creating silhouettes of the horses wandering across the field next door.

  The house sat firmly against the landscaping and surrounding few acres of property. I could see sheep nibbling the back of Garin’s lawn. The house siding showed a masculine dark gray paint with black and red highlights in the trim. Reminded me of a rum bottle label. The broad cobble brick walkway and steps leading to the front door set back from a sweeping porch.

  “How old is the house?”

  “Eighteen twenties. The old parts anyway. The front had been added in the eighteen nineties when they built the carriage house across the back.”

  “Must have a Michigan basement?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Age of the house and – your particular affliction?”

  “Funny guess. Nope. Another superstition.” He unlocked the door and held it open for me.

  “This is great in here,” I said as I entered. “Very contemporary and not stark contemporary nor completely incongruous with the outside architecture.”

  The old growth wide pine planks of the original floor had been sanded and stained. “How much of the remodel did you do?”

  “All of it.”

  “Hired it out or did it yourself?”

  “I swung the hammers, cut the drywall, moved walls around, and ran the drum sander on the pine floors. Cut the trim. Modernized the plumbing. Redid the whole septic system and drain field.”

  “That’s a lot of digging. I remember my neighbors growing up had to do that. Did you rent a backhoe? Or get a contractor in here?”

  “I know how to drive a shovel. Since I don’t get tired I can dig all night through the dark.” He closed the door and dropped his keys and phone on a shelf while slipping out of his shoes. I kicked mine off. My thin socks exposed my feet to the prickly short fibers of the antique wool carpet runner that led from the door out into the large living room.

  “I saw a few sheep in the back. Is that part of the horse farm next door?”

  “Yes and no. Rather than pay for a landscape crew to cut the lawn every week on my five acres or spend time cutting it myself I work with the farmer to bring sheep over for the season. Then I don’t get in trouble with some of the neighbors’ lawn mowing concerns when I’m away traveling for a week or two at a time.”

  “Can the sheep get away? I don’t see any fences.”

  “I have underground electric dog fencing. Works well when their wool is cut short.”

  “What happens at the end of the season? You board them at the farm?” I went over to the big L-shaped black leather couch that protected the wide television and fireplace. The fireplace sported a cast iron stove stuffed into the brickwork. A fire danced in the grill of the stove.

  “There’s a butcher shop in downtown Livix that sells organically fed beef, pork, and lamb –”

  “Oh.”

  “– and too much sharing again. Sorry.”

  “I like your stove.” Its heat radiated and hugged me across the room through my silk blouse.

  I took a seat on the couch. I could hear some light music in the background but I didn’t see any big stereo or speaker boxes like every other young gentleman’s dorm room or apartment.

  “Looking for where the music is coming from?”

  “Yes. I don’t see the hopping equalizer bars or the big speaker boxes.”

  Garin sat next to me, “I designed base speaker enclosures and built them under the couches. Base is non-directional and can be put nearly anywhere. It’s a different sensation when watching action movies than you’ve probably experienced. The rest of the speakers are buried in the wall and their grills are either flat panel speakers or gap out here and there. See the top bookshelf over there? Those middle books disguise a speaker.”

  “An audio engineer too?”

  “No. A hobby for a while. I ended up getting pointers from a few colleagues and some books on speaker design and room acoustics. Then I run the whole thing from my media center computer system wired throughout the house.”

  “Wired when you remodeled?” Glad he brought me here. I learned how deeply handy he could be and the expanse of his knowledge.

  “Yes.” He got up and went to the kitchen. He came back with a couple of wine glasses and a pair of wine bottles. He went back to get something else.

  “What kind of wines are these?” The labels revealed Temecula, California and Monte De Oro Winery. One is a Tempranillo and the other a Cabernet Franc.

  He came back with a bag of chips, a bowl, and a cork puller.

  “I’ve never had these varieties of wine.”

  He asked, “What have you had before?”

  “Sweet wines. Farmer Joseph’s. I tried others equally bad. Made the back of my teeth feel furry.”

  He laughed, “That’s the tannin on a two dollar bottle of wine,” and then he sobered, “That’s where everyone starts. The sweet wines. A cross between wine and kids party punch.” He reached for the bottle of Tempranillo and eased the opener into the soft cork drawing it out in a slow even stroke. The bottle gave up its “POP!”

  He looked in my eyes, “Isn’t that a great sound?” I had to agree. He set the cork and opener on the coffee table. Then he poured a little wine in each of the glasses. And ‘little’ like a magical elixir, inky and dark. He gave me one of the glasses. I pinched the stem with my fingers.

  He leaned in close to me, “Now swirl the goblet like this,” he demonstrated looping it around and around, his hand caressing the bottom of the goblet’s globe like gently cupping some of my anatomy, “So the wine coats the sides of the glass. Holding the glass like this and your body heat will release more flavor from the wine.” He tipped his nose into the top of the glass, “Now put your nose in the opening of the goblet.”

  I did.

  “Deeper.”

  Maybe my nose isn’t as big as I always feared so I put it further into the glass. “I feel a little weird like this.”

  Garin chuckled, “This is the educational part.” He swirled his glass again and put his nose behind the rim, “Smell the hint of chocolate?”

  “Mostly plums,” I inhaled again.

  “There’s a lot of fruit in this wine, but search the smells for chocolate. You’ll sense a whole stream of things. Sometimes something from your childhood. A new cut lawn. Herb gardens or a cup of tea.”

  “Cedar?”

  “Does it remind y
ou of anything?”

  “Yes! One of my aunts had a cedar closet where she kept her winter coats and old dresses. I don’t think she actually wore them since they were popular styles in the thirties and forties. We used them playing dress up. Pretend to play stewardess or princess from a far away land or for a wedding. Great times. I haven’t seen any of the cousins in years since the whole family scattered across the country.”

  “And now you see the power of a decent bottle of wine.”

  “Magical.” I smelled the wine again.

  Garin retrieved another pair of wine glasses and opened the second bottle.

  “Now try this.”

  We swirled.

  “I can smell licorice. Like Halloween candy my Grandmother made when I was ten!”

  “You might find coffee and cherry.”

  “ … Yes, and sage.”

  “Now take a sip of the Tempranillo, taste the fruit burst? The tannin is there but modest, not like you remember from your other experiences.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “Then sense how the flavors start there and flow out in a string. Like pearls of different shapes and colors and notes.”

  “Like Violet Beauregarde in the Chocolate Factory!” I laughed.

  “And see how the last of the wine finishes out. Long and drawn out giving you the need to taste again?”

  “I would like some more.”

  “Let me get some crackers before tasting the other wine.” He returned quickly to the couch, “Now try the other wine. You’ll easily feel the heat of the spice and taste the peppery flavor.”

  “It’s a little jarring. But then the fruit is there and the licorice. So you miss the spice like a subway speeding passed you.”

  “It’s more mellow if you are eating garlic spaghetti or steak – it ‘pairs well’ with those kinds of dishes. Or broiled wild boar or spiced mutton.” Garin poured regular wine amounts into each of the glasses and sat back with the television remote.

  “What’s the movie?”

  “Bridge on the River Kwai.”

  “That’s an old one. Made in the forties or fifties?”

  “I’ve never seen it. And I keep getting references when I’m looking up other things on the Internet. I guess someone decided the historical and cultural significance in the movie deserved to get preserved in the US Library of Congress.”

  “How about a romantic comedy?”

  “And you want a cliché?” his eyebrow raised, goofy.

  I got up and wandered around the room to look at Garin’s artwork and minimal nick-knacks. Sipping on my wine. A stack of magazines lay silent under a side table. The usual car driving and home design magazines plus a few retail catalogs including one I didn’t recognize.

  “What’s this: Spill-proof Exotic?” I flip it open and found pages of Gothic contemporary clothing and models wearing heavy makeup. Frequent notes splashed across the pictures identify “exceptional,” I read aloud, “high tech spill proofing, stains bead up and wipe away.”

  “What?” He looked at me, “You never get barbecue sauce on your best trousers?”

  “Yes. I never thought of a market like that. I’m surprised.”

  “It’s a well known and specialized retailer for the vampire community.”

  “Interesting. A whole hidden culture with the features of modern paraphernalia.”

  “I have the movie keyed up.”

  I poked the catalog back on its shelf, set my wine glass on the coffee table, and sat on the couch. Garin pressed the remote and the movie started.

  “While this movie is about World War Two,” Garin said as the cameras scrolled into the initial scene, “it could have taken place in the Roman Empire or farther back. Taking out the railroad engine of course.”

  I remembered a short description of the movie from somewhere, “You mean war slaves forced to build the bridge. Any point in history. Like the pyramids even. Today we’ve got a lot more technology. I help companies patent it. But what separates us from that war? Or the Civil War? Or the archers at Crecy?”

  “You know about the archers at Crecy?”

  “I had a technology course last winter. Crecy changed the game of warfare for years. Peasants with a simple bow and arrow and not wealthy knights prevailed.”

  “Nothing simple about those bows. Six-foot tall and produced from a special yew carefully farmed across England. Target practice every Sunday for all the peasants. Archaeologists find skeletons from that time showing arthritis in their joints from that practice. A whole technology platform.”

  I said, “Are people really the same or different over time?”

  “People will do as people do. Only the tools evolve.”

  “Is that how vampires survive? Because no matter what happens, love, hate, and the other emotions never change?”

  “I’m not sure. I think you’re getting beyond me. I’m only a few physical years older than you. Not centuries.”

  “No shop talk? Never any discussions around the kitchen table?”

  “Not really. Vampires just seem to exist.”

  “What about murder? The same for humans and vampires?”

  Garin curled his arm around me, “Sorry about your friend.”

  “I … Yes. That must be why I got on that tangent.”

  “Not a romantic comedy, but look, we’re still talking about deep things.”

  “You’re right.” I sat and watched more of the movie. The captured soldiers had been enthused to build a real bridge because they could be proud of the act of completing a strong bridge. Like building a connection between two unlikely people.

  At length I said, “Do you believe in True Love?”

  “Sure.” He looked at me close and seriously, “If it gets me in pants.”

  “Seriously. Is that what you think?”

  Garin laughed. A broad grin washed across his face, “No. If I did I wouldn’t have said that … or would I?” He wiggled his eyebrows crazily.

  “You’re awful!” I smashed a pillow across his face.

  He snatched the pillow from the air with that amazing speed and precision, “No. I believe in True Love, and True Love’s Kiss. But it’s a search of a lifetime. Some never find it.” He put the pillow down, “Imagine the life of a Vampire. Knowing you have only one, a single, True Love in not a short human lifespan but over decades and centuries. Over Forever. And then imagine either not finding it or losing it once you did.”

  I dropped my face and looked into his eyes. I blinked, “I hadn’t thought in terms of a Vampire’s life span before. It’s more fragile and full of fear.” I saw his vulnerability. The power and speed of a vampire, gorged on blood, weakened by the strings of the heart. The same strings that pulled as hard as archers’ arrows at Crecy.

  The action in the movie became more intense.

  “So what about True Love’s Kiss?” I asked, “Might it turn you back into a human?”

  “Like the old legends of princes and princesses?”

  “Like that. Could it do it?”

  “That would be worth the risk if true.”

  “When should a new couple try their first kiss?”

  “I remember we already did.”

  Deliciously, the memory swept through me again.

  “You haven’t been kissed much have you?” his hand rested a breath above my knee.

  Indignant, I pulled back, “Yes I have!”

  “So at what point does that get slutty?”

  “Experienced.”

  “I’m not sure I like my girls experienced.”

  “And why is that?”

  “They might know more than me.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “No. It can be good either way. Like these wines. Both are great yet different.”

  “Sure,” but I knew I wasn’t going to learn anything of his ideas on True Love’s Kiss. We watched the movie in silence that I broke later with, “… What did you say about ‘my girls’? You have more than one right
now?”

  “No.” He touched my hair gently and pulled me closer for a kiss. I think I leaned in too.

  I fell asleep curled up in his arm with my head on his chest. Garin pulled a blanket from the back of the couch to cover us. He flipped the television to some late night comedy show and then progressively turned the volume down. He listened to my breathing and heartbeat. He listened the whole night. Not sleeping.

  I stirred, “You held me all night? Didn’t you get bored?”

  “Not when you get to watch such beauty …”

  I rubbed my face against him still half in and half out of sleep, “I hope I didn’t scratch my nose in my sleep.”

  “Oh you did but in a beautiful romantic way.”

  “Hmm … As long as it’s romantic.” I rolled a little.

  “I also figured out when morning breath kicks in.”

  I startled up, “When?” I had my hand to my mouth.

  “About 3:30 Am.” he laughed. “Of course that Caesar salad dressing loaded with garlic is a real kicker.”

  “So the mood’s kind of broken now for a kiss, huh?”

  “Kind of.” he laughed again. Then eased back in the couch, “Maybe we can go get breakfast?”

  “Oooh. Waffles at William’s would be good.” I climbed off the couch and wrapped the blanket up. He watched me like ‘you’ve got a hot body and I want it next to me’ kind of look and not the ‘I’m famished and want your blood’ look. Not that I have much experience there. “Do I have bed-head?” I touched my hair lightly.

  “No. You’re pretty.” He gestured to a short hallway, “Bathroom is over there if you want to check … or get ready to go.”

  I washed my face and combed my hair of the worst tangles and then I leaned on the pedestal sink and stared at my face in the mirror. I’d fallen asleep on top of a vampire for a whole night. Dracula would have drained me. This man didn’t. Still a human in there. And he realized and shared the fear of a romantic becoming a vampire. The possibility of Forever without a True Love. My heart twinges for him.