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

by Smith, J Gordon

  “You know about guns?”

  “Well, my Dad wasn’t in the service but since he always wanted to he turned into a hobby gun owner. We get a lot of firearm magazines. He even rents time at a few firing ranges on the weekends.” Brett put his hand out to help me down, “Hope that’s ok.”

  “Sure,” A little concerned but I’d wait and see more.

  “Hey, this is a great old building. You can see where they did a lot of maintenance and changes over the years but I’ll bet it’s as old as the founding of Livix.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I studied art history and a little architecture, since they are often equated with art or at least provide the scenery around sculptures and paintings. They treated this building over the years as a production plant hardly retaining any of the original features. But some charm remains. The Victorian gables up there and the trim around the windows. Though that one looks like they recently replaced it.”

  “Yeah, that’s my apartment. A storm or something smashed the window throwing glass and water inside. Big repair and I still find pieces of glass wedged in the drywall.” I still remembered too much from that night but nothing to share. “It’s nice. A lot of layers of paint.”

  “I bet you find a lot of paint layers. The place is probably twice its original weight. But solid. They kept up general repairs so the brickwork is tight and railings are kept in order. Original gable carvings either repaired or replaced. Not a bad place overall.”

  “Yes. It’s been fine,” I didn’t think about those things before. An inexpensive place near campus and town.

  Brett pulled on the car door handle and the door creaked open against the torn fender. I eased myself into the seat being careful with my skirt. He kept his car interior clean and it didn’t show any last minute spit and polish jobs to cover over dried and still sticky pop splashes. Brett closed the door and drove us off.

  “Anything in particular you’d like to do?”

  “No. Maybe a little hungry but I’m always a little hungry. If we see a movie I can get some popcorn.”

  “I thought dancing,” Brett took his hands off the wheel and swung them around and around in a little dance like churning butter.

  I laughed, “You better put your hands back on the wheel – we don’t want to smash up the other side of your car. I haven’t been dancing in a long time.”

  “Good. Should we stop and get something to eat?”

  “I’ve been craving burritos at Rogerio’s.”

  “Been a long time for me. Not sure why. They are great. I thought you might want something fancier?”

  “I’m good.”

  Brett touched the turn signal as we came to a red light. It beat three times the normal pace. Like the car panted.

  “Why is the turn signal so fast?”

  “I don’t know. After the accident, it’s been like that. Probably the lamp and wiring are smashed in the front. Another thing I’ll have to get fixed.”

  “Do you do your own work on your car?”

  “Me? No. Gas and go and stop at the oil change place. I’m hoping the insurance comes in to cover the repairs.”

  “Does your Dad work on cars?”

  “Nope. He showed me how to fix cars – with a credit card!”

  “That gets expensive.”

  “That’s what insurance is for.”

  As we cruised passed the retail businesses and the big plate glass windows I saw Brett’s broken car flash by in glass pane after glass pane like an old elementary school film strip. My mind wandered back to Garin’s garage stuffed with metal and plastic parts as he lowered the bare engine into the gaping engine compartment of his second car. And our dalliances on the garage couch. I turned to Brett and asked, “Are you taking any classes or are you graduated from college?”

  Brett said, “I’m one of those unemployed art history majors you hear about. I’ve been working at the coffee shop since I graduated at the start of this recession.”

  “Not as much freely funded philanthropy for expensive gallery art?”

  “You know it. The owner can cover the demand acting as their own sales associate rather than ten years ago they needed half a dozen supporting the museums and wealthy dot com moguls.”

  “All a timing thing.”

  “It’s not too bad at the coffee shop though. I get a regular salary with health benefits and the owner is considering opening a second store in Elyeria Township so he’s asked me to start managing the Livix store while he’s over there.”

  We entered the busy Mexican restaurant of Rogerio’s. My shoes clicked on the rustic red tiles as we came to the smiling hostess station. Brett leaned toward the hostess and asked for a table. We waited in the foyer with the other families and date couples that didn’t make reservations and eventually found the end of a bench to perch on.

  Brett asked, “How is the patent business these days?”

  “We’ve been busy. You remember the Victorian Festival speeches? The economy is improving. Businesses in Livix are investing in plants and hiring engineers and scientists.”

  “Which means you’re seeing more inventions to patent?”

  “Yes. Electric vehicles, battery technologies, chemical formulations, biological organisms, and software. A lot of companies are busy.”

  “Have you been involved in any court cases? Like on television?”

  I laughed, “No. Nothing like Perry Mason or evening television shows. It’s not that dramatic. Mostly toiling the hours away with opinion pieces and prior art searches.”

  “Prior art! That’s pretty much my college major,” Brett tipped back on the bench.

  I laughed, “Could be, I’ve found prior art in patents from the early patents filed in the eighteen hundreds that invalidated claims on some battery nuances one company worked on.”

  Brett laughed and checked his black plastic watch, scuffed in a spot from roller blading, “A couple of minutes before we’re out of their estimated time.”

  – The intercom announced, “Arkena and date …”

  Brett stood and reached for my hand, “There we are.”

  “You used my name?”

  “I thought you might like hearing it shouted around the restaurant.”

  I could see that but I let it go, “Good timing.”

  The hostess seated us near the sweeping windows. The wooden shades hung half asleep blocking the sunlight from our eyes. She took our drink orders that fell to iced tea.

  “Since you’ve been here before,” Brett looked up from the menu, “I usually order ‘five peppers spicy’. How about you?”

  “Are you making a competition out of it?”

  “Now that seems fun. Sure.”

  I stared into his eyes. Dark green like deep corners of the living woods. I hadn’t noticed that before. “I’ve had a side rated as six peppers before.” Rogerio’s kept a chart on the wall for really brave customers. In the fall they’d make a big marketing program and give away dinners to those that topped the list. Contestants had to bring notes from their doctor to participate. Some said the sensation approached eating military grade pepper spray. Rogerio’s head chef suggested that’s what they used for the middle rounds. His secret sauce on the final round always declared no winners – only one less of a loss than the others.

  The waitress returned, “Have you decided on what great fare to sample tonight?”

  I said, “Regular burritos for us and spiced to seven.”

  Brett looked surprised but a wolfish snicker curled his lips.

  “Are you two sure? I usually recommend starting with twos and put hotter on the side.”

  “Sevens. And pour it on,” said Brett. The waitress jotted a note and swung about her circuit back to the kitchen.

  “A competitive streak Brett?”

  “That’s right Anna. I lived in New Mexico for my eighth and ninth grades.”

  “Why did you live out there?”

  “My Dad had a temporary job transfer.”
/>   “What does he do?”

  “He breaks things in a lab.”

  “Like what?”

  “Truck trailers lately.”

  “Like semi-tractor trailers?”

  “Yeah. Out there he did some testing for a military tank or something. A special piece of equipment that only a few people knew how to set up correctly and he did it for the trucking industry guys. So they sent us out there to run their test rig.”

  I sipped my tea.

  “He loved it being around the soldiers. Some of those guys took him with them when they went out on the weekends. Shooting cans off a stump with a fifty caliber sniper rifle from half a mile away makes an impression.”

  “That could be exciting.” But I had no clue how big a fifty caliber bullet might be.

  “He really got started with his firearm hobby out there. We transferred back and he kept in touch with those guys. They suggested he finds a local hunt club and ended up joining the Brighton club. So he keeps at it.”

  “How about you?”

  “Other than shop talk when I visit him and helping in the Victorian Festival parade I don’t really do too much. It’s his thing. A few in the group are pretty radical survivalists and even a few freakishly paranoid about home invasion.”

  “About burglaries? I thought Livix remained fairly safe. Or are they in Brighton?” More farmers with guns out there I guessed. But then the lines of police caution tapes raked across memories of my best friend Bethany’s murder and Garin’s mother’s house after her bizarre murder. Livix might not be so safe, even if you didn’t know about the vampires. Paranoia could be good.

  “No.” He leaned close to me pretending to move the rolls of napkins and silverware for us, whispering, “… mosquitoes.” he poked two fingers discretely against the side of his neck as he pulled back. He looked around and his other hand idly spun his damp iced tea around on its paper square.

  “Here you go kids. The sour cream can take the heat down so I put some on the side.” She set a large pitcher of ice water on the table. “In case you get thirsty.”

  “Cheers,” said Brett raising his fork, a knight saluting a lady before battle.

  We dug into the hot burritos.

  “Ow.” I said, “These peppers creep up on you.”

  Brett poked his fork into his dash of sour cream and sucked on it, “Umm hmm.”

  “You want some water?”

  “No. The heat in hot peppers is oil so water only spreads it around.”

  “That’s why I suggested it,” my smile widening. The tingle of the peppers painted my lips like fiery lip gloss.

  “You’ve got a mean streak.”

  I tilted my head, “Just testing.”

  “– My resolve?”

  “No. If you lived in the Southwest.”

  “I see you’re using it too.”

  “My mom hardly cooked when I grew up so we ate out a lot.”

  “Too busy working?”

  “No. She didn’t cook well.”

  “How about you?”

  I had to dab my napkin in my watering eyes. “Macaroni and cheese.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Rice. I make a mean pot of rice.”

  “Is mean in that context good or bad?”

  “Yes.” I giggled. My skin flushed, unsure if the hot peppers or Brett caused it. Quite possibly both smeared on their share.

  The air chilled my moist skin as we walked out of the restaurant as if I had finished running around the parking lot. “Do you feel clear too?”

  Brett breathed in, “Yes.” He unlocked the car and opened the door for me, “I find the hottest peppers at the supermarket whenever I have a sinus infection.”

  “I hadn’t tried that but a good idea.” I retrieved my compact mirror and made sure my makeup wasn’t smeared and everything else seemed in place.

  Brett pulled into an unfamiliar parking deck downtown or maybe a different entrance ramp than I knew of. We walked around the corner of an office building and I saw the line of people already waiting to get in the door under the blazing neon sign for The Vacuna Club. Burly bouncers in black shirts, jeans, and thick boots flanked the entrance, sorting people like gods for entry into nirvana – or hell.

  “No.” escaped my mouth before I realized I said anything. Garin and I escaped from the bank vampires at this dance club. I froze. The memories washed through me. The running. Gripped by a vampire hand I dangled from the men’s room window. Fear.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I had a bad experience here before.”

  “Ah, too drunk? I heard they served under aged teens before.”

  “No,” My feet unstuck from the concrete and I slid forward. I glanced to the side and saw the alley Garin and I escaped with from the bank offices across the street.

  “We don’t have to go. We can find something else to do.”

  “No. It’s all right. I need to push through it.” The memory stuck in my mind how we raced through the club hopefully eluding our pursuers. There wasn’t anything especially frightening about the club itself. Only that I had been terrified. “Let’s get in line before the line gets too long.”

  The club crammed into an old automotive assembly plant building from nineteen ten. The sturdily constructed building housed many tenants over the last hundred years. Steel I-beam pillars held up the ceiling while brick and concrete stacked its walls. Its exterior reeked of architectural charm and cache. This latest tenant altered the atmosphere with platforms welded around each of the pillars from which a dozen girls danced. A small stage hovered in front with a DJ.

  Brett shouted above the music. “The real band starts later. You want anything to drink?”

  “No. I might need the restroom after drinking the tea at the restaurant.” The caffeine promised to keep me awake all night too.

  The bouncers kept pushing people into the club and the dance floor filled.

  The DJ played rock songs then eased into matching beat crossovers into dance mixes and turned up the bass. The lights went down except for spotlights and spinning color wheels. A few polished disco balls lit up and the dance floor flooded with moving bodies. Brett pulled me out and we thrashed around. I quickly learned Brett danced better than me. But he remained attentive and kept me protected from a few other aggressive dancers. The songs and volume turned up. One song led in with deep bass drums thundering around the packed chamber. That song melded into the next with a more rapid beat. The next song pounded at yet a faster tempo. A race up an infinite hill of swirling sounds and bodies and light. I got out of breath. I could see Brett flagging. Other dancers already cleared from the floor. Another song blended without break into yet another quickening pulse.

  A wave of dancers dragged themselves gasping to the outer walls to recover and watch the remaining people still somehow keeping up. Brett pulled my hand and we took to the panting sidelines. The DJ brewed yet more songs blending into and out of the middle and ends of some but every song beat faster and faster. Dancers fell away in successive waves.

  The band prepped in darkened gloom at the club stage.

  One couple owned the dance floor. Keeping pace with the D J's dizzying array of high notes and deep bass. A dark haired pretty girl in a short black skirt and red pumps and the guy in jeans and a long red silk shirt. He moved himself with the hidden agility of an athlete. They both did. His blood-red shirt matched the girl’s shoes. A sharp collar jutted around his neck and his shirt cuffs had been flipped back showing a range of black rubber bands and natural rope cords on one arm and a wide stainless steel watch on the other. His fresh haircut edged cleanly around his head framing his angular face. And those eyes penetrated as they glanced through the audience. Searching. Hard blue eyes that pierced hearts with and without intention.

  I knew those eyes.

  “Isn’t that Garin?” Brett shouted into my ear.

  I nodded.

  “Friends?”

  I didn’t know how to answer. My hear
t ached. I backed deeper into the mass of spectators.

  The lights on the band flared to life as the lead guitarist pealed into matching the beat of the D J's song. He floated notes among the D J's harmony like seagulls riding the ocean breeze but quickly morphed into a bird of prey that flanked and attacked the D J's music.

  Then a thump of the band’s bass and drums took control. They coiled the frantic pace around and returned to a more normal but still fast range of speed dancing. The dancers flooded back onto the floor in such a solid swirling mass I lost sight of Garin and his date.

  The singer’s voice cut cleanly through the song, dressed in Steam-punk Victorian gear with a long dress that flowed out on hoops with a lot of lace. Brett pulled me back to dance. He really did a good job of distracting me from my sudden fright. I even started having a good time.

  Brett and I stopped at the side, again drenched with sweat with most of the other dancers. I shouted in Brett’s ear over the music away out of the seething bodies, “I’m thirsty. Let’s get drinks.”

  He said, “Wait here. What do you want?”

  I thought we’d both go but ok, “Pop or bottled water?”

  “I’ll be back.”

  I waited, thinking a long line must fill the bar. Many thirsty dancers. The first wave of binge drinkers already swooned in some chairs and small tables that ringed the building. Bolder boys approached me and asked to dance. I pointed to Brett who returned with two bottled waters and they slithered away.

  “Thanks for the water.”

  “The line for water seemed much shorter.”

  Brett drank half his bottle while I finished most of mine. I twisted the thin little cap back in place. When I looked up a pair of blue eyes delved into mine.

  “Hi Anna,” he spoke, “This is Claire Iyer.”

  I looked at Garin’s date. She smiled wickedly. The brown of her irises pushed tight against their outer rim. The wide pupils that took everything in whether day or night. The eyes of a vampire.

  I returned, “This is Brett.”

  Garin said, “You’re from the coffee shop, right?”

  Tension bristled between the two.

  Brett answered, “Yes. Anna needed some distracting.”