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

by Smith, J Gordon

  Garin said, “Me too. Funny how we run into each other here.”

  I said, “Yes. That’s funny Garin. Maybe we should dance the next song Brett?”

  Garin looked in my eyes and said, “Brett, what’s with the switch to fair trade coffee? How much actually gets to the farmers from the final cup of coffee?”

  “About twice what the farmers get without the program.”

  “Do the roasters participate?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Are they cutting their profits any to share with the farmers?”

  “Boys. Play nice.” said Claire. She ran an arm around Garin’s waist and caught my eyes watching her hand circle him.

  The jealousy in me thought about squealing play nice girls. Then I felt really sweaty and noticed how Brett’s shirt had darkened in spots from perspiration. Both Garin and Claire seemed as fresh as ever.

  Claire said, “I like your hair Anna.”

  “Uh, thanks.” I wondered why she had black nail polish on her fingers, ironic for a vampire, but they did match her hair and mascara.

  Garin said, “Claire draws Anime.”

  “That’s nice.” Claire said, “I studied fine art and everything from charcoal to oils.”

  Brett asked, “I really wanted to get to Paris some time to see the old masters at the Musee du Louvre. What styles do you like the best?”

  “Poussin’s The Nurture of Bacchus is nice; at least I liked it for a while. Lately I think the best are the Napoleonic war paintings – moody and violent. I liked Rembrandt’s teaching methods. Other painters from those days proved lecherous.”

  “That is a deep program to get into gossip about the masters.”

  “An immersive program that lasted for years. I spent decades studying those guys.”

  “– Oh,” Brett said, understanding Claire’s real age grossly exceeded the twenty-four or twenty-five she appeared. Vampire old.

  Garin interrupted, “Brett, did you take any classes outside of barista training?”

  “Art history.”

  “Really?” Claire reached out and brushed Brett’s arm. She drew his eyes to hers, “You and I will have to talk more. Garin likes his practical approach with engineering arts but to appreciate the masters the way I do is difficult for him.”

  “I appreciate art more than you think, Claire. I’ll show you the art in a fine set of gears or the circuit board in that radio of yours that plays Strauss.”

  “But not like the strokes and dabs that go into classic paintings. Mixing colors from raw ingredients like egg yolks and crushed rubies. Not the petroleum based tube squirter used by modern hacks. The works of genius.”

  Brett said, “That’s funny. Definitely a required craft in making those old paints.”

  Claire’s eyes wandered across both Brett and I. Raw hunger vibrated in the air. I sensed Brett slipping toward that attraction. I laced my fingers in his hand. Both of our hands damp from more than dancing hard.

  “Claire, we should go. I think they are playing our song next,” said Garin.

  “Nice meeting you both,” Claire let Garin pull her back into the crowd. But I saw the light brush of her hand against Brett’s thigh below his butt and the way her eyes stayed locked on his. Strikingly beautiful and brazenly dangerous. My feelings of jealousy renewed themselves. The last I saw of them in the crowd she licked her lips in a panther’s predatory grin.

  I broke Brett’s mesmerization, “Thanks for getting the water.” I drank another sip.

  “Sure,” he said. “Claire really seemed into me.” Then I saw his head clear. “Ah, sorry.”

  Garin demanded from Claire, “What are you doing?”

  They moved amid the packed bodies seething around them. A momentary break gaped briefly in the crowded dancers like branches swaying in the wind and abruptly caught by a sudden gust. Claire saw the profiles of Anna and Brett lit by a green spotlight behind them. Claire whispered into Garin’s ear with her exotic and compelling voice full of hunger and desire, “I want both.”

  “No.” Garin snatched at Claire’s wrist, “We’re leaving.”

  I saw the dancers part to let someone through. Across the floor Garin’s eyes pierced into mine. I inhaled. I hadn’t expected it washing through me like that. They disappeared out the door.

  I pulled Brett back onto the dance floor. Shackles and bonds seemed to drip from my body and I thrashed free into the dance. Brett responded to my movement and kept pace with me. Song after song we stayed out. The band performed great and kept the dance floor filled.

  At the side of the room we rested again for a song and I heard “Hi Brett!” shouted by a pair of girls in harmony over the music. They pushed toward us.

  “How are you?” Asked Brett.

  “We didn’t know you could dance so well.” they both grinned teeth obviously straightened with braces newly off. I thought they might be high school seniors. The two pretty girls both bleached blonds with extra highlights and dark blue sheath dresses with separate patterns and different shoes.

  Brett gave some sort of flourish with his hands tipping from an imaginary hat as he bowed his head. “What are you girls doing out so late?”

  They twittered. I felt old.

  Brett leaned to me, “They frequently stop in the coffee shop.”

  The girls shot mean glances at me but went back to smiling at Brett.

  “We wanted to say hi and give you a hug!”

  “See Brett, your hair looks good cut like that. Come back to the salon in a few weeks. Bring a pitcher and we can trade again.” She smiled and disappeared. The second girl gave a small wave and a big wink and mouthed “bye!” then a grin and she left into the swirling crowd.

  I wondered why I felt possessive at our first date. Jealous twice tonight. Maybe more to Brett than I think? “What’s the picture?”

  “No. Pitcher as in carafe of coffee.”

  “Oh –”

  “– they traded coffee for my haircut. They put me in as their wakeup cut first in the morning. The rest of the stylists told me to come back with more coffee. My boss thought it through and saw a great marketing gimmick. He’s calling the salon owner to set up an exclusive arrangement to supply coffee to the salon customers. They sip a little in the shop while they wait and get a coupon for use in the coffee shop while the coffee shop has coupons for salon visits.”

  “But you like the pretty girls.”

  “Guilty. I am still twenty-two. They flirt and laugh a lot. Nice girls.”

  “I see.”

  The band stopped for a break and the DJ fed the hungry amplifiers and speakers a loud and raucous meal. Brett and I went to the bar and found several lines choosing the one shortest that wrapped around the far end. At the end of the bar sat a familiar stiff face with his back against the wall keeping eyes on the dance floor as well as along the bartender isle and the hallway to the restrooms. He looked out-of-place. Not so much because of his age, which appeared somewhere between twenty five and thirty five but his build hung on the gaunt side of athletic and hard. Training that showed through his charcoal shirt and black jeans. His black heavy construction work boot heals hooked uneasily in the rungs of the chair while trying to seem nonchalant about being here.

  Mr. Branoc pursed his lips and raised his drink as he nodded to me. His characteristic investigator trench coat absent, the one that often looked ruffled on his shoulders like a great black bird caught in shifting winds on a highly exposed tree branch. His shoulder holsters and vampire swords normally clamped to his belt left in his car as well.

  He watched the line. He worked in a special adjunct agency between the FBI and CIA due to his business with investigating vampires. I still had his card in my purse blazed with Virtual Bureau Agency in a clean line over an intricate federal seal and his name, Investigator, and phone number at the bottom. If he didn’t hand those cards out to regular people at murder scenes I think it would say Vampire Bureau Agency. His gray neutral shaded eyes dark with the wide pu
pils of a vampire. Mesmerizing pools that a victim can get lost in and succumb to death too easily.

  “Brett,” I tugged at his sleeve, “I see an old friend. Can you hold our place?” I didn’t wait for a response. I walked over to Mr. Branoc.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked.

  “The usual fix,” he said, “We call it Ironclad. It’s good spiked with Southern whiskey but renamed the Merrimack.”

  “Which do you have?”

  “Being a good Northern chap tonight. You ever try it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s strong with iron.”

  “That’s what I guessed.”

  “Normal humans don’t usually like it.”

  “I noticed you are watching bottles of Massai at the side of bar.”

  “A new delivery not yet put away because the cooler wasn’t emptied yet, I’m helping them do that.”

  “Should I be worried you’re here observing?” I said in a low voice. I knew he’d still hear with his vampire ears.

  “Always keep your wits around you. I’m here for some entertainment tonight.”

  “Time off the grindstone?”

  “Something like that. More like prison daylight privileges reward for good behavior.”

  “You’re too focused to fool me.”

  He weakened around the edges, “Yeah, I had a tip about something but it’s been pretty quiet.”

  “Good that it’s quiet. And good to see you.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Brett as I returned to his side.

  “A friend that helped out after Bethany died.”

  “Oh.” Brett looked at Branoc and back to me. Not sure what to make of it and I didn’t expand on an explanation.

  We got our iced teas and danced.

  I glanced at Branoc and he stayed at the bar and sipped his drink. Eventually he downed the remainder of his Massai. He stood, tipped his head to a pair of girls at the bar that continued ignoring him, tossed some cash on the bar, and left.

  At the end of the next song I said to Brett, “It’s getting late – why don’t you take me home?”

  -:- Eight -:-

  I pushed my key into the lock. The familiar flip-clunk of the deadbolt vibrated against my fingers as I twisted the key and withdrew. Brett touched my hair with his cheek when I turned the door handle. I melted into him. My purse dropped from under my elbow when I brought my hands to his face and kissed his lips. Brett’s hand forced open the door while the other entwined my waist. Like he wore skates he spun me around and both of us into my apartment. He kicked my purse further into the apartment and away from the door letting it swing shut. I stretched my reach and locked the deadbolt with my finger tips. I tugged at his belt and jeans as he unzipped the back of my skirt. The fabric fell to my ankles and I slipped off my shoes and the skirt together. Pushing his shirt over his head my fingers touched his firm body and his warmth. I tossed my keys onto the counter where I heard a mechanical click when they came to rest. Must have hit the edge of the sink. At least they didn’t fall into the basin. I frantically worked my blouse buttons while watching Brett remove his shoes with his toes.

  Our eyes locked on each other.

  My blouse slipped from my arms and Brett lifted me in another swirling kiss. He spun us onto the couch. I pushed him back and undid my bra while I watched his eyes as he looked at me. My lips rushed to kiss his velvety lips and touch his cheeks gritty with stubble. The tingle of errant hot sauce flashed across my lip like a searing knife and made my kiss more firm and lingering.

  His hands stroked up my back and around my ribs. I touched the side of his face bringing his eyes into mine. He kissed me lightly on the lips. The surge at my nerve endings rose and crashed like far off ocean surf and my desire yearned for him. Passion glittered along my arms and legs and splashed with energy about my core. His silky chest hot against mine as our lips touched again. He pressed against me and my body compelled itself to press him in return.

  I broke our embrace – the keys!

  “What’s wrong?” he said. Confused for why I jumped away from the couch – and him.

  “Why is the magnet on the counter? I heard the keys click against the refrigerator magnet.”

  “You’ve been thinking about that magnet since we kissed over there?”

  “No. It filled my head on its own.” I flipped the light on and looked at the counter.

  I spent an hour after getting back from my sister’s house searching for that refrigerator magnet in both my junk drawer and boxes at the back of my disorganized closet. The steel key ring clung to the magnet in the middle of the counter. “I used it to hang the pictures drawn for me by my nieces and nephews on the refrigerator. And I didn’t move it.”

  “You have a cleaning person?”

  “Yeah – me.”

  “Then maybe you bumped it.” He stood up and walked over to me in the kitchen. His arm tentatively wrapped around my waist. The little hairs on the inside of his arm and his warmth thrilled my sensitive skin.

  “How could I bump it off the refrigerator, across the floor, and onto the counter?”

  He blinked either from my comment, the kissing, or the bright kitchen light. “This wardrobe suits you in the kitchen.”

  “What do you mean?” Odd comment. Only underwear covered me. Irritated, “You mean like I should be cooking like this in the kitchen?”

  He hitched his jeans up. They hardly stayed on his hip with the button and zipper open. “No, I think you’re sexy.”

  “–In the kitchen?”

  He sighed, “In the kitchen. In the living room. In the hall. In the bedroom –”

  “Ok, Doctor Seuss.” I looked on the counter and the floor. I didn’t see anything. “Where are the drawings?”

  “They probably fell under the refrigerator from the front or down the side. Come back to the couch and we can search in the morning.”

  “No – I only recently put them up.” I put my hands to the cold metal, “Help me move the refrigerator.”

  Brett buttoned his pants and with a quiet, “Ok,” grabbed the refrigerator and pulled it out.

  “It’s dirty back here.” he announced. I’m embarrassed. The dusty contents of half a box of macaroni and cheese noodles sprinkled with rice. I saw an old rivulet of blood dried on the side of the counter next to the refrigerator. “What’s that from?” he asked.

  I drew an unconscious breath and covered, “I cut a steak for the grill last month and the juice must have run over the edge.” He would realize a college student’s cash flow left no room for luxuries like steak. The horror of the attack pierced my memory, the blood must have remained from one of the two vampires that Garin killed protecting me. “I don’t see any of their drawings in the mess on the floor. How about jammed in the vents?”

  “They flipped over the top of the refrigerator and fell down the back?” Brett looked confused, his eyebrows wrinkling, but he rotated the refrigerator anyway. Cobwebs and dust fluttered in gross sheets on the black tube and wire grid screwed to the rear panel – but no papers.

  “Someone was here!”

  “But I heard your lock when we came in.”

  I rummaged through the junk drawer but the hodgepodge of things from my Mom seemed untouched. The big window across the living room held unbroken and silent of any secrets it may have observed. The television glowered in its usual spot. I pulled the chef knife out of the knife block.

  “Isn’t that a cliché?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Scary movies always use the chef knife.”

  “So?” I knew the knife served well as an effective weapon. It saved my life once already causing a vampire to pause long enough for Garin to rescue me. Could Brett save me in such a situation? Did I need to compare the two men? I’d already pushed Garin away. I didn’t want life around a vampire. But here I stood with a knife again and not preparing a meal.

  Brett snatched up the long general purpose knife along with the two tinned carving
fork. His strong hands flexed on the handles to get a sure grip. “This knife is a lot longer. Let’s see what is in the rest of the apartment.”

  I swept up my blouse with my free hand and held it across my chest. I clenched the chef’s knife. Brett lead and I followed him down the hall to the bedroom.

  Brett hesitated at the bathroom doorway trying to choose some words. I saved him by whispering, “It’s ok, my mess getting ready earlier.” He nodded and shrugged forward. He pushed my bedroom door with the fork. The door creaked slowly aside. Dresses, slacks, skirts, blouses, and jackets spilled out of my closet onto the floor and across my bed.

  “What?” I dared him.

  “Looks like someone rifled through the bedroom.”

  “Me.” I nudged him aside and set the knife on the top of my dresser while I picked up a sweatshirt and a pair of t-shirts, quickly putting them on. “My money is still on the dresser.”

  Brett flipped the curtains back and inspected the window, “Your window looks intact.” He tried sliding the window and seemed satisfied the lock remained in place.

  I returned to the front door and opened it. I looked into the hallway, then realized someone could be lurking there waiting to pounce, but relieved to see the hallway empty. I looked at the lock on both sides of the door.

  Brett looked too. “Hey, what are these marks here and here? Deep gouges in the lock face and chips of paint there. Like it’s been removed or tampered with.”

  “I had the locks changed last month,” but I saw at the end of Brett’s finger gouges deeper than a key scratch around the key hole.

  “A brass key wouldn’t mar the surface like this.”

  Other things about the lock and the door around the lock appeared violated.

  I closed and re-locked the door. I checked the windows and their latches remained tight and unmolested. The fire escape failed to reveal anything, I didn’t see where any paint chips rubbed off the bubbling rust splotches.

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “I can stay with you tonight. I know about your old friends –”