by Anne Malcom
Maybe.
It was her son I’d been focused on finding, and his heartbeat and smell weren’t exactly hard to find in the small and extremely depressing house.
He didn’t hear me burst in, as he was glued to a bright screen in the darkness he’d made himself since it was just after midday and had headphones covering his ears.
I hated when my entrance was fucked up, so I darted over to the curtains and ripped them down, bathing the cluttered and dirty room in harsh sunlight that made him blink a couple of times in confusion.
When that didn’t have the desired effect, I yanked the headphones off rather roughly and hefted his computer across the room so it crashed against the wall covered with a Dracula movie poster.
I scowled at it before turning my scowl, and my fangs, to him. “Dude, Dracula? Could you be a little more fucking original?” I asked conversationally.
His eyes, which had dilated with the change in light and focus—and, finally, fear—widened in shock and then realization as they focused on my fangs.
“You can’t be out,” he hissed, his voice shaking. “It’s daylight. Sunlight burns the skin of the monsters!” He shook a battered and dog-eared paperback at me that he’d snatched off his desk for whatever reason, as if doing so might bring about the truth of its words.
I rolled my eyes. “Wrong literature, dude. Get with your Ancient Greek mythology and mix it with some Buffy. Only because of her killer fashion sense, though, not because of any of the lore,” I said, wandering around the room, picking up a wooden stake and tossing it between my hands. He actually had a wooden stake in his fucking room. They’d picked the right sucker, that was for sure. “The darkness is only comforting to those who like their bad deeds cloaked in shadow, or at least that’s when all the juicy meat is at their most vulnerable. Me? I like to see all the depraved and fucked-up shit I do.”
I grinned, then plunged the wooden stake into my own heart.
It did smart a little, considering the sucker was reasonably sharp, but it was worth the pain to see every ounce of blood drain from the idiot’s face.
I yanked it back out, screwing my nose up at the bitter scent of urine mixing with old Cheetos and fear as his bladder let go.
“Dude,” I said, sauntering up to him and tossing the bloodied stake at his feet. “You honestly just made yourself the ‘wet your pants guy.’ Little bit of advice if you ever next find yourself in this situation: don’t be that guy. He ain’t ever going to lose his V-card.” I glanced around the dirty room, plastered with art of the creepy variety and fan posters from stupid movies. Novels and old books covered every surface not littered with figurines still in their packages and crumpled energy drink cans that humans used to try to replace for sleep.
I’d done it once, out of curiosity. The thing was bitter and gross. Even extra energy wasn’t worth that.
Then again, it wasn’t what gave me energy. The serial killer I’d drained after that did.
My gaze snapped back to the sniveling mess I was loath to call a man with a raised brow. “Not that your chances were particularly good anyway. But hey, look at the bright side. If they made a darker, worse and less funny version of the 40-Year-Old Virgin and were looking for someone uglier than Steve Carrel—no mean feat, of course, I mean that guy can act but I wouldn’t bump uglies with him. Anyway, I’ll tell the producers to look you up.” I paused with a meaningful glint in my eyes. “You know, if you’re still alive and all.”
He was shaking so badly that his teeth kept clashing together in a jarring and all around displeasing sound. “Why are y-you here? What d-do you want from me?” he cried.
I rolled my eyes. “More clichés, great. I’m here because a little bird, or a little demon, told me that a certain group of vampires have been getting fat and pathetic humans to do their dirty work.” My eyes roved over him. “And it’s just sad, really. Mostly because dirty work is the most fun, but also because humans do the job so poorly.” I paused. “Though I guess he died in the end. Lewis, that is. The police officer you had a hand in murdering, just in case you forgot. So you did do your job, which I’m sure you’ll be satisfied about. Unfortunately, the one successful thing you’ve done in your pathetic life might actually be what ends that pathetic life.”
I grinned. “It almost certainly will be, in fact.”
I sauntered up to him.
“So, now that we’ve established that, you can spill it as to who exactly told you to going into the precinct and lure the officer from his cluttered desk to where you got him murdered,” I said calmly.
His eyes bulged and he held his hands up. “I didn’t get him murdered,” he squeaked. Like a mouse. Or a rat. “I promise I didn’t murder him. I didn’t even touch the dude.”
I tilted my head, assessing him. “No, but you didn’t need to, though. You knew his fate, did you not?”
Tears streamed down his acne-scarred cheeks. “No, I swear.”
I sighed dramatically before leaning down to snap his thighbone in a smooth and satisfying move.
Although his all-encompassing howl was even better than the snapping bone.
I smiled through it until he quieted to hitching sobs. “Oh no, scream as much as you want,” I invited. “I knocked out dear old Mom, so she’ll be sleeping for a good while, and no one else is close enough to hear you. Even if they were, they couldn’t help you.” I paused. “But, dude, living with your mom? Going with all the clichés. Be original.”
I stepped back, circling the room as he sobbed about his leg, then turned back around with crossed arms.
“Now, let’s try this again now that you’ve understood the punishment for lying and the fact that I’m very good at telling when a man is lying.” I paused, the flinch of pain that came with the untruth of that statement stabbing through me in an intensity that shocked me.
I swallowed it by stepping forward and placing my hands on either side of his chair so I could stare into his beady, pain-filled eyes.
“You knew they were going to kill him, didn’t you? You just didn’t care. Because you were likely promised to be something more than the cliché you are.”
He was shaking so badly the chair was starting to vibrate. I hoped he wasn’t going into shock. That was a much too easy way for him to die.
“I’ve got all day,” I stated. “Mom might not, and once she wakes up, dazed but thinking she just had a nice nap, she’ll come in here, try to hide her disappointment for having such a loser for a son and likely ask if you want a snack. Then I’ll have to turn her into the snack, in front of you.”
I was convincing even myself. Had I even been able to drink her blood without doing the whole Exorcist thing, I idly wondered if I’d actually do it. Kill a woman who was only guilty of indulging a fully grown man she happened to have given birth to.
“Okay, o-okay,” he spluttered between his sobs. “They said they’d turn me. All I know about them is on that.” He jerked his head to the laptop on his desk. “I just wanted to be like you. I wanted to be different. More. I’m sorry, I just wanted to be a vampire, immortal, extraordinary—”
I cut him off by snapping his neck. Quicker than I planned, but I was growing bored and impatient. “There’s nothing more common than the desire to be extraordinary,” I informed his corpse as I let it go. He collapsed unceremoniously to the floor.
I stared at his eyes, confronting me with their accusation in death.
I felt nothing.
Neither the vampire nor the woman in me.
I turned on my heel and left, snatching his laptop as I went.
I met Sophie for coffee after I killed the forty-year-old virgin. Though I thought he was closer to thirty.
She was best with technology, and I also wanted an update on where we were with killing the witches to hopefully free me from Thorne’s connection.
I was convincing myself that when I stopped needing his blood to survive, that would happen.
Freedom.
Like I wasn’t ent
ombed in this shit forever.
Like there wasn’t some prophecy that literally said everything to the contrary.
I was great at denial.
“Cream or sugar?” the young barista asked.
“Just a swig of O Neg,” I deadpanned.
Sophie grinned.
The barista gave me a vacant look that he wore probably when someone told him a name he’d fuck up on a cup, like John.
“Excuse me?”
I glanced at Sophie and rolled my eyes. “It’s only fun doing this when they’re smart enough to get it. Insulting idiots is about as satisfying as draining crackheads.” Then I turned back to the barista. “Just black,” I rectified. “Like my heart.”
He went off with a frown and Sophie turned to me. “Still mad at Thorne?” she gathered.
I put my finger to my chin. “Well, let me see. Am I still mad at the man whom I thought I loved, and almost died for, for lying to me before finally tell me he’s the brother of the king of vampires and that his race of slayers is actually descended from vampires themselves and he’s basically immortal?” I pretended to pause in thought. “Fuck yes, I’m still mad at him. And if I didn’t need his blood to survive, I’d throw his delimbed body off the Empire State Building.”
The barista came back with the coffees at the exact moment I said my last line. Of course he did; I’d perfectly timed it that way so I could enjoy his blanche and the slight shake to his hand when he passed me my coffee.
I grinned at him. “Thank you so much,” I said sweetly. “You have a blessed day now.”
We walked to a table and Sophie sat, opening the laptop I gave her. “You wouldn’t throw him off the Empire State Building,” she argued.
“You’re right. I don’t want to have to elbow tourists out of the way in order to get to the edge. I’ll think of somewhere with less foot traffic while you brainstorm witchy ways to break this prophecy so I don’t have to live on his blood and I can kill him. Since we seem to be on pause with the killing the witch thing.” I sipped my coffee and glared at her. “Which does not please me, side note.”
She gave me a look. “You’re not going to kill him, even if that was possible.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“You love him.”
“And?” I looked anywhere but the probing gaze of my best friend.
“You can’t kill the people you love?”
My gaze snapped to her as I narrowed my brows. “Oh I beg to differ, since they can certainly do the same to you. And have you heard of fucking Shakespeare? The guy literally wrote plays that were kind of famous on people in love being the reason for each other’s deaths. In fact, I think you can only kill people you love. Look it up. I bet that wretched emotion is the number one cause of death in the world. Even above slippery bathroom floors and no bathmats.”
She didn’t respond, obviously understanding my need not to continue this conversation. Instead she focused on the screen and I focused on watching idiotic humans go about their days from our window seat.
But as it always did, watching humans made me homicidal, so I watched Sophie tap at the keys of the laptop with impatience.
“Can’t you just say ‘accio information’ and then get what we need off that thing?” I demanded, anxious to continue my little vengeance mission.
I was still peckish and it only got worse with passing moments. Which meant I was cranky.
Oh, and because I was in the midst of the most awkward breakup ever. There wasn’t a clean break in this situation, thanks to the whole ‘fated to be together’ prophecy thing and the very fucking frustrating fact that I would, at some point, have to see his face, or at least the vein in his neck, which was unfortunately attached to his face.
And feel his emotions.
I could barely feel my own. Immortals didn’t react to things quite like humans did. Lies, betrayal and death were all part of the status quo, obviously. But in a species where true attachments were rare, when they did happen, there was no such thing as a ‘small lie’ or an ‘overreaction.’
Or maybe that was just me.
Or women in general.
Some women ate too much ice cream or drank too much wine and cried over romance movies. Not me. I planned executions of idiots in the rebellion trying to treat me like a woman while forgetting I was a vampire.
Hence them likely not expecting me to kill the human. I knew the mastermind of this wasn’t stupid. I was learning that more and more. And that there wasn’t likely one singular mastermind. Perhaps there was a leader of sorts, but in such rebellions there were likely to be a few different creatures who considered themselves leaders, and the truest one probably wasn’t the one on the throne.
It was likely the one standing behind it, in the shadows.
That was the way most rulers ruled.
With Rick as the exception.
Though I wasn’t talking to him either, king or not.
An asshole was still an asshole, regardless of blood or a crown.
Sophie scowled at me. “No, you can’t work magic on technology. It’s humankind’s answer to magic, and we can only manipulate natural resources.” She nodded to the laptop. “This is not natural.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m hearing too many excuses and not enough results.”
She raised her brow at me. “This may not be natural but you are, which means I can work my magic on you.”
“You could try,” I challenged.
I wasn’t joking. Fighting was the best way to distract me, and with her new juice she’d make it interesting enough that I might just forget the huge gaping hole in my chest.
Or at least make a new one.
She shook her head. “Not worth it.”
Then she went back to the computer, tapping away, her brows furrowed as she stared at the screen.
I tapped my fingernails on the wooden table, sipping my coffee.
An hour passed.
“You’ve been at it for long enough. What’s the skinny?” I demanded.
She looked up. “It’s been less than three minutes, Isla. The skinny is more or less the same.”
I scowled. “Well if you don’t get any information soon I might have to go look for a fight. Werewolves are always fun.” I narrowed my eyes at the finger that paused for a split second on the keyboard. “You seem to have a connection to one who’s stalking you, I could take care of my ADHD and your little dog problem with one stone. Or two fangs. What do we think?”
She didn’t look up from the screen. “No, Isla.”
I stared at her head. “You like him. You lurvveee him? Sophie and Wolfy, sitting in a tree….”
Her head snapped up. “I don’t like him,” she hissed. “I just don’t want you to kill him.”
Her eyes glowed, and there was a faint flicker of blue on her fingers that most humans would just consider to be a trick of the light.
But I knew by the way the air hummed that I’d woken something. Maybe I wasn’t the only one with emotions close to the surface.
I held my hands up in surrender. “Don’t zap me. The static would mess with my hair and I just got it done.” I patted the top of my head protectively. “I won’t kill him.”
She stared at me another beat, trying to gauge my sincerity most likely. Whatever she found must have pleased her because her head went back down to the screen.
“But you do like him,” I continued. “Because not wanting someone to get killed is the epitome of liking them. Especially between you and me. So what’s the deal? I’m not liking the combination of your new powers and the howl at the moon part of this little nursery rhyme that everyone is taking as gospel. The ingredients add up to trouble. You and I may be great at almost all kinds of trouble, but this one? No. So you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on.”
She snapped her head up again. “Done,” she said, closing the lid on the laptop.
I frowned at her. “That timing is suspicious.”
She narrowed her
eyes at me, reaching for her coffee. Her hands still glowed slightly. “No, it’s just right, in fact. I’ve got places to be and you’ve got another immortal to annihilate. The human you killed was good at hiding his online dealings in the deep web, and the immortal he was dealing with was better, but I’m the best.”
She yanked out her phone, typed quickly and then tapped her finger on the screen. I heard mine vibrate in the depths of my bag.
“I sent you the location on his rerouted IP address, and I’ll do a profile on him as soon as I get back to the office, just in case he’s not home. He’ll most likely lead you to the one you’re looking for. I have no doubt in your powers of persuasion.”
I grinned at her. “Neither do I.”
Her eyes were sparkling, but then they turned a little too serious for my liking.
“I’m sorry about Lewis, Isla,” she said quietly. “I know he meant something to you.”
I straightened my spine. “He meant nothing to me,” I lied. “He was human. Humans die. It came at a rather inopportune time, of course, but it was also rather opportune for me to get the leads I need to end this shit. Lewis wasn’t exactly useful to me anymore anyway, considering his main purpose was procuring me free-range, cruelty-free snacks and now I don’t need them.”
The tone I’d adopted was so good I was even convincing myself.
Sophie raised a brow but didn’t call me on it. Friends were good like that, seeing when you were lying to the world, and them, and most importantly yourself, and understanding the need to go along with that lie too.
“Speaking of snacks,” she said. “Thorne’s come around the office. Once, or about twelve times. He’s been demanding I tell him where you are and alternately just hoping he’d run into you, I think.”
I snorted. “He’ll not want to be hoping to run into me. It doesn’t bode well for his physical well-being.”
“You need him alive,” she pointed out.
I nodded. “Yes, alive. But that doesn’t mean he has to be whole.”
Again, Sophie didn’t call me on that little lie.
She didn’t let it go either.
“You have to forgive him.”