by Sean Hayden
"What is?" Marc leaned forward in his chair, staring at my hand.
"Think of magic as…like radiation."
"So, I'm nuclear?" I resisted the temptation to yank my hand back.
"You're the opposite of radiation. You're like dark matter. No! You're a black hole! But with a forcefield around it."
"Excuse me?"
He finally let go of my hand and opened his eyes. He went back around his side of the desk and sat down but leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.
"Okay. First, picture everything around us. Everything is radioactive. The sun bombards the earth with radioactive particles, yada yada yada, everything absorbs it, yada yada yada, and boom. Radioactive. Hold a Geiger-counter up to your average homo-sapiens and crackle crackle beep. Now picture radiation being magic. There is a sun, but that's not where magic comes from. But, that isn't important. Source of magic bombarding everything, magic Geiger-counter crackle bzzt."
He even made little wiggly motions with his hands. I think he'd taken one too many jolts. He needed an assistant and some medication, and a vacation.
"Now picture this. There's a tiny, cute black hole in a steel safe, inside a force field. The magic can't get to the black hole. But let's say they rotate the frequency of their phasers and some manages to get through the shields, and bores a hole through the three-inches of steel, that's your skin by the way, and then makes it to the black hole. Does it get hurt? No! It sucks it up like spaghetti and doesn't bat an Italian eye!"
"Can I make a suggestion?"
He nodded to me.
"Switch to decaf."
"I hate coffee."
"I'm jealous." I turned to Marc. "What are we doing here?"
He laughed and held up a hand.
"Cosmo. Focus. Her black holes are not what brings us here today."
"Excuse me?" I didn't like the direction this conversation was going.
"Mawwage?"
"Definitely non." He leaned forward in his seat a little more. "You say you cannot see her magically. Can you see anything tied to her?" He made a motion to the air around me with his closest hand.
Cosmo's eyes narrowed, and he shifted his focus to me yet once again. I squirmed under his gaze. I've never been one for scrutiny. "I do, but they fade into her." He stood up again and motioned for me to come to him this time.
He reached into the air above me and gingerly grasped something I couldn't see and seemed to run his fingers over it. I watched his face as the emotions played across it.
"What is it?" I could hear the wonder in his voice.
"What do you think?" Marc teased gently.
His eyes opened as far as they could and he reach down and grabbed my wrist, bringing my hand to within inches of his face. As quickly as he did it, he let go and reached out with one hand and cupped my cheek, drawing me toward him. My fist clenched and I drew back to bash his skull in to prevent him from kissing me, but he lifted my upper lip and gasped at the sight of my fang.
"I can feel a vamp from twenty meters away. How did I not feel her?"
"She's a little special," Marc said softly. "Maybe your feelers can't get through her forcefield."
"Maybe," Cosmo said, but didn't sound convinced.
"But those are still what I think they are?"
"That depends on what you think they are…"
"Don't fuck around, Marc. She has four cities tied to her. Only a moron couldn't feel the power flowing over them. How is she still standing?"
"Well, I've been falling down a lot," I answered, hating being left out of the conversation. Especially since it was about me.
"No shit. So, what do you want me to do?"
"Fix me," I whispered.
I slid into the booth next to Marc while looking at Cosmo standing in line to order his vanilla bean Frappuccino. He insisted on moving our little party somewhere less stuffy. I had a feeling it was to keep me off the church's radar. Once he learned what I was and what had been happening to me, he seemed to get a little paranoid, glancing repeatedly at the walls of books. He all but insisted on getting some sugar into his system, but he hated coffee. Of course, we ended up at the closest coffee shop. Cosmo made zero sense whatsoever. At least he was consistent.
"Do you really trust this flake?"
"He may seem a little scattered, but I have never met a more brilliant mage. It is most likely why the church puts up with his…eccentricities."
"Yeah. Eccentricities. That's what I'd call them."
Marc laughed and proceeded to tear a napkin someone had left on the table into little pieces. I didn't blame him. There was little to do in a coffee house when one couldn't drink coffee. At least it smelled good.
Minutes later, Lurch slid into the opposite side of the booth with a frosty white beverage in his hand, breaking the silence between Marc and I.
"Do you have candidates?"
"Oui."
"Local?"
"No," he responded in English. "It would not be fair to tie four cities in California to local vampires. It would cause a riot. I've let the strongest in the cities choose amongst themselves."
"Suitable ones?"
"I do not know, nor do I care. That is for them to sort."
Marcel's ruthlessness sent a shiver down my spine. In a good way. It was kind of hot. "We can always deal with any problems later. I need this gone," I said adamantly.
"I don't blame you. I can't imagine the hell you've been going through. You have my condolences and awe."
"Can you do it?"
"Yes, but not here."
"Yeah. I'd imagine performing magic in Starbucks violates some sort of corporate rule. Last I heard, you couldn't even conceal carry in one."
"Funny. I meant Chicago."
"I was hoping that wasn't what you meant. I don't have many fond memories of California."
"Someone overcook your tofu?"
"No. Killed my girlfriend."
He leaned forward and slapped his forehead. "Jesus Christ. My foot in mouth disease is acting up again. I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," I said emotionless. I wouldn’t let it get to me. I wouldn't, God damn it.
"Okay. I know it's gonna suck, but tell me the story. The whole story. Start to finish."
So, I did. I leaned back in the booth and closed my eyes, starting with landing on the Tarmac and ending on scattering the ashes of the vampire I loved, into the waters where she grew up. I even told him about the demons and daddy and the visions I had. I left nothing out and by the time I finished, I didn't even notice that I was curled up in Marc's arms and breathing like a fat kid running after an ice cream truck. I felt raw and broken. Again.
Marc kissed the top of my head and held me. It helped. I looked up and saw Lurch had finished his Frappuccino and used his napkin on his eyes. Maybe I should write a book. My story was a real tear jerker and it had only begun to get interesting. The first eighteen chapters seemed kind of boring in comparison.
"Okay, we can do this," he said with a cracking voice. "Just need some plane tickets to California, some energy drinks, and four power hungry vampires. Piece of cake."
"I hope to Christ you didn't just jinx us," I said.
"No. I was being sarcastic. This is probably going to suck. You can only jinx yourself if you're being serious."
"Is that how it works?"
"Pretty sure."
∞ ∞ ∞
"Are you sure you want to go?"
I nodded to Marc across from me in the back of the limo. "I really don't want to be alone."
"Do you want to stop by your house and change?"
"I'll just hang out in your office."
"Non. I have work to do. You can sit at the bar and pretend to drink and watch the entertainment."
"I'm only eighteen. I'm not supposed to drink or be at a nudie bar to begin with."
"You're a vampire. Silly age-restrictions do not apply to us. Plus, you're an FBI agent. Just show any local PD your fancy badge."
Normal
ly I would have been much more inclined to argue, but I could tell from the tone of his voice that I wouldn't win. Growing up means picking and choosing your battles. That, and I didn't give a shit. You could put me naked in the middle of a stadium full of Green Bay fans and it would be better than sitting in my house by myself.
"Fine. I'll look at titties and order a Heineken."
"Good girl."
"There are so many things wrong with this conversation, I don't even know where to begin." I leaned back in the comfortable leather seat and sighed.
"Look at the bright side."
"What could that possibly be?"
"Cosmo went home," he supplied and smiled evilly.
"Okay. I'll give you that one," I acquiesced and plopped my head back down. "He's a nice guy, just rather…insane."
"Most geniuses are."
The limo turned into the parking lot of the bar. I glanced out and saw the neon sign. We were back at The Dungeon, Marcel's flagship establishment. I rolled my eyes. "Is Quentin working?"
"He is in California preparing for our arrival."
"Good. When is our arrival?"
"You heard Cosmo. He will let us know when he is ready."
I nodded. I had heard him, I just wasn't really paying attention. I'd given it all tonight and I had little left. "Yep."
"I will let you know the moment he tells me, cher."
I nodded and opened the door, not waiting for Mr. Limodriverguy. I even held it open for Marc.
"Looking for a job?" He winked at me as he exited. I closed the door behind him and didn't dignify a response. Marc stopped in his tracks and turned to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. "That was a joke. Partially."
"Excuse me?"
"Quit. Come work for me."
"One more time in my good ear?"
"Think about it," he said and turned toward the entrance, not giving me a chance to respond.
"Doing what?" I called out.
A shoulder shrug was his only response. The bouncer opened the door for him with a nod and he disappeared inside.
I stood there staring blankly and scoffed. But, then the inner voice started nagging.
Why not?
"I'm an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and a damn good one."
No, you're not.
"Am too."
See above.
"Shut your face," I said angrily, ignoring the couple walking past me as I made my way inside. I gave a cursory look around for Marcel, but he must have already shored himself up in his office, since he was nowhere to be seen.
I decided to be a good girl and headed to the bar, like I promised. Waving at Melanie, I sat down at the end and turned toward the stage. Someone slipped in behind me. I looked over my shoulder at Jimmy standing there. He held a garment bag in his hand and looked very embarrassed.
"Hey Jimmy, what's up?"
"Hi, Ash. Marcel told me to give this to you."
"Is there a dress in that bag, Jimmy?"
"Yep."
"Tell Marcel I said to go fuck a flying duck."
"He said you would say that," he said and sighed. "Not the flying duck part, but the gist of it."
"I'm not changing. Especially into a dress that Marcel picked out. One, that's probably from some skank he banged on the desk of his office. Two, you probably can't wear such a dress while wearing panties and I'm not a commando in public kind of girl."
"Ash, the price tag is on it, and zere is a dress code," he added in a horrible French accent. Melanie, who had moved over to watch the exchange, chuckled.
I looked up at her and held up my hands.
"Come on, change in the back," she said and lifted the bar top. "Cover the bar for a minute, Jim."
"With pleasure. And thank you," he said gratefully to her.
"This sucks." I took the garment bag and followed Melanie.
"What girl doesn't want to look pretty?"
"Me," I answered truthfully. "Hard to look pretty when you're as plain as they come."
"Oh, so you're one of those," she said and lowered the bar after I passed through.
"One of what?"
"Those hot chicks who think they're ugly."
"Ha. I didn't say I was ugly, but I'm far from hot."
"Sure. Let's go with that. Come on, let's get you into that thing. Hmmm. Maybe we should swing by the kitchen and get a stick of butter."
"Why?"
"I've seen Marc's taste in dresses. They either need to be applied with a paint brush or a stick of butter."
"That's not funny, Mel."
"Yeah. I was actually being serious that time…"
I gulped and looked down at the garment bag in my hand. I shook my head and caught up to Melanie as she held open the door to the storeroom for me.
"I'll make you a deal," she said with a smile.
"What?"
"Get that dress on and wear it with no complaints and I won't do your hair and makeup. Deal?"
"Deal."
I hung the bag on one of the conveniently placed hooks on the back of the door and started unzipping it. I sighed a little in relief when I saw the fabric come into view. Black was better than red. I don't know why, but I had a feeling the dress would be shiny, skimpy, and red. The more I lowered the zipper, the happier I got. Until I saw the length of the dress. If I was lucky, it would cover my ass.
Damnit Marcel.
"Oh, that's pretty," Melanie said from just behind me. I felt her breath on the back of my neck.
I had to admit, she was right. Diagonal stripes of matte black crushed velvet and shiny satin crossed the dress from neck to hem. I pulled it off the hanger and turned it around. Of course, it was backless and short, but it could have been worse.
"Here, let me hold it while you strip."
I nodded and handed her the dress. I kept my back to her as I lifted my comfortable, safe T-shirt over my head. The jeans and tennis shoes were off a moment later. I turned and held out my hands for the dress, standing there in my panties and bra.
"Uh, you might be able to keep the panties, but ditch the bra. Not that kind of dress."
I had a feeling she was going to say that. I reached behind me and twisted the clasp, pulling it off and reaching back out for the dress.
"Lift your arms up, I'll pull it on for you."
Not wanting to ruin her helpful mood, I did just that.
The dress slid over my body like a second skin. It didn't even need to be pulled down, it cascaded over me like water. Once it settled, I spun and looked at Mel hopefully, waiting on her response.
"Wow."
"Wow as in, wow, it looks nice on you or wow as in, damn she ugly?"
She took a step closer and swatted me on the back of my head. "You really need to stop doing stuff like that, " she said softly and put her hand on my shoulder.
"What?"
"Denigrating yourself. What is with your total lack of self-esteem?"
I sighed. "Mel, up until a year ago, my only human interaction was with my aunt. She loved me, but yeah. I was a little monster. I mean that literally. I've never been told I'm pretty. I've only ever judged what is pretty from actors and actresses in movies and on the internet. Sure. I get it. I'm not ugly. But, I am overly shy and extremely self-conscious about it. Bear with me."
"Okay. I'll let it go. But keep the ugly comments down around me or I'll cuff you in the back of the head again," she said, smiled and winked.
I gave her a hug.
"Um, Mel? What about shoes. Think my Nikes will go with this dress?"
"Don't tell me he gave you a dress and didn't remember shoes." She lifted up the bottom of the garment bag, testing its weight. "Nope. He remembered. They're in here." She dug down and pulled out a paper-wrapped bundle, unrolling it before handing me a pair of black stiletto heels.
"Shit."
"What?"
"Don't laugh at me, but I can't walk in those. I've never worn heels."
"You're kidding me?"
"No
pe. Converse, Nike, or flats when I have to get dressy for work."
"I meant you're kidding me because you're a vampire. You can walk on tree tops and high wires. I don't think a pair of heels should be a problem."
"Yeah. I don't think my body got that memo. I tripped on my own toe last week. Strength, speed, fangs check. Superhuman agility no."
"I think your biggest problem is you."
"I think so, too."
Cuff
"I mean you're too uptight. You overthink everything to death and worry too much. Do or do not. There is no try."
"You're a Jedi and a bartender?"
"Yep. Try the shoes."
"You just said there is no try."
Apparently, she had enough of my quirky humor. She pushed me back toward the wall and down onto a stack of boxes. I'm sure there had to have been a more comfortable seat somewhere in the storeroom, but the look she gave me quelled any argument on my part. I reached out for the shoes, but she pushed my hand away and kneeled in front of me.
"You're a pain in the ass. Anybody ever tell you that?" She grabbed the ankle of my left foot, slipped the shoe on and started buckling it. It would have been less awkward if I were a child, but so help me gods she had no qualms about treating me like one. I smirked and let her do her thing.
"Usually about three or four times a day. Mostly my partner, but Marc chimes in a lot, too."
"Can't imagine why."
"Oh, this is nothing. Why just the day before yesterday he got so pissed off at me he shot me in the head?"
"Is that why you were covered in blood?"
"Yep."
"You're lucky. If he were really pissed at you he would have used a silver bullet."
"He did."
She stopped buckling and looked up at me. I couldn't tell if it was pity or shock or both. "What?"
"It was silver. He wanted me down for a little bit to calm down. A regular bullet would have hardly made a dent in my thick skull."
"I guess this falls into the realm of you being a little different," she said and continued with the tiny straps on the shoe.
"Yep. Silver hurts but doesn't kill me."
"What would?"
"Probably getting my head cut off. It seemed to work on my…" I trailed off. Not wanting to drudge up the pain and not wanting to let her know it was my girlfriend.