Popcorn, Vampires and Forbidden Shenanigans (Grimstone Island)

by Rochelle Pearson

  “Wow, that’s... amazing.” I raise my eyebrows and feel truly elated for Tim and the others. Despite minutes ago thinking he was gonna take a bite out of my ass.

  “Gavin didn’t mention him during our tour,” I say, offering an apologetic look. Jefferies waves it away.

  “Not surprised. I assume you weren’t aware of his great aunt Mezzasalma either?”

  “Madame AFV?” My nickname for her humors the older vampire.

  “Ah, yes is she is quite fond of those shows.”

  We reach Gavin’s room. The sight of his bed calls to my body. But before I zonk out, I plan to change out of these slobber-printed shorts. Jefferies stops at the threshold, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Breakfast will be served at eight,” he says, quietly. “Is that alright with you?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Our chef, a nourishment crafting warlock, is very excited to create dishes that for once don’t contain the use of blood.” Jefferies’ warm smile, and sparkling eyes, put me at ease as they did upon us first meeting—expelling the last ounce of my earlier freak out.

  “I bet.”

  “A feast it will be.” He inclines his white-haired head. “Master Gavin stated you consume a lot of food.”

  I shrug. It’s not a lie.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to a good night, Miss.” He slightly bows.

  “Night, Jefferies.” I’m tempted to promise there won’t be any more snooping but at the doorway, watching him walk away, I glance at the Forbidden Staircase at the opposite end.

  No more snooping.

  Yeah...

  ***

  In new clothes, I jump spread eagle on the bed.

  Goddess, this mattress is like a fluffy pancake.

  It doesn’t take me long to get accustomed to the bed, its limb holding, sunken padding. And Gavin’s essence that coats each pillow and blanket. Ahhh, sleep creeps slowly, shutting down another odd day.

  Chapter Six

  “Is everything to your liking, Miss?” Jefferies asks, pouring grapefruit juice into a glass. I can only manage a nod. My eating hole was too busy loving the powdered sugar French toast I’d shoved in it.

  “Good?” Chef Emmett beams, the nourishment warlock. I still can’t formulate a voiced answer, so I get up and hug him. Emmett is round, bald, and extremely gifted. I praise the gods for giving me the humble opportunity of eating his food. His laugh booms in the cool, early morning air when we embrace.

  “Sweet girl, I’ll whip up another batch? Yes?” His white teeth glint in the sunlight.

  I swallow the last French toast bit.

  “Please.”

  “Excellent. I shall.” After he disappears inside, I take my seat again at the glass patio table, covered in food—half mysterious gone...

  Alright, so it’s not a mystery your girl here inhales every last crumb like Scooby-Doo does with Scooby snacks.

  Around me sit a few staff. I insisted they join me. All half breed vampire mixed with different species. They didn’t hesitate to grab a seat. Work around the VanWrath mansion is light and authority isn’t strict. Sipping coffee—theirs laced with blood—we bonded over the Freak Out show I provided last night. I smile around the table, completely comfortable with everyone—though I should question their level of boredom since they had just sat and watched me on camera.

  “I thought for sure you’d pack your bags after finding Mezzasalma,” giggles a blonde woman, with a neat bun. Her name Belinda. Part nymph, she maintains every pool and tends to the libraries.

  “The look on your face!” Snorts came from Terrell, a chocolate skinned man. Shocking yellow eyes crinkling in laughter. Of hawk-shifter DNA, Terrell is the techy. He’s the one who first saw me when routinely checking the monitoring systems and who started the betting pool. Slapping his knee, he snorts again. “Man, that shit was funny. But Mezzasalma and Tim are just the tip of the wonkiness going on in the house.”

  Conversation pauses as Emmett arrives, hands full of a wide plate, towered with golden brown, buttery smelling squares. I dive in once it’s placed in front of me.

  “Damn, girl.” Marina looks impressed. One to keeping everyone on task, she’s built like a linebacker bear-shifter.

  “What else is there?” I ask, going back to Terrell’s previous comment.

  “I’m not at liberty to say...” His smile is scary.

  “Oh, hush.” Belinda nudges him. “Mezzasalma and Tim are it. This isn’t a house of horrors.”

  I don’t know whether to sag in relief or disappointment—nope, in relief. I’m done running into anything else within the mansion walls.

  During topic changing conversations, I learned most of their families had served the VanWraths through the decades—all scattered in different residences around the world. The wealthy vampire clan takes great care of their employees. Not a single bad comment marked against them—a disillusioned culture I previously mentioned that believe all vampires to be heartless.

  In the metaphorical sense.

  They truly don’t have the beating muscle.

  I’d forget since Gavin does a fine job lighting up mine.

  And speak of the fanged devil...

  Soon after the VanWrath Innkeepers left and I finished the rest of breakfast—a buffet line Emmett concocted—my cell phone vibrates with an incoming call.

  VAMP MAN.

  I pick up, immediately saying, “Heller, you’ve reached the voicemail of a wolf whom you refrained from telling she sleeps above a three-headed demon dog. Please leave your excuse after the motherfucking beep. Beeeep.”

  He just laughs. I wait silently for him to finish being a little asshole.

  “So you’ve met Tim?”

  “Yes, I met Tim and your great auntie Mezzlesammie”

  “Mezzasalma.”

  “Right. Her. How come she isn’t hooked up with a flat screen? You’re an awful nephew for not providing her Tom Bergeron’s face in high quality definition.”

  “True. I’ll see if she wants that when I return,” he replies, sounding like he’s smiling still. “And I have no excuse. I just didn’t feel like telling you about them.”

  “Evil.” I hiss.

  “Babe.”

  “In Monte Carlo, yet?” I ask. Maids come out, clearing away dishes. I notice their widened eyes at how clean the porcelain is.

  I lick plates clean, honey.

  “Yes. Just touched down. I’m handling some minor things before the real business starts.”

  “Are you staying at a hotel?”

  That cracks him up. Surprise, surprise—I should’ve known he’d be staying at one of the many properties his family owns.

  “How was sleeping in my bed last night?” His voice deliciously, husky in my ear. For a second, I consider lying that I crashed on the couch but that’d be an insult to his amazing bed.

  “Wonderful. I must know where the mattress is from.” And whether the manufacturers actually put stuffings of real cloud in it—a nice thought if it were possible.

  “Undoubtedly, better if I were there,” he replies.

  I tsk. “You’re reaching. But true. It would’ve been nice to have a pillow fight.”

  “Naked?”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  ***

  Later, I sip the fruit punch I brought by the pool while sunbathing in a bikini on a towel. Several sighs escape smiling lips.

  Ahhh...

  You know what this place doesn’t have but The Growling Grill, my family’s restaurant, most certainly does?

  A pack of feral wolves, beating the shit out one another and banjo music playing in the background.

  Everyday family/job life for moi. I’m not dissing my furry bunch. I just compare them to a snug coat.

  Comfy, somewhat.

  Suffocating, occasionally.

  I swallow a mouthful of tropical liquid. “Mmmm.” I grin.

  Sweat beads my lower back and cleavage. I’ll take a dip to cool off, yet not m
oving a single inch, I bask in the sun. I don’t wear shades, simply close my eyes, loving the heat rays seeping into my limbs, coaxing my lazy ass to sleep. The she-wolf is belly up too, soaking it all in.

  Man, this is the best damn house-sitting job I’ve ever had.

  It’s the only. Regardless, it’s pretty damn sweet.

  My thoughts drift to Jonathan, wondering if he and other trainees are allowed to lounge. Probably... not. It’s all work, most likely, and no quiet play time there in Botswana. It’s still satisfying to know my feline buddy is under the same sun as I. I need to call him later—using his base housing number friends and family were assigned. Personal cells were prohibited. Although, a few times in the past, I end up missing him because he’s constantly whisked to another field course.

  At this point, I just wing it and hope he’s available.

  Another “Ahhh” was soon to be released but a whole bunch of “Whaaaaat?” s came first.

  Though not from me.

  Rising on my elbows I look towards where the sudden gasps emitted from. On the patio, staff were gathered in the middle, heads tilted up. Hands shielding the sunlight from their eyes, some pointed to the sky.

  I shrug. I’m game for whatever is going on and look up too.

  “Oh, poop,” I mumbled. Nothing out of the ordinary but clear blue skies. Of course, you add a giant ass dragon swooping low, that warrants a pause.

  Longer than a couple school buses, the green scaled dragon hovered high, circling like a vulture about to dive bomb for a carcass.

  I know him.

  Odd, each time he wanted to descend, he kept bumping into an invisible wall, and once he did, it made a boom sound, comparable to a fist hitting a glass window. And a brief flash of blue light.

  A ward.

  “Lucien had protection spells established centuries ago,” Jefferies informed, stepping closer to where I lay.

  “Invisible force field.”

  “Basically. It surrounds the whole property. No threat can penetrate it.” He and I watch the dragon slice its wings through the air, beating them harder in clear agitation. If that wasn’t easy to deduce then the wide mouth, roaring certainly was. My heart pounds, fascinated and worried, as the flying beast’s belly glows orange, rising to its neck then its massive jaws separate to spew thick black and red-orange flames at the invisible barrier.

  Threat meet Mr. Angry Dragon.

  “Strange...” Jefferies frowned. “Never in my life would I predict a Galzra would exude this type of behavior.”

  “Wh-what are you going to do?” I ask, thinking what the hell am I going to do if Jefferies decides to call the cavalry—wait, what exactly does one to do to shoo off a persistent dragon? There’s no repellent spray called “Dragon B Gone.”

  “I’ll inform Master Gavin of the incident. In the meantime, I’m sure the creature is experiencing distress and hopefully will come out of it and be on its way. If not within the hour, I’ll have to send for a coven leader to coax it along.”

  I nod, and silently urge for the creature of which I personally know all too well to get the hell out of here.

  Grumpy dragon head butts the force field.

  “Hmm... it behaves as if it wants to get in,” Jefferies muses.

  I snort, nervously. “Yeah, but why?” I fake confusion while my scalp prickles and cheeks burn.

  “Maybe it wants something. Though, I can’t imagine what.” He taps his chin before walking to the staff, dispersing them.

  I gulp. Eyes still on the Galzra dragon.

  As if the hundred-foot or so distance were mere inches, his and my gaze connects. The werewolf vision can hone in on anything in far distances. At the very second, I’m homing in on a very pissed off reptile, it snarls, roaring longer and strained one last time before flying away.

  Minutes tick; I’m by myself since everyone, I assume, went back to their duties. Alone, and slightly shaken, exhaling and inhaling, I finally calm my trembling hands and racing heart.

  On the night of my birthday, Adrian presented his stunning dragon to me. That’s how I, aside from Jeffries’ statements, know it’s him. The magic that coats Adrian’s scales isn’t anything I’d ever sensed, tasted... touched. It was a whirlwind experience. Remembering it all is the reason for my body’s reaction.

  When it finally settled, and I submerged myself in the warm pool, I thought why the big creepy dummy decided to use his head as a battery ram.

  Chapter Seven

  Number one rule for achieving Half-Assed Yoga: vocalize long and drawn out “Omm” sounds and don’t squeal when a bee wants to get cozy on your nose so people in the nearby area will think—“Oh, that girl is a yoga beast.”

  That’s what I sorta am, the moment after Jefferies led then left me in an immaculate garden square on the east side of mansion. Thick, vibrant green grass cushions underneath the blanket he’d lent me. Roses of various colors bloom within bubble butt bushes along the house wall. Armies of yellow tulips man most of the land. In between, rooted, are tall families of sunflowers and lavender. I notice other fragrant smells from tiny flowers I don’t know the names of—I’m not an expert, folks, I just know the basics—but I do recognize the rainbow hues of lupine flowers. It’s easy to since they resemble a wolf’s tail and the word “Lupine” is used to describe something as wolfish. I’d appreciate a gold sticker, please.

  Under a willow tree, my one-person audience who’s probably smarter than to believe the downward sucky dog position marked perfection. Currently, he fed giant Venus fly traps. No more than a few feet from my blanket spot, the focused young male placed dead bugs into the plant’s reddish mouths. Beside him is a short cart that holds watering pots, and fresh soil. He’s gloveless.

  I sit to watch the man longer. He tends to more plants, his love for them clear on his face and the way his slender fingers checks them over, gently, as they hover over petals and stems—each coming alive as he smiles.

  He’s in his element.

  Literally.

  Green glitter sparkles on everything he touches, like his eyes project it.

  The man’s a spellcaster—a given because of the magic glitter he wields which each plants seem to eat up. A warlock. His affinity of being an earth elemental is strong. I can tell he carries great power, the cedarwood scent of which is more potent than nature’s perfumy blooms. He’s possibly very skilled at doing whatever, but he favors the ability to speak, to breathe, to be one with the garden’s plants.

  “Your hard gaze is the equivalent of a finger poking child, shifter.” His soft voice drifts across the lawn. “That and reading an individual is not polite.”

  “I-I I’m sorry,” I say sheepishly. Despite the apology I don’t look away. The dude’s work is mesmerizing. The shower of twinkling lights he dusts on the sunflowers make them stand taller. Be brighter.

  Healthier.

  ”Forgiven.” He meets my eyes and I’m taken aback some. His clear, peaches and cream face and shiny brown hair is youthful but the depths of his pale eyes behold far beyond mere past centuries. An electrifying blue corona circles the pupils. A telling sign he’s no warlock.

  A wizard.

  Few live on the island, though it’s predicted more who hide in the human’s world will make the journey to Grimstone eventually. Their race is a very private, independent bunch. They’re the last supernatural species to finally venture over.

  His smile is like the Cheshire cat.

  I swallow.

  “Claus Barnaby.” He bows. “The VanWrath’s groundskeeper.”

  “And kickass gardener.”

  His eyes glitter. “Precisely.”

  I like this guy.

  I like him even further when he lets me water the rest of the plants with him. He’s quiet doing so, briefly giving me direction, other than that Claus keeps it silent, set on concentrating in treating the flowers.

  Still saying nothing when several bees send my ass running.

  Turns out, I’ve got a little gr
een thumb. It’s peaceful, a form of meditation, going tulip to tulip, gently watering their roots.

  Never had I cared for a garden before. Hell, Claus would zap off my eyelashes in a heartbeat if I revealed I’d yet to trash the dead lima bean plant I’d forgotten I left in my closet. Shit, I think it’s going on half a year I haven’t done so.

  I keep forgetting.

  Noon hits, and Claus has to leave to go to Talula’s Beasts, an exotic botanical shop in town whose owner finally found a long named, I can’t pronounce, rare plant that glows in the dark.

  When he’s gone, I take a selfie with the Venus fly traps.

  ***

  Bubble, bubble, boil, Ms. Trouble....

  “Oh, baby, that feels goooooood,” I moan, sinking further into the hot water. My grand next stop of the marathon of relaxation and luxury has reached Gavin’s chrome and marble bathroom—which is the size of my bedroom. More sunbathing, instead of finishing half-ass yoga, got me sweaty and after taking a rinse off in the hundred nozzle shower, I sank in the whirlpool next to it.

  Do y’all see what my time here is starting, well, already, has succumbed to?

  It could be seen quite a few ways, actually: A relaxing getaway weekend. A less high on mushrooms version of Wonderland where I’m in no rush to go home. Me as Goldilocks, in a more welcoming environment, being happily fed and sleeping in someone’s cozy bed who doesn’t mind.

  Ah, a nap will do.

  I ignore my suddenly vibrating phone that lies on a pile of towels close by and begin to settle for a lazy slumber among the flowing water and hope I don’t drown.

  The round of vibrations ends.

  Arms spread. Eyes closed...

  Vzzzzt. Vzzzzt. Vzzzt.

  I’m not getting it. I’ve talked to friends enough in the past twelve hours, and though, I wonder how Lucas and Piper are doing, and wanting to check in with Jonathan—I’d like a break first.

  I chuckle at that. Break time is all I’ve been doing.

  Vibrations no longer affecting me, I—

  Vzzzt. Vzzzt. Vzzzt.

  But then again, it could be Ma alerting me of an emergency. That pushed me to action and I reached across the marble side, dry my hands, keeping my upper body out of the tub I read who the incoming caller is.