Welcome to Castle Cove

by Kory M. Shrum

  The stench of roasting flesh and burnt hair curls my nose.

  A heartbeat later, there is only ash, seared into the stones.

  “The greedy ones never understand,” Ethan says to the sleeping woman, who hasn't moved a muscle this entire time. “They think I keep you here. As if I could ever subject you to anything.”

  Considering what I just saw, it does seem ridiculous.

  “You have questions?” Ethan asks.

  “Yes,” I say without hesitation. Who is this woman? Where did she come from? Why in the world am I here in this bizarre town and is Henry really my sire?

  I don’t dare ask any of them, embarrassed by my own ignorance.

  “Kiss her,” Ethan whispers.

  “What?” I look at Dr. Grange and Liam expecting to find them smiling at this joke. But they’re not smiling. Dr. Grange is practically running her heel into the ash stain that was Henry.

  “Contrary to what Henry believed, you cannot feed from her. But she will let you kiss her,” Ethan says again. “Lightly on the lips.”

  He isn’t joking.

  I don’t want to imagine what will happen to me if I don’t kiss her. Is this like pledging fealty? I will do it if it means not becoming the next to fall on the proverbial pyre.

  I lean close, eyes open until my lips are just above hers.

  I think please don’t kill me.

  Her mouth is cold and hard. Like kissing a rock I just fished out of the ocean. But when our lips connect, I am transported.

  I see Vendetta alive. A rendition of Snow White. Rich, long dark locks and ruby red lips. I see her human family before they were taken by a cruel queen and slaughtered. I see what the queen’s soldiers did to her poor body, after forcing her onto her hands and knees. And what powers the witch—no, goddess—of that tree bestowed upon her so Vendetta could have her revenge.

  I came to understand that the castle ruins in the distance, is all that remains of the queen Vendetta defeated. And that the crone tree that keeps Castle Cove safe and imbues it with power, is still here, hidden deep in the Wayward Woods.

  And we are all here because she is gathering us. Her army, for another battle that is yet to come. She serves the goddess of the crone tree, and we serve her.

  Even if I left tonight, I would be drawn back here sooner or later—because every creature of darkness takes their strength from this beautiful woman sleeping on the stone slab before me.

  The last vision I receive from this kiss is Josephine’s face. The way it looked before Henry and Richard tore her apart.

  I pull back, tears staining my cheeks.

  “She is our mother. Our maker,” Ethan says, tenderly. “Do you understand that?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. I look up and meet his eyes. “Is that why you wanted me to kiss her? So I would see all that?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know what Vendetta showed you. That is between you and her. I know only that she has welcomed you into the fold, and you are one of us now. Did she answer your question?”

  I see Josephine’s face again. Bright and kind. “Josephine is the one who turned me. Not Henry. It was her blood.”

  Ethan nods as if he knows this. “Does this give you peace?”

  “Yes, but I still don’t have anyone.”

  “I will look after you,” Dr. Grange says. Her strong arms enfold me.

  For the first time in a while, I feel safe.

  I feel like I really belong.

  The End

  Create a new story

  Leave Castle Cove

  “I’m leaving,” I say.

  “I’ll take you home,” Dr. Grange says. “Ethan, I’ll meet you at your house.”

  We climb into the BMW and ride the rest of the way home in silence. Dr. Grange doesn’t try to persuade me to stay or leave. She only tells me that I’ll be able to manage some minimal tasks during the day, but to stay out of direct sunlight if I can help it. Apparently, I will still burn, just not explode into dust. I take her warnings and her information and the things that I feel like I need and pack up the car.

  I resolve to hire a shipping company to come get the rest and send it to my mother’s house in Maryland. Tonight I only take the things I’d be sad to lose. It takes me nearly five minutes to find Sushi, but once I offer him the cat carrier—which he usually detests—he seems all too willing to get in it.

  It’s not even four o’clock in the morning when I climb into my car and pull away. In the rearview mirror, I look into the dark windows of my apartment and wonder if I’m doing the right thing.

  I push my foot down harder on the gas. Midnight Pass, the long road carving a path through the canyon, leads me along the ridge overlooking the cove. The sea glitters in the moonlight.

  If I strain, I see shadows moving on the beach below. Nighttime bathers…or something else, enjoying the waves and moonlight.

  Once I’m on the uppermost part of the ridge, I roll down the window to enjoy the crisp night air. The chill doesn’t seem to bother me anymore as it did when I was still human.

  A howl breaks open the night, carried on a soft breeze. It smells of salt water and the lush forest stretching behind the ruined castle. I hear another howl from those trees, forming a chorus with the first. Both now closer.

  I wonder if that howl really belongs to wolves, or one of Castle Cove’s special citizens.

  I make it to the interstate and pull into traffic.

  I don’t look back.

  Sometimes my mother asks what happened in Castle Cove. I simply tell her that it wasn’t a good fit. She makes her own assumptions about crime, probably wondering if a man was involved. I never elaborate.

  She doesn’t mind that I work the night shift and sleep most of the day away. In fact, she hasn’t seemed to notice much of a change in me at all.

  Sometimes when I’m walking the streets of Baltimore at night, seizing criminals from the darkness down by the bay, I can hear those waves crashing against the cove’s rocks.

  It may just be my imagination. Or it may be that distant, unknowable city calling me home.

  The End

  Create a new story

  No, alone time sounds perfect.

  “I’m okay,” I tell her. “You did a great job with setting me up with everything I need. I’ll just watch some TV and relax tonight. Maybe take a hot bath. That always helps.”

  She smiles. “Yes, never underestimate the importance of self-care. I’d like to check in on you next week, after you return to work, if that’s all right with you?”

  “Of course,” I say, because I have a feeling it isn’t really a request. Maybe there is some law in the city about checking up on baby vampires to make sure they don’t bleed the town dry. “Thanks.”

  Within five minutes of being alone in my apartment, I’m in pajamas and on my couch with my favorite series playing on the television. This is almost perfectly normal.

  “I just need snacks,” I murmur. And something about this thought is enough to kick start the tears. Because the blood packs in my fridge do not snacks make.

  I cry and cry and don’t stop crying.

  I cry through a hot bath. And I’m still crying even after I climb into my bed around four in the morning. Probably early for a vampire, but I don’t care. My bed is the only thing I want in the world.

  And at least I have it.

  Then the sun rises, and I fall into a thick slumber.

  I sleep fitfully through the day, the way I slept the first few days after Greg dumped me or when my favorite uncle, Charlie, died. I wake the next evening feeling cried out. I’m tired and hungry. I spend the night drinking blood, watching television and trying my hand at another hot bath—this time without tears. Just thirty minutes before dawn, I fall into bed wearing the same pajamas I woke up in. But I only cry once. Progress. This goes on for a third night.

  When I wake on the fourth night, I feel like the worst of it is over.

  Yes, I was almost killed.

  Yes, I�
��ll never drink coffee or spend the evening eating popcorn and watching television. But I’m alive. Kind of. And I will find a way to make this work.

  I pick a blood pack from the box in the fridge and heat it on the stove in my sauce pan, I’m getting rather good at it.

  This came from a woman, I think. Where is she now? Here is Castle Cove? Does she donate often? Why? Does she know Aiden? Is there a donor club or something?

  I tip the sauce pan, so I can fill up a dark ceramic mug. I’ve stopped using white ceramic mugs. For obvious reasons.

  Sushi leaps up onto the counter and meows. Very, very slowly, I reach my hand forward and stroke his soft ears. He sniffs my hand, his ears twitching. But he isn’t hiding from me anymore, sneaking out to eat during the day. That’s something.

  “Yeah, it’s a big change for me, too,” I tell him. “But I’ll still feed you.”

  “Meow.”

  “Thattaboy.”

  I take a seat at the island and drink my dinner while Sushi enjoys his. My new normal, I think.

  The blood is good, but it isn’t my favorite.

  I’ve discovered one thing over the last few nights at least. I prefer male blood with the donor being about my age or a little younger and on a pescatarian diet.

  Things I never thought I’d discover about myself…

  Fortified for the night ahead, I need to decide how I’ll spend it. I take an internal inventory of my feelings, trying to get a sense of what I want to do, and realize I’m pretty lonely. I should call someone.

  Choice 27

  Call Katie and see if she wants to go out

  Call Ethan Benedict and apologize for missing our meeting

  Call Katie and see if she wants to go out.

  I pick up my phone and call Katie. It goes to her voicemail. I leave an awkward message, apologizing for staying home the other night and tell her to call me back.

  Halfway through the message, I get weird because I realize I’m a vampire all over again and Katie probably isn’t. Is that okay? Would I be able to hang out with her and not be all vampy?

  What are the rules? Are my fangs just going to pop out of my head unexpectedly? The idea of drooling all over myself in public is as horrifying as discovering I’ve sweated through my shirt at work—which used to be my number one fear. No pale dress shirts for me, people.

  They weren’t kidding when they said that near-death changes everything.

  It sure as hell does.

  Without a wing-lady, I really only have two options.

  Choice 28

  Call Ethan Benedict and apologize for missing our meeting

  Call Dr. Grange and ask her where baby vamps hang out

  Call Dr. Grange and ask her where baby vamps hang out.

  Dr. Grange’s number is programmed in my phone. I don’t remember adding it myself, so she must have. I can’t be mad. She made sure the phone came home with me and was thoughtful enough to put it on the charger for me.

  I’m also thrilled it survived the attack. There is a new chip in the case and a long scratch along the side, maybe where it hit the pavement. But the screen is unbroken. Lucky indeed.

  Dr. Grange picks up on the third ring. “Good evening. How do you feel?”

  “A little restless,” I admit. “I was hoping you could tell me where baby vampires go to have fun in Castle Cove.”

  Dr. Grange laughs. “You are free to go wherever you please in Castle Cove. Any public place will welcome you, without discrimination. I promise. But if you mean specifically where you can meet your own kind, that depends. Some hang out at the blood stands, like Allen’s. Others like the bar scene. As far as vampire bars go, we have House of the Setting Sun, Stake Out, Fiends & Fantasma, and Serration. And there’s Drag-ool, a gay and lesbian bar. You might also want to visit the Heights.”

  “Vendetta Heights?” I ask.

  “Yes, Vampires congregate up there. And humans, too. They hook up.”

  My stunned silence must say volumes.

  “Not necessarily for sex,” she says. “But just to feed. So if you’d like to experiment with direct feeding…”

  “Oh, okay.” Because what else am I supposed to say. I’ve seen the cars parked in the gravel pull-offs along Canyon Road. I just didn’t have any idea what they were doing.

  “You should go out,” she encourages me. “Especially since it’s safe again.”

  “You caught the guys?” I say, my heart taking off like a hammer in my chest.

  “We did. They were squatting in a local resident’s home. We were able to suss them out and deliver justice.”

  “That’s great.”

  “It is,” she says. “Josephine deserved that.”

  I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine losing someone I’m so close to.

  “Enjoy the night,” she says, calmly and hangs up before I can say anything more.

  Enjoy the night.

  All right.

  I get on the internet and look up the bars she mentioned in the Castle Cove directory. I like the description for House of the Setting Sun. Casual food and fare. Music every Tuesday.

  Perfect. I can wear something comfortable. Get a drink, stand by the jukebox, and pretend to watch the show. If no one talks to me, no big deal. It’ll be nice to just get out for a few hours.

  I choose some loose jeans, a comfy sweater suitable for a spring night, and my jacket. I double check for the wallet and phone in my pockets and then drive to the Red Light district where House of the Setting Sun is located.

  As I park in a lot across the street, I’m struck by the fact that this bar is literally a house.

  A Victorian mansion occupies half of the block on the north side of the street. It has this moody, gothic look to it with the spires reaching skyward from its roof and the sharp slopes. Rock music seeps from the home out into the night. People congregate on the lawn, the steps, and in every lit window. I feel like I’m walking into a haunted house frat party instead of a bar.

  But I wanted to get out so here I am.

  I take a deep breath and walk across the lawn. I see a sign posted to the right: House Rules. I stop to read the instructions, pretty sure that I don’t want to embarrass myself so soon.

  The inside of the bar is exactly what I imagined. A house with rich wooden bannisters and high ceilings. Lots of bodies congregating in every corner, laughing, and talking over one another.

  I wander through the rooms until I find the bar in the back, overlooking an enormous ballroom turned dance floor. I slide onto an empty chair.

  The bartender spares me a friendly grin. “Want a drink?”

  I hesitate. “Blood?”

  He laughs, eyes sparking. “Any particular kind?”

  “Uh, a male pescatarian?” I ask, feeling more than a little stupid.

  He grins. “Sure.”

  I can’t help myself. I burst out laughing, my nerves getting the best of me. “Is that really how you order blood in a bar?”

  “Just turned?” he asks. “Where’s your sire?”

  “Why? Am I going to get carded?”

  He laughs. “No. I just thought you’d get walked through this is all.”

  “My sire is dead,” I say. “And yes, I’m just turned.”

  A flash of embarrassment flashes across his face. “Sorry.”

  I shrug. “So…is that how you order blood? Or do I need to eavesdrop on some vampires ordering drinks?”

  He glances down the bar at the patrons, making sure most are cared for. Then he turns back. “Here.”

  He places a menu in front of me. It’s coated in plastic just like a restaurant menu. “You can order by type, O-, O+ and so on. You can order by gender. Or by diet. So male pescatarian was a pretty good guess. You could’ve said O+ male pescatarian if you want to be picky. Or just O+ male.”

  “What if I don’t know what I want?” I ask. “I’m still developing my palette, so to speak.”

  This gets me another cute grin. “If you order a glass of t
he house wine, they’ll know what you mean. There’s also Sunglasses After Dark, a Bloody Sally, Carpathian Coffee, a South Manhattan, or Dark n’ Bloody, Bloody Sunrise—they’re all blood cocktails popular around town. Want to try one?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “What was your favorite drink before?”

  “A dirty martini,” I say. “Or Moscato.”

  “A South Manhattan or Sunglasses after Dark is where I’d start.”

  “Surprise me.”

  With a devilish grin he turns away to make a drink. I let my eyes slide over the room, over the crush of bodies grinding on the dance floor while a band rocks out on stage. A long-haired blond sings about Hunger, his hands cupped around the microphone. The bass player and guitarist keep up with him as the drummer carries on in the back.

  My eyes lock on someone else’s at the end of the bar. His face lights up with recognition, and he slides off his stool and approaches.

  “Hey!” Aiden stops just short of me. “You’re out and about.”

  “I am,” I say. I don’t dare mention that it took several days of crying in my apartment to get to this point. “What about you?” Then I realize what a stupid response this is and quickly add, “Do you come here often?”

  “I’m having a drink with my brother, Liam.” He turns and points at the guy at the end of the bar. Dark and brooding. Very urban looking. Not nearly as bright and friendly as Aiden.

  “Is this the brother you told me about?”

  “Yeah. Let me introduce you,” he says. “Come on.”

  Before I know it, he takes my hand and pulls me toward the end of the bar.

  “Liam, this is the woman I was telling you about. The one Mason saved.”

  Well, gorgeous certainly runs in the family. Liam extends his hand and offers a polite smile. “Nice to meet you. You’re transitioning well.”