“Magic,” Isaac asked abruptly.
“Huh?”
“The lighthouse keeper would survive by using magic,” he explained in a matter-of-fact tone.
I didn’t know whether I was supposed to laugh or not. Was he serious? “Well, my grandmother always thought magic was pretty powerful,” I said with a smirk.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on the table.
I snagged a cheese biscuit and broke off a piece, which I quickly popped into my mouth to give myself time to think. My grandma, a rather eccentric person, believed in fairies, vampires, and wizards. Maybe it was her stories that made me write vampire romance novels. Unlike me, she believed them to be as real as the table I sat at or the biscuit I ate. I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell Isaac I had a certifiably crazy relative. I finally decided he’d hear eventually.
“Well, my grandma believed in vampires and stuff like that. She always told this story about how my, like, super great-granddad was a magician… or wizard…or whatever. And not like the entertainer kind, but the real kind. My grandma believed the story all her life. I think it's a load of bull.”
Isaac smiled at me, an unknown secret bringing a gleam to his eyes. “That's interesting. Do you know what his name was?”
“I don't remember.”
“Well, where'd he come from?”
I frowned. Isaac seemed extra intrigued by my stupid story. Why was he so interested in my family's past? Jordan's warning echoed in the back of my mind. Before I could inquire, our food arrived, distracting me from our conversation.
Isaac didn't ask about my crazy grandmother, or her stories, again.
Chapter Three
“So how are classes going?” I asked, trying to pull the conversation away from my crazy relatives.
He shrugged before putting a bite into his mouth. “Good enough. Lots to grade,” he added, when he realized I was waiting for more of an answer.
“Covering anything interesting?”
“Not really. Hunter gatherers. Most boring subject to teach. I could do the whole course in thirty seconds—some hunt some gather. There, the end.” Isaac shoveled another bite of salad into his mouth.
I smiled. It was the longest speech he'd ever offered me.
The conversation, if you can call it that, continued for another half hour. I was almost relieved when we didn't order dessert. I felt dissatisfied when he finally signed the receipt. He just didn't really share, and I wanted to know more about him. I wondered what made him tick, why he chose to be a teacher, who cut his hair—anything!
It was hard not to wonder if he found me intellectually beneath him. After all, he had a PhD, I had barely finished high school. Were we simply too different?
We exited the restaurant into a sizeable gale. The wind blew into our faces, driving the rain at an unnatural angle. I'd forgotten to grab a jacket. Okay, forgotten isn't quite the word I'd use: Chose not to might be a bit more accurate.
Aside from my bulky winter jacket, left over from high school and only worn when it was below zero, my only coat was a worn leather number, and which would have clashed hideously with my little black dress. Coatless was the only fashion choice available to me tonight.
We scurried to his car and hopped in. I was already drenched. Typically, Washington skies drizzle rather than pour. Granted, they do it without any sign of stopping for days on end, but today was apparently special. I laughed, but Isaac took on a suddenly serious look. I didn't know what he could be thinking.
On the drive home I had hopes that maybe, for a change, Isaac would come up to my apartment. I didn't really have anything to offer him to drink, though, as Jordan had taken my last soda. I tried to tone down my frivolity, but the closer we got the more excited I grew. Butterflies began doing little flips in my stomach. Whatever had suddenly changed his mood was big. I could tell that much. By the time we reached my apartment on the outskirts of downtown Olympia, the rain had let up.
Isaac parked around the corner from the entrance into the complex. When we got out, I immediately headed for my place. It may not have been actively raining, but that didn't mean it was dry either. Before I'd taken more than a step, Isaac was at my side, his hand gripping my arm too tightly. Panic shot through me. First of all, how did he get to my side of the car so fast, and secondly, why was he holding on to me?
I tried to pull my arm free, but his grip hardened. My eyes widened in instinctual fright. He spun me around until my back rested against his chest, and a hand clamped over my mouth. I suddenly realized I could have been screaming this whole time! He jerked me back into an alley just as the rain picked up. Was he really attacking me? This was Isaac after all—the gentleman. My brain said no, but the panic, making my heart beat faster and my limbs tingle, said yes. When we reached the darker shadows of the alley, I realized this was very real.
Now, I don't know a lot about self-defense, but I do know all guys have one extremely sensitive area. I tried to kick at it with my heels. Not an easy task when someone is dragging you away with what felt like inhuman strength. What little part of my brain was working realized that Isaac would naturally seem much stronger. He pushed me up against the wall of what I thought to be the dry cleaners, though I was a little turned around. Can you blame me?
My eyes widened when he took his left hand off of me and bit into his own wrist.
What the hell? I thought at the time, and tried to use that moment to pull free, but found that he was too fast and way too strong. He had me pinned against the wall again before I had taken two steps. Using his hip to hold me against the wall, he pried my mouth open with his free hands and filled it with his bleeding wrist. I gagged and sputtered, trying not to swallow. When he ran out of patience, he plugged my nose and tipped my head back. I couldn't help but swallow; if I didn't I was going to suffocate.
People always say blood is like sucking on a penny. I don't know what they're talking about; it's warm, sticky, and damn nasty! After a few swallows he pulled his wrist away. Tears began to stream down my face, mixing with the rain and Isaac’s blood that now covered my chin and neck. What was going on? Again, I tried to scurry away, but it was no use: he was just too strong. I had always known Isaac worked out, but in this moment he seemed beyond human. Or maybe the whole drinking blood thing had me freaked out.
Some people define fear as a stimulus that aids in an animal's—or human's—survival instinct. Of course, when you experience it, such a definition falls short. On the other hand, the Bible says to only “fear Him who, after your body has been killed, has authority to throw you into hell.” No offense to Luke, but when you're faced with death, you're too busy fearing your killer to think beyond that. Neither the Bible nor the dictionary could describe what I felt as Isaac bent over my wet shoulder and bit into my neck.
Wait, what? He bit me? Yes, oh yes, he bit me. My mind raced wildly as the unnatural happened right there in the alley. Was his gentleman façade meant to cover up a serial killer? Was he trying to emulate my books? Did that even happen?
A piercing pain shot through my neck, down my shoulder, and out my fingertips, breaking off my brief train of thought. I began to scream, but that just reminded him to recover my mouth with his free hand. The pain increased as he readjusted his bite.
What? Once wasn't enough? Fire shot through the two bite locations as his teeth dug deeper. Were human teeth always this sharp?
If I live through this, Jordan is never going to let me forget it, I thought absently as I wiggled against his painful grasp. My energy quickly began to fade. I started to feel cold and sleepy. I kept trying to push him away. I wasn't the type to just give up, but my shoves were getting pathetic. Even in my hazy frame of mind, I knew there was no hope. My limbs started to feel like they were made of overcooked spaghetti. With the last of my strength, I tried to shove his head away. When that failed, I slumped against his solid body. Fade to black.
Chapter Four
When I woke, there was nothing slow or peaceful about it. One minute I was completely out, the next I was on my feet and aware of everything around me. I was in an empty cage made of iron bars. The bars were securely planted into the concrete ceiling and floor of what seemed to be a basement. The cage looked completely inescapable—except for the door standing wide open. That seemed rather pointless. The cell was empty, except for my own frantic body. The room’s walls were bare, expect for one door open to a set of steep stairs.
Though I spotted a short man with a shocking array of red hair sitting in a folding chair, reading a magazine, I didn't wait to exchange pleasantries. I bolted through the open door and out of the room. Two guards stood on the other side of the door. I heard them trying to pursue me, but I was too fast. Don't ask me how I suddenly became so athletic; maybe sheer terror had given me wings. Whatever the case may be, I bolted up the concrete stairs and found myself in a wide hallway without windows. I glanced one way, and then another. At one end, a narrow staircase headed upward. I charged up it, taking the steps three at a time. Though some might be able to do that with ease, at five foot four, I found it a little harder than impossible. Somehow I made it to the exterior door before the pursuing men had reached the hallway.
I slammed against the release bar and propelled myself into the sunny morning rays. At first I was surprised to see the sun peaking over the buildings of downtown Olympia—it doesn't do that often here. The next second, I was screaming in pain and writhing on the sidewalk. I looked at my bare arms and legs. Red blisters were quickly forming on my flesh. It looked as though my skin was actually boiling. Before I could seek some sort of remedy, my two followers had arrived and stepped out into the sunlight. They did not begin to boil, but picked me up by the arms and legs and carried me back into the building.
The redhead waited at the bottom of the narrow stairs, well away from the swath of light that penetrated the deep bunker, with his magazine tucked under his arm. The burly men set me down in the hallway, while the redhead knelt beside me, staring at my damaged flesh. To my astonishment, the damaged skin was healing before my eyes. Within seconds, it was back to its normal Washington pastiness.
The redhead waved the other men away. They went back down the steps into the room with the cage. “My name is Josh,” said the remaining man.
“What's going on?” I demanded.
“I'm not going to hurt you.”
His statement didn't comfort me, so I didn't respond.
“I need you to listen very careful—”
“What is going on?” I snapped, my ability to cope with weird stuff long gone. When he didn't answer me immediately, I rose to my feet and began to march down the hallway, away from the door leading into the sunlight. Josh rose with me, grabbing my arm before I could make it two steps.
“I will tell you, but you have to prepare yourself for something you might not believe. And you have to let me finish before you go running off.”
I nodded slowly, after which he released my arm.
“So… um… ” He stuttered, obviously trying to find the right words. “Well… you see… uh… look there's no easy way to say this… ”
I tried to imagine what he might be leading up to. Had I contracted some horrible disease that made me boil in the sun? That seemed a little farfetched.
“You see… you’re a vampire now,” the red-head finished.
I don't know what response he expected, but evidently my loud and slightly hysterical laughter wasn't it.
“You're a funny, funny man!” I said, thumping him on his shoulder.
He stared at me, waiting for the laughter to die away. When I noticed his serious look, I stopped. Crap, this guy was for real.
Great! I’m in some sort of basement fortress with a lunatic. Or maybe a crazed fan.
“What happened when you went outside?” he asked.
I hesitated. “It was a fluke?” I hadn't meant to ask a question.
Josh gestured toward the door at the top of the steps. In an act of sheer defiance, I marched up the steps, pushed the door open, and immediately regretted it. The sun shone through the opening, searing my skin again. I jumped back, letting the weight of the door pull it shut. Like before, the damage on my arm healed in a matter of seconds.
The short man stood at the bottom of the steps, waiting patiently.
It couldn't be true. Vampires were fictitious creations of Hollywood and those who wanted to make money—I should know! I was one of those slimy bastards out to make a buck. Of course, my vampires didn't burn in the sun. Sure, I’d seen Brad Pitt in “Interview with a Vampire,” but it seemed too ridiculous for my books.
Evidently I was wrong. Very wrong!
“What would happen if I stayed in the sun?” I asked.
“You would die, turn to ashes,” he said.
“For real?” There was no belief tinting my tone of voice, as I thought back to when Kristen Dunst turned into ash.
Josh nodded solemnly. The twinkle in his eye suggested he was struggling to keep a straight face. It was enough to send me into a tizzy.
“No!” I shrieked, pushing past him and stomping back down the hallway. I didn't know where I was going, but I had to do something in protest. It couldn't be! I couldn't accept it.
With quick steps, Josh caught up and kept me from reaching the next doorway. It was a double door made of thick wood that looked like oak and it didn't match the undecorated interior of the concrete hall. On the other side of the hallway was another, wider staircase leading up to a set of metal doors.
“Listen!” He grabbed my arms to force me to stand still. “Can you hear the music playing in there?” he asked, nodding toward the wooden doors on our level.
I hesitated a moment, pretending to listen. The thing was I didn't have to try to hear the music. It came through loud enough. “Mozart?” I asked, not quite certain which classical composer it was.
“Chopin actually. And the T.V. up there?” He nodded toward the second floor.
I didn't hesitate this time. “I hear a basketball game and a talk show and, um, the news,” I added as more sounds came to my ears. How many TVs did they have up there?
He nodded again. “And conversations?”
There were many to choose from. I could hear two women discussing a man, who was evidently quite attractive. A man was commenting on his new car. I heard another man order a drink and the waiter respond. Other people were laughing and telling jokes. I heard one person talking about werewolves. I shuddered, the new skill thoroughly creeping me out.
“It can't be,” I whispered.
“It's true. Are you hungry?”
I stopped to assess how my body felt. Though there was an underlying craving for something I couldn't name, I felt fine. Well, more tired than fine. I belatedly remembered Isaac attacking me. My fingers reached up to my neck on their own accord. There wasn't a scratch, much less the gaping wound that should have been there. Had it all been a dream, or, rather, a horrible nightmare?
“Do you remember who attacked you?”
I felt my stomach twitch and my shoulders tense. Panic took its place in my gut; I remembered the incident all too clearly. “Isaac… Wilson,” I croaked, my throat going tight while my eyes burned, as though they had tears to shed.
“Isaac?” Josh asked, an emotion I couldn't translate flickering across his face. “C’mon, let's get you settled for the day.”
He draped his arm over my shoulder in a familiar manner and escorted me past the carved double doors. We passed a few other doors, spread far apart. At the end of the hallway lay another staircase leading into a lower level. The next long hall was lined with numerous doors. He opened the third one and escorted me in. I became thankful for my escort, as this place was a labyrinth of passages.
The room looked like a spacious studio apartment built for the upper class: expensive furnishings and decorations, even if the space was built for only one person. I'd expected another sterile, concrete bunker. There wa
s nothing sterile about this room. The walls were covered in cherry wood paneling, the real stuff, not the seventies’ knock-offs, and numerous framed movie posters. The left wall held signed Star Wars posters, noticeably omitting the prequels. Under the posters sat an expensive-looking, wood futon—oxymoron, I know—and two matching globe chairs, all with the subtle oddities of hand crafted furniture. The right wall contained a modern-looking queen bed that seemed almost out of place. Over the matching nightstands hung posters for Ben Hur and Casablanca. The far corner held a large bathroom with a thick curtain that could be drawn around it. Though the room didn't contain a kitchen, it did have a decent sized fridge tucked into the corner.
Josh motioned me toward the futon. It was one of those contraptions that could fold into nearly any shape. Before sitting, I rearranged my dress, hoping to look a little less bedraggled. I even tried to run my fingers through my matted hair. Josh took a seat at the other end of the futon, clearly trying to not make me uncomfortable.
“Is this for real?”
Josh nodded. “Now, what is your name?”
“Ashley Hawn,” I said.
“The author?” he asked.
I nodded.
Josh jumped up off the couch and dove across the room to a bookcase I hadn't noticed before. He grabbed two books and tossed them into my lap. I quickly recognized the cover art as my own. It was funny to find a fan in such a weird situation, but I couldn’t bring myself to laugh.
“They're funny,” he said with a snicker.
“They weren't written to be funny,” I said, my voice sounding dead even to my own ears. “Why would Isaac do this?”
“I don't know. I've never heard of Isaac ever turning someone.”
“You know him?” I yawned. Despite being unconscious all night, I still felt exhausted, as though it was late in the night rather than early morning.
He nodded. “There aren't that many of us scurrying around Olympia. Now this time of transition will be rough, and will probably take a while. Do you have anyone who might notice your absence? Family? Friends?”
The Series that Just Plain Sucks: The Complete Trilogy Page 2