Kill Me

by Alex Owens

  I stepped back from the mirror to judge my body next. It seemed mostly like the body I was used to. I still had the same proportions, though things did appear a little firmer and more in their original place. Not that it mattered much. Half the battle to looking fierce was all in the attitude and I felt fabulous. As in, Ru Paul Fab-u-lous—at least physically anyway.

  Mentally, I was borderline in good moments and spiraling downward in bad ones.

  Looking human again (I was still human, wasn’t I?), I retrieved my cell from the bed. I quickly scrolled through a few junk emails and a handful of business messages. I responded to the ones that needed answers and then decided to call Bette, which would be a nifty trick considering that I didn’t have her number. I would just have to wait until she came for me.

  To kill time, I booted up my laptop. If I couldn’t brainstorm with Bette, then I could at least browse the real estate listings for a new place to call home. I wanted to stay in the same general area so I selected the only two counties of Virginia that were on the small peninsula I’d lived for my entire life - the Eastern Shore. After scanning the few pages of rental listings I didn’t see anything that would really work for me and Quinn. Most were small and sad looking. The rest were smack in the middle of a community and I knew that for various reasons, I’d need more privacy than that. All it would take was one nosy neighbor seeing Bette entering my house and I’d become a Hollywood Madame through the often-wrong, local grapevine. No way would she be mistaken as a local.

  My chest tightened at the absurdity of Bette staying in my home. It would be like a supermodel living in Little-House-on-the-Prairie-land—almost comical in disparity. I hadn’t thought that far yet. How in the world could I integrate my normal life with all my new “friends?”

  Would Bette even come visit me? Or Gregor? And did I want them to? Who was going to help me through the transition if not? My brain whirled and I could practically smell the smoke.

  Disgusted at myself, I clicked over to the For Sale listings. Maybe I could find a house listed for sale with more privacy and the sellers could be coaxed into renting. I bookmarked a few possible houses and glanced at the clock. It was after noon, and Bette still had not shown up.

  I needed to wrap up a few things for work at the convention and I needed to talk to Bette. I had to get a handle on my Vampirism and I had to figure out my mental talents so that I could control them... and eventually use them. I had a lot to accomplish. Making a list made me feel better, even if I knew I’d probably never look at the notepad file after creating it. I was a list maker, yes, but not a list-doer.

  I stared at the blinking cursor for several minutes, thinking about what else I needed to add to my To-Do list. Find a divorce lawyer. Figure out job situation (work from home?) and financial situation. Figure out how I was going to feed when I returned home. Hell, I had to figure out how I was going to survive, right down to the mundane activities of daily living. Ugh.

  I closed the laptop and skimmed the print-outs Cassidy gave me. Most were vague and only helpful for wrapping my brain around the fact that talents existed, at least as much as other people believed in them. I did glean a few nuggets of understanding from the articles though. Several mental exercises revolved around building up a mental wall inside my own mind to block the incoming emotions. In theory, a barrier would keep me from being swamped by others, but would allow me to tear out a small section when I wanted to be able to use the gift, and then rebuild that portion when I was done.

  Wouldn’t it make more sense to install a door in my mental wall, one that I could open and close without much effort? Work smarter, not harder and all that.

  I glanced at the clock again. It was 12:30 and I was getting impatient. Where the hell was Bette? Maybe she meant for me to meet her at the conference.

  Focus, I told myself. Sitting on the bed in a meditation pose, I closed my eyes and followed the instructions for creating my brick-and-mortar safe mental-haven. I pictured my brain (it looked like a lump of regurgitated food) and then the dark space just outside of it. I mentally took a brick into my hand and laid it down, and then another, and another, until a chain of bricks encircled my brain. Then the next layer went on, followed by a third, a fourth, and so on, until I had a towering wall of red brick around my mind.

  I’d forgotten my trap door. Crap. Oh well, I’d had enough mental construction for one day. If it really seemed to be helping, I’d remodel later.

  One o’clock and still no Bette.

  It felt stupid admitting it, but I was worried. Something about Bette’s absence just felt off. What had Gregor said earlier, that Bette was busy? No, he’d said something like detained. That still didn’t help me, though it did make me more suspicious about what he hadn’t told me. When it came right down to it, I didn’t know him enough to trust him and I’m sure he felt the same about me.

  Since I couldn’t call anyone, I’d have to go to them. That meant dealing with the sunlight, as if I hadn’t tested myself enough already. I remembered Bette’s warning. Cover my skin, eat well, and hurry. I grabbed a lightweight silver-gray sweater out of my closet and slipped it on over the halter top. Aside from protecting my arms, it also gave me a more business-casual appearance. I didn’t have a wide-brimmed hat, but I did have an old baseball cap of Pete’s stuffed in my bag for jogging, so I pulled it out and went in the bathroom to see how it looked. I was not Vogue material, but it would have to do.

  One problem down, two to go. I couldn’t feed again, not without some form of supervision and a willing victim. I just had to hope that my last meal was enough. Which left me with one more thing to consider—I needed to get there fast, and preferably in the dark, so I’d have to hire a car.

  I picked up the hotel phone and dialed the front desk. I explained the situation (not that I was a scary vampire with a sun allergy) by claiming that I had an aversion to public transportation and a deep need for privacy, so I wanted the name of a service that carried town cars with tinted windows. The concierge offered to make the call for me. I hung up and waited for the call back and within two minutes I had a reply. A private car would be waiting for me in the parking garage in ten minutes.

  A sinking feeling crept into me, like I was taking the first steps into an adventure I wasn’t quite prepared for. I swallowed back my fear and gathered up my phone, purse and most of my courage. That was all I had to arm myself against whatever waited for me—that and a bunch of otherworldly talents I had no idea how to use.

  What’s the worst that could happen? Bette and her entire clan had decided I was more trouble than I was worth and had taken off for the hills, leaving me broke, untrained and hopelessly alone? I shivered. That would be very, very bad. If it was anything but that cheery little scenario I could handle it. Maybe. I hoped.

  Chapter 20

  I made it to the convention center with little trouble. My car had been waiting and the driver had been the strong and silent type, so that had gone in my favor as well. Getting dropped off had proven a bit trickier, as the driver had been scared off by the “No Admittance” signs posted at the entrance to the service area. In the end, he’d left me at the base of the exposed, blinding white expanse of stairs that the “normal” people used.

  In hindsight, I should have tried to use some of my talents, natural-born or Vampirish, to persuade him to drive into the covered garage. Instead I offered up a quick prayer to whoever was listening, paid the driver and sprinted up the stairs while my skin grew hotter by the second.

  I arrived at the glass double-doors without spontaneously combusting or chowing down on the handful of smokers clustered under the canopy shade. And I wasn’t even winded from the jog. Yay, me!

  Once inside the cool lobby, I scurried to the nearest bathroom to make sure that my face wasn’t crispy or glowing red. I looked remarkably normal and if the memory of the sun’s heat on my skin hadn’t been so vivid, I would swear that the sun had no effect on me. Shrugging, I resigned myself to figure that out later.
I had more important things to deal with. I pulled off the cap and tucked it into my bag, then smoothed my hair and unbuttoned my sweater to let it hang open. I was ready to hit a few vendors and track down Bette.

  I managed to get through meet-and-greets with several vendors before I was waylaid by a familiar face. “Claire! Nice to see you again.” I knew without a doubt that she’d witness all or part of my strip-club escapades. Well, crap.

  “You too, Vera.” I pushed my hair back from my face. “You guys about to wrap it up here?”

  “Yup. Just a few more hours and then we head back to the hotel to get ready for the party. You’re going to be there, right?”

  I hadn’t thought about it. I did need to mingle, but I was pretty sure I had other things on the agenda. So I shrugged. “I’m going to try, but I’ve got so much to do before I head out in the morning.”

  Vera faked a pout, a flirty let-me-in-your-pants frown. “But you have to come; we’ve got a special surprise lined up.”

  “Oh, really. What’s that?” I asked.

  She smirked, leaning in like a co-conspirator. “We’re hijacking the stage for a few minutes from the band. We want to debut our new line.”

  I was torn. I really wanted to see that, but I also wished they’d let me know ahead of time. I could count the ways it might undermine the Siren’s official roll-out when the time came. Too late now, I thought. Maybe at the very least I could use it to create a buzz well ahead of the heavy marketing—which meant I needed to go to the party, at least for a few minutes.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to miss that. Tell Joni I’ll be there.” I smiled. And then I had an idea. It might have been brilliant, or insane, depending on your point of view.

  “You know what would be great?” I blurted, “Do you remember Bette?”

  Vera frowned briefly, “Yeah, the violin Diva, right?”

  Now it was my turn to frown. “Yes. She’s got an amazing collection. What would you say to a duet of sorts? It would be perfect for the campaign. Haunting violin melody to start, then in comes the cries of the Siren. Slow at first, then picking up in energy?”

  “I like it. Sort of an old meets new thing, right?” she said.

  Then, behind Vera, about half way down the aisle, I saw something that made my heart thud. Two men, more specifically Dark and Dangerous in what looked like a pretty intense conversation. Clive gestured wildly and I could make out tension in Gregor’s face.

  The two men were polar opposites, so why were they always together?

  Vera continued talking, but I hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “Sure. Hey, do me a favor, say something to Joni and I’ll catch you before I leave, okay?” I watched the two men head into Bette’s booth.

  She looked crushed and I felt bad for blowing her off. She really seemed like a genuinely nice person, even if she was a little strong with the come-on’s. Without thinking it through, I hugged Vera and smiled as sweetly as I could.

  “I hate to run off, but I’ve been trying to pin those little buggers down for days. I need to catch them before they head off to talk NASCAR or something.” I nodded to the booth opposite of Bette’s. A group of hair-metal dudes loafed around their orange-flame and chrome displays. I had no idea what they were selling, but I was guessing it was something I wasn’t interested in.

  “Sure thang, sweet thang.” Vera joked, hooking her thumbs through the belt loops on her jeans.

  I laughed and tossed her another smile. “Later.”

  I hurried toward the booth, but kept one eye on Vera as she headed off in the opposite direction. When I was sure she was far enough away not to notice, I cut across the burgundy carpet and snuck around to the door to Bette’s booth. I paused, trying to pick up any bits of conversation from inside.

  I stood there long enough to wonder if Clive and Gregor had left while I had been distracted, but then I heard the low, terse whispers of men involved in a passionate debate. I couldn’t make out what they were talking about, so I leaned closer to the curtained doorway.

  Gregor spoke. “Yes, I claimed her. And you know what that means.”

  Clive protested. “You can’t claim her, she was already Bette’s?”

  “Funny you should argue that, when you weren’t going to let that stop you from trying to claim her yourself.” Gregor argued. I heard the sound of something scraping across the marble floor, followed by a thump.

  Clive muttered something unintelligible.

  “Besides, Bette cannot refuse me, you know that.” Gregor argued.

  I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about but it scared the bejesus out of me. The air around the booth was crisp and dangerous feeling, and a slight bluish haze seemed to flicker around me, wavering like an oasis in the desert.

  The two men were talking again, but their voices had lowered. I needed to be closer. I inched up to the curtain as close as I dared, and pushed the curtain aside just a tiny bit. As my fingers made contact with the curtain, a blue spark bridged the gap, followed by a loud pop. The conversation from inside halted and I held my breath.

  The seconds stretched into minutes as I stood there, somehow knowing not to move, not to twitch one singular muscle.

  Finally, I heard Clive hiss, “It is not decided. We will finish this conversation later, under more secure circumstances.”

  Shuffling told me Clive was headed for the door and directly towards me. I started to back up, but not before I heard Gregor say, “Brother, I’ve never gone against you. We’ve not once fought in two thousand years, but believe me when I say this: If you insist on challenging me on this, I will fight, to the death if necessary.”

  They were brothers? But they looked nothing alike and had different accents, though Gregor’s was diluted far more than Clive’s. Maybe it was said in more of a slang fashion?

  The footsteps grew louder and I backed around to the corner of the booth. Clive swept the curtain back and stormed up the aisle, his face set in stone, calling over his shoulder. “Think on this until we talk later; who will protect her once you are gone?”

  If my heart had been beating, it would have stopped. Like the little voices I’d heard most of my life, I heard a distinct whisper in my head. They’re talking about you. You are in very grave danger, Claire.

  Icy tendrils of fear clawed at me. Gregor was probably right behind Clive, but I didn’t wait to find out. At the moment, I didn’t want to be seen by him either. I practically ran in the other direction, away from the booth.

  Something was definitely rotten in Denmark.

  I hid in the restroom for the next twenty minutes, replaying the conversation in my head. I dissected each word ten different ways and still came up short in the way of answers. So what did I know for sure at that point?

  Bette was AWOL, Clive and Gregor were locked in a possibly deadly stalemate, and somehow I was involved. So basically, I knew nothing that made me feel the least bit hopeful. Apparently, I’d said “Yay, me” a bit too prematurely.

  Chapter 21

  I spent the rest of the afternoon scouring the center for Bette, who proved harder to find than Carmen Sandiego. Near five o’clock, I’d given up and gone back to my hotel room to ready myself for the party.

  It was a formal affair and I’d spent my Christmas bonus months earlier on a last-season dress, praying no one would notice. It was gauzy, flimsy and looked flipping fantastic on my newly-toned body. And the fabric made my eyes look electric against my fair skin. It was midnight blue silk, draped in all the right places and revealing in all the wrong ones. With a dangerously plunging neckline and a slit clean up to my right hip bone, wearing underwear was out, and my boobs probably would be as well if I tried to bend over.

  If I was being honest with myself, I hoped to make Gregor and Bette drool, while taunting Clive with something he would never have. Namely, me.

  But I wasn’t in the mood for the truth. The events of the day weighed heavy on my mind even as I strode into the banquet the height of confidence. Heads
turned and I noticed. I only wish I hadn’t noticed quite so much. I should have been paying attention to other things. Like where I was going.

  I ran full-tilt into Gregor. Perfect.

  I faked a smile and willed my lips to speak.

  “Have you seen Bette?” I asked him. “I’ve been looking for her all day.”

  Gregor shook his head, looking me up and down. “I have not talked to her since last night. You look very nice tonight Claire.”

  A waiter stopped to offer us a glass of champagne. I gladly took one even though I knew it would do nothing to take the edge off. Arousal radiated from Gregor in waves and my knees buckled just a little bit from the onslaught. I fought to regain control of myself.

  “Thanks. Hey can I ask you something?” I said.

  He raised an eyebrow and waited for me to continue.

  “You told me earlier that Bette sent you to me, when I was ill.” I gulped the bubbly. “But just now, you said you haven’t talked to her since last night.”

  Something wasn’t adding up. I was beginning to think that Gregor was a master of half-truths and misdirection.

  “No, I said that she knew you were in trouble and sent me. I never said we spoke.”

  He was right, technically. “But then how did you know?”

  “The same way that Bette knew you needed help,” He said. I still felt like he was holding back on me. Then, like a bolt out of the blue, his meaning smacked me square in the forehead.

  “She’s your maker too!” I gasped. Did that make us siblings? Oh my god, I’d slept with my vampire-brother. Eww!

  “No, Bette is not my maker.” He scanned the room as if he was bored with the conversation already.

  I was back to being confused. “But then how...” and then I got it. He was Bette’s maker. Did that make him my Vamp Gramp?