Whispers in the Ether

by Jena Gregoire

  The demon’s advantage didn’t last long.

  With nearly everything I had, I grabbed the demon’s foot and wrenched it sideways, twisting his knee, throwing him off balance, and dragging him to the ground as I got to my feet. With a flicker of pity for the poor man the demon had possessed, I dropped down, grabbed the demon’s head, and in one smooth motion, I viciously snapped the creature’s neck. I knew it wouldn’t kill the thing, but it immobilized him long enough for me to find my gun. I stood up and clutched my abdomen as I searched for my gun. The deep cut hurt like hell, but I knew it would heal quickly. I found the shining chrome peeking out from under the edge of some ripe-smelling garbage bags piled on one side of the alley. Crouching down to avoid bending at the waist and making my injury worse, I snatched up the gun and stood. I turned back to the demon, my eyes glowing gold, hatred flooding every part of my body.

  Without even looking, I fired two shots into the demon’s head as I walked past. Before I reached the end of the alley, I tucked my gun into the back of my jeans, zipped my black leather jacket, and made a mental note to keep it closed when hunting demons.

  By the time I make it back to the front door of my home, the soreness of the gash in my stomach is almost completely gone.

  I set my keys and cell phone on the island between my kitchen and living room, and carefully remove the jacket. As I suspected, the shirt is completely ruined. Even if the makeshift weapon hadn’t ripped the shirt, there would be no getting that blood out of the white fabric.

  I unbutton the first three buttons, then, realizing how ridiculous it is to be ginger with it at this point, I grab the sides and rip it the rest of the way open. I shrug out of the shirt, ball it up, and toss it into the trash can. The people at Prada would be so pissed right now.

  I grab a kitchen towel and run it under some hot water. Wiping at my stomach, I find the cut completely healed, having left only a faint scar. I finish cleaning away the rest of the blood and toss the towel in the garbage can to join the shirt.

  It is still relatively early, and as soon as I settle on the couch, boredom sets in. Normally, this would be when I would call Dez to see if she wanted to come over or go out somewhere. Ever since she pulled her disappearing act four and a half months ago, I haven’t heard from her at all. I tried being angry with her at first, but it didn’t last. I knew why she left, and had I been in the same situation, I probably would have done the same.

  One thing is for sure. I miss her. Moments like these are the ones that make me understand just how much I love having her in my life. Take this one, for instance. She would laugh at me for allowing the demon to take me down like that. She would fire some smartass comment at me about being a big, bad vampire with ‘professional assassin’ on my resume, and yet I couldn’t possibly have fallen for a more obvious trap. Long dark alley, the scent of the demon, but no demon in sight. Why I kept walking when I should have gone up top for a better view, I’ll never know. She would be right. Maybe I am a little more distracted than I was willing to admit.

  Well, I give.

  Dez being gone is really starting to get to me. All of autumn, an entire season, has passed without a word, and I start to question whether I made the right choice in leaving her to do her thing. What if she needs my help? What if I’m making the wrong assumption that she wants to be left alone? What if she ends up hating me for not contacting her? For not following her? What if she already does?

  The questions start to pile up, just like every other night I am left with too much time to think. Try as I might, no amount of sighing will clear the thoughts overcrowding my head, making it impossible to relax.

  “Fuck this.”

  I heave myself off of the couch and head for my bedroom. Maybe a solid night of sleep will help ease my mind a bit. Although I don’t need it to survive the way a human does, sleep serves as a kind of reset button, and right now, that’s exactly what I need. Worrying about Dez hasn’t gotten me anywhere for the last one hundred and thirty-six nights. Why would this night be any different from all the others? Briefly, I contemplate climbing in the shower, but the sudden mental exhaustion washing over me wins the battle, and I proceed to the California king-sized bed waiting for me. I’m done with this day.

  Leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor, I slip into the comfort of my bed.

  As my head touches the pillow, I whisper to no one in particular, “I really wish that August night had been nothing more than a fucking nightmare.”

  My eyes flutter open and I realize it’s still dark in my bedroom. A faint light is shining through my small bedroom window, but I know it’s just the moon, not nearly bright enough to be its counterpart. I close my eyes again, hoping to slip easily back into slumber.

  I try to force myself to relax to no avail. Something doesn’t feel right. The energy in the room is off somehow, like I’m not alone.

  Then I hear it.

  Breathing.

  My eyes snap open, and I notice for the first time that the pile of blankets next to me isn’t a pile at all. It’s a person. I quickly reach for the knob on the bedside lamp and turn it, instantly bathing the room in harsh light. In my confusion, my mind is racing as I try to remember where I left my gun.

  Suddenly, I remember setting it on my bureau as I was undressing last night. I jump up out of the bed to go grab the gun when the unwelcome guest who had been sleeping next to me rolls over.

  As soon as she starts to stretch her arms above her head, I notice the little tattoo on her wrist and know exactly who it is.

  She rubs the sleep from her eyes and then squints as the light assaults her dilated pupils. Sitting up, resting on her elbows, she looks at me with the same confusion that must be apparent on my own face.

  “You having trouble sleeping?” she asks me. Her voice is a little scratchy, and she grabs her glass of water from the nightstand, takes a sip, and then clears her throat.

  “Dez.” I don’t know what else to say, and the one word is all I can seem to manage. I am completely and utterly stunned.

  “Yes?” she says, smiling.

  I just stand there. I mean, I literally just stand there. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I don’t even blink for fear that when I reopen my eyes, she’ll be gone.

  Then the smile leaves her face.

  “Vegas?” she asks, sitting up a little straighter, her words laced with concern. “You okay?”

  So many thoughts are running through my head at once. Why didn’t she wake me when she got here? Where has she been? What has she been doing? Why didn’t she call?

  Suspicion rears its head. Maybe this isn’t really Dez. How long have I been out? Where the fuck are my pants?

  That does it. Those last few thoughts snap me out of my fine impression of a garden statue. I’m far from being a prude, but waking up to someone beside you, someone that may or may not be the person you care about, and standing there, stark naked, just staring at them… Well, I think it would make anyone a little self-conscious.

  I turn to retrieve my pants from the pile of clothes I left by my bedroom door and am once again disoriented as I see I am not in my bedroom at all. I’m in hers. I frantically glance around, but I don’t see my clothes anywhere. Instead, I grab the bath towel hanging off of the back of her bedroom door and wrap it around my waist.

  “Where have you been, and when did you get back?” The questions come out sounding a little colder than I intended, but I can’t help it right now.

  She sits up the rest of the way, and with an arched eyebrow, she replies, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “One hundred and thirty-six days, Dez.” Catching the alarm clock out of the corner of my eye, I look at the time and see that it’s past midnight. Happy fucking New Year. “Sorry, one hundred and thirty-seven. You’ve been gone for a hundred and thirty-seven days. No calls. No texts. No emails. Nothing. Then you just appear out of nowhere beside me in bed? And how did I get here? I think you owe me some answers.”

  �
�I ask again – what the hell are you talking about?” She looks genuinely confused. Maybe she has amnesia or something. “I didn’t go anywhere. I think you may have had too much rum last night. Is that even possible? I mean, for a vampire to get blackout drunk. Is that even possible?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but that is irrelevant. I didn’t drink last night. I was too busy hunting demons and wondering where you were.”

  “Demons?” she asks, the start of a small laugh on the edge of her voice. “Vegas, you most certainly were not out hunting demons. Hate to break it to you, but demons haven’t been around for a few centuries. Well, except yours truly. You were with me the entire night. Remember? The club? The Roberts guy? The dancing? The… other things?” Now she’s starting to look irritated. “Is any of this ringing any bells?”

  The details of the night she’s trying to remind me of start coming back to me. The Roberts contract. Dez went with me to the club and ended up breaking the guy’s hands to bits. We danced, we drank, and we had sex. Then I left in the middle of the night when I was called to go to Venice. The covens needed me to investigate the murder of their records keeper. That night was the beginning of the shit storm that changed our lives.

  I do remember what she’s talking about. I remember it all.

  “Dez, that was months ago. I disappeared that night, for two weeks, to go investigate Natalia’s murder. Don’t you remember the demons and the gateway? Your father? Maybe you’re the one that got blackout drunk.”

  In response, Deziree just looks at me and sighs, cocking her head to the side. She gets up and walks on her knees to the edge of her bed. She’s wearing the old, beat-up Nine Inch Nails shirt I’m so used to seeing her bum around the house in. She holds up her hand and wriggles her index finger, motioning for me to come to her.

  When I don’t budge, she puts her hands on her hips.

  “Will you please come here? I won’t bite. Just come over here.”

  Even in the confusion of the situation, I want nothing more than to go to her. I can’t even try to stop myself. I stride forward until I am standing right in front of her, and we are face to face.

  She holds my face, one of her tiny hands on each of my cheeks, and looks deep into my eyes, willing me to understand her, to listen to her every word.

  “Michael Tremayne,” she says, as if scolding a child, “I assure you, none of that happened. Natalia is fine. We are picking up both her and Lucas at JFK airport tomorrow night. There are no demons. The gateways have been sealed for a few hundred years. There is a very good possibility that you had a nightmare brought on by far too much Captain Morgan. I never went anywhere. I am fine. You are fine. Natalia is fine. We are all fine, I promise.”

  I don’t understand how this is possible. I remember everything. I recall every horrible detail. Combing over Natalia’s murder scene, and then coming back home to Deziree, only to turn around and fly right back to Venice. Going to the gateway, fighting the demons, and watching as my brother gave his life to save us all. I experienced every minute of it. I could never forget that.

  “Vegas.” It isn’t a question. It isn’t a plea. It’s a demand. I look into her eyes, and I can see the confidence that was missing the last time we were in the same room.

  “We are fine. It was just a bad dream.”

  She seems so sure of what she’s saying. She’s Deziree, my Deziree, of that I am sure.

  Maybe something happened and I’m the one losing my mind. Maybe instead of losing time like people with split personalities do, I am somehow gaining time. I have no idea what the logic or reasoning would be behind that, so don’t ask me to explain it. If I am crazy, standing here, looking into her crystal blue eyes, I can’t bring myself to care.

  Deziree starts to release my face, and I grab her hands to hold them in place. I know what it’s like to be without her, and having her here, I never want her to stop touching me. For the last four and a half months, this is what I have wanted more than anything – to have her back, to be able to hear her voice again, to know she’s safe.

  I so badly want to believe that what she’s telling me is true, but something in my gut just won’t allow me to let it go. Deep down, there’s a wrongness about this.

  “Okay?” she asks, searching my eyes for understanding. “It was nothing but a bad dream. You and I are both here, and we are fine.” She puts emphasis on the last word, willing me to believe in her.

  I stare into her eyes for another moment and then reluctantly nod my head. There’s something nagging at me in the back of my mind, but I make the choice to try to shake it off. Maybe it was a bad dream. I can smell her intoxicating scent and feel her light touch.

  “Good,” she says with a smile, “now, I think you should lose the towel and come back to bed.”

  I leave her there at the edge of the bed while I go hang the towel on the back of the door where I found it. When I turn back around, she’s still there, with a wicked grin spread across her face. Even with the chaos of the last few minutes, another feeling takes over. The memories of that night together flood my mind. I remember every inch of her body, every curve, every valley. Was that really just a few hours ago? Waiting there for me at the edge of the bed, she looks exactly as I remember her. Oh yeah, there is nothing confusing me now. I know exactly where I am, and I know exactly what I want.

  I smile and walk back to the bed. She runs her hands up my chest, just as she did when we first returned to her apartment that night. I still don’t know if it was hours ago or months ago, but all that matters is now.

  I move my hands down her arms, around her back, feeling the silky softness of her skin. I could lose myself in her on every level.

  “Come back to bed,” she whispers to me in a husky voice. She backs away, lays back down, and holds up the sheet we had been using as a blanket, inviting me to join her. There is no way I could say no, even if I wanted to.

  I climb in beside her, and before I can say a word, Dez leans over and kisses me. A sweet, simple kiss. The kind of kiss that tells me she is putting on the brakes. When she leans back, I can see the apprehension in her eyes. Yup, brakes are on.

  “Now it’s my turn to ask. You okay?”

  “I was just thinking,” she replies. “Do you think your nightmare was your subconscious mind’s way of saying you think we made a mistake?”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “Are you sure? It sounds like a pretty intense dream, and earlier tonight was kind of a big deal. Well, I think it was a big deal. And we did it drunk, so if you don’t think we should have gone there, we can blame it on the alcohol. I mean, we certainly wouldn’t be the first friends in history to drink too much and get pelvic as a result. I wouldn’t hold it against you if-”

  “Dez,” I interrupt her, “you’re rambling.”

  “I know, but this is you and me. Vegas and Dez. Not random strangers at a bar. We have history.”

  “I’m aware of our history,” I reply with a laugh. “I’m not freaking out. The dream was not me freaking out. Like you said, it was probably just too much rum.”

  Dez goes silent and studies my face. I can feel her searching me for some sign of doubt. She won’t find it. I am sure of that.

  “Really, no regrets.” I brush a piece of long raven-colored hair out of her eyes and lightly rub my thumb along her cheek, then across her lips. I will never know how I was able to resist this woman for so long. Whether it was a dream or not, I missed her so much, and I know now, more than ever, I never want to let her go again.

  “I don’t think we made a mistake tonight. If anything, the centuries we spent pretending there was nothing there, I think that was the mistake. You’re an amazing woman, Dez. And no, I am not just saying that because we got pelvic, as you so sweetly put it.”

  Dez drops her face and laughs, and I feel a little relieved. If all this time that I thought had passed hasn’t, and this really is the first time we are having this conversation, I have no clue how it’s going to tur
n out.

  She looks into my eyes again, and I can see contentment has settled in her. She has never looked more beautiful to me than she does right now. She looks happy. Genuinely happy.

  I ease my fingers around the back of her neck and pull her toward me as I whisper, “come here.”

  I kiss her, gently at first, my tongue searching for hers, and she gives in to it. Nope, no brakes this time. We kiss for what seems like an eternity, making up for all the time we have lost. Not the four and a half months I thought had passed; the four centuries we spent keeping each other at arm’s length. Being here with her, now, feels so right. It feels like we have been together since the day we met. There is no awkwardness or inhibition. It is completely and utterly comfortable. We know each other. We know everything about each other. We know the best and the worst of each other. We have been through just about everything together, and even though this part of our relationship is new, it feels so familiar. Everything around us melts away, and it’s just her and me.

  Our kiss becomes more intense, and I can feel my fangs extending. Dez pulls away for a moment to look at me, and the glow emanating from my eyes casts a golden sheen on her face. Her eyes move down to my mouth, and she’s kissing me again. I can feel the heat rolling off of every inch of her skin as she climbs on top of me, straddling me. She breaks away again, this time to sit upright. I glide my hands up underneath her faded black t-shirt and pull it up over her head.

  Just as our lips meet again, a chiming gong sound fills the room. Dez and I both look around for the source, but see nothing.

  The sound fills the room again, and this time, we both jump with a start, and Dez’s eyes go wide.