The Secret Ingredient Is Love. No, Really

by RoAnna Sylver

  Collect him, Cruce had said. He knew Pixie, just like the other two. They’d never been after Jude at all.

  Jude felt a surge of relief, but panic quickly followed. He barely had time to hope Pixie had gotten away when he caught a flash of bared fangs and any power he had to move dissipated instantly. No, no, no, Jude thought frantically and he could feel himself start to freeze again, joints locking in place as terror overwhelmed him and pain, current and remembered, shot through the spot where his knee sat in his prosthetic. Why now? Out of every frustrating, inopportune time he’d run into a wall of panic and memory and felt his body and brain grind to a halt, this was the worst. He had to run, he had to move, yell for help, do—

  Something flew into Cruce’s face. Something with small but furiously flapping wings, letting out a barrage of fast, high-pitched screeches.

  Cruce swore, stumbling back a step and reaching up to shield his head with his arms. Jude caught a glimpse of pink and realized the bat currently dive-bombing Cruce’s head wasn’t a bat at all, or wasn’t always at least. He barely had time to register the relief, actually feel himself smile, when one of Cruce’s large hands shot up, seizing the Pixie-bat from the air.

  “Let him go!” Jude yelled, words out of his mouth before he’d consciously formed them. Stricken, he watched as Cruce’s head slowly turned toward him. The vampire’s face twisted in a terrifying grimace, long fangs bright and eyes flashing brighter than before, glowing instead of just reflecting the light. Jude couldn’t breathe.

  Without warning, Cruce’s fist flew in a blur, hurling the bat through the air and sending it slamming to the ground. It hit the pavement with an awful thump and a short, sharp squeak! before falling silent and much too still.

  That small sound was enough to shake Jude out of his horror, and rush forward. Thankfully, Pixie had been flung some distance away from Cruce, and Jude didn’t stop running as he stooped to scoop the small bat up as carefully as he could.

  Run. Run where? He thought as he scrambled toward the edge of the parking lot and the lights beyond. Could you even run or hide from vampires? He couldn’t go back to the dark, locked mall, and he shouldn’t go home and risk bringing these creatures right to his doorstep—to Eva and Jasper—but he had nowhere else. Home at least had doors, thresholds they couldn’t cross without permission. They wouldn’t be able to follow him in, if Pixie was to be believed.

  And since Pixie was currently a scared, shaking bat in his hand, injured after protecting him, Jude found it a lot easier to believe him than expected.

  He turned toward the lights and charged for them with everything he had, only realizing there was something on the ground in front of him when he almost tripped over it.

  A guitar.

  Remembering his promise to Pixie but not slowing down for a second, Jude reached down to grab it up too. It was much heavier than he expected, almost sending him crashing to the ground. Thankfully, he managed to stabilize long enough to get his feet back under him, and avoid crushing the bat who’d burrowed deeper between his hand and chest.

  A terrible howl came from behind him and fresh adrenaline surged through his veins. Cruce sounded furious at losing his prey. But then two more shrieks cut through the air, higher-pitched but just as chilling. He shot a glance over his shoulder long enough to see the two smaller vampire girls snap into motion again—but not in pursuit. They rushed between Cruce and Jude, trembling but blocking the way long enough for Jude to get a few more precious steps away. They were still holding hands, as if separating would break them.

  Jude felt a pang of guilt and almost wished they’d follow him and keep running. He’d never feel good about leaving teenagers alone with a man like Cruce. But these teenagers had claws and fangs, and Jude had a guitar and an injured bat.

  Holding Pixie as close as he dared, Jude sprinted for the bright windows and safety of his apartment building, and tried not to look back.

  Jude made it all the way to his building, up the stairs, and down the hall before he realized they weren’t being pursued. The corridor was silent. Nobody chased them up the stairs or burst out of the elevator to attack them. Outside, the night seemed calm and quiet. Jude stopped outside his door just long enough to catch his breath before digging for his keys, awkwardly setting the guitar down on the floor and trying to hold onto the fuzzy, limp bat in his other hand.

  He got the door open and was about to rush inside when Pixie gave a strenuous wiggle in his hand, flapping his wings until Jude let him go, startled. The pink bat flopped to the ground, but by the time he landed, he wasn’t a bat anymore. As before, there was no sound, flash, or any other sign of transformation. Just one second a feebly wiggling bat, the next a human-sized Pixie slumped on the hallway carpet against the wall, head hanging down and looking barely awake.

  “What are you doing?” Jude demanded, throwing frantic glances up and down the hall. It was empty and, if someone entered now, all they would see was him, a guitar, and Pixie sitting on the floor, dazed.

  “Can’t come in,” Pixie said faintly, and Jude had to bend down to hear better.

  “What? Why can’t…” He stopped, watching as Pixie weakly extended a shaking hand to point at the open door to his apartment.

  “Gotta ask me.”

  “Oh my God,” Jude muttered, briefly shutting his eyes. This night kept switching from absurd to terrifying and back again. Right now seemed a little of both. “I have to invite you in, specifically?”

  Pixie didn’t answer, just gave a little nod and let his head tip back against the wall.

  “Okay! Fine!” Jude said, reaching down to grab the guitar, pull Pixie to his unsteady feet, and keep the door from shutting with one of his own, the one that only screamed in phantom pain. “Yes, come in, just stay with me!”

  Evidently this was enough, because they made it over the threshold without incident. Jude set the guitar down against the wall and half-carried, half-dragged Pixie over to his couch, dropping him as gently as possible. Pixie immediately shut his eyes and lay down, as if he was going to take a nap right there. Blacking out might be more accurate, Jude thought, feeling a familiar and unwanted surge of raw, incoherent panic.

  What would he do if Pixie actually collapsed in his apartment? Jude wasn’t about to kick him out, but what did you even do for an injured vampire, short of opening a vein? He had no way of knowing whether first aid or anything potentially helpful for a human would do any good here. Jude almost wanted to call Eva or Jasper for help—but how in the world would he explain this? Any of it?

  Jasper knew. About vampires, about magic, probably more than Jude did, all things considered. But he’d also said in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want to be involved, and Jude couldn’t bring himself to reach out now. Jasper would help, he was sure, but Jude had to at least try to fix this on his own, he owed him that much and more.

  That left Eva. But he couldn’t call her in the middle of the night babbling about vampires, they’d barely made peace the last time she was here, when she gave him all of the—

  Jude practically ran to his fridge and yanked it open, grabbing the red bottle of blood-infused steak sauce and hurrying back to Pixie.

  “Here—drink.” Jude said, shoving it into Pixie’s hand. The vampire actually looked so weak it was a wonder he didn’t drop it, and he peered at the bottle blearily.

  “Whuzz…” he mumbled, blinking as if the label were difficult to read.

  “Steak sauce,” Jude explained, fully expecting Pixie to fall unconscious right in front of him. “It’s got blood in it. I don’t know how much, or if you need it raw or something, but it’s worth a shot.”

  “Mmkay,” Pixie said, still sounding about three-quarters out. For a moment Jude wondered if he should open it or if Pixie would be able to do it himself—but Pixie unscrewed the cap with shaking hands and raised the bottle to his mouth.

  The change wasn’t dramatic. Jude expected Pixie’s eyes to flash again, or some kind of inhuman screech, may
be for him to sprout giant wings—but none of that happened. Pixie didn’t even drink very fast. Instead of pouring it down his throat, he took very slow, hesitant sips. His biggest reaction was a few quick blinks as he took another look at the label before continuing to carefully drink. It was all much less…bloody than Jude expected, but then, not much about Pixie had met his admittedly horrifying expectations.

  After a few seconds, Pixie gave Jude a questioning look that almost looked like he was searching for approval. Jude automatically gave him a nod, and that must have been reassuring enough for Pixie to take a couple more tentative sips. When he did, Jude let himself relax and slumped forward, resting his forehead in the palms of his hands. The night had been exhausting, and he wasn’t even the one who’d come close to collapsing.

  For a while, they sat in silence, Pixie taking small, careful mouthfuls and looking at the bottle as if deep in thought, and Jude sitting with his elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

  “Thank you,” Pixie said after around five minutes and, when Jude slowly looked up, he saw an expression he didn’t expect. Pixie was watching him with wide eyes, filled with something that might be tentative hope. “This is really good. I definitely needed it.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Jude answered, entirely sincere in the hope that Pixie wouldn’t. “What happened back there? Who was that?”

  “Cruce,” Pixie said faintly, voice dropping to just above a whisper. Jude didn’t like the look on his face, mixed fear and absolute exhaustion. “A bad guy. Really bad.”

  “One of the tough vampires you expect me to be able to deal with?”

  “Can’t blame a guy for hoping.” Pixie gave him a joyless smile and sighed, looking like he might fall asleep right there on Jude’s couch. But his heavy-lidded eyes stayed open, and he took another careful sip of sauce. “But he’s something else. A lot worse than his little mind-controlled minions, anyway. Poor kids.”

  “That’s what happened to them?” Jude asked with a shiver, remembering the way Nails and Maestra had snapped to attention, how it had seemed like they were fighting back toward the end.

  “They’re called thralls,” Pixie mumbled, voice flat and appropriately lifeless. “Whenever a vampire turns someone, they form like this… bond. It’s supposed to be a good thing, I guess, if you’re tight and trust each other and stuff. But if you get turned by an asshole? Good luck. They get to walk around in your head whenever they want. Make you do whatever they want. It’s…”

  He trailed off, and Jude almost didn’t want to pursue this admittedly terrifying subject, but he had to know. “Could he do that to you?”

  “Cruce? No,” Pixie said with a weak shake of his head, but he didn’t seem very happy about the answer. If anything, he looked even more like he wanted to burrow into the couch and hide until everything was over and the world made sense. Jude wouldn’t have minded that himself. “No, he didn’t kill me, someone else… I’m not one of his, that’s all.”

  He fell silent again, and this time Jude didn’t push any further. After a few seconds of silence, he changed the subject to another burning question. “So, does that taste better or worse than plain blood?”

  “Better, definitely,” Pixie said, taking another sip with an appreciative look, seeming a little relieved at the conversation’s progression. “But I haven’t really… I mean, I don’t know for sure, exactly.”

  “You don’t drink blood?” Jude stared at him, realizing that in all the chaos, he’d never actually thought to ask.

  “Not if I can help it.” Pixie set the bottle down, still looking a little shaky, but his eyes were clear and his movements steady. Still, he didn’t meet Jude’s eyes, and his usually-expressive voice was uncharacteristically flat. “I mean, does drinking blood sound like fun to you?”

  “Only in sauce form,” Jude said, and Pixie looked up as if expecting to see him smiling. But Jude was still processing, not laughing. “If you don’t drink blood, then how do you…”

  “Stay alive? So to speak?” Pixie leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. Jude didn’t quite believe his casual tone, and the troubled look in his eye further betrayed it. “Well, I know we need to drink. Feed. Whatever. Especially when we get hurt, like, uh. Just now. But there has to be like, a minimum, right? Drink as little as possible, but still survive and be able to think and function and stuff? Guess I’m trying to figure out what that is.”

  “You’re talking about basically starving yourself,” Jude said, eyebrows coming together. He couldn’t help the undercurrent of concern that made it into his voice. “That can’t be the best option.”

  “Hey, people who will willingly let me chomp their neck or arm or whatever, they’re few and far between.” Pixie didn’t sound overly worried about this, resigned if anything. “And I’m not gonna do it if someone doesn’t say I can.”

  “That’s… good.” Jude’s brow furrowed a little more. Something about this wasn’t right. Blood wasn’t food, and it wasn’t starvation, exactly, but vampires still needed it to survive. Going without meant constantly running on near-empty, scraping the bare minimum. Had Pixie been on the edge of collapse this entire time? He did a good job of hiding it, but if his exhaustion now was any indicator… “Is it like coming into a building, you can’t do it without permission?”

  “Nope, we can bite whoever we want,” Pixie said, taking another sip and looking at the red bottle with increasing appreciation and energy. “I’m just not a douche.”

  Jude couldn’t help but feel relieved, seeing Pixie actually drink—feed?—without the obvious shame or fear he otherwise felt. But Jude couldn’t find a way to express this that didn’t sound… he didn’t even know what. He was just glad they seemed to have found a solution, at least for now. Somewhat reassured, he sat with Pixie in a silence that wasn’t anywhere near as awkward as he’d expected. He didn’t watch him drink, something about it felt personal. Instead he rolled up his left pants leg in slow movements and busied himself with his prosthetic, readjusting it in a vain attempt to ease the ache in his knee and thigh.

  “So, um… You kinda froze up again back there,” Pixie said after a little while longer, giving Jude a careful look. His gaze wasn’t accusing, but it was curious.

  “I know,” Jude said, looking to Pixie just before his eyes dropped to the floor. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

  “What happened?” Pixie asked, eyes going to Jude’s prosthetic leg, and then flicking back to his face and staying there. Jude had expected that. Whenever it was remotely visible, new people tended to get thrown for a loop, and never knew where to look. It was always awkward—for them, since Jude had long since stopped caring, wishing people would just ask whatever too-personal question they needed to get out of their system, so everyone could move on. Fortunately, Pixie didn’t seem about to go that direction. He had other annoying questions to ask. “Like, I know you get freaked out seeing vampires, but you’re a hunter, right? You have to have done this before at least a little.”

  Jude almost retorted. He wanted to snap that Pixie should mind his own business, that if he was so smart and knew how to fight without slipping into paralyzing terror or overwhelming panic, he should do it himself and leave Jude in peace. But he didn’t. He wasn’t even angry, only drained. And telling the truth might not be pleasant, but it was easier than keeping up the distance. “I’ve never… done this before, no. I want to. But flashbacks don’t make it easy.”

  “Flashbacks? Like P.T.S.D.?”

  “Not ‘like’ P.T.S.D.,” Jude said, just above a mutter. “I know exactly what’s going on in my brain. I can feel it coming, I know what’s happening, but I can’t stop it. It’s… very frustrating.”

  “Yeah, but at least you know what’s going on,” Pixie suggested.

  “Whoever said knowing was half the battle—”

  “G.I. Joe?”

  “Well, they’re wrong,” Jude said, rubbing at his temples. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “Does talking abo
ut it?” Pixie didn’t withdraw when Jude looked up sharply. “I’m guessing you don’t do that a lot.”

  “No, I don’t,” Jude said after a few deep, considering breaths. “None of us do. It’s easier that way.”

  “Well,” Pixie said, a little hesitantly, but looking oddly optimistic, like he’d just hit on a good idea he was excited to share. “You can talk to me if you need to. Or want to. Hey, it’s not personal with me, right? We’re just working toward the same things. It’s just sharing stuff so we’re on the same page, and we can get stuff done as easily as possible, right?”

  “Not personal?” Jude repeated, surprised at the tentativeness in his own voice.

  “Nope.” Pixie shook his head. The sauce looked like it had done him some good, his warm brown eyes were brighter and even his large ears looked a little perkier. “Just business.”

  “It was…” Jude struggled to find the words. Even recall with no intention of sharing was overwhelming, and he tried to actively remember as little as possible. It seemed more like a force of nature, however unnatural. The chaos, agony and fear in its wake were more powerful and deadly than any uncontrolled burn he’d ever seen. While he tried to find the words, Pixie drank more of the sauce, his face slowly beginning to lose the unhealthy pallor. On anyone else, Jude would say the ‘color’ started to return to his cheeks, but here that color was only dark grey.

  Haltingly, voice hollow, he told Pixie what he remembered of the full-moon night his life had changed completely, and Felix’s had ended. Almost everything he remembered. Jude kept the more excruciating pain to himself. Some things were sacred.

  “I’m sorry,” Pixie said at last, when Jude’s story was finished and he was around halfway-done with the bottle of sauce. He sounded somewhere between horrified and awed. He didn’t know what to say, Jude knew. Nobody ever did. Most nights, even he couldn’t wrap his own head around any of it. “And I know that doesn’t mean anything, really. Nobody can really understand something like that until they live it, right?”