by Louisa Bacio
If she opened her eyes, she'd find herself alone, without any curious visitors sitting on the edge of her bed, waiting for the living to acknowledge their continued existence. Waiting to still be loved. Her skin prickled; she didn't feel alone.
“For the love of God,” she said, “leave me be. I just want to sleep. I can't help you.”
But could she? And what could they possibly tell her about the current inhabitants of the household and maybe even the mysterious afterworld?
“All right, already, you win. Make sure when I open my eyes, though, that you're all together in a nice, pretty package. I don't want to see any ‘moment-when-I-died’ apparitions,” she explained to the room, knowing that to any human listener she probably sounded insane, but a ghost would most certainly understand. “If you do, then I'll scream. And if I scream, one or both of the men who live here will come and most likely scare you away, and where would that leave us?” Now, she was rambling …
After a long period where it felt like she simply held her breath and listened to the silence of the evening, she finally rounded up the courage to open her eyes.
On the side of her bed sat two kids, a boy and a girl. She estimated their ages to be about eight and five. They held hands and wore sleeping nightshirts. In the dim light, she could barely make out the faded pinstripes on the boy's shirt. The little girl held her head tilted downward, and when she looked up at Lily, the first thing Lily noticed was the innocent, lush eyelashes framing dark eyes. If ever a child would be described as looking “haunted,” it was this moment, looking at the lost soul of a girl who had probably died more than 150 years ago.
“Hello beautiful,” Lily said, holding out her hand as if to caress the young girl's cheek. “What's your name?”
The girl smiled at Lily, and mouthed a word that Lily couldn't hear. Great. So give her the power to see spirits but not to actually hear them? How was she supposed to help them?
“Oh, I'm sorry. I can't hear you. I wish I could,” Lily said, turning her attention to the older boy. “Are you her big brother?”
As the boy glanced at her, Lily felt a tremor course through her body. This young boy had seen way too much in his short years on earth, and he knew that it wasn't supposed to be that way. Beneath the surface of his demeanor, she detected a subdued fury. He'd learned his lesson: Don't rely upon adults.
“I'm kind of like you both,” she explained. “I never knew my mom or dad. I've wanted to know what happened to them, and now even as an adult, I still wonder.”
The boy tilted his head to the side, as if he was evaluating what she was saying, and her. Suddenly, he contorted his face, taking on a demonic appearance and opened his mouth wide in a silent scream. The next thing Lily knew, he was back to looking like an everyday ghost-boy again. He pointed at her.
Her heart thumped inside her chest. For that brief moment, she swore that he looked exactly like the monster from her dreams. The one that she continuously ran from, but she knew that one day he would catch up and capture her.
“Have you seen him?” she asked. “That monster you showed me?”
The little girl looked frightened, and cowered into her brother's arms, ducking her head into his chest. He, on the other hand, looked at Lily directly in the eyes a bit defiantly and nodded yes. He'd seen the demon from her dreams, and he'd been real. The boy pointed at Lily accusingly and then pointed out toward the balcony into the darkness of the night.
She wasn't quite sure what he meant or what he wanted from her, but Lily tried to explain.
“He's a nightmare that I have,” Lily said. “I didn't know that he was real. I didn't know that by coming here, he'd follow me, and I could endanger others. I'm so close right now, though, to knowing the truth. I can't leave. I can't go. “
She felt more than afraid to ask such a simple question, but really this was the closest she'd ever come to confirming the monster's existence.
“Do you know who it is then? The monster that comes to visit me?”
The little boy bared his teeth, as if he was gearing up to rip a piece of meat off a cooked carcass, and then he made devil horns from his finger tips and placed them on his forehead.
“A devil,” Lily asked, “Some sort of demon?”
The boy shook his head yes, and then slowly started to dissipate.
The sense of not being alone evaporated along with the ghost-children, and Lily pulled the covers up around her chest. Sleep didn't seem like it was going to grace her with its presence this evening. Maybe she should go downstairs and see if Lawrence needed any help in the shop. Working as a waitress in bars, she was used to keeping late hours. She glanced at the clock, of course it was 3:01 a.m., this was proving to be ridiculous habit.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and turned on the bedside lamp. After pulling on a warm sweatshirt, and a pair of jeans, she took a look in the mirror and groaned at her pale complexion and the sharp contrast to her bright red hair. Maybe it was time to change to a new color. What hue did she feel like? She twisted her hair up into a knot, and slipped a band around it. Not much she felt like doing about her complexion. And if Lawrence didn't go for pale women, then she was out of luck. Something told her that as a vampire, though, he wouldn't care.
Lawrence looked up from what he was reading behind the counter when Lily walked through the door from the living quarters. Tonight he wore a fitted black sweater that complemented his dark hair even more. Something tight coiled at the base of her stomach when she looked at him. His eyes glanced back down at what he was reading, scanning the page, and before she reached the counter, he'd shut the book and placed it under the register.
“Can't sleep?” he asked her with a wary smile.
“Had a few ghostly visitors that wouldn't take ‘no’ for an answer,” Lily said.
Lawrence raised his eyebrows in question. “Ghosts? Do go on.”
“You know, the children who haunt this bookstore and the building,” she replied, waving her arm the area in gesture.
“Never seen them myself,” he said.
“Don't you feel their presence?” she asked.
“I know the place is rumored to be haunted, and Trevor has mentioned something in the past. But, I've never been bothered by anything else.” Lawrence leaned in closer to Lily. “I don't think dead things like me.”
Shocked at his statement, Lily pulled back. “Why wouldn't they like you?”
“Because think about it—the difference between a vampire and a ghost. We both died, and yet here I am with a body and able to ‘live’ amongst the living. They, on the other hand, died, and while they cannot move on to wherever it is they go when they die, they also cannot live. They're trapped in some sort of limbo world. Few can see them. So they're jealous of me. As I said, they don't like me very much.”
Lily could see the truth in his words. What would it be like to dead and watching not only the living but also the undead on a day-to-day basis?
“In a way, I'm like the ultimate slap in the face,” Lawrence continued, “because really I can't die. And then there are the zombies, don't even get me started on those pieces of rotting flesh …”
“Zombies,” Lily whispered, because just at that moment, a young couple who had been browsing amongst the stacks of books approached the register. “Are you telling me that there are real zombies in the world?”
“Oh, dear girl. Stop being naïve. You're in New Orleans, after all. The breeding ground of Voodoo. Anything can happen in the city, and everything does happen here.” He did a little shooing movement with his hand, and looked past her. “How can I help you this evening?”
The girl placed a few books on the counter, and Lily gave her the once-over. Kind of a mousy-looking thing with washed out, nondescript brown hair and a too small mouth. She looked like she'd been drinking since way earlier in the day, and she smelled like it, too. She swayed a little to the side as she stood there, and her partner protectively placed his arm around her waist to steady her
.
“I'd like to buy these, please,” she said.
Lawrence picked up the books, and made a show of flipping through each text as he rang it up. “Ah, the History of Vampires in New Orleans,” he said, lingering over one book. “Do you believe in vampires, miss?”
She smiled at him, unaware of the potentially lethal creature serving her. “I love Anne Rice, and she could make me believe just about anything.”
“That'll be $35.75,” Lawrence said, placing the merchandise in the bag along with a bookmark with Pages’ logo and online sales information. “And be careful of what lurks at night. You never know what you'll run into on the streets of New Orleans.”
When the door shut, Lily turned to Lawrence. “That was kind of creepy.”
“Hey, the show goes with the territory,” he replied, flashing her a bit of fang.
Chapter Thirteen
Trevor
The walls grew closer. His chest tightened, and he couldn't breathe. Trapped inside of this cement and brick building. He needed to get out in the open air and run. He needed space to think. Not locked within the confines of this human-made structure, or with these people—no matter how close he felt to them. No matter how much he loved them.
Sometimes love hurt, and sometimes love trapped.
Lawrence somewhat understood these longings of his, but the woman Lily? Probably not. She didn't have to deal with the constant otherness of her psyche. He'd sat up with her again last night, as she cried out in her sleep. She sounded like she was running for her life, and all his instincts wanted to save her. Not everyone could be saved, though.
When the nightmares took over, she refused to wake up, and trying to bring her to consciousness only seemed to disturb her dream-state even more. So he petted and soothed, and he and Law took turns watching over her.
Now as he worked, he could smell the musk of her sex on her. He wanted to stick his nose straight into her crotch and root around. Oh, hell yes, like a dog smelling a female in heat. It didn't sound romantic, but almost nothing tasted better than the wetness of a woman, especially right before she was about to come. That's when the hormones kicked in full force.
He'd grown accustomed to living with Lawrence, and they'd forged an equal relationship where physically they were more than compatible. That didn't sound as romantic as they actually were. But right now, Trev didn't care much about romance. He wanted to fuck. A physical need pulled him to Lily. She'd been living in his house, his territory for the past few weeks. The scent of her, like warm almonds, permeated his senses.
He wanted to claim her. Mark her as his. Oh, he'd be willing to share … with Lawrence. But otherwise, she called to him, and he knew that she was ripe for picking.
From where she was bent over sorting and shelving books, she stood up, stretching out with her palms on her lower back, her stomach swaying forward. How easy would it be to dash over there, lift up her skirt and take her right here and now? He thought.
Too easy. She turned toward him, her eyes wide as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Trevor?” she asked, her voice raising slightly, “is everything all right? Do you need me for something?”
Hell yes, he needed her for something. He managed to get out an unintelligible grunt. Perfect. Hopefully, she liked a man of few words. He turned back to the paperwork spread out over the counter. If he could just concentrate on reconciling the month's receipts, then he could get her and her luscious figure out of his mind. Lawrence better be ready for some loving himself this evening because one way or another, Trevor had to shake off this sexual energy.
Nothing like a supernatural lover that had enough stamina to meet him head on. Plus, there was no complaining the next day about being too sore for another bout in bed. Every day Law slept, he healed. Not that they ever got that rough, but even the everyday stretching could make the average person sore.
So focused was Trevor was on his own thoughts, and the paperwork in front of him, he didn't realize that Lily had approached him until she touched his shoulder.
“Yowww,” he exclaimed, jumping up and away from her outstretched hand. “What the hell is wrong with you sneaking up on me like that?”
“I didn't. You didn't look well. Like you have something on your mind,” she said. “I didn't sneak. I walked over here, and I called your name a few times on the way here.”
“Well don't do it,” he snapped back. “Right now I don't need any distractions, and you are nothing but a distraction.”
Right away, her face crumpled, and her eyes began to tear up. She looked momentarily like a kid who was used to disappointment, and he was simply proving her track record right. Then her face tightened up and blanked out, like she was dropping a veil over her emotions, and suddenly he didn't know what was worse, seeing the hurt he'd inflicted reflected on her face or the appearance that she didn't care.
That he didn't matter.
How careful they were being around each other. It was like each one of them was afraid to step out of line, and yet they were all searching for something.
“Oh, hell,” he exclaimed. He shoved the paperwork aside and maneuvered past her, taking care not to actually touch her.
He shouldn't have worried, though, because as soon as he came near her, she drew back, as if she was all of a sudden afraid of him. And maybe she should be.
He pushed open the door, and looked back over his shoulder. Lily looked so forlorn standing there, watching him leave. Still, he couldn't return to comfort her. If he did, he'd be lost.
“Don't you get it?” he asked. “I can't handle being around you right now. I want you too much.”
She opened up her mouth to say something, but he didn't wait around to hear her response. The door swung closed with a tinkle of bells behind him, and he curbed himself from looking back again.
Outside, he stood on the sidewalk and inhaled deeply. Freedom. The air smelled crisp, like the green leaves after a light autumn rain. He lifted his nose up and inhaled deeply, bringing in the rich, vibrant scents of the urban streets.
The urge to run and be free surged through his body, a physical need that he had to heed. He longed to strip out of his clothes, shift, and sprint, but the remaining daylight and the thongs of tourists on the streets kept his humanity in check.
He lost one internal battle, though, and glanced back toward the store. He caught Lily illuminated in the front window, watching him. His heart yearned to return, and talk the situation over with her. But, nothing good ever lasted, and he had had a good run over the years with Lawrence.
Trevor kept waiting for the other shoe to drop in their relationship, and good or bad, Lily had somehow morphed into that shoe. While he was incredibly glad that she was there, part of him wished for her to never have come. This way, they wouldn't miss what was gone once she left. Because nothing good ever remained.
If he couldn't run free, he'd walk some of this damned energy off. Rather than heading toward Bourbon Street and all the drunkards, he set off in another direction, toward Basin Street and the city's oldest cemetery.
Trevor reached the gates of St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 before the grounds closed for the evening. The setting sun cast a warm yellow-orange glow over the area, making it look more filled with energy than the mostly cement slab-filled area.
Legend had it that New Orleans buried their dead above-ground because of the water table. If they buried in the ground, the bodies would eventually rise up out of the dirt in a real-life horror freak show. Any tour guide worth his or her salt would explain, though, that the myth wasn't the truth. Instead, the practice came from some of the international influences of the early settlers. In particular, the Spanish. Although most people associated the city with the French, a lot of the architecture came from its Spanish influences.
As the shadows grew longer and darker, Trevor's eyes naturally adjusted to the dim lighting. He'd visited the site so many times, he could probably find it with his eyes missing. He passed by the actor
Nicolas Cage's ostentatious white pyramid with its “eye” of wisdom and shook his head. Even as a Catholic, the celebrity should not have been able to buy his way into the burial ground.
After weaving his way through the narrow pathways, and past the palm tree overgrown with ivy in the middle of the grounds, he reached his destination. While tidy, the tomb was not as pretty as some of the others, especially the newer sites. Still, he did his best to whitewash the stone once a year, and keep the area free of trash. In an Old English script, the family nameplate read: “The Pack Family,” and beneath it were a list of names. He trailed his hand down the list, finally resting on one, “Amelia.” Next, he reached out, and ran his fingers along the etching of a wolf on the surface. A tattoo on his upper arm featured the same insignia, the family crest.
“Hey mom,” he said. “Sorry it's been a while since I last visited. I've been a bit preoccupied lately.”
He laid his forehead against the cool marble, and remembered the feeling of his mom caring for him when he was ill. She would soak a washcloth in a bowl filled with ice chips, and then rest it on his forehead in order to try to bring down his fever. At the time, she must not have realized that his body temperature naturally ran hot.
It's not like she had lived with his father for an extended period of time. From what he remembered and gathered, in his early years, his dad would pop in and out of their lives.
A light rain began to fall, and Trevor breathed in the rich fragrance of the crisp air. Close to the front of the tomb, the water droplets barely missed him. He'd kept one photo of his mom, and whenever he tried to imagine her, that was the picture that came to mind. Her yellow flowered summer dress and her smile, her wispy pale blonde hair, and the way she looked at the camera over her shoulder as if she'd been caught by surprise.
“There's a new woman in my life,” he continued to talk to the spirit of his departed mother. “I think you'd like her. She's resourceful and incredibly strong. If only she could harness her powers. And beautiful, of course, with this flaming red hair that resembles her passion for life. She's lived through some hard times, like me. But, there's a darkness there, beneath the surface, that lurks. She tries her best to keep it at bay, but it scares the hell out of me. She scares the hell out of me. You know me, I don't like change … much.”