by Shéa MacLeod
“How are you feeling?” Inigo’s voice reverberated though my head, making my skull pound and my stomach roil in rebellion. I let out a groan that sounded more like a whimper.
“Like shit. Without the warmed over part.”
“Nice imagery,” his voice was softer this time, and there was laughter in it. I felt him press something damp and cool to my forehead. I risked opening one eye, then wished I hadn’t as the dim light started my head pounding again. When it finally subsided, something occurred to me.
“Why are you wearing my robe?”
“My clothes are in the wash. They were kind of … gory. Your clothes are in the wash, too. I didn’t want to waste water. All about living green, me.”
My over sensitized skin told me I was wearing a T-shirt and not much else. I didn’t even want to know how I got out of my clothes and into that shirt. I risked another peek at Inigo. “But why that one?”
He looked down at himself and fingered the silky material of that robe I kept around “just in case.” “It was the only decent one you had. There’s no way I’d be caught dead in that grandma thing you own.”
I figured he meant my regular terry cloth robe. Inigo refused to wear anything even remotely comfortable. “It’s from Victoria’s Secret.” I tried to sound haughty but came out more pained than I meant.
“Sure. From their granny line.”
I rolled my eyes which set my head to pounding and my stomach to roiling again. I must have looked as bad as I felt because Inigo pressed a glass of water and a couple of tablets in my hand with a sympathetic look. I swallowed them and lay my head gingerly back on the pillow. “Why is it that every time you stop by, we end up in my bedroom?”
He gave me a wolfish grin. I would have rolled my eyes again but thought better of it. “What happened?” I asked, instead.
Inigo shrugged and brushed his hair back from his face and then adjusted his glasses. “I don’t know. One minute you were fighting like you were possessed and the next minute you just … dropped. Right after you staked the last vampire.”
I frowned at him. The geek-chic, bespectacled Inigo sitting on the edge of my bed was a far cry from the fierce warrior from earlier tonight or the smoldering seducer from a few days ago. Granted, my memory of that night was hazy, but not that hazy.
“Not the last vampire. I didn’t get Kaldan.” I knew that much. The Darkness knew that much. It still wanted him.
“We’ll get him later. For now you need some rest. You thumped your head pretty good when you fell.”
I struggled to recall just exactly what had happened. I didn’t remember much except the fighting and the smoke. “There was fire … “
He frowned. “I think you hit your head harder than you thought. Get some rest, OK? I’ll be in the kitchen. Just in case.” Then he leaned over and pressed his mouth to mine. His lips were soft, and warm, and a little dry and tasted faintly of autumn leaves, wood fires and toasted marshmallows. Weird.
It was a chaste almost brotherly kiss. Except that underneath there was heat that told me he definitely didn’t think of me as his sister. He pulled back and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, a tender expression on his face unlike anything I’d ever seen before. My heart gave a little jump.
He stood up, leaned over to tuck the duvet around me a little more snugly and whispered, “Sleep Morgan.”
I frowned into the darkness long after he was gone. I hadn’t imagined the fire, like I hadn’t imagined his eyes turning all weird and gold. Just like I hadn’t imagined that his lips against mine had been way too hot to belong to a human being. I wasn’t sure which worried me more, the weird things I was finding out about Inigo, or the weird things I was finding out about myself.
Despite the headache still throbbing at the base of my skull, I staggered my way to my dresser where Inigo had left my bag. I fumbled inside until I found what I wanted. Pulling my duvet over my head to block out the light, I dialed the number on the card and listened to the other end ring.
“Hi,” I said softly down the line. “This is Morgan Bailey. I need your help.”
Chapter Fifteen
Majicks and Potions was exactly how I remembered it. The same bell danced its merry jangle as I pushed open the door, and the crystals and stones gave off the same glowing, tingling energy as I passed them on my way to the counter. The incense was a different blend, but it still made my nose tickle and the slight musty smell of old books still lingered underneath.
The music was even the same jarring fusion. I wouldn’t go as far as to say it was growing on me, but I was beginning to associate it with the eclectic madness that was Eddie Mulligan.
There was something so familiar and comforting about Eddie’s shop. Unlike the stuffy, cramped little occult shops back in London, Eddie’s had the dreamy coziness edged with old world charm that one expected to find in London but never did. This was the type of shop you itched to explore. I could imagine happily losing hours in a place like this.
Just like before, the counter was empty, so I went around and stuck my head out back. “Hey, Eddie! You back here?”
Eddie’s cherubic face popped down from the ceiling, tufts of gray hair sticking up in all directions. Deja vu all over again. He beamed at me. “Hello, Morgan Bailey. Come on up,” and he disappeared back into the ceiling.
I gave the aluminum ladder a malevolent look. While I had no problem with heights, I wasn’t terribly fond of ladders. I, however, was a big badass vampire hunter and quite possibly a nearly immortal Sunwalker, not a sissy. So, after mumbling a couple choice words, I started up the rickety thing. I had the rather alarming feeling I was ascending into Professor Trelawney’s lair. Gods, I hoped there wasn’t any more incense.
There wasn’t. It was just an ordinary attic jam-packed with overflowing trunks and boxes and assorted odds and ends and smelling of must and old perfume. It was more like something you’d find in the attic of some old lady’s house than at the top of a shop. Eddie’s back half was covered in green plaid pants and sticking out of an especially large trunk where he was a rustling about industriously. Little poufs of dust erupted and Eddie backed out of the trunk, sneezing rather violently.
“You OK, Eddie?”
“Of course, my dear. I was just going through some old inventory. Amazing what gets lost up here.” He looked around somewhat vaguely and started patting himself down. “Even more amazing what gets found. Where on earth have I put my glasses?”
I grinned. Couldn’t help it. “Top of your head, Eddie.”
“Oh, right.” He plucked them from their precarious perch and shoved them back on his nose. “Better. Have a seat.” We both sat down, him on a rickety chair that looked about a hundred years old, and me on the top of a closed trunk. It appeared safer than the chair, but only marginally. “So, dear Huntress, how may I be of assistance?”
I wasn’t exactly sure why I had called Eddie, of all people, in the middle of the night. After all, I barely knew the man. It was quite possible he wouldn’t be able to help me. In fact, Cordelia was a more logical choice, yet my gut told me Eddie could help. I just wasn’t sure how and I really hoped he didn’t decide to call the cops because what I had to tell him sounded all kinds of crazy.
I tucked my legs up and perched cross-legged on the trunk with a sigh. Might as well spill it. “There’s been some really, really … weird shit happening to me lately. I mean, my whole life’s been crazy since the vampire attack three years ago, but this is uber weird. I tried to talk to Cordelia about it, but she was kind of vague, and, frankly, that cat creeps me out.”
Eddie chuckled. “Bastet is in a league all her own. She helps, or doesn’t, as the whim takes her. Who can understand the inner workings of the cat mind?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Sure. Good point.” I so wasn’t gonna go there.
“As for Cordelia Nightwing, well,” he shrugged. “She’s clairvoyant. Things are never very clear when one is communing with the Otherside. They’re a bit strange ov
er there.” They were strange?
“It’s all about impressions and pictures,” he continued. “Poor Cordy has to translate everything she sees into something that we can maybe comprehend. Just imagine … ” He waved his hands in the air as if grasping for inspiration.
“Imagine you were shown a trailer for a pirate movie. Of course, you don’t know it’s a pirate movie because the sound is off and the picture’s blurry and the screen jumps around a bit. Then imagine trying to describe, not the trailer, but the movie itself, to someone who hasn’t seen it. That’s what being a clairvoyant is like.”
I could imagine. They could make a whole TV game show out of something like that. “That’s why I came to you. I need facts, not impressions or guesses or weird, blurry images with no sound. I need to know what exactly is happening to me.” I wasn’t sure I was ready to tell him about the whole Sunwalker thing, but the Darkness was another matter, not to mention whatever was going on with Inigo.
“Well,” he said as a big smile stretched across his face, “you’ve come to the right place. Facts are what I deal in. Lots and lots of facts.” He leaned back into his chair and gave me a wave. “Proceed.” He looked very much like a color blind Santa Claus. All he needed was the hat.
So I told him about the Darkness. I told him about the strangeness of Inigo. I told him all about the Sunwalker, the amulet and all the weirdness that had become my life.
The only thing I held back was Jack’s claim that I had become a Sunwalker. I wasn’t ready to believe it myself, let alone share it with anyone else. Half of me hoped Jack was wrong and the other half was kind of excited by the prospect. I wasn’t sure yet which half I wanted to win.
Eddie studied the ceiling for long enough I thought he wasn’t going to say anything. Then he spoke. “Tell me about the night that changed your life. Three years ago, I believe you said.”
I blinked. Nobody knew the full story of that except for Kabita and Inigo. Not even my mother. She thought I’d been attacked by hoodies and I wanted to keep it that way. I’d only given Jack the quick overview. It wasn’t something I liked to think about, let alone talk about. Eddie just sat there, gazing at me with complete and utter calm. So, I told him about the night I died.
***
I loved London with a passion that only those who have lived there could ever understand. My family certainly couldn’t. My grandmother had been sure I’d be raped and murdered by bandits and Redcoats. She wasn’t terribly up on the modern world. I tried to explain that the UK and the US were on friendly terms and had been for a number of years now, but I don’t think it sunk in.
My mother was just worried I’d end up married and having babies with a Brit which was, as far as she was concerned, a fate worse than rape and murder at the hands of Redcoats. I was supposed to get married and have babies and move into a house next door to her so she could see her grandbabies anytime she wanted. My moving halfway around the world hadn’t exactly been factored into her plan.
But despite their reservations, I’d done it. I’d moved to London and there I’d stayed. I’d made friends, built a life, and enjoyed every minute of every day I lived in that most magical of cities.
It was such an unbelievably ordinary night, that night. It was a Thursday and I’d just gotten off the bus after a long day at work for an energy company in the City. It was nearly dark out and the late October evening held a distinct chill. Home sounded really good and I hurried down the dark street toward my flat.
Leaves crunched softly underfoot and the faint scent of wood smoke tickled my nose as I headed home, enjoying the crisp night air. I could hear the steady hum of traffic up on the main street, but my street was quiet, all my neighbors shut up in their homes for warm dinners and an evening in front of the telly. I snugged my scarf a little higher around my throat and tucked my hands deep into the pockets of my wool coat. Maybe I should buy a hat? One of those knit things you could pull down over your ears. My ears always got so cold this time of year.
As I neared my own flat on the upper floor of an old Edwardian house, I did a quick review of my pantry in my head. What to have for dinner? Soup? Pasta? Maybe a curry? Something warm and comforting, that was for sure. And I had a couple episodes of NCIS saved up. Wouldn’t mind a bit of Leroy Jethro Gibbs tonight. Then maybe some Stargate Universe.
I walked a little faster. My flat would be nice and warm and an evening of sci-fi and crime shows sounded fantastic. I could spot the red and white brick of my building through the bushes. Just a couple of minutes and I’d be home. I picked up the pace, fumbling for my keys which had managed to lose themselves once again inside the depths of my handbag.
Something heavy slammed into my left side. I flew through the air, smashing into my neighbor’s stonework wall. I actually heard my own ribs snap. The pain made me gag.
I never even saw him coming, and my mind struggled to make sense of the fact that I was now lying on the freezing cold ground feeling like I’d been rammed by a truck. Making a little mewling sound in my throat, I groped for my handbag. Everything had spilled out across the pavement. My fingers skittered through lipstick tubes and pens. My phone. Where was it? I needed to call … someone.
I saw my phone lying about a foot away. I tried reaching for it, but the pain in my side was overwhelming. I couldn’t even cry I hurt so badly.
I glanced up and down the street, looking for help, and realized my vision had gone a bit fuzzy and I tasted blood in my mouth. I reached up and touched my right temple and cheek where I’d hit the wall. My fingers came away sticky with my own blood. My stomach pitched.
God, what had hit me? A car maybe? But all the cars along the street were parked and empty.
“Help.” It was hardly more than a whisper. I tried again. “Help!” It didn’t come out much louder, but someone heard me because there was a low laugh in response. My blood ran cold. Fear clawed at my insides screaming at me to get up and run!
“No one gonna help you, bitch. No one gonna hear you.”
I blinked to clear my vision and wished I hadn’t. Nightmares were prettier. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. I tried to push myself to my feet, but the pain kept me on the ground. I cried out as another wave of pain hit me.
Him? Well, he laughed and when he did, long yellowish fangs flashed in the amber light of the street lamp. If it weren’t for the pain, I would have thought I was dreaming. They didn’t exist. Vampires weren’t real.
I felt the fangs go right into the jugular. It hurt more than anything. The pain ripped through me worse than the broken ribs or the head trauma. I would have screamed, but I had no breath. My hands fluttered against him, trying to beat him off, but I had no strength. His clawed hands squeezed my throat shut, and he slammed my head into the wall again.
The world went black and there was no more pain and no more blood and no more fear. There was only the sound of my heart beating slower and slower and slower. Then it stopped.
***
I woke up to a world of hard, bright white. The sheets beneath my fingertips felt cool and smooth and smelled faintly of bleach. The light sent pain stabbing though my head, lodging itself behind my eyes.
It was obvious I wasn’t dead. No one could mistake the antiseptic stench of a hospital for the world beyond the pearly gates. Plus I was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to feel pain in heaven. If there was a heaven. I’d never been entirely sure about the afterlife. I should probably check into that at some point.
I ran a quick mental check. Other than the headache nothing hurt, which could be a good sign or a very bad one. I subtly started flexing muscles, bending joints. Mostly everything worked, though my arm was in a cast. One problem: I was strapped down to the bed. That baffled me. I was the victim here. Didn’t they know that? Why was I tied down?
I must have made a noise because a face came into view, hovering over my bed. Dark eyes and honey kissed cinnamon skin, a mark of her Indian descent, an expression far too serious for a face meant to sm
ile at the world. “How are you feeling?” Her voice held an accent that wasn’t quite British, but close.
“Um, OK, I think. How long have I been out?”
“Three days. You were banged up pretty bad.” Her voice was cool, detached, her eyes watchful.
My mouth tasted of road kill and felt stuffed full of cotton. “No. I was dead. Wasn’t I? I died.”
Her smile was grim. “Yeah,” she said softly. Then her expression turned strangely tender. Sympathy or empathy? “You did. You died.”
“I don’t understand.” My voice came out a raspy whisper. I really didn’t. I didn’t understand how I could be alive. Not after what happened to me. I should be lying dead in the street, not cuffed to a hospital bed. “Why am I tied up?”
“Just in case,” she pulled a chair up next to my bed. The sun streaming in the window turned her dark hair almost blue black. It hung around her face in thick waves, framing high, broad cheekbones and full lips. Definitely at least part Indian, though her accent wasn’t Indian at all.
“In case of what?” My voice was getting a little shrill. Fear clawed at the back of my throat. I wanted to believe that I’d imagined the creature that attacked me, but I knew I hadn’t. What I’d seen shouldn’t exist, but it did. I knew what I saw was true.
I remembered the fangs ripping into my throat, the pain, the blood, the sharp stink of fear. My fear. I’d felt my life ebbing away, leaking out onto the cold pavement. I should be dead. The refrain kept pounding through my head: I should be dead.
“In case you turn.” Her voice was flat.
“Turn? Turn into what?” Panic tried to take hold, but I fought it down with a fierceness I didn’t know I had.
“A vampire.” She wasn’t kidding. “We tied you down in case you turned into a vampire.” I could tell by her expression that if I had turned, I wouldn’t have lasted long.