by Ranae Glass
“You see,” Mercy began, the words rolling out of her mouth like molasses, “the Council has decided to welcome our Shane into vampire society. They plan to hold his initiation during the annual vampire ball. It’s tradition that his sire and a member of his human family attend. As his sire is no longer available…”
That was a nice way to put it, I thought. ‘No longer available.’
“…I will be acting in her stead. We were hoping, since Shane’s human family isn’t able to attend, that you might act as his family for the evening.”
I looked from her to Shane. Was this some sort of joke? The expression on his face told me it wasn’t. The look was half embarrassed, half hopeful, and all Shane. I wanted to refuse him, I really did. But something in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t let me, couldn’t bear to disappoint him or let him down. Even after all we’d been through.
“I’m really going to regret this,” was my answer.
Mercy clapped merrily and Shane smiled, nodding with a subtle bow of his head that I returned.
“It’ll be perfect. We’ll get you something suitable to wear, of course,” Mercy rambled on until my eyes glazed over.
I decided to get the hell out of there before Shane could manipulate me any further with his puppy-dog eyes. With a less-than-heartfelt goodbye, I was out the door in a flash. I’d rather have taken on a pack of rabid honey badgers than spend another second making small talk with Mercy.
***
The Gamblers Anonymous meetings were held in the meeting room at the Church of Redeeming Sacrifice. The CRS had opened its doors shortly after the vamps had their little coming out about two years before. The most aggressively outspoken faction when it came to the “Demonic aberrations,” the CRS’s official opinion held that vampires should be staked on sight. And there were a whole lot of people that agreed with them. I mean, would you want a vampire teaching your kids? Operating on you? Hell, driving your taxi at two AM? I wasn’t saying they were right, only that I sort of understood why people might be afraid.
I’d seen a raging vampire up close and personal. Heck, I lived with one. The difference was, most of the time it was just the same old Shane I’d gotten to know in college. The guy I’d fallen in love with. Most of the time, I still saw that guy in his eyes.
Just walking through the chapel’s Gothic double doors gave me the creeps. Or maybe it was the fresco on the ceiling that depicted a dozen winged angels holding down a vampire and tearing off its head that made my stomach turn. I walked the halls until I found the only occupied room in the building. The meeting room was small, with only ten chairs squeezed into a semi-circle. The smell of stale donuts and strong coffee hung in the air. Two chairs sat empty.
As soon as I entered the doorway, the intimate group all turned to gawk at the new face. Fighting back a blush, I gave an awkward wave and slid into an empty seat next to a woman in her late forties wearing a red, midriff-bearing tank top, with matching shorts and cowboy boots.
“Go on, no one is here to judge you.” The man sitting in the middle of the semi-circle gave the man next to him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
I recognized the supporter from the news. It was Charles Marlowe, leader of the CRS and their self-proclaimed preacher. Apparently, he also served as judge, jury, and executioner of the vampire scourge. Just last week, he’d been calling people to arms against the federal government’s decision to grant vampires temporary legal status until the legislature could devise a more permanent solution. Yes, the man sitting across from me in his blue polo shirt and Dockers, was, down to the tips of his shiny loafers, a bigot.
“Well, when Mary found out I’d taken out the second mortgage on the house, she packed up the kids and moved to her mother’s place in Memphis,” a scruffy-looking man continued what he’d been saying before I’d entered.
A murmur of sympathy carried though the room.
“Well, can you blame her, Paul?” Charles asked.
Now crying, Paul shook his head, face obscured by withered hands.
In unison, the group chimed in, “We will overcome. We will not be controlled by our vices. Together, we are strong. United, we can make ourselves better.”
With a round of applause, the meeting was over. I breathed a sigh of relief at having gotten in at the end of the session so I didn’t have to make up some lame excuse for crashing. Hanging back, I watched as the people grabbed a quick snack and a cup of coffee before filing out. One woman, the only other female in the group besides Tank Top Lady and me, held out an overly bejeweled hand. Even her perfectly manicured fingernails had tiny white crystals embedded in the pink polish.
“Hey. I’m Trudi. Trudi Polk. I run the dry cleaners down on Pear Street. Are you a new member?”
I smiled my best sweet smile and shook her hand. “Well, I’m just checking things out. I don’t actually have a gambling problem.”
She winked. “Neither do I, sugar. I just come for the coffee and to see Pastor Marlowe, of course. Poor thing. Lost his wife two summers ago and his daughter, Melanie, sick with the Cystic Fibrosis. He needs a good woman to help him along, don’t you think?” she asked as she looked past me, her face filling with adoration as she caught the pastor’s eye.
Pastor Marlowe’s returning glance her direction was a smile that thinly veiled a grimace.
For a member of an ‘anonymous’ association, Trudi sure was a talker. I smiled conspiratorially. People like Trudi made my job much easier.
“So, how long have you been coming to these meetings?” I asked casually as I helped myself to a Styrofoam cup of a coffee-like substance.
She folded her arms across her chest, making the most of her minimal cleavage while she tossed her bottle-blonde hair over her shoulder. “Let’s see… about a year now.”
“Ah. My friend suggested I come. Maybe you know him, Robert Welch?”
The name got her attention.
“No, I never met him, personal-like, but I read all about that poor man’s misfortune. If you ask me, that no-good wife of his done took off and left him with those precious little children. Jessica, the lady who does my nails, told me she knew the missing lady and that she was in the salon real regular. Always tanning and waxing and getting her nails done.” She wagged her eyebrows suggestively. “Only one reason a married woman goes to all that trouble.”
“You think she was cheating?” I asked carefully.
She touched her chest with her fingertips. “Well, I’m not one to gossip. That’s just my opinion. Got no proof, mind you. I suppose it’s between her and the Good Lord, but if you ask me, that woman’s gonna rot in H-E-double-toothpicks for what she did.”
I would have continued to tap the font of information in snakeskin pumps that was Trudi Polk, but we were interrupted.
“Ladies. Trudi, good to see you as always.”
She beamed as her name slipped past Marlowe’s lips. He held his hand out to me. “However, I don’t believe we’ve met.”
I took his hand. “I’m Isabel. I was actually hoping to speak to you alone for a minute, Pastor.”
Beside me, Trudi frowned. She hadn’t thought of me as competition until that second. It was amazing to me how quickly some girls were willing to cat fight over men that didn’t even belong to them.
“Certainly,” he said, relief spreading across his face, probably at the excuse to escape Trudi’s amorous intentions. With a wave of his hand, he ushered me from the room and up the hallway to a door on the right marked PRIVATE. Behind us, one of the men from the group sprinted forward.
“I got everything put away, and the room is ready for nursery school Sunday. Is there anything else, Pastor?”
“No, David. But thank you. This is Miss Isabel…” He paused, probably remembering that I hadn’t told him my last name.
I stuck out my hand, and David took it. His hands were harsh, dry, and calloused—a stark contradiction to his neat suit-and-tie ensemble. More blue collar than blue tie, but he was obviously trying to play t
he part.
“Stone. Isabel Stone. It’s nice to meet you.”
“David Pierce.” He nodded curtly after holding my eyes for a second longer than was really necessary.
He turned back to Marlowe. “All right, Pastor. I’m heading home. Call me if you need anything.”
Marlowe nodded before turning to unlock his office door, and David made his way down the hall toward the exit. That precaution was smart but inconvenient if I needed to break in later. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that, but the way my week was going, who knew?
“David is my assistant,” Marlowe explained as he waved me into the office. “A devout man and a personal friend. I don’t know what I’d do without him most days.”
Taking a seat across from his desk, I noticed a picture of two women I presumed to be his wife and daughter on one side and a stack of what looked like medical files on the other.
“What can I do for you today, Miss Stone?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, voice not quite as friendly as it had been.
“I wanted to ask you some questions about your parishioners, the Welch family.”
He frowned, tapping his fingers on the edge of his desk.
“Ah, so you’re looking into the disappearance. You are the proprietor of Stone Private Investigations, are you not? I thought your name sounded familiar.”
I nodded. “I am. We’ve been hired by Lisa’s father, Mr. Curtis.”
“It’s unfortunate he felt it necessary to go to such lengths. Lisa’s disappearance has been extremely hard on him, on them all. I didn’t know Lisa; she wasn’t a regular parishioner here. Robert has been coming for some time, though.”
“I understand he used to have quite a gambling problem.”
As I expected, he shot me down.
“Isabel, surely you understand that I can’t discuss the private lives of our followers. I will say only that Robert is a good man and a good father. I don’t believe for a moment he could ever hurt his wife, or anyone for that matter. He has what we call common human decency.”
I was totally prepared to let it go. In fact, I stood up to leave, a thank-you forming on my lips. Marlowe stood up as well, leaning across the desk.
“Isabel, I know about your situation. If you ever need help, someone to assist you in ridding yourself of the creature that you work with, please come to us. We do the Lord’s work here, no matter how dangerous. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
I laughed. I didn’t mean to. He was being so earnest, treating me like a battered wife scared to leave her abusive spouse, but I snickered anyway. In hindsight, not the best reaction.
When I was finally able to compose myself, I responded, leaning over the desk until our noses were almost touching. “Thanks for the offer, Pastor. But Shane is my partner, my friend, and he’s not going anywhere. He has more common decency in his little finger than most of the humans I know.”
I spun on my heel and made it to his office door before he called after me.
“You can’t trust their kind. They are soulless, evil. If you choose to stand with them, you will eventually get hurt.”
I glared at him. “That’s funny. Just a couple of days ago, a plain, old human tried to burn me alive, and that soulless, evil vampire saved me. Maybe he didn’t get the memo about all the human decency.”
With that, I walked out, slamming his door behind me. I was halfway down the hall when a voice called out to me.
“Miss Stone?” It was David Pierce.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself before I turned. “Yes?”
He caught up to me. David was in brown slacks and an off-white, button-up shirt with a crimson tie. He reminded me of a salesman at Sears. “I couldn’t help overhearing, and I just want to apologize. Pastor Marlowe is a good man, but he can be a bit overzealous.”
I held back my usual snarky comeback. The wheels in my brain were turning at full steam. Marlowe’s assistant might be a handy asset. I smiled.
“I understand. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. He just struck a nerve.”
“About your partner, the vampire?”
I shrugged. Biting my bottom lip, I decided quickly that if I was going to get any info, a change of approach might be in order. I opted for the heartbroken damsel routine.
“We were engaged, you know, back when he was still human. Now things are so… complicated.”
“Are you afraid he might hurt you?”
I exhaled, trying to decide what answer would get him on my side and not get Shane chased down with a flamethrower.
“No, he’s harmless. But the others, well, you never know. I mean, they look so human. Sometimes, you forget what they’re capable of.”
He nodded, looking straight ahead as we walked toward the parking lot.
“Well,” he pushed the door open and held it for me, “just remember that the CRS is always here for you if you need us. We really do care. We’re family here.”
I smiled and thanked him before walking alone to my car. He must have turned around and gone back inside because when I reached my car door, he was gone.
***
Shane and Mercy were gone when I got home, not a huge surprise. Mercy wasn’t stupid. Well, okay, she really was. She still must have felt my not exactly subtle I-want-to-rip-your-face-off vibes.
Wide awake, with my body still humming with anger, I settled in to watch a movie. Afterwards, I did the dishes and then dusted. Rage cleaning, my mom called it. For me, it was more of a way to clear my head. When I finally crawled to bed at three AM, they still weren’t back. Not that I was waiting for them. It wasn’t enough that Shane had guilted me into going to the stupid vampire cotillion, but to add insult to injury, Mercy insisted I wear a traditional gown that would be provided for me by the Council. I was betting on something frilly and pink. Spiffy.
I fell asleep wondering what pink taffeta looked like on fire.
I was still drooling on my pillow when the phone rang downstairs. My clock blinked 10:13 AM in bright red numbers. With a groan, I pulled my pillow over my head and let the machine answer. But as soon as I heard the voice, I sprang out of bed. Still in boxer shorts and sleep tee, tangled in my sheets, I fell to the floor with a thud and a grunt. I scrambled down the stairs to the office, grabbed the phone off the hook, and answered, breathless.
“Hello?”
Dial tone. I’d been a heartbeat too late and the machine had caught it.
Hitting the playback button, I dropped into my desk chair to listen.
“Isabel, it’s Tyger. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but somebody boosted a car last night. Left it over in the parking lot behind Bojangles on 3rd St. What’s this town coming to?” He laughed. “Hope you find what you’re looking for today.”
Click. The grin that spread across my face made me feel a bit like the Grinch.
“And my heart grew three sizes that day,” I muttered to no one.
I glanced up the stairs to Shane’s door. It was closed, so I knew immediately he was home. He only closed his door when he was inside.
After a cup of coffee and a quick shower, I changed into something subtle—a pair of dark jean shorts with a faded gray T-shirt and a pair of cowboy boots. I wanted to be inconspicuous, but I didn’t want to look like a cat burglar either. With my second cup of coffee in hand, I tapped on Shane’s door. No answer. He was probably still dead to the world, pun intended.
I tapped again, harder this time. “Shane?”
Still nothing.
Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob and cracked the door. I realized with a gasp that Shane wasn’t alone and slammed the door quickly. Surely, that had been an elbow, knee, or something peeking out of the messy bed covers.
I gagged a little. Did they make soap for the eyeballs?
Slipping back to my room, I reached around on the top shelf of my closet until my hand curled over the object I’d been looking for. It was a souvenir from a hockey game my dad had taken me to when I was fourteen, and now
it was part of my private arsenal. I tossed it up in the air and caught it, hoping there was still a little juice left from the last time I’d used it. Returning to Shane’s door, I cracked it, slipped my arm in the gap, and hit the button.
The air horn wailed, echoing throughout the entire house, quickly followed by the loud thud of two bodies hitting the floor. I pushed the button once more for good measure.
“Hey, Count Suckula,” I hollered, “we’ve got the car. You still wanna go check it out or what?”
Mercy growled behind the door, a feral, wild sound like a mountain lion. Shane whispered something that quieted her, and then called to me, “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“You have five, and then I’m going without you.”
I was sitting downstairs in my dad’s favorite burnt-orange recliner. It was horrifically ugly, but it smelled of Old Spice and analgesic balm—like my father—so it had a permanent place in my house. I was nestled comfortably when Mercy practically flew downstairs to do her walk of shame. Seeing me, she snarled. I waved, blowing her a kiss. Her pretty face twisted, and she lunged into my living room, eyes flashing red.
I held up the squirt gun in my hand, waving it. “Ah, ah, ah,” I tisked. “Wouldn’t want things to get messy.”
She stopped, looking confused for a minute, and then laughed. “What, are you going to soak me to death?”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “I guess that depends on the type of water inside, doesn’t it?”
For a second, she looked confused again—probably the natural resting state of her face, but then realization dawned on her. “Holy water wouldn’t kill me,” she retorted, but her tone wasn’t entirely confident.
She was right—pouring it on her skin wouldn’t kill her. But it would burn like acid and it would be extremely painful and slow to heal.
“True, but it would mess up that pretty face of yours, wouldn’t it, Mercy?” I drew out her name until it sounded like a curse. “Do you think Shane would still like you if half your face was melted off?”
Ok, that was bitchy. But I didn’t really care at the moment. This was my house, and she was an unwelcome visitor.