by Nazri Noor
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. Maybe I’d make her my first meal. And of course Carver didn’t bother considering a different payment setup. Our employer and shared mentor had deep pockets and little patience, a confusing contradiction. You’d think he’d have developed more prudence, being that he was several hundred years old, but not getting his way immediately was a quick path to making him grumpy. And a grumpy Carver was much more likely to fling fireballs at a moment’s notice. Not fun for anyone.
I sighed in resignation, leaving my bags by the door. “I guess we’re just going to have to make the most of this.” I vaulted over a rickety coffee table, aiming for a soft landing on the couch. I got my soft landing, and a large puff of dust along with it.
“Holy crap,” I sputtered, coughing. “This is – right, I tried, no, no. We can’t stay here. How long has it been since anyone lived here?”
Gil drew a line in the coffee table with his finger, grimacing at the dirt. “Better question would be to ask when someone last died here.”
“I could check,” Asher offered helpfully.
“Don’t bother. We’re out. I told you guys, I would happily plunk down for a hotel. My treat. Money’s no issue. But no. You bozos had to insist on staying in the house where every horror movie in the world ever has happened. Best case scenario, Asher wakes up with a knife in his back.”
Asher gasped.
Gil pushed his hands into his hips, putting his foot down. “Nobody said that this was going to be a weekend in the woods, Sterling. It’s not a vacation.” Somehow he managed to sound like both my long-dead mother and father at the same time. “We’re here for work. The whole point of taking this cabin was so we could do it all remotely, but all you’ve done since we got to Silveropolis is draw attention to yourself.”
I shrugged off my jacket, the leather squeaking to demonstrate my defiance, then used it to beat the rest of the dust out of the cushions. Asher covered his mouth, coughing, and headed for the open door, the only source of fresh air around.
“Ridiculous name, too,” I said. “Silveropolis. And kind of offensive.”
Asher held up his phone, leaning against the doorframe so he wouldn’t have to inhale dust. “Silver deposits. Couple of hundred years back, there were silver mines in the mountains nearby. There’s gold up in them thar hills. Hah. Except, you know, silver. And besides, this isn’t an argument about what you are and aren’t weak to. Which, just to clarify?”
I squinted at him. “No. Silver doesn’t hurt me. When has it ever?” I held up my fingers, each adorned with a different ring. “Neither does garlic. You know that.”
“Just checking,” he said. “It never hurts for me to keep in mind, you know?”
“Ass,” I said, chuckling. Asher and I got along partly because of our crass sense of humor, which included occasional gibes about casually killing each other. You know, regular friend stuff. The garlic thing had come up as we got to know each other. He was half Filipino, and a lot of the food we both loved – pork adobo, beef salpicao, or even sisig – tended to use a lot of garlic. Delicious cuisine, and none of it came close to murdering me from the inside out. Not all the vampire legends got it entirely correct.
But we’ll get to all that later. I realize the subject of how to kill me is very interesting, but I’m consistently more invested in the subject of how to keep myself exquisitely preserved and functionally alive. I peeled myself off the couch, making a dash for one of my suitcases.
“Hungry,” I muttered, a statement Asher considered more of a warning than a declaration. He ducked out of the way, taking over the couch in my absence. I unzipped the smallest of my suitcases, carefully tilting it on its side as I did. It was easier overall if the guys thought that I only really cared about appearance and style. They didn’t need to know about what all I had actually packed for the trip.
A few bottles of the good stuff, of course, culled from some of my loveliest, loyalest thralls. I pressed one of the bottles against my cheek – still warm, even though I’d extracted their precious nectar days ago. They weren’t plain bottles, of course, but gently enchanted crystal phials, a gift from a blood witch in exchange for some especially filthy favors. It pays to have friends in low places. Magic thermoses? Hah. Get yourself a blood witch and you’ll have hot clam chowder for days. No, really, it’ll be hot for days.
I popped the top off, which is a very crude way to say that I broke the engraved wax seal and extracted the stopper. Also crude, maybe, to lick at the moist end of the stopper, but I couldn’t help myself. Sweet, sultry. A thirty-four-year-old woman, kindergarten teacher by day, artist by night, her blood just like her, a delicate balance of brightness and rich, earthy dark.
“Nice and warm,” I murmured. “Could be hotter.”
“Too bad we don’t have a microwave,” Asher said distractedly, scrolling through his phone.
There was a crunching from the other end of the room as Gil popped a potato chip in his mouth. I hadn’t even heard the rustling from when he’d busted the packet open. The blood does things to your head, see?
“Sorry,” he said sullenly. “I guess it’s something to add to our to-do list.”
“For sure,” I said. “I didn’t bring a ton. If I run out I’m not doing a hot water bath on the stove to heat up refrigerated pig’s blood. Bain marie my ass.”
Because that was the alternative: head into town and make googly eyes with a friendly neighborhood butcher. The good things about the Everett House? It was far enough out of town proper to afford us a little bit of privacy, but not so far that it was off the grid. That explained the power, and the barely-there internet. It also meant that we were a short drive, or at most, a reasonable hike away from a grocery run. Great news for Asher, who was still very much human, and Gil, whose mostly omnivorous diet only occasionally called for a dose of rare meat.
Me, on the other hand? Damn it, but Gil was right. I was going to have to charm someone into handing over their precious blood, if not enthrall them formally. That was going to be its own pile of bullshit. Failing that, it was local butcher pig’s blood time. Ugh. Not my favorite by a margin, but serviceable, and better than starving.
Worst case scenario? Hunt in the woods. Rats, like Gil proposed. Did rats even live in the woods?
God, I fucking hated this place.
Gil poured the last of his chips into his mouth, picking shards out of his beard and sheepishly dusting off his shirt. “Right. Everyone rest up for now. We’ll figure things out tomorrow, make out a game plan for how we handle the – you know, the dilemma.”
Asher shuddered. “Let’s not bring that up right now. I know I’m all about death magic, but shit still gives me the creeps.”
“Which part?” I shut the front door and slid the bolt, balancing my bottle of dinner and probably breakfast carefully in my free hand. “The bit where the victims have no face left? That part?”
He scowled. “I just said, man.”
“Just go to bed,” Gil growled, sliding into an armchair, folding his arms and legs, then shutting his eyes. “The both of you.”
“I don’t really sleep,” I said.
“Don’t fucking start with me, Sterling. We’re tired as shit and all I had for dinner was sour cream and onion. Don’t make me eat you.”
“He’s probably too stringy anyway.” Asher yawned, pulling a thermal blanket out of his backpack and snuggling under it. “Probably real bitter, too.”
Gil chuckled, went silent, then began snoring within seconds. Werewolf or not, that was a superpower right there. Asher conked out a minute or so later, too. In no time at all the Everett House was alive again, after possibly decades of emptiness and neglect, now home to a pair of dueling buzzsaws.
Outside it was late night, or early morning. The wind rushed through the pines, some as old as I was, many more even older. I nursed my phial of blood alone in the darkness. Every sip had to last. I needed to savor the syrupy richness of warm, vibrant red. I stared out the window a
t nothing, and waited for dawn.
3
Someone was banging the door down. I could hear the ancient hinges squeaking. Any more of that and they were going to give out, and we’d have no door, and where would that leave us?
“Gil? Asher?” I groaned feebly into the half darkness. “Where the fuck are you?”
Still the door kept banging. Fine, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Whoever was on the other side of it was doing a more polite rapping of the knuckles than anything. But it still sounded like agonizing thunder in my head. I’d decided to sleep after all, snatching both Asher’s spot and his blanket as soon as he’d gotten up in the morning. I didn’t sleep all that much, but woe betide the poor sap who gets between me and a full REM cycle. Every single knock was like a hammer against the inside of my skull.
The banging continued. Knocking, whatever. It was starting to piss me off.
“Fuck this,” I grunted.
I peeled myself out from under the blanket groggily, forcing myself to slither off the sofa, silently cursing both Asher and Gil. What was the point of tolerating non-nocturnal people when they couldn’t even be trusted to feed me their blood or answer doors?
My legs carried me towards the door as if they were personally itching to kick both it and whoever was knocking down into the dirt. The bolt wasn’t secured. Huh. Asher and Gil must have gone out. I was still going to be pissy with them, trust me. I turned the knob and threw the door open.
“Will you knock off that racket, I was – oh. Oh, hello.”
I smoothed my hair back, knowing it was sticking up in places, although maybe our evening visitor liked a little bit of bedhead. It was dark outside, very late afternoon, maybe, early evening, but something about her was glowing. Could have been her skin, or the golden blonde of her hair. Could have been the reddening in her cheeks.
We’re not going to mince words here. I’m not a bad-looking fellow. You might even say that I’m devastatingly gorgeous. All angles, all sharpness and sleekness, whether it’s the jawline, the cheekbones, the pricy haircut. I could tell that the lady agreed. I tend to sleep shirtless, too, and that might have had an effect as well. Some might call me sinewy, or lean. No one would mistake me for a bodybuilder, but I had muscle where it counted.
All I had on was a pair of skinny black jeans slung low on my hips, and she was wearing a yellow dress. Gingham, a little bit of white lace in places. She reminded me of a picnic, or a bright summer’s day, something I hadn’t enjoyed in far too long. And from where I stood, she smelled faintly of something sweet. Was it honey? Nectar? She was a vision, a feast for the eyes. Delectable to the senses.
I wanted to throw her against the doorframe and suck her dry.
But Sterling, first name only, like Madonna, is a gentleman. Consent is sexy.
But so was she. Damn it.
“Evening,” she said. Wow. Even her voice was sweet. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I wanted to introduce myself to the new owner.”
I cocked an eyebrow. Owner? Oh, right, we owned property. Well, more property, in my case. Yeah, old Sterling has a few silver dollars squirreled away someplace. I’ll tell you my biggest financial secret. Step one: invest. Step two: never die. A hundred years of interest does wonders for the portfolio.
The corner of my mouth lifted as I grinned, just out of one end, lopsided, because everybody loves something a little wicked, a little crooked.
“I guess that would be me, then. Name’s Sterling.” I didn’t offer my hand to shake. I’m cold as death on the best of days, worse when I haven’t fed on someone fresh.
“Olivia Everett,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Everett? As in the Everett House?”
“That’s right. Uriah Everett was my great, great, great – well, it carries on. He’s an ancestor. He helped found this town, you know? Back when they first found silver in the mountains.”
“Right,” I said, scratching my stomach. “Right. Well, I’d invite you in, but.” I waved vaguely at the furniture, and the thick layers of dust.
She reddened again. “I really do apologize. The cabin has been in disrepair for years. There has been very, very little interest in it, which is why I was so surprised when a buyer appeared out of nowhere. Oh, I’m so embarrassed.”
The blood was rising hot and quick to her cheeks, too close to the surface. I could feel it from where I stood, searing the cold of the evening air between us. I cleared my throat, fighting to tear my eyes away from her skin, her neck.
“Don’t worry about it. Though I’m a little surprised to learn that you’d give up the house so readily.”
She rubbed the back of her wrist, looking down bashfully. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Olivia was doing this on purpose. All of it.
“Like I said, there isn’t much interest in the place at all. Tourists don’t really come to Silveropolis, and the locals remember Uriah well, but not well enough to pay for a tour of his cabin. A bit of a shame to say so, but the money from the sale would do better in my business.” She looked around the inside of the house, then shrugged. “I could arrange for a cleaning service to come, if you like?”
I waved my hand. “Don’t worry about it. Did you say your business?”
She nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, exposing more of her neck. Damn it.
“It’s nothing, really. A small business, I suppose. I run a little shop in town that specializes in fresh produce. Lots of it is local, but I do bring in a few things that we don’t get down here. Exotic fruit.” Her eyes twinkled as she said it.
I leaned my forearm against the doorframe and crossed my legs. “Sounds tasty.”
Olivia giggled. “I’ll let you be the judge. You should come down and visit. Everett’s Exotica. You can’t miss it.”
I ignored, for the moment, the fact that her overgrown fruit stand sounded a lot more like an underground leather dungeon. And then I tried to ignore the flush of blood that the previous thought had sent pumping through my body.
“I’ll be sure to drop by,” I said. “I’d love to check out the wares.”
Asher’s voice called out from the driveway. “Hey, put on a shirt, man. Have some shame.”
Olivia turned to see Asher and Gil coming, blushing again. “Oh. I should go. It was nice to meet you, Sterling. Promise you’ll come by the shop. And welcome to Silveropolis.”
I waved her off with a grin and a salute, then shot Asher a death glare as soon as she turned her back on me. He and Gil were loaded with brown paper bags. Oh, so they were out for a supply run. Good.
“Who was that? She was cute.”
“Don’t push your luck, kid. She likes me. I think.”
“Potential thrall, then? Does this mean you’ll stop bitching about potential starvation?”
I shoved him lightly in the chest. “Again. Don’t push your luck, kid.”
Gil grunted as he pushed past the both of us, setting down his bags on the cleanest part of the kitchen he could find. “We’ve got human food, at least. You’re not gonna die, Sterling. What’s a couple of frozen pizzas?”
I rubbed the heel of my hand against my forehead, rearranging my hair into something even messier. “Not for the long haul, no. I’m much happier feeding daily. Stronger, too. If we run into something out here, something that needs fighting, I’m going to need to be in actual fighting condition.” I coughed feebly. “If only I had two hale, hearty friends with plenty of thick, sweet blood to help me.”
Asher set down his paper bags, then flopped down onto the couch, slurping noisily on something out of a plastic cup. “Hell no, dude. You can starve.” He noticed me staring at the cup. “Oh. We found the only boba place in town. It’s not the worst. But yeah, who was the girl?”
“Olivia Everett,” I said, peering out the doorway before I shut it. No trace of her, or of any car besides our own. Must have moved fast. “Her family owns this pile of garbage. Or used to, at least. She just wanted to introduce herself, touch
base.”
Asher grinned. “Any chance she might have wanted to touch something else?”
I bundled up his blanket in one hand and threw it in his face. “You’re disgusting, kid. That’s no way to talk about my new girlfriend.”
Asher laughed and sputtered as he tried to detangle himself from the blanket. Gil shook his head and sighed. I frowned at him.
“Look at this guy being all serious and jaded just because he’s the only one here who isn’t going to die alone. That we know of.”
Gil rubbed his hair, half smiling, half grimacing. “Can we not talk about that right now? Gonna be a while before I can see her. Speaking of which, I should give her a call.” He pushed past me again, heading for the door, I guess for some privacy.
“Guess we’re not allowed to listen in,” Asher said, finally free of his blanket.
“You are a child.” I ruffled up his hair, then went for the groceries. “What did you find in town?”
“Besides frozen burritos and boba tea? Let’s see. The atmosphere’s pretty chilly. Small town. Population four thousand something, kind of place where everybody sort of knows everybody. I think it’s obvious that we’re not from around here. Funny looks, you know?”
“Oh, I know. I’m used to it.” I peered at a bag of almonds, sniffed it, then gnawed at a corner. Who needs scissors when you’ve got razors for teeth? “Any chatter? Did you pick up on anything useful?”
He leaned into the sofa, placing one hand behind his head. “What, did you think we just magically overheard people talking about the exact information we were looking for? Nope. Nothing. Just folks going about their everyday lives. Although, Gil did say that the air smelled off. He could sense it. Everybody’s tense. Everybody’s afraid.”
I tossed three almonds into my mouth, crunching on them as I chewed. “Hell, I’d be scared, too, if my neighbors started turning up dead and faceless. We’ve got to have some leads.”
Asher sifted around in his backpack. “I could see what I can pull up on the internet, check out some articles. There’s bound to be a bunch of stuff on the latest victim. Some reports of people going missing, too.”