by Nazri Noor
Asher and Gil made their introductions. Olivia was sweet, as expected, blushing again as she fluttered over her fruit.
“Oh, where are my manners? I meant to drop off a fruit basket, but I’d completely forgotten.”
“Totally unnecessary,” I said, picking up a nectarine and rolling it between my hands. “We’re more than happy to support a local business. We’ll have a little of everything, please.”
Gil raised an eyebrow. “We will?”
“Asher needs his vitamins and nutrients. Growing boy. Aren’t you, Asher?”
He shrugged. “Won’t say no to some quality fruit.”
Olivia smiled. “Oh, you boys are so sweet. We’ll put something together for you right now. Timothy, could you help me, please?”
“Gladly,” Timothy growled, in a tone that implied he wasn’t very glad about anything at all. With Olivia’s back turned, he could take his time scanning our faces, which was honestly a waste of his energy. Anyone within a mile could tell that I was the one with impure intentions for Ms. Everett, not the happily monogamous werewolf, and certainly not the oblivious teenage necromancer.
“I do hope Silveropolis is treating you boys well,” Olivia said, selecting a peach here, an apple there.
“About as well as any old town likes to treat strangers,” Gil said meaningfully.
Olivia nodded, like she understood. “Silveropolis folk tend to keep to their own, stick to themselves. It was different then, back when the town was just for the townsfolk. Oh, no offense meant, gentlemen. It’s always nice to have new blood around. It might just take time for them to warm up to you, is all.”
I grinned at Timothy right over her head, as an answer to his suspicious glares. “Just takes time. Right.”
“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, we’d love to learn a little bit more about the town.” Asher smiled brightly at her, his odd aura of charisma that he could turn on and off at the drop of a hat suddenly turned up to full blast. “There are so many interesting stories here.”
Olivia lit up. “You’re not wrong there! If these buildings could talk. The town’s history is so rich. My ancestor’s stories alone could fill a book.” Her mouth fell open. “Actually – they did. There are only a few copies around, but Uriah Everett dictated an account of his life, and it was compiled into a journal. I have a copy I could lend you, right at my shop.”
She turned around and pointed past the stalls, away from the night market, towards a row of buildings that, in the darkness, would best be described as little, and quaint.
“We would love to borrow a copy,” Asher said. “That all sounds fascinating.”
There was nothing that could have sounded more boring to me, but I kept a look of intense curiosity pasted onto my face. Asher could handle the nerd stuff and speed read this thing if he had to. Maybe there was something in there about a blood moon – or even the Filigreed Masque.
“Well, then,” Olivia said. “No better way for you to learn about Silveropolis than through the journal. Timothy, finish up selecting the fruit for our guests, would you? Oh, and would you be so kind as to watch the stall? You really are the best.”
Timothy’s face softened for the briefest moment when Olivia laid her hand on his bicep. He darkened again when he saw me smirking from behind her.
“Asher and I will escort you to the shop. Gil can stay here and wait for the fruit.”
Gil frowned. “I will?”
I tucked a hundred-dollar bill in Timothy’s front pocket, smiling, then patting his chest. Ooh. Firm. Must have been from lifting all those crates – and from carrying a torch for Olivia Everett.
“Keep the change, Timmy. Make sure we get some pomelos, won’t you? Love pomelos. We won’t be gone too long.”
Behind me, somewhere, Gil groaned. Timothy looked about ready to punch my head off. Olivia’s head bobbed as she talked excitedly to Asher, totally unaware that anything was even happening.
Asher and I flanked Olivia as we strolled through an especially interesting section of the night market, the one filled with stalls serving all kinds of edible curiosities. The air itself smelled delicious, filled with the mingled scents of hot chocolate, warm pastries, and for some reason, fried and battered cookies.
The part of me that yearned for human food, though, was still completely satisfied from wolfing down Asher’s sinangag. No, the tastier treat was the woman next to me who stood up to my shoulders, whose skin smelled like citrus and cream, whose blood pumped in a tempting, hypnotic rhythm.
My head swam, but I shook it vigorously, clearing it of all fantasies that involved feeding. The hunger for blood was a terrible reminder of how vampires really are little more than animals, once you boil it all down. But couldn’t the same be said for humans? Even the part of town we entered from the edge of the night market was mostly restaurants already shuttered for the night. Nothing but glorified feeding troughs.
I shouldn’t have gone with them. I thought I had the strength to resist, but my willpower was eroding more and more by the day. First Olivia, then Roth, and Olivia again. And in between all that was Gil, and Jackie, and Asher, and Damien, and even Timothy, for fuck’s sake. Everyone was a temptation to me, a Bloody Mary on legs. I needed to find a thrall, and fast.
No. I bit down on the sides of my cheeks. No. I was civilized, damn it. I didn’t need to slam someone against a wall, hiss in their face, then clamp at their neck like a lamprey. I counted the clicks of my boot heels against the cobblestones, praying for the rhythm of my steps to drown out the rhythm of Olivia’s honeyed blood. She was speaking animatedly to Asher, facing away from me, exposing her throat, the soft line of her jaw.
“Hold it together,” I mouthed to myself soundlessly. I felt at my pockets, searching for the business card that Vilmas had slipped me, ashamed that I would even consider. Drinking from another vampire’s thralls – especially a vampire I disliked – just felt pathetic. I didn’t want Vilmas’s sloppy seconds.
“Here we are,” Olivia announced, so suddenly that my feet stumbled to a stop. She pressed her fists into her hips, looking up proudly at a squat building that bore her name.
“Everett’s Exotica,” Asher read from a sign spelled out of polished bronze letters.
I peered through the darkened windows. “Huh. This doesn’t look like any old fruit shop to me.”
Olivia pressed her lips together guiltily, then sighed. “I confess. Peddling fresh produce is more my thing. I mainly have a couple of stalls that I put out front during the day. Timothy and I take turns watching them. Everyone likes the fruit. They really do.”
She extracted a keyring from a pocket, unlocking the front door. It swung open with a faint creak, and maybe a sigh. The air smelled musty. Ancient. Olivia swept into the store, disappearing into the darkness, but her voice carried towards the doorway, spilling sweetly out into the street, where Asher and I waited.
“This is what the family has always done, though. I’m not the biggest fan of it myself, but I maintain the place out of tradition. It’s expected of me. My family expects it, and in a way, so does the town.”
Lightbulbs clicked and hummed as they came alive, blazing in sequence from the very back of the store, all the way to the display windows. I gasped in surprise. Asher gasped in wonder.
I whistled, admiring the cabinets, the antiques, and the many, many books lining the many, many shelves.
“Definitely not a fruit shop at all.”
16
I ran a finger along the edge of a bookshelf, leaving a line in the dust. The place smelled like old paper, mothballs, mildew. Olivia cleared her throat, looking away, pretending that we weren’t all looking at her big, dirty secret.
“This is Everett’s Exotica. It’s not about exotic fruit. I’m sorry to disappoint. We’re more of a combination antique store and pawn shop, though in recent times I’ve come to think of it more as a storage unit. A very dusty one. Nobody really buys anything.”
I dusted my hands off, peering in
to an empty glass bell jar. “You don’t say.”
Olivia shrugged. “Posterity, really. It’s a museum of worthless curios, more than anything. All the old objects and artifacts and relics that my ancestors could never force on heirs and relatives.” She folded her arms, rolling her eyes away from an especially rickety-looking bookshelf. “You couldn’t give this stuff to charity, much less a lumberyard.”
I leaned against a cupboard and folded my arms, meaning to be seductive, until it shifted and squeaked across the floor. Asher snorted. I collected myself, straightening my posture and clearing my throat. The shop, at least, was big enough for us all to maintain distance. The blood thirst wasn’t quite so bad without her standing so close to me.
“You could always have an accident,” I said, rubbing my fingers together. “Electrical fire. Those tend to happen. Especially dangerous in places with lots and lots of flammable material. This whole place could go up in smoke.”
I grunted when Asher elbowed me in the ribs. He frowned disapprovingly. He didn’t like the idea of books on fire. Nerd.
Olivia grinned at me, shaking her head. Oh, she liked bad boys, it was easy to tell. “I would never, ever stoop to arson. That’s very naughty of you. I have to admit, as much as the Exotica is a burden, it’s too valuable. The place is steeped in memories, irreplaceable ones. Fragments of my family, in a way. It’s the same reason I’ve kept the Everett House so long, despite its state of disrepair.”
“We’ve been working on fixing it up,” I said. “Slowly but surely. Day at a time. Lots of sweaty manual labor.” I curled my bicep, which didn’t look very impressive since I was strapped into a leather jacket, but it did get Olivia to chuckle a little.
“You mean Gil and I do the cleanup work while you sleep the day away,” Asher muttered under his breath. He put on a smile, turning on the charm and setting his attention back on Olivia. “You were saying something about a book earlier? A journal, of your old ancestor Uriah.”
Her eyes went wide. “That’s right. One of the original founders of Silveropolis. There was such a rush when they discovered deposits in the mountains. Whole reason the town sprang up.”
She disappeared behind a bookshelf, sifting and rummaging for a brief moment before reemerging with a tome clutched to her chest. She pressed it into Asher’s hands.
“There. I entrust this to you. As I said, there are only a few copies in existence, and this is the only one I have.”
I peered over Asher’s shoulder, taking a closer look as he brushed a skein of cobwebs away from the cover. The Travels and Travails of Uriah Everett, it said, pressed into the deep red leather in flaking golden letters. Cute title. The book was one of those elaborate-looking ones, too, with the metal clasps and hinges, even a couple of ribbons for bookmarks.
Asher pressed the book to his chest, mirroring Olivia’s body language. Smart boy. “I’ll guard this with my life,” he said.
Olivia smiled, reassured. “I’ll take your word for it. Come, we should head back to the fruit stall. Your friend is still waiting, and I should help Timothy pack up.”
“Before we go, though, I was hoping I could ask you a couple of small questions.” Asher flashed another smile. “If it’s not too much of a bother.”
Olivia stopped mid-stride, on her way to shut off the shop’s lights again. “It’s no bother at all. I’ll answer to the best of my abilities.”
“We’ve heard a couple of rumors around town,” Asher started. “Could be just that, rumors, but it’s clear that your family liked to collect unique artifacts. Have you heard of something called the Filigreed Masque?”
Again, smart boy. I’d almost forgotten to ask. Olivia’s face positively glowed when Asher spoke the artifact’s name. She really was at her loveliest when her eyes lit up with excitement. I slipped my hands into my pockets.
“I’ve heard so many stories about it. My favorite is how wearing the Filigreed Masque on a full moon is supposed to make you the most beautiful person for miles and miles around.”
“You wouldn’t need any help in that department,” I said, tilting my head. “I guess it really is just a rumor.”
I could hear Asher roll his eyes. But Olivia blushed.
“Such a charmer. The both of you, really. But yes, a rumor. I don’t believe there is any record of the Masque actually existing. But anyway. We really should be going.”
“Right,” I said, letting her close down the shop, Asher and I heading for the door. Outside, I lifted my head to the sky, waiting for her to lock up before I spoke again. “Beautiful night. Moon’s gorgeous. I wonder how Silveropolis looks during a blood moon.”
The jingling of Olivia’s keyring stopped. She glanced at me, like she wanted to say something, then went back to locking the front door. I blinked at her, feigning ignorance.
“Sorry, Olivia. Was it something I said?”
She shook her head. “No, no. It’s – well, anyway, it’s nothing. It’s very silly, really.”
“You can tell us if anything’s bothering you,” Asher said, seeming so skinny and boyish behind the enormous book hugged to his chest. He really knew how to work that angle, make people trust him by seeing him as something harmless and inoffensive. In a way, I thought it made him the most dangerous of us all.
Olivia glanced to either side of her, as if making sure that no one was around to hear what she had to say.
“Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but the locals are very superstitious about things like the blood moon. All this talk of absolute nonsense. Wolves in the woods walking on two legs, the dead rising from their graves. Just complete – excuse me for cursing – complete bull pucky.”
Adorable.
“Then you don’t believe them?” I said. “All these rumors going around town?”
“I truly don’t. But still, it makes me nervous. The people of Silveropolis are putting on happy faces what with the night market still going on and all, but we’re all on edge. It’s not like we’ve forgotten that there’s a killer on the loose. The community isn’t exactly safe.”
“So you’re not worried about alleged werewolves, then.” I grinned, trying to tease her, to make the mood a little lighter. “No concerns about the walking dead?”
She looked at me quizzically, as if I’d asked her something completely insane.
“I have no reason to fear the dead, Mr. Sterling. I fear the living.”
I blinked at her in surprise, following at a careful distance as she and Asher led the way back into the night market. To fear the living, huh?
Sometimes I did forget, you know? For all the creepy crawlies lurking in the darkness – vampires, werewolves, demons, ghosts – mankind could still come out to be the absolute worst. Vampires didn’t invent weapons of mass destruction, and as far as I could remember, no vampires had ever been responsible for genocide.
No sense rationalizing all that, though. Silveropolis was small, but the killings were a huge and disproportionate problem for what by every account was supposed to be a sleepy mountain town. I never even considered the possibility that other humans might have been behind the forest murders until Olivia had brought it up.
But what were they doing? Ritualistically carving people’s faces up, to make them look like grotesquely realistic animal bites? Too much work. But you never did know when it came to serial killers. I was simmering with questions I wanted to discuss with the boys, things best talked about out of earshot of the normals.
Strolling at an easy clip, we reached the fruit stand in no time at all. We couldn’t have been gone more than twenty minutes total, but by the look on Timothy’s face you’d think we’d disappeared to have a threesome in the bushes. His cheeks were flushed. He was angry, but I was hungry. All that blood so close to the skin? Very distracting. Very distracting indeed.
He and Gil looked like they were in a contest to see who could be the stoniest and quietest between them. Both stood with arms folded. Gil seemed a little bit pissed himself. Just a little.
<
br /> “We should get going,” I said.
Gil pursed his lips. “Finally.”
“Thank you so much for supporting our business,” Olivia said, clasping her hands together. “Right, Timothy?”
Timothy mumbled something indistinct.
“And thanks for lending us the journal,” Asher said. “I’ll take good care of it.”
“I trust you will,” Olivia said. “Maybe we’ll see you in town again soon?”
“Maybe,” I said, smiling, collecting one of the two crates Timothy had sullenly thrown together. “See you around, Olivia. Bye, Timmy.”
Sweet Timmy really did look like he wanted to put his fist through my face. Frankly, he was built like he could do it, too. Gil picked up the second crate of fruit, and we left the stall, wandering back off through the parking lot.
“Couldn’t you have come back sooner?” Gil growled, when we were far enough away.
“Oh, hush,” I said. “You and Timmy looked like you were getting along just fine.”
“Ass.”
“That guy really didn’t like you at all,” Asher said absently, squinting at the pages of the journal by the light of lampposts.
“Tell me something I don’t already know.” The night market was winding down, only a few stalls left open. “I guess we showed up a little late, huh?”
“Just as well,” Asher said, abruptly snapping the journal shut. “If we’re going to be visiting a graveyard, then we definitely don’t want anyone seeing.”
I stretched out my arms, my leather jacket squeaking, my joints popping. “Maybe we’ll run into a grave keeper or something, at most. A late night snack.”
Asher stopped walking. “A what?”
I yawned, looking at him sidelong. “What did I say?”
Gil groaned. “He’s in hamburger mode.”
“What are you even saying right now?” I snarled, fiddling in my pockets for the car keys, then realizing with annoyance that Gil still had them.
“Hamburger mode,” Asher echoed. “It’s when you’re so hungry that even the things you say start to slip. You said the grave keeper was a late night snack.”