Shadow's Messenger: An Aileen Travers Novel

by T. A. White

  My sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as I wheeled my cart over to the cashier, bypassing the self-pay kiosks. The ones at this store tended to go a bit buggy after midnight. Even if they worked perfectly, I would have chosen the cashier. I needed human interaction.

  I placed my groceries on the belt and wheeled my cart to the other end. The cashier’s face was bored as he slid each item over the scanner. He was a college kid, his face all sharp angles and so incredibly young.

  “That’ll be $21.06.”

  I handed him a twenty and a five dollar bill. He took it, hitting the cash button on the register. It beeped but didn’t open.

  “What?” The cashier looked slightly more alert now. He hit the button twice more. “Come on. Not again.”

  He felt along the register, the boredom now completely gone from his eyes and his motions becoming slightly more frantic when he didn’t immediately find what he was looking for.

  “Oh no. No. No. No. My manager will kill me if I’ve lost the key again.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of translucent wings disappear behind one of my plastic bags. Pixies. Great. I’d have to avoid this place for the next few weeks until the little bastards moved on.

  Pixies were the magpies of the supernatural world. They tended to appropriate things that interested them only to discard them soon after. A lot of times when humans misplaced things, it was pixies at work. They love mischief and helping someone “lose” an item is right up their alley.

  On one of my first jobs, a few managed to stow away in my carrier bag. I was new and still trying to figure this whole world out. I didn’t know to guard against the pests. Hell, I hadn’t even known what they were. They’d made life impossible in my home for nearly two months before they got bored and moved on. More than a year and half later, I still found things they’d hidden in the most random places.

  I was not going to chance them hopping a ride again.

  Taking pity on the cashier, I pointed to the bags. “Have you checked the bags yet? You may have placed it over there.”

  The cashier rounded on me, “The key never moves. It should be right here.”

  I held my hands up and motioned for him to calm down. “Hey, just trying to be helpful. Obviously the key has moved. Might as well check the area thoroughly before panicking.”

  Rolling his eyes to make it obvious he was just humoring me, he rustled through the bags.

  “I don’t see-” His voice trailed off and he held up the key.

  He looked at me suspiciously. I shrugged.

  He didn’t say anything as he unlocked the drawer and gave me my change.

  I smiled and told him to have a nice day as I grabbed my bags and walked out. As soon as I was through the doors, I dumped everything on the ground and shook the bags out. I inspected every item thoroughly before putting them back in the plastic bag.

  Groceries taken care of, I headed home. My apartment was a one bedroom walk up located right outside the campus district. I’m about eighty percent sure the rickety wooden staircase leading to the second floor entrance wasn’t up to code.

  My place was small, and while the area wasn’t rough it also wasn’t nice. Most of my neighbors were college kids or grad students.

  Things went missing around here all the time so I hoisted my bike onto my shoulder and carried it up the stairs. A porch light illuminated the steps, not that I really needed it. Vampirism came with improved night vision. I’d say I had the vision equivalent of a cat if I knew what that equivalent was.

  At the top of the landing, I propped the bike against the rail and reached in my mailbox. Pulling a cinnamon spice container out, I shrugged off my bag before emptying its contents on to the wooden landing. I liberally doused everything with the cinnamon and shook it a few times over my bag.

  A soft sneeze, and then something darted past me, faster than my eyes could track.

  Ha. Served the little bastard right.

  Pixies disliked cinnamon. It affected them much like ragweed affected humans only about three times worse. They wouldn’t linger long in an area that contained it.

  It was one of the most effective, low cost methods I’d found for warding off pests. Much cheaper than a charm from a witch and just as effective.

  Satisfied no other pixies lurked in my items, I dumped everything back into the bag and wheeled the bike inside, propping it inside the entryway.

  My kitchen was small, just a fridge, stove and microwave, with barely any counter space. Since food was optional for me, I didn’t really need counter space any more. It only took a few minutes to pack away my groceries.

  I grabbed a wine glass out of the cupboard and fished a bottle from the fridge. The dark liquid was mesmerizing as I poured it into my glass. I unconsciously licked my lips, my stomach rumbling. I was already anticipating that first sip.

  The blood tasted cool and crisp as it slid down my throat. I could practically feel the tissues soaking up the liquid. In seconds, it was gone.

  I set the glass down, licking my lips free of any blood. God, I’d really needed that.

  A stray spot of red drew my eye to the counter. I stared at it transfixed. I must have spilled a drop.

  My eyes drifted to the clock. 1:07. I didn’t have it in me to walk away from that drop, but I could wait. I had enough discipline for that. Five minutes. If I ever wanted to have full control of myself, I needed to start exercising will power.

  I could do this. No problem.

  My finger tapped against the counter anxiously. I let go and crossed my arms in front of me. My eyes never strayed from that drop.

  Imagine the worst craving you’ve ever had. You know, the kind you get for that last piece of pizza after a stressful day at work. You’ve been thinking about it all day and remembering how it tasted last night and imagining the hot cheese on your tongue, the springy dough as you bit into it. Now take that craving and magnify it by a factor of about ten. That might give you some idea of what it’s like to crave blood.

  I’d be tempted to compare it to how a junky feels staring down their next fix, but I’ve never done drugs so I can’t be too sure of that.

  Either way, blood was addicting and damn near impossible to resist. I was determined though. I was getting better at fighting temptation too. When I’d first been brought over, I would have licked that drop away almost as soon as it hit the counter. I also would have licked the entire glass in an attempt to get every speck of the life giving nectar.

  These little exercises in self-restraint were torturous but oh so necessary. One day it might even save someone’s life.

  And time.

  The five minutes were up. I forced myself to use my finger to swipe it up rather than just licking it. My tongue darted out to catch the drop. My eyes closed in bliss. So good.

  I recapped the bottle, putting it back in the fridge where it had plenty of company.

  Feeling good now that I’d had a top up, I changed into a pair of pink flannel pants and a loose t-shirt before grabbing a bag of chips and settling onto the couch.

  What should I watch tonight? I’d just finished a sci-fi show last night and was in the mood for something different. Drama? Nah, I needed something a little more light hearted than that.

  I navigated to one of the funnier shows on my list and sat back, prepared to follow Nathan Fillion around as he solved crime while keeping up a running stream of banter with his female costar.

  Chapter Two

  The odor of burned meat called me from my death-like slumber. Under that smell, another one tantalized and teased. Drool pooled in my mouth. Whatever it was promised relief from this fire consuming my throat.

  Someone was in my apartment.

  My eyes still closed, I held myself still while every instinct urged me to track down the source of the temptation.

  The sound of fat sizzled on the stove.

  My gums ached. The fangs starting to slide out. My fingers clenched around my pillow as I wrestled with my
inner hunger. My thoughts spiraled down to blood. Need. Thirst. My skin suddenly too tight for my body. I shivered.

  “Aileen, you up yet? It’s nearly eight pm,” my sister said from the bedroom doorway. “I know how much you like to sleep, but this is ridiculous. Even for you.”

  I didn’t answer, curling tighter into a ball.

  I would not eat my sister. I would not eat my sister. No matter how obnoxious I found her sometimes.

  I held myself very still, afraid that even one small movement would cause me to snap.

  At last, her footsteps receded down the hall.

  With the promise of yummy, warm blood fading to more tolerable levels, I cautiously uncurled from my ball.

  Shit. What the hell was she doing here? I’d told everyone in my family that drop-ins were not welcome under any circumstance.

  Didn’t matter right now.

  I needed to focus. I sat up and slid my feet to the floor. The craving was growing every moment that smell teased my senses. I needed to get to my wine bottle and top off. Once I’d taken care of my hunger, I wouldn’t be tempted to drain my sister.

  Yes. I just had to get to the blood, then everything would be alright.

  I shuffled down the hall, moving as slowly and carefully as my eighty-year-old, arthritic grandma. Even with my focus rapt on the fridge, I could hear Jenna’s heartbeat. It was such a lovely sound. I could dance to it, swaying to the rhythm.

  Before I’d realized it, I was several steps closer to her. I stopped and gripped the counter, my fingertips digging into the plastic.

  I refused to eat my sister. I backtracked, heading for the fridge. This night would not begin in a bloodbath.

  The fridge’s handle was cool in my hand, I opened it and bent down to find nothing. I shuffled the few items inside around to be sure. Nope. It wasn’t here.

  “Where’s the wine bottle?” My voice was rough and harsh to my ears.

  There was a moment of silence. I resisted the urge to look at Jenna. I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t attack her.

  “Jenna?”

  “I thought we could do without the wine tonight.”

  She thought. I rested my forehead against the freezer door. The fridge handle creaked ominously in my hand.

  “You thought? And why is that?” My voice was flat.

  “Mom’s right. You have a drinking problem. Ignoring it will only make things worse.”

  “Where is it?”

  There was a pause. Jenna took a deep breath. “I threw it out.”

  I screamed, a low sound of pain and rage. My fist flew at the freezer, the skin on my knuckles splitting and healing almost simultaneously.

  Jenna backed away from me, fear in her face. I bore down on her, fury giving the room a red tinge. I thrust my face close to Jenna’s.

  “This is my God damn house. You do not come into my house and throw shit away. You don’t get to do whatever you please.”

  Jenna’s eyes welled with tears. “I was just trying to help.”

  Trying to help? She was going to get herself killed.

  I steeled myself against her tears. In the past, I’d always been a sucker whenever she pulled them out, caving quickly. She couldn’t afford for me to do that this time.

  “You were not invited here. Yet you throw my stuff away and think to lecture me. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Jenna’s eyes fell from mine. She stared at the head of lettuce in her hands. I closed my eyes and counted backwards from ten.

  “It’s in the bathroom,” she said softly.

  Without a word, I whirled and headed for the bathroom, locking the door after me. She’d stashed the wine under the sink. If I’d been in possession of my faculties, I could have just sniffed the damn thing out. The hunger and close proximity of Jenna’s tempting blood had short circuited my senses.

  Tilting my head back, I drained the bottle in three huge gulps. I could practically feel my parched cells soaking up the life giving liquid, soothing the fire inside. Lowering the bottle, I caught sight of the stranger in the mirror. Dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, pale translucent skin. I barely recognized myself. Worse was the look of starved desperation on my face. It was a look that said I’d do anything for my next fix. No wonder my family thought I was an alcoholic. My act in the kitchen certainly had done nothing to allay that image.

  The worst thing about being a vampire, and the part I hated the most, was the blood lust. The craving turned me into someone else. Something else. Something dangerous.

  The stranger in the mirror bowed her head. Hiding wouldn’t change things. It never did. Being depressed and cursing my fate wouldn’t either.

  I corked the wine bottle and placed it gently in the trash before picking up my tooth brush and giving my teeth a good scrub.

  Time to go see if I could salvage the situation with my sister.

  The good news was that I’d always been territorial when it came to my stuff. I once glued every drawer in my room shut to prevent my sister from borrowing my clothes. I wore the same outfit for nearly a month before our parents instituted a new set of rules where everything in my room was off limits unless I said otherwise. It hadn’t mattered to me that I’d been stuck in the same clothes. It was the principle of thing. It’d helped that I’d also sentenced her to the same fate by gluing her dresser drawers closed as well.

  She knew exactly what my reaction would be to her coming in and throwing something of mine away. It’s why she hadn’t dumped the contents and why she’d cooked me a meal. She was hoping to get on my good side. She had just underestimated the depth of my reaction.

  I dressed before heading back to the kitchen where I leaned against the counter, watching as she set the table. She avoided looking at me as she moved around my space.

  A stranger wouldn’t be able to tell we were sisters. Jenna took after our mom, both were on the shorter side with bright blue eyes, and blond hair that had reddish highlights, whereas my hair was dark brown with a reddish tint when the light hit it just right and my eyes were closer to gray than blue.

  I should probably start with an apology. No reason to damage our relationship further.

  “How did you get into my apartment?”

  On the other hand an apology might encourage her to do it again.

  She gave all her attention to setting the table as if this was a test and setting the fork down just so would make everything better. “Your landlord let me into the apartment when I told him I was your sister and wanted to do something nice for you.”

  “Did he now? I’ll have to speak with him about letting strangers into my place.”

  Jenna set the plates she’d been loading the steak onto down hard. “What is wrong with you? I’m your sister, not some stranger off the street.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “Yes there is. You’ve always been territorial, but you’ve never been physically violent.”

  I straightened. “I wouldn’t lay a hand on you.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Jenna said. “You scared me. You backed me against the wall and acted like you were going to hurt me if I didn’t tell you what you wanted to know.”

  This time it was me who had trouble meeting her eyes.

  “You won’t even let us come to visit you.”

  “You know I don’t like it when people just drop by. I’ve told you and everyone else to call before you come over.”

  “Why? So you can make up some excuse to get out of a visit?” she said.

  “That’s not true.”

  She gave me a look. The one our mom used to give us to let us know she was on to our game. “The last four times I’ve called to set up lunch or a movie you’ve always had some reason why you couldn’t get together.”

  Well yeah. Vampires couldn’t go out during the day. At least this one, anyway. I couldn’t tell her that, though.

  “Of course I have an excuse. I work nights. Day time is when I sleep. Sorry I don’t interrupt my sleep
schedule to keep you amused.”

  She ignored the sarcasm. “Why are you even working in that job? You have a degree. Mom and Dad didn’t put you through college so you could be a delivery girl. You still have the GI Bill if you need more education.”

  “Is that why you’re here? To talk to me about my job?”

  My baby sister was lecturing me about my life decisions. Great.

  A thought occurred to me. “Did Mom put you up to this?”

  “No, of course not.”

  I could tell by the way she avoided my eyes that she was lying. I stayed silent. She’d never been able to resist talking if one of us just waited her out.

  “So what if she did,” Jenna burst out. “She’s worried about you.”

  My laugh was harsh. “Of course she is. I’m not on the path she planned for me.”

  “You know it’s not that,” Jenna protested.

  I arched an eyebrow at her. We both knew that wasn’t true. My mom had been disappointed in me ever since I had graduated college and decided to join the military and fight for my country, instead of going on to get my law degree.

  “Tell her and everyone else that I’m fine.”

  Jenna voice was sad when she asked, “Are you? The first thing you did when you woke up was head for the wine. You got violently angry when you thought you couldn’t get your fix. You know what that’s a sign of.”

  “Spare me the sanctimonious preaching Miss Unwed-Mom.”

  Jenna looked like I’d slapped her. She bowed her head and adjusted the plates. I shouldn’t have said that. I’d gone too far bringing Linda into this. Linda’s father was Jenna’s only mistake. He was a married businessman who knocked her up and then refused to take any responsibility for his actions.

  “Jenna, I’m sorry.”

  Jenna held up a hand, stopping me.

  “Whether you want to admit it or not, you need help.”

  “And, we’re done.” I pushed away from the counter and grabbed my jacket from where I’d thrown it over the couch. I’d heard this speech before.

  “I have to go to work. Please see yourself out and leave the key on the counter.”