Midnight Secrets

by Rita Stradling

  “Are you hearing me?” Justin repeated.

  “Oh, I hear you. Back, Bailey.” When she moved, I did my best to maneuver my bag into the little space between boxes and slammed closed the van door. Shoving my shirt over my head, I pulled it down before crossing over to the side of the van that wasn’t half in a bush. I’d lost my temper, but I was already walking on thin ice here. If anyone saw me slapping Justin in the face with my shirt, it would probably cost my grandmother her job. Thankfully, the random guy with Justin, who I was guessing was the Roberts’ son, seemed to have left before that part.

  As I went to slam the driver’s side door closed, Justin grabbed the handle, preventing me. He leaned into the door, his jaw clenched and eyes furious. “Your grandmother needs to get another job, January. And you should go — now.”

  “Hmm, you know what? That’s not your decision. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to drip beer in peace.” I made a shooing motion with my hands that only earned me another glare. All I could smell was hops and wheat, and I felt so thoroughly degraded.

  Justin didn’t go anywhere. He just continued to loom in the van doorway, glaring down at me. Bailey, the traitor, took the opportunity to crawl her front paws into my lap, snuffling at Justin’s shirt. And, even as he glowered at me, he scratched behind her ears.

  “Stop petting my dog, Justin.”

  He leaned down, lowering his voice, “You, being here, it’s not safe.”

  Because I’m a vampire, he didn’t say, but it was implied. Shame washed through me as I realized why he had such a dramatic reaction to seeing me here near his friends. It didn’t excuse what he did, but now I at least understood. He was protecting the people he cared about. And just like Frank the pervert in the parking lot a year ago, he was protecting them from me. January, the terrifying vampire.

  “I have it under control,” I whispered through gritted teeth. “Don’t you think I’ve proved that? And you couldn’t have just said that to me?” A hot tear fell onto my cheek, and I scrubbed it away, ashamed that I’d let this asshole see any emotion from me.

  His jaw clenched and gaze fixed on my cheek. “It was necessary, January. I needed an excuse to talk to you that wouldn’t draw attention.”

  I stared at him, just trying to fathom his statement. “Doing this type of thing is so normal for you that it doesn’t draw attention?”

  “I never claimed to be nice. I thought you knew that. Isn’t that why you don’t want to see me anymore?”

  He said it so resentfully that it sounded as if I actually had broken up with him.

  I sighed and gestured out to the van. “Feel how you want about it, but I’m not going anywhere. We have nowhere to go. And, you don’t need to worry about that, okay? I applied as a volunteer at the Blood and Plasma Drive, and I’m just waiting to hear back.”

  “Yeah, so you can steal blood from people who need it.” Sighing, he tapped the edge of my door. “This act you’re putting on is getting ridiculous. It’s been five days. Do you think you can last a week?”

  I leaned in toward the jerk, giving him what I liked to call my you better get the hell away from my front yard look. If it scared away looting meth heads, it sure as hell should scare away a rich pretty boy. “It’s not an act. I told you, straight out, what we have going, it’s toxic. You are toxic, and I don’t want toxicity in my life.”

  He lifted a dark brow. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you moved here.”

  “Like you own it — like you can decide who lives within the upper 800s block.” Rolling my eyes, I guffawed, picked up a strand of my sopping wet blond hair, and smacked him across the nose with it. It was his fault for leaning in so close. When he stubbornly stayed, his expression only darkening with annoyance, I said, “You’re not going to intimidate me into leaving, Justin. Don’t let the van door hit you on the way out.”

  Yet again, he didn’t leave. Instead, he leaned between me and the steering wheel, invading my senses with the scent of his expensive-smelling cologne. My desperate and pathetic butterflies again took flight. If only there were such a thing as an internal butterfly exterminator.

  Lowering his voice, he continued, “Please, stop being stubborn for one damn minute. This isn’t a good fit for you.”

  I tapped my chin. “Really? And what do you think is a good fit for me? A condemned house?”

  He glowered at me. “You are the most frustrating person I have ever met. This conversation isn’t over, but, any minute now, someone is going to come up looking for me, and I’m pretty sure neither of us wants that.”

  That last part stung, right deep in my chest. It was probably because of what happened with Char so recently, but having Justin say that he’d be ashamed to be seen talking with me felt a whole lot like another beer poured over my head. Raising my hand, I wiggled my fingers. “Bye, Justin. And, don’t worry about me — don’t even think about me, ever. I’m just going to keep myself to myself. I won’t endanger you or your social life, okay? You won’t even notice I’m here.”

  “We need to talk.” He straightened from the van, finally giving me a little breathing room. “I’m going to find you as soon as possible.”

  Great.

  Knowing that I had this one shot at getting the last word in, I called over, “And I’ll be busy searching for places to hide.”

  “Good luck. I know every inch of this property.”

  “What?” I demanded, but Justin only shot me an unamused look and then strolled toward the terrace, seeming in no rush to leave.

  “What? This isn’t your house — you don’t live here!”

  “Yeah, January. It is, and I do. My name is Justin Roberts,” he called back. He glanced at me and then disappeared past the house.

  Holy. Freaking. Shit.

  That didn’t just happen. That could not have just happened. The universe would not be this cruel.

  “Hey!” A redheaded guy jogged over from the house, looking like maybe he was hanging around the doorway, waiting for Justin to finish giving me a talking to. He halted at the window and smiled wide before handing me a rolled towel. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Justin acted like a real asshole back there, and he doesn’t much appreciate people trespassing at his house.”

  This guy’s words felt like nails in my coffin, burying my last dregs of hope. I must have done something terrible in a past life. There was no other explanation for it. The universe obviously wanted to punish me. All I needed was to cut this toxic and intoxicating boy out of my life and heart, and somehow, I’d literally moved into his backyard.

  The redhead was still talking to me, and when I finally tuned in, he was saying, “You might want to clear out, his parents are pretty close with the sheriff, and —”

  “Thanks, but I need to explain something,” I interrupted as I threw my head forward and wrapped the towel around my sticky hair. “I am the new housekeeper’s granddaughter, not a gate-crasher. It’s fine. Thanks for the towel, appreciated.”

  The guy gave a low whistle. “Shit.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can go push him into the pool.”

  I managed a smile, even knowing that it was an empty offer. As far as this guy knew, Justin was bullying me out of nowhere in the parking lot. While the guy put up a token protest, he’d immediately fled, leaving me alone with Justin. Furthermore, Justin had poured the beer on my head knowing that he’d get this dude to clear off if he did. “That’s cool. The Roberts kid and I, we talked it out. I’m just going to do my best to keep out of his way.”

  “Yeah.” The guy rubbed a hand through his hair. “Justin . . .” he sighed, “I’d stay away from him. I mean, we’re friends, but he’s not a good guy. He treats everyone like shit. That’s the fifth time I’ve seen him pour a beer on someone for gate-crashing. I really don’t envy you having to live with him.”

  “Thanks,” I couldn’t help the dry tone to my voice. Like, really? It sounded like this guy hated Justin while at the same tim
e calling him his friend.

  “So . . . I’m Corey, by the way,” he added with a smile. “It sounds like you’re new in town. How about I grab your number, and I can show you around sometime.”

  I considered the guy for a second. He was handsome in a sporty kind of way with a muscular build. He had medium-length red hair and a smattering of freckles dotting his nose. But, to be honest, even if he looked like James Dean, I wouldn’t be attracted to him after the beer incident. I liked my potential love interests to have backbones. Also, no butterflies. This time, though, my butterflies and I agreed.

  “Hey, Corey!”

  We both turned to see a bikini-clad, dark-haired girl waving from the patio.

  “Come on, Justin wants you for something!” The girl barely finished her sentence before she was hopping away down the stairs.

  Corey immediately backed away from the window. “I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

  And then, he was gone, saving me from making an excuse to not hang out with him. As soon as I was alone, my anger and resentment at Justin’s all-around asshole behavior cooled, leaving behind a much more crushing emotion.

  Charlotte wanted me to live on her side of town. That’s what she’d kept squealing into the phone. She’d gone through so much effort to get Nana the job. But I suddenly felt like an intruder — a cockroach scuttling into all these rich kids’ perfect lives. Did I somehow misjudge the conversations Charlotte and I had?

  I didn’t know.

  But there was one thing that I did know with absolute certainty, Justin was never going to see me again if I saw him first. He didn’t want me here — that was just fine — I would stay far out of his way. I had the blood situation under control. Well, I would soon. And, even at my most desperate for blood a year ago, I’d never considered attacking anyone. The image rose in my mind of the hurt expression on Justin’s face when I told him I wanted bagged blood. My insides squirmed. But, really, I didn’t hurt him. I hurt his pride.

  My grandmother found me fifteen minutes later as I hunkered down in the van. She yanked on the door handle, and, finding it locked, cupped her hand against the glass and peered in. “January?”

  Leaning across, I muscled up the stubborn metal lock, and she yanked the door from its sticky track.

  “Sorry, I was hiding. I’d also love to keep hiding if at all possible.”

  She wrinkled her nose, recoiling. “Is that beer?”

  “Yeah, uh . . .” I pulled out a clump of my hair. “I walked by one of the trucks over there, and someone had left their beer up on top. It slid off and rained down on my head.”

  Nana made this low grinding sound in the back of her throat. “The Robertses wanted to meet you right away, but it’s too ridiculous to force you to go meet them without giving you a chance to use the bathroom and clean up while we’re in the middle of a move.” Climbing into the driver’s seat, she turned the ignition, nodded to herself, and closed the door. “Well, they’ll just have to be patient.”

  A cold dread settled in my belly. “I have to go up and meet the whole family?”

  Pursing her lips, my grandmother nodded. “They just want to know everyone who lives on their estate.”

  Great. Just great. I was really hoping to avoid Justin until he’d lost interest in getting me kicked out. And, now it looked like I’d be getting my grandmother fired before she managed to move in her toiletries.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When I pushed open the thick, heavy, dark wood door to the main house, it opened to a space more like the entrance to a fancy hotel than a private residence. The area was deserted, save for a burbling fountain of a child thrusting up a staff that shot out water.

  “Hello?” When no one responded, I headed up a sweeping stairway that circled the foyer, my running shoes squeaking against the marble. The second floor opened up to a long hallway with floor to ceiling windows. Dust mites danced in the beams of light that flooded in. The grandeur reminded me of scenes from old books. It was restrained and refined and just the littlest bit forlorn. The hallway ended in a room that looked like an upscale bar or lounge; complete with a full, mahogany bar and several matching sofas, and a large, unlit hearth. At one end, big glass doors opened out onto a balcony, and sheer curtains streamed out the open door.

  A woman sat on a large, plush sofa. She looked washed out against the sofa’s crimson upholstery. Her attention fixed down on a tablet, her dark hair hiding most of her features. She held up a mojito, and the clear liquor sloshed lightly back and forth with her every movement. Just seeing the drink poised above something so expensive made my stomach clench.

  Walking around the bulky furnishings, I came to a stop before the woman. I wasn’t sure what was better manners, interrupting her concentration or standing there before her and not saying anything. After about thirty seconds of just waiting there though, I cleared my throat.

  The woman held up a hand like she was warding me off. “Just a second, sweetheart. Just a second.”

  When that second turned into a full minute of me just standing there, I took a step back, more than ready to dash out. “Clearly you’re busy. No problem. I’ll come back later.”

  “Would you mind?” the woman said, holding up her drink to me in a clear indication to take it.

  Just because I wanted that drink away from her tablet — as watching someone destroy what was probably a thousand-dollar piece of equipment casually would hurt my soul, I grabbed her beverage and set it on the table beside her.

  “Stop! It needs a coaster, sweetheart. That’s an antique.” She waved her hand; her diamond rings glittering in the light.

  Clenching my jaw, I grabbed a marble coaster from a little stand on a dark wood table and set it down for her drink. “Ta-da.”

  The woman finally looked up from her device, but instead of greeting me, her gaze passed from my wavy blond hair down over my tank top, jean shorts, and long legs to my shoes. A warm smile spread across her swollen, too large, red lips. She looked like she had her features surgically altered regularly. Her skin was a little too smooth and didn’t wrinkle up into expressions in the usual way as she examined me.

  “It’s you,” Mrs. Roberts said as she reached up a hand with what had to be two giant diamond rings on each finger.

  “Me?”

  When I took her hand, confused about whether she wanted to shake or what, her fingers gripped around mine, surprisingly strong. She tugged, and, a little confused, I pulled back. Only when she fully stood, did I realize that she was using me to get off the couch. Her hands pushed down the sides of her dress as her gaze passed over me.

  “That’s just too interesting.” Her breath smelled like vodka and mint, and she was a little too close for comfort. “You’re Cleo’s daughter, and you’re going to be living with us here at the Roberts Mansion.”

  She said Roberts Mansion like it was the official name of their house.

  Even though she didn’t say it like a question, she paused so long I got the feeling she was waiting for an answer, so I said, “That’s the plan. Her name is Chloe, and I’m her granddaughter.”

  “Oh, forgive me. I am so bad with names.” She grabbed up her tumbler and lifted it to her lips. “So, were you born in April, like your name —”

  “January.”

  She smiled, and I noticed that a little lipstick had smeared on her tooth. “You were born in January, but your mother called you April?”

  “Sorry, no. Born in January, and my name is January.”

  She slapped a hand over her chest. “Oh, I am so sorry, January.” She sipped her drink. “You know, my mind really is going — after you have a baby and all that. What’s your birthday, if you don’t mind me asking? I like to know everyone’s birthday just as I meet them — I’m really into astrology.”

  “January sixth.”

  She swiped her tablet off the table and typed something into it. “And you’re seventeen?”

  Hooking my thumbs into my belt loops, I rolled from the front of my
feet to the back. “Uh, yeah?”

  “Were you born here? And what time?”

  This felt weird. I hesitated a second but decided that there was no harm in telling her. “Yeah, here. Ten-ish at night, I think.”

  “Look at that,” she said. “Born on a Saturday. Capricorn with Aries ascending and a moon in Scorpio —” her heavily painted eyelids and lips made ohs, “You are a very sensual sign, darling.” She waved. “Oh, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m very open, I hope that doesn’t bother you, but sweetheart you are just a fiery ball of passion.” She tipped up her glass and swigged down the remainder of the liquor. “You probably don’t know this yet, but my son lives here, and he’s just about your age — fire and air signs. Very compatible.”

  A sudden surge of relief flooded through my chest. Justin didn’t tell his dear old mother to kick us out. I hoped that meant he went to join his friends and forgot all about me. And then I processed what the woman said, which I was pretty sure was that I should have sex with her son.

  Growing up, I developed a sixth sense to know how many drinks my mother had within a one-drink room for error. I didn’t know Justin’s mother, but if I had to apply that drunk scale to this woman, I’d say she was about on her sixth or seventh cocktail. It was four o’clock, so if she started at noon, the timing worked out pretty well. At six drinks, my mom would often make comments like that. Though telling me that I would be sexually compatible with a guy would have been sweet and fluffy for my mother.

  Even after seeing Mom in her full glory, Justin had never shown me an ounce of pity. I was used to the pity — I got it in grocery stores and fast food joints. I got it from government officials, and I even had it from Char. Justin never so much as shot me a consoling glance, and I had thought it was because he couldn’t give a shit. It was clear why Justin didn’t pity me with one look at his mom. To him, what was happening with my mom was just a daily routine.