Bite Somebody Else

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  Chapter Two

  Nights later, after Ian and Celia had finally had enough of sexing each other, they set up their first official meeting with, as introduced, Lord Nicholas Christopher Cuthbert III, escorted by Dr. Rayna Savage. Imogene felt there were just too many names floating around, really, like a crossword she couldn’t solve.

  While Celia obsessively cleaned, Ian sat in his chair. It was “his” because he’d found it at Goodwill and it smelled like old people farts. He claimed it was comfy, but Imogene refused to touch it. He stared at his wife with heart eyes and waxed his surfboard, which had yet to be used. Imogene slurped loudly on a bag of blood and hid within the auditory safety of her headphones. Just as Celia had moved beyond VHS tapes and purchased a DVD player, Imogene had gotten rid of her cassette player and replaced it with her iPhone, which doubled as a traveling stereo system and constant connection to her blood business. She relaxed to the soothing sound of heavy metal until someone kicked at her combat boot. She opened her eyes and found Celia trying to vacuum under her feet.

  Celia mouthed some words.

  “Huh?” Imogene asked.

  Celia mouthed some more words.

  Imogene took out her earbuds. “What?”

  “Thanks for being here,” she shouted over the vacuum noise. “I’m really nervous.”

  Imogene turned off her music. “I’m not actually here for you, Merk. I just think the specialist is mysterious. And hot.”

  Celia turned off the vacuum. “I guess he is hot.”

  “He’s pretty,” Ian said.

  “You goin’ gay now, blue eyes?” Imogene wagged her eyebrows.

  “I can acknowledge when another man is good-looking.”

  Celia leaned on the vacuum and put her hand on her bulbous belly. “You’re right. He’s really pretty. Oh, my God, he’s going to have to look at my va—” She cut herself off with a hand to the mouth.

  Imogene snickered. “Yeah. With any luck, mine too.”

  “Speaking of, Tommy won’t shut up about you,” Ian said.

  “I have that effect on men.” She snapped her fingers. “Hey, is there a good tongue gene?”

  Both Celia and Ian stopped what they were doing and stared at her.

  “What? Seriously.” She pointed at Celia. “She broke your finger because of your tongue. I almost broke your brother’s face. Maybe it’s hereditary.”

  Ian laughed. “I was wondering where he got that black eye.”

  “Oh, no, he did that. He walked into the wall after our third go.” She was about to return to her music when there was a knock on the door. Ian stood, removed the vacuum from Celia’s hand, and put it in the closet. Imogene tossed her half-empty blood bag in the kitchen sink, and they all froze.

  “Guess we should open the door,” Ian said.

  Imogene rolled her eyes and opened it for the newlyweds who looked as though they’d suddenly developed a door phobia. Dr. Savage walked in first, wearing a slick green business suit, matching glasses, and a big bag—that matched, of course. Her dark brown hair—dyed to look, Imogene believed, more respectable than her natural bright red—was in a beehive. Nicholas stood right behind her, and Imogene wasn’t surprised to see he was just as hot in lamplight as in candlelight, maybe more so since she could see his eyes were some kind of crazy mix of bright green and gold. He wore a gray three-piece suit, no tie, and his sex appeal was frankly disturbing.

  “Hello, happy newlyweds!” Dr. Savage smiled, but it was one of her weird, fake therapist smiles that Celia sometimes talked about. She must have been nervous, too.

  Nicholas didn’t move to greet anyone, and he made a point of not looking anywhere near Imogene, who was in a pair of black hot pants and a Metallica t-shirt. Her hair was half-up in a big clip, the rest of it kept out of her face by the sunglasses she tended to use as a headband. She crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

  “Well, you’ve all met Nicholas.” Dr. Savage gave one quick clap of her hands. “Oh, I brought aromatherapy.”

  Imogene groaned and went to the kitchen to get her blood bag. When she returned, a bamboo diffuser shot lavender-scented mist into the air. Imogene waved at the oppressive odor and sat, with great hesitation, in Ian’s favorite stinky chair. Nicholas looked at her—or more so at the blood bag in her hands.

  “Hungry?” She winked.

  He sighed. “Mrs. Hasselback, why don’t you sit down?”

  Celia tugged awkwardly at her peasant blouse. “You can call me Celia.”

  “Celia.” He nodded and gestured to the couch.

  Ian took his wife’s hand and led her to the only new piece of furniture in the house: a sofa, which they’d bought at some fancy shop in the ritzy St. Arthur’s Circle. Dark red, it was the only thing Celia owned that actually looked like it might belong to a vampire.

  Dr. Savage wafted her hands in the air above the diffuser as Nicholas reached into the bag she’d brought. He pulled out a shiny, new stethoscope and knelt near Celia’s big belly. She tensed a little at his proximity as if she thought he was about to throw her loose-fitting hippie skirt up and just stick his head in. Ian seemed to sense her nerves. He kissed the side of Celia’s neck, which made her sigh.

  “I’m just going to take a listen,” Nicholas said in his posh British brogue.

  Imogene slurped, and Dr. Savage started chanting some nonsense mantra.

  “Rain.” Nicholas glared at her.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  Imogene wondered about the nickname but was then distracted as Nicholas took off his suit coat. Even through the dress shirt and vest, she could tell he was in nice shape—good proportions, everything in its right place. She leaned forward a little and bit her bottom lip.

  “You okay?” Nicholas looked up at Celia.

  “Is it going to hurt?”

  “It’s a stethoscope,” he said.

  “Right. Duh.”

  He plugged the ear thingies in and, without asking, lifted the edge of Celia’s shirt to push the metal circle against her stomach. He tilted his head to listen. He had a rather large forehead. Imogene thought maybe that meant he had a really big brain. He had full lips, too, sort of like someone had filled them with whipped cream.

  “Well, it has a heartbeat,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you, Captain Obvious,” Imogene said. “Do you actually know what you’re doing?”

  He turned to face her on one knee. “No. Nobody does. This has never happened before.”

  “Never?” Celia squeaked.

  “Never.”

  “What exactly are your credentials?” Ian asked.

  Looking at her friend, Imogene could tell he was tense. Well, as tense as Ian ever got. His shoulders were a half-inch higher than usual, and his hold on his new wife looked a little tight around the shoulders.

  Nicholas stood and pulled the earpieces from his head. “Officially, I’m an historian for the Stadium Lamia.”

  Imogene snorted. “Sounds like a piece of female anatomy.”

  He pinned Imogene with his eyes. She didn’t shrink back any, but she realized maybe this guy was as scary as he was hot.

  Dr. Savage stopped dancing around her diffuser. “The Stadium Lamia has been around for centuries. It keeps record of all vampire history, which is why Nicholas is here and why the SL is so interested in Celia’s case.”

  “Precisely,” Nicholas said. “There’s never been a human-vampire baby, ever, and trust me, I’ve been around.”

  Imogene wondered for how long.

  Ian put his hand on Celia’s stomach and rubbed in circles. As usual, his black, curly hair kept getting bigger the more nervous he got. It was like he had emotional follicles. “Why is the baby growing so fast?”

  “I have no idea,” Nicholas said. “You’ve been eating regularly?”

  “More than usual,” Celia said. “Imogene, well, she brings me a lot of extra.”

  He barely gave her a glance. “You’re her blood dealer?”

  “Yeah.”<
br />
  “And you’re sure your sources are clean?”

  She stood. “Don’t question my business ability.”

  “I’m not. I’m merely confirming for my benefit. I need to buy from you.”

  “Who said I was offering?” Imogene tilted her hip out and crossed her arms.

  “Imogene,” Celia whispered.

  “What? He’s being a dick.” She addressed Nicholas with a finger in his face. “Your bedside manner could use some work.”

  “I thought you wanted to sleep with him,” Celia said, to which Imogene replied with a spastic wave of her arms.

  Nicholas sighed. “Look. I don’t want to lie and tell you I understand what’s going on here. You literally shouldn’t be able to carry a child. You’re dead.”

  “She’s undead,” Ian said.

  “Semantics, Mr. Hasselback. I don’t know what kind of baby you’re going to have. I don’t know when it’s coming, but I need to be here to monitor the progress and guide you through the birth.”

  Celia sat forward as much as she could, what with her belly getting in the way. “You’ve delivered babies before?”

  “Human babies, yes. I’ve been a doctor. A couple times.” He looked at Dr. Savage. “I’m staying with Rain. If anything happens, anything at all, you call me, and I’ll be here. I apologize if my bedside manner is inappropriate, but I’m truly out of my depth.”

  Listening to him talk had Imogene almost as turned on as when they’d tangoed at the wedding. His voice was deep, quick, and monotone, which made her want to take him apart and hear him growl, despite the fact that she thought he was kind of an ass.

  Nicholas dropped the stethoscope back in Dr. Savage’s bag. “Miss… “ He lifted his hand.

  “Imogene. Just Imogene.”

  “Can we talk business?”

  “Yeah, sure. Outside.” She moved for the door, Nicholas trailing behind her as he reminded Celia to call him if she needed anything.

  In the sweltering summer heat, she felt sweaty in just a t-shirt, and yet her British conquest looked cold as ice in his fancy suit. The sea breeze brought in the scent of dead fish and salt, but again, Nicholas didn’t smell like anything.

  She had to figure a way to change the dynamic between them if she ever wanted to get this beautiful creature into bed. Usually, she would just glamour the more difficult guys, but she couldn’t glamour another vampire.

  “You wish you could glamour me, don’t you? Make me less of an ass.”

  She barked out a chuckle.

  “I’ve heard about you. Well, the Stadium Lamia has.”

  “Jesus, why?”

  He put his hands in his trouser pockets. “Your power of mind control. What’s your range now? Twenty feet?”

  “Thirty. At least.”

  He took a step back, half in shadow. “Can you glamour more than one human at once?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How many?”

  “Never tested it before.” She flipped her sunglasses down over her eyes. “But you’re not here about me. You’re here for Celia and Ian, and if you do anything to hurt them, I will fucking kill you, no matter how hot you are.”

  He inclined his head. “I need blood.”

  “What kind? How much?”

  “O-negative. As much as you’ve got.”

  “You got cash?”

  “Oodles,” he said slowly, which made her want to lean forward and nibble his bottom lip.

  “All right. Gotta go to my place. I’ll drop you back at Dr. Savage’s after.”

  On the drive to her fancy new digs on Barkentine Beach, she drove as fast as she possibly could in an effort to scare Nicholas shitless. It worked because the whole time he held to the door handle like it was the only thing keeping him in his seat. She found her emotions tangled somewhere between really wanting to see him naked and really wanting to punch him in the face.

  When they pulled into her driveway, she revved the engine of her topless 1965 black Mustang convertible, which purred beneath her fingertips. Her ultra-mod, two-story palace shined in the headlights. She’d glamoured the real estate agent to get a good deal. Not exactly morally on the up and up, but since when had Imogene been on the moral up and up? Once a thief, always a thief, even if she could afford to buy whatever she wanted since taking over angry midget Steve’s business.

  “You live here?” Nicholas asked, stumbling from the car. He looked dizzy.

  “Like it?”

  “It’s so classy.”

  “You saying I don’t got class?” She slammed the door of her convertible with a smirk and clomped up the path to the side entrance. His dress shoes crunched on the gravel close behind as she unlocked the door.

  The house came furnished with a bunch of uncomfortable modern couches, chairs, and weird art that resembled blood spatter. The kitchen was unused, except for two massive fridges, filled with blood. When not out and about with her iPhone, she had a sweet stereo set-up at home with speakers all over the house. The big windows faced out over the moonlit ocean but were pretty much wasted, since an automatic timer lowered blackout blinds every morning at sunrise. Oh, and there was Mary in the corner.

  “Is that a statue of the Virgin Mary?”

  She threw her keys on the counter. “Yeah, I stole her from a church years ago.”

  “Blimey,” he muttered.

  “So.” She hopped on the kitchen counter. “Wanna fuck?”

  “No.”

  She flicked her sunglasses up and fought to keep her face from wrinkling up like a prune. “Why not?”

  “I’m not interested.”

  She stared at him in silence for two full minutes before inhaling with a loud gasp. “Oh, you’re gay. I should have figured with the way you dress. And you kind of gesture a lot.” She flapped her hands.

  His tall brow furrowed with the cutest set of wrinkles between his eyes. “I don’t gesture a lot, and I’m not gay. I’m just not interested in you.”

  Her mouth hung open.

  It was an inopportune moment for him to give her his first smile. “You look as though your brain might explode all over your bare kitchen.”

  Within the confines of her thoroughly confused brain, Imogene did notice Nicholas had a very nice smile—small and shy, sort of crooked on the right side. Other than that, her mind had flatlined. Guys were always interested in her, always, ever since she went punk rock at thirteen. She rode out a string of vowels before saying, “Fine. I’m not interested in you either. Your forehead’s too big.”

  “Thank you.”

  She jumped off the counter and opened the fridge. She tossed seven bags of O-negative on the counter. “Five hundred for the week.”

  He reached for the wallet in the front of his suit coat. “That seems pretty steep.”

  “That’s because I don’t like you.” She took his money and shoved it in her bra.

  “Good. Now that that’s cleared up.” He reached for the blood bags. “Do you have a paper sack?”

  “Yeah, for twenty-five bucks.”

  He threw her another fifty. He loaded his blood into a paper bag from Celia’s place of employment, Happy Gas, and turned for the door. “I’ll find my way back to Rain’s, thank you.”

  “Watch out for sunrise. It’s kind of a doozy around here. Nicky.”

  He halted. “Nobody calls me Nicky.”

  “You sure you weren’t at The Drift Inn the other night?”

  “I told you. I arrived this evening. Why would I want to spend a single extra minute in this bloody heat?”

  With Nicholas outside, she slammed and locked the door behind him. She thought about going out but ended up staying in, drinking blood, and watching Labyrinth instead.

  The next evening, Imogene got up and ready. She had a drinking date with Celia, not that Celia would be imbibing, but that just meant more for Imogene. They were to meet at The Drift Inn, as was customary now that Imogene lived on Barkentine Beach. She poured herself a cup of blood and sipped while cho
osing her getting ready music and settled on Heart because she loved two chicks who could wail. The kick ass guitar solo in “Crazy On You” began as Imogene finished her mug and jumped in the shower, naked and dancing all the way.

  It took her about an hour to get ready, which Celia had no idea about. Celia, dear thing, thought Imogene just woke up looking rad. No, man, looking rad took some time. She wasn’t like Patrick Bateman in American Psycho, exactly. She didn’t, like, exfoliate every day and do a million crunches—but she put forth effort.

  Her purple hair did curl on its own, but she coaxed it into massive heights with a pick and hairspray. She rimmed her dark blue eyes in black liner and went for a deep purple lipstick. She even used a touch of blush on the edges of her cheekbones. True, Imogene had a pointed face that most anorexic models would skin her for, but she always upped the contrast. When she was done, she had as many sharp angles as a geometry textbook.

  She pulled on a skin-tight Ramones t-shirt and black jeans, followed by combat boots, her sunglasses, and iPhone. She had to make it back home for a client at midnight. It was strange to have actual responsibilities beyond drinking and keeping Celia and Ian safe.

  Imogene switched to Blondie for the walk to The Drift Inn, and when she arrived, Celia’s big SUV was already parked out front. Ian had insisted on buying the monstrosity when they’d realized a baby was coming, as some form of vehicular protection. Imogene refused to ride in it because she claimed “It makes me feel like I’m taking some kid to fucking soccer practice.”

  It was only a Tuesday night, so not much was happening at The Drift Inn. Angry Santa was there, as always, tending bar. She knew his real name was Dave, what with her being a regular now, but she never used it. Even to his face, she called him “Angry Santa,” because that was what he looked like with his beer gut and big, white beard. She didn’t know where the sombrero fit, but whatever.

  Celia smiled and waved from the bar when Imogene arrived. She didn’t give her a hug because everyone knew Imogene didn’t hug—unless it was Ian, but she made a lot of allowances where Celia’s adorable human was involved. He was, in fact, Imogene’s favorite human.