by Karen Ranney
I noticed that he didn’t actually come out and say he didn’t have any.
“What groups?”
“A great variety, Miss Montgomery. People who would harangue me all day, who would watch my store. I don’t carry books on the paranormal because I don’t want to be involved in their politics. Or be accused of being partial to one group versus another. You do not know how annoying the Other can be.”
Who the hell were the Other? Was that another name for Brethren?
“I would be very grateful for any help, Mr. Brown. I haven’t been able to find anything on Google or anywhere on the Internet.”
His nose wrinkled, which wasn’t an unexpected reaction.
“I wouldn’t tell anyone where I got the books, Mr. Brown.”
Just in case he had some after all.
An elderly acquaintance of mine, who used to own a used book store, told me about the box of books she’d always kept under the front counter. They were what would probably pass for erotica today or even plain old porn. When a long-time female customer came in and asked to see “the box”, they brought out about ten of the dog eared volumes at a time, tucked them away in a paper bag, and no one ever mentioned the whispered exchange.
Nowadays, we loaded whatever we wanted to read on our Kindles and off we went, no one the wiser.
In the spirit of those adventurous women of old, I was getting up the nerve to tell Mr. Brown that I’d become a vampire, if not exactly how.
I didn’t get the chance because the world ended.
CHAPTER TEN
Did the earth move for you, too?
The blast upended my world, narrowing it to inches around my head. I was on the floor, the ceiling falling around me. A wet nose was at my chin and the weight of a retriever on top of me.
Charlie whined, then licked my face. I winced, moving away from his fish smelling tongue. What were they feeding him at the castle? I tried to roll to the side but Charlie buried his nose against my neck, just as an ancient light fixture fell, missing me by inches.
Holy crap!
Charlie jumped off me as I struggled to sit up, brushing the plaster off both of us. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my cheek against the top of his head. I knew he probably wanted a Milk Bone biscuit, but all I had right now was a gratitude hug.
I couldn’t hear anything. Instead, I was cushioned in a white fog of sound that perfectly matched my view of things. I coughed and waved my free hand in front of me to dissipate some of the cloud, probably the plaster ceiling dissolving as well as thousands and thousands of pages reduced to airborne pulp.
Charlie hacked beside me and I bent over him, wishing I was able to protect him from the dust.
What the hell had happened?
I’d like Stupid Questions for two thousand, Alex. An explosion had happened, one either timed for my arrival or the most coincidental gas explosion in history.
Lucky me, I got the Daily Double.
I got to my knees slowly until I knelt on the wooden floor. Pages from exploded books drifted around me. I couldn't see Mr. Brown. I heard Angelica’s plaintive mewing and hoped the ancient cat was all right.
The spines of destroyed books were hard on the knees, even wearing jeans.
"Stay," I said to Charlie when he began to belly crawl alongside me.
He remained in place, but he whined his displeasure when I moved toward where the counter had once been.
I heard the sound of sirens, but they seemed to come from far away, but that could just be the distortion of my hearing.
“Mr. Brown?"
If the explosion had been caused by gas, we needed to get out of the building, or what was left of it, as soon as possible. A fire could start any second.
I staggered to my feet.
"Mr. Brown? Mr. Brown? Are you all right?"
Angelica startled me by jumping on the ruin of the counter. I shrieked in a ladylike manner, frowned at her, and pushed aside a few books. I heard a noise and peered over the ruins of the counter to see Mr. Brown flat on his back on the floor, covered by blown up books.
I couldn't see a way around the counter and I didn't think I was up to vaulting over it.
"Mr. Brown?"
Please let him be alive. Please.
He was covered in the same white dust as I was. Finally, he moved. With his eyes closed, he pushed the books off his chest and began to blink.
“Are you all right, Mr. Brown?”
He turned his head, his rheumy blue eyes staring at me before finally focusing. He pointed to the ancient cash register.
“Hit No Sale, then the double zero key,” he said, his voice scratchy.
I had to pull myself half up on the ruined counter, but I finally reached the keys, surprised when the drawer, filled with cash, slid out without hesitation.
“Underneath,” he said.
“Do you want the cash drawer?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Underneath,” he repeated.
I found only one thing underneath, a business card that I grabbed and showed to him.
“This?”
“I was told that, if anyone came looking for what you asked for, to give them the card. Take it.”
I stuffed the card into my jeans along with my phone. It was a tight fit, making me wonder if I shouldn’t give up the idea of white chocolate cheesecake for a while.
He raised a shaking arm and pointed in the direction of the front door, or where the front door had once been. Now there was just a yawning maw that led to Broadway. The sirens were getting closer.
"You have to leave. Before they come.”
Angelica jumped on his chest. Mr. Brown didn't react. Just when I thought he might have lost consciousness or something even worse, he spoke again.
"Leave, Miss Montgomery. Before they get here."
I thought he was talking about the fire department.
“I’ll stay," I said.
Besides, the authorities would want to ask me questions. Not that I had anything of value to offer.
Had I smelled any gas? No. Did anything look out of order? Since I hadn't been here for awhile, no. Was Mr. Brown engaging in hazardous behaviors? Only to his posture.
Besides, I couldn't leave Mr. Brown in his hour of need.
When I said as much, he shook his head, stopping when the gesture obviously pained him.
“You must not be here, Miss Montgomery. Please leave. Now. Before it's too late."
I'm not dense, except when I want to be. The events of the last couple of months taught me that what looked odd probably was. There was a secret lurking beneath even the most innocuous action. People aren’t what they seemed to be. In a great many cases, people weren’t even people.
And maybe an explosion wasn’t a gas leak.
There was a reason Mr. Brown wanted me gone, but it was evident he wasn’t feeling well enough to explain.
Okay, then. Maybe I should beat a hasty retreat.
I glanced down at Charlie. The haze had diminished somewhat, but I didn't know the best way to get to the front door of the wrecked store.
“How do you feel being a seeing eye dog, Charlie?”
I grabbed his leash and he didn't need any further urging to lead me toward the front door and clean air.
"Oh my lord! What happened?"
Two women wearing T-shirts bearing the logo of the cupcake store next door were stepping over bricks, piles of plaster dust, and destroyed books.
At least the buildings were separate, not like a strip center.
"What on earth happened?" the closest one said.
Short and rotund, with berry red cheeks, she scanned the entrance to the bookstore with an intent, almost hawkish look. She didn't give me a chance to answer before entering the store.
I wanted to explain that Mr. Brown didn't want me to stay, that he’d practically banished me from the premises, but the second woman followed the first, leaving Charlie and I to make our way to the parking lot.
Be
tween the cupcake ladies and the fire truck rounding the corner, it would only be a matter of moments until Mr. Brown had the help he needed.
Thankfully, the wall on the side of the parking lot hadn’t collapsed, so my rental car was intact. I buckled us both in and drove out of the parking lot. As I hit Broadway, I pulled the business card out of my jeans and stared at it.
I didn’t move as the light turned green, but nobody honked at me. We were blind that way in South Texas. Practically the only people who ever honked their horns were transplants from the North. They didn't understand that a little Texas hospitality was in order from time to time and that extended to red lights, green lights and traffic.
I did the little finger wave thing in way of thanks to the person behind me and cruised through the intersection with the card in my right hand.
Madame X
Palm Reading
Fortunes Told
Destiny Divined
A fortune teller? I had gone to Mr. Brown in genuine need and he directed me to a fortune teller?
Charlie began hacking on the seat next to me. I crammed the card back in my jeans pocket and reached over to pat him on the head.
“It’s okay,” I said as guilt slid through me.
I was an expert at guilt. I’d felt it all my life in various forms: the childhood guilt that I wasn’t a better daughter. The girlfriend guilt that I wasn’t sexier, more understanding, endlessly patient and a fan of the Dallas Cowboys. Worker guilt because I resented my sixty plus work weeks, especially since I hadn’t had a vacation in five years.
Now I was feeling dog owner guilt and this time it was for a good reason. It was all my fault Charlie was coughing.
"I'm sorry," I said.
I had better recuperative powers and Charlie was just a dog. A talented dog, granted. A smart dog. My hero dog.
At the next intersection, I turned left, making my way back toward my old apartment. Every day on the way home, I'd passed a veterinarian clinic, a separate red brick building in front of a strip mall. I'd always thought it was convenient in case I ever wanted to get a pet, but before Charlie, I'd never felt compelled to do so. Or maybe I'd never been lonely enough.
Who was I kidding?
I’d always been lonely enough, especially after moving out of the house I shared with Bill. I just hadn't wanted to make the emotional connection.
Dogs do that to you. I imagine cats do as well. You begin to love something that needs you in order to live.
I've heard people say that one of the great things about pets is that they love you unconditionally. After being around Charlie for the last month or so, I disagree. Instead, I think having a pet gives you the freedom to love unconditionally. You can be yourself with a dog or cat. You can tell them anything. You can be honest and open, trusting and loving as you are with no one else.
For that reason, I pulled into the parking lot of the clinic, glanced up at the sign that read “Walk-ins welcome” and knew I was doing the right thing. I wanted to make sure that I hadn't harmed him by taking him to the bookstore.
As I parked, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Mike. Why have a bodyguard if he wasn’t around when you needed him?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It’s for your own good, I promise, canine version
"Look, it's a vet's office," I told Charlie as we sat in the parking lot. "But we’re here for a good reason." I didn't add that he would probably be getting shots, too. Taking him to the vet had been on my list of important things to do, but it had slid toward the bottom ever since Maddock seduced me and I ended up trying to kill a master vampire.
I coaxed Charlie out of the car and walked to the door of the clinic.
"It's going to be all right, trust me," I said and then wondered how many owners had said the very same words in this very same spot. Hopefully most of the time it was true.
There were only three people in the waiting room, two cats and an ancient cocker spaniel.
Charlie sniffed at all three, but did the equivalent of a doggie shrug and stayed close to my right leg.
I walked up to the counter, realizing that I must've looked like hell. My top, originally dark blue, was now covered with plaster dust, as were my jeans. I hadn't brushed my hair or checked out my face in the rearview mirror.
Maybe the truth would be the best thing, all in all.
"We've just been in an industrial accident," I said. A little workers comp lingo never hurt. "Lots of plaster dust. I’m worried about my dog."
The receptionist nodded, turned, and called out, "Nancy, we have an emergency."
The adjoining door opened and a young girl dressed in scrubs with cartoonish dogs and cats on it gestured for Charlie and me to come with her. Before I got a chance to explain what had happened, she handed me a clipboard and a pen.
"Fill it in, please,” she said as we walked toward the back of the clinic. She stood aside and motioned me into an examining room.
"The vet will be with you shortly." she said and closed the door.
Charlie took one look at the stainless steel table and backed up underneath the chair.
I couldn't, in all good conscience, blame him.
The form I filled out asked me questions I couldn't answer. I didn't know how old he was and I didn't know any of his vaccinations. When I'd first found him, he hadn't been wearing a collar or a rabies tag.
Yes, I agreed to be financially responsible for my pet and to pay all charges due at the end of the visit. Yes, I agreed to listen to the vet and I made note of the various numbers I needed to know in case of something horrible happened outside of normal business hours.
I read the section on heartworm medication, feeling a surge of guilt again. I hadn't put Charlie on heartworm medication. That was really bad of me. But hopefully, his previous owners had done so and the month or so he’d been with me wouldn't hurt him. Regardless of the outcome of today's visit, he had to start on the medication.
I filled out what I could, listing his name and the address at the castle. In the comments I wrote that Charlie seemed to be healthy, otherwise. Nor did I add that I’d thought he was a shape shifter at one time, or that Charlie had been extraordinarily loyal to me. He’d saved my life and had actually bitten a master vampire. Maybe he should have some blood tests done.
The far door opened and a man who looked to be nearly seven feet tall entered the room.
His scrubs were a light green. His hair was sandy colored and disheveled. His face, long and marked by lines that would one day be deep wrinkles, was made handsome by a wide smile and sparkling brown eyes.
I liked him immediately.
"Hello," he said and identified himself as Dr. Kroenig. "What seems to be the problem, today?" he asked, bending down and coaxing Charlie out from beneath the chair.
I didn’t blame Charlie for his fickleness, either. I probably would have done the same.
Instead of lifting Charlie up to the stainless steel table, Dr. Kroenig simply sat crosslegged on the floor. For the next few minutes, his comments were directed toward Charlie, not me.
Finally, he looked up at me. "You were in an accident?"
"An explosion, actually," I said. "Some plaster walls were destroyed.”
“And this guy inhaled a lot of dust,” he said.
He explained that he wanted to keep Charlie for a few hours, make sure his respiration hadn’t been affected. He might have to give him oxygen. He recommended that I go home and return in four hours. If anything changed in the interim, he’d give me a call.
As long as I was feeling guilty, I might as well be completely honest.
“I think he needs his shots, too,” I said. “And heartworm medication.” I explained that I’d found Charlie as a stray.
“We’ll get him taken care of,” he said. Standing, he went to the computer mounted on the wall and punched in a few numbers. “We’ll do some blood tests, too, just to make sure he’s okay.”
When he announced the cost of the visit, I gulpe
d, thanked my lucky stars that I had a hefty bank balance and decided that guilt had a price tag.
“That’s fine,” I said.
I bent down to scratch Charlie behind the ears.
“But you think he’ll be all right?”
Please let him be all right.
“I think he’ll be fine, won’t you boy?”
Tucked in behind that jovial tone was a message: no thanks to you, lady.
Guilt had a voiceover now.
I watched as Dr. Kroenig led Charlie out of the room, into the inner sanctum of the animal hospital. Charlie looked back at me once, as if to say, “Why are you leaving me here, Marcie? Don’t you love me anymore?”
I stood there, swamped with emotion, feeling lower than a worm with a tall silk hat on. Until I opened the door of the clinic to find that my shadow had returned, with company.
Dan and Mike were standing there waiting for me.
Neither one of them looked happy to see me.
The thing about guilt: it doesn't hang around in the presence of irritation. Being annoyed kind of burns the guilt away like the sun does fog.
I met their glares with a frown of my own, standing there with my arms folded, my hair no doubt a strange shade of white. My face was beginning to itch and I thought it was from plaster dust. Or I was allergic to being chastised. Either one was possible.
"Do you want to explain yourself?” Dan said.
"No," I said.
There, an adult response.
He was my host, not my guardian. He wasn't my keeper and he certainly wasn't my father, since my father was some kind of vampire. A strong one, I suspected, since I thought Maddock had him put to death.
How? A question for another time, perhaps, when I wasn't being intimidated by two good looking men.
Dan was as tall as Mike. He wasn't as visibly buff, but there wasn’t any doubt that there were muscles underneath the Polo shirt. He wasn't wearing jeans, but tailored slacks.
Mike, on the other hand, was wearing a dark blue short sleeved shirt and black jeans. Same old, same old.