The Vampires Of Livix Twin Pack (Volumes #2 & #3)

by Smith, J Gordon

  “No.” escaped my mouth before I realized I said anything. Garin and I escaped from the bank vampires at this dance club. I froze. The memories washed through me. The running. Gripped by a vampire hand I dangled from the men’s room window. Fear.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I had a bad experience here before.”

  “Ah, too drunk? I heard they served under aged teens before.”

  “No,” My feet unstuck from the concrete and I slid forward. I glanced to the side and saw the alley Garin and I escaped with from the bank offices across the street.

  “We don’t have to go. We can find something else to do.”

  “No. It’s all right. I need to push through it.” The memory stuck in my mind how we raced through the club hopefully eluding our pursuers. There wasn’t anything especially frightening about the club itself. Only that I had been terrified. “Let’s get in line before the line gets too long.”

  The club crammed into an old automotive assembly plant building from nineteen ten. The sturdily constructed building housed many tenants over the last hundred years. Steel I-beam pillars held up the ceiling while brick and concrete stacked its walls. Its exterior reeked of architectural charm and cache. This latest tenant altered the atmosphere with platforms welded around each of the pillars from which a dozen girls danced. A small stage hovered in front with a DJ.

  Brett shouted above the music. “The real band starts later. You want anything to drink?”

  “No. I might need the restroom after drinking the tea at the restaurant.” The caffeine promised to keep me awake all night too.

  The bouncers kept pushing people into the club and the dance floor filled.

  The DJ played rock songs then eased into matching beat crossovers into dance mixes and turned up the bass. The lights went down except for spotlights and spinning color wheels. A few polished disco balls lit up and the dance floor flooded with moving bodies. Brett pulled me out and we thrashed around. I quickly learned Brett danced better than me. But he remained attentive and kept me protected from a few other aggressive dancers. The songs and volume turned up. One song led in with deep bass drums thundering around the packed chamber. That song melded into the next with a more rapid beat. The next song pounded at yet a faster tempo. A race up an infinite hill of swirling sounds and bodies and light. I got out of breath. I could see Brett flagging. Other dancers already cleared from the floor. Another song blended without break into yet another quickening pulse.

  A wave of dancers dragged themselves gasping to the outer walls to recover and watch the remaining people still somehow keeping up. Brett pulled my hand and we took to the panting sidelines. The DJ brewed yet more songs blending into and out of the middle and ends of some but every song beat faster and faster. Dancers fell away in successive waves.

  The band prepped in darkened gloom at the club stage.

  One couple owned the dance floor. Keeping pace with the D J's dizzying array of high notes and deep bass. A dark haired pretty girl in a short black skirt and red pumps and the guy in jeans and a long red silk shirt. He moved himself with the hidden agility of an athlete. They both did. His blood-red shirt matched the girl’s shoes. A sharp collar jutted around his neck and his shirt cuffs had been flipped back showing a range of black rubber bands and natural rope cords on one arm and a wide stainless steel watch on the other. His fresh haircut edged cleanly around his head framing his angular face. And those eyes penetrated as they glanced through the audience. Searching. Hard blue eyes that pierced hearts with and without intention.

  I knew those eyes.

  “Isn’t that Garin?” Brett shouted into my ear.

  I nodded.

  “Friends?”

  I didn’t know how to answer. My heart ached. I backed deeper into the mass of spectators.

  The lights on the band flared to life as the lead guitarist pealed into matching the beat of the D J's song. He floated notes among the D J's harmony like seagulls riding the ocean breeze but quickly morphed into a bird of prey that flanked and attacked the D J's music.

  Then a thump of the band’s bass and drums took control. They coiled the frantic pace around and returned to a more normal but still fast range of speed dancing. The dancers flooded back onto the floor in such a solid swirling mass I lost sight of Garin and his date.

  The singer’s voice cut cleanly through the song, dressed in Steam-punk Victorian gear with a long dress that flowed out on hoops with a lot of lace. Brett pulled me back to dance. He really did a good job of distracting me from my sudden fright. I even started having a good time.

  Brett and I stopped at the side, again drenched with sweat with most of the other dancers. I shouted in Brett’s ear over the music away out of the seething bodies, “I’m thirsty. Let’s get drinks.”

  He said, “Wait here. What do you want?”

  I thought we’d both go but ok, “Pop or bottled water?”

  “I’ll be back.”

  I waited, thinking a long line must fill the bar. Many thirsty dancers. The first wave of binge drinkers already swooned in some chairs and small tables that ringed the building. Bolder boys approached me and asked to dance. I pointed to Brett who returned with two bottled waters and they slithered away.

  “Thanks for the water.”

  “The line for water seemed much shorter.”

  Brett drank half his bottle while I finished most of mine. I twisted the thin little cap back in place. When I looked up a pair of blue eyes delved into mine.

  “Hi Anna,” he spoke, “This is Claire Iyer.”

  I looked at Garin’s date. She smiled wickedly. The brown of her irises pushed tight against their outer rim. The wide pupils that took everything in whether day or night. The eyes of a vampire.

  I returned, “This is Brett.”

  Garin said, “You’re from the coffee shop, right?”

  Tension bristled between the two.

  Brett answered, “Yes. Anna needed some distracting.”

  Garin said, “Me too. Funny how we run into each other here.”

  I said, “Yes. That’s funny Garin. Maybe we should dance the next song Brett?”

  Garin looked in my eyes and said, “Brett, what’s with the switch to fair trade coffee? How much actually gets to the farmers from the final cup of coffee?”

  “About twice what the farmers get without the program.”

  “Do the roasters participate?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Are they cutting their profits any to share with the farmers?”

  “Boys. Play nice.” said Claire. She ran an arm around Garin’s waist and caught my eyes watching her hand circle him.

  The jealousy in me thought about squealing play nice girls. Then I felt really sweaty and noticed how Brett’s shirt had darkened in spots from perspiration. Both Garin and Claire seemed as fresh as ever.

  Claire said, “I like your hair Anna.”

  “Uh, thanks.” I wondered why she had black nail polish on her fingers, ironic for a vampire, but they did match her hair and mascara.

  Garin said, “Claire draws Anime.”

  “That’s nice.” Claire said, “I studied fine art and everything from charcoal to oils.”

  Brett asked, “I really wanted to get to Paris some time to see the old masters at the Musee du Louvre. What styles do you like the best?”

  “Poussin’s The Nurture of Bacchus is nice; at least I liked it for a while. Lately I think the best are the Napoleonic war paintings – moody and violent. I liked Rembrandt’s teaching methods. Other painters from those days proved lecherous.”

  “That is a deep program to get into gossip about the masters.”

  “An immersive program that lasted for years. I spent decades studying those guys.”

  “– Oh,” Brett said, understanding Claire’s real age grossly exceeded the twenty-four or twenty-five she appeared. Vampire old.

  Garin interrupted, “Brett, did you take any classes outside of barista training?
”

  “Art history.”

  “Really?” Claire reached out and brushed Brett’s arm. She drew his eyes to hers, “You and I will have to talk more. Garin likes his practical approach with engineering arts but to appreciate the masters the way I do is difficult for him.”

  “I appreciate art more than you think, Claire. I’ll show you the art in a fine set of gears or the circuit board in that radio of yours that plays Strauss.”

  “But not like the strokes and dabs that go into classic paintings. Mixing colors from raw ingredients like egg yolks and crushed rubies. Not the petroleum based tube squirter used by modern hacks. The works of genius.”

  Brett said, “That’s funny. Definitely a required craft in making those old paints.”

  Claire’s eyes wandered across both Brett and I. Raw hunger vibrated in the air. I sensed Brett slipping toward that attraction. I laced my fingers in his hand. Both of our hands damp from more than dancing hard.

  “Claire, we should go. I think they are playing our song next,” said Garin.

  “Nice meeting you both,” Claire let Garin pull her back into the crowd. But I saw the light brush of her hand against Brett’s thigh below his butt and the way her eyes stayed locked on his. Strikingly beautiful and brazenly dangerous. My feelings of jealousy renewed themselves. The last I saw of them in the crowd she licked her lips in a panther’s predatory grin.

  I broke Brett’s mesmerization, “Thanks for getting the water.” I drank another sip.

  “Sure,” he said. “Claire really seemed into me.” Then I saw his head clear. “Ah, sorry.”

  Garin demanded from Claire, “What are you doing?”

  They moved amid the packed bodies seething around them. A momentary break gaped briefly in the crowded dancers like branches swaying in the wind and abruptly caught by a sudden gust. Claire saw the profiles of Anna and Brett lit by a green spotlight behind them. Claire whispered into Garin’s ear with her exotic and compelling voice full of hunger and desire, “I want both.”

  “No.” Garin snatched at Claire’s wrist, “We’re leaving.”

  I saw the dancers part to let someone through. Across the floor Garin’s eyes pierced into mine. I inhaled. I hadn’t expected it washing through me like that. They disappeared out the door.

  I pulled Brett back onto the dance floor. Shackles and bonds seemed to drip from my body and I thrashed free into the dance. Brett responded to my movement and kept pace with me. Song after song we stayed out. The band performed great and kept the dance floor filled.

  At the side of the room we rested again for a song and I heard “Hi Brett!” shouted by a pair of girls in harmony over the music. They pushed toward us.

  “How are you?” Asked Brett.

  “We didn’t know you could dance so well.” they both grinned teeth obviously straightened with braces newly off. I thought they might be high school seniors. The two pretty girls both bleached blonds with extra highlights and dark blue sheath dresses with separate patterns and different shoes.

  Brett gave some sort of flourish with his hands tipping from an imaginary hat as he bowed his head. “What are you girls doing out so late?”

  They twittered. I felt old.

  Brett leaned to me, “They frequently stop in the coffee shop.”

  The girls shot mean glances at me but went back to smiling at Brett.

  “We wanted to say hi and give you a hug!”

  “See Brett, your hair looks good cut like that. Come back to the salon in a few weeks. Bring a pitcher and we can trade again.” She smiled and disappeared. The second girl gave a small wave and a big wink and mouthed “bye!” then a grin and she left into the swirling crowd.

  I wondered why I felt possessive at our first date. Jealous twice tonight. Maybe more to Brett than I think? “What’s the picture?”

  “No. Pitcher as in carafe of coffee.”

  “Oh –”

  “– they traded coffee for my haircut. They put me in as their wakeup cut first in the morning. The rest of the stylists told me to come back with more coffee. My boss thought it through and saw a great marketing gimmick. He’s calling the salon owner to set up an exclusive arrangement to supply coffee to the salon customers. They sip a little in the shop while they wait and get a coupon for use in the coffee shop while the coffee shop has coupons for salon visits.”

  “But you like the pretty girls.”

  “Guilty. I am still twenty-two. They flirt and laugh a lot. Nice girls.”

  “I see.”

  The band stopped for a break and the DJ fed the hungry amplifiers and speakers a loud and raucous meal. Brett and I went to the bar and found several lines choosing the one shortest that wrapped around the far end. At the end of the bar sat a familiar stiff face with his back against the wall keeping eyes on the dance floor as well as along the bartender isle and the hallway to the restrooms. He looked out-of-place. Not so much because of his age, which appeared somewhere between twenty five and thirty five but his build hung on the gaunt side of athletic and hard. Training that showed through his charcoal shirt and black jeans. His black heavy construction work boot heals hooked uneasily in the rungs of the chair while trying to seem nonchalant about being here.

  Mr. Branoc pursed his lips and raised his drink as he nodded to me. His characteristic investigator trench coat absent, the one that often looked ruffled on his shoulders like a great black bird caught in shifting winds on a highly exposed tree branch. His shoulder holsters and vampire swords normally clamped to his belt left in his car as well.

  He watched the line. He worked in a special adjunct agency between the FBI and CIA due to his business with investigating vampires. I still had his card in my purse blazed with Virtual Bureau Agency in a clean line over an intricate federal seal and his name, Investigator, and phone number at the bottom. If he didn’t hand those cards out to regular people at murder scenes I think it would say Vampire Bureau Agency. His gray neutral shaded eyes dark with the wide pupils of a vampire. Mesmerizing pools that a victim can get lost in and succumb to death too easily.

  “Brett,” I tugged at his sleeve, “I see an old friend. Can you hold our place?” I didn’t wait for a response. I walked over to Mr. Branoc.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked.

  “The usual fix,” he said, “We call it Ironclad. It’s good spiked with Southern whiskey but renamed the Merrimack.”

  “Which do you have?”

  “Being a good Northern chap tonight. You ever try it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s strong with iron.”

  “That’s what I guessed.”

  “Normal humans don’t usually like it.”

  “I noticed you are watching bottles of Massai at the side of bar.”

  “A new delivery not yet put away because the cooler wasn’t emptied yet, I’m helping them do that.”

  “Should I be worried you’re here observing?” I said in a low voice. I knew he’d still hear with his vampire ears.

  “Always keep your wits around you. I’m here for some entertainment tonight.”

  “Time off the grindstone?”

  “Something like that. More like prison daylight privileges reward for good behavior.”

  “You’re too focused to fool me.”

  He weakened around the edges, “Yeah, I had a tip about something but it’s been pretty quiet.”

  “Good that it’s quiet. And good to see you.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Brett as I returned to his side.

  “A friend that helped out after Bethany died.”

  “Oh.” Brett looked at Branoc and back to me. Not sure what to make of it and I didn’t expand on an explanation.

  We got our iced teas and danced.

  I glanced at Branoc and he stayed at the bar and sipped his drink. Eventually he downed the remainder of his Massai. He stood, tipped his head to a pair of girls at the bar that continued ignoring him, tossed some cash on the bar, and left.

  At
the end of the next song I said to Brett, “It’s getting late – why don’t you take me home?”

  -:- Eight -:-

  I pushed my key into the lock. The familiar flip-clunk of the deadbolt vibrated against my fingers as I twisted the key and withdrew. Brett touched my hair with his cheek when I turned the door handle. I melted into him. My purse dropped from under my elbow when I brought my hands to his face and kissed his lips. Brett’s hand forced open the door while the other entwined my waist. Like he wore skates he spun me around and both of us into my apartment. He kicked my purse further into the apartment and away from the door letting it swing shut. I stretched my reach and locked the deadbolt with my finger tips. I tugged at his belt and jeans as he unzipped the back of my skirt. The fabric fell to my ankles and I slipped off my shoes and the skirt together. Pushing his shirt over his head my fingers touched his firm body and his warmth. I tossed my keys onto the counter where I heard a mechanical click when they came to rest. Must have hit the edge of the sink. At least they didn’t fall into the basin. I frantically worked my blouse buttons while watching Brett remove his shoes with his toes.

  Our eyes locked on each other.

  My blouse slipped from my arms and Brett lifted me in another swirling kiss. He spun us onto the couch. I pushed him back and undid my bra while I watched his eyes as he looked at me. My lips rushed to kiss his velvety lips and touch his cheeks gritty with stubble. The tingle of errant hot sauce flashed across my lip like a searing knife and made my kiss more firm and lingering.

  His hands stroked up my back and around my ribs. I touched the side of his face bringing his eyes into mine. He kissed me lightly on the lips. The surge at my nerve endings rose and crashed like far off ocean surf and my desire yearned for him. Passion glittered along my arms and legs and splashed with energy about my core. His silky chest hot against mine as our lips touched again. He pressed against me and my body compelled itself to press him in return.