by Stec, Susan
Zaire came into the room with two rifles. She handed Resi my .22 rapid-fire Remington—which she took very carefully by the acrylic stock—and kept my .260 Ruger for herself.
The rapid fire had a 40 round clip and was more fun to use, but the Ruger was deadly to all animals in the area, including black bear and gators. The last time we waged war with the vamp critters in the front yard, JoAnn had gotten ahold of the Remington and missed every damn animal she'd aimed at. She managed to shoot up the whole front yard, though. I could still see Zaire's knees hitting her chest as she dodged the rounds. It was funny now, but a fiasco then. I felt real sorry for the old lady in her church dress. She hit the ground and rolled like an experienced Marine.
We bolted through the front door about the time a once domesticated, now wild, monkey—stupid frigging unhappy exotic-pet owners—pulled Sonny to the ground and sat on his chest. I heaved the crossbow to my shoulder, got the little guy in my crosshairs, muscled my asbestos covered index finger over the trigger, and took the shot. The monkey rode the arrow into the nearest tree. With fangs extended, the vamp animal shrieked like a banshee.
"I missed his heart, damn it!" I shouted.
Resi fired three shots into the monkey's forehead. It quieted the animal, but it wouldn't kill it.
"Sonny," I shouted, "drive to the barn and stoke the woodstove!"
He scrambled into the Suburban; the Hawk flew in behind him. The engine started and the vehicle slowly backed out of the drive and toward the barn about a hundred yards from the house.
Zaire blew the head off the gator, cocked another round into the chamber, and, eye in the Leupold scope, she was scanning for her next victim.
"Don't kill JoAnn's raccoon!" I screamed. "That's the one we have to cage!"
I glanced up at my sister's bedroom window; her frown was pressed against the glass. Damn our immortal hearing.
Resi moved slowly around the oak tree, herding the raccoon in question toward Zaire. I could tell Resi was trying to lock eyes with the critter so she could try to mind-push it, but it was being obvious about avoiding her gaze. The raccoon scurried across the grass and under the Suburban.
JoAnn was banging her head on her bedroom window.
Mom stood near the front door of the house, hands tucked into the pockets of her house coat. I was about to boisterously verbalize an encouragement for help when Zaire dropped the Rugar, and, shouting profanities, twirled circles while trying to get a porcupine off her backside. She glared in my direction. "Someone get this fucker off my ass!"
"Not me," I said, holding tight to the stock of my crossbow, head shaking an affirmation. I'd fought my share of vampire porcupines; the little shits had power quills that always seemed to find me, and they stung like the dickens.
"Well, somebody do something, damn it!" Zaire screamed.
Asbestos finger glued to her trigger, Resi fired ten rapid shots and hit five squirrels and the fox. I was impressed, since she was running toward Zaire at the time. She flipped the Remington, gripped the barrel with her gloved hand, and clobbered the porcupine on its' rump. It went flying ten feet into the air. She dropped the rifle, didn't even break stride, and gathered the stunned animals she'd shot, twisted heads from shoulders, and stuffed carnage into a sack tied around her waist.
During the tirade, JoAnn's little nightmare saw its window of opportunity and bolted for the woods beside our house. The raccoon was so fast, I barely registered the move. Crap, I thought, we're gonna have to use JoAnn as bait.
Zaire was doing a butt rubbing little jig. From the doorway of the house, Mom shot a stream of light from her open hand and sent the porcupine another fifty feet into the air in a shower of ejected quills right over my goddamned head.
I dropped the crossbow, tucked, and rolled, but the quills peppered my hip, left butt cheek, and back. "OOOOOOOuch!" I yelled. "I'm a frigging quill-magnet!"
"What the hell?" Zaire said. Her eyes looked like they were about to start shooting bolts of lightning in my mother's direction. "You let the fucker bite me in the ass!"
Mom was rubbing her hands together. "You said to use my power wisely."
"Yeah, well, you could've used it wisely a hell of a lot sooner!" Zaire spat.
"Uh-huh," Mom said with a toothy smile. "And you could've thought twice before being a smartass. Not one of those rifles has a sterling silver trigger or muzzle. They're all stainless steel. I'm not an idiot."
"Well hell," I said, pulling the damn glove off and tossing it on the ground.
~~~
Five
~~~
"Well, sugar, my man is gonna be pleased after last night," Betty twanged.
She wore lewdly-short, pink terry-cloth shorts with black lace trim and Princess printed across the ass. Lily-white butt-cheeks and shapely legs led to bare feet, crossed at the ankles and sporting hot pink toenails. A pair of gold and black, stiletto, flip-flop jobbies lay beside her on the floor. Her white, midriff tank was cut low enough to see the top edge of her areolas if she moved just right. Dolly Parton hair piled high on her head, and shimmering pools of ocean-blue sparkled under long black lashes.
"Stupido!" Mom said. "Of course he's pleased; deffondere le gambe!"
"I don't like the sound of that, Chickie girl." Betty's heavily mascaraed eyelashes narrowed. "Hmmm, let me see?" Betty raised a penciled brow, and, elbow on the table, cupped her chin and leaned toward my mother. "See, I may not understand that foreign talk, but I'm guessin' 'cause you're gettin' up in age you're regardin' my expertise in the bedroom with a tad bit of jealousy. Am I right? Scary, ain't it? Yeah, I pretty much can call 'em like they roll, sugar, so you may not want to go startin' that shit this early in the evening, K?"
"Damn, it's good to see you." Zaire slapped Betty on the back as she butt-scooted her down the bench a good three feet from my mother.
I smiled at Zaire, but then Mom wiggled her skinny, wrinkled ass off the picnic table bench and pushed up the sleeves on her peasant blouse. I took two steps closer to the table and pushed Mom back onto the bench in front of our laptop. Flipping the lid open, I hit the on button. "I think we should try to contact Dorius and tell him how many critters we put in the incinerator last night."
Mom growled as the computer booted up.
A few seconds later, Dorius's face popped on the screen. "You better make this fast. We're about to hop a boat to Corsica."
"Ain't that the French island next to Italy?" Betty got up and rounded the table so fast a human would have thought she disappeared and reappeared a heartbeat later. Peering over Mom's shoulder, Betty's barely harnessed boobage begged for attention. "What you doin' on some Frenchie resort island?"
I held my breath, eyes on my mother. When she didn't move, and, instead, waited for Dorius to answer, I moved my eyes in his direction. Dorius's chest slowly rose, taking in the air he didn't require, and he expelled it in forced patience.
"Did you need something, Chick?" Dorius asked.
We all looked at Betty.
"Yeah, she needs something," Betty said. "She needs to know why your vamp-ass-superiority is on its way to some French island where shopping and topless fun in the sun is goin' on."
Mom turned to Betty, her nose a hair's width from a vast valley of cleavage. "How do you know that?"
Betty peeked over her chest at Mom. "I was plannin' on goin' shoppin'; maybe buyin' me a small slice of the prime real estate there."
Dorius cleared his throat.
"Guess who got back early?" We all turned toward the sliding glass door by the breakfast bar where Christopher bounced in with Gibbie on his shoulder.
Full of tinkling laughter, and wings pumping a draft that lifted Christopher's blond curls, Gibbie wore itty-bitty jeans hugging his cute little butt, and a tucked-in billowy white shirt. A sword rested against his hip, secured by a red bandanna tied around his belly. White cowboy boots, stenciled with tiny orange stars that matched his hair color, adorned his feet. The fairy's hair was cut in a stark pageboy that
framed a heart-shaped freckled face and split over pointy ears. He was about two inches tall, and when he wasn't grinning big, a boastful scowl marked his face.
"Hey, guys!" Gibbie squeaked. "Miss me?"
Dorius said, "You have exactly one minute to state your business before I close this laptop." I swear his eyes were all pupil.
Gibbie's wings buzzed at the sound of Dorius's voice. He flew by the laptop and straight up to his favorite spot in the dining room; the ceiling fan above the picnic table. He perched on the tip of a revolving blade, both hands gripping the ends, cowboy boots kicked out, and he said, "Turn this down a notch, will ya, Chick?"
Mom glared at the fairy. Resi turned a knob on the wall by the recliner, her index finger in front of her lips. The fairy nodded, crossed a leg over his knee, gripped his sword, and rode the fan over our heads.
Mom quickly answered Dorius's question. "We just wanted to give a critter report. We bagged seventy-three right after the sun went down. They're burning in the woodstove as we speak. We'll be going out again before morning if Sonny calls in another gathering."
"Very impressive," Dorius said. "Did you capture any of the Alphas?"
"No," Mom said.
"Who's with Sonny?" Dorius shot back.
"No one," Christopher answered, climbing on top of the table.
He looked so cute in his white and orange flowered Jams and Panama Jack tee, little toes nudging off flip-flops before he dragged his feet up. You'd never know his fangs were bigger and more lethal than mine, or that he was over one-hundred years old.
"Take the fairy and go check on Sonny," Dorius told Christopher, as he fidgeted with a black leather bolo around his neck.
As I watched Dorius work to loosen the leather and unbutton the top button of his red silk shirt, I studied his spindly fingers and long fingernails almost feminine in their rounded shape and length.
"I'm up with that," Gibbie squawked. His voice sounded like he'd taken a draft from a helium balloon.
Christopher's eyes didn't move from the laptop screen. "We thought it would be better to send Sonny out on his own, this time. The infected animals might not follow him if we tagged along. But he's wired up and we're monitoring him."
"We're monitoring him?" Dorius arched an eyebrow. "Where are Jeni and JoAnn?"
Gibbie's wings buzzed yellow sparkles all over us, the laptop, and the picnic table.
I could feel tension in the air. No one spoke so I jumped in. "You should have seen the herd of them around the burb when Sonny arrived earlier. I got some footage. I'll text you a copy."
Dorius ignored me. "Where are Jeni and JoAnn?"
Mom took over. "Jeni was out with Paul. JoAnn has been, um, trying to get hold of Raphael so we can get a handle on the aging thing. The incident that led to the capture of the infected animals was not planned, but those of us that were here handled it well."
Dorius tightened his lips and his jaw hardened. Clearly, he knew we were protecting the team and dishing out some underlying meaning in regards to his earlier treatment of Christopher.
It was a few seconds before he said, "It will be several hours before we regain contact once aboard the boat. I expect everyone to be at that table an hour before sunup, and ready to man their posts. We'll discuss your future plans," his eyes jutted to Betty, "and my reason for traveling to Corsica, at that time."
"Hold on—" Christopher said. It was too late; the screen went blue, and a logo for Facebook Messenger popped up. "Damn it! I wanted to ask about the island." He pulled a cell phone out of the side pocket of his jams.
"I don't think you should have mentioned Jeni and Paul, Nanna," Resi said as Zaire entered the kitchen smelling like sandalwood shower soap.
I was happy Mom mentioned it, and felt a bit of a guilty afterglow. "He shouldn't be aggressively pursuing my daughter without council approval, and he knows it."
"You mean your approval." Mom slammed the lid down on the laptop. "Damn it! I didn't think about that, Resi."
"Geppetto's woody! It doesn't matter who said it," Gibbie shrieked. He was hanging from the fan-blade by one hand, legs peddling, and hair blowing in a breeze the fan-circulated. "I know Paul; he'll do this right. The relationship has been inevitable since day one."
Although Gibbie was right—Paul and Jeni did hit it off the second they met—it was still an unacceptable union with grave consequences without the council's approval.
Christopher was all fingers and thumbs on his tablet. "Look at this island! It's got everything—boating, beaches, big expensive condominiums, and miles of the mountain range and woods. I bet the wolves booked it. Bet they're waiting in the mountain range, probably somewhere familiar. I hope Dorius knows what he's doing. This wreaks 'set up'.
"You see any sexy topless sunbathers?" Betty asked.
"Dorius isn't a sun worshiper," Mom told Betty. "He has fangs. Or were you too preoccupied with his Johnson to notice?"
"Oh, I noticed, all right," Betty answered. "I also noticed he doesn't go up in a puff of smoke when he steps into the sun like you probably did, given them pink circles you got around them eyes of yours."
"I need to eat," Mom blurted. "Damn it! I'm gonna have to hit Bingo for a couple of hours tonight."
"I'm in!" Resi sang.
"Oh, this is going to be good!" Betty said. "I used to like me a good game of Bingo."
"I'll stay here with Christopher in case Sonny calls," I told them.
"Yeah," Mom said. "Call us if he contacts you." She eyed Betty. "This is just going to be a hit and run tonight. Just checking out the action. Betty can stay here to help. I don't want to desert Suzabella if Christopher happens to talk up Lily all night."
"Oh, man," Resi said. "I wanted to play Bingo!"
"Don't worry, girl; it still might happen. Chickie ain't gettin' her no speedy action with all those walkers in the way, right, Chick?" Betty elbowed Resi in the ribs.
* * *
"Why do you provoke them, Dorius?" Marcus lifted the handle on the van door and it slid open along the side of the vehicle. The brothers exited with Warren, Camilo, and five of Italy's best rogue hunters.
As Camilo paid the driver, and the rest of the immortals headed toward the docks on the other side of the parking area, Marcus placed a hand on his brother's arm.
Dorius looked down at his brother's hand, and then locked cold, hard eyes with Marcus. "Who do I provoke?" Dorius asked, but Marcus's stoic expression warned Dorius of his impatience. Dorius looked away. "They should not have been allowed access to our world. From day one, they've proved the council's ruling to be a mistake."
Marcus turned toward the freighter moored at the bustling docks. Overhead halogens reflected off metal painted a weather-worn gray. The wind whipped off the ocean, creating a brisk chill that neither immortal felt to the point of discomfort, even dressed as they were in jeans, dress shirts, and casual jackets. Cranes loaded cargo, supplies, and other dry goods for transport to Corsica. The noises of production were softly carried by the howling wind. The immortals, as they often did when going abroad, secured night-passage with the captain of this particular operation for a hefty price.
"I suppose Christopher was a mistake as well, brother?" Marcus's words turned his brother's expression hard.
"Yes, an abomination. I should have let them kill him in that alley." Dorius started walking, and did not remove his gaze from the freighter when Marcus matched him step for step.
"We are all abominations," Marcus mumbled.
Dorius let the wind whisk away his brother's words.
* * *
"Wow, the lot is full, Nan," Resi said, sliding the jeep between two yellow lines near the back gate.
"Back out, will ya?" Chick said. "And slide into that spot over there away from the pole lights."
Resi stared at her grandmother.
Chick smiled. "I'm just gonna lure someone out here so we don't get interrupted while I take a little drink."
Resi didn't even blink as she put the ve
hicle into reverse.
"What?" Chick said. "You expect me to suck on someone's neck while the caller plucks balls out of the machine?"
"I don't like the idea of you coming out here all by yourself, Nanna."
Zaire cackled from the passenger seat.
Resi glared at her. "Well?"
"She's a friggin vampire. What's gonna happen to her in a dark parking lot with a bunch of humans hobbling around with walkers?"
"Oh, I don't know," Resi said sarcastically. "Maybe another visit with the local police? I mean the officers already know who to call and where she lives."
"Hey, Jack Shit and Jill Stupid, I'm sitting right here," Chick said. "You wanna stay parked here, go ahead. I'll just drag the first old codger who looks interested behind the building and pray he doesn't croak, or one of the floor staff doesn't walk out to empty a trash can."
As Resi carefully pulled out of the parking space, Chick said, "I'm really pissed your mother stayed home. Not like she has anything else to do except make Jeni's life miserable, right?"
The bingo hall was noisy, smoky, and looked like someone dumped a box full of Q-Tip stick-figures into the room. Two-thirds of the crowd were dressed in polyester and sporting gray hair and bingo bags.
As Resi, Chick and Zaire paused in the entranceway, a woman with a walker barreled through. "Get your move on, girlies. I might be dead before they start calling my numbers if you don't get the hell outta the way." She plowed halfway through them.
Resi and Zaire slid aside; Chick's eyes challenged the blue-haired lady tented in a Hibiscus covered muumuu.
Before Chick could regurgitate a smart remark, a shriveled up, pasty, sallow man shuffled up and guided them over a few feet to the left of the door. He shook a finger at the drive-by. "Harriett, everyone has a first time here. You remember that, ole girl, and try to find your manners next time."
The tented Muumuu waddled into the chaos with a disgruntled huff.
The old guy pulling the oxygen tank—a bingo bag hanging from the handle—looked hard at Chick. His whitewashed, gray eyes blinked a cheerful memory before he hacked liquidly into a wadded up handkerchief and then stuffed it into his back pocket.