by Alex Owens
“I’ll try to.” My face felt tight when I replied, forcing the words through lips that didn’t want to say them. I’d cut him some slack because he was making sense for once, I just hoped he didn’t end up hanging himself with all that extra line.
“Okay, I’ve gotta run. Get Quinn to call me later?” Pete said, backing towards the entryway.
“Sure. You can let yourself out.” I turned away from Pete as he left.
Maybe I just wanted to leave him with a flash of my ass in very expensive underwear. Or maybe I didn’t want him to see the regret etched all over my face. I’d loved Pete once and on the rare occasion that the old Pete resurfaced, it made me mourn the loss of that love all over again.
I heard the front door shut behind me, so I plastered a smile on my face, picked up Quinn’s Sponge Bob mug and went to tuck my baby in for the afternoon.
Quinn and Morgan were curled up in bed, watching some movie about a bunch of British-sounding kids at a school for magicians. Actually, Quinn was already asleep and Morgan didn’t look to be far behind her, so I set the mug on the bedside table, kissed Quinn on the forehead and whispered to Morgan. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”
Morgan nodded and I turned to leave, but then Morgan’s voice spun me around again.
“Oh, I forgot,” Morgan said, careful to keep her voice low. “You had some packages and mail delivered earlier. I left them in your office.”
“Okay, thanks,” I crept out of the room and pulled the door partially shut behind me. My office chair was leather and I didn’t relish the thought of sitting on it with my bare thighs, so I snagged a pair of yoga pants from my bedroom before making my way to the room I’d converted to an office.
Since returning home from Florida and all that befell me there, I couldn’t exactly hold down a nine-to-five, so I’d had to be a little creative with my income. Sure, I had a decent amount of money left over from the check my maker Bette gave me (or as I like to call it, my Vampire Disability Fund) but that wouldn’t last forever, even if I might.
So I’d created my own consulting company. So far, I was mostly catering to the music industry I was familiar with, but I hoped that my talents as a Vampire-slash-Empath might lend themselves to other industries in the future.
Starting my own company also had an added bonus— it gave me a place to hide some of the surplus money so that Pete couldn’t get his hands on it. I’d given him enough of my hard earned cash when we were married and he’d been happily unemployed for well over a year. Those days were well over.
Entering my office, I took stock of things.
Between the piles of folders, unopened mail and several packages stacked at the end of my desk, I had my work cut out for me. I spent the next several hours sorting mail, responding to emails and generally making steady progress.
I left the packages for last as an incentive to get through everything else first—and also because I didn’t recognize the sender addresses. There was a certain sense of foreboding about them. Not necessarily anything bad really; more like something unexpected and potentially problematic.
The smaller package, about the size of a shirt box, had a postmark from Romania. That one I had no clue about. The larger one, which was almost big enough to hide a body in, was from Italy—and that meant Bette. I wasn’t sure I was ready to open up that can of worms just yet.
I didn’t get the chance to open either box though, because Quinn came bounding in as I was wrapping up my last email with a big grin on her face. She was definitely feeling better.
“My turn” she squealed, launching into my lap.
I kissed her cheek and tried to ignore the fact that she flinched a little when my cold lips met her warm, pink skin. “Your turn for what?”
“For you to pay attention to me!” She pouted convincingly. “No more work stuff. Let’s go outside!”
Her demands declared, Quinn jumped off my lap and ran out into the main living area of the house. And of course, I followed, closing the door to my office behind me. The packages could wait. Apparently my daughter couldn’t.
I found her twirling in the living room impatiently.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
What was I supposed to say— “Give me five minutes Quinn, mommy needs to down a big ol’ bag of A-positive.”
Quinn started up again before I had a chance to say anything.
“Come on!”
She wrapped her hot little hand around my much-colder one and pulled me toward the sliding glass doors of the living room. She smiled and pointed to the dock, where a new red canoe was tethered to the aging wood.
“Let’s go catch our dinner, Mom.”
Dinner, ugh.
My stomach contracted violently at the thought.
If I went outside, I’d have to feed again a lot sooner than I wanted to. My blood supply was running low and I’d foolishly thought I could ration what was left until I managed to find another supplier. That had been a stupid idea—almost as dumb as not having a back-up supplier in the first place.
Quinn tugged at my sleeve, bringing me back to myself. My gaze flickered from her pleading countenance to the blue-gray late afternoon light.
I checked the position of the sun in the sky— low and cloaked in cloud cover. That would work. I didn’t burst into flames in the sun, but it did hurt like a sonavabitch upon direct contact. And it would make me consume more blood than I currently had on hand.
“Okay, hold your horses.” I patted Quinn’s spun-gold hair. “Give me a minute to grab the bait out of the basement freezer.”
A grin stretched over Quinn’s face and she ran to change into more suitable fishing attire. Which meant that she was likely to reappear in a ruffled party dress instead of the more-appropriate jeans and a tee.
I went in the opposite direction, to the basement for a quick swig of packed-cells and some night-crawlers.
Oh, the irony.
At the top of the basement stairs I fumbled for the light switch, still trying to feel my way around in our new house. I probably didn’t need the extra light, but I wasn’t willing to risk falling down the stairs to test out my improved night vision. I’d had a hard enough time explaining my severe change in lifestyle and diet to Quinn and Pete. I doubted they’d be so understanding if I was walking around with my head on backwards or something.
At the darkest corner of the basement, I lifted the lid of the freezer and peered inside. Worms and blood, and not a whole lot of either one. Crap on a shingle, I’d thought I had at least three more pilfered bags left, but there was only one.
How was I going to make it on only one bag?
Even though I’d fed the night before, I’d burned off half of that with all the running I’d done, and I had to re-up my game points before going outside. The sun would drain me fast and it’s not like I could afford to be out in the creek drifting around with my daughter when the blood frenzy set in.
And I certainly wasn’t sucking some stupid fish dry. I didn’t even know if that was possible—to live off of animal blood. I tried to remember all the warnings Bette gave me during “the talk” but I’m pretty sure she hadn’t covered that.
I sighed and lifted the cold bag to my mouth, sank my teeth in and let myself savor the meal as though it could be my last. Despite the stabilizing additives and the frosty temperature, the meal was good, if not great. Much in the same way that microwaved leftovers can sate hunger, but can’t compare to a fresh-off-the-grill steak.
At the risk of sounding like an insensitive ass, I was fed, but I’d still kill for something of the hot-steak variety. Not literally, I mean.
Well, at least I hoped not.
Chapter Four
Someone, or something, was watching me.
I was almost positive of that and I’m not your average human with nothing more than a creepy feeling and prickly neck hairs. I’m much more than that (even if I don’t know what) and all my spidey-senses were going off the charts.
&nbs
p; Play it cool, I told myself.
I hefted the stack of flattened moving boxes under my arm and walked as casually as possible around the garage and to the back of the house where I kept the trash cans. At first glance, the yard appeared empty, but I knew that if I really focused my senses outward, I’d be able to see all sorts of coastal woodland creatures: squirrels, birds, and even crabs skittering through the reeds down by the dock.
It wasn’t those things that gave me pause. It was the unnatural, the abominations such as myself, that I didn’t want to catch in my yard. This was my turf, my sixty acres at the back end of a long dirt drive, purchased for one very specific reason—to keep the Big Baddies away from my daughter.
As crazy as my life became after that fateful business trip three months ago, I was doing my best to feel normal, and that included a serious case of passive denial.
If I don’t see anything, then nothing is there. I repeated the mantra over and over in my head. I put one foot on from of the other and straightened my spine.
Tossing the last of the boxes, I latched the can and strolled toward the dock. Not only was it my favorite place to spend a few quiet moments, but it would give me a good vantage over the yard.
The weathered boards groaned and shifted under my weight and I made a mental note to have a contractor look at it before the whole thing collapsed. I stopped at the edge of the pier, my bare toes curling around the rough gray wood. When the water warmed up, I planned on taking advantage of a few midnight swims, but until then I’d just enjoyed the view.
There was something about the gentle lapping of the water against the dock pilings that put me at ease. I watched the moonlight dance across the glassy surface of the water and took in a deep breath of the salty night air. It smelled like home.
Feeling more calm and centered, I nudged a mental brick out of my shield; just enough to sense what was watching me, without giving my curiosity away. At first I felt nothing out of the norm, so I opened myself up a little more and waited.
It had taken a load of practice, building and keeping my mental fortress intact, but lately it had become second nature. That was a good thing, since I’d spent most of my life being unknowingly bombarded by other people’s emotions, to the point where I wasn’t sure I’d ever made one single decision based on how I actually felt. But that was all behind me, once I’d wrangled control over at least one of my super-powers.
Without any build-up or warning, I was slammed with a boat-load of rage and hate. It was like a flash-bang grenade of evil.
Crippling me instantly, it was debilitating, terrifying, and fifty other “ing” words that I cared not to name, and I couldn’t seem to push the feelings back out of my head. I couldn’t breathe— not that I needed to— but I felt like I was suffocating even if I wasn’t. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before and I couldn’t get away from the onslaught of emotions long enough to put my defenses back up.
The seconds ticked by and the longer the connection remained open, the more I felt like I was losing myself in it. The ominous darkness was enveloping me slowly.
I wanted to vomit, I wanted to cry... to do something, anything at all, but I couldn’t. Whatever it was, it was paralyzing.
Sometimes the best defense is no-defense, so I stopped struggling and just let go.
My body relaxed and I pushed the balls of me feet into the edge of the dock as hard as I could. My body pitched forward. I hit the icy water with a crack, full-on belly-flop style, the connection with my observer was instantly severed.
Thank the Gods.
I could breathe (figuratively) again. I quickly shielded myself from the mental onslaught and felt my body begin to settle back into itself. Gradually, the shaking in my limbs subsided. I let myself float in the blackened water for several minutes, even after I began to feel moderately normal.
I can’t explain it, but the water has always calmed me, like it soothes my soul when I need it most. Running my hand under the faucet, feeling water sluice over my back in the shower, or like then, when the full weight of my body was buoyed by the current— water settled me, slowed the buzzing mass of electrons and made me whole and cohesive.
Feeling more centered, I scanned the bank for my observer and found nothing of note.
Swimming to the edge of the dock, I tested my weight on the rotten ladder boards, and once I was sure I wouldn’t skewer myself on a broken, algae-covered board, I pulled myself from the water. Salt water rained down my drenched body, leaving a Rorschach stain on the dock around me. I pulled off my sneakers, dumped the water out of them and realized I’d rather go barefoot than clomp around in squishy shoes.
I spied a clump of seaweed on my shoulder and flicked it off, hoping it didn’t contain a mutant crab or something. Yes, I might be a Big Bad Girl myself, by certain creepy-crawlies still wigged me out.
It was with thoughts of such things, like mice, snakes and giant beavers that I made my way quickly back to the house, scanning my path constantly like some sort of mercenary. Sure, I could rip apart just about anything that could come my way, but that wouldn’t help me much if I had a heart attack or leapt out of my skin first.
Hence, my quick stepping through the grass of my back yard. I’d like to say I was trying to avoid stepping on pine cones with my bare feet, but I’d be lying. Pinecones were the least of my worries.
I took the deck steps two at a time and crossed to the sliding glass door.
Inside, I could see Morgan, curled up on the couch with a box of cookies and the television remote. I didn’t look closer at her chosen snack, mainly because I didn’t want to know. I hadn’t had a thin mint, cookie or anything else melt-in-your-mouth worthy since I’d been turned months and months ago.
That was enough to make a gal snippy, alright.
I slid open the door and winced when it squealed on its tracks. I made a mental note to grease it or something— I couldn’t have the whole house waking up every time I decided to wander around in the night.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a prude, not after that freak-show in Florida.” Morgan said as I walked by, leaving a wet trail of footprints in my wake.
“Prude? What are you talking about?” I frowned and grabbed a fresh towel out of the basket of laundry waiting to be folded, which someone had left on the kitchen table. Probably my aforementioned Nanny, who wasn’t so good with domestic tasks and only marginally better with the actual childcare I’d hired her for.
“And I thought we agreed never to speak of all that?” I felt myself shudder at the thought of the debauchery that had occurred that weekend. I did my job very well during that convention, and I did a few more things very well too—namely Bette and Gregor— but not at the same time of course. Apparently I still had some lines I couldn’t cross.
I threw a smaller towel on the floor and sopped up the salt water mess before it stained the hardwood floors. I should have had them refinished before we’d moved in, but I’d been in such a hurry to get away from my Ex and into a place where it wouldn’t be as hard to hide my condition.
“Oh, but it’s so much fun watching you blush— as much as you can with your, ah, limited blood flow...” Morgan muted the sound on the television. “Now, why are your clothes soaking wet?”
“Took a dip in the creek.” I scrunched my hair with the towel, slowing the drips.
“Well, why didn’t you take your clothes off first? Don’t tell me you were being shy ... and you know how hard it is to get that marsh-water smell out of things.”
“Sorry, it was an impulse. I’ll try to remember to get naked first next time.” I finished with my hair and looked at the mantle clock. It was well after ten p.m. “Quinn in bed?”
Morgan nodded, “Almost an hour ago.”
“Great, thanks.” I unbuttoned my shirt and peeled it away from my skin. I noticed Morgan’s eye widened at the show, but I didn’t have the energy to worry about it too much. She’d seen me much more naked in the past, after all.
I sniffed my hair. It did stink like marsh and salt and fish. Fabulous.
“I guess I’ll go hop in the shower. Are you going to be up for a while?”
Morgan nodded and motioned to my laptop sitting on the coffee table.
“Do you mind if I look something up online?” she asked.
“Of course not,” I smiled, “I can get you one of your own, if you’d like? You know, in case Quinn needs help with her homework or something.”
“You don’t have to...”
“It’s fine, really,” I interrupted, “I uprooted you from your life and brought you to the backwoods of Virginia where you spend your days twiddling your thumbs and taking care of my kid. You don’t go anywhere, you don’t know anyone— you’re probably bored out of your mind.”
I wrapped the towel around my torso and slipped off my shorts, then walked over to couch and looked down Morgan. “The least I can do is to hook you up with mindless Internet interactions.”
She laughed and agreed to browse online for the laptop she wanted and I headed off to wash away my worries under the scalding shower jets. As usual, I had plenty to wash away.
On the way past Quinn’s bedroom I slowed and peeked in her door.
My not-so-little girl was asleep in her bed, upside-down with her feet on a pillow and a book open on her chest. I crept into her room and rescued the book before she rolled over and crinkled the pages, covered her with a quilt and was back out in the hallway within seconds. Taking one last look at her peaceful face surrounded by a halo of blonde curls, I eased the door shut behind me.
Closing myself into my bathroom, I locked the door and pressed the button that turned on my newly installed sunlight-replicating lights. Fake daylight illuminated the room and all of its remodeled features. Since I don’t get to experience nature during the day, I’d decided to recreate a version of the outdoors just for myself.
The flooring, counter-tops and open shower area were a mixture of slate, natural river rock and travertine tiles. The boarders and accents were done in blue and aquamarine sea glass. A veritable jungle of tropical plants grew from pots sunken into the floor, greenery reached up the walls toward the ceiling, forming a canopy in several spots.