by Alex Owens
Once my computer woke up enough to limp along, I fired off a quick email to Cass and prayed.
Riddle me this:
What can affect my sweet little Morgan and turn her against me, but no one else? Seriously, it’s like she’s been brain washed... to hate me with a passion so bottomless that I’m scared to sleep under the same roof with her. It’s not natural. I didn’t ruin her Jimmy Choo’s or anything. My sponge is soaking up some serious negativity. What can I do?
~Desperately Seeking Answers
While waiting, I seriously considered praying for real, but I knew it was no use.
I’m not that type of person anymore. Now, my idea of worship was limited to sitting on the dock and taking in the sounds of nature while my man-made troubles evaporated like early morning fog. Since that’s where this mess started, I’d have to settle for distractions.
I rumbled around my office for a bit before stopping in front of the closet where I hid most of the crap I’d accumulated over the years. The door was ajar and I could just make out the corner of the box that housed that damned violin. I wondered briefly if that had anything to do with it.
That wasn’t possible. As far as I knew, the instrument didn’t have that kind of power. Not that I’d considered it much after my initial experience with it, but I’d certainly took a moment to consider it now given the circumstances.
So what did it do? It made beautiful music, I knew that for sure, even with a person who had no musical abilities. I felt drawn to it that fateful day, and it was only after coming into contact with it that my mysterious (and unreliable) powers had started to bloom. I hadn’t realized that before.
I’d assumed it was the V-day transformation that kicked everything else off, but my assumption was flawed. Sure, the other powers had emerged near the time I became a vampire, but that’s only because I became undead just a few hours after playing the violin for the first time.
I could see now that before I ever ended up in the hotel room with Bette for my so-called date with destiny, weird things had already started happening. So the violin either caused my strange abilities, or it flipped some sort of switch to the “on” position inside of me.
No, no. Something niggled in the back of my skull. That didn’t quite fit either.
I’d been using my gifts to a limited extent all of my life, but I just hadn’t known it until the Florida trip... so the violin wasn’t a trigger or a switch, but an amplifier of sorts. It recognized my gifts and turned the damn volume up as far as it could go. But how could that have anything to do with what was happening to Morgan?
It couldn’t—not unless her gift was nuclear rage a’ la Carrie-style. By the Gods, I hoped that wasn’t even close to the right answer.
My computer screamed “NARWHALS!” in a child-like voice— that was Quinn’s idea of a joke to announce incoming messages—and I slammed the closet door and crossed my fingers, hoping the new mail was from Cass.
It was. In fact, I had three new emails from her.
The first one read:
A few things came to mind when I read of your problem.
A witches curse. A faery’s flight of fancy. Early Adult Onset Schizophrenia (hers, not yours. Probably.) Or an act of persuasion by one of the few beasties capable of that skill. I will research and get back to you.
What the hell? I sure hoped the other two emails held more answers than the first one. All I had after reading that was more questions.
Faeries? Witches? Or the less-disturbing Schizoid disorder? I didn’t even want to think about the type of he-who-shall-not-be-named creature that was capable of persuasions. The thought had briefly crossed my mind already, but I wasn’t prepared to consider that angle; it was too close to home.
Like it or not though, it was the most plausible.
The possibility that Morgan was under the persuasion of a fellow vampire made my cold blood run even colder. Mostly because that suspect pool was fairly small. Out of the three fangers that I knew, only one of them would be capable of trying to harm me for mere sport.
Clive, that pompous fuck-twat. I’d kill him and not feel one second of remorse.
I tried to not think about the million ways I’d make him suffer while I slogged through Cass’s other emails. It was fairly easy to do, considering she’d manage to dig up and send enough research to keep me busy for the next two hours.
How Cass had enough time to dig up that much research in less than thirty minutes was another mystery all to its own. I shelved that one to think about later, much later, after things calmed down around my house.
Most importantly, I had to fix Morgan first.
Chapter Thirteen
“Bye, Bug!” I waved and blew Quinn a kiss as the car pulled away. She had her face pressed up against the window, looking like an adorable little monster. Chip off the old block, she was.
When Pete’s car finally got far enough away that I couldn’t see it anymore, I hot-footed it back inside. Once the pain had subsided, I realized one very sad thing—with Quinn gone for over a week and Morgan who the hell knows where, I was at a loss as to what to do with myself.
I pulled open the fridge for no good reason. Really, what was I thinking? When I shut the door a piece of paper broke free from the magnet that had been holding it in place. I picked it up from the floor. It was a note from Morgan, sort of.
It said: Yoga at the gym – M.
I wanted to be happy that she’d finally taken up a hobby, but at the moment I was irritated that her life was shaping up to be more interesting than mine. I knew how petty that was, given Morgan’s currently cursed state.
What can I say? I was in a shitty mood.
I thought back and realized that I hadn’t eaten in a few days. I was hoping to stretch it a little further, because I didn’t have the stomach (pun intended) for feeding at the moment.
So I was stuck being cranky. And it didn’t help that after hours of research and reading, I’d finally come up with a plan to try and help Morgan, only she hadn’t come home last night.
At least I knew she was safe—she’d come home at some point while I slept to change into her yoga clothes and leave the note—so I couldn’t be too worried.
I grabbed the TV clicker and plopped on the couch. I was just in time to catch the news and a little break. Finally, something was going my way.
The weatherman had finished his predictions (really, it was like Russian roulette... they never got that shit right) and handed the spotlight back over to the anchor.
“In other news, we’ve been keeping an eye on a developing story over on the Eastern Shore. Thirty-four year old Dennis Dean, the man admitted Bay Memorial several days ago with an unknown blood disorder, has been upgraded to stable condition according to the hospital’s spokesperson.”
I exhaled the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Thank the gods—one less stain on my sooty soul. I’d take it.
The anchorwoman continued, “Upon admission, Dean had no apparent signs of trauma to explain his severe anemia and initial testing ruled out typical medical conditions. At that point, the CDC was called in to rule out pathogens and the hospital operated under level four precautions for several days. Myrna Rogers, a liaison from the CDC has confirmed that all testing came back negative. ”
I tuned out as soon as they flashed the picture of Dean with his (now dead) wife and two young children on the beach. I already saw their faces when I closed my eyes, I didn’t need any more help searing the image in my mind.
What I needed, it seemed, was a hobby.
I turned off the television and went intoto my office. I browsed the bookshelf looking for something that I hadn’t already read, but I should have known better. I was in serious need of a lazy, bookstore-browsing outing. That and a freaking life.
Maybe I could take up gardening? I literally LOL’d at that thought. I could see myself, out tending the plantings under the light of the moon. No, if I had to have an outdoor hobby, I’d best make it a nightti
me one.
I could take up knitting. Or line dancing. Or maybe I’d join a book club, learn a foreign language, or even take up computer gaming. Maybe I should just stake myself now and save myself a lot of embarrassment, I thought.
Then something occurred to me, something so depressing that I sank into my window seat and stared at the back of the black-out curtain. Well, it’s not like I could gaze out at the hummingbirds flitting from flower to flower. But that wasn’t even the depressing part.
I had realized that I was still a baby Vamp, hardly out of my fanged-infancy. I had eons of time ahead of me, and if having a day to myself was about to make me flip my wig, then what the hell was I going to do with a hundred or more years on my hands?
I was still pondering that question ten hours later when Morgan finally came home and found me sitting in the middle of the living room, surrounding by a full circle of research papers.
“That only works if you’re Sam or Dean and have a devils trap hidden under all that crap.” She snapped, depositing her gym bag in the middle of the kitchen floor and cracking the refrigerator for a cold bottle of water.
I winced at her insinuation that I was a demon who needed trapping by a blood circle of the Winchester’s finest ancient symbols.
“That was harsh,” I muttered to myself, even though I was impressed at her burgeoning level of fandom. She’d come a long way since we’d started having Supernatural marathons several months ago.
I took a deep breath and leapt to my feet, then went to confront Morgan.
It was time to fix her problem with me, or look for a more plausible long-term solution. There were a lot of sharp wooden objects in my home and none of them were meant to be sticking out of my chest.
Several of the research papers fluttered away in my wake. I was moving faster than I should. I tried not to do that around Morgan (and never around Quinn) but desperate times make a gal jump the gun a bit.
Seeing that I was coming at her, Morgan’s eyes widened and her pupils constricted. There was a noticeable uptick in her breathing and her heart started beating so loud that it sounded like my ear was pressed up against a snare drum. She held her hands up in a weak attempt to stop me, but I captured them within my own.
She shook visibly, but I kept my singular focus. I nudged a brick out of my shields and sensed the air around her. The hatred was still there, but it was currently being overrun with a more pressing emotion—the urge to escape, to survive. That was exactly what I’d been hoping for and for lack of a better word, it gave me hope that my plan might actually work.
Before Morgan could relax even the tiniest bit, I let my fangs drop and pressed my bottom lip roughly against the sharp points. As my own blood filled my mouth, I gathered up every bit of love and kindness in my soul and held it there, right at the opening of my shields.
And then I moved in for the kill— by which I mean a full-on, lips-parted smoocher.
A passionate blood kiss, infused with all the goodness that my soul had to offer. With that bit of my blood and the love flowing behind it, I hoped to bind Morgan to me once again, to reinforce my tenuous connection with her. From there, I hoped the binding would be enough to help me fight fire with water, so to speak.
My plan was to extinguish the flames of hatred with the soothing aloe of love. Corny, I know, but it was all I had.
I broke the kiss and pulled her into a tight embrace. It was the best damn hug I’d ever given anybody and I poured my freaking soul into it. With absolute intentions, I showered Morgan with love—the kind a woman has for her sister, a mother has for her child, and a daughter has for her mother.
Maiden, Mother and Crone.
That made me smile, even though I’m not sure where the thought had come from. I’d begun to accept those little gifts from the universe and this one was no different. It just felt right.
After several long minutes hugging the ever-loving crap out of her, Morgan relaxed and returned my embrace. Wrapping her arms around me, she started to cry. Silently at first, then louder until her body shook with the sobs. It cleaved my stone heart in two.
I carried her to the couch and pulled her into my lap. Rocking her like a baby, I smoothed her hair and patted her back, but nothing consoled her. It seemed that she had to get it all out, which made sense. If I had walked around for days with that much darkness in my heart, I’d need a good purging too.
It was like a spiritual enema—no holy water needed.
I held Morgan for hours, long after she’d fallen asleep, completely exhausted. She looked so peaceful that I didn’t have the heart to wake her. But I must admit, I did have an ulterior motive. Holding her in my lap was like wearing an electric blanket. I hadn’t felt that warm in a very long time.
Which reminded me... I had a date with Linc.
A quick glance at the clock in my kitchen told me that I had exactly an hour before he arrived to pick me up. Craptastic, I thought.
Which was followed by another thought: I sure didn’t feel very excited about my date. That wasn’t a good sign, not at all. Linc was hotter than a two dollar pistol and any sane woman would sacrifice her left tit to go out with him. So why did I feel like giving up?
No action, that’s why.
I considered calling to cancel on him but I wasn’t a quitter by gods, and while things hadn’t heated up to the expected levels yet, I wasn’t ready to stop trying.
I flex my vampy muscles and carried Morgan to her room, tucked her in bed and was standing in the shower in a flash—all with fifty-nine minutes still left before my date.
See... not a quitter!
Chapter Fourteen
After playing a couple of games of pool, evenly split by the way, we called it a night. Linc was pretty toasted and I was getting my panties in a bunch, and not in a good way. We’d laughed and joked plenty, and occasionally he’d flirted a little, but nothing I could take seriously. He was acting like my brother’s best friend or something.
I didn’t get it and I damn sure didn’t like it, but I wasn’t going to be that chick throwing myself at anyone. Not now, not ever. I had standards, dammit!
I excused myself to the ladies room in a huff. No, not to use the facilities—one of the perks of being a Vamp is that I’m no longer a slave to that particular throne. Instead, I wanted to freshen up a bit before climbing back into the dark truck for more of the same ambivalent flirting. Just in case, you know.
Leaning into the mirror, I checked my teeth. They were clean, and pretty sparkling if I did say so myself. I don’t know what I expected to find there... a piece of broccoli from a year ago? Some habits are hard to break.
“Don’t waste your time.” A voice said over my shoulder. “There’s not enough Mary Kay in this state to make him think of you as anything other than his Mother.”
I looked into the mirror at the stupid bitch that called me old, my mouth pulling into a tight line. The bitchy Barbie’s reflection made me want to pound the mirror into a thousand pieces and stab her in eye with the largest of the shards.
I drew in a deep breath and fought back the red tide threatening to obscure my vision. A bloody brawl in a bar bathroom would not be the best way to lay low in a small town. Even if it would be fun.
I turned to stare the little bitch directly in the eyes. “You got something to say, Lint Licker?”
She scrunched her nose, obviously confused.
“That’s what I thought.” I flashed my fangs and pushed past her towards the door. When I was almost by, she grabbed me by the arm and spun me around to face her.
She flashed fangs right back right at me and hissed, “Don’t let them out if you don’t have the balls to use ‘em, Grandma.”
I was so surprised that I took a half step back and crouched, prepared to fight. So much for keeping a low profile. She laughed, her voice high-pitched and annoying. She stepped around me slowing, like a panther, until she reached the exit.
“Watch your back, hag.” And then she was gone.
What in the flying hell was that all about? One thing was sure, I was not at all happy to discover another vampire in my territory. Not at all. Especially a cunt-vamp like that one.
Someone pounded on the door, hard.
Linc’s voice echoed through the flimsy door. “Claire, you okay in there?”
“Yeah, um sure. I’ll be out in a minute!” I put on my best cheery voice.
That was rather hard to do, considering she’d struck exactly the right nerve in my psyche. Linc wasn’t busting a move on me, and I was beginning to think the problem was with me.
Maybe I was too old for him? I didn’t know his exact age, but there had to be at least a few years difference between us. Perhaps five, or even seven if I was honest. And I was a mother—and as far as he knew, a boring old one at that. I was old and had baggage; I wasn’t exactly a prize catch, I knew.
I sighed and gave one last look in the mirror before going out to find my date among the short-skirt tartlets circling the bar like piranhas. I suddenly felt very tired of everything.
The ride home was eerily quiet.
Linc drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the new Ed Sheeran song and I pretended to gaze out into the black night. My mind was elsewhere and I realized that I wasn’t in the mood for some good old fashioned, back road nookie, even if he finally decided I was hot enough for my age. I was so far out of the game that I felt destined to ride the bench from there on out.
As we came down our road, Linc nodded to his house just up ahead. “Looks like we’ve finally caught my brother home. Want to meet him?”
“Sure,” I said, somewhat distracted.
I gave myself a pep talk. I didn’t understand his lack of interest, but I also didn’t seem to mind too much if I was being honest with myself. I didn’t have a lot of friends, especially not ones that pulled me into having fun, and I’d been having a blast with him the last few days.
Maybe being in the friend zone wouldn’t be so bad after all?
Linc parked the truck and we both got out.