Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between

by J. A. Saare

  “Do you trust Disco?” I lifted my head, gazing across the uneaten plate of food to catch Goose studying me.

  “Implicitly,” he answered, never breaking eye contact.

  “Damn it.” I reclined in the chair and stared at the ceiling. I could see the tiny little bubbles where the paint had dried too quickly. My vision still shaper than normal.

  “What other reason besides your affinity for isolation do you have to say no?”

  “He wants more from me then I’m willing to give.”

  “Like what?” Goose kicked my chair.

  I sat up, frowning at him. “What did you do that for?”

  “You have the worst manners. It’s rude not to pay attention to the person you’re speaking with. Now, stop avoiding the question. What does he want you can’t give?”

  I hesitated and answered, “He wants my trust.”

  “Your trust,” Goose echoed. “Why is that too much to ask for?”

  “I don’t trust anyone.” I stared at him unapologetically, anger simmering within. I allowed the emotion to wrap around me like a familiar blanket.

  “Then come to some kind of understanding. Your life is worth swallowing a bit of pride, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not that simple.” I swallowed, treading into unknown territory. “I don’t want to relive my past. Not for anyone or anything. I just want that part of my life to stay dead and buried. Is it so wrong to want to forget?”

  “No, that sounds like a positive thing. And if you mean it, you can start today by letting that baggage go. You can’t claim you want to forget when you keep those memories around as a defense mechanism.”

  “You skinny ass version of Dr. Phil.” I scowled. “I swear to God, you should get into talk show television.”

  “Call me whatever you want, but you know I’m right. You keep watching out for what you expect to happen, and you’re going to be blindsided by something you don’t.”

  “I’ll tell you what.” I compromised grudgingly. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Baby steps are fine with me.” He grinned over his mug and took a huge gulp.

  “How did I get here anyway?” I looked around the kitchen. Even the wallpaper had strawberries. Willy Wonka popped inside my head, his wicked little voice repeating, “the snozzberries taste like snozzberries”, and I snickered.

  “Disco doesn’t have a standing invitation into your home, so he brought you to mine. What’s so funny?”

  “Your strawberry hard-on.” I motioned at the strawberry basket in the center of the table. “Did you just wake up one day and decide, ‘I want to collect strawberry kitchen gadgets and shit, time to visit Pier 1’? It’s kind of weird, like you’re a closet Suzie homemaker.”

  “The wallpaper was here when I got the place, and I accessorized. So sue me,” he grumbled defensively, giving me the evil eye.

  “Hey, whatever floats your boat, shortcake,” I laughed. “But if you ask me to go to rummage sells to find that all elusive strawberry toothpick holder, I’m having you committed.”

  I pushed the chair back, grabbed my untouched plate, and walked over to the trash. I was usually starving in the morning, but I had zero desire to eat. Another side effect of new spidey senses I guessed. I tossed the food into the garbage, rinsed the plate, and placed it inside the dishwasher.

  “Thanks for breakfast. I suppose I should get a move on. I still have to go to the store, and I probably should swing by Mike’s for a quick workout. Where are my shit kickers?”

  I walked out of the kitchen and spotted the black leather boots near the door. I snagged them in my hand, sat down in the chair across from his desk, and slid them on.

  “Wait!” Goose hurried out of the kitchen. “I checked up on Jude Mason. So far, he’s clean. He works down on Wall Street in foreign exchange. I’m looking into Mark and Sabrina Smith next. It’s no surprise they used an alias, so I have to track them down.”

  “How do you plan on doing that, Sherlock?”

  “Mark said he worked real estate, so I’ll start by looking for an agent.”

  “And how do you know he wasn’t making that part up too?” I waited expectantly, smiling and leaning back in the chair, crossing my arms.

  “I don’t.” He shrugged. “But it’s a starting point.”

  “Be careful. They might be into some kinky shit. Do you have a gun, Goose?”

  “Very funny.” He pretended to laugh, moving around the chair to face me. “Rhiannon…” He waited until he had my undivided attention and said, “When I took that first case for Disco, I wasn’t green. I knew about the dangers and the pitfalls of flying solo, but I did it anyway. I was too damned cocky for my own good. I almost regretted it too, when Deidre and her crew came calling. I got lucky. Paine and Adrian were trailing me the night they showed up. I don’t want to think about the flipside of that coin.”

  “Paine and Adrian?”

  “Two of Disco’s people. You would have met them if you’d stuck around last night.”

  “Maybe next time.” I hefted my ass away from the shiny leather and strode toward the door. I wanted to crack a joke or to be a smart ass, but he was so serious I didn’t bother. Besides, I did have to think it over. I didn’t want to be stuck working for some schmuck like Wesley who would use me for a little something extra.

  Pausing with my hand on the doorknob, I looked over my shoulder and told him, “I promise, I’ll think about it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The vacation was fun while it lasted. Deena had a message waiting on my machine, telling me to come in ASAP. Two girls who covered the floor were out, and she couldn’t handle the bar alone on a Sunday. I was actually looking forward to the normalcy of bartending, which was incredibly pitiful, sad, and depressing.

  When I arrived, things were just starting to swing. There were only two tables unaccounted for, and Cassie was on the stage. I walked through the mass of bodies and came around to Deena, hoping like hell that she didn’t ask about the missing jimmy club.

  She looked exceptional, dressed in a slinky backless top and black pants that rode her tanned hips like a second skin. Her long chestnut hair was straight and long, flowing over her shoulders.

  “Rhiannon, I need an Amaretto Sour, Cape Cod, and a Grateful Dead, pronto!” She didn’t even look at me, slinging drinks left and right.

  And with that, I got to work, pouring, mixing, shaking and stirring. I didn’t have the opportunity to stop and look around. As time wore on, and particular guests became inebriated, I was bombarded with orders; the varying tones and cadences lighting up my ears. The minutes passed, the pain increased, and my head started to pound, tiny pinpricks inside my ear canals burning white hot.

  “Deena,” I yelled across the bar. “I’m going out the back. I need a minute.”

  “Oh shit!” She glanced in my direction. “Please tell me you’re not getting sick. We’re not even close to peak.”

  I didn’t answer, cashing out a rum and coke before hauling ass out of the bar. The strobe lights burned my retinas, so I stared at the floor. I fought back an impulsive gag when I saw all the dark marks from dirty shoes that probably stepped in dog shit at some point.

  When I made it to the dark curtain, I tossed the obtrusive material aside. The smell of stale smoke assailed me and I covered my mouth with my hand, barreling past Lacey and running for the bathroom.

  I slammed the door closed with a deafening boom, lunged for the toilet, and landed painfully on my knees, dry heaving. Nothing was inside my gut but vitamin water from a couple of hours before. I gasped for air, swallowing spastically as tears streamed down my face from the violent spasms.

  “Rhiannon?” Lacey’s voice was blessedly muffled on the other side of the door. “Is everything all right?”

  “S’okay,” I mumbled and then cleared my throat. “I guess I’m still sick.”

  Her footsteps retreated and I allowed my legs to collapse, the right side of my body hitting the wall and sliding down. The
linoleum was cold, but I didn’t dare look down. I was certain it was equally filthy, and I didn’t want to be sick again. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, and waited for my head to clear. The tingling burn inside my ears subsided, and the ringing dissipated.

  I stood on shaky feet, using the wall for support, and staggered to the sink. After washing my hands and erasing any of the grime from the floor, I swished my mouth out. The bitter taste of metal lingered, and I closed my eyes.

  The new vampire associates of mine were seriously cramping my style. I couldn’t work tonight. Returning to the bar with all the noises, lights, and overwhelming smells would only bring another wave of sickness. I composed myself, averting my eyes from the mirror, too afraid of what I might see staring back at me.

  Hector was waiting when I opened the door; his handsome face a combination of concern and annoyance.

  “What’s the deal, Rhiannon?”

  I tried to look as pitiful as possible, and it wasn’t difficult. “I’m sick.”

  “Then take your ass home. Don’t spread that shit around my club.” He hurried away, staying clear of whatever funk I’d become the unwilling host of, and intercepted Cassie along the way.

  I didn’t need to be told twice.

  I tried to block out the sounds from the club—the cat calls, blaring speakers, and Lonnie’s lard ass barking at Deena. My feet seemed to be lighter with each step that led me down the pasty hallway and closer to the prospect of blissful silence. I didn’t know how in the hell Disco dealt with the intensity. It wasn’t a high I endorsed.

  The metal against metal sound of the door scraping open made my ears ring, and I sagged in relief when it closed with a reverberating slam. I absorbed the sounds of the night, reveling in the relative quiet, knowing I would never take silence for granted again.

  Suddenly, my nose and eyes kicked in, super senses working triple time.

  Someone was coming around the corner, and fast.

  My necromancy flared on its own, an odd humming that rippled inside my body. I knew who was on the way, and it wasn’t Disco. Goose’s warning blared inside my head. They would come, he’d said. Well screw my wretched ass. He was right.

  Three vampires walked around the corner, dressed similarly in dark gothic clothing with shaggy hair. They stopped several feet away, allowing me room, which was downright noble of them. The tallest one stepped away from the group.

  “Rhiannon Murphy?” He kept his tone even and welcoming, like a Jehovah’s Witness that just wanted to share the good word. “I’d like to have a word.”

  I stood perfectly still. How in the hell did they get my last name? Maybe they’d asked at the bar. No. Deena and Hector would tell them to go play hide and go fuck themselves before they gave away any employee information.

  “This isn’t a great time for me.”

  “That’s too bad.” He motioned to his companions. “Because it’s the only time we have.”

  The door to the BP scraped open with a shrill screech of metal, and my stomach lurched. I didn’t turn around to see who it was. My nose easily distinguished the floral smell of Paul Sebastian Design—Deena’s favorite perfume.

  “Rhiannon.” Deena’s soft lilt echoed in my ears. “Hector said you’re still sick. Do you need anything?”

  I turned my head slightly and called over my shoulder, “I’m fine, Deena. Go back inside. I’ll call you later.”

  The door slammed shut, and I heard her heels clicking across the pavement. Double damn! She had come outside. Mr. Suckface seemed delighted by the shift in events; a smile spread across his face.

  “I feel bad, asking you to come in,” Deena said, smiling at the tall, dark, handsome leech boy. She looked up and down his body and purred, “Is this a friend of yours?”

  It figured. She would never think of dating someone inside the shit pit, but once she dipped outside, her freak was on.

  “I’m Evan,” he greeted her casually, voice going husky.

  Deena quit moving, as still and quiet as a stone monument.

  “I wouldn’t recommend that,” I snapped. “Our bouncers will come looking for her. She’s the only bartender in the place tonight, and it won’t be long until she’s missed.”

  “Then we should get going.” Evan turned and offered his arm. I glowered at the appendage, wishing super human strength was one of my newfound abilities so I could rip it off at the shoulder joint and knock him over the head. His smile widened and he lowered the arm, moving closer to Deena.

  He extended his hand to touch the cheetah paw print tattoo that encircled her bicep, and I snarled, “Don’t you even think about it, asshole.” Reaching into my pocket, I wrapped my fingers around the carved beaded chain within.

  He stepped away from her and approached me instead. His dark eyes flashed as he growled, “The first thing I’m going to work on is your attitude.”

  “Take a number.” I dug out the rosary, griping the cross in my fingers. “There’s a long line.”

  I extended my hand, beads cascading along my palm, and shoved it into his face.

  I learned three important things in that instant. Father Rooney blessed my rosary perfectly, vampire flesh stinks like scorched plastic when it burns, and they are perfectly capable of screaming when it all goes down. His shout bounced off the brick walls in a blaring roar that seemed to carry from the pavement to the sky. He covered his face with his hands, bending over as shaking fingers accessed the damage.

  I grabbed Deena’s arm. “We have to go inside, now Deena!” She staggered with each tug, unmoving and unresponsive.

  The other two vampires rushed us. One snatched Deena, wrapping his arm around her neck. The other shoved me into the wall, cracking the base of my skull against the bricks. Evan reappeared, and he was pissed. The taste of rosary I’d bestowed left little connect-the-dot holes spaced along his face.

  “That wasn’t an intelligent decision.” His long, white, canines gleamed. My attention stayed riveted on them. God they were huge, pointy and sharp.

  The metal door to the club opened again.

  “What the fuck? Butch!” Cletus barreled out, moving faster than a man that big should. I knew he wouldn’t be strong enough to stop what was happening. No amount of protein shakes and fitness in this world would change the fact that he was a mortal man. Then, I heard the sound of a shotgun being pumped.

  Buckshot, on the other hand, just might save my ass.

  “I suggest you pieces of shit get the fuck out of here,” Hector spat, his hands holding the sawed-off steady. I knew he kept Big Betty in his office, but he’d never pulled her out for some quality time—until now.

  Butch came at a run. He stopped next to Hector. His gaze flickered over every person in the alley as he assessed the situation. Mr. Kung-fu was probably thinking of inventive Bruce Lee ways to take them all down.

  “Enjoy the reprieve while it lasts,” Evan whispered. “See you around.”

  He turned and walked away, footsteps unhurried on the concrete. Solid hands released me and I staggered, watching as the other two followed him.

  Of course they wouldn’t want to bring attention to what they were. If they’d taken out all of the employees in the back alley, it wouldn’t be easy to hide.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” Hector’s voice boomed inside my ears, and I turned to look at him. His normally tan skin was a sickly shade of white. “What was that about?”

  “They wanted money.” My voice was shaky, making the lie credible. Things could have gone south in a hurry, and not just for me. I panicked, searching for Deena. She was out cold, head arched back and hair dangling in soft waves down Butch’s arm.

  “Let’s get you inside.” Cletus’s deep and reassuring tenor was a welcome sound in my ears.

  I followed Butch as he led the way. Destiny was just inside the hallway, observing with fear and excitement. She moved aside and frowned in disappointment when Hector directed us to his office. I slumped down on the bench along the wall and Butch gently l
aid Deena on the couch, placing her head against the cushions for comfort.

  “You two, get back out there. The bar’s closed for the time being. If anyone bitches, tell them they can fuck off.” Hector pointed to the door and demanded, “Close that behind you.”

  Butch exited first, with Cletus close behind. The door smacked shut, making the blinds clack against the window. Hector removed his jacket and tossed it over the back of his chair. He loosened his tie, pacing back and forth.

  “I want to know what the fuck is going on with you, Rhiannon.” He spun around and leaned across the desk, caramel eyes angry. His normally attractive face was harsh, lines creasing his forehead.

  “Nothing is going on with me,” I replied evenly, meeting his anger head on.

  “Don’t lie to me.” He spoke through tightly clenched teeth, jaw ticking.

  “I’m not lying!” I hated lying to Hector, and if he kept pushing, I wasn’t going to be able to. “Why are you blaming me for some coked up assholes looking to score?”

  “Let me play this out for you, jodona.” He pushed away from the desk and reached for his jacket. “You better get your shit together tonight. When you come back to my club, I don’t want any more strange people lurking around. I might not work the floor, but I’m always aware of what goes down here. This is my business, and I won’t let you fuck with it. No matter how good you are at your job.”

  He stormed out, slammed the door behind him, and my body sagged.

  Hector would have noticed everything—the visits from Cash and then Disco, taking a week off unexpectedly, and now the altercation on the back of the property. This was his baby, his livelihood, and I was threatening it. No wonder he was livid. I’d be pissed too.

  Deena moaned and I knelt beside her. She opened her crystal blue eyes. They were confused but clear. I breathed a sigh of relief, smiling at her.

  “What happened?” She groaned, palming her forehead.

  “I almost got robbed, but you saved my ass.” I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.