“Oh, uh, who’s the Greek god of war?”
“Ares,” he said. Finally, his eyes cleared. He looked at Celia. “Run interference?”
Imogene snapped her fingers. “And he’s back! Okay, dude, go hang with Heidi. Watch some True Crime. Give us, like, twenty minutes, okay?”
“Okay.” He stood and brushed sand from his jeans. The girls joined him as he said, “I’m sorry I lost my shit for a second.”
“Don’t apologize.” Celia leaned up on her toes and kissed him. “I’m sorry I suggested putting corpses in your closet.”
He shrugged. “Under the circumstances…”
“Get going.” Imogene shoved him in the shoulder, and he walked slowly up the beach. They waited until they heard Heidi’s high-pitched voice followed by a closed front door before beginning their archaeological dig. That was what Celia pretended it was, anyway. She pretended she was in Pompeii and she was some super cool character from Indiana Jones. She had to pretend, because the reality—she was digging up the dead bodies of two humans killed by her maker’s whore—was way too much to contemplate without a nosebleed.
They successfully dragged the rotting corpses to Imogene’s trunk without interruption. Sure, the bodies smelled like death. They left behind a trail of sand and maybe a few drops of stale blood. Other than that, mission successful, although Celia did hate to muss the back of such a nice car. Also, in the summer heat, those bodies wouldn’t keep long.
Imogene and Celia returned to Ian’s apartment, where they fell on the floor and reached for their hidden blood bags. Imogene slurped hers like a college kid hits a keg, while Celia was more mindful of the A-positive, considering they had only Shaman-Blessed Shit in Ian’s fridge.
“He’s a hell of a guy,” Imogene said.
“I know.”
“If we get through this, you’ll live happily ever after.”
Ian’s door opened, and there he stood. For a skinny guy, he sure did fill a doorway—probably due to his height and the excessive expanse of his hair. His blue eyes glittered like fake diamonds at Kmart. He slowly lifted his arm, and there, between two long fingers, was a small, tightly wrapped joint.
“She gave me weed,” he said.
“Hooray!” Imogene chanted. She clapped her boney fingers.
“Not all is lost.” He kicked the door shut behind him with his bare foot. Celia smiled as she watched him head to the kitchen and return with a little blue lighter. He sat in the middle of his couch and invited them both to join, which they did. Celia cuddled closer than necessary, due to his smile: that massive grin that first made her fall in love, that and his smell and his neck and his…everything.
He took a short drag as he lit up, and Imogene leaned forward to swallow his exhale. “Wow, Heidi has good shit,” she said, licking her lips.
Ian passed the joint to her. “She’s got some local dude with good hookups.”
“How does a senior citizen have good hookups?” Imogene took a pull and passed it to Celia.
She shook her head. “You guys share. I don’t want to take it from you.”
Ian leaned his head back on the couch. “Just have a hit.”
She reached for the joint, and as she did, the front door pounded open. Celia thought, This is it. The cops had finally uncovered their nonexistent hydroponics operation.
Instead, it was Danny in a slick suit, perfect hair, and a fresh shave. He looked shiny and new.
“We just got home! I thought I smelled weed,” he said, and with that, he plucked the joint from Celia’s fingers, took a drag, winked at Ian, and left.
With the joint.
They all just sat there, staring. Something truly horrible had just happened. Celia was worried Ian was going to crack. Instead, he stood up and walked to his stereo. He pushed a couple buttons until Bob Marley started telling them “everything’s gonna be all right.” Ian stood there, taking deep breaths. Then, he turned around and smacked his huge hands together.
“I want to go swimming in the ocean,” he said.
Oh my God, he really has lost it!
Of course, Imogene was on her feet in no time. “Just the ticket.” She grabbed the bottom of his polo shirt and tugged upwards until she had him bare from the waist up. “Merk, this is what we need.” She headed for the front door, peeling off layers as she went. By the time Imogene hit the porch, she was in nothing but panties.
Celia remained on the couch. “You want to go…swimming? Not just standing and shaking in the ocean?”
“It’s time I went swimming, Mermaid.” He extended his hand to her.
They walked down to the beach hand-in-hand. Once there, they discarded their clothes. Ian kept on his boxer briefs, and Celia kept on bra and underwear. They could already hear Imogene splashing and diving around amid the waves. She made the occasional hooting noise.
The water was warm on Celia’s bare toes. Her hand in Ian’s was even warmer. She looked up at him. He still seemed a little freaked, but he wasn’t trembling. He was breathing a little fast for someone who’d just walked twenty feet. Then, he did something inexplicable. He winked at her, let go of her hand, and ran into the breaking waves. She laughed when he did a headfirst dive into a crush of white. He came up spitting saltwater, calling her name. She ran to him, and as usual, the waves momentarily eased her pain.
She had to swim fast to catch up, but when she did, she jumped on Ian’s back and wrapped her arms around his neck. He paddled them out, past Imogene, past where they could touch, and together, they tread water.
“Holy shit,” he said, laughing.
“You’re a good swimmer.”
“I damn well should be.” His eyes looked out into the black of open water. “I can’t believe I’m out here right now.”
Celia went under water and came up against his chest. She kissed his salty chin. “Nothing will hurt you. Ever.”
He crushed her mouth in a kiss and wrapped his arms around her until they both started to sink. They paddled back to where they could touch, where they found Imogene, floating on her back and staring at the stars.
“We need to talk strategy,” she said.
“Strategy?” Celia wrapped Ian in her legs and arms and licked his neck.
“Well, we can’t just go over there swinging axes,” she continued. “I think we need to get them drunk. Really, really drunk.”
“Drift Inn?” Celia suggested.
Imogene nodded. “Mm. Good call. Best place for blackouts.”
“Okay.” Ian paused. “So when?”
Imogene sat up, and her dark blue eyes were black. “Tomorrow. We get ‘em drunk, bring them back here, and chop their heads off.”
“Shit,” Celia whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was a dark and stormy night.
Really, though, it was raining elephants and hippos. Thunderclaps shook the Sleeping Gull Apartments, and the electricity flickered.
During the day, while Celia slept, Ian went back to the garden shop and bought an ax, garden shears (for Imogene), and ponchos. Celia told him she really doubted they’d have time to put on ponchos before the decapitation, but he insisted because he was Ian and he vomited a lot. With the rainstorm, they at least had a viable excuse to wear them.
Celia stood in Ian’s bathroom doorway and watched him get ready. She’d never seen him “get ready” before. He was freshly showered and naked with shaving cream like whipped dessert on his face.
“I was thinking.” He ran the razor down his cheek. “Maybe they’ll just turn to ash.”
“Yeah?” She was surprised she could manage even one-word answers, what with her boyfriend standing there, clothes-free. She wanted to lick the V where his hips met…
Damn it, Celia! Get it under control!
They were preparing to kill people, and Celia still wanted to jump Ian’s bones.
“Like, in Buffy,” he continued, “when she would stake vampires, they would just go up in a cloud of ash, right?”
&n
bsp; “I have no idea,” Celia said.
He rinsed the razor in the sink. “I think it was Buffy.”
Thunder rolled.
The door to Ian’s apartment opened, and Celia took a step back to see Imogene under the shelter of a slick, black umbrella. She stepped inside and whistled. Celia sighed and closed her naked boyfriend in his bathroom.
She tossed her soaking wet umbrella on Ian’s couch. “I’m telling you, Merk, I don’t know how you keep your fangs out of his neck every five seconds.”
“I prefer his chest.”
Imogene leaned over in a dress the size of a teacup: strapless, gold, with dark purple leather pumps. “Whoa, cool.” She went for the grotesquely oversized garden shears still in a huge garden center bag. She snapped them open and closed, twice, in the air. “I call these.”
Ian came out of the bathroom cleanly shaved and in boxer briefs. Imogene dropped the shears and gave him an indecent hug.
“Imogene,” he muttered into her hair.
“Cut it out,” Celia said.
She stepped back. “Hey, if things go tits up, I just wanted to have one more feel of man flesh.”
He nodded. “That makes sense.”
Both girls watched his cute, muscular ass head to the bedroom.
“They’re not home, by the way,” Imogene said.
“Huh?”
“Wipe the drool off your chin.”
Celia did.
“Danny and Vixen. They’re not home.”
“Oh.”
The light above them flickered and then went out. The rain on the roof sounded like goblins with little hands and feet trying to get inside.
“Shit,” Imogene whispered.
From the bedroom came a blinding flash of light.
“Ian.” Celia covered her face.
“What? It’s dark,” he said.
“So you harnessed the power of the sun?”
Celia glanced out from behind her hands. “It’s his X-Files flash light.”
“Huh?”
“Mulder and Scully always had these huge flashlights.”
Imogene shook her head, lost.
Celia sighed. “How are we even friends?”
Imogene smiled. “I ask myself that every day.”
“I don’t take this as a good sign,” Ian said. He was, at least, almost fully dressed: dark jeans and a black button-down, half buttoned. Apparently, he thought murder was a dress up occasion.
“I don’t believe in signs,” Imogene said.
Then, with a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder, Ian’s front door swung open. A horrendous figure stood in the doorway—tall, in a space helmet. Its skin was like beef jerky, and it had hands like claws.
They all screamed.
Then Heidi stepped in the line of Ian’s flashlight. “What the hell is the matter with y’all?”
“Jesus, Heidi,” Imogene gasped. “I thought the damn aliens had landed.”
Their landlady made a disgusted face, but truly, in the dark, with The Wig and over-tan flesh, she did look like a mix between “Take me to your leader” and a zombie corpse.
“My TV just shut down,” she said. “What am I gonna do now?”
Heidi without True Crime? The world might not survive.
“Hang with Ian.” Imogene was already making her way to the front door.
“What?” he said.
“Just stay here for a minute. Merk. Move it.” Celia noticed Imogene took the garden shears with her.
She leaned up on her toes and kissed Ian’s cheek. He smelled like spicy aftershave. “Be right back. Stay here.”
Outside, they inched beneath the overhang to avoid getting soaked through and through. As usual, the door to Celia’s apartment wasn’t locked, and it was silent inside—as far as she could tell. The rain now sounded like a hammer pounding stakes through the ceiling.
“Imogene, what are we doing?”
“Investigating.” She leaned the shears by the front door and walked to the kitchen.
“You’re not investigating. You’re drinking their blood.”
“So? The electricity is out. It’s just gonna go bad.”
Celia couldn’t argue there. She followed Imogene into the darkened kitchen and caught a bag of flying A-positive right in the face.
Imogene jumped on the counter and slurped. Celia was impressed her friend could be so acrobatic in stilettos. “Wonder where they are,” she said.
“Probably killing a bunch of people.”
“Mm.” She nodded. “This is some seriously good shit. Danny must have paid extra.”
“Again, how?” Celia unscrewed the top of her blood bag. “They don’t have any money.”
She shrugged, and thunder shook the apartment. Over the sound of the storm, Celia heard her front door open and smelled Ian.
Imogene leapt from the counter. “You told him to stay put.”
They stepped around the corner, and Ian stood in the doorway. Outside, the rain came in sideways and soaked his jeans. He took rapid, stuttering steps to keep from tripping as he was shoved through the doorframe. Only then did Celia realize he wasn’t alone. In fact, there was a whole mini-mob on her front porch.
Danny was behind Ian in a black suit, similarly sodden, with one of Ian’s kitchen knives in his hand. He shoved Ian’s back hard against Celia’s entertainment center, which sent a half-dozen VHS tapes skittering across the stained floor. Celia went to move, but Imogene’s hand stopped her, because blood dealer Steve came in next, wearing hospital scrubs. He held their ax in one hand, Ian’s X-Files flashlight in the other. Vixen followed the midget, who placed Ian’s flashlight on Celia’s coffee table.
“Bitch is wearing one of our ponchos,” Imogene said, but Vixen didn’t look like she heard. In fact, Vixen looked like she’d popped sixteen acid pills and called it a day—and she was covered in blood. They were all covered in blood, except Ian and Heidi, who weaved inside in her cat puke robe, obviously glamoured, and sat on Celia’s couch. Her blond wig was sideways and, due to the rain, closely resembled a dead animal with a bad perm.
“Hey, Red.” Danny used one hand to push the wet, dark hair off his forehead. He kept his other hand wrapped tightly around the kitchen knife pressed to Ian’s throat.
“Don’t call me that,” Celia said.
“You must be the angry midget,” Imogene snarled. “Steve.”
The light from the flashlight reflected off the ceiling and made him glow. Steve looked at her with black eyes and blood on his chin. “You must be the purple-haired glamour goddess. Heard you can glamour people from ten feet away.”
“I can do a lot more than that…”
“Enough!” Danny shouted over the storm.
Vixen walked barefoot on shaky ankles to Celia’s chair and sat down. She hugged her knees and rocked forward and back.
Celia stared at her. “How much blood has she had?”
“Gee, I don’t know, baby. How many neighbors did you have?”
“You killed all my neighbors?”
Danny’s fangs were stained red. “Except her. Since you’re so buddy-buddy with the landlady, thought you’d want to watch us do her.”
Celia glanced at Heidi, then at Ian, who despite the knife at his neck, seemed incredibly calm.
“Sit.” Danny nodded to the couch, and when the girls didn’t move, he pushed the knife against Ian’s throat until Ian pressed his lips together and closed his eyes.
“Okay!” Celia grabbed onto Imogene’s arm and pulled her along. They sat on either side of Heidi, who didn’t acknowledge their presence but just stared straight ahead with glazed, drunken eyes.
Steve kept his black eyes trained on them as he said, “Let’s taste the goods.”
God, no. Celia knew what that meant. “Wait—”
“Relax, baby.” Danny winked. “Just a little sample. And I wouldn’t make any sudden moves or I’ll cut his throat.”
“If you bite me,” Ian said, “I will tear your teeth o
ut with my bare hands.”
Danny smacked Ian’s cheek teasingly.
Steve smirked. “I like your pretty human. Hopefully, he’ll stay alive long enough for us to have some fun.” He took hold of the front of Ian’s shirt and tugged until all the buttons flew loose. Celia’s usual feeding spot was revealed, and Steve pushed his thumb against the remnants of an old bite mark, to the left of Ian’s nipple. “I’d go for his chest, too.” Steve sneered.
Celia felt rage like she’d never felt before. Sure, she’d once beat the shit out of Vixen. But in that moment, she literally thought she might be able to decapitate Danny and Steve in one fell swoop, with mind power alone, especially when Danny slashed the knife across Ian’s chest.
It was a small seam, maybe two inches from left to right, but Ian winced, which made Celia call his name. A drop of blood dribbled between his pecs, and midget Steve leaned forward, licked. Danny licked the knife in his hand, and they nodded.
“That is the berries.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Steve said.
Meanwhile, at the smell of fresh, expensive, human blood, Vixen covered her ears and shook her head.
Imogene leaned against the opposite arm of Celia’s couch. “Dude, what’s wrong with your girl?”
Danny looked at her. “She’s just OD-ing a little. She’ll be fine.”
Celia kept her eyes trained on Ian, whose eyes found hers. In the tint of the flashlight, his cheekbones looked like jagged cliffs. His eyebrows wrinkled together, but he smiled softly, as if reassuring her everything was all right—except everything was not all right.
“What are you going to do?” Celia said.
“Well, we’re going to kill you and the bearcat and make your boyfriend a blood slave.” Danny nodded to the ax in Steve’s short-fingered hands. “Thanks for buying an ax. It’ll make it easier to chop off your heads.”
“You will never get close enough to touch my head,” Imogene said.
Danny handed the knife to Steve who happily pressed it against Ian’s Adam’s apple. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, bearcat, but I’m older, stronger, and faster than you.”
“Bring it, old man.”
Bite Somebody Page 22