Bite Somebody

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  “Wait! Just stop.” Celia tried to sound commanding. “Money. You want money, right? I have money.”

  “Had money, baby.” Danny used his hands to style his hair. “Vixen and I spent all of it on blood and booze.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “The four hundred in your kitchen.” He gestured with his arms. “The couple thousand clams under your mattress. We spent it. It’s gone.”

  Celia shook her head and continued. “There’s more. Lots more. A little less than two million.”

  Danny put his hands on his slim hips, and although she couldn’t hear him over the thunder, she saw him mouth the words, “Bullshit.”

  “Really. I inherited it from my parents’ life insurance.”

  Danny stood there, considering. He glanced back at Steve. “How much can we make off tall drink of water?”

  “Depends on how long he stays alive.” Steve licked Ian’s chest again.

  “Your best guess.”

  “However long he stays alive, it takes work to sell blood, right?” Celia shouted. “I can just give you the money, free and clear. And you can let Ian go.”

  Danny started to pace. He had his hand on his chin. “Two mill,” he muttered.

  Celia looked at Imogene and noticed her eyes danced back and forth between Ian and the wall by the front door—Ian, wall, Ian, wall. Then, Celia saw what she was looking at, the garden shears. Celia wanted to say no—hell, no—not with a knife against Ian’s skin, but Steve didn’t have the knife on Ian’s skin anymore. Steve was too busy licking Celia’s boyfriend to remember the knife. She sort of shuddered, but Ian was the one whose long fingers clawed at the wall behind him. Maybe if Imogene took care of Steve, Celia could at least tackle Danny, cause a diversion, get the ax, and chop-chop. She thought it would probably be just two against two; Vixen didn’t look like she would put up a fight. Yes, it could work, but then Danny kicked the bedroom door open playfully and spun around.

  “You know, I think I’ll take Ian.”

  There was no way Celia was going to let that happen. She no longer wondered whether or not she could kill someone; nope, Celia Merkin knew with certainty that murder was the order of the night, and she was willing to lose a limb if only to save Ian’s life.

  She nodded at Imogene and exploded. She let out a frightful battle cry and shot forward from her seat. Her body literally left the ground, and she soared like Superman, arms extended, in the direction of her shocked maker, who took several steps back to escape her vicious clutches.

  But before she could reach him, there was a voice, a familiar voice, from the darkness of Celia’s bedroom. “Skipper,” the voice said, which made an already unsteady Danny spin around and catch a samurai sword to the throat. Celia landed on her stomach on the stained carpet and watched with glee as Danny’s head flew through the air and landed like a rain-soaked beanbag on her coffee table.

  She heard a loud snip to her left and turned. A shower of blood covered Ian’s face as Steve’s little midget noggin went the way of a dandelion head, followed by a fountain of blood that covered her boyfriend, their newly purchased garden shears, and Imogene. Blood even spurted up and hit the ceiling.

  Once Steve’s corpse joined Danny’s on the floor, Imogene wiped her face with the back of her arm and said, “That was way messier than I expected.”

  Surprisingly, Ian didn’t vomit. He just stood there with his eyes closed.

  Celia sprung up, pointed her finger right in Danny’s dead face, and shouted, “Big mistake! Big! Huge!” Then she puked.

  Heidi sat up straight, looked around, and said, “You’re never getting your deposit back.”

  Then, Dr. Rayna Savage and Dean the human stepped out of Celia’s bedroom and joined their party.

  “What…the…fuck…” Celia muttered through dry heaves.

  As the storm calmed outside, Celia’s therapist rearranged them on pieces of furniture. She put Vixen in Celia’s bedroom, because the girl was so far gone, she didn’t even notice Danny was dead. Heidi took her seat, and Dean handed Ian a towel and guided him to the couch next to Celia. Dean was also thoughtful enough to cover both decapitated heads with additional towels from Celia’s bathroom, which was nice, since Danny staring at Celia without his body was kind of disconcerting, especially in the dark.

  Ian put his hand on Celia’s knee. “How bad do I look?”

  He looked like he’d just gutted a grizzly bear. “Not bad,” she said.

  Imogene refused to let go of her garden shears. Blood coated her face, neck, and even tinted the edges of her hair. “Who the hell are you people?”

  “Imogene.” Celia cleared her throat. “This is my therapist, Dr. Rayna Savage.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Imogene.”

  Imogene didn’t take Dr. Savage’s outstretched hand. “Is that a samurai sword?”

  “Yes, it’s my weapon of choice.”

  Imogene looked at the headless bodies on the floor, and then at Celia. “What the fuck is going on here, Merk?”

  “I really have no idea.”

  “I do,” Heidi hissed. “You’re making a damn mess of my property.”

  Celia sighed.

  Imogene gestured with the garden shears. “Why the fuck does your therapist look like Trinity from The Matrix?”

  She really did. Her hair was pulled back in a brutal bun, and she was in head-to-toe skintight leather. Dean didn’t look much different. He was Keanu Reeves to her Carrie-Ann Moss. All they were missing were the Ray-Bans.

  “Imogene, will you please sit down?” Dr. Savage said. “I’d like to explain.”

  Imogene huffed and stomped to the kitchen, almost knocking both Dean and Dr. Savage over in the process. She came back with two bags full of blood and sat on the arm of Celia’s couch to slurp.

  “How can you eat right now?” Celia asked.

  “How can you not?”

  That was when Dr. Savage—if that was her real name—started talking. Apparently, Danny’s real name was Skipper Penrod.

  Imogene snickered. “I would have changed my name, too.” Slurp, slurp.

  “I was born to darkness in the early 1800s after having lost my husband to tuberculosis. I was nothing but a naïve young woman, so when I was turned, I went a little…” Dr. Savage frowned. “Crazy. I killed a lot of people.” Dean put his hand on her shoulder. “Then, I met an older vampire, Monroe, who taught me how to control my tendencies. I only turned one human, ever.”

  “Danny,” Ian said.

  “I met Skipper in New York City in 1925,” she explained. “He was a young man from a poor family near Tin Pan Alley; I was a psychology student at Cornell. We met at a jazz club, and well, one thing led to another…He really liked red hair.”

  “You don’t have red hair,” Celia said.

  “I do. I dye it.” Dr. Savage smiled.

  Celia stared at her.

  “I feel the dark hair makes me look more professional.” She pressed her lips together. “Skipper and I had a true connection. He was very dependent on me, loving, sweet.”

  “Huh?” Celia gawked at the well-dressed headless corpse at her feet.

  “Well, he changed. I was very wealthy, and he became obsessed with money. He swore he would never be poor again. He also had infidelity issues.”

  “No way.” Imogene slurped.

  “Skipper and I grew apart and eventually lost touch. I hadn’t thought about him in decades. Then the word came that humans were ending up dead. It started in New Orleans, then New York, Vegas. Then, here, in Lazaret, of all places.”

  “You knew it was Danny,” Celia said. “Skipper.”

  “I suspected as much, as most of the victims were redheads.”

  Celia gulped.

  “Then, in our session, Celia, you started talking about Danny, and…” She shrugged. Celia would have felt so much better if she’d had on her wire rims so she could give her the “probing therapist look.”

  “What’s with the samurai swor
d?” Imogene tossed her empty bag on Steve’s dead body.

  “Oh, I’m a hunter.” Dr. Savage looked at Dean. “We both are. We met at a conference.”

  “What the hell kind of conference?”

  “For slayers. There’s one every year in Miami.”

  “You kill vampires?” Ian put his arm around Celia. “But, Dr. Savage, you are a vampire.”

  “We kill bad vampires,” Dean said. “And sorry I couldn’t be straight with you when you asked about assassins, man. We like to keep a low profile.”

  Ian nodded. “No hard feelings,” he muttered.

  “Vampires are not allowed to kill humans anymore, Ian,” Dr. Savage said. “It’s the modern age. We consider ourselves to be civilized.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “Be honest, how much blood do I have on my face?”

  “A bit.”

  Ian excused himself and headed for the bathroom, where Celia promptly heard him hurl.

  “So part of your job,” Celia said, “when you’re not being a therapist…you hunt bad vampires?”

  “Yes, although I do believe in therapy. I don’t want you to think you should stop your sessions.”

  Imogene chuckled.

  Celia eyed the mess on her floor. “What do we do with the bodies?”

  Heidi spoke. “Oh, honey.” Celia had forgotten she was even there. She pulled off her blond wig to reveal short, spikey, brown hair. “It’s not hard to get rid of a body.”

  Dr. Savage extended her manicured hand. “I’m sorry, you are?”

  Heidi shook her hand, twice. “The landlady. I ran into one of your kind over in Texas once. Had a hell of a time in the sack.”

  Imogene laughed like Butthead but stopped abruptly. “Shit, I have two dead humans in my trunk.” Before Dr. Savage could reach for her sword, Imogene continued, “Danny and Vixen’s mess. They left the bodies on the beach.”

  “Oh,” Celia said, “and they murdered all my neighbors.”

  Heidi rolled her eyes. “There goes the neighborhood.”

  “Literally,” Imogene said.

  Dean nodded. “That could be a problem.”

  “Which part?” Celia asked. She really had no idea.

  “Well, vampires are easy to get rid of. We just leave them on a roof and wait for sunrise. They’ll burn up like firewood.”

  Celia was glad Ian wasn’t back to hear that.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Heidi said.

  They all turned to stare at her landlady.

  She sighed. “Go get that handsome, sensitive boy from the bathroom and buy him a drink. Drift Inn should be hopping about now.”

  Celia stood. “But Heidi—”

  “No buts, young lady. Or whatever you are. Don’t worry about me; I can handle myself.” She kicked her slipper against Danny’s shoulder. “Are you taking care of them, doc?”

  “Gladly.” Dr. Savage smiled. “It’s been very nice to meet you, Heidi.”

  Heidi grumbled.

  Celia sent Dean to the bathroom to take care of Ian as Imogene and Celia went to her car and dragged the now rotten bodies from her trunk and up to the apartments. They didn’t have to worry about neighbors, because all Celia’s neighbors were dead. The smell of fresh meat spun over the Sleeping Gull Apartments like a hurricane. The literal storm had passed, though. The sky was already clear, littered with silver stars.

  As they walked back up on the porch, Imogene grabbed Celia’s arm. “What the hell is Heidi gonna do?”

  “Do you really want to ask her?”

  Imogene stuck out her bottom lip and wrinkled one eye. “No, I guess not. Drift Inn?”

  The group parted ways. Dean and Dr. Savage tossed all remnants of dead vampire into the back of their SUV. The trunk was covered in thick plastic. They were obviously professionals. They took Vixen with them—not to kill her; Dr. Savage said she wanted to “rehabilitate” the newbie vamp, just like Monroe had done for her all those years ago. Celia was all too happy to see the stripper go.

  Ian went to his place and changed his shirt. He’d managed to wash all the blood from his face, but honestly, the last thing he looked like he needed was a drink. He was green as a mint sprig, which made Celia hug him until he couldn’t breathe. He finally gasped “Celia,” and she let go.

  As they pulled away in Imogene’s convertible, Heidi stood in the darkness and waved.

  The Drift Inn was packed with stinky-smelling beach goers, half-homeless beach bums, and alcoholics. The usual bartender, angry Santa Claus, was there with a shirt that read “Poop,” in white letters. Imogene used her powers of persuasion to get them three double pours of Jameson’s. She had on one of Celia’s t-shirts (way too big) to cover her blood-soaked dress. Although she’d washed her face, Celia could still smell blood in her friend’s purple hair.

  “Well,” Imogene said.

  Ian did the full double shot. “Problem solved.”

  Celia giggled, but then covered her mouth. It was not the time for laughter. Or was it?

  Imogene did her usual Butthead chortle, and Ian was soon laughing so hard, salty tears pooled beneath his bright blue eyes. He laughed until he went silent, and the silent laugh meant he was hysterical, unable to stop. Celia put her arm around him and soon felt Imogene’s arm over hers. They leaned together in a three-way hug until their collective laughter shook the barstools and earned them a suspicious glare from angry Santa.

  They rolled like tumbleweed down the rabbit hole of inebriation.

  Hours later, Imogene drove them back to the Sleeping Gull Apartments on Admiral Key. They were about a block away when they noticed the light. If Imogene’s car clock hadn’t read 2:30, Celia might have thought the sun was coming up. Then, they pulled into the parking lot and realized both rows of apartments were on fire.

  They all climbed out and stood, staring. There was no fire truck yet, although they heard sirens in the distance. Imogene weaved on her feet, and Ian’s mouth hung open.

  Then Celia remembered. “Your Star Wars action figures…”

  Ian blinked and looked down at her. He looked at her for a long time before he reached out and put his arm around her shoulders. He kissed her forehead and held her tight.

  They had to step back when the fire truck arrived. The fire was fought, but the fire won. Their apartments were heaps of black, smoking rubble. There were cops there, too, who asked them questions. Ian explained they were tenants but had been out for the night. That was when they got the bad news—Bloody Betty had murdered all their neighbors. They didn’t have to feign shock, because who the hell was Bloody Betty?

  “Don’t you ever watch True Crime?” the detective asked. He looked like an extra from Miami Vice. “Bloody Betty is one of the most prolific Black Widows in history. She’s killed at least four husbands. A few others have gone missing, but she’s never pulled anything like this. She’s obviously escalating, and now, she’s on the move again. She wears a wig to hide her identity.” He leaned in close. “You’re all very lucky you weren’t home this evening, let me tell you.”

  Ian threw up a bottle of whiskey in the nearest bush.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She licked her name across Ian’s lower abdomen and listened to him eat a slice of cold pizza. They were in the most expensive hotel in Lazaret—because they could. They were also on the floor, because the king-sized bed just hadn’t been enough space for their sexing.

  After getting the nod from the cops that they could leave the Sleeping Gull, they requested Imogene drive them to the Chantelle: a rich bitch hotel with crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and signed pictures of famous people in the bar—plus really heavy-duty velvet curtains in all the rooms. It would be such a bummer to go up in flames after all they’d gone through with Danny.

  First, though, they picked up pizza at a twenty-four-hour joint near the beach, because Ian was starving and because Celia liked the smell of pizza.

  Following a delicious bath in a swimming pool-sized basin in their suite, Celia
attacked her boyfriend sexually. Through all the chaos and fear of losing him forever, she’d gotten all kinds of horny. They did it in the bathroom and on the couch. They did it in bed until they fell out of bed and kept doing it on the floor. They did it until Ian couldn’t do it anymore. Even then, Celia kept touching him and licking him.

  God, she loved her Ian.

  Celia’s fangs never once went boing. Somehow, she’d transcended the blood lust without a Ralph. She could smell the fresh knife wound on Ian’s chest. She could hear his heartbeat. But it was just about love, intimacy, and orgasms. It was all about Ian being alive.

  She licked his left nipple, salty from sex sweat. She heard him swallow another bite of pizza with pepperoni and black olives. She took a deep breath of pizza, Ian, and sex. She moaned.

  He put his hand in her hair. For a guy with two fingers taped together (his pinkie still wasn’t fully healed), he could still do amazing things with his digits. “Do you want to move in together?”

  She lifted her head and looked at him. His black hair was soaked with sweat. His blue eyes were turning red around the edges from leftover alcohol and exhaustion. He was freckly and tan, despite his newly realized nocturnal tendencies. He was her Ian, and she smiled like a fool when she caught the scent of woodsy BO.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “I mean we already kind of were.”

  She touched his lips. “Yeah.”

  “Can we find another place on the beach?”

  “I would accept nothing less.” She smiled and ran her fingertips over his cheekbones.

  His eyes slid shut. “Celia, can we go to bed soon?”

  “Yeah.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

  He started snoring, piece of pizza still in-hand.

  Celia got up and turned off the chandelier. She removed the pizza from Ian’s hand and curled against his body like a cat. In his sleep, he put his arm around her and pulled her tight against his chest. As she was about to nod off, Celia heard his slurred whisper. “Mermaid.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When Ian’s parents heard about the fire, they threatened to rush to their son’s aid and bring him anything and everything he’d ever left at his childhood home in Panama City. He told them to hold off until he and Celia found a place.