by T. W. Brown
“Hey!” I snapped my fingers in front of her face. “That was yesterday. Just like that baby, you have a fresh slate in your life…starting today.”
I admit that was a pretty lame pep speech. I mean, it was no Braveheart soliloquy, but I was going off the cuff here.
“I don’t know what kind of life you were living before,” I put my arms around Lisa and she didn’t even flinch, “but it can change starting today. Look at me. I was a divorced, childless waitress who wasn’t even missed when I didn’t show up for work for like three…now four…days! We have no place to go but up!”
“So what’s your plan?” Lisa sniffled, her voice muffled from her face being smushed into my shoulder.
That was a good question. What was my plan? The whole memoire thing would be fun, but my life—if you take out the whole part about my having died and come back as a ghoul—had been fairly uninteresting up to this point. I had to do something worth writing about.
“We could be detectives,” I offered.
“Really?” Lisa sounded skeptical and pushed away from me, wiping her eyes. “And just what do you know about being a detective? Don’t you need some sort of license?”
I had no idea. And she was right. I was pretty sure I’d be a terrible detective. When I watched any of the numerous crime-drama shows on television, I never figured out whodunit until the climactic reveal at the end. In fact, I usually bought into whatever misdirection they used to implicate somebody completely innocent. Nope, being a private detective was probably not a good idea.
“Well…we don’t have to figure it all out today do we?” I asked, trying not to sound hopeless.
“True,” Lisa agreed. “Besides, you should probably try to figure out what being a ghoul is all about. That Morgan lady wasn’t very helpful.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Like…how often do you need to eat? And didn’t you ask about animals?”
“Yeah!” I exclaimed. “Although I can smell varying degrees—at least in people.”
“Huh?”
So I explained how things smelled to me and how, when somebody was maybe dying that I could smell that, too. That led to me explaining how I’d found her. To her credit, Lisa listened and didn’t cry or anything as I explained about finding Miracle Baby. She did get a funny look on her face when I told her how I trailed her by scent. Of course, now she didn’t have anything beyond what I would come to recognize as the normal death-by-aging smell.
“Then let’s go outside,” Lisa got up and went into my room to get her coat. “How hard can it be to find a little road kill?”
We went outside and wandered the streets for a couple of hours. I probably should’ve figured it out for myself based on that. Nope…animals—at least as far as dogs, cats, squirrels, possums, skunks, and the biggest raccoon I’ve ever seen—don’t do a thing for me.
However, I did run across this old woman, at least I think it was an old woman, pushing a rickety shopping cart who was probably a chilly night away from being dinner. She smelled so delicious that I went all shark mouth, and she was across the street and two blocks ahead going in the opposite direction.
It was during this little outing that Lisa and I first met somebody who would become my nemesis for life…err…afterlife. You know what I mean. Her name is Belinda Yates, and she is a vampire.
We’d just finished wandering aimlessly in search of road kill. Lisa wasn’t feeling all that great; probably a mix of just having a baby without proper medical care and not eating. She got all stumbly and staggery and then started slurring her words a bit. I couldn’t help but feel just a little responsible. She should’ve been back at my place resting.
It was late, so we ducked inside a twenty-four hour Safeway. Since I was wearing sunglasses and a coat, I hoped I wouldn’t stand out too much. We grabbed a loaf of bread, some generic peanut butter, (Hey, I’m not made of money…this was before I came into all that cash, but that’s a story for another time) and a box of super-duper maxi pads.
I ran my debit card through the thingy and held my breath. Yay! I still had money in my account! Lisa grabbed a pad and convinced the kid working the register that it was in his best interest to let her use the bathroom despite their “off-limits” policy between the hours of midnight and 5 a.m. Something to do with how she would be dripping blood on his freshly waxed floor. Of course, she was also waving the pad in the boy’s face. Young guys are so squeamish when it comes to women’s bodily functions.
That reminds me of this time I was on a date with this hunky mechanic. He took me to see a professional baseball game up in Seattle. We were having fun, enjoying the Sunday afternoon sun and a frosty cold beer. I’d taken a fairly large swallow and…well...beer has bubbles. I still recall the look on his face after I let loose with this boilermaker-sized belch. I spent the rest of the game wondering if it would’ve been better had I puked on his shoes…but I’m rambling.
So I was sitting on a stack of dog food waiting for Lisa when I smelled it. The best comparison I can think of is that it was like smelling this yummy chocolate cake frosted with the goo that builds up in the bottom of your kitchen garbage can.
I noticed that the cashier had gone strangely slack-jawed. He was staring straight ahead at nothing. When I looked up from reading the curious ingredients of the particular bag of dog food I was using as a chair, she was standing right in front of me. It was weird because I hadn’t seen a thing or even heard her with my super-duper hearing.
“What are you?” the silky voice of a phone-sex operator whispered.
I looked up at the most disgustingly beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I mean this girl would make those Victoria’s Secret runway models seem plain and frumpy. All this and she was dressed in jeans and a GLEE tee shirt. Her impossibly blonde hair was in braids that hung past her shoulders in a sexy-schoolgirl look, and she was staring at me with wide, blue eyes. She had that look about her that screamed “unattainable” and “Hey, mister, I’ll let you touch my naughty places if you buy me something sparkly!” at the same time. If you aren’t sure just exactly what I mean, then catch one of those tabloid television shows the next time they run footage of the most recent “girlfriend” of Hugh Heffner. Seriously, what eighteen to twenty-two-year-old girl doesn’t dream of jumping in the sack with her great-grandpa? There I go…rambling again.
So, this absolutely gorgeous girl who doesn’t look like she can be old enough to vote is looking down at me like I’m something she almost stepped in. I get over my surprise of being snuck up on, glance at the clerk who now has a long stand of drool hanging from his chin, then back up at the expressionless face that was starting to show hints of confusion around the edges.
“I,” I pulled my glasses off and fixed her with my shiny black orbs, “am a ghoul. And you…” I made an over exaggerated sniff her direction, “…stink.” That was probably the moment any chance we had of being friends went bye-bye.
“Well…” she let her little fangs pop out, “I’ve never actually met one of those,” she said, making it sound like I was, in fact, something she’d barely avoided stepping in.
“That makes us even,” I stayed calm, but I felt my fingers and toes tingle. I saw her eyebrows twitch just a bit which I’ve discovered is the equivalent of total astonishment on a vamp. Funny thing about vampires, they look like heavily-Botoxed has-been Hollywood stars. I met this one guy…so fat that his chins had double chins, but he was a vamp, and his face looked so freaky. But that’s a story for another time, back to the Bitch-in-blue jeans.
“Is it true you eat the dead?” There she went again, sounding so freakin’ superior.
“Is it true that you suck?” Not overly witty or clever, but I was not quite on my game yet.
“I assume you’ve met Morgan.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yep.”
“Well…my name is Belinda Yates and I am the Queen of the Kiss here in Portland. You might just come in handy.
“Handy?”
“Ava, do we have enough for a so—” and her voice just stopped.
I peeked around Belinda, trying not to notice or feel just a hint of jealousy at how perfect her butt looked in her jeans. So not fair! Lisa was about four steps up the aisle and was frozen with her mouth open and the same stupid look on her face that the drooling clerk had.
“Excuse me?” I glanced up at Belinda, prepared to ask her if she knew what in the hell just happened. That’s when she vanished…sort of. The next thing I know, she’s standing way over by Lisa—behind her actually—sniffing her like she was a rose.
“Hey!” I called, getting up off my throne of bagged doggie chow. Belinda looked up, her mouth open to fully reveal her fangs.
“Yes?” she didn’t really seem to speak, but I heard her just as clear as when she was standing right in front of me.
“Were you thinking of taking a bite out of my friend?
“This…thing is a friend of yours?” If she’d been looking at and treating me like I was a big pile of poo, she seemed to think even less of Lisa.
“That girl,” I said, flexing my claws a bit, “is Lisa Jenkins…and yes, she is a friend of mine.”
“I thought you said you met Morgan.” Belinda stood up and quit sniffing Lisa’s neck.
“I did.”
“Then you know the undead don’t have friends.”
“She wasn’t all that helpful,” I said with a shrug, but I thought I remembered some snarky little remark about me not having any friends.
“Listen, ghoul,” there she went again with the snotty attitude, “I smelled something and found…this.” She plucked at Lisa’s sleeve. “What say I drain what’s left?” Belinda sniffed Lisa again. “She’s running a bit low anyway. Then you can gobble down the left overs.”
Then it hit me. The smell. It was pouring off of Lisa. Hmmm. So proximity to a deadly situation causes the smell. That might even have some practical uses.
“Mrymph shnrill zrgun.” Dammit! Stupid shark mouth. I tried to focus my smell the same way I did my hearing and tweak it over a few inches to chocolate cake and garbage scum—that would be Belinda by the way.
“Ooo, look who’s a hungry girl!” Belinda moved back over so she could lean in and close her chompers on Lisa’s neck.
“Actually,” I said after wiping a bucket of drool from my mouth with the back of my coat sleeve, “I was saying that if you bite her, I will make it my personal goal to eat you…no matter how foul you may smell.”
There was that eyebrow twitch. The day would come when that would scare me, but now I just didn’t see it as any big deal. My claws were still out—literally and figuratively—and I took a step or two forward…which put me just out of arm’s reach of the stuck up little vampire bitch.
“Fine,” Belinda sniffed and stepped away. I thought for a moment that she was gonna throw a tantrum right then and there. “But I will be speaking with Morgan. And I don’t think she’ll take kindly to a mortal being privy to our world.”
And that quick, she was gone. Seriously. One blink and nothing. Well, nothing but her lingering and unpleasant odor.
“Nobody likes a tattletale,” I grumped.
“Huh?” Lisa shook her head a few times and then focused on me.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Fine,” Lisa said with a shrug. “Why?”
“Ummm…the vampire?”
“What vampire?”
Great, I thought. I glanced back at the clerk and felt a tug on my sleeve.
“Ava…glasses.”
Ooops. I put them on very casually with my back turned and then took Lisa by the elbow. “Time to go home,” I said.
And that’s exactly what we did. Over the next twelve years, I would meet plenty more vampires, piss off Morgan about a jillion times, and learn to really hate Belinda. But…those are stories for another time. All you really need to know is that I’m a ghoul, my name is Ava, and Lisa Jenkins is my best friend in the world.
That Ghoul Ava
and the Rogue Vampire
“Because you’re broke, that’s why.” Morgan glanced at my “I Hate Cats” coffee mug like it was filled with puréed crap. Well excuse the hell out of me for not having anything better than instant. As it was, I’d splurged and bought the kind with Flavor Crystals, so she should be grateful.
“She’s right you know,” Lisa chimed in. Super, my roomy and only friend was taking sides with Morgan-the-psychic-bitch and current pain in my ass. I shot a nasty glance Lisa’s way, but she pretended not to notice.
“Okay,” I nodded, “I’m broke. Does that mean I have to hunt down some crazy vampire with an improper taste for human blood?” Those last few words, I tried to imitate the snooty way Morgan had spoken when describing this little problem that seemed to be a danger to the entire supernatural population of Portland.
“You are the newest to the ranks,” Morgan shrugged, “and thus, in your probationary period.” She folded her hands on my table and leaned forward like a banker about to tell you that he was foreclosing on your house. “And you aren’t starting off on a very good foot.”
That last remark was undoubtedly the result of Belinda being a big-mouthed tattletale. You see, Morgan is the Psychic of Portland. Not the kind you call and pay by the minute so they can lie to you about generalities that they pluck from things you unwittingly reveal to them; and not the kind with a neon sign hanging in her window. Morgan is a true psychic that can sense every supernatural being in her district. As for Belinda, she is a slutty little vampire that uses her jailbait looks to entice her victims. We don’t get along.
“So...what am I supposed to do?” I asked.
“Do I really need to explain it to you?” Morgan huffed and pushed the coffee cup away with obvious, and in my opinion, rather rude disgust.
Obviously, I thought. “Please, just so I am clear,” is what I said with my outside voice.
“Find this crazy vampire and eliminate it.”
“You mean kill it?” Who the hell does she think I am, Buffy?
“That seems the most preferable choice.” There was that I’m-talking-to-an-idiot voice again.
“Wouldn’t you be better off sending somebody who knew what they were doing?” I asked. “And besides, you’re the all-powerful, all-knowing psychic. Why don’t you just use your locating ability, or whatever it is you do, and stake the bad guy in the middle of the day?”
I’d felt the sun on my skin once. It wasn’t something I would be doing again...ever. At least not by choice. It was like grabbing a pan of fish sticks from the oven without using a mitt. That meant I would be going after a vampire…at night. That didn’t seem like any fun at all.
“This vampire did not turn in my district,” Morgan said like that explained everything. The blank look on my face made it pretty clear that I still wasn’t getting it. “I do not have its signature imprinted in my mind. I do not have any idea where it came from, so I cannot contact whomever runs its home district and ask for an imprint exchange.”
“Uh-huh.” She might as well be explaining the Theory of Relativity for all the sense that made to me.
“So psychics receive some sort of mental fingerprint whenever somebody flips the supernatural switch in their...territory?” Lisa piped up from the kitchen where she pretended to be doing the dishes. Lisa Jenkins is my best friend and a completely normal human. Err...mortal; whatever we’re supposed to call regular, warm-blooded, non-monsters…that is Lisa Jenkins.
Lisa is seventeen and recently liberated from her pedophile boyfriend by way of my digestive system. After giving birth to a baby and forced to abandon it in a garbage can a few weeks earlier, she was now my roomie. Oh yeah, and the baby is fine and being adopted by a wealthy family from Wilsonville.
“Perhaps you should be who I talk to when come.” Morgan turned her gaze to the petite blonde in the kitchen. Geez, just a few weeks and already the baby weight was almost gone; of course, our being broke and barely able to buy groceries might have something to do with it.
“Excuse me,” I snapped. “Sitting right here.”
“To answer your question,” Morgan continued to ignore me, “while somewhat crude in your understandings…” she paused long enough to flick her eyes at me, then back to Lisa, “…that is basically the idea. Supernatural beings give off a very distinct vibration when they first turn or change. The psychic responsible for that area feels it instantly. From that day forward, the psychic can tap into that vibration and locate the being.”
“What lets you exchange information with other psychics?” Lisa blurted. “You said that another psychic could…transfer information to you.”
“That is beyond your ability to really and truly understand,” Morgan sniffed. I didn’t believe her. I just think Little-Miss-Snooty-Britches enjoys feeling superior.
“What about if something turns and there is nobody...no psychic...in the district? Or what if the psychic dies—”
“Enough!” Morgan barked.
Ooo, somebody is menstrual. Wait…did supernaturals menstruate?
“I am not here to answer questions.” Morgan quickly recovered her composure. “I have offered you a job that will pay nicely. Will you take it or not?”
I glanced into the kitchen as Lisa opened an almost empty cupboard and considered which flavor of Top Ramen would be dinner. I sighed and looked back at Morgan who wasn’t even trying to hide her smirk.
“Do I really have a choice?” I asked.
***
“I am serious, Lisa,” I scolded. “I don’t want you our here when that fanged tramp shows up.” I popped Cinderella’s Night Songs CD into my stereo. “I still don’t know exactly what vampires can do for real. All I’ve ever read was Anne Rice and seen that Keanu Reeves movie.”