by Cate Lawley
I still wasn’t sure what vampirism was: part science, part magic? In any event, it was one hundred percent weird. Because I consumed a greater quantity of supplement shakes, well into the wee hours of the night, than a human body could possibly handle.
I’d been hungry, and the shakes had “stuck,” with the odd exception of chocolate. Chocolate was not a vamp’s friend. Or at least not this vamp’s.
I’d drunk so much I’d managed to fill out my cheeks a little. I’d even accomplished the herculean task of taking the edge off that nasty, aching hunger that seemed to have taken up residence in my gut.
And then I’d slept like the dead. An unfortunate turn of phrase, perhaps, but the one that came to mind at eight thirty when I was awoken by a pounding on my apartment door.
I blinked blearily and couldn’t even stir up an ounce of shame over the strewn glasses, bags of donation clothing, and oddly placed boxes throughout the room. If you knocked on my door without warning, you deserved an eyeful of chaos.
I rolled out of bed surprisingly limber and completely ache-free. The day was looking up. I glanced down at my nightwear. The kids’ T-shirt I’d picked up the night before had seemed appropriate at the time—and it had fit. In the light of the day, the giant mouse hugged my barely A-cup breasts in a somewhat salacious and completely inappropriate way. But it still made me want to do a little dance. I didn’t have any boobs at all yesterday.
Maybe I wouldn’t waste away into nothingness after all.
I glanced to make sure I had bottoms on—check—and opened the front door.
A tall guy with a little bit of dark scruff stood in the doorway. He had broad shoulders, but just normal-guy broad, not the variety that required hours and hours of dedicated gym time.
“Guy with the hot date. Nuts.” The words tumbled out.
“Yeah, that didn’t go to plan.” He eyed my clothes. “You didn’t answer when I called, so I came on up.”
The security in the building was supposed to be really good. Then again—I was moving, so not quite so troubling. I’d have to mention the issue to Mrs. A, though.
“What was your name? I don’t think I got it last night.” I opened the door wide, inviting him inside.
He took a look around and then walked in. “Is this your usual look?”
“I’m moving. And might have had a little too much caffeine last night.”
He grinned. “I told you about that. Any hallucinations?”
I gave him a squinty-eyed look. “You could have said. But yes. Unless ghosts are a thing, I was hallucinating left and right.”
He tipped his head, neither affirming nor denying the existence of ghosts.
“Nooo.” I crossed my arms. “Spill. Because if Great-Auntie Lula is planning to hang around a lot, I’d prefer to be prepared.”
He examined the room, then said, “No spirits, and I don’t think any ghosts have been in here lately either. I’m Alex.” He extended his hand.
“No ghosts, huh?” I stuck my hand out.
When he shook my hand, I’d swear he flinched. But sometimes when you think the lights are flickering, you just blinked. This was probably the same.
“Who do you work for?” I asked.
“Myself. Do you mind if we chat while you get dressed? Or in the car?” He put his hands in his pockets. “I have some work to do later this afternoon.”
“Ah.” I glanced down at my clothes. Not exactly suitable for an outing. But as luck would have it, in my semi-deranged state the night previous, I’d had the foresight to pick up a few things that fit better than basically every other item of clothing I owned. “What’s the dress for this place?”
Alex had on jeans and a plain, fitted T-shirt, but who knew if that was indicative of appropriate attire. Then again, l didn’t have many options. A wraparound dress or jeans and a T-shirt.
He shrugged. “Whatever you like.”
I went in the bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and generally cleaned myself up. Although it was becoming increasingly clear that vamps didn’t share the same hygiene requirements as humans. I didn’t seem to actually sweat. Bizarre.
Another bizarre fact, intermittent starvation notwithstanding: I still had long, wavy, healthy hair. My skin had changed, but my hair was basically the same. I threw it up in a ponytail, and then dressed in the jeans and T-shirt. A little lipstick, my handy All Stars, and I was ready to go. At least my shoes still fit.
I was energized—but who knew how long that would last.
“Ready,” I said as I popped out of my bedroom.
Alex was speaking quietly on his phone, but hung up as soon as he saw me. Not suspicious at all. “All right. The Society—that’s the Society for the Study of Occult and Paranormal Phenomena—is located in southeast Austin. They have a warehouse space with a small retail front.”
“I’m sorry—the Society…?”
“The Society for the Study of Occult and Paranormal Phenomena. Superficially, it’s a club for hobbyists—but it’s actually the front for an organization that governs the local community.” He held up his keys.
“Sure.” I grabbed my purse and keys. “Oh, I can drive. I have a new car.” I couldn’t help but feel a little chipper about the prospect of sharing my new ride. It gave me a case of the happies to even think about driving it. No idea why—but it did. “Oh, nuts. I need to call the dealership about my other car. I keep falling asleep, and time just gets away from me.”
“I think that’s temporary.” Alex opened the door, not so subtly urging me to hurry.
I was in the hallway, not far from Mrs. A’s door, when I realized I didn’t know what Alex was. I hurried past and then stopped once I’d escaped her peephole view. “If you’re not one of me—what are you?”
“Thief, assassin, wizard—different people have different names for us.” He kept walking.
“But what do you call yourself?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Alex.”
“You had detention a lot as a kid, didn’t you?”
“Basically.” He pushed the elevator button, glanced at her keys, and said, “I’ll drive.”
“Fine, but you’re putting a dent in my happy. I just got a new car.”
He grinned. “A dent in your happy, huh? How about a compromise? I drive, but we can take your new car.”
That was actually pretty decent of him to try to accommodate me. And while the thought of some strange man driving my car would have given me fits not long ago, in the moment, it seemed reasonable enough. I handed him my keys with a smile. “Thank you.”
As we rode the elevator down in that awkward silence that only elevators seemed to promote, my mind started flipping through all of the odds and ends of my changing life. Find a lease management company for the apartment, find a new house, hire movers, change the title of my new car. My job—the thought buzzed through my brain, like a little, irritating mosquito. I should call them today.
I spoke into the abyss of silence. “I think I’m going to quit my job.”
He must have been lost in his own thoughts, because it took him a second to focus on me. “Okay. Any particular reason?”
“Everyone there hates me. And I won’t starve.” I flashed him an insanely bright smile. Because when I said the words, I knew in my bones they were true. I wouldn’t starve. I wouldn’t be without a place to live. I wouldn’t be broke in my old age—if I had one. But most important was the revelation that I didn’t need that job to make my world go ’round. Hallelujah. “Yep. I’ll call today.”
He shifted. “Email.”
“Sorry?”
“You should email. If you’ve been out for a while and don’t have close ties—email is easier.”
“Right. Email it is.”
I saved my questions for the car ride, because the parking lot level teemed with shoppers and other foot traffic. The bottom level of the building was retail—another thing I wouldn’t miss. The suburbs seemed so quiet. So peaceful.
Once we were underway, I asked, “What’s the deal with Anton? He didn’t say two words to me. He could have at least slipped me the secret handshake, hooked me up with a vamp mentor, something.”
“Just to be clear, the vamp you’re meeting today has agreed to speak with you, but I wouldn’t consider him mentor material.”
“That’s okay—I’m just glad for some information. I’m like the little beggar waiting for scraps. This Society isn’t very organized, is it? I mean, I’m running around town with no clue, for all anyone knows ready to blow the lid off vampirism in Austin, and they’re sitting back watching it all happen. Not cool.” I snapped my fingers. “I’d forgotten about the murderous rage thing. Anton had no idea I wasn’t going to bust out in a murderous rage. He gave me a number, just in case I thought I might. Who does that?”
“He did have some idea. He’d met you, hadn’t he? Besides, what do you think he should have done? Detained you illegally? Killed you before you could harm someone because you might?”
“Obviously I don’t think that.” I glanced at him to see if I’d made him angry, but all of his focus was on not hitting pedestrians as he drove through the parking garage.
“That’s how it used to be. It’s better now.”
“I believe you. But that Anton guy still stinks.”
Alex’s lips twitched. “Anton doesn’t particularly like vampires.”
“So he’s definitely not a vampire. What is he, then?”
“Assassin.”
“Wait—he’s like you?”
“Sort of. A little bigger, a little buffer.”
I laughed. “A lot. He really did look like Mr. Clean.”
He played it off like it was nothing, but Mr. Thief-Assassin-Wizard really didn’t like to talk about his particular paranormal or occult leanings—to borrow the Society’s nomenclature.
An unpleasant thought occurred. “Do you like vampires?”
He did glance my way this time. “Not usually.”
“Ugh. Does anyone like vampires?”
Now he was grinning. “Other vampires?”
I huffed out an annoyed breath. I was among the Hated, and this time it wasn’t even my fault. “That nasty little twerp that bit me deserves to be…” I was at a loss. What happened to people in this community who broke the rules?
“That is a death sentence.”
“What—biting me?”
“Oh, no. Vamps need blood to survive. That’s the traditional wisdom. Drinking deep isn’t allowed without the Society’s permission and participation. To screen potential converts and to prepare them.” He merged on the highway. “You are most definitely an accident, and, if caught, your progenitor will be hanged.”
“Progenitor—that’s what the contagious neck-raper who infected me is called?”
Alex cleared his throat. “Neck-raper? You might keep that one to yourself.”
“Progenitor sounds like something from a science experiment. Not something furtive and dirty.”
“Creating a new vamp usually isn’t furtive and dirty—not anymore.” He exited the freeway only a few miles south of downtown. “We’re about seven minutes out.”
“This place isn’t that far from downtown.” I’d been living in the downtown bubble for too long. Austin was broader than the few square miles of governmental buildings, live music venues, and high-rise townhouses that comprised downtown. Turning back to Alex, I couldn’t help notice he was a very nice-looking man. “So tell me about your date.”
He glanced at me, then his eyes turned back to the road. “No.”
“Come on. You said she was hot. Where did you meet her?”
He ignored the question.
“Okay. What about your job—you said you work for yourself.”
Silence.
“I’m going to think your racism is affecting your social skills.”
“Racism?” He’d pulled into an area full of warehouses. “You’re a vamp. That doesn’t change your race.”
Maybe a direct question… “What exactly do you do, working for yourself?”
“When I offered to introduce you, I don’t remember agreeing to a personal interview.”
“Not racist…maybe a misogynist?” I watched and waited for some response. An actual misogynist would probably be pissed.
He smiled. “Okay, if you say so.”
This conversation was proving much less illuminating than I’d hoped.
“And it’s not an interview; it’s called small talk. People do it every day. You should practice a little. A little small talk might get you further on your next hot date.”
His lips twitched up into a cocky smile. “I said the date didn’t go to plan—not that it didn’t go far.”
“Ick. Did you just tell me you got laid? TMI.”
He laughed. “You wanted small talk.” The Jeep came to a halt. “We’re here.”
And indeed we were. The Society for the Study of Occult and Paranormal Phenomena had a huge sign. I blinked and looked again. Not just a sign, but window displays. “Is that fake blood? Please say yes.” I could feel my face squishing up.
“Relax. Completely fake. The real stuff’s in the back.”
“Oh, no. That is so gross. Don’t tell me you have fridges filled with the stuff back there?”
“Okay, I won’t tell you that. Come on—Wembley’s van is here. No telling how long he’s been waiting.”
I hesitated with one foot out of the car. “Didn’t you tell me that no one likes vampires? Should I be worried about meeting this guy?”
“No, not at all. Wembley’s cool.” When I gave him a suspicious look, he shrugged. “He’s the exception. A while ago, his life took a sharp left turn, and he’s been pretty agreeable since then. He’s kind of an odd guy.”
The implication being that I would get along fabulously with him, since I also was a weirdo. Gee whiz—thanks.
9
MY FIRST REAL VAMPIRE EVER
Alex escorted me through a retail area filled with capes, fake fangs, tarot cards, religious votive candles, gemstones, witch hats, green and black hair dye, a display case with crucifixes, and yes—fake blood. He nodded at the cute teenage girl who was manning the register, and she waved back with a besotted smile.
I wasn’t the only one to find something enticing about Alex. Maybe it was his accountant turned bad boy looks. Hm. I wouldn’t have thought he would have such broad appeal.
I leaned down to get a better look at the shrunken head on one of the shelves. “This place has a bizarre combo of merchandise. Spiritual mixed in with kitschy sprinkled with Halloween festive.”
“And all in a store for a group that purports to ‘study’ paranormal and the occult. I know. Over time, the store has taken on a life of its own.”
“Right…” I backed away from a display case of stakes, holy water, and dried garlic necklaces. They didn’t seem dangerous—but what did I know about my new body? Maybe I was deathly allergic to garlic. Although they wouldn’t have something that was poisonous to vamps in a retail store fronting the Society. Would they?
I stepped on Alex’s foot. “Oh, sorry.”
Standing a hairsbreadth from my back, he grasped my upper arms and steadied me then stepped away. “That stuff can’t hurt you. Well, don’t fall on the stake, but otherwise you should be good.”
I could feel myself blushing. Which was ridiculous. How was I supposed to know what was dangerous and what wasn’t?
Alex was waiting patiently a few feet away next to a door marked “Employees Only.” Just like any other retail store.
“Sorry.” But I couldn’t help frowning at him, and I wasn’t sure why I was apologizing.
He didn’t comment, just opened the door for me.
As I stepped closer, I saw a security pad above the doorknob. Not quite like most retail stores, then. Alex must have punched in the code when I wasn’t looking. That was twice now that he’d been Mr. Stealthy where security systems were in question. I needed to quiz this We
mbley guy about thief-assassin-wizards.
I took a breath and steeled myself for my first real-life vampire meeting. I had to stifle a giggle when I realized I was my first real-life vampire.
When I hesitated, Alex walked through the door, and I followed him into a dark hallway.
“The second door on the right. That leads to the lounge and the most likely place for Wembley to be waiting.”
I hesitated. “We’re not going to walk in on him partaking, are we?”
“In a bloody Mary, maybe.” When I refused to move forward, even with his hand at my elbow urging me forward, he added, “No, Wembley will not be consuming blood in any form. I told him about your phobia.”
“Not a phobia. A life choice.”
“It’s a life choice for you to avoid blood?” He walked to the door and opened it. “Come on. He won’t bite.”
“Ha-ha. So funny.” But it was just a little. And it got my feet moving.
I walked through the door and into another decade. I stumbled, caught my balance, and then stood still, blinking.
Oranges, pinks, and purples competed for dominance. The walls were a deep, rich shade of purple. The sofa was orange, with pink accent pillows. Candles of pink, purple, and orange abounded—but there were also blues and greens. A bright pink lava lamp, an orange beanbag chair, and purple bong complemented the decor. In the corner, all variety of colored beads hung from the ceiling, creating a curtain across the entryway into a small kitchen nook.
“Too much? It was my turn to decorate, and I couldn’t resist the urge to travel back in time.” A middle-aged, slightly paunchy, grey-bearded guy with longish hair and rose-tinted glasses spread his hands wide. “Jefferson Wembley, at your service.”
He didn’t offer his hand, so I followed his lead.
“Mallory Andrews.”
He indicated the sofa. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?” Before I could respond, Wembley turned to Alex. “Get lost, buddy. We’re going to talk about the Man, and I know how you get.”