by Martha Woods
I get spooked at the sound of footsteps outside, so I put the drawer back and make my way to the door, listening, slipping out when I am sure no one remains in the hallway. I retrace my steps back toward the bar, dipping into a restroom when I see Damon talking to an unruly patron by the door.
After a few minutes, I peek back out and at no sign of him, I walk toward the door, desperate to look calm and collected. But as I step outside, I change my mind. I should tell Damon I’m here. I should have him check out that office, those items. I should have him dig into more information about the owner of the club.
I turn back, but as I enter again, I see him. And I see Alexis. She’s dressed in skinny, leather leggings and a slinky, red top that bares thin arms. Her hands are on his chest, his arms around his waist. He’s smiling at her and she’s talking, laughing.
I back away, horrified. Perhaps I was too honest about my feelings for Vincent. Maybe I have pushed him right into the arms of another woman. And worse, a woman who is so totally different from me. Maybe Cara was right – maybe he would appreciate a little more effort in my appearance. Maybe if I had tried harder to be sexy, or to show him I truly do love him and want him.
Maybe if I could let Vincent go for good, give Damon what he wants in a normal, monogamous, non-supernaturally focused life.
I feel sick the whole ride home. I shower off all of the makeup, returning to my normal self, agonizing over the small wrinkles by my eyes, the dull sheen of my brown hair, the bluntness of its cut. I feel so average right now and thinking of Damon with a woman as beautiful as Alexis only makes me feel worse.
I am not a woman who wallows. And I am not a woman who generally worries what men find attractive. But I will be damned if I let Damon go that easily.
I stay up until three before sending a text to him, asking if he will be home soon.
He never answers and I wake up when the alarm goes off at five, alone. His side of the bed is untouched.
Chapter 9
I make a stop at Faye’s shop at lunchtime, telling her what I saw in the club owner’s office. She asks if I have a name and I tell her I spent all morning digging. The club is owned by a conglomerate of companies and people, so it was hard to get a name. But I found one, Max Underwood.
She makes a face. “Never heard that name.”
“Can men be witches?” I ask, feeling stupid the moment I ask.
The look Faye gives me tells me I’m right to feel that way. “Warlocks,” she says with an eye roll.
“So could this be a warlock?” I ask.
She lifts one shoulder. “Hard telling. I mean, some candles and a pentagram could be a teenager playing at witchcraft. Did you touch any of it?”
“No, should I have?”
“Well touching it can sometimes trigger a rebound, like a memory of how the item was used,” she says. “Sometimes you get nothing, but it can be worth a try.”
“Okay, I’ll try to get back in there,” I say. “And can you see if you can find anything out about this Max Underwood? Apparently no one has ever seen him and he sends some guy who pester the girls who threaten to quit. The girl I spoke to yesterday said they’re very particular about who they hire.”
Faye dismisses me with a wave as the shop phone rings. “Fine, yes, I’ll look into it,” she says, billowing black skirts swishing around bright yellow Doc Marten boots.
“Thanks for your help as always,” I mutter as I head for the door. “Good talk.”
As I walk back into the building, sandwich in hand, young Vivienne greets me with a smile.
“Hello Vivienne,” I say. “No Michelle yet?”
“No, her father passed, didn’t you hear? She’s staying in Colorado to help her mother with his affairs.”
“Oh,” I say, shocked. “No, I hadn’t heard. I’ll have to send her a card.”
I continue to walk into the lab. The day goes by so slowly. It is a pretty uneventful day and all afternoon, I keep looking at my phone for texts from Damon, but he has been completely silent. I am trying not to panic. There is probably a perfectly logical response to his lack of communication.
When I get home, he is there, sprawled on the couch, watching television.
“Damon!” I exclaim as I shut the door behind me. “I sent you several texts last night and today. I was really worried about you!”
He gives me a smile, but it doesn’t make it to his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask incredulously. “That’s all you have to say? You never came home last night? You couldn’t be bothered to let me know you were all right?”
“Amy,” he says with a sigh. “What is this about?”
“This is about the fact that I saw you last night,” I say. “I came to the club and I saw you with your arms around that witch Alexis. She had her hands on your chest. You were smiling.”
“When were you at the club?” he asks.
“I came in to take a look around. I discovered some…evidence…and I wanted you to check it out too. But when I came to tell you, you were with her,” I say, my voice sounding decidedly screechy.
“You’re telling me you came to the club without telling me? You searched the place without telling me? I thought I was on recon at the club?”
“I came in disguise, yes, because you have not been giving me anything to go on. And I’m glad I did, because it seems obvious your attention is elsewhere and not on the case at all!”
“I don’t like that you were sneaking around like that, Amy,” he says. “I told you I would help, but again, you simply don’t trust me at all.”
“And for good reason, it seems!”
He stands, his fists in tight balls. “You are making something out of nothing, Amy. Alexis had a couple of drinks for her birthday. She got flirty. It’s no big deal. I figured I’d let her get close because she rarely drops her guard. If she’s a little drunk, she might be more likely to slip some information.”
Oh.
“Well, you still didn’t come home last night,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
Damon doesn’t respond to that. He only says, “You can’t go around saying you have feelings for a vampire and then throw a nuclear tantrum just because you see my boss with her hands on me. That’s not fair.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say. “Where were you all night?”
He walks toward the kitchen. I follow.
“Damon,” I insist, “Answer me.”
“Not while you’re all riled up,” he says. “You want freedom and respect? Well, it goes both ways.”
“You’re not acting like yourself,” I say. “I’m leaving. I’m going on a run and I’ll be back when we’ve both had time to calm down.”
He turns his back and goes to the refrigerator, opening it, not answering me.
I storm toward the bedroom in a huff, angrily pulling off my work clothes and pulling on my workout clothes. A good run will help me simmer down a bit.
Damon sits, stewing over a hastily-made sandwich, as I walk out the door. He doesn’t ask me to stay. He doesn’t say anything.
I take off at a run once I hit the cement. As I run, I think about my argument with Damon. Why won’t he tell me where he was? Could it be true that he’s letting Alexis get comfortable in order to get more information? And is he right that I made a choice to go in undercover, once again keeping him out of the loop on what could have been a dangerous plan?
I’ve run about a half-mile before I realize I should go back and talk to him. We need to work this out and running away isn’t going to help make that happen. Thinking about what Vivienne said – that my boyfriend can do better than me – I realize that even though she wouldn’t know that because she doesn’t know Damon and me, she is right. Damon is gorgeous and strong and who am I? I really am a science nerd who’s probably too fit to be feminine and definitely doesn’t put nearly enough into her appearance. Of course someone like Alexis would catch his attention. And you know what? That makes me r
eally jealous. I really do love Damon, no matter my feelings for Vincent, and I need to make an effort to show him that.
I turn around and head back. When I come back inside, though, there is a weird charge in the air that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I find Damon in the exact spot I left him less than twenty minutes ago. He’s got his uneaten sandwich in front of him and sits, an angry expression on his face, motionless.
“Damon?” I ask.
He looks up and his face turns red, his lips pulling back so that his teeth are bared.
“You love that bloodsucking piece of shit!” he yells, standing up and knocking the whole table over. “You think you can sleep with me, live with me, screw me and still have him, too, don’t you, you little slut?”
I gasp. “Damon, this is not you. Can you hear yourself right now?”
“How do you know who this is? Who I am?” he asks, stalking toward me. “You only think about yourself! You only care about what you want! Little time left to know anyone else, don’t you think?”
He sneers, and suddenly, a dagger appears in his hand. I didn’t see him grab it. I look around but there is no one but him, no one but me. But looking at his eyes, his pupils dilated so no green remains, I don’t see the Damon I know at all.
I back toward the door like prey trying to sneak away from predator.
“Where you going, little slut?” he asks, matching each tentative step I take. “Think you can outrun me? Think you can get away?”
He tsks, shaking his head. “The others thought they could get away, too. But they didn’t.”
My eyes go wide. “The others?”
“Oh they’re here, watching,” Damon says. “I can smell them. Smell the copper tang of their blood. I feel their terror, their desire for vengeance. I took from them. Not just their lives, either.”
I take another slow step backward. Just two feet from the door.
“What do you mean?” I ask. This is important. This being – whoever is controlling Damon – is giving me critical information. It thinks I won’t live through this, so it won’t matter what it shares.
“Magic requires sacrifice,” Damon says. “Especially the magic that will spawn witches powerful enough to eradicate the beasts that plague our world.”
I feel the shock on my face. “By beasts you mean…”
“Werewolves, vampires, any number of unholy, inhuman things,” he says. “Witches come by power naturally. The others? Biting, killing, drinking blood, eating innards. Disgusting.”
Interestingly, this line of thought almost sounds like something Damon really would say. He has always been disgusted by the beings he fights as a Hunter. But the venom behind it is different. It feels foul and confining, like a virus that snakes itself throughout Damon’s core being, covering the real parts of him that are able to be reasoned with.
Another step. I reach back and fumble for the door handle. I turn it and as soon as it’s open, I fly out. Down the stairs. Eight floors, Damon lumbering behind me. I get to the front door and outside. I run, run, as fast as I can.
Damon follows at a close pace. He doesn’t even seem winded as he laughs. It’s an insane, mindless sound that barely sounds human. The hairs of my arms stand on end as I’m reminded of the laughter I heard that very first day back to work. This is the same sound, I’m sure of it.
I send a silent, mental plea for help out to Vincent and feel him snap to attention.
I know he’s fast for a big dude, but there is no way that Damon could beat me on foot on a normal day. I run a lot, and while I am still slightly out of shape after my ordeal with Olivia, I should still be able to outrun him.
I try zig-zagging through some familiar alleyways, consider running inside a restaurant, but I just keep going. He gets closer, still, and it’s only when I feel his big hand on my arm that I realize I made a mistake. I should have kept him talking, should have stayed in the apartment. All of the murders were committed just like this, with a woman on the run, and a convenient witness to prove a suspect’s guilt.
He takes me down. I stumble, scraping my knees, as he pushes me onto my back.
“Damon, please!” I scream, in real terror now.
I can see it in his eyes. His black eyes. This is not Damon. This is not the man I love.
Pushing at him, clawing at him, I try desperately to leverage my strength against him but he is so much bigger than I am. He’s like a block of lead and won’t budge.
The dagger gleams in his hand as he raises it above me. This is it.
The first cut stings but I can tell it is a surface wound. I fight with every ounce of energy I have. He lowers the dagger again and it cuts into my lower abdomen. Again. Again.
Now the pain is real. The blood is real as it pools onto the pavement. Damon is real as he lifts the dagger again, sweat slick on his forehead, his teeth exposed like an animal.
I cry out. It’s a cry of pain. A cry of loss and betrayal. A cry of fear.
There is so much blood, and there are four ghosts at my side, all wearing masks that depict what I feel now. I know I will join them, soon.
I reach out to them, four young women who are senselessly gone from the world – soon to be five of us. I hold out my hand and hear myself, disembodied, saying, “I’m sorry. I tried.”
And then, as the world goes black, I feel Damon’s weight lifted off of me. I feel arms around me. And then, I feel nothing.
Chapter 10
Groggy, I look around my bedroom.
Familiar. This is my space. In my own home.
I sit up, wincing at the pain in my abdomen. Looking down, I find myself in only a sports bra and panties, my abdomen heavily bandaged.
Well, this waking up injured and half dressed is becoming kind of a thing for me. At least I’m consistent with my activities. And my not-dying. Every time I think I’m a goner, I wake up here, not dead. Yay me. Maybe I’m part cat, with nine lives. Or, like, six now.
I slip to the floor and pull on a pair of yoga pants before shuffling slowly out of the room.
In the kitchen, I find Damon bound and gagged. Faye and Alexis stare at him, both of them frowning, arms crossed over their chests. Vincent is in the corner, looking out into the night.
“Amy, welcome to the world,” Faye says without looking at me. “I got the sense that you needed me and came straight here.”
“Why is she here?” I ask accusingly, my head tilted toward Alexis.
“Damon did not come to work this evening. I called and when he didn’t answer, I got worried and came over to check on him,” she says. “I didn’t want to lose another member of our staff.”
“Well, that’s rich considering there’s all kinds of dark magic in that club and you happen to be a witch,” I say. “Kind of a coincidence that you’re here right after he tried to kill me the same way all those other girls were killed.”
“I am not the bad guy, here,” Alexis says.
“How can we possibly believe that?” I ask.
“Amy,” Faye says, her voice stern, “Alexis is telling the truth. She is not responsible for this dark magic.”
I narrow my eyes but know that Faye’s abilities let her see the truth. She often doesn’t know how threads intertwine, but she senses things like this. I will have to trust her for now.
“How am I still alive?” I ask, gesturing to my bandaged abdomen.
“Thank goodness for vampires with heart,” Alexis says. “Otherwise you’d be another ghost, off to torment some other witch.”
I scratch at my throat. When I say, “What happened?” my voice is hoarse from screaming. “What’s going on with Damon?”
“He’s under a spell,” Faye says. “We’ve been working to undo it but it’s drenched in darkness. Very complicated.”
Alexis turns to me. “Your vampire saved you. You have about five stab wounds, two of which were centimeters from major organs. I healed you as best I could, but you might need to engage
in…other activities to truly mitigate the damage. Or, you know, go to the hospital.”
“You can heal?” I ask. “And what do you mean by other activities?”
She nods once. “Among other talents. Including running strip clubs and making girlfriends jealous.”
It’s a bad joke and badly timed, considering the circumstances. I would tell her so, but honestly, who cares at this point. Still, I’m not sure how I feel about this witch right now.
I frown. “I thought…”
“You thought I was trying to steal your man,” she says. “I know. I’m very sensitive to people’s intentions, as well. I was there investigating on my own, on behalf of my coven.”
“Ah,” I say. “Well thank you for healing me. And you didn’t answer my question. What other activities are you referring to?”
“I think she references potentially drinking some of my blood, to help you heal.” Vincent enters the conversation from his place by the window. “I heard your plea for help. I came as fast as I could. The stab wounds may have affected your ability to have children.”
The news hangs in the room. I am not sure how I feel about this. I have never imagined myself as a mother, but the thought of having that option taken away from me, by a person I love and might have considered having a family with, it is really rather painful.
Still, I can’t show how I feel about this to these three. Not while Damon remains under the control of someone, something else. Not when I don’t really know how having feelings for both Damon and Vincent will play out. Not while we have someone killing women in order to start some new world order of witches and wipe out countless other beings in the process.
So, I just say, “Thank you for saving me.”
“I knocked him out. I would have killed him but I imagined that you would be angry with me if I had. It was hard to control myself,” he says.