by Molly Harper
“I’m not really in the mood for talking, either,” I said, shaking my head.
“What is going on with you, Meadow?”
“I don’t think— I can’t,” I babbled. “Why does something have to be going on with me?”
“Because you’ve never pulled the ‘emotionally distant, something is clearly very wrong, but I am not willing to talk to you about it’ card on me before. You’ve always been so great about telling me exactly what you’re thinking. It’s one of the reasons this thing with us works. But if that’s changed for some reason and there’s someone else, you could at least talk to me about it instead of… whatever it is you’re doing right now.”
I couldn’t tell him. Not just in the “I can’t find the words” sort of way, but in that it would be a massive violation of my employment agreement with the Council to let Luke know that his file was being pulled from the Council archives. And I didn’t want to disrupt whatever investigation Jane might be running. I wanted her to find whoever had embarrassed the staff in front of Weston. But of course, instead of just shrugging it off and trying to smooth things over, my bursting-through-the-surface emotions had me lashing back at him.
“Why would there be someone else? Why would that be your first thought?” I demanded. “And since when do you even worry about that sort of thing?”
“Because I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at your new neighbor. And the way he looks at you,” he said. “It’s OK if that’s what’s going on, I just wish you would tell me. We could stop this conversational train wreck and stay friends.”
“I didn’t realize we had the sort of friendship that could be train-wrecked by me being in a bad mood and you thinking that maybe I had feelings for someone else. I thought we prided ourselves on being above those sorts of jealous, selfish feelings. I thought that was our thing.”
Oh, dear Lord, why couldn’t I stop talking? What was keeping me from. Just. Shutting. Up. And ending this argument?
“Well, that friendship was built on us being honest with each other. And you’re not holding up your end of the bargain,” Luke countered.
“Well, I’m not the only one who doesn’t share everything, am I?” I retorted under my breath.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded.
I threw my hands up. “Nothing, just forget I said that.”
“Enough! This is bullshit!” Luke knocked the spoon he was using into my sink with a clang. His expression was furious as he turned on me. My eyes flicked toward his hands, which were balled into fists. I flinched, and the hurt on his face was like a living thing all its own. I wanted to apologize, to tell him I was being sensitive and confrontational for no reason. I wanted to make excuses about Bollinger and my parents and say that they were actually affecting me more than I’d thought possible.
But I was honestly afraid of him in that moment. I just stared at him while he slipped his wallet and keys into his jeans pocket and walked toward the door. He lowered his voice, but it was still hot and angry. “I don’t know what is going on in your head right now, but I don’t want to be here for it. This is making me crazy. If you’re ever ready to tell me what the hell is going on with you, give me a call.”
He slammed the door behind him, and I sank to the kitchen floor. I stared at the apple-green wall, trying to figure out what the hell had happened in the last fifteen minutes that I was able to dismantle one of the more important friendships in my life. He’d come over for a friendly bout of sex, and he’d left furious.
I’d been so short and defensive with Luke, but he’d been angry in a way I’d never seen before. He’d yelled. And Luke never yelled. For the first time since I’d known him, I wondered if Luke was capable of violence. Maybe it wasn’t completely out of the question for Jane to look into Luke’s red file, or for Luke to have a red file in the first place.
Of course, I’d delivered those files to Jane already and couldn’t access the information, so I was left to navigate this shit-show blind. I buried my face in my hands. “OK, universe, I get it. Please stop kicking me in the teeth.”
8
There will be times when your moral strength will be tested. Those tests will usually involve past temptations or unhealthy behavior patterns or someone who really, really annoys you.
—Peace, Blood, and Understanding: A Living Guide for Vampires Embracing Pacifism
Sometimes even someone who intentionally and unflinchingly looks on the bright side of life has a bad freaking day. I had hit the bottom of my emotional resources. I was tapped out. I didn’t want to open the shop, because I was pretty sure it still smelled like burned paper and ass-waffles. And I certainly didn’t want to stay home, where I was playing a constant mental loop of my argument with Luke.
So I was working at the archives, because it could give me the busywork I needed to keep my brain and hands occupied. I cleared the tiny pile of data that needed to be filed. I pulled old files and delivered them to my coworkers’ desks as ordered. I kept my head down and didn’t talk to anyone. I should have known it would be noticed eventually.
“Hey, Meadow, I have something for you,” Sammy said as I passed by his coffee stand on the main floor. The combination mini–coffee counter and deli was one of Jane’s “just because it makes employees happy” efforts in the Council facility. So I chose to find it charming, even if the smell of Sammy’s lovingly constructed turkey-and-avocado sandwich specials made me feel a little vomit-y.
“Hey, Sam. What’s up?”
“Nothing much.” He smiled and handed me a to-go coffee cup that smelled of peppermint and sweet donor blood. “You just seem really down. I thought you could use a pick-me-up.”
That dry well of emotion in my heart seemed to refill just a tiny bit, like a reverse Grinch. “That’s really sweet, Sammy.”
“Now, I know you don’t drink coffee. That’s why I used peppermint tea and Faux Type O and Hershey’s Blood Additive and the nonfood creamer. I know it’s nothing like the stuff you make. It’s not specially designed for your chi or anything, but I thought you might like it.”
My eyes actually started to film over with cold tears at Sammy’s gesture. But because our tears were mixed in with just a little bit of blood, I sniffed and did everything I could to not let them fall. (Blood tears were very off-putting to humans unless coming from some sort of religious figurine.) “Thank you.”
I was starting to sip from the cup when Sammy said, “Oh, wait, look at it before you drink.”
I laughed and removed the lid. On the surface, Sammy had used chocolate and nondairy, nonfood creamer to draw a little kittencorn done in perfect chibi style, complete with whiskers and a swirling unicorn horn. “This is amazing.”
“I know how much you like Chloe’s shirts, so I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”
“Thank you, Sammy.” I stood on my tippy-toes to kiss his cheek. He did smell of candy. Stupid sensible friend zone and my own clear emotional inability to maintain an adult relationship.
“Just do me a favor and cheer up?” he said, smiling at me. “I get the feeling things have been sort of rough for you lately, but watching you mope around the office is like watching one of those cute Internet pandas cry.”
“Point taken, Sammy,” I said, walking toward the elevator.
I sniffed at the cup as I waited for the door to close. I’d never used the newfangled nonfood creamers for vampire consumption. It just seemed like too many steps away from food to be healthy. It certainly didn’t smell bad, but I wasn’t sure about putting something that wasn’t even as authentic as human nondairy creamer powder in my body. And I certainly didn’t want to destroy the cute little kittencorn.
As I was pondering this question of nutrition over the worth of a kind gesture, Weston stepped into the elevator car. He looked as pressed and polished as he usually did, wearing a smoky blue dress shirt and a dark blue pin-striped tie. I hadn’t seen him since our kiss a few nights before—because I’d very carefully avoided conta
ct with him. All of my efforts were down the drain with one mistimed elevator ride.
We rode in silence for a few seconds before he turned to me and said, “About the other night.”
It actually took me a moment to figure out what he could be talking about. Had he heard Luke yelling through our shared apartment wall? Was he talking about Bollinger showing up at our building and the obvious distress it caused me? Oh, wait, no, I had kissed him after our run home. Right. Just one more score for the universe to come back and settle against me.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told him.
“I think we should talk about it.”
“And yet I remain unconvinced,” I shot back. I stared ahead at the steel doors, catching our blurred reflection in their dull gleam. If this were a painting, it would be titled Awkwardness in Vampire Form.
Weston continued and actually sounded hesitant. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, which, in itself, is a bit of a problem for me, because I have other things to do. And I don’t know if you kissed me out of attraction, which would be inconsistent with your previous behavior, or if it was just some act of joyous exuberance after the run, which would be consistent with your character—”
“What’s the most efficient way for me to end this conversation?” I asked.
“Well, studies show that using some form of ‘thank you’ and then looking the other direction can end unpleasant conversations an average of five to ten minutes more quickly than— That was rhetorical, wasn’t it?” He sighed.
“Yes, it was.”
“I know this isn’t really any of my business, but when you said that Luke didn’t own you, I thought you were just trying to be provocative, but are you honestly not in a relationship with him?”
“You’re right, this is none of your business,” I told him. “I don’t want to talk about Luke with you—”
Suddenly, the elevator car lurched to a stop, throwing me off balance. My tea went flying out of my hand and splattered against the wall, filling the air with the scent of peppermint and our own panic. Weston tumbled against the wall in a sort of reverse half somersault. I caught myself before I fell, thanks to vampire agility. The car jerked to a stop, and I barely escaped head-butting the control panel as we slumped against the walls.
But then the lights went out, leaving us bathed in the red glow of the emergency lights. And then the car dropped again, falling much farther this time, several floors before jerking to a halt. But instead of the rom-com swoon into Weston’s arms, I stumbled back and bounced off the wall to my left and onto the floor.
“Ow,” I groaned into the carpet.
“You OK?” he asked, but before I could answer, the car lurched again, and we were moving so fast that my body didn’t seem to know whether it wanted to float toward the ceiling or cling to the floor. I grabbed at the waist-high metal bar, anchoring myself, but smacked my head against the control panel anyway.
And while the laws of physics tossed me about, a very odd thought occurred me. The control panel smelled like honey… and cucumber, which seemed like a strange combination, but even more strange considering it was smeared across a metal door in an elevator. Aha—it smelled like borage, an English plant that was also called starflower because of its distinctive five-pointed blooms. It was a lovely purple flower that had many medicinal purposes for human problems—gastrointestinal issues, arthritis, eczema, even PMS. But for vampires? It was just a weird smell, particularly when combined with spilled tea. It didn’t do anything for us, and frankly it reminded me of my grandma Hazel, a not-very-nice lady who had a fondness for gin and not much else.
I tried to recall where I might have smelled this particular scent before, but I couldn’t picture a face to go with it. Also, I was still getting thrown around like a rag doll in a free-falling elevator car, so mentally perusing my encyclopedic knowledge of plant smells could probably wait for another time. It felt like we had been falling forever, and through the panic of total loss of body control and my surroundings, I managed to register a tiny inkling of dread for what it would feel like when we finally hit the bottom of the elevator shaft. It might not kill us, but it was really, really going to hurt.
An image of Peter Crown’s face flashed before my mind’s eye. Why was I thinking of him at a time like this? Because my brain was starting to instinctively connect him with feelings of impending doom? And then I felt an arm wrap around my waist and Weston’s weight at my side. He pulled me sharply to our right, holding on to the metal bar. “Brace yourself,” he yelled.
“Against what?” I shouted back.
And as abruptly as it started, the car wrenched to a halt, throwing us to the floor with all of the force of a giant’s fist. Weston turned us at the last minute so I landed against him instead of the floor, my shoulder jamming into his chest. The impact of it didn’t break my bones, but if I’d needed to breathe, that crushing collision would have knocked the air right out of me. We bounced—hard—thunking against the wall before sprawling onto the carpet with a groan in stereo. Everything hurt. All I could do was lie on the carpet and be thankful my brain wasn’t subject to traumatic injury anymore.
The car felt like it was quivering, still processing the energy of our fall. It swayed back and forth in the shaft, making my stomach churn. From this day forward, I would take the stairs.
I rolled ever so slightly to my side so I could see Weston. Even in the crimson glow of the emergency lights, I could tell he’d gone paler with pain. He sat up, and his midsection looked collapsed, unnaturally caved in at the chest. I didn’t need a special psychic power to know that he’d most likely cracked his sternum, misaligning his rib cage and making his existence in general very miserable. If this were a cartoon, I would be waiting for Wile E. Coyote to come along with a bicycle pump to reinflate him.
“You all right?” he wheezed, his injury looking even more grotesquely painful as he moved.
“It hurts too much to complain,” I groaned. “Sorry about your chest cavity.”
“Yeah, give me a second,” he said, inhaling deeply. Bringing air into his lungs seemed to force his bones back into the correct shape as our natural healing factor took over. In my addled state, I giggled because a deep breath seemed more effective, if not less painful, than a bicycle pump. Being an elevator rag doll gave one weird thoughts.
“I’m glad you find my misery so amusing,” he said archly.
“No,” I replied, ending my laughter on a hissing grunt as a stabbing sensation ripped through my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m just thinking in cartoon terms. I think I’m concussed.”
A disembodied lady’s computer voice crackled to life over the speaker in the ceiling. “Do not be alarmed. The building’s security system is on lockdown. Elevator function will be restored shortly.”
I gasped. “What does that mean?”
The computerized voice didn’t answer.
“Looks like we’re stuck for a while,” he said, rubbing gingerly at his chest.
“Oh, really?” I scoffed. “The elevator is stuck? I don’t want to talk to you and the elevator mysteriously doesn’t work? That’s not just a little convenient?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” he retorted. “If I wanted to talk to you, I could find ways to do it without crushing my own rib cage.”
I rolled to sit on my butt, and the car creaked loudly, as if to protest the movement. I froze, waiting for us to drop again, but after a few minutes, the car stayed relatively still. I relaxed my back against the wall.
“I accept your point,” I grumbled. “But I’ve been using this elevator for years now, and we’ve never had a single problem until today. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Your spurious correlation has been noted,” he said. “How far do you think we fell?”
“How deep do you think this elevator shaft goes?”
The corners of my mouth drew back. I knew that there were sublevels to the Council complex that even Jane didn’t
know about. The Council hid its secrets underground, and the leadership liked to spread those secrets around as thin as possible. It was unnerving sometimes, working in the archive and occasionally hearing noises I couldn’t quite explain echoing from the floors below me. It was like being on a boat and knowing a great white shark could burst through the deck at any time.
“OK, fine, I don’t want to know,” he said.
“Hello, is anyone in the elevator right now?” Dick’s voice asked over the speaker.
“Dick!” I cried. “It’s Meadow! Yes, we’re stuck on the… I don’t know what floor we’re on. We fell for a few minutes from the floor just under the lobby? I didn’t even know we had that many floors.”
Dick cleared his throat. “Yeah, hon, the Council did a pretty deep dive when they built this place. The good news is that you’re going to be just fine. The elevator’s emergency brake is set, and the car isn’t going anywhere.”
“Well, can you get us out?” Weston demanded.
On the other end of the line, Dick could only say, “Uhhhh.”
And then I heard a crash and Jane shouting profanities, followed by the sound of… gunshots? That seemed pretty serious. The security guards usually managed our safety with stern looks and the occasional Taser.
“Meadow, I think it would be safer for you to stay in the elevator right now,” Dick said.
“What?!” Weston yelled, sounding very angry, which was an interesting counterpoint to my own panic and terror. “What’s happening up there?”
“Aw, shit, is Weston in there with you? I’m so sorry, Hippy-Dippy. That’s gotta suck.”
“Hey!” Weston shouted back. But his indignation seemed to take all of his energy, making him slump against our wall in exhaustion. While I could hear his bones slowly knitting themselves back together, his color wasn’t getting better. And there was a sharp twist to his left leg that I hadn’t noticed before.
“Weston’s here. He’s hurt, but he’s talking,” I said. “And he’s insulting me, so he didn’t hit his head too hard.”