by Mysti Parker
I pinned down his arms as I straddled him. “Somebody brought the big guns, I see.” My fangs emerged again.
When I dove in for his neck, he yelled, “Wait. I can help you!”
I paused just a hair’s breadth from his racing pulse. He smelled even more interesting up close, like lemons and lavender. A smell I could savor for hours. Blinking myself back to reality, I raised my head and looked into his eyes. They were wide, full of fear, but also with an odd sense of finality, as though he were ready to die. As though he had nothing left to lose. Like me.
“What do you mean, you can help me?” I quickly glanced around us, making sure he hadn’t brought reinforcements. We seemed to be all alone on the vacant schoolyard.
“You’re looking for the ones who killed your mother, right? So am I.”
I had to laugh at that. “Pray tell, why would you be looking for them, and why would you care...” Leaning in close, I added, “…human?”
“Detective Zac Palmer. I’m investigating a crime ring involving vampire clans. I think they’re responsible for your mother’s death. I’ll need someone like you to help me get information.”
I really had to laugh then. “What are you talking about? Vampire clans? There was my mother, and there’s me. That’s hardly a clan.”
He raised an eyebrow, looking truly dumbfounded. “You don’t know?”
“Know what? Are you telling me there are more like me? More…vampires?”
One side of his mouth slanted up in an amused grin. “Oh honey, did you really think you’re the only one?”
Chapter Two
Ashe
It was while standing in the elevator of a fancy hotel in the city of Brightwell, with blood trickling between my fingers onto the shiny wooden floor, that I truly realized the definition of Fucked. Capitalized, outlined in red, spotlighted, and placed on a pedestal—Fucked.
My streak of luck was continuing in the same vein as the past several minutes. Some practical joker had pressed almost all the buttons in the elevator so it would stop on every floor.
Hilarious.
Standing in one place was easier than descending the forty-eight floors of stairs, though, and after this next stop, I had six more until freedom. But with the stake wound in my side and the bloodbath I’d just walked away from, that first taste of freedom would likely be just as sour as my stomach, which rode too high in my throat.
The elevator door opened on a couple that had fused themselves together at the lips. The woman—hardly more than a girl—wore a blue-sequined dress that barely went past her hips, and the guy wore a business suit several sizes too big. A wall of perfume, alcohol, and the coppery sweet smell of type O blood followed them inside.
The door closed, and we started down to the next floor.
I pressed myself into the corner, covering the puddle of blood with my shiny black oxfords, so they wouldn’t see my face or the blood streaming to the floor. Most of it was mine, at least I was pretty sure, but I wore a black tux, so who the hell really knew. It was hard to remember everything that had just happened, but the Fucked part of it had carved into the backs of my eyelids with vivid detail. Replaying again and again in case I needed a reminder.
Wrong. It had gone all wrong.
The door opened, and I smashed my thumb to the close button. It did, much too slowly.
The guy came up for air long enough to say, “Lobby.”
“Uh-huh.” I glanced at the five glowing buttons on the wall panel, thinking maybe it would be easier to roll myself down the stairs instead. But I’d been stabbed, and my good ol’ speedy healing was taking its sweet-ass time. I’d wait for it to kick in, save my strength, and then haul balls…somewhere. A train station. Six feet under. Anywhere other than here.
“Lobby,” he said again.
“Got it covered, man.”
The guy wrenched away from his girl’s mouth. “Lobby, put the fangs away, babe.”
Wait. Lobby? The girl’s name was Lobby?
“I smell vampire blood,” she said to him, and then turned to me, her fangs bared over her red-painted bottom lip. She must have worn that all-day lipstick like Jessica wore. Otherwise, her boyfriend would be wearing it now.
The elevator opened again. I jabbed the close button. Again.
Well, there was no denying it since anyone of the vampire persuasion could smell it, but I thought I’d try anyway. “Oh, it’s nothing. My girlfriend just got a little excited…I guess.”
The doors finally closed, and we sank another floor lower.
The guy nodded, seeming to know exactly what I was talking about. Hell, I didn’t know what I was talking about. The blood was streaming from my side, not my dick, but since I was still turned toward the corner, no one could see that.
“Been there, dude. Been. There.” He snapped his jaws into his girl’s face, and her fangs slipped back into her pouting mouth. “You headed out to buy her a pint to ward off her hunger so she can take you again, huh?”
“Yeah…” Sure. Whatever got him to shut up. I needed to think about my next few steps, not some nonexistent girlfriend biting my cock off. Or trying to gnaw her way through my side, for that matter.
The girl’s tongue poked from her lips as she eyed me up and down. If a purr had an expression, that would be it. “I bet it was the tux.”
“Hey, I have a tux, Loddy,” the guy said.
Oh. Loddy, not Lobby. It was hard to hear over the roar of my conscience. How had it gone so wrong in that penthouse?
“Really?” She touched his chest and arched into him. “Well, I guess we know what me and my fangs will be doing when you wear it.”
This was a riveting conversation, so much so that once the elevator doors began to close, I slipped through them to leave them to it. Without me.
Behind me, the guy whistled as the elevator began to close. “Man, she really got him good. Look at all that blood.”
On the way to the stairs, I fished out my throw-away phone and typed out another quick text. Staircase 1-3 too. And then: And a promotion to co-managers.
They knew to be thorough yet discreet, even while cleaning up the bloodstains in a crowded elevator. They’d have to be speedy too. I trusted it would get done.
Silence met me when I burst through the staircase door. The stairs were empty. Thank you, Vampire Jesus. I swept down them as fast as I could, holding tight to my side. The leakage seemed less now. Apparently my vampire healing took its sweet time when the stake had broken through ribs and had cut through at least one lung. Just a tad more brutal than my usual paper cut. But I still had blood caked all over my hand, so I bunched my fingers up into my sleeve cuff as I opened the lobby door.
Now to get past hotel security before being spott—too late.
The old vampire in a tan uniform locked eyes with me from his high wooden desk to the left, a phone pressed to his ear.
Shit. My organs, long past their prime, curled inward on themselves under his flinty stare. In my research of the building, I thought I’d read that he was a retired Queen’s Knight from the Northern Vampire Clan. He looked it, too, with his box-like haircut and so much chest that he had no neck.
I gave him a casual nod as I passed, all innocence and charm like my usual self, my ears picking up the voice on the other end of the line.
“…and then there was this swirl of different colors in all sorts of patterns, and then I walked inside of it. I woke up after that, fell back asleep, and the dream picked up after that. Am I going crazy?”
Yes. Seemed like the guard had been caught up in someone’s long-winded dream description, also known as the fifth circle of hell. At least it sounded like he’d be there a while.
I pushed through the glass doors into the night before I could hear his reply, then cut to the right down the sidewalk, speeding my pace just slightly. Inside, I wanted to run. But where? Not to my apartment surrounded by nosy neighbors, at least not yet. I needed a change of clothes, a little more cash than I had in my wall
et, and then out of this city, maybe out of the Southern Clan. For good.
A nondescript white van pulled up across the street, and Ben and Joe hopped out, my clean-up crew. And co-managers as of tonight. They wore tuxes as well, their cleaning equipment discreetly tucked away in their pockets. Their gazes skated right past me. Good men. Even better employees. They hadn’t asked any questions about why I needed their cleaning services tonight.
The air smelled heavy, weighed down by violent-looking rainclouds. Taxis and limos lined both sides of the busy street, the city lights glistening on their polished surfaces. They’d take me anywhere, but they had cameras installed. Then again, so did the hotel. Unlike in books and movies, vampires actually showed up on cameras and in mirrors. It fucking sucked. I’d ridden downtown in a taxi, but it had dropped me off about seven blocks away in front of another hotel brimming with men in tuxes and fancy women draped on their arms.
Not my usual scene—none of this was, especially the blood on my hands—but I faked it until I made it. Just like I had my entire life.
I kept walking. Not two minutes after Ben and Joe had arrived, a police car took the corner about twenty feet ahead of me with a sharp turn. The sight of it kicked me in the gut and triggered an alarm through my head that sounded an awful lot like Ruuuuuunnn!
Its red and blue lights flashed, but it didn’t sound its siren. It squealed to a stop behind me, right in front of the hotel I’d just exited, drawing the stares of the well-dressed pedestrians strolling past.
I knew exactly what the police would find inside. I sped my pace a little more.
Clothes, cash… Where to go?
A sign on top of a cab on the next block caught my eye. Of course. Lynch’s Drugstore, the same one my sister worked at, whom, I might add, was part of the reason I was now booking it from that hotel.
Sirens wailed in the distance. A lot of them from the sound of it.
The drugstore was in the neighborhood, so I hurried while still giving off the vibe that I owned this whole street. That I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Which I hadn’t, I reminded myself, but that didn’t change a damn thing.
Women vampires and their personal DBDs—designated blood donors, aka “humans”—turned to stare, their lustful eyes attempting to snag mine. Some men turned to look too. I was drawing attention to myself because of my face, my body, but it couldn’t be helped. By the time they learned what I was walking away from, I’d be long gone.
From outside Lynch’s Drugstore, I peered in, but I didn’t see my sister behind the register. She was always working the nightshift, though, so I strode around to the far side of the building, hoping I’d catch her on her break. A fifteen minute one every four hours. Pretty good detail to know for someone who hadn’t spoken to her in six years.
There she was, my older sister, age thirty-two in human years. She leaned against the wall, one leg bent so her foot rested flat against the bricks. She wore jeans and a red work shirt tied into a side knot at her waist. Her long blonde ponytail fell down her shoulder and partially hid her face while she attempted to light the cigarette plugged into her mouth.
“Well, good thing you’re already dead, I guess,” I told her, coming to a stop a few feet away.
The flame caught and she took a drag, then turned toward me with a flicker of surprise in her orangish eyes through the puff of smoke. “Ashe?”
“Yeah.” I studied her then, seeing her once-broken nose gushing blood, the bruises on her face, all since healed. But it didn’t stop the fury, just as sharp and consuming as it had been six years ago. I shook with it. I wanted to go to that hotel penthouse I’d just left all over again.
She must’ve sensed the direction of my thoughts because she bowed her head, the ponytail on her shoulder hiding her face again. “Why are you here?”
She should’ve known. Or at least suspected. But she gave no sign that she did.
“I need your help,” I said. “Some money. A change of clothes if you got them.”
She snapped her head up, her eyes peeling back my layers, a look she’d mastered years ago when she thought I was lying to her about eating the last blood popsicle. “Why? And why do I smell blood on you?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit, Ashe. What did you do?”
She didn’t know. But the picture I had of her with that bastard vampire Devin was taken just days ago, even though I’d made her swear to never see him again after what he did to her. It was either never see him again, or I would end him right then and there. That was the choice I’d given her, because I’d so badly wanted to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt her.
“Did you cut your hair?” I demanded, my voice as sharp as an accusation.
She took another drag of her cigarette, eyeing me closely.
A siren wailed in the distance, far away yet much too close.
“Maybe you’ve splashed around in one too many cleaning chemicals for your company,” she said. “What’s your cleaning business called again?”
“Invite Us In Cleaners,” I said through gritted teeth. “Your hair, Jessica.”
“No, I didn’t cut my hair.”
But…she had. The photo I’d seen was of her—with him—but with longer hair. Was she lying to me? If she’d met with Devin six years after my threat on his life, I supposed she was capable of it. But if I told her anything, then I’d have to tell her all of it, and I didn’t know how to do that since I didn’t know everything myself. For at least the fifth time tonight, my head felt like it might explode.
A crack of thunder shook the ground, drowning out the siren, but still urging me to hurry.
“Invite Us In.” Jessica shook her head while lightning split across the sky. “Why not Spic n’ Fang Cleaners?”
“Jessica—”
“Type A+ Cleaners and then in parenthesis”—she punched the air with her cigarette in an arc—“But We Like Other Blood Types Too?”
“Damn it, no—”
“I could’ve come up with something way better.” She laughed. “We’ll Lick Your Walls For You Cleaners.”
“He’s dead.” I said it in a way that snapped each sound between us and then seemed to bulldoze their meaning into her all at once.
Her color, already at a bare minimum, washed from her face. She sagged against the wall, a puddle with bones.
“You?” Hardly a whisper.
I squeezed my eyes shut. She didn’t know. Somehow, she didn’t know that she’d been in a picture with Devin taken a few days ago, staring right at him and smiling. Now, she looked older than she did that night he’d beat her. Not older physically, but something had shifted behind her eyes. A hardness that hadn’t been in that picture, but was here now, six years later.
That hadn’t been her in the picture. Or somehow it was her and she didn’t remember? The photo had the date printed right at the bottom.
It made no sense, but I didn’t have time to unravel it right then.
I opened my eyes again. “I just need some clothes and some money. I’ll pay you back.”
She fished out her keys from her jeans pocket and chucked them at my head. I caught them midair, having had a lot of practice from childhood when she got pissed at me.
“Good,” she said, her voice full of bite and then looked away, dismissing me. “Money’s in a plastic bag taped to the inside of the toilet tank. Edgar may or may not let you leave with it.”
Fair enough. Edgar was her pet iguana she’d had for twelve years. I backed away. My time here was done.
Jessica’s apartment building was nearby, right over the line in a street a few blocks down that separated the tuxedo part of Brightwell from the slums. Her building couldn’t decide what color it wanted to be, its gray and white and yellow and tan foundation easy to spot in the darkening night. She lived on the ground floor with window planters at each of her windows filled with bright flowers and a welcome mat outside her front door when no one else had one.
I let myself
in and quickly locked the door behind me. It was dark inside, the sheer curtains drawn. It smelled warm and clean, not like my apartment a few blocks down. I cleaned at work, not at home.
I made my way through the living room to the hallway, noting the framed, life-like drawings she’d done sitting on the bookshelves and lamp tables along the way. Our parents, long since moved to the Northern Vampire Clan, one of me in my Night League baseball uniform, another of me flipping her off.
Even though it had seemed she’d pushed me away these last six years without a single word, seeing these drawings felt like a kick to the chest. Before that night six years ago, we’d never been particularly close since we didn’t have much in common. I never knew she’d done drawings of me, so I must’ve annoyed her enough to make some kind of impression. Not going to lie—it felt good.
A faint scratching sounded from somewhere on my way down the hallway. Edgar, probably. I found the money in the toilet tank, taking only what I thought I would need, washed the dried blood from my hands, then strode toward Jessica’s closet in her bedroom. Of course we weren’t the same size, but as long as I could fit into a shirt and sweatpants or something, I’d make do. Hell, I’d even settle for something pink or lacy.
I was relieved when I didn’t have to.
After I changed into oversized sweatpants and a gray Brightwell East High P.E. Dept. shirt, I found a bag to stuff my bloodied tux in and then hurried back down the hallway.
More scratching came, almost like a rustling in a distinct, rhythmic pattern.
My steps toward the front door slowed, my flesh slinking back the way I came.
I knew that sound. Not Edgar. Not raindrops. Not yet.
Footsteps through dead grass right outside the sheer-curtained living room window.
No. No.
I dropped to the ground right before a white spotlight as bright and shocking as the sun blasted through the window. Seconds later, the front door burst open. Voices shouted at me to do fifty things at once.
Fucked. Capitalized, outlined in red, literally spotlighted, and placed on a pedestal—Fucked.