Adventures of a Vegan Vamp: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (15 page)

I
jerked
in my sleep and woke in a heart-thudding rush.

My breath came in gasps as I lay in bed, trying to remember what nasty dream had woken me. Falling? Topless in algebra? Teeth falling out? Cleaning the junior high boys’ bathroom?

Pretty blue eyes…bad man

“Tangwystl? Did you wake me up?”

Bad man

“What?” I tried not to sound peeved, but I hadn’t gotten any quality, non-coma sleep in a while. It had been glorious—while it lasted.

Rat

In slow increments, the tiny piston of my groggy mind started to chug away, and something clicked, letting me know that rats weren’t good. Rats… “Nuts!” A jolt of adrenaline rushed through me, and I hopped out of bed. More quietly, I asked, “Here? Now?”

Yes…I says you

Tangwystl’s petulance was hard to miss.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I whispered as I tiptoed to the dresser. “Any chance you can help a girl out?”

A faint glimmer shone from the edge of the scabbard. I’d take that for a yes.

Whether I knew how to use a sword or not, I didn’t have anything else. I grabbed the hilt. My mind flitted to the gun in the kitchen. Too far.

I pulled her free.

Soft singing, just like before.

Holding the sword with both hands, I said quietly, “Any helpful hints?”

Pointy end out

I turned to the door and waited—pointy end out.

Several seconds passed with my heart thudding into the silence.

I wanted to shush it. It seemed like a bad idea, combining a loudly thudding heart and a prowling, murderous vamp. Then I remembered Wembley’s nugget of vamp wisdom: vamps didn’t drink vamp blood. I only wished knowing that helped.

I crept to the door as quietly as I could. Open the door? Investigate? Wait? I waited a few more seconds—which filled with silence.

Maybe Tangwystl was wrong.

The crash of shattering glass filled my ears. Humid, hot air pressed in on me. Stinging bites prickled the backs of my bare arms and legs.

I turned to the window, now shattered. Why hadn’t I thought about the window? I sucked at this.

“You do.”

“Ack!” He was inside. Inside the house. Inside my head. Ick. Ick-ick-ick. My flesh crawled.

A sharp nip at my shoulder cleared my head. The rat had bitten me. My sword tip rested uselessly on the ground, forgotten. I lifted Tangwystl and swung wildly.

By the time my spinning head told me I’d done more than a full circle or three, I realized the rat had retreated. Or was invisible…and insubstantial?

Or the spinning room was confusing me.

“Ow!”

Another sharp nip; this time my other shoulder.

“Tangwystl? Any helpful hints?” This time I tried to move the blade more than my body. If I fell on the ground from lightheadedness—all bad.

“How cute—a magic sword. But if you don’t know how to use it…”

Pain spiked as he sliced through the flesh on the back of my arm.

How? And where was Wembley? And why didn’t I have a gun? And why me?

“You’re pathetically whiny as a vamp. You’re almost as bad as you were before. And don’t be confused; you were an insufferably entitled bitch before.”

I gasped. “You did not. And I wasn’t.” I didn’t think I was.

He laughed. “And that gun you’re so interested in? Not very helpful against my kind.”

“You…you perv. You’ve been eavesdropping on my thoughts. My personal, private thoughts.”

I shot a few choice images his way.

He just laughed.

I twirled myself to the light switch near the door, the blade tip circling the air around me. I hated to do it—but I had to do it. I couldn’t fight what I couldn’t see.

I flicked the lights on. Just like I thought, I was blinded for a split second.

“Oooooh, you little rat.”

His attack had shredded my nightgown—my only nightgown—and dug a thin furrow in my back.

He had to be slashing with his fangs. Harder to get purchase on my back versus the fleshy part of my arm.

“I’m no rodent.”

I scanned the room. I was looking for that hazy, shimmering air that had given away Tangwystl. “Well, when you scurry around in the shadows, fearful of the light of day, you can see how I’d come to that conclusion.”

And there it was, not a shimmer; I caught a hint of blurred colors—movement. I lifted the tip of the blade and slashed. “Nuts!”

“I’m too fast for you, little baby vamp.” His voice placed him near the bed, but without movement, I couldn’t track him.

“Don’t suppose that’s what you meant by your kind and guns?”

He laughed. “This is fun. More fun than the humans.”

The humans. Mrs. A, Liz, my long-disappeared human self. Those three other woman—maybe more—who’d died secret, hidden deaths. I didn’t need Tangwystl to tell me my eyes weren’t pretty blue any more.

“I will end you.” And I believed I might. My vision had sharpened, and all of my senses vibrated like the very best of caffeine-sugar highs. I was ready.

“Will you?” He sounded amused. “Live a few decades, sweetie. Or a few centuries, and then maybe. Oh, how sad. You won’t make it that long.”

This time, I not only saw the blurred motion, but I traced it as the rat charged me. I slashed. A guttural noise escaped my throat. No hit.

So close. I’d missed—but so had he. I could feel the rub of my tiny fangs against my lower lip, and I might be snarling.

Too late

I practically spat in frustration. “I
know
that.”

Pointy edge out

“I got that part.” I wiggled the tip of the blade. “See?”

Guess rat’s bite…pointy edge out.
A string of unintelligible words poured forth, followed by a groan of frustration.
Predict?

And while I chatted with my less-than-helpful magical sword—“Owwweeee!”—the rat took a nice, piercing stab at my leg.

Panting, I yelled, “I am going to slice your balls off!”

Tears threatened—just what I needed. Bloody extremities and an acid bath. But then it clicked. Limited language skills, yes, but it was there. “Tangwystl, you angel.”

The rat snorted. “You’re so incredibly stupid. Tangwystl? What sword calls itself the broker of peace?”

My vamp-enhanced red-eye vision saw him approach. A little geometry, a small sidestep, and the rat impaled himself on my beautiful blade.

“Ha! Gotcha!”

And there he was, fully visible, on the end of my clever blade.

Pin to the wall! Stabby, stabby fast.

“Oh—right!” I scrambled and started to shove him toward the wall. Because who knew how fast he’d be, even with a huge hole in his side?

And that was when I realized that he was the bartender from the bar on Tuesday night. And even if he did wear skinny jeans, he was a lot bigger than me. And he was trying to un-impale himself.

“Nuts!” I shoved the blade as hard as I could—could feel it sink in another crunchy inch—but he was definitely stronger than me.

“Tangwystl,” I panted. “Might have a problem.” My bare feet started to slide on the bamboo flooring.

The bedroom door swung open.

Turn to see and maybe lose my footing…don’t turn and maybe Wembley accidentally-on-purpose shoots me. Hm.

“And here I thought you might need saving.”

Alex.

I almost crumpled in relief. With Alex and Wembley—surely Wembley was here somewhere—and me, we should be able to restrain one homicidal maniac.

“I’m not a homicidal maniac. You’re an insect with an inflated ego.”

“Aaaaaaaah!” Tangwystl slid another inch. “Stop reading my mind, you pervy…ugh…sicko…ugh…nut job!”

A hysterical giggle burbled. That must have been a few more inches.

As I was not so slowly losing my marbles and grunting my way to several more inches of gut-slicing damage, Alex walked behind the rat, slipped a cord around his neck, and had his ankles trussed to his throat in seconds.

“You can stop now.” Alex was definitely trying not to laugh. “And vamps don’t get breathless. I believe that’s what they call a psychosomatic response.”

Having someone tell you not to be out of breath—shockingly—doesn’t make you not out of breath. I let go of Tangwystl and backed away until I hit the wall. Then I leaned against it and slid down to the ground. Panting, I said, “Do we also not get sore muscles? Because liar, liar, pants on fire.” I rubbed my neck. “I hurt.”

Alex sobered. “I’m sorry. Maybe a warm bath?” He yanked my sword out of Bart the bartender.

“Can you guys get all lovey-dovey later? You’re going to make me puke.”

“Is it just me, or does this nutter seem very not concerned about being captured?” I accepted the bloodied sword with my left hand. The right didn’t want to move.

“It’s the new order, baby vamp.” Black eyes stared into mine. His pupils were huge, with only tiny rings of pale grey iris. “Stayed under the radar; you can’t touch me.”

You’d think I’d be mad. Or burst into acid tears. Or simply twist the sword in his gut—since leaving it sticking in his midsection alone wasn’t causing him a lot of pain. No—I laughed.

And I laughed some more. My sides started to cramp, and I did eventually tear up. But what were a few poisonous tears shed? Because this was reminding me of a certain conversation in a certain office in a certain Society’s headquarters.

I dabbed at my eyes with my nightgown. “You idiot. You’re going to hang.”

“No way.” He looked genuinely confused. He’d killed who knew how many women—because we were insects with inflated egos? What did that even mean? But having committed those crimes, he truly believed he would not be punished.

“Can we just hang him here? Maybe in the backyard?” I asked.

Alex seemed to consider my words. “Eh, better not. Like he said, there is a new order. We’ll take Bart—Bart Kegler?—back to Society headquarters for that.”

“I don’t understand.” Bart looked dazed.

I’d thrown around the crazy tag a lot, but now he looked bewildered, like a five-year-old who knows he’s broken the rules but simply can’t comprehend that he’s being punished.

“You forgot about me.” I gave him a hard look. Those other women—the ones he’d tried to diminish with his small words—they’d get their justice through me. “I am
not
under the radar. I am very much a loud and visible error.”

“But…you’re basically an unapproved transformation.”

Alex shook his head. “The second unapproved transformation to appear in a human doctor’s office. The first went into full bloodlust at the office and seriously injured a nurse. Three unapproved transformations. Three very public incidents.”

“I’m also super broken, in case you haven’t heard. Can’t eat blood, stunted fangs. Also your fault, as my progenitor. My existence makes certain members of the Society very uncomfortable.” I shrugged. “Or so I hear.”

Was I acting as judge and jury? Oh yes. And I didn’t feel the faintest flutter of remorse.

This was about justice. For so many people’s lives, both ended and damaged. This underground Society I’d joined, with its odd bureaucracy and funny traditions, its twisty rules and strange members, was my new world. And they said let him hang. I could do that.

T
urned out
, Wembley had disappeared for reinforcements. And who did he reappear with? My favorite enhanced being, Mr. Clean, a.k.a. Anton the Silent.

We all piled into Anton’s black Escalade, complete with a security company logo on the door. I figured Anton for a bouncer—but upscale security guard worked, too.

“Are we at all worried that he’s back there tied up with bits of paracord?”

“Bewitched paracord,” Alex said. “And it’s only a few miles.”

The group lapsed into silence.

What seemed like seconds later, Alex was shaking my shoulder. “Wake up.”

I’d fallen asleep in just the few miles between Wembley’s place and the Society’s headquarters—I had to be exhausted. Whatever Alex said about what vamps could and could not do, I’d worn myself out wrestling with Bart the bartender. After having met him, and now that we were marching him to a well-earned death, the appellation “rat” seemed wildly inappropriate. He was both so much more and so much less.

Anton retrieved Bart from the rear of the Escalade, but as I moved to follow them inside, Alex stopped me.

“Wembley, you, and I are going to give testimony, and then we’re done. As an injured party, you’re invited to stay for the execution—but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“I get it now, why people don’t like vamps.” My lip curled. “It’s the God complex.”

“Hey,” Wembley said with a hurt look. “I don’t have a God complex.”

Alex punched Wembley in the arm—hard. “You couldn’t. You’d have to choose a god.”

“True.” Wembley smiled good-naturedly, which made me wonder exactly how many gods he worshiped. Turning to me, he said, “Bart might have been of a particularly nasty variety of vamp due to his peculiar type of enhancement. Telepathic vamps always go wrong in the end.”

Great. Bart was basically my vamp dad. “Enhancements aren’t inherited through progenitors, are they?”

“Not at all. Genetics or a roll of the dice.” Wembley put his arm around my shoulders, and we headed inside. I didn’t comment, but Wembley was definitely propping me up. I was crashing hard.

Alex opened the door for us—so maybe it was obvious.

“Anyone want to tell me what we’re doing exactly? You said we’re giving testimony.”

“Just a briefing.” Alex sped up a bit to open the next door for us.

Yep. I must look pretty rough. “Oh! Any chance for some coffee?” Even the thought perked me up. We’d just left the retail store, and I stopped outside of Alex’s office door. “Please?”

Alex hovered, undecided.

“Bad idea.” Wembley had removed his arm when I’d stopped. He reached out now and placed his hand in between my shoulder blades.

I hadn’t even realized I’d been swaying until he steadied me. “See? I need it.”

And now I sounded like a druggie desperate for a fix. Caffeine
was
a drug. I shook my head. A tiny pick-me-up, hardly the same thing.

Alex sighed. “Fine. I have some instant for emergencies.”

I vaguely remembered batting my eyelashes for a second cup and reminding Alex of my awesome tolerance—three whole French presses before I’d even noticed the effects—to finagle a third cup. But he and Wembley absolutely cut me off after three, much as I begged for a fourth.

I was feeling positively lively by the time we made it back to the hallway. Everything was fantastic…up until the ghouly ghosty thing.

I squinted at Alex, cocked my head, and leaned close—but no matter what I did, the little ghosty thing was still there, clinging to his back.

Alex frowned at me. “What is it?”

“Um, you remember Great-Auntie Lula?” Alex gave me a brusque nod. “Well, it’s just…” I sighed. “Wembley? Can you give us a second?” I tapped him on the nose with my index finger.

Wembley closed his eyes and shook his head. “Clearly you can’t hold your coffee quite as well when you’re tired. All right. But hurry up.”

After he’d disappeared down the hall, I leaned close to Alex and whispered loudly, “There’s a ghosty thing hanging on to your back.”

A muscle leapt in his jaw and he scanned the hallway then turned hard eyes on me. “I know. But how do you?”

I blinked then shrugged. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that third cup. I really didn’t understand what was going on.

Alex ran his hands through his hair. “It’s just because I’m tired. They sense weakness. But, Mallory, you can’t say anything.”

I nodded. “Sure thing, chief.”

“I’m serious. It would be bad for me, but really, really bad for you.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll explain it to you tomorrow when you’re sober. But not a word tonight, okay?”

I stood up straight. “Absolutely. I can do that.”

And I lived up to my promise. We gave Cornelius a briefing, just as Alex had said: found the bad guy, bad guy broke in, captured bad guy—done.

And that was the testimony. Cornelius even cut me a check on the spot—once Alex had reminded him.

That was most of the tale, except… “How did Bart find me squirreled away at Wembley’s house?” I’d waited until we left Cornelius in his office. And I tried not to think where Anton and Bart likely were.

Wembley huffed. “And how did Alex get there so fast? I was passed out in the living room, so
I
didn’t call him.” He looked embarrassed. “He surprised me. Must have been in a hurry, otherwise he’d have done more damage to me.”

Alex turned to Wembley. “You have got to start training again. I had no idea you’d gotten so—”

“Complacent? Unaware? Unfit? I think my sabbatical has gone on a few centuries too long.” Wembley pinched the bridge of his nose. “Training at noon tomorrow?”

Alex clapped a hand on his back. “Done.”

“Okay—I’m really glad you guys have a workout plan set up, but if Wembley didn’t call you, how did you know to come to the house?” I let the “centuries” comment slide, but mostly because my brain simply couldn’t grasp the concept that Wembley was that old. Not in its current state.

“The hottie—ah, the blonde bartender from the bar called to see if I wanted to grab a beer after her shift.” Alex paused and gave me a curious look.

That was when I realized I was making a funny growling noise. I stopped and frowned. “What? I’m not allowed to be fake pissed that my fake boyfriend was getting hit on?”

“I won’t be so easily persuaded the next time you want a coffee hit,” Alex said. “But the whole point is that she mentioned Bart had come to work after Joe injured himself moving some boxes, and he claimed to have found your lost keys. She wanted to know if he’d called yet.”

“Huh, but there weren’t any… Ooooh.” I wrapped my tired but caffeinated brain around that thought. “But how did Bart get from ‘they’re onto me’ to ‘Mallory’s at Wembley’s house’?”

“The bartender, I’m sure,” Alex said.

I suppose we’d chatted about our plans; they’d hardly been top secret. But I didn’t specifically remember that. “And even if she didn’t think any of our conversation worth mentioning, all she had to do was have a stray thought, because Bart is telepathic.”

“Exactly.” We’d reached Alex’s office. He motioned to the door. “It’s late, and I need to get some rest.”

I tried not to blink at the mention of rest, but it reminded me of the spirit creature that had clung to Alex’s back earlier. At some point, it had quietly disappeared. Interesting and odd. What had chased him away? Lack of success, I hoped.

I glanced at Wembley. “How are we getting home?”

“I’ve got it covered.”

He seemed sure, so I waved a goodnight to Alex and followed Wembley out to the parking lot.

A few seconds later, I stopped and gave Wembley the are-you-nuts look. “Anton’s Escalade?”

Wembley reached under the rear passenger wheel well and pulled out a hide-a-key triumphantly. “Absolutely.”

I didn’t mention that Anton was an enforcer. Or that he seemed to work for—maybe owned—a security company, that maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Because I just wanted to go home and get some rest.

The funny thing? Not once in thinking of home did I think of my condo. As I went to bed for the second time that night, this time on Wembley’s sofa, I felt comfortable. I felt like I was at home.

I didn’t give Bart more than a passing thought—he didn’t deserve any more of my time. I did think about Mrs. A and Liz. I also thought about the other victims.

And right before I fell asleep, I thought about a tiny spirit clinging to Alex’s back, whispering in his ear.

Two shakes later, a bright light shone directly in my eyes.

“Wake up.” Alex sat on the edge of the sofa backlit by sunlight.

“It’s a lie.” I pulled the pillow he’d removed back over my head.

“What’s a lie?”

“The sun.” My words were muffled by the pillow, but I didn’t care. The world was too bright. “I’ve only been asleep a few hours.”

“Try ten; it’s noon.” He tugged on the pillow, but I held it firmly in place. “I have carrot juice.”

“Really?”

“Promise. Besides, we need to talk before Wembley and his crew get back. They’ve made a supply run to fix the bedroom window.” His weight left the sofa.

I groaned. Then I remembered fragments of a rather unpleasant dream I’d had. I pulled the pillow off my head, ready to be blinded, but Alex had pulled the curtains. I sighed in relief. “Thanks. I had a rather unpleasant dream that involved you. I think it was you.” Shaking my head, I said, “Who knows? Dreams are weird. Bart?”

He sat down in an armchair a few feet away. “Executed last night.”

“Whoa—they don’t mess around. Good thing he was actually guilty.” I made a mental note not to ever be falsely accused—oh, right, I couldn’t control that.

“Expedited execution due to a confession of the accused. Truth extraction is rather…unpleasant, so he confessed to avoid the ordeal.”

I remembered that odd comment about the Inquisition and shivered. The Society might talk a big game about bringing in a new order… “Torture is notoriously unreliable. You guys know that, right?”

“Possibly, but we have a witch come in to verify all confessions.”

“This conversation is making me feel icky. I know we did the right thing by turning him over, but the Society is looking pretty shady. And don’t say it; I already know: you’re all working toward a better solution.” I sat cross-legged on the sofa and pulled the blanket up high under my chin. All of this talk about torture reminded me of a question I’d been meaning to ask for a while now. “Quick question about your sword.”

Alex pulled out his phone and checked the time. “Go ahead.”

“Does your sword talk to you?”

“My sword doesn’t speak to me, because mine isn’t actually alive. It’s imbued with magical incantations and the substance itself is an alchemic alloy—but it is most certainly not alive. Living things have will. They make choices. I don’t want my sword—a tool intended to serve my will—to make decisions.”

“Oh. Oops. Did Wembley pull a fast one on me?”

“Yeah, oops. I can’t believe he thought giving you Tangwystl was a good idea.”

“I could lock her up…” But the idea held no appeal. She’d been locked away for so long already, waiting for the right person. And she’d chosen me.

Alex sighed. “But you don’t want to, because you like her. That’s one of the other problems with living objects: you get attached. They have opinions and make choices, and you start to treat them like people. Tangwystl isn’t a person trapped in a sword—she’s a living sword. Don’t forget that.”

“Does that mean you think I should keep her?”

“A living sword isn’t my own choice for a sword, but I suspect you wouldn’t have fared so well in the confrontation with Bart without her.”

His comments were translating into a stamp of approval in my mind, so I was glad I asked. I liked Tangwystl. Sure, her vocabulary was seriously limited, but at least she spoke English. That seemed pretty cool, given how old she was.

“Also—this whole carrying a sword in public thing,” I said. “How does that work?”

“You’ll have to sort that out with her. Mine has incantations inscribed to conceal and store it.”

Store it…I remembered him driving in the car with no obvious sword. Sitting at my office desk with no sword. “Are you telling me your sword gets stashed somewhere until you need it?”

“Basically. And when it is present, most can’t see it. Better to ask Tangwystl your sword questions. I have no idea what she’s capable of.” He glanced at his cell phone. “You had a question about some dream? If you hadn’t taken forever to wake up, we’d have more time.” He gave me a narrow-eyed look. “Too much coffee.”

“I do feel a little hungover.” Which reminded me—I grabbed the carrot juice bottle from the coffee table and gulped down several swigs. “So this guy in my dream—maybe you, maybe not you—has no face. And he has these strings attached, like a marionette, but different because all the strings are to the guy’s chest—or maybe his torso? Which is weird, because marionettes have little strings all over, otherwise you can’t move all the pieces.”

“So if he has no face, why is he me?”

I finished the juice and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “I don’t know.” I peered intently at him. “But since you seem to think he is, too, why don’t you tell me?”

Alex leaned back in the armchair and propped his foot on his knee. “About what you saw last night—”

“The spirit.”

“The caffeine-induced hallucination.” He looked at me.

“Are you kidding me? I know what I saw, drunk on coffee or not.”

“This isn’t about me.” He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “It’s not only about me. Vamps don’t see spirits.”

“Whatever. Vamps also survive by drinking blood, have great big serpenty fangs, and don’t get out of breath or cry acid tears. Newsflash: that garbage isn’t right.”

He looked nonplussed. “Acid tears?”

“Oh, yeah. I could totally bottle that stuff and sell it. Weaponized tears.”

Alex rolled his head back and groaned. “Keep that one to yourself if you can. But the spirits, you cannot tell anyone else. Communicating with spirit entities is a wizard power. Vamps don’t see spirits, can’t communicate with spirits.” He gave me a fierce, angry look. "Can’t control spirits. And if certain people were to think otherwise, that could cause a lot of problems for you.”