The Vampire Next Door (14 page)

“I know y’all expected it to be brown or amber colored, and it will be by the time it’s ready for sale, but we thought we’d try the spell on the purest form first.”

Morgaine smiled. “We can call it Vampire Vodka if this spell works.” She bumped Sly playfully.

He put an arm around her and kissed her temple. “From your lips to G… the Goddess’s ears.”

“Now you’re getting it.” She nipped his ear and he growled low.

Gwyneth folded her arms. “If all y’all can pay as firm attention to the spell as to each other, this should work just fine.”

The new lovers chuckled.

“Okay, I think we’ve got enough,” Morgaine said. She picked up the empty Mason jar and swapped it for the nearly full one. She set the clear liquid on the floor between them and held out her hands. Gwyneth grasped one and Sly the other, then Gwyneth and Sly joined hands so the three of them made a triangle around the liquid.

“Sly, just concentrate on the outcome y’all want while Morgaine and I chant the spell.”

He had purposely waited until his blood lust was back in full force to measure the success of the spell. He tried not to think of its failure.

“Wait just a doggone minute,” Gwyneth said. “It might help if we had the spell.”

Morgaine chuckled and let go of her hand. “Good thinking.”

Gwyneth dug a folded paper out of her pocket. They set it on top of the jar. Morgaine closed her eyes first, and Gwyneth followed suit. The witches took some deep breaths. They had explained to Sly that they’d need to go into a trance to recite the spell, and all he needed to do was keep the circle connected and visualize a positive outcome.

The two women opened their eyes and gazed at the Mason jar. They stood perfectly still and read, “Lord and Lady, hear us now. We repledge our faithful vow. With this spell we help our friend. Your healing power, his way send. The treatment for his vampirism, with this liquid will be hisn.”

His eyebrows rose.
Hisn?
Was that a word? Oh well, he figured the witches knew what they were doing.

“Let our will be granted as read, and help our friend, live un-undead. If for the good of most, so mote it be.”

They closed their eyes and stood silently for several seconds. He was just beginning to wonder if their minds had gone somewhere never to return when their eyelids fluttered open.

They smiled and nodded to each other. Then Morgaine said, “Blessings and thanks to the spirits attending our circle. We release you until we meet again.”

Sly glanced around nervously, half expecting to see shadowy figures floating away.

Morgaine continued. “The circle is open but not broken as we send it skyward. Blessed be.” They raised their arms and released their grasps.

“There. That ought to do it,” Morgaine said, sounding confident.

Gwyneth picked up the jar and grinned. “I’ll drink to that.” She took a big swig and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Ahhh… that’s the stuff, all right.”

Handing it to Morgaine, she said. “Y’all enjoy.”

She lifted the jar like a mug of ale in a silent toast. “Down the hatch.” She took as big a gulp as Gwyneth had and almost choked. “Holy shit!”

“Ain’t it though?” Gwyneth giggled.

Morgaine gagged.

“Now don’t y’all go spittin’ it out. That’s good moonshine and not ta be wasted.”

“Dear Lord and Lady, that stuff should come with a warning label!”

Gwyneth frowned and crossed her arms. “Like what?”

“Like, ‘caution, may eat through your stomach lining.’ That’s probably why they call it rotgut.”

“This ain’t no rotgut whiskey. It’s just a little stronger than y’all are used to. Try sipping it next time.”

“What next time?” Morgaine held the jar out to Sly.

“Don’t listen to her, sugar. She’s a wimp about all kinds of things. Why should liquor be any different?”

Morgaine suddenly yanked back the Mason jar without releasing it.

“I beg your pardon? I’m not a wimp just because I like my internal organs.” She took another sip, squeezed her eyes shut, and swallowed. “Yeah, it’s better in small doses.”

At last, she handed it to Sly. He winked at her. “At least I don’t have to worry about this stuff killing me.”

The girls giggled.

“To your health.” He raised the jar in a toast and drank.
Hmm… that’s not too bad. Maybe the cure will outweigh the curse after all.

The witches watched him expectantly.

Morgaine spoke first. “Anything?”

Sly tried to think of blood without getting thirsty. Damn. He needed to feed worse than ever. Disappointment descended like a heavy cloud.

Suddenly, Gwyneth pointed to him and the witches gasped.

“What?”

“Y’all are red as a tomato!”

Sly lifted his hands and was temporarily stunned speechless. His skin was lobster red.

Morgaine ripped the piece of paper out of Gwyneth’s hand. “Let me see that.”

It may have been torn, but apparently she could still read what it said. She slapped her forehead. “Dammit! We asked the cure be granted as read. R-e-a-d.”

“Yeah, so?”

“The powers-that-be must have thought we meant the color, r-e-d!”

Gwyneth stamped her foot. “Shoot.” Then she snapped her gaze toward the ceiling. “No,
don’t
shoot! Sorry for the confusion, Goddess. Can y’all fix it—please?”

Sly watched as the color faded from his skin. When he was his usual pasty shade, he let out a sigh of relief. “Whew. I wouldn’t mind having a little pigment again, but I’d prefer my Latino tan to lobster red.”

“What about your other symptoms?” Morgaine asked. “Are you still, um, thirsty?”

Sly nodded sadly.

“Oh, no.”

Gwyneth started toward the stairs. “Let me go up to my place and try again.”

“No!” Morgaine and Sly said at once.

“Well then, let me get a paper and pencil, and we can write it together. That way it’ll be triple-checked to make sure we get all the kinks out.”

Morgaine looked at Sly. “Do you want to try again?”

“If you’re sure you can guarantee the worst that’ll happen is no cure for this bad case of the munchies.”

The witches tried another, simpler spell. Morgaine had high hopes for this one. It didn’t rhyme, but it specified exactly what they wanted to happen. Remove Sly’s blood lust and allow him to stay conscious and safe in daylight.

Morgaine handed the jar to Sly. “Well, are you ready to try it again?”

He took it from her. “I think so.”

“I’ll go first if y’all want a guinea pig.” Gwyneth grinned like she couldn’t wait to chug it down. Well, why not? She seemed the most able candidate to handle it.

Sly passed it to her. “By all means. Ladies first.”

Gwyneth took a huge gulp and smacked her lips. “I just can’t get over how good this is. It just might be better than Daddy used to make.”

Morgaine rolled her eyes. “If you say so.” She took the jar from her and sipped. “Whoa! That still burns like gasoline—after putting a match to it.”

Gwyneth sighed. “What can I say? Some people just don’t appreciate the finer things in life.”

Sly took the jar from Morgaine, held it near his mouth, and said, “Over the lips and past the gums—look out, stomach, here it comes.”

As he sipped, Gwyneth turned to her older cousin and said, “See? Sly knows how to rhyme.”

They all waited anxiously for something to happen. Sly held out his hands. “Well, I’m not turning bright colors this time.”

“Is your thirst decreasing?”

Sly hesitated a moment. Then he shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Well, maybe y’all need a little more. Let’s keep passin’ it until it’s gone. We got more collectin’ in the bucket over yonder.”

Gwyneth pointed with her thumb toward the still where indeed the bucket held at least another jar full.

Sly gazed at Morgaine. “What do you say? Do you think it’s worth a try?”

She shrugged. “Having never done this before, it’s anybody’s guess. Maybe it does take a certain amount to be effective. Like medicine.”

“I’m game if both of you are.” He handed the jar to Gwyneth.

“Y’all know I’m in favor.” She took another swig.

“So, while we’re sitting here drinking, we might as well talk about our Plan B,” Morgaine said.

Gwyneth stole an extra sip before handing the glass jar to Morgaine. “You mean going to New York?”

“New York? Who’s going to New York?” Sly asked.

Just the thought of it made Morgaine jittery, and she took a large swallow. “Plauhh!” She took a few deep breaths, hoping to cool the molten lava sliding down her throat. At last she answered him. “If I live through this, you and I need to go to New York to see my old friend, Mikhail.”

“Is that the guy who makes the Vampire Vintage?”

“Yes. I called him but he wouldn’t give me the secret ingredient. The one thing he said he would do is trade me a case of it for a little magick.”

Sly gave her a sidelong glance. “What kind of magic?”

Gwyneth sat up straighter. “Why Sylvestro Flores, are y’all jealous?”

“N-no. I was just… curious.”

Gwyneth slapped her knee. “Don’t deny it. Y’all are jealous. I know the signs.”

Morgaine had to intervene, although it secretly pleased her to think Sly might be a little possessive. “Gwyneth, ‘mind your own beeswax,’ as a certain witch I know would say.”

Gwyneth jumped up and said, “Fine. I feel like dancin’ anyway.” She whirled away, trying to pirouette across the basement.

“I was hoping you’d come with me, Sly.”

“Oh? Wouldn’t Gwyneth have to go? I can’t travel in daylight, and you can’t travel at night—or period.”

“I have to go. Mikhail doesn’t know Gwyneth, and he’s very cautious of people he doesn’t know. He wants to meet you for the same reason.” She leaned toward him and whispered, “Besides, he needs me to remove a curse and set up a sigil. It’s a type of magickal warning system, and that’s rather advanced. I don’t think Gwyneth can do it yet.”

“Okay. So how do we proceed?”

Gwyneth twirled past them. “I can teach y’all about takin’ Morgaine out into the scary world.”

Morgaine sighed. “I’m all right as long as I’m with someone I trust.”

“Yeah, but y’all need to know what to do if she has a panic attack.”

“I’ll learn all I can about your condition and how to help you with it, but are you really willing to do this, Morgaine? For me?”

She stroked his arm. “Call me crazy, but I wouldn’t do it for anybody else.”

Sly leaned over and kissed her senseless.

Gwyneth recited, “Sly and Morgaine sittin’ in a tree… y’all have stupid names.” Then she became giddy and couldn’t finish the rhyme.

*   *   *   *

When the super opened his apartment door, a suspicious chemical smell assaulted his nostrils. Maybe it had wafted in from outside? Jules followed the strange odor downstairs. It seemed a little stronger on the first floor. He sniffed outside apartments 1A and 1B. It didn’t seem to be coming from either of the men’s apartments—and it didn’t smell like dirty gym socks anyway.

He opened the front door, and the odor vanished.
Nope. It’s definitely coming from inside. Great. Just what I need—a Unabomber in my building.

Maybe the smell was coming from the basement. As he neared the basement door at the back of the hall, the scent became stronger and a little more distinct.
Alcohol?
When he opened the door, the smell intensified.

Jules heard the sound of scurrying feet followed by girls giggling.
Holy crap. What am I walking into?
He thought about calling the police for a moment, but Jason Falco, the landlord and his boss, had made it clear that he wanted to avoid drawing attention to the building at all costs. Well, the culprit didn’t seem to be a Unabomber, so that meant investigating giggling girls fell to Jules.

He switched on the light at the top of the stairs and tiptoed past a few cobwebs. Yeah, he’d have to brush those away later. Nearing the bottom step, he glanced around. A light was on in the laundry room, so he checked there first. It was empty.

A few snickers led him to the storage side. He looked past stacked boxes and old furniture, but he couldn’t see anyone.

“Okay, girls, I can hear you. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Peals of laughter gave them away, and the two women from the third floor came stumbling out into the open. They may have been giggling like little girls, but they swayed like a couple of old drunks.

“Isn’t this a strange place to have a party?” he asked.

The young redhead sidled up to him and grasped his arm. “We was just… My, what big muscles y’all have!”

Proud of his swimmer’s body, Jules flexed his bicep.

She gasped and stroked the sizable bulge under his shirt sleeve. “I do declare! Y’all must be strong as a bull. Do y’all work out?”

“I’m a swimmer.”

“Well, I’ll be. Who knew swimmers could get so virile?” She leaned in closer to him. “I bet y’all could help me move my bed with one hand tied behind your back.” He smelled alcohol on her breath—not that he needed much confirmation of what she and her cousin had been up to.

“Gwyneth, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh, and y’all are Jules, right? Jules Vernon?”