Authors: Parker Blue
"I know. I saw."
"Dammit, Jen, you shouldn't have come. If's dangerous.” And if one hair on her pretty little head had been harmed, Mom would have my head on a platter.
"Yeah, well, we can't all be big, strong vampire slayers,” she said. She tried to make it sound sarcastic, but it came out sounding more wistful than anything.
I sighed, recognizing jealousy when I saw it. I knew Jen envied my abilities—my specialness—with all the longing of a teenager who wanted to be something extraordinary herself. Of course, it was the demon inside me that gave me advantages she didn't have. All of my senses were enhanced far beyond normal, including strength, speed, agility, rapid healing, and the ability to read vamps’ minds when they tried to control me. Unfortunately, my little sister had no clue as to the price I paid for those advantages.
And she also had no idea how much I envied her. Fully human, with All-American blond good looks and plenty of friends, she had everything I had always wanted and could never have—true normalcy, not just the appearance of it. With my Jewish/Catholic, demon/human background and the melting pot that went into my heritage, I felt like a mongrel next to a show dog. My lucky half sister had managed to avoid the bulk of my confusing heritage since we shared only a mother.
But I couldn't say any of that—she wouldn't believe it. “Help me get the body in the trunk,” I said tersely.
I usually had to do this part by myself, but why not take advantage of Jen's presence? Besides, participating in the whole dirty business might turn her off for good. I unlocked the trunk and opened it.
She hesitated. “I thought—"
When she broke off, I said, “You thought what? That he'd turn into a neat little pile of dust?"
She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess."
"I wish it were that easy.” I took pity on her. “And he'll be dust soon enough—when sunlight hits him. Come dawn, I'll make sure his ass is ash."
Jen grimaced, but I wasn't going to let her off that easily. It was her decision to tag along—she'd have to pay the price. I grabbed the vampire's feet. “Get his head."
She stared down at Jason's fangs and the small amount of blood around the stake in his heart and turned a little green. “Can't you just leave him in the alley?"
I could, but then Jen wouldn't learn her lesson.
Well, damn, I sounded like Mom now. Annoyed at myself, I snapped, “We can't just leave him here for someone to trip over. What's the matter? Too much for you?"
She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “No, I just thought Dad might not like it if you got blood in his trunk."
"He's used to it.” Besides, the blood would disintegrate along with the rest of the body when sunlight hit it.
Jen gulped, but I have to give her credit—she didn't wimp out on me. I'd expected her to blow chunks at the least, but she picked up his shoulders and we wrestled the body into the trunk.
Jen wiped her hands on her jeans and stared uneasily at the casket. “Is he really dead?"
"Mostly,” I said, then grinned to myself when Jen took a step back. There was still the remote possibility Jason could heal if the stake was removed from his heart. But for that to happen, his friends would have to rescue him before dawn, tend him carefully for months and feed him lots of blood. Not likely.
I shrugged. “But the morning sun will take care of that.” I closed the trunk.
Just as I locked it, the headlights from a car blinded me and a red light from its dashboard strobed the street.
"It's a cop,” Jen said in panic.
Not good. But it didn't have to be bad, either. “Relax. Let me handle this."
The plainclothes policeman exited the unmarked car. “Evening, ladies,” he said, obviously trying to sound friendly, though he came across as wary and suspicious.
"Evening,” I responded.
Though he tried to appear like a guileless rookie, I wasn't fooled. He might only be in his mid-twenties, but he had the watchful alertness of a pro. He hooked the thumb of his right hand in his belt, making it easy to draw a weapon from that bulge under his left arm.
As he came closer, I could make out his features. He was about six feet tall with short brown hair, a straight commanding nose, and a solid bod. Totally hot. I might even be interested if he were a little younger and lost the suspicious attitude.
The demon inside me agreed, wondering what it would be like to enthrall him, get him all hot and bothered, feed on all that lovely sexual energy. That was the problem with being part succubus lust demon—ever since I started noticing boys, the demon part of me had been lying in wait, urging me to get up close and personal, wanting to compel their adoration, suck up all their sexual energy.
I'd given in once, and the poor kid barely survived. But not this time. Not again. I beat back the urges, which was pretty easy since I'd just satisfied the lust by taking out the vamp.
"What are you doing here?” he asked.
"I'm sorry, Officer...?"
"Sullivan. Detective Sullivan.” He flashed his badge at me.
I smiled, trying to look sheepish. “My little sister snuck out of the house to meet her boyfriend, and I was just trying to get her back home before Mom finds out."
"In this part of town?"
"Yeah, well, she doesn't have the best of judgment. That's why she had to sneak out."
Jen gave me a dirty look, but was just smart enough to keep her mouth shut.
He didn't look convinced. “Got any ID?"
"Sure—in the car.” I gestured toward the front of the vehicle to ask permission and he nodded. Shifting position so he could watch both of us, he asked Jen for her ID, too.
I retrieved my backpack and handed my driver's license to the detective along with my registration. He glanced at them. “Your last names are different."
"Yeah—we're half sisters. Same mother, different father. We have the same address, see?"
He nodded and took both IDs back to the car to speak to someone on the radio.
"Ohmigod,” Jen said in a hoarse whisper. “What if he finds out there's a body in the trunk? We'll go to jail. Mom and Dad will be so pissed."
"Just relax. Everything should come up clean, so there's no reason for him to even look."
Sullivan finished talking on the radio then handed our IDs back.
"Can we go now?” I asked with a smile. “I'd like to get Jen home before Mom finds out she's gone."
"Sure,” he said with an answering smile. “Just as soon as you tell me what's in the trunk."
Oh, shit.
"Nothing,” Jen said hastily, the word ending in a squeak as she backed against the trunk and spread her arms as if to protect it. “Just, you know, junk and stuff. Nothing bad."
Oh, great. Like that didn't sound guilty.
Still casual, he asked, “Would you mind opening it for me?"
Yes, I did. Very much. Swiftly, I mentally ran through the options. I couldn't take him out—I didn't hurt innocents. Besides, he'd just called in our names so they'd know we were the last to see him. Taking off wasn't an option, either—he knew who we were and where we lived.
Demon lust fizzed in my blood, the succubus part of me that allowed me to enthrall men, bend them to my will and make them willing slaves. You could take control of him, force him to let you go, a small voice whispered inside me.
Heaven help me, for a moment, I was tempted. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't take advantage of humans like that. I'd promised the parents—and myself—that I'd never do it again.
My only choice was to do as he asked and hope he'd give me time to explain. Crap. This was so not going the way I planned.
Gently, I moved Jen aside, unlocked the trunk, and braced for the worst.
He lifted the lid and stared down inside. He didn't even flinch. Good grief, was the man made of stone? Expressionless, he asked, “Vampire?"
This was so surreal. I relaxed a little, hoping I might even be able to come out of this without getting into major trouble. “Uh, yeah. The bloody fangs are a dead giveaway."
He gave me a look. The kind that said I wasn't out of trouble yet and he didn't appreciate smart-ass comments. “Why did you stake him?"
Why? He was staring down at the dead undead and he wanted to know why?
Jen blurted out, “Because he was drinking some guy's blood.” She shifted nervously. “I saw it all."
The cop nodded. “So did I."
I gaped at him. “You did?"
"Yeah, I was just calling for backup when you waltzed up and tapped him on the shoulder."
Crap—I'd been so self-involved I hadn't even noticed the unmarked car. Note to self: pay attention!
The Unbidden Magic Series
Marilee Brothers
Book One: MOON STONE
Book Two: MOON RISE
Coming in 2010, Book Three: MOON SPUN
MOONSTONE
Allie Emerson is destined to fight evil and save the world.
But first she has to survive high school.
One minute, I was on a ten-foot ladder adjusting the TV antenna on the twenty-four-foot trailer behind Uncle Sid's house, where I lived with my mother, Faye. The next minute, I sailed off the ladder, grazed an electric fence and landed face down in a cow pie.
Swear to God.
Though groggy and hurting, I rolled onto my back. A window in the trailer cranked open and I heard my mother scream. “Allie! Ohmigod! Somebody call 911!"
I was surprised Faye managed to open the window. She'd spent most of the last two years in bed since, at age thirty one, she Retired From Life. But really, call 911? We had no phone and I was the only other person in the area. Who was she talking to? Blaster the bull? I smiled weakly at the thought of Blaster in a phone booth, punching in 911 with one gigantic hoof.
Okay, technically, I landed in a bull pie, not a cow pie. The mess dripping off my face was compliments of my Uncle Sid's prize bull, speaking of which . . .
It was then my wits returned. I felt the ground vibrate, heard the rumble of hooves. I reared up to see a half-ton cranky bull racing toward me, head down, mean little eyes fixed on my prone body.
Faye continued to scream shrilly. I moaned and crawled toward the fence, looking over my shoulder at Blaster who bore down on me like a runaway train. When I tried to stand, I slipped in the wet grass and landed on my belly. Oh God, he was just inches away. I wasn't going to make it! I rolled into a ball and screamed, “No, Blaster! Go back! Go back!"
Laying on the wet grass, trembling with terror, I watched as Blaster stopped on a dime, blew snot out of his flaring, black nostrils and released a thunderous blast of flatulence—that's what my teacher, Mrs. Burke, calls farting—and, of course, is the reason Uncle Sid named him Blaster.
"Back off, Blaster,” I said between shallow, panicky breaths. “Good boy."
I hoped the “boy” comment wouldn't tick him off, what with his fully-developed manly-bull parts dangling in full view as I lay curled on the ground looking up. Yuck!
Suddenly my vision narrowed and grew dark around the edges. It was like looking down a long tunnel with Blaster front and center, bathed in light. A loud buzzing filled my head. The next moment, Blaster took a tentative step backward, then another, walking slowly, at first, then gradually picking up speed until he was trotting briskly backwards like a video tape on slow rewind.
Mesmerized by the sight, I sat up and watched Blaster's bizarre retreat back through the tunnel. At that precise moment, I should have known something strange was going on. But hey, I was a little busy trying to save my life.
As I crawled under the fence, my vision returned to normal and the buzzing faded away. I stood and swiped a hand across my sweaty face. At least, I thought it was sweat until a trickle of blood dripped off the end of my nose. Surprised because I felt no pain, I touched my face and found the blood was oozing from a puncture wound in the center of my forehead.
I glanced up at Faye, who continued to peer out the trailer window, her pale face framed in a halo of wispy blond curls, her eyes wide with shock. She inhaled sharply, and I knew another scream was on its way. I held up a hand. “Come on, Faye, no more screaming. You're making my head hurt."
"But, but, the bull . . . he, he . . . “ Faye began.
I wasn't ready to go there. “I know, I know."
I staggered around the end of the trailer and banged through the door. Two giant steps to the bathroom. I shucked off my clothes and stepped into the tiny shower.
"You okay, Allie?” Faye asked.
She peered through the open doorway, paler than usual. Her right hand clutched the locket that held my baby picture, the one that makes me look like an angry old man. The only time she took it off was to shower.
"I'll live,” I muttered.
"Weird, huh? Blaster, I mean. I heard you yell at him. Bulls don't run backward, Allie."
When I didn't answer—what could I say?—she waited a beat. “Use soap on your forehead. Did it stop bleeding?"
"Yes, Mother.” I reached over and slid the door shut.
Deep sigh. “You don't have to be snotty. I told you to be careful."
The TV blared suddenly. Oprah. Not that I'm a spiteful person, but I blamed Oprah for my swan dive off the ladder. Late last night, a sudden gust of wind knocked over our TV antenna. When I got home from school today, Faye insisted she had to watch Oprah. Like that was going to change her life. I finally got tired of hearing about it and borrowed Uncle Sid's ladder. Moral of story: Never wear flip flops on an aluminum ladder.
I turned on the water, stood under the weak stream and checked for damage. Other than a slight tingling in my arms and legs and the hole in my head, I seemed okay.
I toweled off my curly, dark-brown hair and pulled it back into a messy ponytail. When I wiped the steam off the mirror, I saw a dark-red, dime-sized circle the size in the exact center of my forehead. I touched it gingerly, expecting it to hurt. But it didn't. Instead, a weird sensation shot through my head, like my brain was hooked up to Dr. Frankenstein's machine, that thing he used to make his monster come alive. I must have given a little yip of surprise because Faye said again, “You okay, Allie?"