Her Blood Sings: Episode 01 Page 5

  One of them noticed Evie staring. He stopped talking and turned to her, his smile dying on his lips when he saw the look on her face. He nudged his friend to the right.

  Evie turned around, pretending she hadn't been staring.

  Get it together, Evie. She told herself. You can do it. Just take a deep breath... or ten.

  Her leg stopped shaking but she started slamming the heel of her boot on the floor, keeping a techno-like beat. The guy sitting next to her was beyond annoyed at this point. He gave her several dirty looks, and a downright glare, until Evie managed to stop.

  Then, she started tapping her finger on her thigh. Evie took a few more deep breaths and played some soothing music on her iPod. She rested her head against the window and closed her eyes. It started working. She was getting there. It would all be-

  Her heart pounded in her chest. Her eyes jerked open.

  She got that tingling feeling right under her skin.

  What was going on? Is this what a panic attack felt like? Was she depressed? Was it an extreme case of holiday blues? Was it the anniversary of Dan's attack? Whatever it was, Evie wanted it fixed.

  The bus stopped and the doors opened, but no one came in. It felt like the inside of the bus had grown hotter, but Evie shivered. People looked around, confused. The bus driver slammed the door shut and the bus started moving. She almost caught something out of the corner of her eyes. Shapes moving. Evie turned around, startled. There was nothing there.

  The tourist who had caught her staring was now staring back at her. His eyes darted to the empty spot she'd been staring at.

  Something snapped inside Evie.

  She couldn't stay on the bus anymore. If she did, she'd have a heart attack or she'd start screaming her head off.

  The bus stopped at a red light. She got up and walked to the driver.

  "Can you open the door for me, sir?"

  He gave her a funny look. Evie must look as crazy as she felt.

  "I-I'm feeling sick. I need to get off."

  When he did nothing but stare at her, Evie started dry-heaving like she was about to revisit last night's dinner. The driver's eyes went wide. All conversation stopped. On the third try, her most dramatic heave possible, the driver's arm jerked and he slammed a hand on the button that controlled the door. It hissed to life and sprang open. Evie jumped out of the bus just as the light turned green. The driver called her a dirty name or two and drove away.

  Evie looked around, trying to see where she was. Up to that point she'd been too focused on what was happening inside the bus to really take in her surroundings. She was close enough to the café that she could walk, even in this weather, but it was still far enough to be a chilling exercise.

  "Why didn't I pick a college in a tropical area?" She said to herself. "Aruba would be amazing this time of year."

  Evie started considering ditching work, school, everything she knew, and escaping to Aruba to open a little scuba-diving store, meet a nice, hot local guy and have a thousand little babies. Her mind wandered back to the hot guy she had met at Moonlight. Sure he had creeped her out - but everything in that nightclub had freaked her out to some degree. And even though he had freaked her out, she still wanted to jump him. She allowed herself a precious moment to fantasize having her way with that guy on the hot sands of Aruba - the sun on her skin and his pretty, blonde head between her legs.

  A gust of icy wind hit Evie in the face, sending a shiver down her spine. She shrank under her coat and walked a little faster to work.

  Chapter 9

  Chris was up first thing in the evening, kicking the covers away like they were on fire.

  He had spent all day thinking of Miss Not Interested. He had even dreamed of her. This was wrong. She should be the one doing the dreaming. She should have been thanking her lucky stars that Chris had ever walked into her life and gave her the best night of her life. She should be thinking of Chris when she was old and gray and on her deathbed. He should not be thinking of her. At all.

  Well, that was, she had said to him, huffing in exasperation, pointless and weird.

  Chris's lips curled into a smile. Her cheeks had been pink back then her eyes were wide and bright. He remembered her face when she was on the dance floor. She had looked so happy, so oblivious of everyone and everything. It had felt like it was just her on the dance floor. But that wasn't true. He had been there, watching her. That girl could move. Just thinking about her hips swaying and her tossing her hair back made Chris's cock twitch to life. Damn! He wished he had banged her.

  He took a long, cold shower. Chris refused to take care of business himself. It might be pride, but he had never had to before. He wouldn't start now. Besides, this was penitence. He shouldn’t let some mortal girl get to him like that. She might smell great, like lavender and something spicy and sweet, and she might-

  Chris ripped his suitcase open. He dumped the now two halves of his suitcase, his mind snapping to here and now. He looked at the two halves with disgust. He hadn't lost control of his strength since he had been turned. He ran his hands through his hair. He had to find out what was wrong with this girl. He couldn’t keep spinning out of control like this.

  He picked up a pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt and put them on without bothering with shoes just yet. Chris cast a glance at his sneakers. He might end up going for a run to spend some pent-up energy.

  Someone knocked on his door.

  He was there, in the living room area and opening the door, in a flash. Even by vampire standards, Chris moved faster than usual. Maybe Elliot had found something good on this girl. Maybe Miss Not Interested had hit her head when she was a kid and she got some magical brain damage, like that kid from Stephen King’s The Dead Zone.

  But Chris didn’t find his brother’s face on the other side of the door. It was Darcy. Chris deflated a little.

  Darcy's smile wavered.

  “Is everything OK, son?”

  “Yes, sir.” Darcy talked and his children snapped into action. It was only partially the blood thing. Mostly, it was because he was that respectable. “I just thought you were Elliot. We had plans.” Chris tried to look carefree. “What can I do for you?”

  “You could let me in.”

  Chris let out a little oh sound that was half excuse, half embarrassment and made way for his maker. Darcy walked into the room and moved around, taking reign of the place. He wandered into Chris's bedroom and spotted the torn suitcase. He gave Chris an amused look.

  “I-I had a little accident.”

  “I can see that.”

  Chris watched Darcy do a full circle, making a show of it. Darcy wanted to know what was going on but he’d wait for Chris to tell him. He wouldn’t ask. He was entitled to know what was going on with his progeny. Asking would imply that his children had a choice in the matter. Chris wondered what Darcy had been like with his real children, before he had been sired. Chris would bet he'd put the fear of God in them.

  Chris was painfully aware of the rumpled sheets on his bed, the TV still on and three books abandoned on the table. He sighed in defeat. If someone might know what was going on, it was Darcy. He might as well come out and say it.

  “I met this girl last night,” Chris looked at his father, trying to gauge what was going on in his head. Darcy, true to their nature, gave nothing away. “And she resisted my glamour.”

  Now Chris got a reaction. Darcy’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes went wide.

  “Is it me?” Chris shrugged. He felt silly, pathetic, and scared all at the same time. “Did I break my glamour or something?”

  Darcy let out a laugh. Chris shrank at the sound. He wanted the moon to shine as bright as the sun and burn him to crisp.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you.” Darcy’s voice was gentle. “It’s her.”

  Chris looked up at him and blinked. His mind was drawing a blank. It wasn't him. It was her. Those two little words were everything he'd wanted to hear but now that he had heard them, they felt w
rong somehow.

  Darcy crossed the room and stood at Chris's side. He rested a hand on Chris's shoulder. “Tell me about her.”

  Chris's mind scattered. The image of her face dancing, so happy, flashed across his mind. It’s her. Did it mean there was something wrong with her? Was it a trick? Was he thinking of her because she turned his glamour against him? No, it couldn’t be that. But it should be.

  Darcy’s hand dropped from his shoulder. He went to the phone by the couch and ordered some O negative and the modified coffee set that kept the blood warm and stopped it from coagulating. Then, he sat on the couch and showed Chris a nearby armchair with a wide swoop of his hand.

  Chris did as he was wordlessly told.

  “What’s wrong with her?” He asked, his voice quiet.

  “Nothing.” Darcy gave his son a gentle smile. “It’s a latent Talent.”

  Chris leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “Some mortals have an ability called Awareness. They’re hyper sensitive to danger. They used to be recruited by the church during the Great War. Since the war ended, the Illuminati have used these people in their service.” Darcy gave Chris a dark smile. “It’s meant to keep everybody honest.”

  Miss Not Interested had spider-sense? Chris let out a laugh. Relief ran deep and thick in his veins.

  “So, this girl,” Darcy said. His interest set alarms off inside Chris's head. “You said she resisted your glamour. Was she acting weird? Was she jumpy?”

  “She was acting strange, like-” Chris tried to find a way to explain what had happened and downplay it at the same time. “She flat out resisted my glamour. Pushed me out of her mind. And she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

  Darcy was deep in thought for a moment.

  “What does it do, this Awareness? Does it have any impact on us?” Chris took a deep breath. “Does it turn our glamour against us?”

  “Not at all.” Darcy gave him a funny look. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. I’m just curious.”

  “An aware individual has a natural resistance to magic, including glamour. They also sense danger but they can be tricked and glamoured.”

  Chris nodded. This was good.

  “Do you think she might be a good addition to our clan?”

  Chris paused at that. He tried to imagine that girl, that dancing and oblivious and happy girl, as one of them - as a sister. He imagined her skin losing that warm undertone, her cheeks never turning pink again. He didn’t like what he saw.

  “I don’t know. I-” He tried to come up with reasons to get this girl off Darcy’s radar. “I don’t know anything about her.”

  “Can you find out more?”

  He was about to answer Darcy, tell him that he didn’t get her name, when they heard a knock on his door.

  Don't be Elliot, Chris thought. Don't be Elliot.

  It was Elliot. He had a smug smile on his lips that died a sudden death at the sight of Darcy holding the door open for him.

  Darcy let him in. “Did you see the girl your brother talked to yesterday?”

  “Yes, I was Chris’s wingman.” Elliot’s eyes darted from Chris to Darcy. “I spent the night with her friend. I got some information on her.”

  “Great,” Darcy said, a stellar smile on his lips.

  Darcy closed the door.

  Chapter 10

  Chris got to Miss Not Interested’s apartment building a little after ten P.M.

  He was supposed to take a look around and see what he could find out about her. Darcy had given him clear instructions: learn as much as possible but keep his distance. At this point, he had no idea if the girl was under the witches' protection or if she was even worth the trouble. But Chris had his own agenda. He wanted to know what was going on.

  If he was getting a new sister out of a simple run-in with a weird chick, he wanted to know who the heck she was. He stopped at that. Putting that girl and 'sister' in the same sentence gave him the creeps. When he had been sired, Louisa was already part of the family, but Chris had been around for Lydia's arrival. He had always seen her as a sister, even when she was a little girl with bright eyes and a sharp mind. But this girl was different. He couldn't see her the same way he saw Lydia and Louisa. He couldn't think of her as a sister.

  No! She was definitely not sister material.

  Chris climbed the fire escape and got to her window before any of the neighbors saw him.

  He tried to imagine what kind of security she’d have at home. If she had Awareness, she’d probably be a little paranoid about security. Her kind was very rare, but vamps had the chance to study them, to register their habits. Most of them had turned into paranoid freaks if left to their own devices. Since they couldn’t explain why they felt so freaked out in certain circumstances, their mental stability slowly deteriorated. Some even ended up locked up in madhouses. Those that only had a trace of this Talent in them usually did better. But that didn't seem to be her case.

  Chris took a look at her window. The curtains were closed. A single light shone inside. He looked at the windowsill and frowned.

  He tried to push the window up, half expecting it not to budge.

  It opened.

  “That’s odd,” he said to himself.

  Chris paused. Was this a trap? Was this girl working with someone? He should leave. He should walk away and tell Darcy something smelled fishy here and they should leave this girl alone. He took a step back.

  A gust of ice cold wind blew, pushing the curtains back. Chris got a peek at her bedroom.

  The room was decorated in rich cream and ivory. It reminded him of her skin. He climbed in, entranced.

  The only pop of color in the room came from a reproduction of a Van Gogh painting, Café Terrace at Night, hanging on the wall behind her bed. There were a couple of textbooks and three novels on the shabby-looking nightstand, hogging most of the space. A lamp and a bottle of water hung precariously on the little space left. A notebook and a jungle of pens were on the other nightstand. Her bed was huge and looked like the kind of bed you’d sink into and never want to leave.

  Discarded underwear and other items of clothing were on a pile on the armchair in the corner. A silver heap was lying on the floor next to it. It was the blouse she had been wearing at the nightclub. Chris bent down and picked it up. And, because he was a pervert when it came to this girl, he buried his nose in it. The blouse smelled like her. Her scent was like a drug. Fuck that sparkly vamp and his personal brand of heroin. If that Mary Sue smelled as good as this girl does, Sparkly would be trying to find a way to bang the lights out of Mary Sue, not protect her innocence.

  Chris dropped the blouse and got up, slightly disgusted with himself and his hard on.

  He checked the contents of her closet. She had far fewer clothes than Chris had expected. In fact, she had less stuff than Chris himself. He checked some of the labels. They were all quality, expensive stuff. This girl valued quality over quantity. He wondered how far this policy extended. Chris's thoughts went to a dark, sex filled place. It was something to look forward to. He moved to her chest of drawers, working his way from bottom to top. Each drawer gave more proof of her quality over quantity way of living.

  Then, Chris opened the two top drawers. He gasped. Lingerie. This girl was serious about her underwear. It was a sea of rich colors and lace and soft silk.

  “So this is where you spend most of your money,” Chris whispered.

  His cock got even harder in his pants, if that was even possible, at the idea of what she might have been wearing at that moment. And, because he had been trained to see the signs, Chris could read her. Miss Not Interested might see herself as a nice girl, but she’d make a perfect succubus. She liked sex. She probably could get really freaky if she felt safe with her partner.

  Chris wanted her.

  He wanted to tie her up and make her cum screaming his name. He wanted to see her head bobbing while she sucked him dry. He walked to her bed, trac
ing his finger on the side that had her smell. He leaned closer to her pillow and inhaled until his lungs were full of her scent. He imagined himself talking her into coming back to her place, putting this bed to good use. Chris leaned back and tsked. He couldn't glamour her.

  Chris moved on. He needed to get a grip here. No more thinking of this girl and sex together. Ever.

  He drifted towards the living room.

  The hallway had several pictures hanging on the walls. Chris gathered as much information as possible. Loving, close-knit family. Mother. Father. Two brothers. Used to run track in school. Spent some time covered in grease working with Dad. Visited the city when she was a kid. Vacation with Grandma. Was close to some guy. The guy was good-looking, if you liked the Frat Boy look. Chris didn’t get a boyfriend vibe from the way Frat Boy and Evelyn were posing together in their picture. Lucy and the other girl from the nightclub. The three of them were wearing uniforms and smiling for the camera. Miss Not Interested was a waitress.

  I’d like to make a meal out of her.

  Chris huffed in frustration. It was her smell. This whole house smelled like her. He couldn’t focus if he was neck deep in her scent. He held his breath. Chris didn’t need to breathe. He just liked it. It was a habit. Almost immediately, his mind cleared. But he could still feel her smell all around him, pressing against his skin and lingering there.

  He kept going, cataloguing her life.

  She had a small armchair and table by the window. The table had an ancient lamp on top of it. This was probably an heirloom from her grandma's days in this apartment. The cream couch was new - from IKEA, if Chris had to risk a guess. It had burnt orange and turquoise pillows and a chestnut throw on top of it. She had an impressive DVD collection and flat screen TV on a rack made to look like a worn steamer trunk. The walls were a soft honey color. The overall vibe was warm and inviting.

  Two narrow bookcases were against the wall in a corner, forming an angle. They, along with the small, round dinner table, formed a little separate area. She had hardcover tomes and old, weathered pocket books mostly. He catalogued the titles. She read anything. He smiled at that. He liked to genre hop, too.