Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1) (6 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

WE made short work of the pie and Nicky graciously allowed me to finish the last few bites—possibly too afraid to try and pry it away from me. As I polished it off, he asked, “Do you want to talk about the petition, or not?”

I tossed the pie tin onto the floor, convinced I’d removed every trace of sugar possible without licking the pan—though I might’ve tried that if I’d been alone. “No, but thanks for offering to listen. I spoke to Mayor Morrisey last night and she thinks it’s mostly a matter of my staying out of trouble until the hearing. You know, getting home on time and not antagonizing Robert.” I paused to poke at an inexplicable grass stain on my calf.

Nicky fidgeted in his seat as he passed me the soap. “You know, Rory…”

“Hm?” The green smudge wasn’t washing away.

His words came out in a rush. “I don’t think you should write any more articles until after the hearing.”

The soap slipped from my hand and shot across the tub under the force of the jets. I grabbed for it and missed. “Why would you say that? Writing articles isn’t even against the
rules
, let alone the law.” 

Nicky’s fidgeting became an outright squirm. “I know it doesn’t break the rules, but you said your next article is about council term limits, right?”

The soap bobbed toward me and I snatched it triumphantly. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, maybe you should think twice about offending the people in charge of your hearing. People might think you’re trying to stir up trouble and it’s not a good time to make a scene.”

Forgetting my droopy bikini top, I sat straight up in the bathtub. “That’s the reason you think I push for change? To ‘stir up trouble’ and ‘make a scene’?”

It was an accusation I’d expect from Robert, but not Nicky. Sure, I didn’t mind thumbing my nose at people now and then, but it was a side benefit as opposed to my goal. The thought of people viewing my efforts as agitation or a cry for attention stung, and Nicky was smart enough to realize it. He was also smart enough to apologize immediately.

“Rory, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I’m sorry I brought it up at all. I brought you here as a distraction from your problems, and all I’m doing is harshing on you. Still,” he gestured around the bathroom, “as far as distractions go, you have to admit, I’ve done well.”

I was far more upset about how Nicky saw me than any harshness in his words, but I knew I’d regret pushing the argument further and accepted the change in subject silently. After all, he’d brought me here out of kindness, and, if nothing else, this place
was
an excellent distraction.

“This place is great,” I said honestly. “It’s hard to imagine that everyone used to live like this back before the second Dark Age.”

Nicky’s answering snort echoed off the marble walls and floor. “I don’t think everyone
lived quite like this, Rory.”

Considering the opulence displayed throughout the residence, I nodded. “Okay, maybe not
quite
like this, but you know what I mean. Not everyone would’ve had marble bathrooms and golden harps or whatever, but supposedly everyone had the internet. Everyone had cellphones and airplane rides and as much television as they wanted to watch. They vacationed in outer space and had, I don’t know… credit cards and hospitals and genetically engineered pets and
universities
. Hell, there might’ve been flying cars by now.” I giggled at the thought.

Nicky shrugged, ever pragmatic, and scooped a few handfuls of water over his dusty hair. “Humans in the cities still have most of that stuff, I think. Except for the flying cars
and genetic pets and vacations in space. As for me, if I can’t have it, why think about it?”

Soap in hand, I laughed as I resumed my attack on my grass stained leg. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so boring. If the conversions hadn’t happened, what do you think your life would be like?” 

Startled, he lowered his hands and stared at me. “I’ve never thought about it. That was all hundreds of years ago. Why? Was there something you would’ve wanted to do if everything was different?”

I didn’t have to think twice as I rinsed the soap from my now-scoured leg. “I would’ve been a professor at a huge university. I’d teach law, or astrophysics—something amazing I’ll never have the chance to learn now. Or maybe I’d be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a politician who helped pass laws for millions of people.”

Nicky rose from the water and reached for the towels, apparently finished with both our bath and our conversation. “Yeah, I hear politicians were particularly admired back then. Didn’t you once tell me that political assassinations were at an all-time historical high right before the conversions? Great choice, Rory.” Snickering, he turned back and offered one of the towels to me.

Irritated by his dismissal, I accepted it without comment. As I climbed out of the tub, I resolved to forget my annoyance, but when Nicky turned to flip the water jets off I saw an opportunity for a little petty revenge. Without a moment’s hesitation, I gave in to temptation and snapped my towel across his ass.

Upon losing the resulting towel war, I followed Nicky to the kitchen to retrieve our dry clothes, anxious to return to the living room. I’d barely glanced at the artwork and I also hoped to find a book explaining the harp. However, Nicky had another card to play.

I felt a flutter in my stomach when he said his plan involved the bedroom, but it subsided as he approached the misshapen table I’d noticed earlier.

“Hey, I meant to ask about that,” I remembered. “You sidetracked me with pecan pie and your enormous—” I broke off as Nicky leered.

I shot him a look. “I’d planned to say ‘enormous
bathtub
’.”

“Yeah, I like my interpretation better, but anyway, this is a roll top desk. They went out of style centuries before the conversions.” I watched with interest as he slid the front panel back, revealing the flat surface one normally associates with desks.

The desk had any number of cubbies and compartments, but my attention was riveted on the laptop the curved panel had concealed. My pitiful computer at home was cobbled together from ancient parts but this was clearly post-conversion manufacturing. (I felt certain there hadn’t been a manufacturer named
Fang Innovations
before the wars.)

Despite the stupid name, I bounced in the chair as Nicky turned it on, my mood successfully restored. “Okay! Tell me how to operate this bad boy.”

He snorted derisively. “Fang Innovations is slightly less innovative than its name implies. The operating system is a direct rip-off from Microsoft, and you already know how to use it. This just works faster.”

“Oh.” I didn’t want to waste time on a new version of what I already owned and would rather have stayed in the living room, but Nicky clearly considered this a treat.

“Why don’t you bring another chair in here?” I suggested. “Let’s find a game we can play together.” It wasn’t the evening I’d wanted, but Nicky’s ego would certainly benefit from any smackdown I could dish out.

He shook his head. “Ms. Parkes has a couple books on automotive maintenance I’d like to read. If this summer’s deliveries go well, I’ll be able to afford some upgrades.”

Nicky reading
? That had to be a first. I tried to look enthused as Nicky left to enjoy the evening I’d wanted. He’d barely passed the doorway when he turned, smirking. After a day of surprises I braced for a curveball and he didn’t disappoint.

“By the way, did I mention this computer is
connected
?”

Bombshell delivered, he retreated while I stared after him in disbelief. A connected computer—hot damn! Ms. Parkes had to be beyond rich to afford a rural internet connection she wasn’t even around to use.

My own computer had a browser, but I’d never been able to access anything. Despite my excitement, I laughed out loud when Ms. Parkes’ home page opened to a search engine titled
VAMPOOGLE.
I was loud enough for Nicky to hear, even over the music he’d turned on in the other room.

“Let me guess,” he shouted over a chorus of guitars. “
Welcome to Vampoogle
?”

Still snickering, I managed to holler back, “Is this the vampire version of Google?”

Grinning, he reappeared in the doorway, book in hand. “It accesses less than five percent of the original Google, but it works,” he assured me before returning to the sofa.              

I shook my head in mild amusement. If my observations of the last ten minutes were accurate, vampire tech consisted of stealing the best of previously existing human ideas and re-naming them something silly and self-praising. Or, in the case of Vampoogle, something merely silly.

However, no matter what vampires chose to call the internet, the sirens’ song of information was irresistible and I wallowed in the luxury for the rest of the afternoon. I did research for several articles and even double checked the address for Immortal Media to make certain I’d mailed my submissions to the right place.

I had.

Pushing my disappointment aside, a new idea occurred and I typed ‘Eleanor Strong’ into the search box and hit enter. The search returned an astounding number of entries.

My next three hours were spent researching my own mother, working my way from curious, to surprised, to stunned, and to speechless—finally stopping somewhere
around numb. It stupefied me to read that
Mass Conversions
was the single best-selling book of the current century. She’d won a Pulitzer Prize for it and had never said a word.

My evening went downhill from there. Three years after publication, mom had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her ‘enormous contribution in easing tensions between the two sentient species’. A global accomplishment and I’d had no clue. The Eleanor Strong the rest of the world knew was a stranger to me.

When I found her in an article titled, “The Richest Humans in the Americas,” I couldn’t read anymore. In fact, my pie nearly made a reappearance. It didn’t help that Ms. Parkes had also made the list, and it infuriated me that no photos were included.

After a deep breath I hit the power button—not bothering to shut the computer down properly—and flopped onto the enormous bed. My mom and I needed to have a long chat when she returned.

These discoveries would’ve wrecked my mood under any circumstances, but after a few days of no sleep and constant excitement they hit doubly hard. By my calculations I’d slept maybe ten hours over the three craziest days of my life, remaining upright through adrenaline rushes, orgasms and metabolism-defying quantities of sugar. Small wonder I felt like such a bitch.

Walking to the living room door took more energy than I had to spare and attempting a friendly smile nearly killed me. 

“Nicky? I’m tired. Would you mind if I went to bed early?” I tried for an easy tone, but the question came out flat and monotonous. Fortunately, I’d interrupted what must have been Nicky’s nightly exercise routine and his mind was focused on his push-ups.

He mopped at his face with a corner of his t-shirt before answering. “Are you sure you don’t want any dinner? There’s all kinds of stuff in the freezer. And a lot more pie.”

My stomach churned at the thought. “My stomach is still working on the previous pie. I think I just need some sleep.”

Nicky bounced up from the floor and clicked off his music. “Tomorrow’s scavenging will be demanding—lots of lifting and
lots
of stairs—so sleep as much as you can. I’ll join you in another hour or so.”

Not trusting myself with anything more than a “Goodnight”, I slogged back into the bedroom. In my current state scavenging sounded more akin to torture than anything fun. With that cheerful thought resonating, I stripped and crawled into bed, kicking the covers until I’d scrunched them beneath my feet the way I liked them.

After nearly an hour, I gave up. As exhausted as my body was, my brain was too wired to sleep. And then I remembered the key lime pie Nicky had mentioned.

It had stuck in my mind because I’d never tasted a lime—I’d never even
heard
of a ‘key’ lime—and if I couldn’t sleep I may as well get another sugar rush out of it.

It was a sound plan, but it never came to fruition.

I shrugged back into my clothes and put more effort into my smile this time as I left the room. After all, none of this was Nicky’s fault. “Hey, I’m getting the key lime pie from the freezer, would you like…?”

Halfway to the kitchen I stopped mid-question as I took in the strangest tableau I’d ever seen. Nicky wasn’t alone, and I’d definitely interrupted… something. I just didn’t know what. Whatever it was, I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t do anything but stare. However I’d imagined a vampire would look, I’d been wrong.

The woman looked at least a decade older than I, though that meant nothing with vampires. She was of Asian descent and strikingly exotic.

By exotic I wasn’t referencing the vampire’s ethnicity, but rather her fashion sense. She had black hair with deep purple streaks to match her outfit, which was skintight and made from the shiniest material I’d ever seen. It looked like she’d been dipped in melted plastic.