Her Blood Sings: Episode 01 (7 page)

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 wrong 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.

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, tracing 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.

Chris cleared his throat and smothered his
smile. He went back to her film collection.

Chris recognized most of the titles because
he had them back home, in his apartment at Darcy’s.

The fridge was mostly crowded by leftovers in
neat plastic pots and cans of Diet Coke. No beer or wine. On the
fridge she had a list of things to buy on her next trip to the
supermarket and a bunch of magnets that lent some color to the
mostly white space.

The cupboards were well stocked. She liked to
cook but wasn't used to cooking for one, even after years living
alone. So, either she had her friends over all the time or she had
spent her formative years cooking for a lot of people. If he had to
guess, Chris would say it was a blend of the two options.

He imagined her cooking. He wondered what it
would be like to watch her move around the kitchen. He pictured her
humming as she went along, her hands working with the certainty of
someone who is used to cooking. He saw himself helping her, all
clumsy fingers and hesitant movements. He saw her smile at him. He
imagined them eating together, their naked feet touching and
rubbing under the table. That vision left a dull ache in his chest,
right where his heart should've been beating.

Chris stopped. Why was he thinking these
things? It wasn't like he was going to eat anything she cooked. He
couldn’t digest food. He didn’t even like the smell of food. It all
tasted and smelled like rot to him.

Chris took one last look around. He thought
he had learned just about everything he could learn from this
place. Time to check out Miss Not Interested's workplace.

Evie was keeping her head low and her eyes on
her work when she felt that tingling feeling crawling right under
her skin.

She stopped and looked up. Her jaw went a
little slack and her eyes wide.

It was the guy from Moonlight.

He stopped at the door, his arms bracing the
doorjambs like he owned the place. If Evie had already wanted to
screw him senseless in the dark nightclub, now she was reduced to a
needy puddle. How could he possibly look better under the warm
lights of the café? While everyone else was dressed in frumpy,
comfy and worn clothes, he looked like he had stepped out of a
photo-shoot. His hair was a blonde wayward mess that just made Evie
want to reach out and play with it. His square jaw was covered in a
light coat of stubble and petulant mouth was begging to be kissed.
His bright eyes travelled lazily around the café until they fell on
her. They locked stares and his lips stretched into a dazzling
smile.