Vampire Girl (2 page)

Shari hugs me. "Happy Birthday, girl. You didn't have to come in today."

I hug her back. "Yes I did. But thank you."

Es hugs me next, her tall body dwarfing me. She was a tall man once upon a time, and makes an even taller woman, given social stereotypes. But she is all woman, and one of my best friends in the world. Being transgender in a binary world can't be easy, and every day I admire the courage it takes for her to just be herself. Maybe that's why we became best friends almost instantly the day I started working here, because in our own way, we each feel this disconnect to the life we were born into. I have tears in my eyes when I look up at her. "You should have warned me," I chide.

"Neva'!" she says, a twinkle in her brown eyes as she flips her blond hair out of her face.

Shari hands me a slice of cake. "Eat up. The customers can wait."

As if on cue, someone from the bar raises his voice, complaining about the service. "What’s taking so damn long? What are you all doing back there, twiddling your thumbs?"

Shari's face hardens as she storms out to give that customer a piece of her mind. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize we were married in a past life."

It's a line she uses a lot. Sometimes it works, shifting the mood into happy. When it doesn't, the customer is kicked out, blacklisted from the best diner in Portland. Their loss.

This time it works. The customer apologizes, Shari is gracious, and all is well in the world of The Roxy.

I love it here. It's my family. My second home. I've lived alone with my mother my whole life. My father died when I was a toddler and we have no other relatives. Death, disease, life... has stolen them all. It's only here, at The Roxy, that I have any real family to call my own, outside of my mother.

I finish my cake and check in to see which tables I have. I'm ready.

The night is long, but fun. We have our regulars, the guy who almost never speaks, wears the same thing every day, but always leaves a nice tip and is kind to us all, the drag queen who likes to flirt with our cook, those coming off their shifts at other bars, who are too sober and properly dressed to be out drinking all night... I greet them by name, serve them what they love most, sass them just enough to make them feel like family, like this is their place too, because it is.

But when he walks in, it's like time stands still. He's not a regular. He's never been here before. I don't know how I know this, but I know he's here for me. And my hands shake when I walk up to him, sitting in a booth alone, not looking at his menu. He has hair dark as night and eyes like the moon and sea. His skin is pale and perfect and he looks as if he's been carved from marble. He wears a tailored suit too perfect to be purchased off the rack. We get all kinds at The Roxy, but not his kind. He has no kind.

And he makes me nervous.

"What can I get you?" I ask, my tongue tripping over itself.

He looks up at me and smiles. "Are you on the menu?"

***

T
his is not the first time I've been hit on at The Roxy. It's a regular occurrence. They flirt, I flirt, or I sass, depending on my mood. What I don't do, what I never do, is stutter.

Until now.

I literally stutter. My armpits are sweating, my head feels hot and I might have a sudden fever. I also might vomit. What is wrong with me? Is Insta-flu a thing? Because if it is, I've clearly contracted it.

He looks amused. "Are you all right?" His voice is rich and he's got the sexiest accent, something of a cross between British and South African. He holds up his glass of water to me, his long slender fingers so perfectly manicured. "Drink."

I take the glass, and our hands touch. A chill runs through my body and I nearly drop the glass.  What am I doing? I can't drink a customer's water. I put it back on the table. "I'm fine. Just... hot."

"Indeed," he says, his lips in a smirk, eyes twinkling.

"Have you... uh... decided on your... what you want?" Shut up, Ari. You sound like an idiot.

He grins, a dimple forming on his chin. "What do you recommend?"

"Depends," I say, slowing my breathing so I don't pass out. "Are you in the mood for savory or sweet?"

Everything I say suddenly feels like a double entendre with this man.

"Surprise me." He hands me his menu and tugs at the cuff of his suit.

"You don't look like a man who usually likes surprises," I say, studying him more closely as I regain my composure.

He raises a perfectly formed eyebrow at me. "Really? What kind of man do I look like?"

"A proud man who likes control."

There's a flash of surprise on his face, before his mask falls back into place. How do I know that's a mask? How do I know these things about him? I have no idea. I'm pretty intuitive about people, but I leave the fortune telling to Es's boyfriend, Pete. He's got the gift, or so everyone says. I've always been too chicken to have him read me.

Unlike this man before me, I like surprises. Life is too bleak without them.

"The way you dress," I say.

He raises an eyebrow.

"You wear an expensively tailored Italian suit into a diner. Your nails are manicured. Your skin is well-cared for. Everything about how you present yourself screams control. Precision. There's nothing that indicates you like spontaneity or surprises."

He doesn't reply, just stares into my eyes for far too long. I look around for an escape from his penetrative gaze. My eyes fall to the table, to his elegant hands. His jacket cuff is pulled up, exposing a strange kind of scar or tattoo on his wrist. "Does that mean something special?" I ask, pointing to it.

He looks down, and quickly pulls his jacket to cover it. "Just a birthmark."

I flush and look away.  "I'll just... find something for you to eat." I rush off, and hide in the back until I can slow my wild heart.

Es rushes by, hands full of plates, but she pauses when she sees me. "What's the matter with you, darlin'? You're not coming down with that flu that's going around, are you? Vomit is not a good look on me."

I shake my head. "I'm not sick. Just... flustered. I don't know. It's weird. I'm fine."

She raises a plucked eyebrow at me, then glances out to my table. "Oh, I see. Darlin', that man is a gift from the Universe. He is your birthday present, all wrapped up in silk and satin. You must give him your number!"

"No way. Definitely not my type."

"Really? Tall, dark, and sexy as sin isn't your type? Pray tell what is?" She leans closer to me, and I can smell her expensive perfume. "Look, honey. You are the closest thing to a virgin The Roxy has ever seen over the age of sixteen. You need to get some before you shrivel up."

I puff out my chest in mock offense. "I am not a virgin!"

She rolls her eyes. "High school boys behind the bleachers do not count. Now get that man something delicious to eat, and I'm not talking about anything from our menu."

Despite my bold words, I blush, because she's not wrong. For a waitress at The Roxy, I'm woefully inexperienced when it comes to men. 

But right now, time is ticking, my other tables are filling up, and I need to figure out what to feed this strange man, when my eyes land on my birthday cake. I cut a slice and bring it out to him. His eyes crinkle when he sees it. "Good choice," he says.

"It's my birthday cake," I spurt out. Because I'm a five-year-old with her first kindergarten crush, apparently.

"Happy birthday," he says, taking a big bite out of the cake. "My brother would love this place. Just decadent enough for him."

"You don't enjoy decadence?" I ask.

"I prefer to stay on task, to not get distracted by temporary pleasures. What about you, Arianna? What do you enjoy?"

I narrow my eyes. "How do you know my name?" We don't wear name tags at The Roxy.

"I heard your coworker mention it," he says without pause. "But you didn't answer my question. What do you enjoy?"

"Customers who tip big," I say, turning on my heel to walk away. I hear him chuckle as I stop to take the order of my next table.

When I come back, he's gone, only one bite missing from his cake. But he left a stack of twenty-dollar bills under the water glass, with a business card. I stare at it in disbelief, then count it quickly. Three hundred dollars? For a slice of cake? My breath hitches. Was this on purpose? Who is this guy? I pick up the card and study it. It's heavy card stock with engraved silver writing. No name, just a phone number and a hand-written note that says, "See you soon," in a formal cursive style in thick black ink. I stick the card and money in my pocket as a drunken man across the diner kicks the juke box.

Es deals with him, explaining with hand on hip the appropriate Roxy behavior. I catch her eye and gesture to the back, then escape the customers.

She finds me hovering over the remains of my birthday cake, staring at the money.

"Oh my! Did that sexy thing leave that for you?"

I nod, still unable to speak.

"And did you give him your number? Tell me you gave him your number!"

I shake my head. "But he gave me his." I show her the card.

She whistles under her breath. "Girlfriend, you had better call him. If you don't, I will."

I peel off a few twenties and slip them in Es's hand. "For your fund."

Her eyes fill with tears and she sniffs as she delicately brushes them away. "What are you doing, girl? Do you know how long it takes me to do my face? You can't give me this. You need it too much."

I shake my head. "Es, you've been saving for your gender reassignment surgery for years. I'm just doing my small part to help. You'll get there." She's on the hormones and she had the breast augmentation done, but there's one last piece to her transition that she hasn't been able to afford yet, and she's desperate to.

She hugs me, then flits away, mumbling about reapplying her mascara. I smile, and pick up an order for one of my tables.

The rest of my shift flies by, and my feet and back are sore when morning breaks. Es kisses my cheek and slips a small box into my hand as I leave. "Happy Birthday," she says.

I thank her and open the box. Inside is a pendant on a silver chain. The stone is beautiful— a blend of greens and blues. I slip it over my head.

"Pete said you'd need it.  It's labradorite. It's protection against psychic vampirism, and it will help awaken your own powers."

I don't buy into most of that stuff, but I keep the pendant on as I walk back to my apartment. There's ice on the ground, the rain freezing in the dropping temperatures. I'm careful as I walk, and I pull my thin jacket around my body, trying to stay a little dry. It doesn't work. I'll need to budget for a new winter coat soon. I remember the wad of cash in my pocket and smile despite the cold.

I'm halfway home when once again I feel the presence of someone following me. This time, I don't try to run. Instead, I turn, pepper spray in hand, and challenge my invisible stalker. "Who's there? What do you want?"

I wait, my legs shoulder-width apart, fighting stance ready. I hear nothing, see nothing. Feeling foolish, I retrace my steps, but it's misty and I can't see much. "I know you're there!"

My voice sounds so loud, so crass in the silent, pre-dawn morning.

Still, nothing.

I sigh and turn, walking briskly to my apartment.

The rest of the world will be waking up for their weekend soon, but my eyes are heavy, and I'm ready for bed. Then I remember I promised my mom we'd get something to eat. I yawn, stretch and try to wake myself up as I open the door. "Mom! I'm home. I'm just going to shower and change and then we can go out."

I hurry upstairs and slip out of my work clothes. My shower is quick, and I pull on my jeans and a blue sweater and use make-up to make myself look a little less tired before I see my mom. She's always worried I'm working too hard and not getting enough sleep. She's not wrong, but I can't let her know that.

I expect to find her in the living room or kitchen. When I don't, I knock on her bedroom door, the only room left besides our shared bathroom. There's no answer.

"Mom?"

I nudge the door open and peek in. I see her small foot hanging off her bed, so I push the door open all the way. She must not have woken yet.

"Mom?" I creep closer, not sure if I should wake her or let her sleep. She's lying on her back, her head turned away from me, the blankets askew around her. I can only see the back of her head, and my heart beats harder, as if it knows something I don't.

My voice becomes more panicked. "Mom!" I reach for her, my hand landing on her shoulder. She doesn't move. I brush the long hair out of her face. Her eyes are closed, but still she doesn't respond. I scream for her, but her body is motionless. Lifeless.

I reach for my cell phone and dial 9-1-1. "Please help me. I think something happened to my mother. I think she's dead."

––––––––

"Sometimes wolves come in sheep's clothing."

—Fenris Vane

T
he medics found
a pulse when they arrived, and we made fast time to the hospital in the ambulance. Now I sit, waiting. They've taken her to a private room, hooked her to machines, stuck needles in her to take her blood. They asked me to leave, to wait in the lobby and someone would come with an update soon. They threw words around like stroke, heart attack, brain aneurysm, but no one seems to know anything. Their words are like bubbles popping in the air. No substance, just ideas.

Shoulders slumped, head pounding, I followed their orders, too tired to argue. Too heartbroken to fight anyone.

That was an hour ago. I'm still waiting. Exhausted. Terrified. The fear burns in my blood like a fever, infecting every part of me with this deepening dread of what is to come.

My phone buzzes and I look down at it. I'd forgotten I was still holding it. It's Es, texting me.

I know ur prob exhausted but want to party for ur bday?

My finger hovers over the letters trying to think of how to respond. I decide with the truth.

Mom in hospital. It's bad. Can't leave.