The Fertile Vampire (25 page)

Cinderella goes to the ball

While Mutt (I had to come up with a better name, but I was sucky at names. Look how well I’d done with
vampire
.) scarfed down a bowl of meat based chow, I was eating another couple of slices of raisin bread toast.
 

One of these days, all those calories were going to bite me in the ass, or add to my ass, either one. For now, however, I was happy to the last crunchy buttery bite and wash my hands.
 

The gorging done, we trotted into my office where Mutt sat at my feet while I did some more searching on Dirugu. I was trying every known spelling. My luck, it would turn out to be some obscure Latvian dialect never written down. So far, zip.
 

I pulled out the information from my orientation class, turned to the roster and, before I lost my nerve, called Kenisha.
 

After being routed three times, I finally connected with her.
 

“It’s Marcie,” I said. “How are you?”
 

I expected a torrent of profanity. She must have been with someone because all she said was, “Fine.” Ice coated that one word.
 

Enough of pleasantries so I asked the question, the reason I’d called.
 

“Have you learned anything new about Opie’s death?”
 

“Why do you care?”
 

I looked at Mutt who raised his head and made a noise in the back of his throat. “I know,” I mouthed, agreeing with his instant annoyance.
 

“Have you?”
 

She hung up on me.
 

People didn’t understand how persistent I was. Where anyone else might get discouraged, I dug my heels in and kept on keeping on. I didn’t give up. I didn’t surrender. I was used to dealing with men who thought women were a lower life form, with criminals in suits who thought they were smarter than anyone else and companies who thought their insurance premiums meant they could treat me like their personal geisha. I had taken it all and did my job.
 

I could jolly well handle a nasty cop.

I went through the round robin again until I reached Kenisha. The minute she answered, I started talking.
 

“I don’t give a flying fig if you hate my guts. I’m calling to see if you’ve found out anything about Opie’s death. I care because someone was trying to kill me. You’re a cop; do your job. Or are you too much a vampire?”
 

“What the hell do you mean?”
 

Her anger didn’t intimidate me. I was angry enough to counter anything Kenisha could dish out.
 

“Vampires don’t seem to care about justice. All they give a damn about is their next meal. Don’t rock the boat. Don’t do anything to make anyone feel uncomfortable. Don’t be different.”
 

“I’m a cop who’s a vampire. Not a vampire who’s a cop.”
 

“Good to know. Now, have you learned anything about Opie’s death?”
 

“A convenience store camera caught enough of a picture of the truck to figure out it was a female.”
 

I didn’t want to hear that, but I thanked her anyway. She hung up halfway through my gratitude grovel.
 

When Mutt growled again, I said, “You got it, boy-o.”
 

Mutt was doing exactly what I wanted, giving me the illusion of feeling safe. He didn’t sniff the air; he didn’t stare intently at a vacant corner. He didn’t howl at something I couldn’t see. He lay with his chin propped on my foot, as content as if we’d been friends for years instead of hours.
 

I took him out to my little garden, made a mental note to contact the complex’s manager and pay the pet deposit. Just until I found his home, of course. Strange, I hadn’t surfed the net to see if there was such a thing as a lost dog site.
 

Mutt made a little huff of sound, staring at the gate. I felt the goosebumps rise on my neck. I’d already had my brave moment for the night. I allowed myself to get paranoid for about a minute before I realized it was probably Dan sitting in his truck, watching after me as he was paid to do.
 

What had made him offer me his home as a safe house? Why, for that matter, was I always wondering at people’s hidden motivations? I hadn’t realized I was so cynical.
 

I went into the house, Mutt trailing behind, his duty done and a relieved smile on his face. I squirted some of the flea stuff on his neck, put his new collar on and removed the old one.
 

“We should get you a vet appointment,” I said, brightly, careful not to put any emphasis on the word “vet”. “You need to be checked out and given shots.” I stopped myself. That would be important only if I couldn’t find his family.
 

“Where are your people, Mutt?” I asked, ruffling his ears.
 

He turned his head and smiled at me, his eyes twinkling.
 

I stood, walked a few feet and put my hand out palm to him. He immediately sat. I raised both hands up and he stood. I looked at him, said, “Stay,” and he remained in place even when I got to the door.
 

“Come,” I said and he was at my side as we went up the stairs.
 

As smart as Mutt was and as well trained, he had to have had a good home.

I added another item to my list. It now looked like:

1. Try to stay alive.
 

2. Figure out what the hell I am.
 

3. Find Mutt’s family.
 

4. Get another name for “vampire” and “Mutt”.
 

All in all, it was a longer list than whoever was running people down and shooting at me. That list was:

1. Kill Marcie.
 

For some reason, a horned helmet wearing Elmer Fudd popped into my mind, singing, “Kill the Marcie, kill the Marcie.”

Something I realized in the last week: you can’t maintain tension for long periods. The human psyche - and you’ll pardon if I use the word human - can’t continue with one emotion indefinitely. Tension leads to humor, maybe fatigue, even anger. I was feeling fatigue and maybe a little humor as odd as it sounds.
 

Right now I wanted to put the tension aside, have a bubble bath followed by a glass of wine and a little bonding time with my borrowed dog.
 

The doorbell put an end to that.
 

I glanced down at Mutt, who turned and trotted to the head of the stairs.
 

I wanted to ask, “Who is it, boy?” but I don’t know what I would have done if he’d turned to me and said, “I’m sorry, mistress, but I’m unable to ascertain the identity of your guest.” The way my life had been going lately, a talking dog would not be that weird.
 

The doorbell rang again and I glanced at my watch. Eleven thirty, which was the equivalent of brunch time for a vampire.
 

I trudged down the stairs, not at all happy. I didn’t want to talk to Il Duce.

Mutt growled low in his throat, a sound so menacing I hesitated in opening the door. His lips pulled back, revealing canines sharp enough to cut leather. No, he didn’t like whoever was on the other side.
 

I stepped in front of him and opened the door, rudeness trembling on my lips. Instead of Il Duce standing there, it was Meng, dressed in a tuxedo and holding an enormous bunch of flowers. He thrust them at me while taking in my hair, my sweatshirt and the jeans I’d worn to the woods.
 

The bright smile he wore faded in an instant, accompanied by Mutt’s low, menacing growl.
 

Crap on a cracker! I’d forgotten all about the ball.
 

I’m not a cruel person. I have never tried to hurt anyone which probably accounts for the shock I still feel when considering someone has tried to kill me - twice.
 

Nor could I hurt Meng’s feelings now. I could easily say the words, “Oops, forgot. So sorry. Better luck next time.” But I wasn’t that person. I couldn’t see the light die in his eyes like it was doing now.
 

Despite being tired, cold, dirty and out of sorts, I smiled at him and took the flowers.
 

“I was hoping to be ready by the time you arrived. I’m really running late.”
 

He nodded, his smile restored.
 

“I’ll be ready in twenty minutes,” I said.
 

Mutt growled again.
 

“I’d ask you in,” I began, only to be interrupted by Mutt’s explosive barking. Reaching down, I pushed him out of the way, apologized to Meng, and reiterated my promise to be ready soon.

He backed away, leaving me to close the door, put the flowers down on the foyer table and give Mutt a stern look.
 

“That will never do,” I said.
 

He sat and looked up at me, tongue lolling, as if he hadn’t just made a racket and lunged for Meng.
 

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t like him,” I said. “I have to go.”
 

Pant, pant, grin.
 

I rolled my eyes, walked up the stairs, Mutt following. So much for my bubble bath and the quiet night.
 

Instead, Cinderella was going to the ball.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-N
INE

All vamped up and ready to go

I showered, brushed the remainder of the leaves out of my hair and questioned myself as to the advisability of showing up on anyone’s arm at the annual vampire soiree. The Moonlight Madness Ball sounded too much like a senior prom, but I knew it was held at the Wildroot Country Club so they must be planning for a crowd.
 

The Wildroot was a sprawling series of one story red brick buildings encircled by a manmade pond and a series of waterfalls built into tall rock formations. A river cut through the bottom land, the bridges over it leading to the award-winning golf course.

I’d been there only once, to a wedding held near one of the waterfalls. Bill had reluctantly accompanied me, one of our few social events together.
 

At least it was better than my senior prom since I’d gone with the son of my grandmother’s friend. At the time I wondered if the guy had been paid to ask me, but he’d been so ungainly and awkward I’d realized I was the one doing him a service.
 

I saw Brian a few years ago and, to my utter surprise, the guy had been a late bloomer. He was, in a word, gorgeous. With the arrogance of the truly attractive he’d ignored me. I’d known him when he had braces on his teeth, pimples on his face, and thick black glasses. The glasses had been replaced by contacts, accentuating his beautiful blue eyes. His white - even toothed - smile was often in evidence and his skin was perfect.
 

Meng reminded me too much of the teenage Brian, but Meng was an adult and wouldn’t outgrow his gangly awkwardness. His brown eyes were shielded behind round black glasses and his straight black hair cut short, reminding me of the leader of North Korea.
 

I sighed, fumbling through my lingerie to find the strapless bra so I could wear the long black strapless dress I liked. If a dress could be said to be a comfort wear, this was the dress. It was a little loose and very conservative despite it being strapless and flattering.
 

I glanced at Mutt, sitting on the floor at the end of my bed. A trick of the light made his eyes look green for just a second, a shimmer of color that disappeared when I looked back at him. I shrugged, finally gave up the search for the bra and marched into my closet, grabbing the one dress I could wear.
 

Short, snug, with a built-in bra, the black dress was of an iridescent fabric with thousands of black sequins layered from bodice to hem. I’d been talked into buying it by a friend. Molly had told me it was a killer dress and I looked better in it than anything in the store. I’d never worn it anywhere because I’d lacked the courage to display that much leg.
 

Right now, I didn’t have a choice. Meng was probably pacing in front of my door questioning his wisdom in inviting me. Dan was probably watching Meng and wondering what the heck was going on.
 

Let’s face it, sometimes a woman needed a little courage. I’m not talking about the wine kind, but the mascara kind. The short dress, full makeup, wow-I-look-pretty-good kind. I studied myself in the full length bathroom mirror, gave myself another flick of blush over the tip of my nose, grinning at myself.
 

Eat your heart out, boys, Marcierella is ready to party.
 

Mutt growled and I walked into the bedroom to look at him. I’d be an idiot to leave him alone in the house. He was a good dog but he was a strange dog. I didn’t know him. He didn’t know me. For all I knew, he’d eat the carpet and pee on my bed.