Bite MeChapters 1-3This is an original work, please do not steal. Chapter 1- Werewolves and Money Matters
Talbot blamed his mother for the fact he’d spent most of the summer impersonating a nun. Though the financial system in the Osbourne household had something to do with it, too. That was his father’s fault—a physics professor who left his family the day he discovered his wife and children were all werewolves. Talbot was seven and didn’t remember much about the man save the resemblance he saw in the mirror each morning. The lycanthrope blamed the bastard every time money ran tight. Which explained his current situation. “How could you, Talbot?” his mother screamed through the phone. “After everything I’ve done to scrimp and save so I could send you to the best magical creatures university in the country, and you have the nerve to tell me you failed your classes because of test anxiety? What the hell kind of excuse is alcohol therapy?” The young werewolf winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. If he didn’t know better, he’d think his mother was part banshee. He slumped onto his bare mattress and pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he didn’t have to have this conversation so close to the full moon. Or maybe it would’ve been better if he were in wolf form and couldn’t understand human speech. “Well when you put it like that, it sounds stupid, Mom.” “Don’t you stupid me, young man. You have a serious problem here. If you failed all your classes, you won’t graduate next spring. I’ve had to work double shifts at the Center with the blind and deaf werewolf cubs for the last ten years, just to afford things like your sister Rini’s wedding, veterinary school for Cat, and the vans for Akita and Brittany’s Mutts with Cuts. I don’t have enough money left to pay for entire extra year of school for you.” Talbot rolled his eyes, glad his mother couldn’t see the gesture 2,000 miles away. “Look, I’m sorry. It was a bad semester. I messed up. But I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.” The minute the words left his mouth, Talbot regretted them. “Do. Do? Oh, I’ll tell you what you’re going to do, Talbot Alexander Osbourne.” All three names. Not good. “You are going to your counselor’s office first thing tomorrow morning, and you will sign up for that Grade Forgiveness Program your school has and register for as many summer classes as it will take to undo the damage to your GPA. And you will take those classes, pass them, finish your flea-damned college education, and get a respectable job in the magical community. Is that clear?” “Yes, ma’am.” He paused. “But Mom, Hedgehill Uni doesn’t have summer housing. I’ve got nowhere to stay.” There. Beat that. If you don’t want your baby boy living in a box on University Hill, you’ll let me come home so I can tan my ass in the California sunshine for three months. Wrong. Again. “Well, you said Fletcher and Brennan failed too, right?” Talbot could practically see the smirk on his mother’s face. Afraid where she was going with this, he murmured, “Right?” “Then I suggest all three of you get your flunking keisters apartment hunting. After you speak to your advisor.” Not that he minded the thought of spending the summer with his two best friends, but his mother was still missing the point. As usual. “Mom, first off, I have no idea if Brennan and Fletcher are staying in Woodstock for the summer. And two, I don’t have any money for rent.” “So get a job! You’re young, you’re smart. You could be head busboy at a restaurant within a week.” How very glamorous. Talbot closed his eyes and knocked his head against the bed’s backboard. “If I’m supposed to take classes, how do I handle a job, too?” A feral growl echoed through the phone line. He wondered if his mom wolfed out for a minute there. “Talbot. Make. It. Work. You are twenty years old. Act like an adult. Get a job, pass your classes, and graduate at the end of next year, or I swear I will neuter you, nail you to a tree, and let the pack use you for target practice!” Dial tone. Talbot sat there in stunned silence. Well, bite me. Talbot looked around his dorm room, taking in the bare walls, his overstuffed suitcases, and the boxes stacked in the corner by his empty closet. He had planned to briefly check in with his mother, take the boxes to the campus post office to mail back home, then hit the bars with his friends to celebrate their last night together before they split up for the summer. There was an e-ticket waiting for him at the airport and a five-hour flight for dreaming about choice waves, beach bonfire parties, and barely-there bikinis. But no, now he was stuck in upstate New York for an entire summer, half-way between Screwed and Totally Fucked. Voices echoed down the dorm hallway. Speaking of screwed… Without bothering to knock, Fletcher sauntered into the room, wearing a T-shirt with the line, ‘I’ll Show You My Wand If You Show Me Yours.’ Brennan followed, bouncing a basketball. The brown-haired jock dribbled the ball, cracking one of the ugly red floor tiles. Talbot winced and hoped the RA didn’t notice it when doing final room checks. Fletcher flopped onto his bed, still mounted on the stolen cinderblocks they’d snuck into the dorm back in September. He removed his wand from his back pocket and started levitating things out of his pillowcase. Tossing aside a half-eaten Twinkie, a movie ticket stub, and a squished pack of cigarettes, he asked, “Anybody seen my lighter?” “I’ve told you I don’t like you smoking in the room,” Talbot said. The dark haired wizard-in-training quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah. So?” “So I arranged a little ‘accident’ for your Zippo.” Fletcher pushed an electric-blue stripe of dyed hair behind his ear and scowled. “What the hell did you do?” “Technically, nothing.” Fletcher leapt from his bed onto Talbot’s and pinned him to the mattress. “Talk, Wolf Boy, before I cast a spell that’ll shave you on the next full moon.” Brennan spun a desk chair around and sat down backwards. “Poodle style. Definitely.” Fletcher’s knee dug into Talbot’s gut. He groaned. “Get off me, fucktard!” Fletcher glared, brown eyes narrowed. “Tell?” “Fine.” The wizard-in-training sat back and fiddled with his eyebrow piercing. “Well?” Talbot smiled. “Brennan flushed it.” “What?” He jumped off Talbot and pointed at Brennan. “What the hell?” “Dude, friends don’t rat out friends,” Brennan said, scowling at Talbot. To prove the point, the shapeshifter morphed into an ugly, red-eyed, snout-nosed, albino rodent—the kind just looking for a theme park. The werewolf shrugged. “Yeah? Well, friends don’t let friends get pinned by their Communist-wannabe roommates with bad breath.” Fletcher put a hand in front of his face and blew on it. He sniffed, then grimaced and pulled his wand out of his pocket. Talbot saw where this was going and smacked the stick out of Fletcher’s hand. “Remember that time you spelled your Hexes and Curses book into a tiger? And you decided to hide it in the dorm and teach it to fetch and use a leash?” “Yeah. So?” “So remember how it ate the school mascot because the tiger thought the pixies looked like Skittles?” Fletcher leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. “One of these days I’ll be a famous spell writer. Glory, riches, hot chicks and dicks. Just you wait. I did write that one spell that—” Brennan morphed back into his human form, shaking his head. “Uh, Fletch? I, for one, sincerely hope we never get far enough into the foul zone that you’d have to use that spell, okay? I’m not sure my sanity could take it.” “Your sarcasm is a product of a system that exploits the minority.” Fletcher pulled a spell book out of his backpack, removing a PlayWizard from its hiding place in the middle pages, then changed the subject as if he hadn’t just been channeling some long-dead Soviet philosopher. “So, any plans for summer vacation?” “Well, it’s funny that you mention that,” Talbot said, sliding behind their bookshelf. He figured that having a large wooden shield between them would probably be a good idea. “I just spoke to my mom about my grades.” Brennan and Fletcher both winced. They’d actually done worse than him, a real accomplishment considering Talbot’s single-digit scores in several classes. “Yeah, she wasn’t too thrilled. Bet your folks weren’t either.” Fletcher snorted. “Understatement of the year. My ears are still ringing.” “How ‘bout you, Brennan?” The shapeshifter set the orange ball down on Talbot’s desk, scratched the back of his head, then pulled a tuft of cream-colored fur off his basketball jersey. “Yeah…about that. Well, my parents said that, well, I should, you know…takesummerclassesandboostmygpa.” Talbot blinked. Twice. “Try that again in English?” Brennan sighed. “My mom suggested I enroll in the Grade Forgiveness program. And Dad said he was cutting me off for the summer so I could ‘get a taste of life in the real world.’ Part of me wants to morph into a pigeon and leave little presents all over their living room in revenge.” “What Trotskyite propaganda,” Fletcher grumbled. “Yeah. So I guess I won’t be meeting you for the All Star game like we planned, Fletch. Or flying out to Cali to see you, Talbot.” The lycanthrope smiled like the dog that caught the cat. Maybe this summer wouldn’t completely suck after all. “My mom told me to get a job, find an apartment, and make better grades or she’d neuter me.” Brennan returned Talbot’s grin. “Not that I’m happy you failed or anything, but sweet! We can get a place together and split the rent.” “Maybe somewhere on the Hill.” “Ah, the Hill,” Brennan said with a stupid, lopsided smile on his face, “home of hot chicks, clubs, and cold beer. Every college town should have a Hill.” “Can’t forget the seventeen burrito and pizza places that don’t close ‘til two a.m., either.” Brennan jumped to his feet. “Hey, chicks dig guys with their own places, right? Maybe I can convince Nora to visit,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. Talbot shook his head. He was really starting to get sick of hearing about Brennan’s never-gonna-happen crush on Nora Kavanagh. She’d transferred from some school in Ireland to Hedgehill as an exchange student last term and unfortunately, hadn’t had a moment’s peace from Brennan since the day he first saw her. Talbot had frequently wanted to apologize to her on behalf of all American guys and try to convince her they all weren’t obsessive-compulsive sports psychos like Brennan. “We should get a place by the sorority houses,” he said, hoping to change the subject. “Be good neighbors and help them judge a wet T-shirt contest or two.” “Hey,” Fletcher interrupted. “Not without me you’re not.” “Dude, I’m gonna get serious penalty box time from the ‘rents if I don’t stay.” “My parents are cutting me off, too,” Fletcher said, grinning like he’d won some personal victory, “but those fascist capitalists forgot about my trust fund. I can’t access much, but it should be enough for a security deposit somewhere.” Talbot came out from behind his protective bookshelf. “I’ll pay you back. Don’t know how, but I will.” Fletcher shrugged. “No big deal. I owe you anyway for the number of times I’ve copied your notes and cheated off you on tests.” Talbot shook his head. “Idiots. No wonder we all failed. I copied off Brennan, who I know cheated off you.” The idiots in question grinned. Talbot resisted giving them the One-Fingered Salute. “So, now I have to talk to my advisor about summer classes and then bust my ass to find a job that pays enough to cover rent.” “Jobs are for Capitalists.” “I guess I should do that stuff, too,” Brennan sighed. “Let’s check out the flyers in the student union when we get back. Maybe we’ll find an apartment for rent.” Brennan picked up his basketball and tossed between his hands. “You know, I had a thought—” “Prove it,” Fletcher said. Brennan launched the basketball at Fletcher’s head. The wizard-to-be dodged, giving the ball a clear path to the open window. Silence. Then, glass shattering, followed by a car alarm. I am so not paying for that. “Uh, like I was saying,” Brennan said, voice squeaky like a chipmunk huffing helium, “what kind of jobs do you think we should get?” Talbot shrugged. “I don’t know. We haven’t graduated yet, we’re underage…” “Speak for yourself, kid.” Talbot slugged Fletcher in the arm. “I’ll be twenty-one in four weeks, so shut your hole. It still counts. Anyway, I doubt we’ll get cool jobs. Probably have to be waiters or something.” “I just don’t understand the human drive to find a job,” Fletcher said. “How could anybody want one, when you could just as easily become a friendly streetside hobo, juggling cans and small animals for change?” * * *
When Talbot saw the advertisement posted on the message board in the student union, it seemed like a godsend. Spells 4 U Correspondence School is looking for teachers!
Do you have a flair for helping others? Would you like to earn extra money, work at your own pace, and set your own hours? It took the werewolf only a few seconds to decide that the answer to all four questions was ‘Yes.’ If
so, teaching at the Spells 4 U Correspondence School of Magic is for
you! Teach as many, or as few, students as you want through our
All-New, Fail-Safe, Quick-Result, Easy-Learn “Conjuring by
Correspondence” method!
We are looking for a few dynamic individuals to join our team this summer. Applicants must be over the age of 21 and able to perform Basic Spells, Alchemy, and Conjuring to a 2.0 GPA standard. We pay cash! Direct inquiries to Armand “The Wiz” Barnaby, 7 Tinker Street; Woodstock, NY. Please send a cover letter describing your experience and qualifications for the position. Talbot frowned, his dreams for an easy summer job blowing up like a Mentos in a bottle of Coke. “Crap. Why is everything age-restricted here?” He’d need the rent money long before his birthday at the beginning of August. “Maybe I should get a job in the human world. Do they have age limits?” Brennan snatched the flyer off the board, the force popping the pushpin into Talbot’s arm. He yelped, but the weasely little ferret didn’t seem to care. “Dude, ever hear of a fake ID?” Brennan asked. “You know, like the ones Fletcher made for us freshman year? The cards we’ve used nearly every weekend since we started school?” Talbot slugged him in the arm. “Sarcasm’s the lowest form of intelligence.” “Figured you’d understand me better if I communicated on your level.” Fletcher tried to grab the paper from Brennan, but the shapeshifter morphed his elbow into something gray, scaly, and covered with body armor, then elbowed him in the ribs. While the wizard-in-training gasped and hunched over, Brennan continued his train wreck of thought. “Just imagine. All those poor, lonely, magic-impaired co-eds, longing to be taught their way around a wand. Think how grateful they’ll be when we’ve shown them all we know.” “Shouldn’t take too long in your case,” Talbot said. “But here’s the problem. You’re imagining co-eds…” “Sexy, half-naked co-eds,” Brennan corrected. “No, Talbot’s right,” Fletcher said. “What if we get stuck teaching some creepy old socialist who wants to use the spells for like, I don’t know, kidnapping small children and forcing them to pass out anti-proletariat propaganda? Or make his own reality show where the children have to battle each other in snake pits and the last survivor wins the right to go back to their family?” Total. Silence. “You know,” Brennan finally said. “Someone should work on a cure for dialogue diarrhea. Like Verbal Pepto Bismol.” “Anyway…back to not being scary,” Talbot said. “This correspondence thing might work. There’s an email address on here, too. Let’s use the kiosk in the food court and see if there are any open positions left.” “I’ll meet you guys in a bit,” Fletcher said, pulling his cell from his pocket. “I need to make a quick call.” Talbot and Brennan nodded, then headed toward the campus hub. There was a mix of students occupying the building—those furiously cramming for late finals, and the students who were celebrating the end of Hell Week, drawing death glares from those still studying. Mounted speakers played the latest ‘hits’ from local indie bands on the campus radio station. Posters and flyers decorated the brick walls of the union, toting the last of the semester’s parties, and ads selling futons, homemade bed lofts, and soon-to-be-orphaned pet goldfish. The smell of greasy French fries filled the air and made Talbot’s stomach rumble. As they headed upstairs, Talbot thought about his qualifications for the correspondence school job. Other than being underage, and technically flunking this last semester, the advertisement named three of his best magical core classes. And he figured he could be kinda charming. Dynamic? He wasn’t so sure; but hell, he needed the money. Plus, a job he could schedule around the full moons and his course load was important, since that was the whole point of staying at school this summer. The correspondence job really sounded perfect. He sort of liked the idea of teaching, too. Talbot imagined himself as a great educator; a lifeline to near-magicless, desperate women who had given up hope of ever learning spells, or even reaching out to fellow lycanthropes that hadn’t been as lucky to experience life outside of a pack. Fired up with the idea of being a teacher—and the promise of being paid in cash—Talbot logged into the kiosk computer and typed an email to his prospective employer with Brennan reading over his shoulder. Dear Mr. Barnaby, Dear Mr. “Wiz” Dear Armand “The Wiz” Barnaby, I am writing in response to your advertisement posted in the Student Union of Hedgehill University. I hope that you will consider me for a position as a Correspondence School Instructor. While I have no formal teaching experience, I am a patient and adaptable person with experience in multitasking and problem solving. For example, I once spent an entire afternoon upside down when my friends discovered a spell for cartwheels. For example, I once tutored an individual to pass his Hexes and Jinxes exam, even though a month before the test he was still getting other people’s wands lodged up his nose whenever he tried summoning spells. “Hey!” Said ‘individual’ slapped Talbot upside his head. I have received adequate grades throughout my schooling. Teaching is a noble profession, and I have always wanted a career where I can help people realize their full potential. Thank you for considering my application. Sincerely, Talbot Osbourne Brennan snickered as Talbot hit the Send button. Fletcher chose that moment to pop in beside them at the kiosk computer using that flea-damned Stealthy Appearance spell Talbot had hated since the day the wizard learned it. No good ever came of surprising a just-transformed werewolf whose water bowl had somehow been spiked with vodka. Talbot hadn’t been able to look his roommate in the face for weeks. “Capitalism is bullshit,” Fletcher said, nodding toward the computer screen. “You two should join the revolution instead.” Because of his parent’s Country Club lifestyle, Fletcher had decided to take a stand against everything they, and the upper crust, stood for. Ever since Christmas break when his father had threatened to disown him if he didn’t start taking an active interest in the family’s stocks and investments, Fletcher had taken to reading Das Kapital every night, in Marx’s original German, while trying to teach himself the language at the same time. He claimed the words, ‘lost meaning when bastardized by the most Capitalist tongue in the world.’ “Look, are you going to apply or not?” Brennan asked as he worked on his own job query. “I can’t very well unite the workers of the world if I haven’t been one first, now can I?” Talbot had to admit he had a point. Fletcher grabbed the flyer from Brennan’s back pocket and read through it again. “This guy’s calling himself ‘The Wiz?’ What kind of collectivist nickname is that? Maybe I should go around school calling myself Fletcher ‘The Student’ Varley.” “He says he’s got jobs, not brains,” Talbot said. Fletcher snorted. “Or you could start calling yourself Talbot ‘The Underage Werewolf’ Osbourne.” Talbot decided the smartest thing would be to change the subject. “Are you going to apply or not?” “Watch and learn, Wolf Boy.” Dear Wiz,
I am a young wizard from an upstanding family who has renounced his upbringing and now wishes to join the proletariat. I have no employable skills and hate people. Your flyer stated that you are looking for workers to exploit. Exploit me, please. Regards, Fletcher T. Varley Talbot snickered. “That’s the dumbest letter I’ve ever seen.” “It isn’t dumb, it’s honest. I bet yours is full of bourgeois bullshit about ‘teaching being a noble profession’ and ‘helping people realize their full potential.’” “No.” Note to self: log in to Sent Items folder later and delete everything before Fletcher thinks to hack in and take a look. “Anyway,” Fletcher said, waving his hand, “while you two were scoping out ways to make us slaves of The Man, I found us an apartment.” Brennan’s eyes grew wide, then suspicious. “Really? When?” “Found something on the board downstairs after I finished talking with my advisor.” After a lengthy pause, Talbot asked, “Care to share?” “Thought you’d never ask.” Fletcher unfolded a bright yellow piece of paper he pulled from the pocket of his army jacket and showed it to them. No
deposit? No problem. 2 bed/2 bath located just off Uni
Hill. Comes fully furnished and with nice, quiet neighbors.
Pets welcome. $450/mo.
“Sounds like a Statue of Liberty play to me,” Brennan said. “What’s the catch?” “Why does everything have to be suspicious with you? Can’t someone have a nice place for cheap and not be accused of something? The People should help The People.” Talbot gave Brennan a look that translated into, Quick, change the subject before he starts singing French Revolutionary songs. “Just sounds a bit too good to be true.” Brennan shrugged. “Did you call and set up an appointment?” “Yeah, but the lady who answered was too busy having an ‘organic experience’ to take a message. So I 411’ed the owner, told him we were interested, and gave him my credit card numbers for this and last month’s rent.” Talbot felt like he’d just used up his last ounce of ‘What the Fuck.’ “You what?” “It’s cool. He said it’s a really nice place and we only have to sign a three-month lease. It’s a great deal.” Brennan turned a colorful shade of fire engine red. A crimson feather sprouted from his neck. “It could be a hole, you moron! For all you know, this guy preys on stupid college students, steals their money, and leaves them stuck with only a cellar to live in.” “Oh, please. What Lifetime movies have you been watching?” Brennan looked confused. “Lifetime? Movies?” “Right. Forgot you didn’t grow up in the human world.” Fletcher folded the flier and put it back in his jacket pocket. “Anyway, we have a 4:00 appointment to look at our new place and pick up the keys. The owner said he’d hire someone to clean the place tonight, so we can move in tomorrow.” Brennan plucked the feather growing out of his neck, then crossed his arms and scowled. “And what if we don’t like this place?” “You can get your money back, can’t you?” Talbot asked. “Well, the thing is…” Talbot felt his stomach sink. “Tell me you didn’t sign anything. Please tell me you weren’t that stupid.” “Of course I didn’t sign anything! How could I? I came right here after I called the owner.” The werewolf felt momentary relief, until he heard his friend mumble something under his breath. “What was that again?” Fletcher sighed. “He said the verbal agreement was binding. That, and he already charged my card.” And there goes my aneurism. Right on time, too. The wizard-in-training received twin smacks to the back of his head. He ducked, trying to protect himself, but just got hit even harder. A pair of students passing by glared at them as if they were beating up a puppy. “How could you do that?” Brennan cried. “Without that money, we can’t afford anywhere else. How could you be so stupid?” Talbot shouted. “Guys, really. It’ll be okay. I’ve never been wrong before, right?” Talbot raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want me to answer that question?” “Uh, probably not.” Talbot resisted the urge to make his friend’s face match his black-and-blue hair. “Fucker. You should have asked us first.” “And ruin the surprise? You’d have said ‘No.’ I’m not stupid, you know.” “That’s debatable.” Brennan sighed. “Well, it’s almost 3:30 now. We’d better head out and see what 0-and-12 shit Fletcher’s got us into this time.” “Hey! You know, you might actually like the place. Just give it a chance. Trust me!” “The last time you told me to trust you,” Talbot said, “male strippers showed up at my birthday party.” Chapter 2- Stakes, Snakes, and Automobiles “Mother? I’m surprised to hear from you so soon. How is Majorca?” Julian could have heard his mother’s frustrated sigh even without the use of the telephone. “The weather is absolutely abysmal. Sunny and warm, every day. And the sun sets even later here than in New York. Whichever clan elder chose such a tourist mecca for a gathering of vampires should be flogged.” “That’s not very Enlightened of you, Mother.” Julian smiled. He’d certainly dodged a wooden stake by opting to take extra courses at the university this summer rather than be roped into this grand gathering of aunts, uncles, and elders. Balancing the phone in the crook of his shoulder, he tied back his long black hair with a leather strap. “Sounds like a true trial, Mother. How is Father?” “As well as can be expected. I swear his fangs are going to fall out with all the stress he’s under.” Julian balanced the phone on his shoulder as he fished a V-8 from the fridge. “Well, he is the leader of our clan. Stress is par for the course.” “As I keep telling him each year before these gatherings.” Julian took his beverage into the sitting room and sank into the plush cushions on his mother’s favorite chaise lounger. He’d never dare sit in it while his parents were in residence, but what the elder vampires didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. Or, rather, un-undead him. “I still do not understand why you opted to remain in New York this summer, dear.” Julian rolled his eyes. How often had he needed to repeat this information now? “If I want to finish school in four years with a double major, I have to take additional courses in the summer.” He picked a piece of lint off his shirt. “So, Mother. Not that I’m not enjoying this pedantic conversation, but to what do I owe the pleasure of this call? You’ve only been gone a day. Surely you don’t think I’ve managed to burn down our ancestral home or managed to turn the local hippie population into the Living Unwashed, do you?” Silence. “Mother?” She coughed. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I drifted off there for a moment.” Something in her voice sounded strange. “Mother, are you well?” “Listen, Julian, dear. I’m not sure I should even worry you with this. It might be nothing, but…” She trailed off. Julian frowned. His mother never lost her train of thought. Ever since his fledglinghood, he’d firmly believed she kept mental transcripts of every conversation she’d ever had, as well as a few future ones, too. “Mother, are you and Father all right?” “Yes, dear. We’re both fine. But…after speaking with some of the elders, your father and I decided it would be best if I left the gathering early and flew home.” Julian nearly fell off the recliner. “What?” “Something has…come to our attention. Your father discovered it when we were unpacking the suitcases.” Julian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mother, for Vlad’s sake, just tell me what’s going on.” “A cross.” “Across? Across what?” “No. A cross. The religious symbol. Your father found one in his suitcase.” Her worry perplexed him. “Mother. We’re Buddhist. Crosses have no power over us.” “Oh, Julian. Don’t you understand what this means?” Obviously not. “Son, this proves that someone knows what we are. We’ve had our bags with us since we went to the airport and after we retrieved them at the other end. The cross was put into our luggage before we left home. Someone, somehow, got access to our home and placed the icon in our bags.” Julian shook his head. He set the half-empty juice bottle on the table and stood. “Or someone at the airport thought your bags were theirs and mistakenly threw a last minute addition into the suitcase. There’s no need to worry about this.” More silence. “Mother?” “There was…a note.” Wilhelmina St. George—Mistress of the Dramatic Pause. “And?” “And whoever wrote it said that they knew what we were and that our kind shouldn’t be allowed to live.” He would never admit it, but a nervous chill ran down his spine. His un-dead heart beat a little faster. “A prank. Someone is playing a tasteless joke on you.” “Julian! This is serious. The note said they knew where to find you, too. Our family is in danger. I’m leaving for the airport in a few hours, but in the meantime, I want you to stay in the manor and not leave under any circumstances.” Suddenly, the spacious three-story mansion felt a lot larger, and much emptier. “I can’t do that, Mother. I have classes to attend.” “I don’t care if Dracula himself calls on you, Julian Percivus St. George. You are to remain in the house and await my arrival. And that is final!” All three names. That’s never a good sign. Surely there must be some way to convince his alarmist mother that he did not require her over-protectiveness this summer. “Mother, I shall be fine. Am I not in matriculating in hopes of becoming an investigative detective? There’s no need to cut your trip short. I’ll reinforce the wards on the house and review the surveillance camera footage.” “Julian, I don’t think—” “Whether you return or not, class is non negotiable. I must attend, or I won’t have enough credits to graduate in the spring. Besides, what can happen at school? I’m surrounded by students and teachers all day. Safety spell-nets surround the campus. And all magic usage on the grounds is tracked through the bursar’s office. Surely no one intent on hunting vampires could do so at a university filled with other supernatural creatures. I swear on my fangs that I will be careful, so stop worrying and stay where you are.” “Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, young man.” He’d always wondered what tone she claimed to hear when she accused him of using it. She huffed into the receiver. “I swear, if this…this stalker harms you because of your damn stubbornness, I will perform the rebirth ritual, bring you back, and kill you myself!” Julian had no doubt his mother would keep her word. “Yes, ma’am.” “Very well.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll go speak with your father now. Behave yourself or I’ll be on the next flight home quicker than you can say, ‘Transylvania or Bust.’” Julian sank back on the chaise, relief rushing through him. “Yes, Mother. Give my best to Father, won’t you?” “I will. Oh, and Julian?” “Yes?” “You’re grounded for sitting on my lounger.” She hung up before he could even work up a good sputter. Julian set the cordless back in the cradle and looked around the sitting room. Never before had the shadows creeping across the floor made him feel so jumpy. He scowled at his immature behavior. “Dharmapala puja, chokyong sungma. I am a vampire. A creature of the night. What on earth do I have to be scared of?” And yet, he was. A bit. He’d heard of vampire hunters, but more as a frightening tale told to fledglings. Or as a cliché used in B-list movies and television programs. But an actual slayer? Preposterous. Vampire hunters did not exist. And certainly none could gain access to his clan’s ancestral mansion, not with all the wards the local wizard's guild had set up for them. Briiiing! “Ah!” Julian jumped up and knocked over the end table with his knee. An antique lamp fell and shattered on the ground. Tiffany glass shards flew in all directions. He looked around the room, eyes wide, undead heart pounding. Briiiing! Briiiing! Oh. “Fucking phone!” He rubbed his aching shin and smoothed his hair with trembling hands, then grabbed the receiver. “What!” “Julian?” He felt like the world’s biggest jerk. “N…Nora?” “Are ye having a bad night? Ye sound shattered.” He took a deep breath, then recalled he didn’t exactly require air to live. “Apologies, Nora. I’m well, just a bit distracted at the moment. How are you?” “Bloody fantastic!” That anxious, gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach started to ebb away. Nora’s bright, accented voice and effervescent laughter always had that effect on him. Every time. “Do tell.” “Me feminist group is staging a protest next month. We’re jacked off about that ‘always walk with a buddy’ shite. If we want te saunter off through town at night, it should be safe te do so. I swear, I’ll Scream at the next right old wanker that hits on me.” Julian wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone, knowing exactly what a banshee’s Scream could do to a person. Well, maybe Fletcher Varley. I wouldn’t mind watching his head implode. “It’ll be brilliant! We’re going te paint signs, and write chants, and march down the middle o’ High Street,” Nora gushed. “Ye have te help!” He blinked. Him, at a feminist rally? There wasn’t enough money in the world to convince him to voluntarily walk into that pit of hormonal, PMS-plagued, bra-burning feminazis. “Well, Nora, um…” He cleared his throat. “As much as I support your cause, I, uh, I’ll be fairly busy with my summer courses. I’m afraid I wouldn’t have adequate time to devote to your rally.” “Oh. That’s all well then. I know how much yer classes means to ye.” For a minute, he actually contemplated changing his mind. He hated that disappointed tone in her voice. “Well, maybe I could, um, help you make signs and such, if you wish.” “Really? That’d be craic!” He allowed himself a smile. No one would see it here in the privacy of his own home, after all. “Indeed.” “Are ye free now? I could jaunt over and we can get started straight away.” Julian swallowed past the lump in his throat. Nora Kavanagh. In my house. At night. Alone. Stoker give me strength. “That sounds acceptable.” He gave Nora directions to his house and bid her farewell. His hand trembled as he hung up the phone, but not from fear this time. Nora—the libido-hardening star of his dreams—would be there in less than an hour. The vampire had wanted to be more than friends with her since the moment he met the red-head last term. She was smart and funny, full of fire, and so driven, so passionate about the causes she fought. Nora always had a new pamphlet about some disadvantaged group or civil injustice. Julian had lost count of how many of her petitions he’d signed. He’d do almost anything just to make her smile. Julian finished off his half-forgotten vegetable juice, righted the upturned table, and headed toward the hall closet. He needed to vacuum those glass shards out of the Turkish rug before Nora got there. And figure out something to tell his parents when they asked what happened to the hideous lamp. I could always blame it on one of their pet bats, he thought with some glee. Julian hated those flying rodents. The first thing he did after his parents left was herd the little mutants into the attic and lock the door, distant relatives or no. He turned the closet handle, and nearly had a heart attack. Hanging from the light bulb pull cord was a thick cluster of garlic. Julian gagged and jerked away. The pungent scent filled his nostrils and snaked down his throat, burning his esophagus and lungs. He covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve and backed away. What the hell is that doing in here? Running to the kitchen, he grabbed a pair of yellow dishwashing gloves and a plastic bag. He pulled the collar of his oxford shirt over his nose and returned to the hallway to remove that foul excuse of culinary consumption. He sent the garlic, bag, and gloves on a one-way trip down the garbage disposal. Unfortunately, the infernal contraption clogged, shot a spray of thick black liquid into the air that coated several kitchen surfaces, and made the whole first floor smell like a combination of burnt tires and pizza. Cursing whatever god created the diabolical bulb, Julian grabbed a mop, a bucket, three cans of disinfectant spray, and every air freshening device he could find and began sanitizing everything from the Berber carpet to the bronze friezes. The whole house smelled like antiseptic lilacs by the time he was done, but at least that foul stench of garbage and garlic was finally gone. Exhausted, he propped himself against the hallway wall. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes, allowing his mind to think about the implications of what had happened. Mother was right. There is someone stalking us. And they have access to the mansion. Though, the garlic myth was just that—a myth. Most vampires could tolerate the paper-clad bulb root well. Some even liked to season their victims with it. Julian just happened to be hypersensitive to the bulb. Like a nut allergy, one good sniff would have him swelled up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float, minus the wide plastic smiles and team of handlers. Julian opened his eyes and looked at the closet. He probably should run a wash to get the garlic scent out of the linen and bed sheets before Nora arrived. The vampire leaned in to grab a load, when a fluttering piece of pink paper caught his attention. It drifted downward, then blew against the air conditioner vent, slapping against the grill like suffocating fish. He smoothed the crumpled piece of paper and narrowed his eyes, trying to read the cursive chicken scratch that apparently passed for handwriting. Dear Bloodsuckers, If this doesn’t kill you, then I’ll find another way. I won’t rest until I dust you. ‘Dust us?’ What the hell does that mean? Did this stalker-person think he was dirty? Julian sniffed, offended. He bathed every day, sometimes twice, thank you very much. Wait a moment. Didn’t ‘dust’ mean ‘to kill’ in the human horror movie vernacular? Julian looked back toward the sink where he’d sent the offensive garlic to meet its maker, then at the seemingly innocuous note in his hand. “Well, bite me.” Chapter 3- When the Ghost is Clear
Talbot scanned his new living room from the relative safety of the entryway. The sofa that came with the apartment had more bared springs than the Alpine source of Evian. Its diarrhetic brown color blended so well with the stained walls and frayed carpet that it was hardly distinguishable from the rest of the sparse furnishings. Wallpaper peeled away from the walls in large strips, revealing a lovely array of offensive graffiti beneath. The humming fluorescent light dangling from the ceiling dripped something green and glowing into a waiting bucket below it. It bubbled in the pail, and Talbot wondered if it was sentient. The kitchen was even worse. A cockroach colony had claimed the corner by the fridge—the little fuckers had even planted a flag on the top of their mound. They’d made the room their own personal Club Med, with unidentifiable puddles of liquid food and half-full cardboard boxes that were more penicillin than pizza. It smelled like something had died, decayed, then came back to life and died again. Talbot was afraid to look in either of the bedrooms or bathrooms. That job he’d left for Brennan and Fletcher. The odd “holy crap” and “nasty” confirmed that they weren’t having much luck, either. Brennan emerged from the small bedroom across from the kitchen, carrying a piece of a broken broom handle with a black thing hanging off the end. Talbot thought it might have been a pair of boxers in a previous life. A shout echoed from the bathroom. Fletcher ran out, holding half a roll of toilet paper and a ripped washcloth. “Damn, that rat was bigger than your ferrety ass, Brennan.” Both Talbot and Brennan glared at him. “I…uh…shouldn’t sleep tonight, should I?” Fletcher murmured. “No,” was the unanimous response. “I probably shouldn't sleep ever again, huh?” “That might be wise,” Talbot said. Brennan shook his head and tossed the thing-formerly-known-as-underwear into the sink, pushing it down the garbage disposal with the splintered end of the broomstick. “Dude, what the hell was the owner thinking, putting a flagrant foul like this up for rent?” “That he’d found an idiot stupid enough to rent an apartment sight unseen?” Talbot answered. “I screwed up. I’m sorry.” Fletcher’s voice rose to a whiny, guilt-ridden pitch. “I acted like a petty bourgeois philistine.” Right now, Talbot was too pissed off to translate whatever the hell that meant. Brennan cleared his throat. “So, how do we decide who gets first draft pick on the bedrooms?” “We could draw straws,” Fletcher suggested. Talbot stared at him. “All the powers of wizardom at hand, and you want to draw straws?” “Well, we could all play ninja, pirate, cowboy until we come to a decision, if you prefer.” Silence. Talbot shook his head. “Fletcher, you’re really starting to scare me. Have you been in Brennan’s hash-stash again?” “You can’t make me room with that kind of crazy,” Brennan said, pointing at Fletcher. “I wouldn’t last ten minutes.” “Well, unless either of you want to share a room with a werewolf the size of a Shetland pony, I think I should get the big room.” “Hey, I could change into a big dog too, you know,” Brennan pouted. Suddenly, a noise like a seven car pile up exploded from the large bedroom. “What the hell?” Brennan shouted. Another crash. Then, a low moan. Talbot’s heart raced. “Fletch, go check it out,” Brennan whispered. “What? Why me?” Both Brennan and Talbot glared at him. “No. No way. I am not going in there alone!” “Only one thing to do then,” Brennan said. He held out an open palm and a closed fist. “Time for a triple threat. One.” “Two,” Talbot said. “Three,” Fletcher shouted, throwing out Paper, same as Brennan. “Ha! Scissors,” Talbot crowed. “Suck it, I win!” “Fine.” Brennan took a deep breath. “Come on, Fletch.” The wizard-in-training drew his wand. He led the way toward the large bedroom. With a John Wayne-esque swagger, Brennan followed, shutting the door behind them. Well, that was a stupid thing to do. What if the idiots need help? The apartment was as quiet as a tomb. Only Talbot’s anxious breathing broke the stillness. He wondered if there was a silencing spell on the bedroom door. Talbot checked the time on his cell. If they don’t come out in another 60 seconds, I’m going in after them. With only three seconds left to his deadline, a pure-white, squirrelly little ferret squeezed out from underneath the doorjamb, shrieking. He jumped into Talbot’s arms, shaking, and hid his face in the lycanthrope’s shirt. “Brennan?” The ferret just shook his muzzle and pointed a paw toward the open door, his bony limb trembling. “What happ—” The door flew open and Fletcher ran out of the bedroom, covered from head to foot in chalky, gray dust. He looked like a walking tumbleweed, leaving a trail of dust behind him. His brown eyes were wide and terrified. “What did you guys find in there?” Talbot asked. The whispered reply was so soft, Talbot could barely hear him. “It’s evil.” Fletcher was pale, like an albino who hadn’t seen the sun in twelve years. “G…ghost. Evil ghost.” Well, that would explain why the apartment was rent controlled. “We have a ghost?” Fletcher nodded. “What did he do to you?” “She.” Talbot rolled his eyes, ashamed of his own chicken shitedness. “You’re afraid of a girl ghost? You woos.” Fletcher clenched his shaking fists. “She’s insidious. Sinister. Menacing, even.” Brennan chittered, then squirmed out of Talbot’s hold. He jumped to the floor and morphed back, pale as his ferret form. “I…I’ve never seen anything so…so…” Talbot had never seen his friends act like this. Just how bad could this ghost be? “What did she say to you? Why is she here?” “Said she wanted to talk to the man of the house.” Fletcher gave Talbot a shaky smirk. “I told her to come back in ten years when you grew a pair.” Talbot made a mental note to shave off his friend’s eyebrows later. “Seriously, though. She said she’d only obey the head of the house. I told her my money went for the down payment, but she said that wasn’t good enough.” “Fletch, you’ve got to get your money back from the owner,” Talbot said. “I mean, the damn place is possessed. No landlord can expect his tenants to live in a haunted apartment.” The wizard-in-training winced. “Guy said he was leaving the country this afternoon for the whole summer. That’s why I had to get it sight unseen because there wasn’t any time for him to show me the place before he left. And he said there was another couple looking at it and if we wanted it—” “He played you, Fletcher,” Talbot interrupted. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.” “How old is it?” Brennan asked. Talbot groaned. “So old that werewolf clans made a law to eat anyone stupid enough to fall for it.” He sighed. “Anyway, we can’t stay here. What about checking into a motel until we can get in touch with the owner?” Fletcher winced. “Um, with textbooks and the down payment and stuff, well…” “You maxed your credit card out, didn’t you?” Brennan said, crossing his arms. “Yeah. And, um, the bank’s closed for the holiday weekend, so I can’t even access my trust fund until Tuesday.” “Fuck.” Taking a deep breath to prevent himself from punching his roommate in the face, Talbot walked toward the bedroom door. “Guess it’s up to me, then.” With one last glance at his friends, he entered the Seventh Level of Hell. His heart pounded. A bead of sweat snaked down the back of his neck. The room looked normal…well, as normal as anything else in this cesspool of an apartment, at any rate. A queen-sized bed dominated the center of the room, flanked by two falling-apart-at-the-screws nightstands. The stained, yellowed walls were covered with cracks, dents, rude carvings, and a thick, black, slimy substance pooling on the carpet by the closet. Shit, if this ghost does that ectoplasm thing, then I’m making Fletcher eat the goo for breakfast. The closet door rattled, as if blown by a strong wind. Talbot took a deep breath. His friends had survived their encounters with the spirit, so it couldn’t be too bad. Right? “Uh, hello?” The door shook and the wood creaked. The wind picked up, making the dusty window rattle. Across the room, a mirror shattered into hundreds of silvery shards. Talbot covered his head with his arms, flinching from the color alone. A red, thick liquid started dripping down the walls. The werewolf in him recognized the smell immediately. Blood. A raspy voice shouted over the screaming wind. “Trespasser!” His feet wouldn’t obey his orders to run. “W…who’s there?” “You are not wanted here!” Suddenly, he was moving. Toward the closet. Talbot tried to escape the pull that dragged him, but couldn’t break free. “Let me go!” His shaking hand reached out and turned the handle of the closet door. Without his permission. A light inside the closet clicked on, revealing two peeling plastic shelves, a few thin metal hangers…and the transparent outline of a little girl, hung like an old winter coat on a wooden hanger. “Who the hell are you?” The ghost girl glared at him. “Beat it.” Talbot bit his lip, trying not to smile. This is what had Brennan and Fletcher running like scared bunny rabbits? “Or what?” “The minute you go to sleep, I’ll eat your brains and then rip your heart out through your nose. And it’ll hurt, too. I’ll make sure of it.” That did it. He couldn’t help himself. Laughter bubbled up his throat, making his whole body shake. He laughed until tears streamed down his face. Talbot tried to get a hold on himself, but another look at the pissed off ghost girl set him off again. “I’ll…I’ll rip your entrails through your belly button and make you wear them as a hat!” Talbot’s sides hurt, he laughed so hard. The ghost girl put her transparent arms on her hips. “Just what is so funny, you mook?” “You,” he said, gasping for air. “How on earth could you hurt any of us? You’re trapped in a closet, stuck on a hanger!” She sputtered, and Talbot saw little flecks of green phlegm stain the carpet beneath her feet. “You…you…” The howling wind quieted and the door stopped buckling. Talbot felt the ghost’s control on his body lessen. He smiled and wiggled out of the invisible bonds. “I’m your new landlord.” The ghost girl pouted and crossed her arms over the front of her sailor dress. Blonde curls bobbed with her movements. “I’ll haunt you.” She really did sound like a little kid. Talbot kinda felt bad for her. “Look, my friends and I will only be living here for three months. How about a deal? I’ll help you off of that hanger and you leave the three of us alone until we move out.” The ghostly arms uncrossed a little bit. “Why should I believe you?” He shrugged. “What do you have to lose?” Her eyes widened and her bottom lip trembled. “I’ve been in this closet so long. I wouldn’t know where to go next.” Weren’t ghosts supposed to ‘go into the light’ or something? He’d kinda slept through that lecture in Paranormal Apparitions 101. “Can’t you leave the apartment?” She shook her curly hair, the large white bow smacking the sides of her face as she moved. “I don’t know. I died in this closet.” Talbot winced. “Yeah, I guess to be a ghost you would’ve had to…to die. Um, how did it happen?” She pointed to the hanger around her neck. “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well, do we have a deal?” The girl nodded. Talbot approached her, then realized something. “Um, you’re a ghost.” She scowled at him. “Brilliant deduction, jackass.” “Hey! You shouldn’t use words like that. You’re just a kid.” “I died one hundred years ago, you pill. I’m old enough to be your great-grandmother. Don’t start with me on the language thing or I’ll kick you in the nads.” He swallowed. “So noted. Anyway, I was going to ask…since you’re a ghost and all, how am I supposed to free you? I can’t touch you.” Emotions shifting faster than the phases of the moon, the ghost girl looked like she might cry. “But…but you promised! I don’t wanna hang in the closet anymore!” “Okay, okay. Calm down.” He raised his hands. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. Just trust me.” Did I really just say that? To a ghost? “A…all right.” A blush climbed up her ghostly cheeks. Well, a darker shade of gray, at least. “My name’s Mary. What’s yours?” “Talbot Osbourne. Nice to meet you.” “Likewise, doll face.” “Um, glad I could help.” He scratched the back of his head, pulling a few sandy blond hairs out with his fingers. An idea came to him. “Hey, Mary. How would you like to see the rest of the apartment? Maybe even hang in a different closet for a little while?” She clapped her hands, eyes lighting up like crystal ball. “Oh, yes! Please!” Ignoring the complete absurdity of the moment, Talbot lifted the hanger from the shelf and walked backwards out of the closet. Mary’s body fluttered like a dry-cleaning bag. “Remember, you promised to leave the three of us alone.” “Sure thing, fly boy.” She leaned toward him and placed a spectral kiss on his cheek. It felt like someone dropped an ice cub down the back of his shirt. “Um, Mary?” Her head turned completely around, like a possessed owl. “Hmm?” Talbot suppressed a disturbed shiver. “Would you mind keeping the slime to a minimum? See, Brennan and I both have forms with fur, and that stuff looks like it’d be a bitch to get out.” She nodded. Head turned around backwards like that, the gesture looked obscene. “No problem. But what about the wet blanket? The palooka with the black-and-blue hair that acted like a peacock with an oak tree shoved up his ass?” Talbot grinned, canines sharpening as an idea took shape. “Fletcher? Him you can slime. As much as you want, whenever you want.” Mary giggled. “I think I’m gonna like having roommates again.” As soon as Talbot exited the bedroom with Mary in tow, Brennan and Fletcher screamed. Running backwards, they bumped into the wall and clung to each other like a Crazy Glue experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong. Talbot bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Guys, meet Mary. I told her it’s okay if she, uh, lives with us this summer. But it’s all good. She promised not to bother us. Much.” Brennan was the first to recover his voice. “How…what…how…” “What’s he jabbering about?” Mary asked, cranking her head back to normal. “Don't worry,” Talbot reassured her, ignoring the creeped out feeling climbing his spine. “I speak fluent idiot. I'll sort them out.” Fletcher’s hands waved like cuneiform flags. “But she threatened to kill us! She told me she’d dismember me in my sleep!” Mary smiled. “You really shouldn’t take near dismemberment so personally.” “Really guys, it’s cool. If she can’t even free herself from a wooden hanger, how can she hurt you?” The expression of intense thought on Fletcher’s face looked painful. Brennan put his hand on the wizard-in-training’s shoulder. “Pencils down, man. It’s over.” He looked at Talbot. “So, we just have to live with her? You swear she’s going to leave us alone?” “Well, you and me, at least.” “What does that mean?” Fletcher whined. Mary clapped her hands again. “Ooh, playtime!” “It means that Brennan and I get a little payback for this hellhole you’ve condemned us to for the next three months.” “Oh.” Mary cackled, like the Wicked Witch of the West on Munchkin Killing Day. “Let’s go check out the closet in the small bedroom, shall we?” Ignoring his friends’ sputtering, Talbot headed toward the smaller bedroom, taking note of the rusty bunk beds and stained comforters that probably hadn’t been cleaned since the Vietnam War. He hung Mary’s hanger over the closet door, so that she faced the bedroom. “You won’t forget your promise, will you?” Her gray eyes were wide and pleading, like a little lost puppy. “As soon as I can, I’ll hit the library and do some research on releasing trapped spirits.” Of course, he’d first have to find the library. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Talbot headed back into the living room, pleased to see that his friends had managed to untangle themselves from one another. Brennan rubbed his hands together as if he were cold. “So, now that we know the spectral psycho with vengeance issues isn’t going to slaughter us in our sleep, who gets what bedroom?” “Well, since I got rid of the evil ghost, I call the big room,” Talbot said. “No way,” Fletcher cried. “I found this place. And it was my credit card that paid the down payment.” “Penalty flag on the play! I ain’t sharing a bedroom with Fletcher if that ghost is gunning for him,” Brennan said, crossing his arms. “And you Just. Put. Her. In. There.” “What can I say? She wanted a change of scenery.” Talbot shrugged. “Anyway, I called the big room, so you two have fun duking it out for top bunk.” Brennan morphed. The ferret bared his teeth and chittered, which Talbot supposed was rodent-speak for “Get bent and/or bite me,” and then scampered toward the smaller bedroom, tail between his legs.   |