Reach For Me

by Elizabeth Cole

  He bit the vampire.

  “What the…” the lurk screeched.

  “You can dish it out but you can’t take it, huh,” Mal said. Or rather, he sort of said, because he still had half a mouthful of undead flesh, which ruined the crispness of his snappy jibe.

  Oh, well.

  He bit the vampire again, because while a vampire doesn’t expect a victim to bite back, it sure doesn’t expect the victim to do it twice.

  And then he used his free hand to pull out the chain he wore around his neck. He pressed the crucifix to the vampire’s body.

  The thing screeched again, more from rage than pain, but it released Mal, dropping him to the rough, greasy pavement.

  Mal turned and ran down the alley, diving behind a large dumpster about sixty feet on.

  “You can’t hide from us,” the vamp yelled, his feet slamming on the pavement as he chased after Mal. “You get in our way, we get you out of the way. You’re lucky I’m only going to kill you.”

  Mal listened to the rant as he hunted around among wadded-up trash and debris, looking for anything like a weapon. He surprised a few rats, who dashed out into the alley. Then his hand touched something else, and he felt a jolt of hope.

  A desperate squeak echoed through the alley and ended abruptly. The vamp just had its appetizer.

  There is a dreadful feeling when you’re waiting for the inevitable. Mal knew the vampire knew exactly where he was. Vampires were predators. They smelled their prey, they heard sounds no human could pick up on. The vampire could probably hear Mal’s heart and know its BPM.

  Vampires also liked to play with their food, and Mal wasn’t entirely shocked when the body of a dead rat dropped on him.

  “Here’s your friend,” the unseen vamp growled. “But I’m still hungry.”

  Mal leaned against the brick wall behind him, keeping himself steady, even while his whole being was screaming at him to run, run, run away. No matter how much training he endured, the human instinct was to flee, to survive, to get out of the path of scary things.

  The point of training was to help him past that feeling.

  The vampire appeared in front of him, stepping beyond the dumpster and rushing forward to grab Mal like a tasty snack.

  The strength in the creature was mind-boggling, way beyond what logic told him was possible.

  Mal swung his right hand up just as the vampire was leaning in for its first bite. Mal couldn’t stop a half-formed shout of pain as splinters jabbed into his palm.

  But he’d aimed well, and it was totally worth it to hear the vampire’s gasp as the scrap of wood Mal had recovered from the trash broke its skin.

  “Just die,” Mal hissed, pushing forward with all his own strength. The piece of wood finally connected with the vampire’s heart, and the splinters that made Mal wince were doing a lot worse to the monster.

  Within seconds, the vampire’s body went still. Mal pulled out his trusty pocket knife and slit the vampire’s throat, just to be sure. Then he raised his foot and stepped on the end of the makeshift stake, driving it all the way through the dead flesh.

  The vampire started to shrivel and smoke, its body losing form as the demonic energy that fueled it was sucked back into whatever hellish otherworld it came from.

  A moment later, Mal stood over a pile of ash. He said, “Santa Muerte, I send you one more soul tonight, a particularly crusty one that you can do whatever you want with. Have fun.”

  He turned and walked back to his car. There was no sound or light from any of the windows of the buildings. He was amazed that the fight hadn’t roused a single person’s interest.

  Mal was never so happy to get home. The feeling of crossing over the barrier that protected the Salem home was a lot like stepping into sunshine after getting dumped on by rain.

  He stumbled into the kitchen, his right hand now throbbing with pain, little bits of wood jammed into his flesh.

  You smell hideous, Behemoth told him.

  “Vampire,” he replied, and heard Behemoth’s answering hiss. “Keep extra sharp watch tonight, ok?”

  You may rely on me. I will protect every soul in this house.

  On that subject, he had full confidence in the cat.

  Mal was actually shaking with fatigue. A long day, an unexpected burial, a very unexpected vampire, and a fight where he had to slide into the otherworlds just to stay alive. Yeah, time to hit the sack.

  He had just enough energy to scrawl a note to Cara, and leave it on the kitchen island. He reached up and unfastened the chain around his neck, dropping it right next to the note. Then he dragged himself up to his bedroom and just managed to fall onto his bed before he lost consciousness.

  Chapter 12

  When Cara woke up, the first thing she wanted to do was find Pumpkin, so she dressed and hurried downstairs. It was totally quiet, no cats or humans in sight. But a note lay on the counter, along with a tangled metal chain.

  C—

  Pumpkin got sick. I drove him to Dr. Amber, who kept him overnight. But don’t freak out. He’ll be fine, and I’ll get him later today. I’m sleeping in. Don’t fire me. Also, here’s a necklace. Put it on and keep it on. PLEASE. I’ll explain everything later.

  —M

  Frowning, Cara reached over and pick up the metal chain, noticing it had a pendant. It looked like a saint’s medal, though it was rather old and smushed so she couldn’t see enough detail to know which saint it might be. Also strung on the chain was a small crucifix, probably brass. Despite the very homely appearance of the jewelry, there was something special about it. Cara put it on, hoping that she wasn’t just falling for some occulty mumbo jumbo because she was falling for Mal.

  She left the house and walked across the street, grateful that she was early. No other workers had shown up yet.

  Cara tilted her head up, examining the exterior of the structure. After everything Mal told her about the secret history of Egan House, it was hard to look at it the same way. Even though the day was bright and sunny, crisp and clear in a way that only autumn days can be, the building looked cold.

  Worse than cold. Creepy.

  “It’s just a job,” Cara told herself. “Haunted or not, this is not my problem. And Mal might be wrong anyway.”

  Cara didn’t even get a chance to touch the marquetry work that day. She was too busy running around, directing the men working in various parts of the house. She must have climbed forty flights, from answering questions in the basement, where Jalen and Kevin were patching the walls, to upstairs, where Dan and Reyes had discovered termite damage in the north bedrooms. The only bright side was that the termite damage was from fifty years ago, and no little creatures were currently chomping on the delicious wood.

  “We’ll have to do a run to the lumber yard,” Dan said. “If we don’t fix this, it could cause the roof to start sagging.”

  Cara nodded, calculating the amount of lumber needed. “I’ll call Morningside and get it approved as a purchase, but just take the credit card and go. He won’t say no to this.” Maybe by the time Dan returned, Mal would be there to help with the repairs.

  But no. Mal wasn’t just sleeping in, he failed to show up the whole day. Cara was sort of pissed, but mostly worried, especially since she couldn’t run down to the Salem house without busting the lid off a whole bunch of secrets. Yet another reason to not live with your employee. Keeping things on the DL was practically impossible.

  Cara sent the guys home a bit early, waiting only until the taillights on Dan’s truck disappeared down the road before she hotfooted it across the street.

  Inside, Mal sat on the couch, nursing a beer and a kitten, which was not something Cara expected to see. He had Pumpkin wrapped in a hand towel like a burrito, and he was feeding it from a bottle, while occasionally taking a sip of beer from his own bottle.

  She skipped the preliminaries. “What is going on? Where were you all day? How’s Pumpkin? Why am I wearing a weird necklace?”

  “Sit down.” Ma
l indicated the seat next to him on the couch. She took it only to be close to Pumpkin. Riiiight.

  He gave Cara the run-down on what happened to the cat, the midnight run to the vet, picking him up this afternoon, and the fact that Pumpkin was on a liquid diet for the next three to five days.

  “The vet says he should be fine, but we need to watch him and just take things slow. He had a rough start in life, and we need to give him time.”

  Cara reached over and petted Pumpkin’s ear. The kitten mewed and started purring loudly. “Oh, I love you,” she whispered.

  “Hey, take things slow, I said. Oh, were you talking to the cat?” Mal grinned at her.

  She rolled her eyes, fighting off a blush. “Shut up.”

  He transferred the burrito of cat to Cara, offering her the bottle of what she presumed was kitten formula.

  Then she saw his right hand was bandaged. “Wait, what happened there?”

  “Uh, just an accident with a chunk of wood. I’ll be fine.”

  “Did you have a weirder night than you’re admitting? And why did you tell me to wear this?” Cara withdrew the chain from under her shirt. “Where did it come from?”

  “It’s mine. And you’re wearing it for protection.”

  “Yours? Like you were wearing it yesterday and I’m wearing it today?” That felt a lot more personal than Cara was prepared for.

  “Exactly. I want to strengthen the protection for you, which means I’ll need to do a spell, and I’m going to need your full name for that.”

  “Hold on. A spell?”

  “Yeah. Magic is real, just like ghosts and hellholes. You need more protection than you’ve got right now, and magic is going to help with that.”

  “No, I believe you! It’s not that. But you’re going to do a spell on me?”

  “On the necklace, which you’ll wear. And not unless you say it’s ok, because I can’t cast it without you giving me your full name. Just Cara Michaels isn’t going to cut it.”

  “Oh.” This is about to be awkward. She kept her eyes on Pumpkin as she said, “Actually…Cara Michaels isn’t my name.”

  Mal looked at her with raised eyebrows and took a long sip of beer, then said, “What’s your real name?”

  She took a breath. Was she going to spill this? Yes, yes, she was. “Caitlin Marine Carmichael.”

  “Did you not like your name?” he asked, puzzled.

  “It’s not a matter of liking. My dad was in the construction business in New York and New Jersey. He taught me a lot, and he’s why I got into woodworking and why I know as much about building as I do. He was looking forward to creating a real family business. He got very successful, and then sort of got involved with some players who…ok, it was the mob. Things went badly. Dad messed up, yeah. But I know he took the fall for some other people who did way worse things. Dad knew that he was sacrificing his freedom to keep his family safe. Safer anyway.”

  Mal leaned forward. “Where’s your dad now?”

  “A federal penitentiary in Colorado,” Cara said. For some reason, telling Mal all this didn’t seem as tough as she feared. “He’s serving ten to fifteen for fraud, embezzlement, and a bunch of other crimes. His company was Carmichael Construction, and all his clients left and the state seized his assets, and he had to declare bankruptcy. I had to strike out on my own if I wanted to make any money, but having the same name as a convicted felon is not exactly good for business. So I…made a few strategic changes to my identity. Carmichael became Cara Michaels. Michaels is a common name. It doesn’t raise red flags. And I can do what I’m good at without needing to worry about Dad’s old associates.”

  “Do you talk to him?”

  “We send letters. He doesn’t like the phone. And he says I can’t visit because he doesn’t want anyone there to know he’s got such a pretty girl for a daughter.” She finished on a derisive snort.

  But Mal shook his head. “I totally understand his motivation. Sounds like he made mistakes, big ones, but he did his best to keep you safe. He’s still doing it.”

  Cara wiped away a tear that pooled in the corner of her eye. “Yeah, I know. It’s just…it was hard. Not anything like what you went through.” She gestured to the ofrenda.

  Mal shifted to put his arm around Cara’s shoulders, drawing her closer to him. “I’ve had most of my life to adjust. You’ve only had, what, a few years?”

  “Still not the same.” Cara leaned against him, trying not to enjoy the feel of his body. Then she stiffened when she thought of how he was going to react to her less-than-ideal figure. She’d heard plenty of comments about that from…well, everyone, from her family to old boyfriends to random strangers.

  “Is it ok to call you Cara?” Mal asked, still keeping his arm around her, evidently not squicked out. Or maybe he just liked being close to Pumpkin, who was snuggling in Cara’s arms.

  She nodded. “I prefer it, actually. New life and all.”

  “Wow, I really don’t know anything about you. What’s your favorite color?”

  “Um, red, probably.”

  “Favorite movie?”

  “Impossible question. Try again.”

  “Ok, favorite fruit.”

  “Cherries.”

  “Favorite subject in school.”

  “Math.”

  “Whoa, really?”

  “I always liked math. And I was good at it.”

  “I bet. I mean, you’re really smart. I just thought you’d say art, because you’re an artist.”

  She shook her head. “I’m a carpenter.”

  “I’ve seen your website. All those things you’ve carved. You’re an artist who does carpentry on the side.”

  Cara grew unaccountably shy at Mal’s praise. “Maybe.” She’d always been proud of her talents, and she knew she had a level of skill few others did. But it felt different hearing Mal talk about it.

  Pumpkin had fallen asleep, his purrs tapering off into silence. Cara put the cat bottle aside. “I should put him somewhere safe.”

  “Behemoth, come here,” Mal called.

  “Uh, cats don’t come when they’re called,” Cara told him, but then Behemoth appeared and walked directly toward Cara and Pumpkin. He jumped on the couch, nuzzled the kitten and took him by the scruff, and then stalked away.

  “Wow,” Cara said. “That was…unexpected.”

  “Behemoth is a pretty special cat. An asshole, but special.”

  Cara closed her eyes, her head falling back as everything just sort of overwhelmed her. “Sweet fancy Moses. Magic is real.”

  Beside her, Mal laughed, a low rumble that did things to her insides. “Yeah it is. But it’s not all bad. Some of it is definitely good.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like being able to cast protection spells.”

  Mal’s fingers brushed against her neck. Her eyes flew open to find him leaning even closer to her. But he was only reaching for the necklace.

  “Easy there, gorgeous,” he said, his mellow voice only making her more fluttery on the inside. “Let me take the necklace tonight and I’ll cast the protection spell. Then you can have it back in the morning and we’ll both feel a lot better.”

  Cara scrambled to pull the necklace off, and also to give herself a few inches of space to clear her head. Being right next to Mal was confusing. She put the necklace into his open hand. “What will it protect me against?”

  “Let’s say evil.”

  “Let’s be more specific.”

  “Um, ok,” he said. “It should help anchor you to this reality and also repel creatures from the otherworlds who have nasty plans for you. It’s not a very powerful spell, not compared to some of the stuff good casters can do. But it will help, and I really want to help.”

  “Why? I mean, you’re worried about the house, not me. Right?”

  “It started with the house, but you’re a bonus. It’s not like I’m going to let a girl get in danger when I’m right there to stop it. I’m not a complete jerk.”

>   “I don’t think you’re a jerk.”

  “Aww, thanks.” He smiled, but his eyes were doing the smoldery thing again, and it didn’t help that his smile drew her attention to his mouth, and wow did she want to kiss him.

  Which would lead to a super embarrassing situation. She said, “I, um…I’ve got some stuff to take care of.”

  “Me too,” Mal said, sitting up straighter. “I’ll get out of your way. Is pizza ok for dinner? I was just going to order a large pepperoni.”

  “That’d be great.”

  “Great.”

  “Great.”

  Awkward. Cara heaved herself off the couch and retreated to the spare bedroom.

  Things settled down once the pizza arrived. Cara convinced herself she’d been making stuff up before. Mal was his normal chill self, and they watched his favorite movie, Dark Carnival. She also learned that his favorite fruit was watermelon, his favorite subject in school was gym (“not a real subject,” Cara had objected), and his favorite color was black.

  Later that night, she called her mom after she’d tucked herself into bed. She talked to her mother only every couple of weeks, mostly because the conversations tended to end poorly.

  Her mom picked up right away, and the first few minutes were the usual small talk. Then Cara said, “I think I might have a new pet. I found a stray cat on the job site. A kitten, actually. He’s super cute. I called him Pumpkin, because he’s orange.”

  “Probably full of fleas, or worms, or both. You should take it to a shelter and let them deal with it.” Cara’s mom had never liked animals in the house. It disturbed her sense of neatness.

  “Mal already took Pumpkin to the vet, and got medicine for the fleas and worms.”

  “Who’s Mal?”

  “Oh.” Cara was grateful that they weren’t on video. “He’s the neighbor. He’s got cats of his own, so I went there to ask for some food when I found Pumpkin.” She left out the grimmer part of the story.

  “He must be a real animal lover to take a brand-new stray to a vet.”

  “Well, he’s local and he knew the vet. I’ll pay for everything.” Yet Mal hadn’t presented her with a bill, or even mentioned the cost. “You think I can’t take care of a cat?”