by K. E. Radke
“What do you want me to do with the vampire?” the General asks.
“Track him. Do not kill him in front of humans. That’s against the rules,” Gage chastises like he’s talking to a toddler.
On the General’s last mission, Gage didn’t give him detailed specifications and told the hitman of the underworld to slaughter the bloodsucker and any other vamps with her like his life depended on it.
The General took out an entire coven in the middle of Little Havana, west of downtown Miami. Multiple witnesses were hurt defending the integrated leech, who was responsible for their missing family members.
Every Latino grandma that still believed in the old folktales reveled in the incident. Igniting a renewed strength in faith and warding off demons with handcrafted talismans, they sell for a nifty profit.
Gage hates using the General because he has to be very careful with his words. He blames himself for every blow the assassin inflicts on the innocent, and he holds onto the guilt like a lifejacket when he can swim, unable to forgive himself.
“General,” Gage calls out because the hitman is gone. El Cucuy reappears at his side. “The girl we saved earlier. Keep an eye on her. If it’s between the vamp and the girl. You watch the girl. Rowan has a crush on her, and he’ll get all mopey if she dies.”
“Are we in middle school? I don’t have a crush,” I murmur with irritation.
“The pheromones don’t lie.” Gage taps his nose.
“Stop smelling my pheromones.”
“It’s who I am. That’s like telling you to stop being a nerd.”
“You like the same stuff I do.”
“But look at the way you dress.” On cue, he pulls up the collar on his stained, button-up shirt.
“You look like you rolled all over the ground.”
Gage gazes down at himself. “That’s because I did. At least it’s not blood. Blood never comes out.”
I check the time again.
“Are you gonna wear that?” Gage inquires, looking me up and down.
“To fight vampires?”
“When you pick up Amelia.”
Pulling on the hem of my shirt, I say unsure, “Yea?”
“Go home and change.”
“That’s a long drive. And it’s not like I’m going to see her after this.” Can he hear the disappointment in my voice?
Gage puts his hands on my shoulders. “Ro-Ro. Ask the girl out. You like her. Go do nerd things with her. All the stuff you make me do. So I don’t have to do them anymore.” The plea is on the verge of begging.
We have this argument a lot. Him, encouraging me to date. Me, refusing. Dating girls is hard when your brother is an incubus. It doesn’t matter if they’re interested in me in the beginning, once they meet him—I’m person non grata.
If I ever want to be serious about someone, I’d have to live two separate lives. And she’ll have to understand all the supernatural complications in my life. And she’ll have to be okay with all the dangerous creatures I come into contact with. And she’ll probably get blood on her clothes—a lot. And dating is easier if I’m not dating.
“The next time there’s a Comicon in town, you’re not going.”
“Hey now. Let’s not get hasty,” he says, with a that’s-not-funny expression. “We both know that’s the only place Rogue and Princess Leia are in the same place.”
I furrow my brows, confused. “You don’t like Princess Leia.”
“Sure I do. The sexy red hair. The green outfit. The way she controls mother nature.”
Irritation ripples over my features. “Princess Leia doesn’t have red hair.”
“In my mind she does.”
“And that’s why you’re not invited.”
He pulls me in close as we walk out of the alley. “Well, I guess if she’s taking my place, you should go home and change. Maybe put some gel in your hair.”
“What about the leech?”
“I promise not the kill him twice.” He grins at his joke. “Go. Don’t make me hurt your feelings.”
Because he doesn’t need me. For most of the supernatural jobs we do, he can take care of them by himself. I, on the other hand, am a delicate human. Extremely breakable, and in the way. In the supernatural world, we’re just an abundant food source.
***
Home sweet home. Only it’s not so sweet and downright clinical. The tan eyesore is an ordinary square building in the middle of the lot with parking on all four sides. Random lights from offices and patient’s rooms illuminate the massive cascade of windows down the building.
Lamps, floodlights, and spotlights line the exterior, all capable of being switched to UV lights if needed. Installed on every pathway are little sidewalk lamps stuck deep into the ground in concrete. Every other one is lit up, the unlit lights flicker awake every three minutes as if there’s an electrical problem. But it’s just my mom’s way of camouflaging the UV lights surrounding the building.
The foreboding sign is surrounded by a garden of bright flowers. It cleaves the sidewalk in two directions. They meet back up on the other side and the path takes me straight to the automatic doors.
A giant oceanic mural takes up the entire back wall as I step inside the anteroom everyone goes through to get into the building.
Charlie is behind the thick glass wall, manning the front. He looks me up and down—twice. I plaster my face against the receptionist’s window. He flicks the UV lights on and a mist of holy water drizzles from above. I do a little jig to prove I’m not spontaneously combusting. He buzzes me inside and I step over a small hump on the floor, salt hidden underneath it. The last test is walking over the threshold with a devil’s trap hidden in the mural and pulling open an iron door lined with silver. To anyone else, it’s a wooden door unless you’re in on the secret.
Sometimes I wish a demon would try to break in.
“Hey Rowan,” Lisa greets me from the circular couch setting. The room is one giant circle with halls shooting off in every direction. Instead of a dull and boring waiting area, mom made it into a warm and welcoming recreational area.
“How’s it going?” Corbin asks politely, consumed by a retro Gameboy.
Marissa sends a wave in my direction without looking up from her book.
My twin, Reagan, is lounging on the couch with earbuds in her ears, watching a movie on her laptop.
“Hope y’all are having a nice night.” Nodding to them, I wonder where the other two of the Resident Five are. They’ve been here for so long we consider them family. All dumped by parents who can’t comprehend the nightmares they refuse to say are a figment of their imagination. Or by the state because their parents died in gruesome unknown circumstances.
Wards of the hospital.
Survivors of the supernatural.
I beeline to the corridor straight across from the entrance.
All the doors in the hallway are closed. Apartments for our permanent residents attacked by demons and paranormals and ancient creatures long forgotten by mankind. People who can’t find their way back into the world because the state dubbed them crazy. Too unstable to be on their own.
Mom gives them purpose. Under her care, they can function in society and be around people who understand what they’ve been through. Some will become hunters. Others will live here until mom can convince the government they no longer need a psychiatric ward.
At the end of the hall is an emergency exit, accessible by key. Everyone has a key living in this corridor because none of them need to be here.
Another mural of the state of Florida with a hidden devil’s trap decorates the emergency exit door. There’s one carved into the floor under the mat too.
The second to last door on the left has a sign on it that says utility closet. Opening it, there’s a small space with shelves full of cleaning supplies and boxes of holiday decorations. People store random things in here so the inspectors don’t look too closely at the back wall that has racks of brooms and mops nailed to it.
/> My foot pushes the baseboard right under the third broom and a secret door opens to another room with an elevator in it. All four walls are covered in ancient symbols and mystical wards, and devil’s traps like an insane person with nothing to do scribbled all over the place.
But each one has its purpose.
In the elevator on my way down, I wave to the hidden camera spying on me. A requirement to prove I belong here. Everyone who takes a ride below the facility has to wave, or we go into lockdown protocol.
There’s only one place to go when you get into this elevator. Home sweet home.
***
Pacing the sidewalk, my phone is in my hand, waiting for her reply. I’m here too early. She probably thinks this is a mistake. My fingers reach for the top of my head to comb them through my hair and come away wet. The gel.
I feel self-conscious loitering around the entrance and avoid eye contact with anyone exiting the Steak N’ Bake. No one is at the hostess podium, and all the servers, including Amelia, race back and forth in the little space I can see from outside through the glass door.
Sweat beads on my forehead and I curse myself for not waiting in my air-conditioned room a little while longer. Gage is patrolling all the dark corners near the Boulevard for the missing vampire—although the last time I checked in, bone jolting music made it impossible for him to hear me.
In the corner of my eye, a pop of color appears near the restaurant’s entrance. Amelia appears, and she squints, peering into the darkness. Her knuckles lightly tap against the glass. Sliding into view, I put my phone in my pocket and give her a brief wave.
The first thing she does is scream.
Chapter 3
Amelia
D eep scratches mar the side of my purse. That could have been my face. I lean heavily on the counter and take a few deep breaths. Deal with it later. You have to work.
Keeping the attack to myself, I hid in the bathroom, cleaning up my face before someone could ask what happened. If anyone finds out, my co-workers will form an intervention and force me to go home. My tips help me with my basic necessities so my parents can afford to buy my twin brothers everything they need.
Two of everything isn’t what they planned for.
I dump everything out of my handbag. If I’m missing anything important, I need to know now. Roderica looks over my shoulder as I rummage through the items. Her huge, fake eyelashes fan me, and I control my elbow, forcing it to stay put instead of jabbing her with it.
Old receipts, phone, wallet, five lipsticks, make-up bag, a change purse, earbuds, extra earbuds, napkins, and keys.
Everything goes back in the purse, and I scan my keys twice to make sure they’re actually mine. All I have to do is politely tell him he has the wrong person and distract myself with work so I’m not constantly telling myself I almost died today.
Trembling hands put my purse in its cubby hole and I take a deep breath. Tears threaten to fall and I blink them away. Be strong. Focus on the future. One shift will not break me. It will help pay for college.
A shaky breath hidden in a whimper comes out of me as I survey my section of customers and splash a smile on my face. A mask of happiness to hide behind for the rest of the night.
The stranger with my keys—someone’s keys—waits patiently at a corner table. I purposely avoid him, hoping he’ll leave without speaking to me. Not even the bubbly giggles and raunchy comments about him from my co-workers can pique my curiosity. Boys are a distraction. It’s been drilled into my head since I was a little girl by both my parents.
All the boys I’m interested in already have girlfriends or don’t date because they’re working all the time like me. We work too hard for ourselves and can’t dedicate any time to building a functional relationship.
Lyle checks on the stranger claiming to have my keys and potently glares at me when he orders nothing. In our line of work, tables without orders is money out of our pockets.
Hurrying past Lyle’s area, I almost bump into his gangly body. He points at the man waiting for me, and whispers harshly, “Go get your keys from your boyfriend so he can leave! I’m not a babysitter.”
“They aren’t mine,” I whisper back.
“Fine. I’m taking your next table and you can have him.” Lyle refuses to let me pass by. “Or you can get rid of him now.”
My bottom lip makes an appearance, and I blink innocently at him.
“Put that thing away. I’m taking your next table.”
I clutch his wrist before he storms off. “I’m going.” He watches me amble away, hunched over in defeat. When I peek over my shoulder, he’s still standing in the same spot to make sure I’m actually going to get rid of the man hogging his table.
The stranger doesn’t see me coming because the menu obscures his face. Maybe I can deliver the news quickly and he’ll feel so embarrassed he’ll leave before I get the words out of my mouth.
“Excuse me.” The polite words fall from my mouth instead of going with the first plan.
Bright cerulean eyes settle on me when he lowers the menu. All the anxiety I have melts away. This poor man has been sitting here all alone, waiting for me this whole time. A shy grin stretches over his sharp jawline. Perfect black hair, tousled in a way that looks like it took hours to be flawless, sways with his movement.
This beautiful man has been sitting here—for me. Not for me. To return my keys. Keys that are not mine.
My fingers restlessly play with the corner of my apron. Where am I supposed to put my hands? They suddenly don’t know what to do with themselves, and I feel like I’m staring. Effortlessly listening to him is hard because my eyes keep falling to his moving lips.
I stop myself from sitting at the table like we’re old friends, and before I know what I’m doing, my hand is on his shoulder. Goosebumps flee up my arm and my hand feels like it’s on fire.
And I find myself waiting. For his fingers to reach for mine. A sign he needs me as much as I need him. I’m desperate for a signal as I try to remember what I usually say to customers. Nothing sounds right coming out of my mouth and I inch closer to him. All my nerve endings pulse in tune with my heart, yearning for his fingers to trail along my skin...
The word leave catches my attention, and I panic when he suggests looking for the owner of the keys. Find a reason for him to stay. I do the natural thing and pull my order pad out of my apron. Dessert is the first thing that comes to mind.
After I take his order, the tension in my body eases and I’m moving faster than normal. Gabriel. Make him stay. Keep him happy…Lyle glares at me. I was supposed to get rid of him. Stopping in the middle of the pathway, my head cocks to the side in confusion. Thoughts I had seconds ago fade into a muddled mess. Repulsion and shock strike through the cliché love-at-first-sight over a pretty face. Am I hurrying to get back to him or trying to run away?
At the computer, I place his order, too afraid to gaze in his direction. What just happened? Harmless flirting? My body still tingles with thoughts I shouldn’t be having about a stranger while my brain reminds me I almost died and it’s appalled at my behavior.
It can’t be harmless flirting if thoughts of our future children together are still floating around in my head. Wedding plans that will never happen. And now all I want to do is get him the brownie so he can eat it and leave.
Maggie sidles up next to me and I jolt from nerves. I should already be done and checking on all my tables. “What did you do to Rica? She’s staring so hard I think she might be using the force to kill you with her eyes.”
Roderica is glaring at me from the front, and I only get a reprieve when new customers walk through the door.
“She has her eyes set on the one in the corner, and I happen to be his waitress,” I explain absently.
“He seems to have his eyes on you though.” Maggie lifts her eyebrows suggestively and watches me blush. “This will be interesting.”
“Don’t make this a thing,” I say at the same time Lyle joins us.
Emotions war within me. Excitement at the thought of the stranger’s attention, and revulsion because I’m being watched. Maybe this is perfectly normal after being attacked.
“Ten bucks mystery man goes home with Amelia instead of Rica.” Maggie starts the betting.
“Take the bet Lyle,” I interject forcefully before he can answer.
“Okay?” Lyle agrees to Maggie’s terms, unsure why he’s listening to me.
“You lost ten bucks because I’m going home with someone else.” I wink at her and rush off before she can ask me any questions.
“Thanks for that Amelia,” Lyle chuckles. Maybe it’ll help his mood now that I officially stole his table.
Avoiding Gabriel’s corner, I make my rounds and try not to think about him until his dessert is ready. He’s not alone when I place it on the table. Rica is sitting across from him. At the entrance, there’s a line of people waiting to be seated.
“People are waiting to be seated Rica,” I tell her, but she doesn’t acknowledge me.
Gabriel waves his hand in front of her face and she blinks several times as if she came out of a trance. “Don’t let me get you in trouble.”
Abruptly getting out of her chair, she rushes to the front, but still manages to glance back at us three times before she helps the next person waiting for a table.
Instead of giving him my usual spiel so I can leave and check on my other tables—I linger. Out of nowhere, a spike of jealousy makes me glare at Rica. How dare she sit with him. Gabriel’s voice breaks my concentration from trying to dissolve her into nothing with my eyes. His attention is mine. Children with mesmerizing blue eyes fill my head.
“You probably want your table back, now that it’s so busy in here,” Gabriel says, not even bothering with the dessert.
Displeasure suddenly floods through me at the thought of him leaving. “Not at all. I want to make sure you have everything you need.”
“I should get out of your way.”
“No, take your time,” I say almost fervently.
“Can I have a to-go box?” The question stuns me. How do I get him to stay? We have a connection.
