The Vampire's City

by Mary E. Twomey

  Declan’s phone rings, so he answers it, letting the caller’s voice float into the car so we can both hear it. “Hey, Dad. I’m with Coco. What’s up?”

  “That works out well, actually.” My father sounds surprised, and unused to talking on the phone if it’s not work-related. “I was thinking about something. Now that Coco is back in Mayfield, maybe we should do, like, family things.”

  Declan and I go silent, staring at each other with raised brows.

  I mean, Declan and I do family things all the time. We’re going to a movie right now, just the two of us. But spending time with my father and Fintan?

  I cannot picture it.

  Declan is the more congenial of the two of us, so his tone is chipper, despite the distrust in his eyes. “Um, sure. What do you have in mind?”

  The sheriff pauses, as if he isn’t sure how to ask for the thing he called to say. “I was thinking the three of you could come over for dinner. We could do like, a family dinner. That’s a thing, right?”

  My upper lip quirks in revulsion. We don’t spend time together. We don’t talk about things.

  What’s his game?

  I shake my head at Declan, letting him know that this is not a good idea.

  Declan shoots me a wry look, as if I am the one being irrational. “Sure, Dad. Text me a few dates, and I’ll see what works.”

  “Really?” Our father sounds shocked that Declan would agree to it, and honestly, so am I.

  My scowl at my brother cannot be helped.

  “Sure. Coco and I will be there. It’s a nice idea, Dad.”

  I glare at Declan after he ends the call. “Did you not see me shaking my head? I know you did.”

  Declan tilts his chin in my direction. “He’s trying. I think it’s nice.” After a few beats of silence, Declan speaks without looking at me. “Have you talked to Dad lately?”

  “We’ve been sticking to our steady diet of not speaking unless we have to. He meets with the Valentinos at my salon, but the last few times he didn’t even come in to say hello. Why?”

  Declan shrugs evasively. “No reason. He’s been weird lately.”

  “Weird how?”

  Why am I asking? I’m not sure I truly care.

  “He’s been… I dunno. Nice.”

  I snort. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” I consider this and then shake my head. “Probably not even then.”

  We share a giggle.

  Declan keeps his eyes on the road, waiting for traffic to clear before he turns.

  I fiddle with the radio. “Any idea why the sheriff wants a family dinner?”

  Declan’s lips purse. “Nope.”

  “It feels like a trap. Like he’s going to tell us something horrible.”

  Declan doesn’t answer right away as he pulls into the movie theater and parks. “I really don’t want to talk about the sheriff tonight. This is all about taking a break from the drama.”

  I grin at my brother. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. I’ve been on my feet all day. I’ve been at the salon so much that I can’t believe I almost missed the release of Blood Ninja Disco VII.”

  Declan clucks his tongue at my messed-up priorities. He scolds me as he runs his fingers through his short brown hair. “The entire franchise is counting on us to keep the Blood Ninja Disco movies coming. If we miss opening day, they might switch to making movies that matter.”

  I shake my head at the state of the world. “The nerve.”

  Once we enter the busy multiplex, Declan orders a beer while I get our standard tub of popcorn and chocolate-covered raisins. The posters stretch from floor to ceiling, bragging theirs is the best movie of the season.

  Movie night is a nice distraction from the fact that Rome has gone absolutely silent for four days. Our date is in two days. For the entire two months we’ve been dating, he has called me every single night, except for this week.

  I’m hoping I won’t be driving three hours this Wednesday for nothing.

  As if Rome can sense when I am thinking about him, my phone rings while Declan grabs our beer at the concession stand across the lobby.

  “I was hoping I’d hear from you. I’m out with Declan.” It’s a gentle warning that my words will have to be limited.

  “I did it,” Rome declares. “I went four whole days without calling you. I didn’t nag you about your Friday night date. And I certainly didn’t almost call you forty times.”

  My smile cannot be helped as I cradle the phone between my chin and shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Thank you. I miss your voice, though. Can we talk every night? I like that you call me.”

  “Thank God. Yes. This is the worst. Being with you only once a week is hard. I’ll bring along some capicola from the West End deli that you like.”

  “Will you also bring those tight swim shorts, even though it’s too cold to swim? Because I really like those.”

  The smile is obvious in his tone, and I love the sound of it. His happiness is addictive to me. “Shame. I threw them out this morning. I’m going to bring baggy pants and a hoodie to swim in instead. I know how sexy that is to a girl.”

  “I’m swooning as we speak. In that case, I’ll be wearing a clown costume.”

  “Mm. I’m going to have some filthy dreams tonight.”

  My voice lowers. “Oh, baby. Do you want my squeaky red nose on or off? I know how dirty you are.”

  “Leave it on. I need it. I want it.”

  I laugh because I can’t help it. He just gets me.

  Rome sounds relaxed. I wonder if anyone else gets to appreciate this side of him. “I love the sound of your laugh, little cannoli.”

  “You’ll be hearing it tomorrow night when you call me again.”

  I’m grateful Declan’s beer line is long. I meander to the hallway and sit on a bench, glad I can enjoy my phone call amid movie posters hung on the walls. “Fill me in on everything I missed this week.”

  The pause that hits my ears is not reassuring. “Nothing important. It’s work stuff.”

  “That’s the thing about girlfriends. When we ask about your life, we’re including work stuff. I don’t want to only know the Wednesday version of you. I want every part. I really like you, Rome.”

  I realize that I am pushing our boundary. I understand why he wouldn’t want to divulge vampiric drama to me. I am the sheriff’s daughter, and much of what Rome does isn’t exactly legal. He doesn’t have much of an option, though. The West End is riddled with drug addicts now. My father doesn’t police that area as he should. He arrests the addicts for possession, but they are offered no rehab treatment, as the humans are granted. He doesn’t do the legwork to get to the root of the problem.

  Rome handles things as best he can while my father looks the other way. They’ve both told me things are changing, now that they have their biweekly meetings, but I’ll believe it when the evening news doesn’t show that the vampire arrests for possession far outnumber the human arrests in Mayfield.

  It’s a broken system because my father broke it. The repair is messy and takes both sides humbly and diligently working together.

  It seems Rome is sprinting toward a better future while my father is crawling.

  Rome sighs. “You really want to hear it? This is how this sort of thing works?”

  I grimace. “Honestly, I have no idea. I just don’t want us to have a relationship where you feel you have to keep yourself from me. You don’t have to tell me any of it. You might want to, though, and I’m happy to listen.”

  Another bout of silence greets me. I’m fairly certain he’s going to change the subject, but I am pleasantly surprised when Rome opens up. “I don’t want to half-ass our relationship. I want to show up for us.”

  My heart clenches with… it can’t be love. It’s way too soon for that. “I’m here.”

  For however long it takes Declan to get us our beer, I’m here.

  Rome takes a long breath and then begins the novice practice of opening up. “I rely on my gut to te
ll me when something’s not right, and my gut is acting up. There’s a business on my end of the city that looks above board. My men have been doing what we can to kill the making and selling of halluci-blend in Mayfield, but it’s still circulating.”

  Though I am pretty sure I understand the scope of things, I ask a question to clarify. “And this stuff is worse than the halluci-mend the Valentino family cooks up?”

  “It’s night and day different. I don’t care if people do recreational drugs. That’s their choice and sometimes it’s the only medicine available to us. But this new stuff is deadly and hyper addictive. Someone messed with our original recipe. This bastardized drug is killing off vampires. I need to get to the root of the problem. I have to figure out how and who is putting halluci-blend only in the West End. Vampires are being targeted. I need to know who is behind it. I’m not sure I’m there yet, but I know something’s fishy with Martin’s Dry Cleaners.”

  “What does Orlando say?” I don’t have enough information yet, but Orlando seems to always see and hear everything.

  “We’ve been over their books enough times to go cross-eyed, and everything looks good. Orlando thinks my gut is broken.”

  I want to solve the problem, but listening isn’t always about fixing. “Sounds like you’re frustrated.”

  Rome exhales. “I am. The problem isn’t going away. I know I’m right; I just have no proof.”

  “Maybe the sheriff can help you. Maybe you can push him harder to do some investigating, so it’s not just you.” I cringe, knowing I am stepping into fixing land, which isn’t the point of listening. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s your business, not his.” I shouldn’t be trying to push Rome and my father together. There’s no reason for it. They are civil and mildly helpful to each other, which is as good as it’s ever going to get.

  I should be grateful. I’m sure I am.

  But they can both do better.

  “I don’t know, tré-sur. I know he’s your dad, and I respect him well enough to meet with him twice a month. But at the end of the day, he’s still also the bastard who turned his back on us. He knows the West End has problems and he doesn’t care. The vampires are citizens of Mayfield. I shouldn’t have to ask him to do his job. He’s turning a blind eye because he’s racist, plain and simple. Asking nicely doesn’t go all that far to undo rot like that.”

  I don’t argue because no part of Rome’s verdict is false. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

  “Hey, it’s a fine suggestion. Just not one I’m ready to pursue right now. Maybe someday.”

  “I’m sorry, Rome.”

  “Coletta,” he scolds me in his loving way, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Then I’m sorry my father’s an ass.”

  He chuckles. “That, he is. I get it, though. He wants me to clean up after my people. I’m working on it. He’s stepped back on overpolicing the West End. That was one headache.”

  I shake my head. “It still is. He hasn’t stepped back enough. And he hasn’t replaced the overpolicing with detective work that could actually do some good.” I brush my thumb over each of my fingers. “It’s okay to put a little pressure on him to speed up his progress.” I stroke the diamond tennis bracelet Rome gave me, noting how effortlessly it sparkles.

  “I can only change me. Elias is who he is.” Rome’s voice turns stern. “Listen to me, Coletta. Everything is fine. Understood? Your dad and I get along better than our families have in a decade. But we’re still in the shallow end. I don’t want you worrying that there’s a problem. I’m respectful to your father.”

  Emotion clutches me around the throat. My father isn’t worthy of respect. He was a key part in turning the public against the vampires after he and Daddy Valentino had their falling out. Rome asking my father to undo the damage he’s done isn’t too much to ask, nor is it disrespectful.

  But Rome thinks I hold my father in high regard, so he’s making sure I know he is being good to a racist old man on my behalf.

  I couldn’t adore Rome more if I tried.

  I want to tell Rome exactly that, but when I open my mouth, the wrong words spill out. “Rome, I love you.”

  Rome fumbles on his end, his voice higher pitched than usual. “What?”

  I cringe, then indulge in a steady stream of cussing. “Nothing! I didn’t mean it. I take it back.”

  Or, at least, I didn’t mean to say it out loud.

  I don’t know how to fix this, so I end the call with no explanation and no parting greeting. If I could burn my phone to undo my flub, I would.

  I just ruined everything.

  23

  The Vixen and the Ballerina

  Colette

  What did I just do?

  I scared Rome. I know I did.

  I don’t want a conversation about this. I don’t want to have said ‘I love you’ to him in the first place. I scrunch my eyes shut and slap my phone to my forehead before tucking it in my purse to distance myself from my crime.

  I ignore the vibration of my phone. There’s no way I’m answering that.

  I catch Declan coming toward me with two tall cups in his hands.

  I’m sure I radiate enough guilt to be palpable for miles. I offer my brother a cheery grin that I’m betting looks suspicious. “Hey, Declan. Which one’s mine?”

  “The one I didn’t drink half of on the way here.” He hands me my cup when I stand. Thankfully, the dim hallway casts a shadow on my nerves. I don’t like keeping secrets from Declan, but this isn’t one he would want to know.

  Besides, it’s movie night, not high drama day.

  The Blood Ninja Disco movies are our absolute favorite, standing out among stupid movies and proving themselves the perfect spectacle of overbudgeted madness. Blood, plus ninjas, plus random choreographed dancing? You can’t go wrong.

  Or apparently, you can, as it’s opening night for the show, and there are only a handful of people in the theater.

  Declan and I are normal respectable movie patrons when we are with other people, but when it’s the two of us, we are adorably obnoxious. We shout at the screen and eat way too much popcorn, throwing a few kernels when Sensei Travolta-San reveals his evil nature (which, by the way, I totally saw coming). We laugh too loud and cheer for our favorite characters to dance their cares away because in our deepest hearts, Declan and I are nine years old, begging the world for ninety minutes where we can stop pretending we are adults.

  When the end credits roll, I’ve gone through just about every emotion one can experience, and am completely exhausted by the effort.

  “I’m just going to say it.” Declan holds both hands up toward the screen. “If this doesn’t win an Academy Award, I’m going to lose faith in the entire system.”

  “Those award ceremonies don’t appreciate the finer things.”

  We sit through the entire line of credits, not caring that there is only one other person left in the theater.

  Rookies.

  At the end of every Blood Ninja Disco movie, there’s a choreographed dance number that should be everyone’s anthem of greatness. Declan and I know the song—they do the same one at the end of every movie, but the choreography is new. My brother and I sing along at the top of our lungs, fully reveling in our juvenile moment, because that is who I never get to be.

  When the movie ends and the lights come on, Declan and I make no move to stand, instead using the time to go over our favorite parts and reenact the fighting scenes with tremendous accuracy.

  Declan is winded when I fake-kick his butt. “I missed this while you were away.” He motions between him and me. “Us. Everyone else is so serious. It’s all about the family drama. All about work. No one else appreciates good movies like you do.”

  I grin at my brother. Though he’s five years older than I am, he is still the sibling closest in age. “I missed you, too, Declan. We won’t miss any other releases together. Every time a new Blood Ninja Disco movie comes out, we’re goin
g together. None of this watching it in different continents and talking about it afterward.”

  “Agreed. No matter what else is going on in life, we need to have our priorities in order.” He raises his hand to a high level above his head. “Blood Ninja Disco movies.” Then he lowers his hand to his midsection. “Everything else.”

  “Deal.”

  There are still a few inches of popcorn left, so I grab up the tub and walk to the end of the aisle. Though there is no one else in the theater, I feel eyes on me.

  That is the mark of a good Blood Ninja Disco movie.

  Before we leave, I stop at the restroom, humming the closing credits song to myself as I wash my hands. When I push open the door to step into the main concession area, there is the usual bustle of people. Declan is still using the restroom, so I mill about, looking at posters and noting how they all pale in comparison to the Blood Ninja Disco advertisement, which of course, is 3-D.

  Again, I feel eyes on me.

  Instead of whipping my head around, I keep my eyes fixed on the poster in front of me, noting which direction I feel the heat coming from. I’ve always had a sixth sense about that sort of thing. Blame it on being my father’s daughter.

  Blame it on being my mother’s daughter.

  Blame it on me being the Last Deadblood.

  I wait until I am certain the person staring at me is at my four o’clock, then I turn with quick precision, locking my gaze where I know my Peeping Tom is located.

  My mouth falls open as the beefy Valentino cousin does his best to fade between patrons.

  Not so fast, Orlando.

  My strides are quicker than his, even though his legs are longer. I’ve learned that if I roll my shoulders back, tilt my chin up and walk with purpose, people tend to clear out. The click of my stilettos warns anyone in my path to scatter because I am on a mission.

  I catch up to Orlando quicker than I am sure he would like. I place my hand on his bicep to let him know the chase is over, and he lost. “Fancy meeting you here. Did you enjoy the movie, or was the sight of the back of my head more captivating?”