Not that Devin was a ho. Maybe he was. I didn’t know him well enough to judge. I could tell, though, that he was holding on to something. It was like he had some big insecurity lurking around inside of him, like a demon clawing at his soul, begging to get free.
It could have been anything, really.
Maybe just low self-esteem.
I didn’t know his family, but he was the son of a preacher. I could only imagine how hard it must be as a child to feel free to explore, to figure out who you are, if you’re constantly being forced into a pigeonhole of other people’s expectations.
Maybe he was at odds with the Order’s beliefs.
Someone who takes such good care of himself… that’s not usually the sign of someone who is both shy and depressed. He had an outlet. There was something in his life that gave him purpose. You don’t polish your nails if you think life sucks. You don’t give a shit about your nails, or anything about your appearance, when you’re depressed.
Learned that at the asylum…
Nothing was more dreadful than hanging around the folks committed for depression. Not just because they were party poopers all around, but if you were to check in on the patients who hadn’t showered in the last week and looked at their charts, I’d be willing to bet that nearly all of them were there for depression of some sort.
I wasn’t ever really diagnosed with anything beyond PTSD. They initially suggested gender dysphoria. Some people use being trans and gender dysphoria as interchangeable terms. They aren’t. Gender dysphoria is a feeling of distress that might happen to those whose gender identity doesn’t match up with the one assigned at birth. I didn’t have distress over my gender, and I wasn’t ever assigned one at all. So I told them to take their DSM diagnosis and shove it up their asses. Metaphorically speaking, of course. They didn’t actually do it. The DSM manual is pretty big, so I hope they didn’t.
It’s certainly common for trans folks to experience gender dysphoria, but it’s not a universal or guaranteed experience. And it didn’t fit me at all.
No diagnosis fit me. Instead, they decided to simply counsel me through my “transition” to being human. To help me come to grips with the fact that eating people was no longer acceptable behavior. Yeah, I thought it was bullshit at the time.
It felt like trying to take a red-meat-eating rancher and force him into vegan camp. If you don’t want to like tofu, you won’t like tofu. People who say they like that shit have had to work hard to convince themselves that it’s good. That’s why they usually spend so much time trying to tell other people how great it is. Because, deep down, they’re still hoping they’ll start to believe it themselves.
I say all of that to say this: whatever had Devin tied up in knots was a bit of an enigma. It wasn’t generalized depression. He didn’t exhibit any signs of anxiety. I hadn’t seen any erratic behaviors. Just a discomfort… a sort of awkwardness.
Hell, maybe he was just an awkward dude. But most awkward people aren’t as hot as Devin… they don’t tend to be attractive. They usually look as strange as they act. Not sure why—but when’s the last time you saw an incredibly good-looking person who was a total social misfit?
Doesn’t happen much. Probably because social acceptability, in human culture, is so tightly linked to appearance. Makes sense, I think.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked as I stepped out of Devin’s car. He drove a red Subaru Impreza. A small car, but he had the “sport” edition. It was cute. And I imagine fuel efficient.
We didn’t take my motorcycle, mostly because you really need to get to know someone before you let them straddle you from behind. Devin and I hadn’t progressed that far in our relationship.
Not that I was opposed to the thought…
Never mind.
Devin drove a Subaru Impreza.
I was surprised to learn, as a part of our small talk on the drive, that the car wasn’t actually Australian. Hard to believe…
I mean, didn’t Crocodile Dundee drive a Subaru? Again, my research into human culture has some gaps. I figured I must’ve missed something there. You can only pick up so much over the course of five years.
“Need any stakes?” Devin asked, popping his vehicle’s rear hatch.
I’d carried my duffel bag on my lap and already had it over my shoulder. “Nope,” I said. “But I might want to leave this in your car once I’ve geared up.”
Devin grinned. “I wondered if you were actually planning to bring that whole thing inside with you.”
I unzipped my bag. It was no overstatement to say that my bag was basically a treasure trove of all things that could hurt vampires. Stakes galore. My trusty crossbow and plenty of bolts. A few vials of holy water. Some chains, just in case we needed to bind the bloodsucker, and a Tupperware dish full of pre-peeled garlic cloves.
“Damn,” Devin said. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Be my guest.”
Devin reached into my bag and surveyed my stakes. I had about a dozen in there, all of them stained with vampire blood. He shook his head. “How many vamps have you staked, anyway?”
I smiled. “I lost count a long time ago. Not many weeks go by that I don’t take down at least one.”
“One a week?” Devin asked. “That’s intense.”
I smiled. “I’m a driven… person.” I cleared my throat. I’d almost said “girl,” but caught myself. Still undercover…
“I’d say,” Devin said. “So the vampire here is still something of a youngling.”
I sighed. “Any idea who its sire is?”
Devin shook his head. “There’s nothing in the file.”
“Usually if a youngling is being a nuisance or drawing too much attention, the vamp’s sire will take care of it before hunters even get a chance.”
Devin nodded as he surveyed his paperwork. “What we have here says his cravings are minimal. He’s a youngling, but he must be past the worst of it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And he’s a priority target why, exactly?”
Devin shrugged. “For the Order, the question isn’t the relative danger a vampire poses to society. All vampires are equally abominable. All need to be eliminated. And this one, a young male previously known as Chad in his former life, is probably meant to be an easy mark. They don’t want to start you out in the deep end of the pool. They’d rather you wade in slowly to make sure you don’t get in over your head.”
I nodded. “Nice metaphor. But I could stake this kind of vampire with two hands tied behind my back.”
“You don’t really mean that,” Devin said. “You’d still need to have a stake in hand.”
I bit my lip. I was thinking of my heels. A swift kick to the chest. But again… undercover. “Just a manner of speech,” I said. “I just mean it should be an easy staking. Bada bing, bada boom. Get back in time for dinner.”
“Hopefully in time for lunch.”
“I agree.” I smiled. “Not to mention I have plans this evening.”
“Girlfriend?” Devin glanced at my hand. I figured he was looking for a ring so as to know whether to guess girlfriend or wife. Of course, the folks at the church wouldn’t imagine boyfriend as a possibility.
I shook my head. “Never had a girlfriend, actually.”
Devin cocked his head. “I find that hard to believe.”
I shrugged. “Why is that?”
“I mean, not a lot of good-looking guys take vows of celibacy.”
“You think I’m good looking?” I grinned a little.
Devin blushed and started to stutter. “I… I mean, obviously you’re what a lot of women would probably find…”
I grinned. That was it: I was about eighty percent certain that Devin was gay. His status as a preacher’s kid probably left him shoved firmly into the closet, but behind dead-bolted, fireproofed doors. Of course, he didn’t realize I wasn’t actually his type. Still, it was mildly flattering.
I just smiled and nodded. “I’m sure you’d know. About how to h
andle the girls.”
Devin shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I’ve had dates. Things never really…”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Let’s just stick to business. We have a vampire to stake.”
Perhaps I’d find a way to press the question later, but we’d just barely met. If he hadn’t met me in connection with the Order, at the church… maybe he’d be more open with me as a stranger. But that ship had sailed. If he was going to confide anything in me, he’d have to trust me first. Not that I expected him to. It really wasn’t my business.
But it was weighing on him. I knew the look; I’d seen it a hundred times. Men who shuffle their way into Leotards and Lace, pale white circles on their fingers, sitting alone, awkward, hoping someone random will just talk to them. Closeted men hoping, on some odd chance, that maybe someone will pick them up and fulfill their secret fantasies.
And to see them come alive, to see their true selves emerge when they embrace it—if they do happen to muster up the courage to talk to someone—it’s like a one-hundred-eighty-degree change.
Not that I endorsed closeted men hiding their late-night exploits from their wives. Though, when it came to human ethics, I suppose I was a bit of an amateur considering I didn’t have any qualms about eating people until a few years ago. Still, I’d never gravitated to those men; I wasn’t interested in a quick thrill.
I’d spent my existence as an elemental taking human shape precisely to become an object of someone’s fantasies. It was a bait and switch, of course. But that was all I’d ever been able to do before.
If I was going to get involved with a man, it was going to be something meaningful. And closeted men, especially men who are hiding it from wives at home, aren’t generally ready to commit to a trans woman. If they’re into trans women at all.
Sometimes closeted men like to use trans women—presuming she hasn’t had the surgeries in the lower region—as a way of denying that they’re really gay. I mean, if it’s a woman they’re with, they aren’t gay. But they’re really looking for one thing. The one thing, in fact, I wished I could get rid of.
I mean, that’s sort of the conundrum if you’re trans. Straight men might not be into you for a variety of reasons. Insecure in their own straightness, they think being with a trans woman makes them gay. Ignorant, but it’s the truth. Some men have their hearts set on having biological children. That’s fine. I don’t take offense at that. Everyone should be able to pursue what they want out of life. There are other reasons, too. But you get the point.
But gay men, while they’ll sometimes take an interest in a trans woman, do so for reasons that can be even harder to deal with. I mean, they’re attracted to men, and that’s not me. If a gay man is interested, it’s because he’s either misgendering me or because he’s attracted to the parts about me that are most alien to who I really am.
At least, those are the tendencies I’ve experienced that make it hard to find genuine intimacy as a trans woman. If I were attracted to women, perhaps it would be different.
I say all that to say this: if Devin was attracted to me while I was undercover, I wasn’t sure I was the best one for him to come out to, anyway. I didn’t feel I could genuinely give him what he wanted. Not without compromising myself.
I mean, if I was just looking for a plaything… But I wanted more than that.
Maybe I was being unrealistic. Too many rom-coms on Netflix.
If Devin was subtly fishing for men (not in the New Testament sort of way) by commenting on my attractiveness, I could either reciprocate his flirtations and embolden him a bit, or I could change the subject. That seemed like the safest option—not just in terms of guarding my heart, but with respect to the task at hand.
We couldn’t afford any distractions. Even if the vampire we were sent to stake was sleeping and we could take him off guard.
Devin strapped what looked like a miniature crossbow to his wrist.
“How do those things work?” I asked.
Devin shrugged. “Well enough. Does the job. I mean, it doesn’t have the same force of your full-sized crossbow. But in my case I don’t have the best aim, so trying to take out a vamp from a distance is more of a hazard than anything else.”
“You risk missing and just pissing it off.”
Devin nodded. “This’ll do the job from fifteen or twenty feet. Any closer, I suppose I’d have to rely on a stake.”
“You suppose?” I asked. “Have you actually staked a vamp up close before?”
“Sure,” Devin said. “I mean, it’s better even if you’re staking them in their sleep, or perhaps from behind.”
I snorted. “Giving it to a vamp from behind isn’t really my style.”
Devin raised his eyebrows. “Oh really?”
“I don’t mean like that!” I protested. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Devin.”
Devin laughed. “Sorry. I knew what you meant.”
I smiled. “Sure you did. But can you imagine if someone did something like that? I mean, the church is pretty clear about how it feels about that kind of thing. And they don’t seem to care much for vampires, either.”
Devin shook his head. “It would be one abomination atop another.”
“Literally!” I said, laughing.
“See,” Devin said, “I’m not the only one with his mind in the gutter.”
I smirked and shook my head.
“I don’t share all the views of that church,” Devin said. “Or my dad’s church for that matter.”
I nodded. He was fishing again. I mean, my gaydar was sounding off like a tornado alarm. And this was not only a test of the emergency butt-buddy system, it was a warning. A whirlwind was in sight. I’d best take cover or be prepared to find myself in a heap of trouble.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I mean, who ever said that believers can’t have different opinions?”
“My dad.” Devin snorted. “We aren’t a part of the same denomination as that church, but he believes we must always strive for full and complete doctrine agreement in all things.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know much about that. Doctrine or dogma, I mean. And I realize this might be ignorant of me, but is there any reason you can’t have personal religions views without expecting the rest of society that doesn’t share your beliefs to conform?”
“What do you mean?” Devin asked, as if he’d never considered the question.
I sighed. I was afraid I was showing my cards. I really sucked at this undercover thing. “I’m just saying, a part of the reason you’re allowed to believe what you want, and the whole reason the church—the one where the Order meets—is able to say what they say is because in this country, there’s a lot of liberty. If we’re going to take advantage of that and believe what we want about whatever we want, we have to afford the same courtesy to other people, too. Don’t you think?”
Devin nodded. “Easy for an outsider to say. I mean, when everything you’ve ever known is tied to a particular church, and you’re expected to conform to certain expectations…”
I cocked my head. “I’m not…”
“You’re obviously not a churchgoer, Nick.”
I chuckled. “Is it that obvious?”
“I spent my whole life growing up around church people,” Devin said. “You’re just different.”
“You have no idea.” I grinned. “But I get the sense you’re different, too.”
Devin nodded. “You could say that.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “No one will blame you for not digging contemporary Christian music. I mean, really…”
Devin laughed. “That’s not the kind of difference I mean.”
I nodded as my eyes met his. “I know.” I quickly looked away.
We understood each other—even if we wouldn’t say it out loud. I think he knew that I knew… and I was still inclined to shift the subject.
Shift…
I didn’t intend that to be a pun. But I mean, that’s what I was really doing he
re. I was trying to recover my ability to shift, not counsel Devin out of the closet.
“There’s one thing we can all agree on,” I said. “Vampires suck.”
Devin laughed. “Yes, they do!”
I shook my head. “I didn’t mean… I mean, obviously they suck blood…”
Devin smiled. “Yeah, I think that’s the common thread with that church. If it sucks, they aren’t a fan. Unless it’s a vacuum.”
“I see what you did there,” I said as I retrieved my full-sized crossbow from my bag. It took up the lion’s share of space in my duffel.
Devin actually giggled a little. Sure, it was a man-giggle. Not sure if it was a reaction to his own joke, nervousness over how closely we were treading to issues he didn’t dare talk about most of the time, or because we were about to stake a vamp.
I mean, he was supposed to be the expert in this scenario. He was really, by comparison, something of a newb.
We went over most of the details in the car.
This vampire was something of a recluse. A youngling, for sure. But since vampires have the potential to live indefinitely—so far as anyone is aware—“youngling” is a relative term. Any vampire turned over the course of the last twenty years or so could qualify.
Makes sense. Most people consider humans “younglings” until they turn twenty-one. It’s why no one younger than that was allowed in Leotards and Lace. Something of an arbitrary number, I suppose. And over time, it seemed humans kept increasing the age that qualified as “adulthood” proportionate to their life expectancies.
The Order said that the vampire had been a recluse even in his human life. Worked from home, even into his mid-twenties, as a website designer.
Apparently he still maintained his former occupation. Why not? The whole telecommuting craze that the internet offered was actually a boon to the vampire community. Many of them were able to find legitimate employment, all online. A lot of them worked as freelancers.
Set your own hours. Be your own boss. Less risky than some of the old-school ways vampires accumulated wealth. Of course, the older vampires tended to have investments all over the place. Long-term investments because, well, that made sense. More than a few had struck it rich on the stock market.
Scared Shiftless: An Ex-Shifter turned Vampire Hunter Urban Fantasy (The Legend of Nyx Book 1) Page 9
