Mortality Bites Box Set [Books 1-6]

by Vance, Ramy

  I went over to my closet and tried to pick an outfit that would both impress my mother and be un-criticize-able, if such a thing were possible. Nothing too low cut, nothing too far above the knee. Something that was both modern and classic. I thought about how she dressed, with the gaudy purple skirt and blazer that hugged her body.

  Then I thought about the hair bun and oversized glasses. She was going for an updated 1960s look, and I had to admit—to myself, I’d never say it out loud … on purpose, that is—she pulled it off.

  Fine, if she was going for updated 1960s, I’d do her one better and hit the ’70s. Not the hippie look, mind you. I hated the bell-bottoms and tie-dye shirts, the I’m-Earthy look, which was really just an excuse to be messy and unkempt. Take a shower, ya know?

  I’d go for the professional 1970s woman. Chinos with wide bottoms (not quite bell-bottoms, thank the GoneGods, but wide enough that the pants didn’t hug my calves), a colorful thick-striped tight-fitting long-sleeve shirt, bright yellow socks and red, low-heeled shoes.

  Pulling out my Merino-wool plaid scarf, I looked at myself in the mirror. My colorful outfit matched and, what’s more, I was a full decade ahead of my mother.

  This would have to do.

  As I dressed, Deirdre was attending to her pups—which were not to be confused with cute baby dogs, but rather disgusting new-born rats. She hardly looked up at me as I dressed, which was strange. Normally my outfits fascinated the changeling, inspiring her to ask me a million questions about matching colors or styles or whatever ran through that changeling’s head. (If she had it her way, we’d all be naked, all the time.)

  But today, she was distant, more concerned with the lives of her rats than anything else. Thank the GoneGods.

  When I was ready, I turned to my fae roommate and said, “I’m off.”

  Deirdre didn’t look up, just giving me an absent wave goodbye.

  Something was wrong—but I didn’t have time to figure out what it was now.

  Maybe tomorrow. Hopefully those rats would be on their own “path” by then.

  ↔

  Mama’s Diner stood across from an old abandoned theatre that students tried to revive about once a year. Trouble with the theatre was that it was too big to be practical—some overly ambitious rich benefactor, surely—and the renovations too great to be done on the cheap. So the various attempts always fell apart before they really got started—which was particularly annoying, because the movie advertised was Jaws. No one even bothered to change that. A bit ironic, really—I dress as a woman from the ’70s and here I am, scoffing at that decade’s greatest achievement in film. Sorry, Spielberg.

  I got to Mama’s Diner early and saw that I was the second to arrive. I had hoped that Justin would have been there so we could talk—and kiss—but of course my hunky boyfriend wasn’t early. He’d be fashionably late just so he could make an entrance. What a diva.

  No, the other person there was Egya, standing with two bouquets of flowers in his hands. One an assortment of lilies, the other yellow roses.

  “For you,” he said, handing me the lilies.

  I raised an eyebrow. “And the other one?”

  “Who else? Justin, of course,” he said with a wide-rimmed smile.

  “Of course,” I echoed, returning his smile. Thing about Egya—he may be a pain-in-the-ass ex-werehyena who generally got his kicks from riling you up, but his smile was infectious. To not smile back was akin to not taking in a whiff of freshly baked apple pie.

  And I love apple pie.

  “So …” he started, “your mom’s in town.”

  “You don’t say,” I said, eyes wide in mock shock.

  “How you feeling about that?”

  “Look, if this is some setup for a joke or some snide comment, I’m really not in the—”

  He touched my hand and positioned himself so that he was in front of me. Then, luring me in with eyes as dark as a black hole, he said, “No—really. How are you doing?”

  I blinked my way out of the black hole. “I’m OK.”

  “Come on, Katrina. Don’t bullshit me.”

  I pulled my hand away. “What do you want? I’m OK. Thanks for the flowers.”

  “What is the shortest distance between two points?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me … what is the shortest distance between two points?”

  “I don’t know, Egya. A straight line?” I said, doing my best to not hide my irritation.

  He smiled. “The truth.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said.

  “It’s not a joke, girl. Now tell me … how are you doing? Really?”

  I scanned his face for a hint of humor, some pending joke preparing to pounce, and saw none. He was genuinely concerned. Egya could be amazing when he wanted to be. Which was once in a blue moon. (Werehyena pun intended.)

  Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t know. She’s acting … strange.”

  “How so?”

  “Like a mom. She hasn’t behaved like that since she was … you know.”

  “Human?”

  I nodded.

  “Not so strange, then—she’s human now.”

  “I guess. But you know what it was like to lose our, ahhh, Other-half. It wasn’t like our personalities just reverted back to our human days too.”

  “True, but being only human is still different—from what we were, at least—and that can have a profound effect on people.”

  “I suppose. Still …” I shook my head again, biting my lower lip. “But she’s not just here for me. So there’s clearly still a bit of the Queen Bitch in her. Seems my mother is working for—”

  “Yoohoo!” I heard my mother’s voice call from down the street.

  I had expected her to be walking, but instead found that she was sitting in the passenger seat of an old Mustang Convertible …

  Next to my boyfriend.

  Stylishly late, as always.

  ↔

  “Look who I found walking here,” Justin said, pulling up the car next to us.

  I stared down at my mother, who had substituted her purple suit for casual jeans and a low, white silk blouse that not only showed off her substantial cleavage, but also the scallop-wide, strap lace of her bra.

  So much for going classy, Mother, I thought.

  “Pish-posh, darling,” my mother said. “There is nothing classier than an older woman embracing her femininity.” Then, as if I couldn’t be more horrified, she scooped up her … ahem, girls … jiggling them a bit, and drawing the eyes of both Egya and my boyfriend in the process.

  “Mooom,” I said, feeling like an embarrassed teenager again.

  “Lighten up, darling. I’m human, too,” she said, popping out of the car. Once outside, she pretended to curtsey (in jeans, classy) and said, “Thank you, young man, for rescuing a wandering soul from the side of the road.”

  Egya handed my mother the second bouquet, which I now saw was actually made of chrysanthemums, Black-eyed Susans, yellow roses, peonies and a sunflower as its centerpiece. “In the Taoist tradition, the golden flower—symbolized by this bouquet of yellow flowers—symbolizes the highest enlightenment. And given that you are sure to enlighten us with embarrassing stories about Katrina as a child, it was an easy choice.” He sent a gleaming smile my way as he extended his arm to my mother and said, “Shall we?”

  Show-off … no-good … charmer.

  I waited for Justin to park his car so that I could give him a practiced glare. “Just found her on the street, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he said, sensing he might have done something wrong. “She really was on the side of the road.”

  “I didn’t realize you were in the habit of picking up streetwalkers.”

  He gulped. “She’s your mom.”

  “And?” I knew I was being difficult and didn’t care.

  “I’m going to go with ‘sorry.’ Not sure why I’m sorry, but I do know that I am very, very, very sorry,” he said. “Add as many very’s as
you need, and I’ll double them with kisses.”

  I guess Egya isn’t the only charmer.

  “Good.” I gestured for him to extend his arm—which he did. “Now escort me inside, please.”

  ↔

  Egya and Mother already had drinks in front of them—and, I noticed, Mother’s was half empty. (Or half full?)

  Egya pushed out a seat for me. I was positioned so that I could see the door, which is how I liked it. As a vampire, I got into the habit of always facing a door—that way I could see who was entering and be on the lookout for any anti-vampire people. Didn’t happen often, since it was rare that I’d manage to be officially invited inside a building, but old habits die hard. Besides, you never knew when you’d run into your estranged father and his Divine Cherubs.

  Not that I had to worry about that anymore.

  Still, it was nice of Egya to save me that seat, a safe distance from my mother. I’d have to add “considerate” in the column that off-set all the ticks in the “annoying” column.

  “So, what is everyone having?” I asked, looking at the menu.

  “Darling, according to this tall, dark and handsome gentleman, one must order poutine.”

  “You know what poutine is, don’t you, Mother? Or did that tall, dark and whatever neglect to tell you?”

  “I know what I thought it was,” she said with a wink.

  At this Egya howled with real, genuine laughter that took an awkward amount of time to wind down to a few last chuckles. Seems it wasn’t only his smile that was infectious. Justin started snickering before letting out a full roar of laughter.

  A couple seconds later, we were all laughing.

  Between chuckles, I looked over at my mother, who was dabbing away tears of joy, and thought, Maybe being human does change you. I allowed myself to relax. This dinner is going way better than expected, I thought.

  “Of course, darling, what did you expect to happen?”

  Damn out-loud me! I shrugged and said, “What always happens with us? Arguments, fights, often explosions.”

  And as if the GoneGods were listening in on our conversation, the glass wall behind me shattered in an explosion of tiny dagger-like shards and three beings in black-ops uniforms and cherub masks came crashing through.

  Whatever happened to using the door?

  Part II

  Intermission

  EARLIER—

  George and Ringo had been in position to nab the vampire bitch as soon as she left the hotel, just like they planned. There’s an alleyway about fifty yards away from the hotel’s front door—perfect place to grab her. But then some college idiot pulled up in his old Mustang and—well, so much for their plan.

  What is that expression? We make plans and God laughs. Well, God and the gods are gone—so Simione wonders if anyone is laughing now. He certainly isn’t.

  “Abort,” Simione says in the walkie-talkie. “We’ll get her later.”

  “Copy that,” George says, and although Ringo’s a good five feet away from the walkie-talkie, Simione still hears the kid groan.

  “Don’t worry, kid—we’ll get her. We’ll get them both. Come on back to the van and we’ll figure out next steps.”

  Ringo gave a thumbs-up.

  The two brothers started trotting toward him. Ringo’s real name is Ryan, but given he’s George’s little brother and ugly as sin, the nickname Ringo’s too fitting not to use. The kid’s carrying the large duffle bag filled with all the goodies. Simione scans the street to make sure no cops are around. Two guys dressed in all black, with large conspicuous bags, screams up-to-no-good.

  But that isn’t the case. They’re up to good. They’re up to a hell of a lot of good.

  They’re hunting vampires.

  ↔

  After the gods left and all the Others showed up, there were a lot of personal vendettas settled. Mostly between Others—but humans got into the game, too. Humans who were hurt by creatures of the night—werewolves, zombies … vampires.

  Now that they weren’t souped-up creatures anymore, they were vulnerable and a hell of lot easier to take down.

  During the early days, you could kill an ex-vampire right in the middle of Times Square and as long you could prove that the guy bleeding on the street was, once-upon-a-time, a demon, the cops were more likely to give you a high five than read your Miranda rights.

  Those were the golden days. Golden days that lasted about six months. Then the politicians and police got their shit together and they came up with some kind of amnesty program. A clean slate. A do-over. After all, the rules had changed and vampires weren’t vampires no more—they were human.

  “Well, fuck that!” Simione mutters as George and Ryan jump in the van.

  “Fuck what?” George asks.

  “I was just thinking how that bitch keeps getting lucky. We need to make her unlucky.”

  The two brothers nod, grinning. “What’s the plan?” This from George—obviously.

  “Stake out the hotel. Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll come back in the dead of night, drunk and ripe for the—” He draws a finger across his own throat.

  George chuckles, but Ringo isn’t laughing. He’s got that deadly stare going for him. Like he can’t wait to kill her. The boy’s hungry. Good.

  Putting a heavy hand on the silent kid’s shoulder, Simione nods and says, “But let’s grab some grub, first. Can’t serve justice on an empty stomach. There’s a diner not too far from here.”

  ↔

  They drive by the diner and lo-and-behold, the kid’s Mustang is parked out front. Grub would have to be grabbed later.

  Driving slowly past the place, they look in the window … and Simione cannot believe what he sees. Not only is that middle-aged vampire bitch sitting there, but so is her daughter.

  “Katrina,” he mutters to himself.

  “What’d you say?” George asks.

  Simione ignores George, staring at little miss Katrina Darling with her lush auburn hair and million-dollar smile. She looks so good, so innocent. So harmless. But Simione knows better. He knows who she really is …

  So we got us two targets, he thinks. Time to plan, figure out a trap and determine the best course of action to take them down.

  But—like the old expression goes—humans plan and God laughs.

  Except it isn’t God laughing, Simione knows. It’s Katrina and her bitch mom. They’re laughing.

  Laughing like they don’t have a care in the world.

  Simione’s idea for plans and traps and courses of action goes out the window.

  “Suit up, boys,” he says, gritting his teeth. “Time to take these bitches down.”

  When an Angel Shatters a Window, Use the Door

  When my father started the Divine Cherubs, what most believed his mission statement to mean was that humans were taking the role of angels on Earth and hunting the nasty things that go bump in the night.

  Few knew that what he actually meant was they were to hunt me—his little “cherub.” At first I was hurt that he’d use my nickname against me. Every time I heard that a Divine Cherub was in town or saw one of those child-like masks, my heart would flutter with a combination of fear and despair.

  I’d also wonder if one of the men beneath the mask was my father.

  But then my father died and his Divine Cherubs charged on without him throughout the centuries, fortunately unorganized and more of an old boys’ club than anything to be taken seriously.

  I hadn’t seen one in decades. After the GrandExodus, I hadn’t expected to encounter one again.

  Now I was human, sitting in a diner near my university, and the last thing I expected was to see a Divine Cherub—and certainly not one of the organization’s legendary Hunters.

  Let alone three.

  ↔

  They came crashing through the window and my old instinct flooded into me. This was a life-or-death scenario that I had played out many times before and I immediately got up to meet their attack, complet
ely forgetting that I was a human.

  With the adrenaline flowing and my temporary amnesia, I half-expected my vampire strength to kick in. I targeted their leader—the biggest guy at the front—meaning to throw him back out of the window they came crashing through. But instead of easily repelling them like I had done for centuries, my arms met stone.

  I mean, actual stone. Either this guy was a freaking gargoyle or he was wearing something underneath his black, button-up shirt. He paused for a second, his crisp green eyes behind the mask meeting mine. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and I guessed he was smiling.

  Then he grabbed my two wrists, twisted with unnatural strength, and threw me against one of Mama’s unshattered walls. I crashed into the decorative plates Mama (or whoever owned this place) hung on the walls with a thud.

  Both Egya and Justin were up in a flash. Justin, being nineteen and never having the benefit of once being vampire or werewolf, sought to meet the smallest of the three head on. Strength against strength … and the poor guy didn’t stand a chance. His adversary simply put a hand on his chest and pushed, sending Justin flying toward the kitchen in the back.

  Egya, on the other hand, had centuries of experience. Seeing how strong these guys were, he opted not to attack head-on. Instead, he got close and then dropped to his knees, using the freshly waxed floors to slide past his attacker.

  Once behind him, he grabbed one of the tables and smashed it into the guy’s back. Human or not, Egya was strong. As were the tables—they were commercial beasts designed to endure endless parades of customers, waiters and bussers. Heavy and well-made. Getting hit by one of those in the back was the equivalent of getting hit by a wall.

  But the guy must not have gotten the memo—he took it like it was nothing, turning around and pushing Egya out the front door.