by Lou Harper
“I can see the headlines: Movie star found dead with boy toy in kinky love nest.” I shuddered. “I still think he was at least an eight on the Phil Spector scale of crazy.”
“That’s possible. There was also high dose of cocaine in his system—he’d been a long-time user.”
“Yeah, I read that in the papers too. It’s strange how Carson’s coming out of this mess smelling like roses, though.”
“The studio’s publicity people and lawyers are working overtime on it.”
“I still don’t get it. Warren had pictures of me and Carson. He must’ve had copies, possibly other pictures.”
“Gary’s convinced that someone had been through Warren’s place before he got a warrant.”
“Kat Fontaine!”
“Very likely. She might have been the one following you in the black SUV too. Carson owned one, but he was somewhere else at the time, driving a different car.”
“Olly was right, that Kat has claws. Have you seen the tearful interview she gave on TV? She’s a much better actress than I gave her credit for.” Watching her had nearly convinced even me that Carson had been a saintly yet somewhat naive man, deceived by his dastardly manager. In her version, Carson had fired Warren for financial misconduct. When he became suspicious of Warren’s moral depravity he rushed to confront his former manager, only to be slain by the man.
Nick grimaced. “It wouldn’t be the first time Hollywood swept the dirt under the rug. If you ask me, Carson got what was coming to him. You know what they say—karma is a—”
I lurched sideways and slapped my still-free hand on his mouth. “Don’t say it! Don’t ever say that!” He gave me the wide-eyed sheesh, okay look. I took my hand away, and he moved it behind my back so he could start to work the rope around it.
“This would work better if you relaxed, starting with staying quiet,” he said.
“Charly says it’s therapeutic for me to talk about the events.”
“Well then, if she says so, by all means, prattle away.”
I needed little encouragement. “I’ve seen Madame Layla.”
“Who?”
“The psychic. She believes my curse has broken.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment. “Sometimes I’m embarrassed to know you.”
I knew what I knew. “That’s because you’re prejudiced. Madame Layla is the real deal. And it makes sense too. Getting kidnapped and nearly murdered by a madman must’ve been the curse’s last hurrah. After that, fender-benders wouldn’t have the same oomph. It’s been weeks and not a single misfortune has befallen me. Not only that, but instead of my name being plastered across the headlines and paparazzi stalking me, the early reports mentioned only an ‘unnamed witness’, and then they dropped it altogether.” The ropes stretched across my arms and torso, holding me in place, making me sit straight. These were thicker ropes than last time, and their effect was a restraining caress.
Nick’s breath brushed my skin as he talked. “That might have something to do with your friends at the force and even more with the lawyers. The studio is throwing a lot of muscle at this. The drama made Carson’s last movie an even bigger hit than it was before, and apparently they have another one in the can. There’s a lot of money at stake.”
“Well, that would explain the call I got. They offered me a pretty chunk of change for signing a nondisclosure statement regarding anything to do with Carson. The suckers! Selling my story to the tabloids is the last thing I want.”
“What are you going to do with all that money?”
“Hah. Pay off my hospital bills from five years ago. If there’s any left over, I’ll put it in the bank.”
Nick stood up and walked around me, inspecting his work from various angles. I guessed he was done. “How are you doing?” he asked.
He was right, I couldn’t move my arms, but it didn’t fill me with panic. However, I hadn’t counted on everything. “My nose itches.”
He sighed and bent over to rub my nose.
“I’m sorry, I’m talking too much. It’s not very sexy, is it?”
“That’s all right. You need to work through this whole thing. Stand up. I want to take a picture.”
I stood, and he snapped several photos with his phone.
“I wanna see!” I said. He held the phone in front of me and flipped through the photos. “Wow.” I was truly impressed The rope formed a spider-web pattern over my back and arms. A work of art.
My phone rang, but of course I couldn’t answer it. So Nick did it for me. “Hello?… No, he’s tied up at the moment. Can I take a message?… Yes, he does… Correct… How did that happen?” I watched with bated breath as he listened and nodded and threw in short questions like “Where?” and “How many?” In the end, he said, “Yes, we’ll be there in an hour or less. Thank you for calling.”
“What, what, what?” I asked impatiently.
He came behind me, and I felt him fiddling with the rope. “That was the animal shelter. They found your cat.”
“Pancake? Where? How?”
“Stay still, I’m trying to untie you. The woman on the phone said Pancake was seized from a cat hoarder. She was among the few adoptable ones, but they found out she already had an owner when they scanned her for a microchip.”
“Whoa. How did she get there?”
“Have you considered that maybe she didn’t run away but fell off your balcony and got lost?”
“Cats don’t fall.”
“You might be wrong about that. Especially a cat as clumsy as her.”
“Hey! Now you’re just making unfounded assumptions.”
“Remind me again why you named her Pancake?”
“Mmpf.”
“All right, you’re free.”
Later, in the car, I started compiling a mental list. “I still have her litter box in the storage locker downstairs, but we’ll have to stop by the pet store and pick up litter and food. And toys! Probably will need a collar and a tag too. You know, she used to wear one, but she was very good at getting out of it. They make them kinda stretchy so cats don’t strangle themselves if the collar gets caught on something. Pancake managed to slip out of it time and time again. I have no idea how—she did it sneakily in the middle of the night.”
“They say pets are like their owners.”
“Ha-ha. You’re so not funny.” My intended frown turned into a snigger. “You know what this means?”
“Umm… Late-night hairballs?”
“No. I mean, yeah, sure. What I meant, though, is that Madame Layla was right. The curse is broken.”
He cleared his throat. “Right. Of course.” He mostly managed to keep a straight face, except for the corner of his mouth—it twitched. “Well, that’s good news.” He cleared his throat again. He must’ve swallowed a frog. “Since we’ll be in your neighborhood, there are some houses I want to look at. You should come with me—after the prodigal beast is settled in, of course.”
“What? You’re looking at houses? In Burbank? How come?”
“Well, you were right, my place is too small, and if we lived in Burbank, you could keep looking in on your neighbor. She told me all about it.”
“Hang on for a second—you want us to buy a house together? That’s sort of big. When were you planning to tell me about this?” I asked the bossy bastard.
“I didn’t say anything about buying. The housing market will be better in another year or two. You’ve already declared that you’d love to…what was the term you put it…oh yeah, cohabit. I figure we could rent together for now, try it out for size, see if we can stand each other. It would be practical, don’t you think?”
What a romantic he was. “Sure, practical.”
“Plus, I’ll sleep better knowing where you are.”
Nick pulled up in front of the animal shelter. My heart swelled with anticipation—today I’d have my cat back, and soon we’d all move in together. I turned to Nick. “Pancake comes with me.”
Nick nodded. “
Of course.”
“She likes to climb on things, gets these spells when she bounces off the walls, and well, can be a handful at times.”
“So she’s just like you. Don’t worry, cats love me. I know just where to scratch them.”
“Oh, do you really?”
“Yeah. Come ’ere.” He leaned over the gear shift and pulled me in for a kiss. With one hand, he held the back of my head, while with the other he rubbed the patch of skin on my arm where the rope marks had barely faded. If I were a cat, I would’ve purred. We parted at last, and he gave me a wink. “Trust me.”
About the Author
Under a prickly, cynical surface, Lou Harper is an incorrigible romantic. Her love affair with the written word started at a tender age. There was never a time when stories weren’t romping around in her head. She is currently embroiled in a ruinous romance with adjectives. In her free time Lou stalks deviant words and feral narratives.
Lou’s favorite animal is the hedgehog. She likes nature, books, movies, photography, and good food. She has a temper and mood swings.
Lou has misspent most of her life in parts of Europe and the US, but is now firmly settled in Los Angeles and worships the sun. However, she thinks the ocean smells funny. Lou is a loner, a misfit, and a happy drunk.
Web site: www.louharper.com
Blog: louharper.blogspot.com
Look for these titles by Lou Harper
Now Available:
Last Stop
Spirit Sanguine
Is that a wooden stake in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?
Spirit Sanguine
© 2013 Lou Harper
After five years in eastern Europe using his unique, inborn skills to slay bloodsuckers, Gabe is back in his hometown Chicago and feeling adrift. Until he’s kidnapped by a young, sexy vampire who seems more interested in getting into his pants than biting into his neck.
Harvey Feng is one-half Chinese, one-hundred-percent vampire. He warns Gabe to stay out of the Windy City, but somehow he isn’t surprised when the young slayer winds up on his doorstep. And why shouldn’t Gabe be curious? A vegetarian vampire isn’t something one sees every day.
Against their better judgment, slayer and vampire succumb to temptation. But their affair attracts unexpected attention.
When Chicago’s Vampire Boss makes Gabe an offer he can’t refuse, the unlikely lovers are thrust into peril and mystery in the dark heart of the Windy City. Together they hunt for kidnappers, a killer preying on young humans, and vicious vampire junkies.
However, dealing with murderous humans and vampires alike is easy compared to figuring out if there’s more to their relationship than hot, kinky sex.
Warning: Fangalicious man-on-man action, a troublesome twink, cross-dressing vampiress, and role-playing involving a fedora.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Spirit Sanguine:
Gabe returned to the building before dusk. He wore loose-fitting cargo pants with pockets large enough for spare stakes. The rest of his equipment was in an inconspicuous canvas bag. He hid in the narrow alley between a couple of Dumpsters. A gap between the wall and the large metal container gave him a straight view of the door while he remained concealed. Pungent odors of rotting trash and piss permeated the air around him. He kept his lips firmly pressed together—breathing through his mouth would have been like taking a bite out of the stench.
He found a grimy plastic crate to sit on. It was ideal; he positioned himself so he could leap up quickly, but his muscles wouldn’t cramp up from crouching too long. He took a small crossbow out of his bag, fitted it with a wooden stake and cocked it. Laying it across his lap, he focused on finding the simmering fury that had always powered him in these matters. He didn’t quite succeed. However, after a few hours he didn’t notice the smell anymore.
The moon perched high in the night sky when the door finally opened. Gabe’s muscles tensed as he gripped the crossbow. The vampire stepped out, and Gabe’s heart did a funny little somersault. The guy looked so very young and benign in the moonlight. Not guy but vampire—he had to remind himself. And he was a vampire slayer. All simple and clear-cut. He sprang out of his hiding place, aimed and shot with his usual lethal efficiency. Immediately, it all went wrong. Maybe it was the vampire climbing up a step, or maybe Gabe’s own treacherous hand jerked at the very moment he pulled the trigger—either way, the stake hit the vampire in the stomach instead of the chest.
The momentum of the stake knocked back the vampire, who stumbled down the stairs and landed on its ass. Gabe rushed forward, dropping the crossbow and grabbing a spare stake as he moved. A second later, he crouched over the supine figure, arm raised, ready to strike. A jumble of emotions flickered over the vampire’s face: surprise, fear, anger, and finally, resignation. Its body went limp. It threw Gabe off his game. In five years, he’d never experienced a vampire simply surrendering. He hesitated, and it became his undoing. The vampire moved lightning fast, shoving Gabe off, landing a hard knee in his crotch in the process.
Gabe could do nothing for a moment but curl up on himself from the pain. A moment was all it took for the vampire to take control of the situation, aiming Gabe’s own crossbow at him. The wooden spike in it was the very same one Gabe shot the vampire with. It glistened with blood. Stupidly, Gabe wondered if that particular detail qualified as irony.
“You fucking asshole!” the vampire shouted at him. “I went out of my way to spare your stupid life, and trust me, it was far more inconvenient than getting rid of your stinking carcass would have been. The minimum courtesy would dictate that you at least leave me the hell alone. This is just fucking rude!”
“I’m a slayer,” Gabe explained through gritted teeth. Really, what the hell did this weirdo bloodsucker expect of him?
“Oh, you mean a single-minded moron, with the mental capacity of a charging rhino? That’s a fine excuse.” The vampire’s eyes flashed with fury.
Gabe had absolutely no answer to that. Still crippled with pain, he tried to curl into a tighter ball—he needed to protect his most vulnerable parts long enough to regain control of his body. He had his arms over his face and neck but looked up when he heard the sound of wood smashing against brick. It was his crossbow shattering against the wall. He watched openmouthed as the vampire, his shirt soaked in blood, stepped over him and walked into the apartment, slamming the door.
Gabe heard no sounds other than the usual hum of the city as he lay on the ground, utterly bewildered. He’d stumbled into terrain more unfamiliar than the forests of the Carpathian Mountains. Since he saw no indication of the vampire returning, and because, frankly, he started to feel stupid, he cautiously stood up. His balls were still plenty sore, but he’d live. The sensible thing was to leave, perhaps regroup, and make new plans. So naturally, he did the opposite. He told himself he should go after the wounded vampire and stop it from alerting others. Curiosity might have also played a role in his decision.
Gabe tried the door, and it yielded. Walking in, he found himself in a large room that served both as a living area and kitchen. The space looked a lot like an IKEA showroom. It didn’t even surprise him anymore. The vampire was bleeding onto a beige couch, arms cradling his stomach, face half buried in the cushions. He was obviously in pain—pain that Gabe caused. It made Gabe feel uncomfortable. He was a hunter, not a torturer.
He couldn’t find any of the familiar fury in himself, only emptiness and an inexplicable sense of remorse. Strictly speaking, undead or not, this guy had never done any serious harm to him, in spite of ample provocation. No vampire had shown him mercy before, and this turn of events left him disoriented.
The vampire didn’t even look up. “What the fuck do you want? Finish what you started?” He sounded bitter and somehow disappointed.
“Hey, you’ll heal, right?” Gabe heard himself say. He knew they healed fast—another reason to kill them quick.
“What the fuck do you think hurts so fucking much?”
“Fo
r a small guy, you curse a lot.” It felt strange to have a conversation with a vamp, as if they were two regular people.
“What does one have to do… Oh shit, shit, shit—” The guy…vampire doubled over in agony, his face twisting in pain. Human instincts overriding five years of training, Gabe dropped to his haunches and put a hand on the guy’s back in a comforting gesture. He was at a loss. This was not how these things were supposed to go down. Life used to be simple; his job was to make the undead dead, and their job was to fight back and die. Everything had gone off-kilter now. He didn’t have it in him to slay a vampire that didn’t try to do the same to him. He’d never had this problem in the Old Country.
The slender figure on the couch, racked with pain, was all wrong, making Gabe feel all wrong too. Not knowing what else to do, he stroked the guy’s back, even made some nonsensical shushing sounds, as one would to soothe a sick child. The shivers running through the vamp’s body subsided, and slowly his breathing returned to normal.
“I should’ve disemboweled you last time,” he muttered.
“You’re just saying that. Entrails make a big mess.”
Gabe felt the body under his hand shake, and he realized it was from laughter.
“Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“Sorry.”
The guy cracked an eye open and looked up. He was pale, even for a vampire.
“I’m Harvey,” he said weakly. He moved his hand as if for a handshake, but seeing it covered in blood, he pulled it back.
“Gabe.”
“Gabe, I need to feed.”
With the sudden agility of a man who’d just about stepped on a rattlesnake, Gabe snatched his hand away and sprang to his feet.
Harvey pursed his lips. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. Just get me a bottle from the fridge, okay?”
After a moment of hesitation, Gabe edged to the refrigerator, keeping an eye on Harvey. When he opened the door, he saw about a dozen plastic bottles filled with liquid the color of rusty tap water. Definitely not blood. He saw an already half-empty bottle, so he grabbed it.
