by J Bennett
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You are awesome! Thank you again for taking a chance on FALLING. Now get back to reading!
J Bennett
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Works by J Bennett
Girl With Broken Wings Series
Falling (Book One)
Coping (Novella, 1.5) <<
Landing (Book Two)
Rising (Book Three)
Recovering (Novella, 3.5)
The Vampire’s Housekeeper Chronicles
<<
The Vampire Hunter Comes To Call (Short Story, # 2)
Duel With The Werefrog (Short Story, #3)
When Vampires And Ninjas Collide (Short Story, #4)
Death in the Family (Short Story, #5)
Apprenticeship With A Vampire (Novella, #6)
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About J Bennett
J Bennett lives and writes in San Diego. Her writing partner is a bunny named Avalon who contributes to each manuscript by trying to eat it. His adorableness is his primary strength as a writer.
J Bennett is a professional copywriter and an author who loves asking that oh-so-dangerous question – “What if?” She currently writes a paranormal adventure series, Girl With Broken Wings, and a tongue-in-cheek vampire humor short story series, The Vampire’s Housekeeper Chronicles.
Contact J Bennett at [email protected]
Next in the Girl With Broken Wings series:
Coping
A novella
We make it to Poughkeepsie, NY in late morning of the third day on the road. Turns out that Poughkeepsie is a quaint, pretty town right next to a thick vein of dark water, the Hudson River. We’re all tired and achy, and Gabe finds us a room at a rundown inn.
There’s no time for rest. Gabe and Tarren hash out a quick plan, deciding to case the targeted house in the morning and then return for the kill at night if Hendricks proves to be present. We each take a turn in the shower, throw on a new change of clothes and then it’s back to the SUV, which stinks of our bodies and the food the brothers have eaten on the road.
At least the sky is clear, and the sun is streaming down, soaking into my skin and soothing my raw hunger.
We push out of Poughkeepsie, turning onto increasingly smaller, older roads, until we are bumping over potholes, and spindly branches tap against our windows. Individual houses crop up every couple of miles or so. I focus on the energy of my brothers, amazed at how tight and locked each are. Ready for action. The opposite of the jittery nervousness and uncertainty that is the clay of Maya.
When we hit a dirt track, Tarren carefully pulls off the road.
“How far out?” he asks Gabe.
“Bout three quarters of a mile.”
“We walk from here. Our cover is that we’re hikers.”
I get out and shade my eyes. Summer isn’t leaving New York without a fight. The air is hot and heavy enough to mix with a wooden spoon. A high chorus of insects thrums through the thick woods on either side. I feel hemmed in by these large trunks. It’s definitely giving me a B-horror movie vibe.
“You might want to go hang with Tarren for a bit,” Gabe says as he jumps out of the passenger seat. “I’ve got ta’ shake a leg if you know what I mean.”
“It was only a twenty minute drive,” I tell him.
“Yeah, well, I gotta go again. So sue me.” He turns and unzips. I beat feet to the other side of the car and cover my ears. Tarren pulls open the hatch and leans in to collect gear. He sees me, peers over to Gabe’s side of the car and shrugs.
When I deem it safe and uncover my ears, Tarren says, “The downside of enhanced hearing, huh?” His mouth quirks up in a short smile.
“Yeah, I guess,” I reply. This is weird, us bonding, and I think Tarren recognizes it to, because the smile comes off his face, and it’s almost like it was never there at all. He goes extra solider, his back cranking a little straighter.
“I want to go do the recon with you,” I tell him and try to sound self-assured. “This enhanced hearing,” I tap my ear, “could come in handy.”
Tarren doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I know his mind is churning over all the possibilities, weighing the benefits of my enhanced senses with the negatives of him thinking that I’m a total screw up.
“Okay,” he says softly, though there’s still a hint of mistrust in his features.
“Really?” I can’t squelch my surprise.
“We have a deal,” Tarren reminds me. Oh yeah. Tarren trains me to fight, and I don’t tell Gabe that Tarren’s the reason Grand found out about my existence.
Still zipping up, Gabe comes around.
“We camouflage the car and go in quiet, just close enough for a view,” Tarren says. “We confirm if Hendricks is on the premise and if he’s alone, and then we pull back.”
Gabe nods. I nod too, cross my arms over my chest and try to look like this spy stuff is totally standard. My brothers arm up. Tarren prefers a 32C Glock on each hip. Gabe slips on two shoulder holsters and sticks a loaded Barreta PX4 into each one. They both sling a pair of military grade binoculars around their necks.
While my brothers get ready, I snap off some heavy branches from nearby tress and stack them up in front of the Murano. It’s a pretty crappy camo job, but I’ll trust in Gabe’s philosophy that people don’t notice jack shit.
“Ready?” Tarren asks Gabe.
“Yeah.”
“And you?” Tarren looks over at me. I could never have envisioned my life heading down this twisted path where monsters lurk on the other end. But I nod anyway. Gabe throws me a pair of sad eyes but doesn’t say anything. He hates that I’m doing the mission thing with them now. Too fucking bad for him.
“We’ll close in on 300 yards,” Tarren says.
“Check,” I reply as gruffly as I can, even though I don’t know how far away 300 yards is.
With Tarren in the lead, and Gabe behind me, we slip into the woods and slowly make our way toward Hendricks’s house. We don’t pass any other residences on the way.
Fear is a fascinating thing. How it can crawl into your stomach, small as a gooey larvae and then grow and grow until it fills up your entire body. Both Tarren and Gabe’s auras are calm. They have a technique for this that I have not yet learned, but I wonder at the thoughts that cross their minds. If they can possibly be pushing through the same mental quicksand that pulls me down further with each step.
“Here,” Tarren says softly. A bead of sweat trickles down his face, and there are growing patches of wetness beneath each arm. Sure enough, up ahead, the dirt road leads to a handsome colonial. Three floors at least, with a heavy façade of bricks and white siding.
“Lotta cars out there,” Gabe whispers behind me.
Three SUVs and a jeep are lined up behind each other at the end of the road. Next to the house is a large metal barn. Inside the barn is…oh no.
“We may be dealing with more than just Hendricks,” Tarren says. “We’ll spread out, link up by Bluetooth and find out how many angels are in that house. Gabe, you take point. Maya and I will…”
“The barn,” I whisper.
Gabe is already climbing up a tree behind me. Tarren lowers his binoculars. “What?”
“Humans. In the barn.” I feel the whisper of their auras, even from this distance.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.” I close my eyes, and try to hone my sense—that new and terrifying predator part of me that automatically locks o
nto the pulse of human auras. “There’s something wrong with their energy. They’re weak. Confused.”
Tarren looks up at Gabe. They don’t say anything, but I know those identical expressions. They’re sharing something, and it isn’t good.
“Shit,” Gabe whispers.
Tarren turns back to the house and raises his binoculars. “Four different vehicles…”
A side door opens from the house, and two men emerge into the daylight. One is tall and brawny, wearing a torn muscle shirt and a pair of skinny jeans that suck against his powerful legs. The second is short, slighter than his companion and blanketed with thick dark hair on each arm. He’s rocking a heavy gold watch on his wrist that glitters under the sun.
“Maya?” Gabe asks grimly.
No auras around the two men. “Angels,” I confirm. “Both of them.”
“That’s Hendricks,” Tarren says. “The shorter one.”
The two men stroll toward the barn. Hendricks has something clutched in his right fist. It can’t be…leashes? My skin breaks out in goose bumps.
Gabe’s aura starts to jump, but he takes a deep breath and it soothes back down.
The bigger of the two angles pulls open the door of the barn. Hendricks saunters into the doorway and barks out a laugh. Even from this distance, his loud, arrogant voice carries to my sensitive ears.
“How are we all doing today? No, don’t get up. It’s fine.”
“Tarren…” my voice trembles.
“Quiet,” he hisses.
“Who wants to join us for brunch?” Hendricks says. “No volunteers? Again?” He laughs. “How ‘bout you hero boy? You wanna save your new friends? Step on up.”
There are scuffling noises. A weak scream. The angels emerge from the barn, dragging two young men behind them on leashes. The humans have their hands bound in front of them and collars around their necks. The angels tug on the leashes. The tall, lanky boy in my field of vision manages to keep his feet, but the other one stumbles and falls. Hendricks laughs and kicks the fallen human. He then starts walking again, dragging the whimpering boy across the ground. The other human, the one who managed to keep his feet, bends down and pulls his companion up.
He supports the boy’s weight, and his face is set with grim determination. He is filthy, brown hair matted to his head, deep cuts and gouges marring his pale face. He limps with abuse unseen beneath a stained t-shirt and jeans. But it isn’t just their bodies. Their auras are battered, leeched of color, hugging close to their bodies. Weak as the wavering flames of a dying candle.
“What is this?” I can hardly get the words out of my mouth.
Tarren’s face is grim, set in steel, but I can tell that he’s angry. Furious.
“A farm,” he says. “It’s a human farm.”
* * *
Purchase Coping on Amazon.
Also by J Bennett:
Employment Interview with a Vampire
The Vampire’s Housekeeper Chronicles
Betsy’s notion of a “fixer upper” is actually a dilapidated mansion that might have been an especially nice country estate about 50 years ago. Now the paint is peeling, the window shutters are crooked, and the place looks—in three words—spooky as hell.
And this is before I search in vain for a doorbell and am forced to use the heavy brass gargoyle knocker. I hear its echo reverberate inside the house, and a chill runs all the way through me. My unconscious mind is starting to have some doubts, but my conscious mind is all too aware of the stack of bills sitting on my kitchen counter.
“Come in,” a deep, sonorous voice calls from inside.
I push open the door, and yep, it gives out a nice, lusty creak.
“Mr. Hayward?” I venture. “This is Deidre from the Bullseye…employment….agency.”
My voice trails off as I look around the foyer, which seems to be functioning as some sort of spider web sanctuary. Then there are the dust bunnies, which are actually just about big enough to qualify as dust German Shepherds.
“Come into the sitting room child,” that spooky voice speaks up.
Betsy never mentioned how much this job paid, but I’d already made up my mind to hold out for at least $12.00 an hour. Now I wonder if maybe I should crank it up to $12.50 an hour. My feet hesitantly shuffle into the living room, and this is where I get my first official eyeful of my potential boss.
A cape.
Nathaniel is actually wearing a black cape.
I will learn later that Nathaniel feels very strongly about wearing the cape for houseguests, but in this moment I am completely flabbergasted.
I guess it’s also time to deflate another long-held vampire myth. Not all of them are incredibly attractive. Or even mildly attractive. And they definitely don’t stay young forever.
When Nathaniel sees me in the doorway, he throws back his cape dramatically revealing a bow tie, suspenders, and a pair of pants cinched up around his belly button. He also has a pencil mustache on his upper lip, bushy black eyebrows and a white poof of hair on his head.
“You’re late,” Nathaniel says.
I look down at my cell phone. 9:03 AM.
“What kind of watch is that?” Nathaniel asks accusingly.
I’m not wearing a watch, and it takes me a moment to realize what he’s talking about.
“It’s a phone,” I tell him.
Nathaniel waves a pale hand in disgust. “Everyone is so excited about those damn phones. Give me a telegraph any day of the week.”
Nathanial lowers himself into a ratty, wing-backed chair with stuffing coming out of several holes. In the grate, a large fire blazes and throws shadows wildly across the room.
“Yeah, telegraph, those were the best,” I mumble. I wonder if I should sit down, but since he hasn’t invited me, I just keep standing in the doorway.
Nathaniel’s piercing blue eyes give me the once over.
“I see you chose to wear pants.” His bushy black eyebrows crunch together in disappointment. “How very improper for a woman.”
I look down at my nice navy slacks. “Sorry?” I venture.
“And you seem quite old to be seeking independent employment.”
“I’m 24,” I tell him, though I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to discuss age in a job interview.
“Surely you are married and have born your first child.”
Okay, this part is definitely illegal, but I answer him anyway. “Nope, it’s just me.”
“A spinster then,” Nathaniel clucks his tongue with reproach. “Perhaps if you didn’t dress yourself in such disgraceful garb you could make yourself more desirable.” He waves a hand. “Though, perhaps it doesn’t matter. At your advanced age, your chances of finding a good marriage are exceedingly low.”
At first I’m too shocked to even be offended or angry, but then his words sink in, and I feel a hot flush jump to my cheeks.
“These pants are just fine,” I huff. Yep, this is the best comeback I can muster on short notice. “I think…I think I’ll just go.”
I turn to leave when a sound fills the room.
It is the Macarena.
“Damn,” Nathanial says, “it’s the telegraph.”
He stands up, walks over to the mantel, lifts the lid of an ornate box and pulls out a cell phone. He stares at it, obviously confused.
“Here, let me.” The phone is on its last chord of the Macarena when I take it from his hand and accept the call. Turns out that Nathaniel’s blood pressure medication is ready for pickup at the local WalGreens pharmacy.
I give Nathaniel the message, and this puts a sour expression on his face. “I need to stop eating so many obese humans,” he says.
Despite the cape and severe anachronisms, I still haven’t figured out that Nathaniel is a vampire, so I automatically assume he meant to say, “I need to stop eating with so many obese humans.” Of course, this doesn’t actually make any better sense, but I don’t give it much thought.
“Well?” Nathaniel demands.
&
nbsp; “Well what?”
“Go on and pick it up.”
“I’m not your slave,” I reply before I can stop myself.
“Of course not,” he snaps back. “You are white and this is a non-slavery state. I’ve considered moving to Tennessee for just that reason.”
We stare at each other. Two things hit me. First, Nathaniel is one hell of a misogynist and racist. Secondly, I think I just got the job.
* * *
Employment Interview with a Vampire, a short story by J Bennett, is available for purchase on Amazon.
