Cherry Pie

by Sotia Lazu

  Blazer and pumps on, and I looked good. Polished. Professional.

  I was glad Alex left early for work. He didn’t need to see more of my insecurities. I texted him, I’m off.

  My phone chimed a second later. Good luck. Love you.

  Good thing he did, because Anastasia clearly didn’t.

  She looked at me over her turtle-shell glasses and tapped a finger on my portfolio, which she hadn’t bothered to flip through. “Will your daughter be joining us?”

  Huh? “My daughter?”

  “Yes. How old is she?”

  “I don’t have a daughter.”

  The widening of her eyes was so exaggerated, her surprise was obviously fake. “You mean you want to work with us?”

  My vampire gaze would come in handy at this point, but I no longer had it, and snark might backfire. I toned down my glare. “I was thinking maybe catalog work. I know runway and editorials have different standards.”

  “Listen, Ms. Mosby.” She said my last name with such disdain, I regretted not using my stage name. “You’re what? Thirty-two? Thirty-four?”

  “Thirty,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Thirty is too old for our industry. Twenty-five is too old. You can’t show up now and expect to become a model.”

  “I’ve worked as a model before.”

  “So you say.” Her voice dripped disbelief.

  I sat straighter. “I have. I did.”

  She huffed and looked at her smartphone. “Yet you have nothing to show for it. In any case, you’re well outside our age bracket.”

  I pointed at my portfolio. “If you just—”

  “Have a nice day.” She didn’t raise her gaze from her phone.

  I was dismissed. Worse, I was humiliated. I snatched my folder and strolled out of there with my head held high, and my stomach sinking lower with each step.

  What was a girl to do, to lift her spirits?

  Something I wanted for a while.

  I scrolled down my contacts list till I reached P.

  Plastic Surgeon – Dr. King

  His receptionist informed me the doctor had no opening for a consultation for another month, but she promised to let me know if there was a cancellation. If she didn’t call before Tuesday, I’d drop by and throw cash at her till she fit me in his schedule. Who needed class when I could buy boobs?

  The thought of finally getting the upgrades I wanted since I was to star in Knotting Cherry Stem made me feel better, but only marginally.

  I had the uncontrollable urge to call Constantine and let him know how weird it was to be human after this long. Tell him about the need to pee, and sneezing when there was dust in the room, and fucking menstrual cycles. He might get a kick out of the latter; he was still a bloodsucker.

  For four whole years after we broke up, he called me on a daily basis, and for some unexplainable reason I always picked up, if only to tell him to leave me alone. His excuse for ignoring my need for distance was that talking on the phone was different than meeting up close. I could use the same loophole.

  I held my thumb over his cell phone number for a second, before I called the mansion instead. The replica of an old rotary phone in the living room had no caller-ID feature. Maybe I’d get lucky and Constantine would pick up.

  He didn’t. “Good morning. How may I help you?” Wesley’s familiar voice sounded tired.

  “Hey. It’s Cherry. Miss me yet?”

  “Of course. The mansion is too quiet without you,” he deadpanned.

  I laughed. “Does Constantine maybe feel the same way?”

  He was silent for a heartbeat or two, and then said, “Master Constantine inquires whether this is an urgent matter.”

  I could lie and say it was, but it was no use. I kept my voice chipper. “Nah. I wanted to say hi. See how he’s doing. Maybe tell him about my day.”

  “I’m afraid he believes keeping in touch is a bad idea. He wishes you the best and asks that you only contact him again in case of emergency.”

  I swallowed hard and blinked back unbidden tears. “Yeah. I get it.”

  A door closed somewhere in the background. I was about to say goodbye, when Wesley whispered, “Don’t give up on him. Please.”

  I had no warning before a sob burbled up my throat and I could no longer breathe through the snot in my nose. “I got to go,” I said.

  Wesley wished me a good day and the line went dead.

  Constantine was right, I told myself again. I wasn’t convinced, but I’d repeat it till I hammered in the need to keep my human life separate from his immortal one. My chest constricted. It felt like my heart stopped beating again. My throat went tight. I gasped for air and leaned against a wall for support until I managed a proper breath.

  It would pass. It would all pass, and I’d survive. With Alex by my side. I had him and Sheena, and maybe the vampettes in my corner. And my parents...

  I didn’t tell my parents I was alive.

  I should call now. Or get Alex to drive me over there tomorrow. Or maybe wait until I got the hang of things.

  Yeah. No reason to call them yet.

  I was staring at my cell phone, when the screen came to life. Sheena. I took the call before the ringtone kicked in. “Hey.”

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  How did she know I called Constantine? Oh. She meant the interview that wasn’t. I mentioned it in passing last night, when she called to see if Alex survived my cooking. “It didn’t go. I’m too old for this shit,” I said now.

  “I could have told you that.”

  I frowned. “Great. Kick me when I’m down, why don’t you?”

  “Cherry, baby, I mean that with love. For all intents and purposes, you’re a newcomer to an industry that doesn’t take newcomers past their teenage years. You didn’t have a strong enough career to call this a comeback, and maybe it’s for the best, or people from your past might be suing for breach of contract. Modeling isn’t all you can do, though.”

  I shrugged, though she couldn’t see me. I wasn’t up for a pep-talk. “Whatever. Are we on for lunch?”

  “Sure thing. Meet you there in half an hour.”

  By there, she meant the Italian place Alex and I had our first all-mortal meal at. I’d mentioned it to Sheena, and she wanted to try the pizza. I hoped she’d enjoy it more than I did.

  I took a taxi there, got seated, and had a couple glasses of white wine while waiting for her. Not the best idea on an empty stomach, but I didn’t mind how it dulled the edges of my thoughts.

  Sheena planted a kiss on my cheek and dropped into the chair across from me. I was used to seeing her in bright colors, and this lilac pantsuit seemed too pale against her mocha-color skin. Her black hair was pulled up in a neat bun, with enough product to smooth the kink, and she had on barely-there makeup.

  “What’s with the transformation?” I asked.

  “Trying on a new style. You like?” Before I could answer, she waved the waiter over and pointed at my glass. “We’ll have this in bottle form, as well as a large pepperoni pizza.”

  The man disappeared between tables, while Sheena scrutinized me, her dark eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. The job. I didn’t like how Anastasia turned me down.”

  Sheena harrumphed. “You’re not seriously letting her get to you.”

  “It’s not just that. It’s... I don’t know. Everything is so. Fucking. Slow. I can’t fly up the stairs, chase someone down, or even get to the kitchen, sneak a snack, and return before Alex knows I’m gone.”

  Her expression was flat. “I can see how being unable to sneak food past Lover Boy may be upsetting.”

  “And the shower water’s all wrong, no matter how many times I adjust the temperature.”

  “It would make anyone cranky.”

  I took a sip of my wine. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Only ’cause you’re being a whiny little shit. You’re living my reality. Everyone’s reality. It just
takes time for it to sink in.”

  “I guess I’m still getting used to things.” I twirled the stem of my glass between thumb and forefinger. The glass teetered, and I flattened my other hand over it, to keep it from toppling over. “I hate the lack of coordination.”

  “That might be the wine,” she said.

  It wasn’t. I never tripped while I was a member of the undead society. Almost never. Okay, all the time, but I recovered pretty damn well. I gave her a half-shrug.

  “How’s Alex?” she asked.

  The waiter approached with a bottle in hand, so I downed the rest of my wine and held my glass out for a refill. He poured another glass for Sheena and left us the bottle, saying the pizza would be right out.

  “Alex is fine. He’s ecstatic. And he’s at work now, because he could get his job back,” I said.

  “He was only gone a few months. You were off the grid for years. And you can have another job.”

  She wasn’t being very understanding or supportive. So much for having her in my corner. I sulked. “Like what?”

  “Like becoming a partner in Sheena’s Models. Silent partner. And you’d have to help with day-to-day operations, interviews, bookings—the whole shebang.”

  “Seriously?” My head was light, and she looked a little blurry. I squinted, to bring her to focus.

  She guzzled her wine and added more. “Seriously. The vampettes scared Barbie away. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

  Barbie was her latest assistant. I didn’t like her much, but she loved her job and was good at it. The vampettes must have done something horrible, to make her quit.

  “Okay. Yeah. When do I start?” Hold on. “No illegal, under-the-table crap this time, yes?”

  In the past, Sheena maintained a second business in her ex-husband’s name. What she did was organize the shooting of adult films starring her models, without her name showing, and without paying taxes for her cut. She’d booked me a couple projects, and ultimately Knotting Cherry Stem, for which I changed my name.

  She shook her head like the thought never crossed her mind. “None of that. No shady stuff, and it’ll all be down on paper. We’ll draw a contract that says you’re buying fifty percent of my company. Humans need paper trails. You’ll need something to show the IRS.”

  How did other council members explain their never-depleting bank accounts? Where did council money come from? And were these questions a good enough reason for Constantine to take my call?

  “We need to settle on a price,” I said. “And a salary.”

  “We’ll figure it all out. But first”—she tilted her head toward the waiter, who arrived with a huge pizza and hastily made room for it in the center of our table.

  “Enjoy,” he said.

  Sheena cut a slice and brought it to her plate. I looked at the golden crust and the melted mozzarella rushing to fill in the gap left behind. The smell of pepperoni made my stomach rumble.

  I took a slice too, hoping against hope that the taste would match the heavenly scents wafting from it.

  It didn’t.

  Focus on the positive.

  Human life. Incredible boyfriend. Now a job.

  Would I trade any of it for tasty pizza?

  Possibly. But only because I was hormonal.

  Sheena insisted on buying, and I let her. The wine made me mellow and sleepy, and all I wanted was to go home, lose the tight jeans and high heels, and take a nap.

  “I think you need to walk off the alcohol,” Sheena said.

  Bad Sheena, harshing my buzz. “Can’t we call an Uber? The shoes are killing me.”

  “I’m parked three blocks from here. I’ll drive you home. Wouldn’t want Lover Boy to come after me for letting a stranger drive you home drunk.”

  Why would he care? “He doesn’t care. He won’t take my calls. And Wesley says not to give up, but I have to. Can’t pine over him.”

  She frowned. “Over Al—? Oh. You mean Constantine.”

  “Don’t say his name. He’s out of my life.” I covered both ears with my palms as we rounded the corner into an alley.

  We were twenty feet from the main road, but it felt like a different city. No business people milling about. The cars looked older, the buildings more worn down.

  I was too warm. I took off my blazer. I’d get a funny tan with the short sleeves, because now I could tan. I could do all sorts of things.

  I didn’t see where the man came from. I was tucking my blazer neatly around the handles of my Balenciaga, when he wrapped one arm around Sheena’s waist and held his other fist out to me.

  Something glinted in the early afternoon sun.

  A blade. Too short to do much damage.

  “Gimme the bag,” the man told me.

  I clutched it to my chest. Did the stupid human think he could come between me and my designer bag?

  “Now, bitch.” He looked over his shoulder. He seemed antsy.

  Instead of offering a way out, my mind decided to absorb every little detail about our mugger. His beady eyes were red and puffy. He was missing his right upper lateral incisor. His shirt was filthy and strewn with burn holes, his arms full of tattoos, and he smelled rank. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and sniffed. I looked into his eyes again. Feverish. In a moment of surprising clarity, I understood he was sick or high. I wouldn’t feed on him if you paid me.

  While Constantine and I were together, we spent an hour every evening sparring. He showed me mostly defensive moves, but also how to attack and feed from a human without causing lasting damage. It’d been a while since I last practiced, but I remembered most of it.

  I went for the knife, feeling too slow. No. I didn’t feel slow; I was slow. Human-slow. No longer supernatural. Stupid fuzzy brain.

  The blade was sharp. It sliced through my forearm like a hot knife through butter. Blood pooled along the cut and then dripped on the fine leather.

  I screamed.

  The man grabbed Sheena’s clutch, and then hugged her tight, before dropping her and running away.

  “That was close,” I whispered. My throat was tight again. So was my chest. The pizza and wine threatened to make a reappearance. “Let’s go to your car. I’ll call Alex, to meet us there.”

  Sheena didn’t speak. She didn’t move, either. She lay curled op on her side, where she fell.

  Why did he hug her?

  The blade.

  Not a hug. A stab.

  a series of muggings gone violent down town

  Alex’s case.

  My knees buckled, and I welcomed the pain when they hit the sidewalk. I rolled Sheena on her back and saw a splotch of red spreading across her lilac jacket. Acid burned my throat, and a sour taste hit the roof of my mouth. I barely had time to turn away before emptying the contents of my stomach.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my head marginally clearer. Her chest rose and fell. Her skin had paled to a grayish hue, and her eyes were shut, but she moved her lips.

  I pressed one palm on the side of her stomach, over the wound. Her blood seeping between my fingers reminded me of when Alex lay dying in his childhood bed, ripped bloody by Willoughby.

  I’d saved Alex by sealing his wounds with my saliva and feeding him my blood.

  I wasn’t a vampire any longer. I couldn’t heal Sheena with my blood or saliva. Couldn’t fly her to the hospital.

  I could only make a call and pray.

  Chapter Fifteen

  MY FINGERS WERE SLIPPERY and sticky, and it took forever to find my phone and call up Constantine’s cell on the touch screen.

  I brought the phone to my ear. The ringing was interrupted by the beep that signified the battery was dying.

  Fuck.

  Pick up, pick up, pick up, I chanted in my head.

  Sheena was still breathing. There was no blood coming out of her mouth. It was a good thing. Had to be. We’d save her. Constantine would save her.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, on the fourth ring. “I sh
ould have given him the stupid bag.” Fresh tears ran down my cheeks.

  “Not your fault, idiot.” Her voice was barely audible and her eyes closed, but she was joking. We’d make it.

  “Cherry, your persistence is doing neither of us any good.” Constantine sounded sad more than annoyed.

  “This is an emergency,” I said. “Sheena was stabbed. I need you.”

  “Where are you?”

  Beep. Battery.

  I hurried to give him the street name and basic directions, and he said, “Don’t move her. I’ll be right there.”

  I tossed the phone in my purse and waited, watching Sheena’s breathing.

  It felt like an eternity before he flew in like a rocket and landed inches from Sheena and me. Without a glance my way, he knelt by her other side and lifted her shirt. A new bout of nausea made me avert my gaze. I couldn’t watch him lick the wound closed.

  Instead I went over the attack. God, I was stupid. I should have handed the mugger my bag. I could afford to replace it; I couldn’t afford to lose Sheena. He could have killed us both. If I were a vampire, this wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t be in danger when she was with me. I’d be the predator, not the prey.

  “The wound is deep,” Constantine said. “If I close it on the outside, it may fester. I’ll give her blood, to help her heal from the inside.” He wouldn’t meet my gaze, which gave me time to study him. Though the physical appearance of a vampire never changed, he looked haggard. His eyes seemed sunken, his cheeks hollow.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “It was one man. He tried to get my bag. I thought I could disarm him,” I mumbled.

  “You obviously couldn’t.” He rolled up his sleeve, bit into his arm, and dripped blood into Sheena’s mouth. She made a moue of distaste, but I saw her throat working a couple times. It should be enough.

  “You’re wounded too. I can smell it,” Constantine said.

  “It’s nothing. Just a scrape.” I held up my arm. Blood oozed to the surface but no longer dripped.

  He flared his nostrils. “Smells different.” He reached for my wrist and licked it clean. I felt the edges of the cut strain and the flesh bind together again. The sensation of his tongue on my skin sent a thrill down my spine and moisture pooling between my legs.