by Tarisa Marie
He shakes his head embarrassedly. “Yeah, actually, Megan, I was there all the time. I was just outside to give you a break from me and make it look like I was working. Like I said, I quit my job.”
“So I haven’t been left alone at all the past few weeks?” I wonder aloud.
Crispen’s lips twitch, and he shakes his head. “Not for a second. Not since I came back from work one day and someone was watching you through the patio doors. You remember, when you heard the crash on the back deck and the flower pot fell? Someone was out there.”
I’m not sure whether I should be flattered, creeped out, or thankful. I’m not dumb, and I know that if he weren’t around the past few weeks, then I would probably be dead.
“She’s sure quiet. I expected her to be louder. To get along with you, I thought she’d have to be a loud one,” Mason teases while skimming through a newspaper, still leaning against the far counter.
Crispen scowls at him and then turns his attention to me, a smile arranging upon his face. “Do you feel up for a walk?”
A walk? He must be joking.
“Aria and Mason are going to see what more they can get out of Blayk. I thought I could give you a tour of the house,” Crispen explains and comes around to the front of the couch. He grabs my hand and helps me up. I clutch the kitten gently, waking him up for the hundredth time. I place Rhino down onto the couch.
“This isn’t an apartment building. It’s set up to look like one, but we own the whole thing. Most of the doors don’t even open,” Mason answers my unspoken question. I am reminded of Blayk and Landon’s weird housing situation. Is this common, or is it a demon and hunter thing?
I catch movement from Aria out of the corner of my eye. She moves too fast, inhumanly fast. In fact, I don’t see her move as much as disappear then reappear a few feet from where she was milliseconds earlier.
“Aria, don’t do that, please,” Crispen mutters sternly. “You’re going to frighten her.”
“She’s not a baby, Crispen. I think she can handle it. After all, she’s going to have to get used to it if she plans on remaining friends with you.”
I let out a breath of air that I didn’t know I was holding in.
“We are what we are. You can’t just pretend that you’re human to impress her,” Aria continues.
I straighten my clothes awkwardly. Wow, is this ever weird.
Crispen is silent for a moment before he grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway on my left. He leads me passed a few doors, which I assume are bedrooms, down some stairs, and into an open room, the walls, floor, and ceiling are all made from cement. There are large gashes and gouges in the cement like some kind of beast was down here at some point.
“This is Mason and I’s training room. We practice fighting down here. Below it, is our cellar. It’s where we lock demons up sometimes for information or leverage,” he begins. “Mason and I were speaking while you were sleeping. There is no weapon that we have which we can give you to harm a demon that won’t also harm you, so we invented something new. You are obviously not affected by salt, not many halflings are, so we threw together some liquid cement and some salt, shaped it into a knife, and stuck a handle on it. It’s not the most…beautiful of things, and it might fall apart as salt is brittle, but it’s the best we could come up with for now, not that you’ll need it, I’m not leaving your side, and my siblings won’t be far. It won’t kill them, but it’ll hurt them.”
“I didn’t realize you were so…possessive?” I say it like a question, because I’m not sure if it’s the right word. I know that Crispen cares about me, but I didn’t realize just how much. It’s like I’m his child not his close friend. The more I think about it though, the more I understand his concern. I mean, demons are after my ass. If demons were after his ass and I could do something about it, then I guess I too would be a little possessive. I suddenly regret what I’ve said. I need to learn to think before I speak.
“Yeah, well, I care about you, Megan. I care about you more than you know. This is life and death, not some game. If someone isn’t with you at all times, then you will get killed. It only takes one second. You won’t even see them coming. They’re fast. We slipped up yesterday, and it almost cost us your life. We’re lucky that the guy wanted to play with you and not just wipe you off the face of the earth. He won’t be so careless next time and neither will we,” Crispen’s voice shakes as if he’s so angry he’s about to burst. “You have to take this seriously, Megan. This isn’t some movie or book where there’s always a relatively happy ending. That’s not how this works. Just a few weeks ago you were paranoid as hell, now you’re acting like this is all fine. Getting kidnapped by crazies is apparently more disturbing to you than the fact that demons exist and they want you dead.”
“No, I’m not. I think I’m just in shock. Like, obviously I know I should be freaking out,” I mutter nonchalantly. Why am I not freaking out? I didn’t go into shock when I was kidnapped, then again, all of this is even more insane than that was. Maybe I’m not freaking out because I trust Crispen. Well, that can’t be it either. I just found out that he’s immortal. Maybe I’m not freaking out because all of this actually makes sense for once. Finally, I have answers.
Crispen pulls a short blade from a spot where numerous are hanging on the wall like upstairs. He hands it to me. I take it wearily. I’ve never really handled a weapon before. Of course I mean, besides the cleaver that I carried around for week for my protection. It seems silly now that I was carrying around a cleaver. What was I going to do, slice a demon up with it? How silly.
I look at the blade in my hand and feel a sense of worry. Like I can defend myself with this. I don’t even know how to use it. I cut my fingers cutting vegetables sometimes. I’m an absolute klutz! This is not going to work.
“What are you expecting me to do with this exactly?” I ask him nervously, twirling the knife around in my hand and examining it.
“You are going to learn how to use it. Aria is going to show you later while I take my turn with Blayk,” he mutters. “It’s mother fucking sharp, so be careful with it, Megan. You could slice a finger off with that thing.”
He hands me what looks to be some sort of cloth.
“It’s a sheath. You keep the knife in it so you don’t…have an accident,” he explains when he sees my look of utter confusion. Duh, Megan. I take it from him and slide the knife into it. I then hand the knife back to him, not trusting myself with it.
He smiles with amusement and hangs it on the wall again.
“What are you smiling about?” I demand, almost upset. Is he amused because I’m so useless?
“Nothing. I just think it’s cute that you’re so cautious,” he muses and struggles to hide a smile from his lips.
“Well, like you said, I don’t want to cut my finger off. It scared me a little, okay? I’m not skilled with knives. You’ve seen me with my meat cleaver.”
“I don’t remember what it was like to feel scared while handling a knife, and I hate to take that innocence away from you. I like your innocence,” he replies sadly, his smile faltering.
“Is that what this is about? Preserving my innocence?” I demand. “Is that why you’re being so protective?” Why am I so edgy today?
“No.” This is all he says, like the topic isn’t up for debate.
I’m incredibly thirsty. I lick my lips, they’re chapped from dehydration.
He gestures to the doorway when my stomach rumbles loudly, I hope that he doesn’t hear it, but then he laughs loudly. “Hungry?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. Apparently I’m both thirsty and starving.
“I have super hearing, Megan, your stomach’s been rumbling since you woke up. Do you take me for a fool?” he teases and ruffles my hair as if I’m a little girl. I glare at him and roll my eyes. “I even have blueberry muffins upstairs.”
At the thought of blueberry muffins, my stomach growls furiously, and I begin salivating like a loser.
“Okay, I’m down,” I agree finally and begin for the door.
“Thought so,” he mutters and guides me back to the stairs we just came down. “Milk or orange juice today?”
“Orange juice, please,” I answer, my stomach going into a frenzy. “Do you have any coffee? I know I slept for like…ever…but I’m still exhausted.”
“I do. Your body took quite the beating with that brass. I don’t blame you for being exhausted. That would take a lot out of anyone, let alone, someone with demon blood.”
Each time Crispen says the word ‘demon’, his jaw clenches. Can someone really feel that amount of hatred for something? I mean, I’m not a demon fan obviously, but Crispen seems almost run by his hatred for them.
I mentally do a fist pump while picturing my upcoming breakfast. Finally, something that makes my life a little better. My favorite thing in the world—food. Food always makes things better. Okay, it doesn’t fix anything, but it makes me feel better for a moment anyways, and what I need right now is a distraction. Not that food is going to be able to take my mind off of the fact that demons and ‘hunters’ exist, not to mention the fact that I have demon blood running through my veins, but it has to at least help, doesn’t it? I know one thing for sure, it can’t make things any worse.
We head upstairs and Crispen fixes me a blueberry muffin. Well, he thaws one from the freezer for me and pours me a cup of orange juice. He also starts a pot of coffee and offers me his shower to get cleaned up. After I’ve eaten and showered, I grab the waiting mug of steaming coffee from the counter and drink it down too. Then I collapse on the white sofa with Rhino while I wait for Crispen to finish his turn in the shower. I wonder where the other two are but assume that they’ve gone down to the cellar to speak to Blayk like I was told they were going to.
Just the thought of Blayk being in the same building as me makes me want to break down and cry. I mean, my enemy is only two floors below me. How crazy is that?
“Uh….Are you okay, Megan?” Crispen asks in a tone that suggests I might be a little off my rocker if you know what I mean. He’s likely referring to the fact that I’m sitting with my eyes closed and my thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of my nose. I’m trying to make myself feel, but it’s not working. Why can’t I feel any emotion except for annoyance, anger, and happiness? I feel almost empty, like a part of me is missing. Why can’t I be scared or anxious or hurt or something?
My eyes spring open hastily, and I stare up at him in disbelief. How can someone move so quietly? “Yes, I’m fine. Just meditating,” I attempt to cover up my strange behavior. Meditating? Really, Megan? Is that the best that you can come up with? He knows you don’t meditate, dumbass! That only made your strange behaviour seem far stranger.
“Uh…okay,” he mutters, his eyebrows merging in confusion, causing wrinkles to appear on his forehead. I’m so embarrassed that at first I don’t realize he’s completely shirtless. When I do realize though, my heart begins hammering in my chest rapidly. I try to tell myself that this is definitely not the time for me to get all worked up over something so petty. I have bigger fish to fry! My body has other plans though, and I have to work harder than should be necessary to calm my heart rate. Damn! Why does he have to be so gorgeous? Like really? Okay, so I can feel annoyance, anger, happiness, and lust. Lovely. Although I have no deep feelings for Crispen, I still feel an attraction to his body. He’s an attractive guy, and I’m well…a woman. I pull myself together, not believing how petty I’m being.
I hope he doesn’t notice my momentary gush over him. Is his hearing strong enough to hear my heart beat? I have no idea.
“I have questions,” I blurt and finish my second cup of coffee.
His expression changes from one of confusion to one of recognition. “Of course you do. I guess now is as good of a time as any. Ask away.”
I ponder my large pile of questions. Which should I ask first? I have so many things to ask him. “What is going to happen to me? You can’t protect me forever.”
He contemplates his answer before spitting it out. “We will take care of the problem. My siblings and I will make sure that no one of threat to you knows you exist. Then, you will be free to do as you wish.”
“Okay…” I struggle for words. “…but how are you going to make sure of this?”
He swishes some juice around in his mouth before swallowing it and answering, “I’m going to kill any demon that knows you exist of course.” He says this carefully, gaging my reaction. Does that include my father? He knows I exist surely, but he never came to get me from my mother and introduce me to the demon world. Either he cared enough to let me live a human life, or he didn’t want the burden or having me around, maybe both. I’m not sure how I feel about this. What if he is somehow linked to Blayk and Landon?
Can all demons really be so terrible? I guess, judging by horror films I’ve seen, I don’t think there’s ever been a friendly one around. I think about one of my favorite TV shows Supernatural. Some of them are pretty terrible on the show but not all of them are so bad, are they? I’m not sure. How can I judge my life off of a fictional TV show though? You have to be kidding me. Megan, what are you doing right now? You know things are really fucked up when you compare your life to Supernatural.
“Would you put a shirt on?!” I demand, my eyes detouring from his eyes to his rippled stomach for the tenth time in fifteen seconds.
A smile plays across his lips. “Is this bothering you?” he motions to his half-nakedness.
I nod. “Yeah, actually, a little,” I admit.
He shrugs. “I know I’m hot, Megan, but I wouldn’t think that would be a problem for you right now. Don’t you have more important things on your plate to be concerned about?” His arrogance surprises me, because I haven’t really heard this side of his personality in a few days. He’s not always cocky and arrogant, but every once in a while he says something that makes my jaw drop.
“Yeah, you would think, but here you are, messing with my mojo!” I blab, not even making much sense. My mojo? What the hell is mojo? What does that even mean?
Crispen cocks an eyebrow at me and then walks casually down the hallway. He returns a few moments later fully clothed. “Is this better?”
I nod. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Keep the questions coming,” he urges while picking up a banana, opening it, and then biting into it.
“Tell me about yourself,” I decide after a moment. It isn’t a question, but it’s something I need to know. “Like about you and what you are.”
He takes another large bite of his banana and then tosses the peel into the trash. He looks to me, bites his cheek nervously, and then nods. “Okay, what do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
He chuckles. “Okay, well, I was born on May 2, 1687, so technically, I’m over three centuries old, but I have not physically or mentally aged past twenty-five since that was the age which I became immortal. My parents were Anna and Thomas Desmond. My sister received my mother’s name as her middle name; my brother received my father’s name as his middle name. My middle name comes from my grandfather Alexander. My father was a businessman. To this day, I’m not sure what exactly it was he did. My mother stayed home with us kids. It’s hard to remember them and photographs didn’t really exist back then. Of course many people had paintings done, but our parents never did. I recall that my mother looked a lot like Aria and my father was tall, broad, and stern. My mother loved to bake, whereas my father loved to spend his time working.” Crispen stops to clear his throat. His eyes are in another time, they’re blank as he goes back centuries.
“I remember very little. It was a long time ago. A very long time ago. Three centuries ago. You have no idea how long that is,” he mutters and shakes his head. “I remember the pain I felt while being made into what I am. I also remember the pain afterwards.” Crispen almost winces as if he’s experiencing the pain all over again. “Mason left out some of the gory details about how we came to
be what we are today. Mason was created using an elixir and magic that to this day I don’t understand. I must believe in magic, I’ve seen it in action after all, but it’s hard sometimes. I’ve only really seen it once and that was centuries ago. It seems like a dream now.”
He pulls open a drawer and removes a few large plastic bags full of leaves. “These are the herbs we use to make the brass harmful to demons and halflings. Some are fairly common like sage, others are a little more difficult to find. They were especially hard to find centuries ago before all of these big department stores started popping up with everything from goldfish to patio furniture to pancakes. It was a different world back then, there’s no way to explain it to you.” Crispen begins preparing a mixture of the herbs as if he’s going to make up a batch of demon killing weapons right now. “Like I said before, this isn’t magic. It’s just a mixture of herbs. I can’t help but wonder if the magic in the elixir that made Mason immortal was also no more than mere herbs.” He’s silent a moment as he throws some herbs together into a small bowl and then wraps it in plastic wrap. “Like Mason said, the alchemists were wiped out by 1740. Any trace of magic that there once may have been, it’s gone now.”
For some reason, the thought that magic existed once long ago really doesn’t seem that far-fetched. Maybe it’s because, like Crispen said, it’s impossible for me to imagine what things might have been like back then. When I try to imagine it, I see things like the Salem witch trials and people thinking that the earth was flat. It was an entirely different time, almost another world completely. Maybe, if that type of magic existed today, or if modern science existed back then, there would be some sort of scientific explanation for it all.
“Anyways,” he continues. “The process of becoming what we are wasn’t just a simple thing. After Mason became a hunter, he was crazed with hunger. It was a hunger that regular food couldn’t quench.”
I think back to some sappy vampire movie I watched with Crispen a few weeks ago and nearly blanch. “Are you about to tell me that you guys are vampires?” I spit out.
