Modern Magic
Page 28
Flipping up the visor, I said, “You got me. I did feed on the guy, but I didn’t drain him, and I didn’t really even drink that much. But that’s not why I look like this.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him about Lilith, and even if I did, I wasn’t sure how. He got bent out of shape about me feeding on a human, which is kinda the point of being a vampire. Telling him I’d fed on an immortal hottie would not go over well.
“I was at Phil’s. I ate there.”
“At Phil’s?” He had looked away again, staring long and hard at the road, which meant he was expecting the kind of answer that’d make him mad. I swear, sometimes this partnership is like being married. We fight all the time and neither one of us is getting laid.
“Phil offered. He made it clear that it would be viewed as a serious breach of protocol for me to decline.”
“Since when do we care about demonic protocol?”
“Technically, Phil’s a fallen angel, which is different from a demon. I think.”
“You hope. So, who did you drink from this time?”
Wow, he was going heavy with the guilt trip. He was making it sound like I went around drinking from people willy-nilly. Wrong. I quit doing that years ago, after I got a really embarrassing rash. Bad blood might not kill you, but a vampire can get all sorts of nasty things from it, and some of them take a while for even vampire metabolism to get rid of.
That made me wonder how long the “Lilith effect” would last before I went back to my pasty self.
“Her name was Lilith, and the light’s green.” I really wanted him paying attention to the road and not to the name of my new acquaintance. I didn’t often get what I wanted.
We’ve read the same comic books, so if I knew Lilith, I was pretty sure he would. And judging by the fact that he pulled into a Burger King parking lot and shut off the car, he did.
“Lilith? Like Adam’s first wife Lilith? Like the original feminist Lilith? Lilith who was condemned to walk the earth forever spreading lust through the souls of all she touches while unable to ever feel true love?”
Clearly he’d read way more comic books than I had, because the lust stuff was news to me. I sank down as far as the car seat would let me before I answered. “I guess that would be an accurate description.”
Greg fumed. I didn’t know fuming was audible but Greg managed to fill the car with the sound of it.
He took a deep breath, held it for a long time, let it out very slowly, and counted to twenty. In four languages. Four languages wasn’t too bad. Greg was fluent in seven. Anything under five meant he was only moderately pissed. I thought I was maybe going to get out of this relatively unscathed.
“Well?” he finally asked.
“Well what?”
“Was it good?” There was a little longing in his voice, and I hoped that he might finally admit that he missed the taste of live blood.
“Dude, you have no idea. It made me tingle in places I’d forgotten I had places. I saw colors that I don’t even have names for. I felt like I could run a marathon at noon in Arizona and not get the least bit crispy. It was amazing.” I could have gone on describing the feeling of feeding on Lilith, but the look on Greg’s face stopped me. “What’s wrong?”
“Listen to me, and listen very carefully.” He was scared. “You can never feed from her again. No matter what, no matter who it insults. Legend has it that her kiss, her very touch is so addictive that archbishops have burned their Bibles for a drop of her sweat. You have to stay away from her, or she could take you over completely. And a vampire under the control of a creature like Lilith would not make a pretty picture.”
He was right. I didn’t use much of my vamp powers in everynight life, but if Lilith was bad juju like Greg thought, then she could wreak some serious havoc if I fell under her control. And Greg was by far the better judge of character between the two of us. I trusted his opinion way more than my own.
“Fine, fine, I’ll stay clear of her. You know how I hate going to Phil’s anyway. Let’s get out of here before some cop rolls up and decides we’re making out in the BK parking lot.”
“Well was it worth it?” Greg asked quietly.
“What? The blood? It was—”
“No.” He cut me off sharply. “Did you get any useful information out of Phil?”
“Kinda. Apparently there’s a Big Bad coming to town and if we don’t stop it the world might end. Or something like that.” I stared out the window, watching the billboards on I-485 roll past and thinking about Lilith. That chick scared me.
“Isn’t that on the list of things you should start the conversation with?”
“Gimme a break. So I buried the lead. I saw Phil, I drank from an inappropriate woman, and there’s a magic something-or-other coming that will destroy the world if we don’t stop it. And how was your night, honey?” I kept looking out the window, but all I could see was a scared little girl and a shattered father that desperately wanted to see his child again.
“I hate you sometimes.”
Chapter Fourteen
“So, what’s the plan?” Greg asked the second we got back into our apartment.
“I’m still working on that.” I admitted, flopping down onto the couch and grabbing the Xbox controller. Hoping to distract him, I tossed him the other controller. “Madden?”
“Sure. I always think better with a little break. Did Phil give you anything we could use?”
I started up the game and picked my team. I always pick the Carolina Panthers, no matter how they did that season. I’m a hometown fan, what can I say? And besides, as long as they have Steve Smith, they’ll always make for a fun video game. “He said that Halloween was the big day, that whatever we were up against had to be stopped by then, or not at all.”
Greg stared at me with his mouth open while I sacked his virtual quarterback, forced a virtual fumble and sent a virtual Jon Beason to the end zone for a virtual touchdown dance. “You do realize Halloween is this weekend, right?”
“Yeah, I have a pretty good handle on the calendar.”
“So what the hell are we doing playing video games?” Greg tossed his control at me and headed over to the computer.
“Really, dude? You don’t want to play Madden but you’ll go play World of Warcraft?” I was giving him a hard time, but sometimes I did it just because it was easy.
“Bite me. I’m checking email.”
“No thanks, I’ve had my fill of supernatural Scooby Snacks tonight.”
He flipped me off, then waved me over to the desk. “Come here, dude. You gotta see this!”
He was actually bouncing up and down in his chair. I thought we’d broken him of that habit in high school, but obviously not. I leaned over the back of his chair, as much to rescue the furniture from the shock load as anything else.
“What is it, bro?”
“I emailed the guys about the kidnappings to see what they knew, and they’ve got all the police reports!”
Oh. Crap. “The guys” were a trio of losers that worked in the biggest comic shop in town. They were understandably all over Greg for information on his “ongoing cases” whenever he went in to grab his subscriptions. Every once in a while we used them for daytime legwork or computer help when it was something we couldn’t get Dad to do or if the computing was out of Greg’s league. They were occasionally useful, but I always had a hard time balancing their annoying tics against the value of their assistance.
“Really? You emailed the Dork Brigade about this case?”
“Man, don’t call them that. They’re good guys. And Jason hacked into the police database and got us the police reports. So the guys are useful, too.”
“And how many free comic books did you get for letting them help?” When he wouldn’t answer me, I knew I’d hit home. My partner—the closet Spider-Man junkie.
“Do you want the reports or not?”
I did, so I shut up.
There were ten files, and the girl we’d exorcised
the night before was slated to have been number eleven, so we added notes on her and Tommy into the mix and tried to see what patterns emerged. After three hours of taking apart class schedules, church attendance, club memberships and even school bus routes, I lost my patience.
“There’s nothing here!” I lay on my back on the floor, surrounded by paper. I looked like I’d been mugged by a shedding yeti, and we had no more ideas than when we started. “What time is it?”
“Seven,” he mumbled, still going over attendance records for the fifth victim.
“I’m going to bed. It’s been a long night.” I stretched as I stood up, and my thighs threatened to revolt. Vampire or not, you sit cross-legged on the floor for a few hours and your butt falls asleep. I staggered off to my bedroom and crashed for a few hours while Greg kept going. He’s always been better at homework than me.
We do sleep. And we dream, and we don’t “die” every morning at sunrise. We can sense the sunrise. It’s kinda like our bodies’ way of warning us not to go outside for fear of becoming a pile of ash, but I’ve been known to pull an all-nighter (or in my case an all-dayer, I guess) when I needed to.
Today’s sleep wasn’t restful, not with visions of scared children running from sexy fallen angels dancing through my head. I got about six hours of fitful sleep and staggered out to the den to find Greg facedown in the scattered mass of case files.
I stepped over him as quietly as I could, opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of orange juice. I didn’t bother getting a glass, just sat on the couch in my boxers and drank straight from the plastic jug.
We can drink, too, anything we want. No food, though. The digestive system stops working except for a liquid diet right after we wake up. We don’t get any nutrients out of anything we drink except blood, but alcohol still works, only to a lesser degree.
So, I guess that answers Tommy’s question about vampire poop. We don’t poop, but if we play our cards right, we can pee in some spectacular colors, because what comes in, goes right back out again. You don’t want to know how we found this out. Suffice to say that we were young and learning about our new abilities, and leave it at that.
“I don’t care if we’re dead, that’s still gross.” Greg’s voice came from right behind me, and I jumped sky-high, spilling cold OJ on my lap. That’s one of his favorite tricks, but it usually doesn’t work on me, what with super-hearing and all. I’d been so wrapped up in the case that I didn’t even hear him get up from the desk.
“I might be gross, but you’re a dick,” I said, looking around for something to dry off with. I gave up on the idea of finding anything lying around the den when I remembered that, yesterday, Greg had been home alone all night, which always led to an almost neurotic level of cleaning. I went into my room and got some fresh boxers and the rest of my clothes.
Greg was sitting up on the floor when I made it back to the den, a look of smug superiority on his face. “What?” I asked.
“What, what?” He kept grinning at me.
“Why are you sitting there grinning like the AV club president who bugged the girls’ dressing room?”
“I am the AV club president who bugged the girls’ dressing room,” he reminded me without a hint of embarrassment.
“I remember. And you had that same stupid grin on your face then.”
“Well I think I may have found our link between the victims. Career Day.” He waved a piece of paper over his head like it was a checkered flag and he was an off-duty Daytona stripper.
I snatched the paper from him and looked at it. There was a column of initials, a column of dates and a column of school names. The school names I recognized, and it didn’t take long to figure out that the initials and dates matched up with missing kids.
“Greg, there are only seven names here.” I pointed to the paper.
“Yeah?”
“There were eleven victims, dude.”
“Yeah, but seven of these schools had a Career Day the week before the kidnappings occurred. There’s no way that’s not statistically significant.”
He had a point. “We need to look into it further.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I think it’s a good idea.”
Greg looked so happy that I wasn’t dismissing his idea out of hand that you’d have thought I gave him an ice cream cone, or a puppy. Or a puppy with ice cream on it.
“Cool. Now what? Where do we start?” Greg asked. He headed to the coat closet and started gearing up—putting on his utility belt, boots, and other combat equipment. I stopped him before he got too far along.
“We start right here. At least until dark, bro. Remember, it’s like two in the afternoon.”
“Oh yeah. I just got so excited at having a real lead.”
“I know, I know,” I led him back over to the couch. “Wanna play Halo?” I sat down with the gamecontroller in one hand and my OJ in the other.
“Nah. If we can’t go thwart evil, I’m gonna take a nap.” My grumpy roommate then tromped off to his room for some shut-eye while I valiantly tried to save the world. Again.
Chapter Fifteen
I finished off season two of Dexter on Netflix before Greg woke up. Not long after sunset, I heard the shower come on and a few minutes later, my partner emerged. He was dressed in all black, again, with his combat boots laced tight and his utility belt snug around his ballooning waist. I feel for Greg sometimes. I mean, who knew that turning into vampires wouldn’t change our bodies into perfect examples of studliness, and we’d be trapped forever as the dorks we were on the last night of our lives?
The first thing we looked forward to when we got over the shock of being vampires was that now we could exercise all we wanted and build ourselves the buff bodies we’d never had in life. The first thing we realized after that was that no matter how much we exercised, our bodies were never going to change. This was not a welcome realization for either my pudgy best friend or me.
“Really, man. Do you have to wear the utility belt?” I laced up my sneakers and shrugged into my shoulder holster on the way out the door. I hid the firepower under a leather jacket before as we climbed the last steps and walked out into the cemetery.
We opened a tool shed that was really a two-car garage and hopped in Greg’s car, a 1967 GTO convertible—black, of course. I always gave Greg a load of crap about his less-than-inconspicuous ride, but he’d had a man-crush on that car since we were alive, so no amount of teasing was going to get him to drive anything else. Besides, I had a blue Camry for when we needed to blend in.
“Where are we headed?” Greg asked as I got into the car.
I pulled out the file folder with all his Career Day notes and started to flip through it. It had been easy to find when he went to bed, because he’d written “CAREER DAY CLUES” on the outside of the folder in purple Sharpie. Sometimes I really thought my partner was secretly an illiterate twelve-year-old girl. I wouldn’t have been too surprised to find his notes in a Trapper Keeper covered in unicorn stickers.
“There were three companies that had a table at every event. Bank of America, Joe’s World of Tires and the Police Department. Bank of America makes sense, since their corporate headquarters is here. The owner of Joe’s World of Tires is on the school board, and I think the cops were just looking for middle-school weed. But we should check them all out regardless.”
“Why do we need to check out the cops? They’re investigating the crimes. You don’t think a cop could have done it, do you?”
My partner has a simple view of the world—police and firemen are good, and bad guys have twirly mustaches and bad French accents. It’s charming, really.
“I don’t think a cop abducted the kids, but it’s possible. Cops are people, so they’re suspects. We’ve got to look at everybody, bro.”
“All right, but I don’t think it’s the cops.”
I didn’t either, but I could hope. A cop would be easier. I didn’t think we were going to find our kidnapper anywhere in thi
s list of companies. I didn’t think our bad guy was still capable of “normal.” It didn’t feel right, if you know what I mean.
“So, where to first?” Greg gingerly backed the car out of the garage. I’m always amazed that he can be incredibly careful with his car but such a spaz on two feet.
“I think we start with the path of least resistance—Joe Arthur, owner of Joe’s World of Tires and school board member. We should be able to play the PI card and find out who was representing the World of Tires at the Career Days straight from the source.”
I gave him the address, and we headed out to meet the Tire King. I looked out the window and watched the city roll by. A flashing sign for the Morris Costumes Haunted House had me thinking a lot more than I wanted to about ten missing children and the fact that we only had a couple of nights left to stop something from coming to town that even a fallen angel was scared of.
It took us about half an hour to get to Joe Arthur’s house, a modest ranch in one of the newer developments out past the university. These little subdivisions popped up all over Charlotte in the late 1990s as the banking boom hit, but now there was a For Sale sign in about every fourth yard.
I noted the bicycle lying beside the driveway. “Looks like Joe’s got a kid right in the target age range,” I whispered as we walked up to the front door.
“Yep. How do you want to play this? Good cop/bad cop? Two bad cops? Fangs out? Subtle?” He was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and shadowboxing his way up to the door. I grabbed the back of his utility belt and dragged him down the steps back to where I stood.
“I thought we’d ask him very nicely to invite us in, then see what he knows about the disappearances.” I spoke very low and very slowly, and held one hand on Greg’s shoulder to steady him while I tried to rein in his excitement. When you pair his enthusiasm with the fact that we haven’t aged in fifteen years, it’s easy to forget that he remembers the Reagan administration.