Mortality Bites: A New Adult Fantasy Novel (Mortality Bites Book 1)

by Ramy Vance

  “Most certainly—I am very funny in my native land.”

  “Ghana?”

  “Again, most certainly—but how did you know?”

  “I don’t think that is how you use ‘certainly.’ ”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “And to answer your question—it’s your accent. I spent a lot of time in Africa. All over the world, actually. My father was a—”

  “Vampire,” he said, more as a statement than anything else.

  “Ex- … excuse me?” I picked up my mug to hide behind a sip, forgetting that I’d finished the drink already.

  “Or ghoul. But what I know for sure is that you were no shifter.”

  “Again, excuse me?”

  “Shifters are natural liars. You, my dear, cannot lie to save your life, let alone hide your past. And given that vampires, ghouls and zombies were the only other creatures to become human once more when the gods left …”

  “And you know all this from what? Experience?”

  “Most certainly.”

  I grimaced at the expression. “Just because you were a … a what?”

  “Were-hyena.”

  “Don’t you mean werewolf?”

  “I would if that was what I changed into, but wolves are not indigenous to my homeland. Hyenas, on the other hand—”

  “And because you were a monster, once upon a time, you … what? Think I was, too? And a ghoul, at that?”

  He sipped his drink, smirking. “Possibly.”

  “But ghouls,” I said, looking for a cop-out, “aren’t they … ghoulish?”

  “Not all of them. In my homeland, there were many types of ghouls, some of whom could lure their prey with promises of pleasure, both divine and carnal, and—”

  “I am not a ghoul.”

  “Was, not am. I am speaking of your past.”

  “OK—then read my lips. I—was not—am not—nor will I ever be—a ghoul.”

  “Then vampire.”

  “I am not—”

  “Again—not am. Before.”

  “My past? My past! That is exactly what I don’t want to speak about with anyone, let alone someone like you.” I stood up in frustration. “Am, was, will be—I’m not a GoneGodDamn—” I caught myself before I shouted, and leaned in close “—vampire.”

  Egya gave me a smug look. “Liar.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Most certainly,” he said with a wicked smile.

  I left Egya in the wake of my rage.

  GoneGodDamn it, damn it, damn it!

  My anger affirmed his suspicions, I was sure, but I couldn’t help it. His accusations just confirmed what I was afraid of: I can’t be in a place where people know who or what I am. I came here to have a new start. To forget my past. Fresh future. Egya might tell people who I was. Or worse, they might make me sign up with the damn government Other registration.

  Damn it!

  I may have been conflicted about quitting before, but now that I had someone like Egya on my tail, I just might have to leave. New start, new place … without that were-dog chasing me.

  I’m going to have to quit university, aren’t I? I groaned. Well, at least I made it to the dawn of my second day. That’s practically a record.

  END OF PART 2

  Part 3—Prologue

  “Joseph Campbell, in The Hero of a Thousand Faces, outlines the commonalities shared by all religions.

  “Origin stories: Christians, the Jewish faith and Muslims all have the Garden of Eden; the Hopi have the Four Worlds; Shinto has the Tenchikaibyaku.

  “Then, of course, there is the flood story: the Abrahamic religions have Noah’s flood; the Norse have Bergelmir’s escape; the Sumerians have the Gilgamesh flood myth.

  “The parallels go on and on. Forbidden knowledge, trickster beings, concepts of an afterlife and so on … But there is one less-known, less-discussed commonality that we see in almost every religion—especially when we look at their early practices. Can anyone tell me what that is?

  “What? No takers?

  “Very well then. Let me tell you. Sacrifice. Almost every recorded religion is known to have some form of human sacrifice as part of its canon. Even Judaism and Christianity speak of animal sacrifice in the books of Exodus, Leviticus and Numbers, to name a few. The methods of sacrifice might be different, but the purpose is universal.

  “To please the gods.

  “Well, we’ve all seen how that’s worked out, haven’t we?”

  Activists Play Football, Too

  Day Two of me trying to be human and already I felt like crap.

  It wasn’t even 10:00 a.m.!

  I wanted to go back to the dorms and curl up under my duvet—if I had a duvet left. For all I knew, Deirdre, that socially unversed changeling roommate of mine, might have taken out all those goose feathers to make wings for herself.

  Whoever said your time in university would be the best days of your life clearly didn’t have mine in mind.

  As I walked past the Eaton Centre and toward the main gate, I passed by McGill’s statue and paused to look at the dark copper man. He held on to his hat against an endless wind as he pointed toward … what? … the future? The next steps in evolution?

  I followed his finger and saw that he was pointing toward the Montreal train station. Maybe he was telling me to get out. Was this a sign?

  Whatever! Sign or not, I wouldn’t be here for long. It was time for this girl to exit stage right and … and … do something else. What, I had no idea, but I’d figure it out. Determined that leaving was my best choice, I turned on my heels and headed to campus. The way I figured it, I’d wrap up some loose ends, inform Student Admin that I was dropping out and pack up my dorm. If I hurried, I could get it all done by the weekend.

  As I walked to campus, I was so deep in figuring out exactly how one drops out of university that I walked right into Justin—for the second day in a row.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Seems the only way to get your attention is by getting in your way.”

  I looked up to see him smiling at me with his kind yet powerful jaw, the sun shining off his perfect black locks … and what’s more, he was holding me, two gentle hands cradling my elbows. All we needed was for him to be shirtless and me in some loosely draped corset and we could be the cover of a Harlequin romance novel.

  “Ahh, sorry,” I said, making sure to not pull away. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  He didn’t let go. “Yeah, well, welcome to university. A lot can happen.”

  Oh my, I thought. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a man’s arms and not wanted to rip out his throat.

  “Excuse me?” he said. From his confusion, I gathered he didn’t quite make out what I’d said. Thank the GoneGods—that must have been my “quiet” thinking, as Egya had called it.

  “Nothing,” I said, swooning. “I was just saying—a lot on my mind.”

  “No kidding,” he said. “I’ve been looking all over campus for you. Even went to your dorm room, but your roommate said you hadn’t been home all night.” He hesitated.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “You know what happened, right? Last night?”

  I nodded.

  “Rumors are that you were there.”

  I pursed my lips and looked down, as if in thought. After what felt like an eternity, where I debated between telling Justin everything or denying it all, I eventually settled on a harmless nod. There was no point in hiding it—everyone would find out eventually. If, that was, Egya hadn’t already distributed flyers.

  “Wow,” Justin said, lifting one of his hands so he could nervously run his fingers through his perfect hair. “Did you see what happened?”

  “No,” I said. “I got there too late. The killer was still there—”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  I shook my head. “No. Whoever it was escaped before I could get a look at him … or her. Then before I could get a good look around, the killer’s jinni guard
dog attacked me.”

  “Jinni what?”

  “Jinni guard dog—think normal guard dog, only about twelve times bigger, with a long, spiky tail and lava for blood.”

  “And what, it attacked you?”

  “Yep, but I managed to …” I paused.

  “To …?” Justin’s eyes widened as he waited for my answer.

  Again I thought about lying—but the truth would come out sooner or later. It always does, I lamented. I looked away. I didn’t want to see Justin’s reaction when I told him.

  “… to kill it.”

  “What? How?”

  “An old dagger that fell out of one of the display cases. I stabbed the thing—jinni or not, it wasn’t immune to being stabbed.”

  “How in the …?” he started, but trailed off.

  I knew he must have been judging me for what I did; he was probably thinking of an excuse to get away from me. Hell, he was probably afraid to leave too quickly, lest I stab him, too, and—

  Then I felt a finger on my chin, gently guiding my face up. I let it, and a second later I was looking into his deep blue, endless, concerned eyes.

  “You must have been terrified,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “What did the police say?”

  “That it was a Class C Other. Seems it’s not a crime to kill a Class C—so if you see any around …” I made a slitting-throat gesture that was meant to be a joke.

  Justin did not laugh.

  Great.

  Hoping to leave my poor-taste joke behind me, I quickly added, “But given how it almost ate me, I think it’s more of an attack dog with Terminator-like dedication.”

  “Ah-hah,” he nervously laughed. “And what about the killer? I’m guessing anyone with that kind of creature following them around for protection is an Other of a … different … classification?”

  I stopped for a second and thought about the implication of his question. “The killer is an Other!”

  “Um,” Justin said, “isn’t that obvious?”

  “Not really. But if it is an Other, its classification would be telling. The police can use that as a clue.”

  Justin nodded, but then the implication of my words hit me like a bag of bricks.

  “The police will use that. They’ll single out Others. That’s what you mean.” I looked up accusingly. “In other words, the killer is someone who is easily identifiable by the shape of their body, color of their skin or the extra appendages on their body.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, drawing away. “I mean it like you said … it’s a clue. A narrowing down of suspects or something.”

  Fine—I gave him a pass, but only because he was so gorgeous. And he did seem sincere. “That’s what the cops think.”

  “And you?”

  I nodded begrudgingly. “I can’t think of many humans who can summon a jinni, can you?”

  “No,” he chuckled, “I can’t.”

  “But still,” I said, “don’t tell anyone that the killer is probably an Other. They’re already being picked on, and it took so much work for a university to open its doors to Others. The last thing I want to do is add fuel to the already fear-filled fire.”

  He winced at this.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It might be too late for that,” he said, handing me a red flyer.

  I took the flyer and read it:

  Other killer on campus!

  Beware, be vigilant and be sure to call security

  if you see any suspicious Others about.

  The flyer featured a picture of an ogre lurking about, but the funny thing about the image was that it was taken from the World of Warcraft movie. Real ogres don’t look like that. For one thing, their skin is more of an avocado green, and it’s covered in a lot more hair and—

  “You know a lot about Others,” Justin said.

  “Too much,” I groaned. “I am—was—thinking about majoring in Other Studies. Hence why I was at the library.”

  “Was majoring?”

  “Am … might … Haven’t decided,” I lied. The appropriate helping verb was more like won’t … as in won’t be studying anything anymore. I handed him back the flyer. “This is bad. Any Other student is a target now. Even your dorm buddy, Sal.”

  “I know,” he said solemnly. “That’s why I’m going to give a speech at the candlelight vigil tonight.”

  “Vigil?”

  “Yeah, we’re holding a memorial. I’m going to give a speech and invite everyone to our O3 party.”

  “What? You’re using this as a way to promote your party?”

  “No, no,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “I didn’t mean it like that. The whole point of the party is to start the school year in an all-inclusive, everyone-is-welcome sort of way. Others included, of all body shapes, skin colors and extra appendages.” That made me smile, which gave him confidence. “I figured if we can get everyone to party together—you know, they’ll all get along.”

  “Make love, not war,” I said.

  He laughed at this, not knowing that I wasn’t trying to be funny or cute. I had attended the Mother’s Day Peace March in 1965 (well, attended the after-dusk part, at least). Nowadays, it was a cliché printed on a T-shirt. But back then, it meant something.

  I looked up at Justin. “I guess I see what you’re trying to do,” I said.

  “Look, I know it’s not enough, but it’s something. It will make sense tonight, I promise. Will you come?”

  “To the party?”

  “No—the vigil. For my speech. I’m super-nervous … I could use a friendly face.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Justin gave me an empathetic smile and said, “I know you’ve been through a lot, Kat. Think about it. I could use all the support I can get.”

  “What about your dorm buddies?”

  “They’ll be there. The humans, at least. We’re encouraging Sal to lay low for a while.”

  “OK.” I nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.” Then, looking at his wristwatch, he said, “I’m late for class. Maybe see you tonight, but definitely see you at the O3 party?”

  The O3 party was this weekend, which meant delaying leaving by a day or two. I could go and pretend it was my goodbye party—even if no one attending knew me, knew I was leaving or cared. Still, I should at least attend one college party to see if they lived up to all the hype 1980s comedies promised.

  I nodded at Justin.

  “Great,” he said, flashing a big, perfect smile as he started to jog away. “Glad I can make you commit to at least one of them.”

  And with that, he was gone, leaving me at the entrance of campus, holding the Other-hating flyer. I crumpled it up and tossed it in the nearest rubbish bin.

  Arrgh—Others! I wondered if the gods knew how many problems sending them to Earth would cause. If they would have still done it.

  My guess was … yes.

  I guess “hindsight is 20/20” only applies if you actually care about the people you’ve left behind.

  Wise Sages and Pale White Riders

  So I was stuck here until after the weekend. Fine. Just meant more time to get my affairs in order. Affairs—hah! All those college movies talked about hooking up with boys, falling in love, dancing, partying … living. Sure, I saw students playing frisbee, hanging out by the founder statue and generally just chilling on campus, but what I didn’t see was me being a part of that.

  Maybe I don’t deserve it.

  “Oh, shush,” I growled at myself. I deserve to live and be happy just like everyone else.

  Pulling my purse closer, I walked into the Admin building and straight to a receptionist with hipster glasses and purple hair tied into a ponytail.

  “I want to drop out,” I said.

  She looked at me over the rims of her glasses. “Day Two jitters?” she asked.

  “Day Two coming-to-my-senses,” I said.

  “Uh-huh. Student ID, please.” />
  I opened my purse and handed the laminated ID card to her.

  She keyed my details into her computer. “A student advisor will see you shortly. Until then, have a seat.”

  I went into the waiting room, where three humans huddled at one end and four Others hung out on the other side. The awkwardness between the two groups was palpable. The Others were comprised of two cherubs, an oni demon and a gargoyle that looked like a stone dragon the size of a tomcat. Among the humans was the mousey girl from Gardner Hall (the one who’d handed Deirdre some soil) and a guy who looked like he was auditioning for Small Town Hick at the local school theater.

  I nodded at Mousey Girl, giving her a knowing smile. She promptly looked away in fear, blushing as she pushed up her thick-framed glasses.

  The two cherubs were both only five inches tall; one looked like a baby with a halo and dove-like wings, while the other one resembled a cute, miniature devil with bat wings. I figured them for shoulder cherubs. You know—the angels who sat on your shoulder and encourage you to do good or bad. Given how they huddled together, I knew they were scared. Made sense … shoulder cherubs were meant to sit invisibly on your shoulders and guide you through the murky waters of morality. They weren’t used to being visible, shoulderless and sitting in a human waiting room.

  They were harmless.

  The oni demon, on the other hand, looked like the manga version of the classic Western image of the Devil—red skin, pointy tail, horns—but with huge eyes and tusks that protruded up out of his lower jaw. He was clearly nervous as well, grinding his teeth together, which, because of the large metal ring in one of his tusks, made a clicking sound every time he separated his jaw.

  With each of the demon’s tusk-grinding clicks, Hick Boy clenched his fists like he was just itching to charge at the oni. Stupid human—you’ll need a crowbar or machete to do any damage against that thing. Its skin is tougher than a coconut shell. Believe me—I once got into a fight with one of them on Zamami Island off of Okinawa’s mainland when—

  Everyone was looking at me. OK, girl, I thought—in my head this time—go with it. I turned to Hick Boy and said, “You’re clearly scared of this guy, otherwise you wouldn’t be acting so aggro.”

  “You mind your own business,” Hick Boy said, in a Southern accent I couldn’t quite place. Mississippi? Possibly Georgia.