Bad Impression : A Sadie Salt Novel (Sadie Salt Series Book 2)

by Ware Wilkins

  “Take… care of myself. You mean--?” There’s some appeal in the idea, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the gorgeous, dangerous creature in front of me and what he’s offering.

  The groan that rips from his throat is full of promise. “Sadie,” he warns.

  “Can you promise it won’t be weird after?”

  His laugh is short and harsh. “You’re so young. You’re the one who’s been making things weird. I’m old. I don’t need to play games.”

  This should be more important. I know I should remember that, think hard on it, because it seems to be the missing piece to a puzzle I’ve been trying to solve. But instead, I forget it. I forget Ingrid’s accusation that I’ve been selfishly playing both sides. I forget those movies with the girl who loves a wolf and a vampire and drags them through hell and back with her indecision. I forget Abe, pushing him to the furthest corners of my mind.

  I forget, because I’m stepping into his arms and finding his mouth with mine.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Daylight wakes me. There’s still a humming in my body, but the fogginess has disappeared with sleep. I sit up and the sheet falls away. I’m not dressed and this is not my bed. So… sleep and other activities helped clear some of the groggy fugue the magic had created in me.

  I’ll regret this eventually. Stretching my hands overhead, I relish how relaxed I am. The knots in my shoulders are gone. My body doesn’t feel so wound tight, like I’m going to boil over with anxiety at any minute. I feel good. But I don’t regret it now.

  There’s a note on the bedside table. I pick it up but look at my surroundings before reading it, replaying the few hours after leaving Ms. Nickles as I survey.

  There wasn’t much time to look at his home last night, because we were much too busy doing other things. He drove me in my car, racing until we got here. Now I’m enjoying being able to pad through on wood floors and glimpse in on the kind of place he calls home.

  Benji’s house is nice. Probably to be expected by a vampire. It isn’t what I imagined, though. Benji always wears tight, sexy clothes. Fashionable and a bit punk rock. When we visited the nest, their mansion had been an eclectic mix, but still the dark colors and rich fabric I associate with movie vampires. Well, except for the queen, but nothing about him fit any image.

  The room I’m in, though, is rustic farmhouse chic. Behind me is a large window facing a mountain drop off, with trees for miles. The bedsheets are linen, not silk, and rumpled. The comforter is a dusty navy and cozy, not slinky. Benji’s walls are painted in a soft white, with art made from reclaimed wood on the walls. It’s homey and amusing, since none of it fits the vampire the way I picture him.

  Speaking of…

  I unfold the note.

  Sadie, dearest. Thank you for your company. I enjoyed myself and, judging by your loud and running commentary, you did as well. We should talk when it’s dark. Until then, I’ve left a message for you with Dr. Winston. You’re due at work for an afternoon shift. I’m sleeping and that whole daylight thing prevents me from saying goodbye. This note will have to suffice. Until later, then?

  Frowning, I crumple the note. Running commentary indeed. What a pompous ass. Sliding from the bed, I find my discarded clothes have been hung neatly from the back of a chair, along with a clean t-shirt that I suppose he’s offering if I don’t want to do a full walk of shame when I go back to my apartment.

  How thoughtful.

  I get dressed, including his shirt. Joke’s on me--it’s an Iron Maiden shirt and looks ridiculous on me. As I pull on my pants, I can see I’ve earned a few new runes on my leg. But they are a fraction of what I’d earned before, barely coming up to mid-thigh. Considering the length of time and amount of spells I’d done at Ms. Nickle’s, this is huge.

  I don’t have much time to think about it more, since I got to sleep in but do, according to the note, still need to show up for work. There’s no point in rummaging through his kitchen, since Benji doesn’t eat people food. Just people.

  My car has been parked outside, along with directions on how to get back to the main road. That’s sweet, but I know this town like the back of my hand. In no time, I’m at my apartment complex.

  The hum of the magic gets more tolerable by the minute. It’s like anything else, I suppose; spend enough time with it and you get used to it. As I get back to my familiar surroundings, the inevitable regret kicks in full force.

  I basically just magic-drunk slept with a vampire. While trying to help my wolf almost-should be-boyfriend. I. Am. The. Worst.

  Preparing myself for the scolding Ingrid should one hundred percent give to me, I head on in. Only, as I check my apartment, I find it empty. No Ingrid. Glancing at my phone gives me no answers, either. I’m running out of time to get to work, though.

  If it was before, and Ingrid wasn’t pregnant, I wouldn’t be worried. But she is pregnant, and moody.

  And hungry. Sadie, be real. She’s probably out grabbing some food or a walk or something. She doesn’t have to tell you everything she does. When did I start becoming so fussy over her?

  It’s probably got less to do with worrying over Ingrid and more to do with having to postpone my well-deserved chastisement. Because, of course, now I have to shower and consider what I’ve done all by myself.

  I’m a far worse critic than Ingrid.

  I make the water cold. Not because I’m still feeling frisky, but as a punishment for being so absurdly stupid. The whole thing, starting from the minute I’d walked into Ms. Nickles’s apartment, to ending up in Benji’s bed. What had I been thinking?

  Scrubbing hard enough that my skin begins to turn red, I try to remember exactly what prompted me to think “Hey, I know bone magic has been a bane in my life, but this time will be different. I should totally do some more!” and then “Hey, I need to get laid, here’s this vampire who’s been nothing but a great friend to me who wants more. Let me screw him and lead him on!” Each decision makes me cringe more. Especially because, in the moments leading up to them, I hadn’t even considered doing the things I did. I didn’t go into Ms. Nickles apartment looking for magic; I went in for answers. I hadn’t thought about banging Benji, but when he showed up, I pounced on him.

  I am a horrible person.

  At least, I suppose, I’m not having to deal with the debilitating crush of coming off bone magic. Yet. That might actually be the most upsetting part. Other than the little voice of need popping up, I haven’t been hardcore hankering for magic since I got clean.

  Now I’m going to have to go through withdrawal all over, and I’ll either have to hide it (like that’s going to happen), or come clean to Benji and Oliver and Ingrid. Neither of those choices holds any appeal.

  What was I thinking?

  Finally dressed and ready to head out, I check the apartment one more time in case Ingrid returned. It is still quiet and empty.

  The weather is pretending to warm up as I get to my car. North Carolina can be like this sometimes, even in the dead of winter. Cold, cold, cold, t-shirt!, cold. Today is a t-shirt and hoodie day, even though there was ice and frost earlier this week. Most likely there will be ice and frost tomorrow, and if the trend stays true to most years, snow by the weekend.

  For now, though, I love the sensation of sun licking my skin. I turn my face and and take a deep breath. It smells like fresh, mountain air and… something else. Something rotten. Scanning the parking lot, I just see the few cars that belong to the other residents. Not that I’d expect a body to just be laying in a parking lot in the middle of the day.

  It’s probably a deer that got struck by a car. That happens a lot around here. Constant development of people trying to build their idyllic mountain vacation or retirement home in a community that’s not as expensive as Asheville has been forcing the local fauna out. Out and straight into oncoming traffic, usually.

  Something is tingling in me, though. It says that’s no deer. Frowning, I go to my car and pull out Respect. The bat’s weight is soothi
ng and the charge of magic I feel as I grip the worn, wooden handle is reassuring. It senses the juice I’m packing and I get a surging sensation that Respect is jonesing for some good, old-fashioned violence.

  At least one of us is. As I begin to search, stopping every few spaces to sniff, I’m intensely aware that any comfort I had from the sun and the unusually warm day is evaporating quickly. In its place is only the heavy shroud of anticipation and danger.

  The smell gets stronger near the edge of the woods beside my apartment’s building. The trees grow thick right up to the pavement. It’s emptier over here; the tenants and I don’t park on this far side because the roots of the forest have rippled and cracked the pavement.

  As soon as I step into the trees, the smell intensifies. My stomach threatens to heave. This is definitely something dead. I scan the ground, looking for whatever animal is causing such a stink.

  I’m looking too low.

  It’s the creaking that gives it away. The slow, subtle creak of something swinging in the wind. Except, as I take my gaze up, it isn’t just something. It is somethings, and my stomach is no longer threatening-- it’s rioting. The image of the hanging cat carcasses sears itself into my brain before I turn and hurl. Now the smell of my vomit is mixed with the odor of decay.

  Bracing myself on my knees, I wait until I feel like I can look once more without being sick again. They’re there, long, thin bodies swaying from branches. They’ve all been hung from the neck. There’s no blood, no obvious mutilations that I can see. But there are so many of them.

  Benji eating them was a better fate than this. Of all the things I should feel guilty about, this is probably not one of them. Yet, more than anything else, I feel guilt keenly as I stare at the lifeless bodies. If I hadn’t said anything to Benji, maybe they wouldn’t have died like this. If I’d listened about the bone magic, maybe there wouldn’t be hunters in Grimloch. Who else could this be?

  Steeling myself, I turn away from the cats. I can’t bring myself to cut them down. Not alone, at least. Tonight I can ask Benji to help, I suppose. And yet… that’s a lot of free teeth for the taking. I don’t know how much power is in a cat’s teeth, but I remember that the cat’s remains I found in Benji’s car had felt particularly potent. These might be, too.

  If I take them, whoever left them here will know I’ve found them. I’m so conflicted. Was I supposed to find them? Is this a warning? Hell… maybe there’s just a future serial killer nearby who is just now tiptoeing toward his future murder plans. For now, I’m no longer comfortable hanging in the woods, Respect or not. I leave the cats, and their teeth, alone. When I’m back in the parking lot, I race toward my apartment, phone in hand. Sorry, Dr. Winston. There’s no way in hell I can go watch him scrape teeth and gums after what I’ve seen. No, I need to find Ingrid and talk to somebody.

  When the phone is picked up after only half a ring, I stumble and fall from surprise. There’s a jolt of pain from my kneecap hitting the pavement and the sting that lets me know that I’ve torn denim and skin.

  “Dr. Winston’s office, how may I help you?”

  “Um, Ingrid?”

  “Sadie, where are you? I’m holding down the fort here because Benji asked me to, but you’re supposed to be here.”

  Despite the pain in my leg and the memory of what I’d just discovered in the woods, I laugh. It’s fast and giddy, the laugh of relief.

  “Sadie, are you drunk?”

  “No, no. I’m--” I inhale, pushing the chuckles down so I can speak clearly. “I’m fine. Just relieved.”

  “Should I come home?”

  I thought about it, but being away from the cat corpses holds appeal. I need time to regroup, and with the close proximity to my apartment… We may not be safe here. Not without Benji, or without me blowing all my magic too soon. “No, I’ll be there soon. I’m leaving home now. Just stay there and we’ll talk.”

  “Uh huh.”

  I hang up before I can be scolded and change direction, hopping into my car and trying to ignore the smell that dragged me away in the first place. Maybe Abe is up and can come help. But then I remember where I spent the night, and it seems that waiting for the sun to set is the better option. It doesn’t seem fair to bone a vampire and then call the wolf I’ve been pining after to come over and look at dead cats for me, just to make me feel safe.

  Jesus, I’ve really stepped in it this time.

  As I take the narrow, twisting roads down into town, I find my gaze straying to the woods on either side. Who’s hiding in there? Who’s hunting? Are they hunting me? My friends? When I do arrive in town, every face I don’t know is an enemy. Any one of them could be a murderer. A hunter or huntress. Grimloch, which had always felt safe to the point of being boring, suddenly became unfamiliar.

  I don’t enjoy being so wary.

  By the time I park in the lot next to the old Victorian house that Dr. Winston converted into his office, I’m a nervous wreck. The residual magic in me is still humming, but there’s a static quality to it, like it’s itching to zap something, or someone. It feels like I’m creating this laundry list of things I need to do, and none of the items are pleasant.

  Step One: Begin avoiding Abe, despite having spent three months trying to get him back into my life. Basically abandon him after he’s been kicked out of the pack because I slept with a bisexual vampire without being clear if Abe and I were dating exclusively. So I’m a hussy and an asshole. Great.

  Step Two: Have an awkward talk with Benji about last night. He said he doesn’t play games, but I’m not even sure that’s what I’m doing. I know I want something, but not what. Not just yet. I just… well, damn it, I still don’t know. I want someone to make this decision for me, I suppose.

  Step Three: Tell important people about dead cats, even though it will probably result in those people being up my ass. Uncle Oliver, Benji, and Alec will want to spend time sniffing around the woods of my apartment. I’ll get more protection spells, and most likely a night guard, too. Which will make…

  Step Four: Practice bone magic and don’t get caught especially difficult. I wish I could tell my friends about Ms. Nickles and not have them rush to destroy her. I wish Ms. Nickles wasn’t hovering on the edge of good and evil, because I’d feel better about championing her cause. I don’t think she’s evil like David was, but I get the feeling she’s only invested in helping her wraith sister out. I don’t know that morals factor into her motivations.

  I used to watch all these sitcoms with my dad. The whole “Thank Goodness It’s Friday” bundle of family-oriented, cheesy shows that aired back to back in the evening. We’d laugh and talk about the episodes and he always used to comment about how, if people just knew how to “tell the damned truth”, there wouldn’t be any sitcoms, since every situation seemed to stem from a miscommunication.

  Not that he learned that lesson, either. Seeing as my whole life was a lie. And now, I’m guilty of it, too. The very thing that I continue to feel resentment about, lying, has become my modus operandi. But the truth is (ha! The truth!) that I simply can’t trust anyone to reserve their judgment until I give them the whole story. In all of these cases, lives, not just emotions, are on the line. So I won’t tell Abe about Benji, because I don’t know how a still-learning-to-be-a-werewolf werewolf would react to that kind of information. I won’t tell Ingrid that there were dead cats near our apartment, because she’s got enough stress already, and I want to protect the baby. I won’t tell Benji that I’m meeting with Ms. Nickles and learning about my history, and I won’t tell anyone about my practicing bone magic until I’ve figured out not only a way to master it, but a way to help everyone out.

  Nothing can possibly go wrong, right?

  As I drag myself up to the front door, I know I’m only buying time. Sitcoms didn’t just tell me how important good communication is: They also taught me how quickly lies can blow up in your face.

  The front door chimes as I walk in. Ingrid’s behind the front desk, flippi
ng through paperwork. Her mouth is turned down, but I can see a slip of tongue tracing her lip. Not mad, then, but concentrating.

  “I’m here for my appointment,” I say, pulling her from her reading. She jumps in her chair before laughing too loudly and pressing a hand over her heart.

  “You scared the hell out of me, Sadie!”

  Guess she didn’t hear the bell?

  “How’s manning the desk?” It’s hard not to feel a trickling sense of anxiety as I see my workstation. It was messy when I left it, but it was my messy and I knew where everything was. Now there are stacks and folders and I can actually see some of the wood from the desk. I mean, it looks nice, but my system! Deep breaths.

  “It’s going okay. I’ve just finished sending over last week’s insurance claims and now I’m organizing these surgery recommendations from Dr. Winston. I’ll make copies and send them to the patients while getting the recommendations in the mail this afternoon.”

  That… is awesome. I hate dealing with the insurance companies and I pretty much put off the recommendation letters until the end of the month. Although, looking at the stack in her hand, I think maybe I’ve let even more time than that slide.

  “Turns out Ingrid is better at doing your job than you are, Sadie,” Dr. Winston’s gruff voice booms. He steps into the foyer and leans on the desk. “She was on time, too.”

  “Benji said he called--”

  “Yeah, I got a message from him. Ingrid, when is the next appointment?”

  Ingrid’s face is tomato red. I know she’s embarrassed for me. I would be, too, if I wasn’t so used to Dr. Winston’s crap. He’s all talk. “You have a descaling in another hour.”

  “Good. That’s enough time for me to lecture my other employee and still leave her room to get the office cleaned.”

  I sigh, but follow him as he heads into his office. He rarely uses it. It’s a place for him to store files and, when the mood hits him right, yell at me about how I should be doing something better.