Zero

by R. E. Carr

  “What do you want us to do?” Steve asked. “I’m not gonna hand over Georgia.”

  “We can’t just rely on luck. We need information about what is going on in the rest of vampire society. There are some vampires still in town, Jaeger pendejo,” Javier said. “Oh, perdón, Lung pendejo.”

  “You want me to spy?” Steve asked incredulously.

  “Well, many of the vampires in town are, how do you say . . . assholes.” Javier said sweetly. “You should fit right in with their crowd. Also, should it go badly, you can make them forget they ever saw you, comprende?”

  Paige took stock of everyone’s assignments. She cleared her throat. “And exactly what should I be doing?” Paige asked.

  “Well, you need to rest,” Kyle started to say.

  Paige growled. “Don’t you dare sideline me, Kyle. I’m pregnant, not dead. I helped you and Dr. Langer out before. At least let me do that,” she said. “Plus, I’ll be an extra set of claws if anyone goes after the bag. Hell, I can take notes for you guys at the very least.”

  “I did not get eternal life to do paperwork,” Gail said. “I’m sold.”

  “Well then, we have a plan - or at least, a fraction of one,” Paige said, looking around the bunker. “And that’s better than we had yesterday.”

  Paige waited until everyone had split off into their own little groups before she cornered Steve. She raised a brow, as he twitched every so often and scratched at his arm. “Great-Grandpa Steve?” she asked cautiously.

  “Sorry, he’s crawling around again,” Steve said, checking over his shoulder. “Georgia says I’m imagining it, but I can feel it, I swear.”

  “Um, I know that this little planning session kinda left out Morgan and what happened to him,” Paige started. She trailed off as Steve barely paid her any attention. Finally, she snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hey, Steve!”

  “Morgan . . . I got it,” he muttered. “You know I’ll find out whatever I can, but I’m not holding out too much hope. The bean counter is a survivor, but even if he fools Arthur for a while, the blood wears off.”

  “Yeah, the blood wears off,” Paige said looking pointedly at the red lines on Steve’s forearm. He sighed.

  “I get your point, and I’ll try my best. Hey, if anyone could find some obnoxious way to stay alive, it’s Morgan,” Steve said, giving her his best smile. “And, before you ask, I’ll tell you no matter what, kiddo, even if it’s bad.”

  “Thank you. I mean it,” Paige said before slinking into a corner. Kayleigh and Toy both stopped by to show things on their phones. Paige did her best to nod and smile, all the while sneaking a glance at the bag sitting by Nadia. “I need some air,” she said, rushing for the stairs.

  Paige rubbed her back after only a few steps. It took a while but she finally made it to the top. She paced around the back landing, cracking her neck, and redoing her mane of hair into a messy bun. Her stomach twisted in a knot, as she saw a flash of green in the shiny paint of Toy’s truck.

  “Now? Really?” she asked the familiar reflection in the wing mirror.

  “Miss me, A rún?” the phantom of Lorcan asked.

  “I’m mad,” Paige whispered. “I’ve lost it. Why are you here now of all times?”

  “Because you are alone. I would hate for everyone to think you are mad.”

  “It’s so nice that my subconscious hallucination of you is considerate, Lorcan. Of course, you’re rotting away in a carry-on while I’m talking to myself. Oh, did I mention that whatever hellspawn you deposited in me is playing with whatever hellspawn Morgan left in me? Talking to your reflection in my mind is probably the sanest thing I could do,” Paige sighed, as she tried to stretch her back.

  “You’re troubled—”

  “Troubled? I’m downright mental! I can’t do this. I can’t sleep, and half the time I eat, I just throw it up. I’m furious . . . all . . . the . . . time. I want to rip something apart, but my damn body isn’t behaving. Ugh!” she growled as she buried her face in her hands. “You’re in my subconscious, aren’t you? Say something helpful.”

  “You know me, A rún. When have I ever been helpful? Antagonistic . . . perhaps, and certainly annoying, but helpful . . . hmm . . .?”

  “I forgot who I’m hallucinating with,” Paige muttered. She paced again, kicking at the gravel between the tufts of grass. Her heart skipped a beat as a branch cracked. She whirled around to see glowing eyes in the undergrowth. Her claws snapped out, sending the poor raccoon scrambling into the rusted dumpster.

  “Paige DeMarco, terror of trash pandas,” she sighed, wandering back to her perch on the porch. She glanced at the wing mirror again. “I don’t know if it would be better or worse with you here, Lorcan.”

  “You’re scared, A rún. All things considered, it is probably a mark of sanity.”

  “Says the voice in my head,” Paige muttered. She heard another creak. This one from around the shack. She flattened against the rotting wood, as distinctly human footsteps echoed in the night. The scent of tobacco wafted over the decay. Paige eased around the corner of the porch to see Toy cupping her hand around a flickering lighter.

  “Jesus, Paige!” Toy said, nearly dropping her cigarette.

  “You . . . smoke now?” Paige asked. Toy gave her a guilty smile in return.

  “I quit years ago, but in light of everything . . . old habits die hard,” Toy confessed. “I guess we all have secrets, huh.”

  “Did you . . . hear me?” Paige asked weakly.

  Toy leaned in and whispered, “Werewolf hearing.”

  Paige blushed and made a beeline for the porch, muttering her excuse of being pregnant and needing to escape Big Tobacco. Toy waited downwind and finished smoking before daring to face Paige again. Paige gave her best concerned grimace to her friend.

  “So, what is stressing you out, Toy?” she asked.

  “Oh, I dunno, being left behind. You guys were gone, and when the rumors finally started flying, well, you all could have been bloodsucker chow for all I knew. I get that we are a pack and we all have our roles to play, but sometimes, I don’t really feel like I’m a part of it anymore. You didn’t need me, Paige—”

  “Toy, no!” Paige exclaimed. “No, it’s not that at all. You’re probably the most competent of all of us. If anyone could take care of the boys and rescue us, it was you. You managed to find this safe house.”

  “That Lorcan told me about before y’all left,” Toy sighed. “I just found a message—”

  “And you led us to safety. Believe me, I know we all feel better having you here,” Paige said. She started to give her a hug, but the aroma of tobacco and tar was simply too potent. She settled for making a little heart sign over her chest. Toy chuckled and rolled her eyes.

  “So, do you like talking to yourself, or what, Shorty Spice?”

  “You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I still sometimes see, well, Lorcan.”

  “You see him?” Toy asked, her dark eyes suddenly just a bit darker and more concerned. “Like, have you warned Big Red about this? It might be some weird pregnancy hormone thing.”

  “Except that I saw him before I was knocked up. It’s more of way too much of Lorcan’s blood. Every once in a while, usually when I need it least, I see his face in a mirror . . . in the water, or just in some glass, and we, you know, talk.”

  “You see him and you talk,” Toy said, a little more distant. “It’s weird - I saw something about that in all the mumbo jumbo that Freckles has been indexing.”

  “Really?” Paige asked, raising a brow.

  “Yeah, some hooey about how with vampire true love, they see the reflection of each other. Even bloodsuckers have fairy tales, I guess. Anyway, maybe it means that there is some great destiny for you two star-crossed lovers,” Toy sighed, clutching her chest. “Then again, this story was in the same manuscript where a bloodsucker married a dog, so consider the source.”

  “I thought all that crap was in Latin,” Paige muttered.


  “Eligere ad sui meliorationem efficere quidam ex nobis, Paige,” Toy rattled off. “Some of us choose to better ourselves . . . by getting really good with Google Translate. Anyway, we’ve got a long couple of days and a lotta work to do. You should get some sleep.”

  “What about you?”

  “Oh, I plan on sneaking one more cigarette, and then I’m going to try to find some cousin of Georgia and Morgan who’s both drunk vampire blood and is depressed, and kick the shit out of him or her so we can get rid of the Bag of Doom. Maybe then you’ll have someone to talk to other than a reflection, eh?” Toy said with a wink.

  “I’m not holding my breath,” Paige said glumly. “We have to find a one in a million . . . who would volunteer to be a vampire.”

  “Well, lucky for us there are over seven billion people in the world, so we got a few chances,” Toy said, winking again. “Hey, remember that whole true love and destiny thing. It’ll work for you, I can feel it, Shorty. Now look, I won’t go blabbering about your conversations, if you keep my bad habits on the down low too, OK?”

  “Might I suggest Altoids,” Paige said, giving Toy a salute. “Tobacco is pretty damn stinky.”

  “Night, Paige,” Toy said. “Now shoo, I don’t want to have the Surgeon General come after me for lighting up near you.”

  “Night, Toy.”

  Paige headed back for the stairs. She heard a few footsteps again and held her breath. For one moment, she saw a shadow shimmer out of the corner of her eye. She turned, but couldn’t see anything other than tree branches waving in the wind. A branch snapped, followed by Toy swearing under her breath and the click of a lighter.

  “Stop being so damned paranoid, Paige,” she chided herself before finally heading back down the stairs. “Not everything is a trap.”

  23

  “This is such a trap,” Georgia muttered as she found herself stepping onto the crowded streets of Nashville’s Broadway. “A tourist trap,” she added, watching a cluster of girls with cocktail dresses and cowboy boots walking by.

  “Are you sure this is where he asked to meet?” Steve asked, pulling off his shades. His suit and tie looked woefully out of place amongst the jeans and T-shirt crowd mixed with the masses of bachelorette parties. A big guy in a trucker hat sneered at the obvious, overdressed Yankee as he passed.

  “Why do you need me here again?” Georgia asked. Her shoulder throbbed and her ankles wobbled in heels.

  Steve smirked and looked her up and down. “Because I wanted to see you in a tiny dress,” he said. She glared at him. He sighed, “Oh yeah, and I’m supposed to be a big, bad noble with an assistant.”

  “I hope this Blaine guy’s assistant isn’t as much of an asshole in person as he was over text,” Georgia muttered. “I’m probably gonna be stuck with him while you get all buddy-buddy with your little bloodsucker friend.”

  “You’ve been hanging around the pack too much, Sweetheart. We really hate the term bloodsucker,” Steve said. They fought their way through more people on this busy Friday evening, until they finally found a new honkey-tonk called The Bootlegger. The line wrapped around the corner. Georgia tugged at the hem of her little red number after she noticed just how many eyes were ogling her thighs.

  Steve wrapped his arm around Georgia’s waist, prompting a few comments about the potential size of his bank account. At least some of the guys in the line were hipster enough to be in suits as well, so that Steve wasn’t completely alone anymore.

  “There should be a law against man buns,” Steve muttered as they went straight for the bouncer. “And none of these guys deserve a fedora.”

  “For once I agree with you,” Georgia said, approaching a guy three times her size. “Excuse me, but we’re here to see Blaine McCarthy. He said we’d be on the list.”

  The big guy eyed her fauxhawk and low neckline. He looked at his clipboard and asked, “Name?”

  “Georgianna and Stefano DeMarco,” she said, not quite soft enough to avoid a shit-eating grin from Steve. She flashed her fake ID. The bouncer still seemed more enchanted by her cleavage than really checking Kayleigh’s handiwork. He waved them in, eliciting a wave of groans from the queue.

  “This must be what the ninth circle of hell looks like,” Steve remarked as he took in the horror of the interior of the Bootlegger. Glaring neon mixed with kitsch memorabilia covered the walls – everything weathered just a bit too perfectly to actually be from age. A bright red mechanical bull filled up the center of the gaudy checkerboard dance floor.

  “Well the A/C is certainly set for it,” Georgia grumbled, rubbing her sore arm. Steve raised a brow.

  “But it’s cold,” he said, leading her past yet another swarm of girls in dresses and boots.

  “The ninth circle of hell is cold, Steve,” Georgia sighed. “It’s the frozen wasteland where Lucifer gnaws on Brutus, Cassius, and Judas while up to his ass in ice.”

  “Lovely,” Steve muttered. He then grinned and asked, “Now does this mean that hell has frozen over, and you have gotten used to the idea that we’re totally married, Mrs. DeMarco?”

  “Hell was already frozen over, therefore your argument is invalid,” Georgia retorted, scanning the room rather than looking at him. She locked eyes on a tall, pale gentleman with slicked back hair and a skinny tie. “I also see a walking anachronism who looks like he hasn’t seen the light of day in years, Steve.”

  Steve eyed the stranger. “Power suit, earring, those shoes—” he started to say.

  “. . . Somebody was bitten in the eighties,” Georgia finished for him. Steve grinned, showing off his fangs despite the crowd. Georgia swept in to block the view. As her face grew dangerously close to his, both their expressions turned to surprise. “Get your hand off my ass before I stake you with a toothpick, Old Man,” Georgia growled.

  “It slipped, Sweetheart. I swear!”

  Georgia rolled her eyes before turning to approach the pale guy. She didn’t swoon or feel any nausea as she approached, even as she saw teeny-tiny fang tips when the stranger opened his mouth to greet them with, “You must be the out-of-town guests.”

  “Why yes,” Georgia replied. “Mr. McCarthy?”

  “Call me Blaine. Love the hair, babe, so fierce!” The vampire eyed Georgia up and down, stopping his gaze right on her carotid artery. Steve took it as his cue to step forward and shake Blaine’s hand.

  “Stefano DeMarco von Jaeger,” he said. “I hear that you’re part of the family now.”

  “Blaine McCarthy . . . and yes, yes I am. Please come with me and we’ll get you something to drink. Would you prefer blonde or brunette?”

  “I’ve got all that I need for now,” Steve said, giving a sly grin and a nod toward Georgia. “Do you want to speak alone, or do you mind if I bring my assistant with me?”

  “Please bring her along. I like the view.”

  Georgia stifled her gag reflex and followed the pair of bloodsuckers to a particularly hideous booth under a neon beer sign. A bored-looking guy in thick black plastic glasses, a slouchy hat, and a polka dot bow tie didn’t even look up from his phone as the three slid into their seats.

  “How are we doing, Trevor?” Blaine asked. The hipster let out an overwhelming sigh.

  “Second place. Wilson was injured so we are losing so many points on our offense,” the hipster, presumably Trevor, replied. “Oh, and there are two more that have to be dumped in the cemetery tonight. Dicky had zero luck at the open call.”

  Georgia and Steve exchanged confused looks. Blaine leaned over the table and gave them a look that was equal parts knowing and smarmy. “The area vamps have an absolutely bloodthirsty fantasy football league. Oh, and we’ve been up to our eyeballs with the new marching orders.”

  “Marching orders?” Georgia asked with an innocent little eye flutter. Steve leaned back in the booth and gave a dismissive wave.

  “Oh, go ahead - it’s about time the cat was let out of the bag,” Steve said. “You tell her.”

  “It’s your m
other giving the orders,” Blaine said with a laugh. “Don’t you think you’d be better at explaining it to your pet?”

  Georgia leaned forward and gave her best puppy eyes to Blaine. Not that it mattered with the vampire’s gaze locked firmly on her cleavage. “Oh please, I have to hear Steve prattle all day and all night, and he never tells me anything important. You, on the other hand, seem a bit more . . . modern and open-minded.”

  “My dear, flattery will get you everywhere, but you are just a human,” Blaine said in a terribly dismissive tone. Steve gave an equally dismissive gesture. “But if your master agrees, who am I to deny you?”

  Georgia covered her gag reflex with her biggest smile. Blaine waited for a tray of drinks to be brought to the table. Trevor finally looked up and grabbed something lavender and smoky in a highball glass. Georgia chose a similar drink while the two vampires snagged what looked like Bloody Marys.

  “This whole place is ours,” Blaine explained. “We’ve found that all you have to do is bribe a bunch of Instagrammers, and you can charge an extra two dollars a drink - even if you just use rotgut and supermarket crap. It’s ridiculous, the amount of cash people will shell out “for the experience” . . . and the women? Well, they are plentiful, young, and stupid.”

  Georgia balled her hand into a fist but kept her face placid. The gesture unfortunately sent pain radiating from her shoulder. Blaine raised a brow.

  “Something wrong, babe?” he asked.

  Steve pulled Georgia next to him and slid his hand into her neckline just enough to show off the bandage. “She likes the rough stuff, what can I say?” Steve said before slowly running his hand up her neck. “Don’t you, Sweetheart?”

  Georgia just giggled, but Blaine looked suitably impressed by the bruising still healing around her collarbone. Steve continued with, “Well you know, if you don’t train them—”

  “—they think they own the place,” Blaine finished, giving a fist bump to Steve. “Well, all that is about to change, eh?”