Three Little Words

by Tina Glasneck

  I couldn’t speak. Could this Drac be the same?

  Chapter 7

  Leslie

  Be careful what you wish for.

  I clasped my hands together only to unclasp them, as I waited for him to show up. It was the nagging thought that tickled the back of my mind as I sat in front of the birthday cake, with enough candles on it to warrant a visit from the NYFD. Surely, my counterfeit smile hid nothing. A sense of expectation that shouldn’t have been there spiced the air.

  In my apartment, surrounded by my friends—both human and supernatural— and even Alistair, I tried to forget the cares of the supernatural. Killian was playing DJ for the night, and somehow, he was now spinning heavy metal covers.

  Two youngsters—okay, teenagers from their appearance, at least, moved through the room serving sparkling water, aged cheese, and crisp crackers with grapes.

  I could tell that most of those here must have been from the supernatural world. They had no idea how real people ate. I beckoned the young girl over. Her mixed-matched eyes were stunning. One eye appeared like the sun, golden even, while the other shimmered green. “Yes, my lady?” She leaned forward.

  “No, I’m not a lady, call me Leslie. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Delphine, but because of my eyes, I’ve adjusted to the nickname of Delphi.”

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “I prefer to embrace challenges and take away the power of words. You see, my professor, there”—she pointed at Drac—“he teaches about how words have meaning, and, often we misuse them or give them power with our emotions. When he said that, I understood so much more. I must be careful of what I let loose.”

  She spoke as though she was truly experiencing youth and what it meant to grow up. Of course, until she got her adult brain at twenty-five, heck for some, even later, it would take her time to figure out who she was and what it meant to be Delphine. I was still trying to figure that out, too, and I’d passed the twenty-fifth birthday mark.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Delphine. Can you do me a favor and head to Giardini’s Pizzeria across the street and pick up the Leslie Special?”

  She hid a smile behind her free hand. “Yes, I noticed the hodgepodge offerings, but thought your taste was simply eclectic, and with humans here, well, maybe you’d found a way to not thirst for blood.”

  “Oh, you know what I am?”

  She snickered and shook her head. “No, no, I don’t. But I know you’re Leslie, the Order’s Lord’s betrothed.” I glanced down, and saw Saga at Delphine’s feet, standing at attention. It seemed she liked Delphine, too.

  I picked up the black cat and gave her a calming pat. She schmoozed, jumped off of me, and followed in the direction of Delphine. “And how do you find living at the compound?” I asked.

  She reached into her pocket and retrieved a treat, passing it to Saga. The cat quickly devoured it. Delphine took a seat next to me and started threading her fingers through her pinkish dyed hair. She chewed on her bottom lip as if thinking of what exactly to say.

  “There’s no wrong answer,” I assured her. “I’m new here and trying to find my footing as well.”

  Delphine nodded. “Then good, as things here haven’t been easy. My twin, Dolph, was at the party with me, also serving.”

  I remembered the young man. Unlike Delphine, Dolph’s hair was a fade, his dark curls tamed with some sort of balm from what I remembered. He had a thin mustache and a barely-there beard.

  “And he isn’t adjusting, either?”

  “He’s adjusting, but I think he’s run into the wrong crowd out at Beau’s club where he works.”

  “Whoa! Um, how old are you?”

  “We get that all the time, but I’m twenty-five. That’s the thing about supernaturals. You can never tell our true age.”

  It would have been rude to ask if she meant in human or dog years.

  “What do you mean about the club?”

  “His best friend Brock went missing a couple of days ago, and Beau, the one in charge of us, hasn’t taken the time to find out where he went. Brock was a good kid, but this was his first time in the city, after settling here from out West. He thought he could handle everything. The last thing I overheard was he’d met some new—excuse my language—breeding bitches. I don’t know if they were human or supernatural. But he went out, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “And Dolph’s taken it on himself to find out where Brock might have disappeared?”

  She nodded. I fear that until Killian and the administration takes this seriously, that Dolph’s going to take things in his own hands, and he isn’t known for making the best decisions.” She turned over her wrist and checked her watch.” Sorry, I have to get ready for work. I’ll catch you later, and yeah, you should leave your room. I could introduce you to everyone.”

  It was one of the nicest gestures that I’d had since my arrival.

  With that, she turned and left.

  Gran, although still in ghostly form, eased to my side. “Seems like Saga has a new friend, and maybe you, too.” At least that was how she started the conversation before she took a deep calming breath and grimaced. “Leslie, what in tarnation is the music he’s playing? I think he’s summoning something. Why couldn’t you play some jazz?”

  Of course, jazz had been all the rage back in the 1920s when Gran was a flapper girl, before her untimely death, and subsequent haunting of the family apartment.

  “I kind of like it,” I said with a smile. The role of the hostess was to stay of the appropriate temperament, and not worry about if the right music was playing. The guests seemed to be having enough fun to keep almost everything else at bay.

  It felt almost like I was standing at the edge of the world, too afraid to move forward, unable to return to what life used to be, even if this was a quarter-life crisis—a time when I would need to mix alcohol.

  Once upon a time, I was just a simple romance author, and now, magic was real, monsters lurked in the shadows, and I still had no idea what I was doing. But Alistair, my handsome dragon sire, hadn’t provided me with any direction as to what I should do, or what I might become.

  “There is something epic about you,” Alistair whispered into my ear. He stood to my left as if overlooking the room, and since he stood taller than anyone else present, I was assured of my safety.

  “How did I end up here, Gran?” With all the music, surely, she was the only one to hear me.

  “Our bloodline has always carried something magical with it, and although it skipped your father, you have always indeed been something special.”

  But I wanted more than special or exemplary. Maybe I knew the nuances of that word too much.

  I wanted fate to toss me a bone. I wanted to be more than what potential showed me. But who was I? Before receiving Alistair’s blood, I’d dabbled with the supernatural, always having a connection to Gran. Yet, in this new phase, I couldn’t control anything that I did or reproduce it on command. It was as if in the middle of any battle, I just said, “Shit if I know,” and let some magnanimous force and a whole lot of luck make it all right.

  My life had been in someone else’s hands for too long, doing what they wished, and my own desires were pushed to the side.

  But, boy, was I tired of being unprepared. What good was magic if the only thing I could do was, in an emergency, bend it to try and protect myself? I didn’t have a lot of innate talent, besides building narratives in my head, if that counted. The magic I’d been able to use, I’d not produced, really, but absorbed and reused. There was a difference between causality and effect. And it came with great risk, now, of my losing my humanity.

  Yeah, I’d love to say that I was a badass savant who picked up a sword one day and became the most badass woman history had ever seen.

  That’s not how it worked. I still needed to learn. That small mustard seed size of talent might give me a leg up, but I needed to hustle too, to survive, and to thrive.

  The flames of
the candles flickered like they, too, waited for my last wish. “Fuck it all,” I whispered lowly, and closing my eyes, I saw what appeared like a golden chest.

  “Ground yourself, dear Leslie.” I heard a female voice calling me.

  The apartment door swished open and in walked the man from my vision, and our eyes met. He was tall, dashing, and his aura glowed purple.

  As beckoned to do, I pushed my energy down with everything in my being, all the energy I could muster, and I expelled one lone breath.

  The crowd erupted into a rousing applause, but I also heard a sound akin to fingernails on a chalkboard, faint at first, then growing ever louder.

  Gran flickered between immaterial and material. Finally, she grabbed my wrist, her eyes super wide. “What did you do, Leslie?”

  “Just a simple wish, Gran.”

  “No, I fear you’ve called something evil forth. Girl, haven’t you summoned enough evil?”

  A deafening gust of wind whipped into the room like someone had opened a portal, genie’s bottle, heck, for all I knew it was a storm in a bottle unleashed.

  The laughter turned to screams as a piercing, maniacal cry moved into the space. “Summoned by thee, summoned three, destruction bringeth we.” Three apparitions whipped into the apartment. Their ragged black capes fluttered behind them, and with gnarled claws bearing silver blades on their fingertips, they moved outward and attacked. Some they held in a beam of light, as if sucking the life from them, while their victims remained standing, paralyzed. I watched one Rudy Rupert change—his face turned from healthy, blushing red, to white, to now gray. His cheeks slowly sank in.

  The room moved in slow motion. With all the power present, our will to survive should have sent us into overload. Instead, I turned and saw Alistair push forward ultra-slowly, knocking the old table over that took forever to crash onto the antique carpet.

  But they must have only been the appetizer to destruction. Then entered what must have been a man dressed up like a white rabbit. His costume was stained with dirt as if he’d crawled out of a grave. The stench of decomposition mixed with old blood. His neck hung at an odd angle. His abdomen exploded, and a blood-soaked goblin stepped out. The rabbit crashed to the floor, unmoving.

  Covered in glopping goop, this goblin’s body was as slick as a dolphin’s. Every muscle and connecting tissue was visible, like a human body had been turned inside out. Hairless, his face was pulled tightly, his eyes wide apart, his teeth pointy and sharp. Just like the wraiths, his long fingers resembled talons with blades as nails.

  “I’ve come to grant you a new life, just as you wished,” he croaked.

  “I didn’t summon you.”

  “Are you afraid?” he reached out a talon. “I can show you the life you were always meant to have. Come join me, Leslie.”

  I willed magic to appear, a ball of something to throw to protect those I loved. I turned to see Claudine cowering in the corner, Gran slowly shifting to her pirate form, Alistair still trying to move, and Killian even in the middle of a wolf transformation.

  “Does your magic not work?” He clicked two of his fingernails together, and the blades sparked until his hand glowed orange.

  “Let me fix that!” He impaled me with his burning hand. I threw my head back, pain consuming me as though the fire peeled off one layer of skin at a time. He lifted me high, and I looked him in the unflinching eye.

  “And you are the one to save us? How, when you can’t save yourself?”

  I raised my hands, and they glowed white.

  “Yes, we shall break you, Leslie.”

  He then slammed me down.

  I opened my mouth, and a roar erupted. My body convulsed in pain. Stretching out, I wrapped my hands around his wrist and watched it burn. Absorbing the power around me, every fiber of my being lit up until all that could erupt was the pain, the hurt, and a light I couldn’t control.

  The building shook, the windows cracked.

  “Leslie,” I heard Alistair yell my name, “No.”

  But it was too late. I’d said those three little words and fucked us all.

  Chapter 8

  Alistair

  Tonight should have been just a simple affair of celebrating Leslie’s human birthday, a ritual she’d not wished to depart from, and so Alistair and others from the Order had all gathered in her tiny apartment, instead of one of the Order’s more secure spaces.

  He stood in the corner overlooking the room, waiting for the earbud in his ear to alert him that all was clear. Both Killian and Rose secured the perimeter outside, and he did all he could to ensure that things inside went off without a hitch. Sure, he was the top of the Order and should leave all to security’s ever-seeing-eye for safety. But nothing could be perfect, and still, he couldn’t stop his fingers feeling numb, his weight shifting from one foot to the next.

  Their worlds were absolutely different and how they dealt with them as well. What was he going to do about Leslie? Although, she didn’t understand their hierarchy, the rules and regulations of their world, neither the ways in customs and traditions in operating as a supernatural being nor how his being officially in town required certain courtesies.

  But, he’d culled the list, summoning only a handful to appear. Leslie had insisted on celebrating at her apartment, and the Order ensured its security.

  The room was light and airy. On a far wall hung a net comprised of white Christmas lights that twinkled, and Claudine, Leslie’s sister, meandered through the handful of people offering them nondescript red or white wine. A cheese and antipasti platter rested on the living room table, the scent of vinegar and brine faint in the air. It was all cheap, and not the decadence those in attendance would have been part of—their normal fare. The more the words sifted through his mind, the more his stomach recoiled, his jaw clenched, and anger rested just under the surface.

  The two students in their academy uniform—crisp white blouses with the dragon embroidered logo and black pants—meandered through the small crowd, following Leslie’s lead.

  Outside, he had a couple of Charming’s wolves positioned, while Charming himself sat chatting up his vampire date. He’d not caught her name last time as she’d been in a delicate position in Charming’s sex club.

  “I’ve checked the perimeter, and all is clear,” Rose stated as she entered the gathering, leading Zola into the room and moving far away from him.

  Drinking deeply of the wine, it tasted both sweet and savory. “Hmm, a tomato dessert wine. Not the usual take of things, Rose.”

  “I don’t drink on the job so I wouldn’t know.”

  Alistair, unbothered by her gripe, emptied his goblet, and placed it on the wooden table near him.

  Zola, he’d expected, as the Order had not only wolf-shifters in its membership, but also those who practiced magic—including traditional healers, witches, mages, and sorceresses. Some could conjure, enchant, but like all occultists, they walked between worlds to protect us from the havoc the chaos could bring to this side. Zola’s hair, died a myriad of colors, was done up in her traditional French braid Mohawk, and she carried her coven’s blessed Great staff.

  “It is so nice that you could join us tonight, Zola,” Alistair said and stuck out his hand to take her own, but instead, she bowed.

  “It is I who am honored to be privy to this private matter and thank you for the gift of friendship, as well as this blessing. My coven is always happy to receive your welcome. When you suggested meeting here instead of the secure chambers at Charming’s building, I was at first taken aback, but I am delighted to be included in the festivities. The entire realm is talking about the one who has stolen his lordship’s heart, as well as if she will lead to your downfall.” At the mention of Leslie, Alistair turned and caught Leslie fluttering through the room, checking on those she didn’t even know.

  His vision flickered. What blessing? He thought to ask before the question completely left him.

  He eyed the empty wine goblet and again spied the
girls pouring it. “Compos mentis,” he panted. Magic paralyzed him, but his mind was still operating rationally.

  He inhaled deeply, tasting the bitterness of dark magic just on the periphery. The sounds suddenly muffled.

  “Are you okay?” Drac saddled up to him. “You seem almost inebriated.”

  Alistair couldn’t clear his mind enough to command his mouth to speak. Could there be magic approaching?

  The apartment door was suddenly thrown open, and in whipped three wraiths on the attack.

  Alistair could only watch as Leslie floated in the air like an unknown force lifted her, a poltergeist even until he spoke the incantation revealing tokoloshe, a goblin-like creature.

  He watched Leslie’s skin crack; her hands glowed white. Danger! His head rang with the splitting pain.

  If he morphed completely, he’d destroy the apartment, and injure almost everyone in it.

  “Leslie,” he screamed, and fear must have been etched on his face as he watched Drac, at first next to him, reappear suddenly right in front of Leslie. Drac and Leslie stared at each other, as if speaking silently, and Alistair watched what he’d once considered to be unthinkable. Drac folded Leslie into his embrace, leaned her head to the side, and bit her. They both glowed red.

  Alistair shot out his arm as it extended into a dragon’s wing to protect the fragile humans and others in the room. All the while, he saw the glow of Rose’s orange force field rising, as well, and Zola’s Great staff illuminating. Her body suspended in midfall as her Great staff broke in three large pieces, and a smaller slice fell to the floor to disappear under one of the chairs.

  The larger three pieces twirled.

  The room rattled and shook until all the energy inside Leslie burned out of her hands, with her loud apocalyptic roar.

  Her energy reverberated within his bones.

  “What have I done?”

  Chapter 9