by Karen Greco
I shoved her backwards, and her eyes flashed red. Her tongue lashed out towards me, green and forked. I barely dodged it.
The door to the street swung open with the arrival of a group of rowdy drunks singing what sounded like a dirty sea shanty. I caught Max by the scruff of his neck, and pushed him out the door. He went airborne and splat-landed face down on the sidewalk. I grabbed him by the middle and hauled him up while the drunks applauded. I shoved him head first into the back of a taxi.
"Wickenden Street. Babe's on the Sunnyside," I barked at the driver and shoved my hands into Max's front pockets looking for cash. Max was pretty out of it; he looked half asleep. But the green tint was starting to slip away from his complexion and he was beginning to look at lot less gaunt.
He grabbed my hand as I stumbled through his pockets. "What are you doing?" He was groggy. "Where the hell are we?"
"I need money for the cab," I explained calmly as I felt gravity shift a bit. Great. The driver was taking us up College Hill. He thought we were loaded and was trying to scam a larger fare. I slammed on the plastic partition. "You took the long way, asshole!"
He just grinned and shrugged.
"Why are we in a cab?" Max groaned as he rubbed his head. He probably felt hung over and slightly carsick. Having your body possessed will do that to you.
"How much do you remember?" I held my breath. If the possession affected his short-term memory, maybe I could get myself out of this.
"We were having dinner and then you...You!" His eyes almost bugged out his head.
So much for forgetting. I exhaled slowly. "Right, well, you blacked out, and now we are in a cab."
"What did you do to me?" he demanded.
I was losing my patience. "I saved your ass, that's what I did."
"Where are you taking me?" he asked anxiously.
"Got it!" I huffed and sat back, a wad of cash in my hand. "We are going to Babe’s."
He looked startled for a second and reached down to his ankle. He pulled out a small gun from a holster, checked it and held it in his lap.
"You brought a gun on a date?" Well this was insulting.
His eyes narrowed. "Apparently, I need a gun around you."
Technically I could see where he was coming from. I did have a knife planted in the same general location. I didn't want to tell him the gun would do him no good.
"Put that thing away," I grumbled as the taxi pulled up in front of Babe's. I dug through Max's wad of cash looking for just enough to cover the fare and a crappy tip. I hated being scammed like a tourist.
I glanced at the digital clock in the taxi's dashboard. It was 11:48PM. The door to Babe's swung open, and a burst of Irish folk music preceded a group of college kids on their way out. Looked like Babe was trying to close up early anyway.
Max still looked pissed but followed me into the bar. The gun was now in his pocket, but his hand was still on it. We walked in on Babe and Dr. O doing a weird jig behind the kegs, while Alfonso laughed. They looked like they were having a ball. It was time for us to be the party poopers. Their eyes went wide with disbelief when they saw us. We still weren't completely dried out.
Babe reached for a remote to shut the music off, and she turned on the overhead lights. "We're closed!" she yelled. The few remaining customers stared in shock.
"It's not even midnight!" Someone protested.
Babe shot him a look. He slammed down the rest of his beer, and nodded at her. "Goodnight, ma'am."
We sure could clear a room. Within minutes, the place emptied. Only Alfonso remained in his corner, sipping a whiskey.
Babe turned the lock on the door, drew the shades, and looked at me. "Are you okay?"
I shrugged.
"What about him?" she nodded at Max, who was sitting at a table in the corner with Dr. O.
"Not sure." I shrugged again. "He's been staying at the Biltmore."
She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms. "What happened?"
I shook my head. "Marcello.... Babe, I never saw anything like it. It was like he was controlling the ocean."
Babe shifted uncomfortably. I told her the story, about Marcello on the rocks, and the waves crashing into the restaurant, and about how I threw the waves back into him seemingly with just my mind. I went on to explain the bizarre stop at the Biltmore, and how Max had been possessed, and not for the first time. I shuddered, and she pulled out a bottle of the good tequila from under the bar and poured out two shots, one for each of us.
The tequila burned its way down my throat. The heat from the drink felt good. I was still cold from the mess of a night. And I seemed to shake less with the alcohol.
"Lochlan!" she called out over her shoulder. "It's time."
"Upstairs," she ordered.
I followed her, with Max and Dr. O behind us. Alfonso intercepted Max, offering to buy him a drink first. We trudged into the back room and up a small staircase to Babe's apartment above the bar.
Babe's apartment had the architectural flourishes typical of the historic buildings in the neighborhood. Built-ins and ornate woodwork, along with sloping large-planked wood floors made the place feel comfortably old.
The staircase from the bar led to the back door of the apartment, which opened to a hallway before the kitchen. A long, butcher-block counter ran along its length. It was filled with herbs under grow lights. The hallway led to her kitchen, with copper pots hanging from the rack overhead. Apart from a toaster oven and coffee maker, Babe's lit Veladoras was the only item on the kitchen counter. The kitchen led out to a combined dining and living room on one end, and two bedrooms on the other.
Babe motioned us into the living room, which was filled with rough-hewn wood furniture and other antiques, along with a big comfy couch piled high with Afghan blankets. I stood stiffly by the fireplace, aware that I was still pretty wet, as Dr. O kindled a fire.
Babe followed us in, carrying a clean tank top, black yoga pants and an enormous blue plaid flannel shirt. She handed them to me without a word, and I headed off to the bathroom to change.
The overhead light in the bathroom was unforgiving. I looked pale and tired. Dark circles surrounded my eyes and drips of mascara had dried along my cheeks. I pulled off my salt water-stiff clothes. The shirt was ruined, torn to shreds along the left shoulder and down the right side by my abdomen. I examined some fresh bruises, and then pulled on the soft cotton tank and yoga pants. The bruises would be gone by the morning, but the scar along my neck was still red and angry. I ran my finger on its edge and flinched. It still burned.
I rinsed my face, rubbing at the dried mascara. My hair hung lank and snared, like the start of dreadlocks. I considered rinsing it out in the sink, but the sound of Babe's teakettle whistling caught my attention. I could use a cup of something hot. I pulled on a pair of warm wool socks, gathered up my wet clothes and headed into the kitchen, where I placed my boots on the radiator to dry. I neatly folded my salvageable clothes and placed them on the table. I mourned my shirt and dropped it in the trash.
"Go in the living room," Babe said. She poured steaming water from the kettle into a teapot. "I'll be right there."
I skulked back to the living room. Frankie arrived while I was cleaning up. He and Dr. O were talking in hushed tones by the fireplace.
"Hey," I gave a little wave as I plopped, exhausted, onto the couch. I slipped an afghan over my shoulders. I wanted to rest my head on the arm of the couch, but knew I would fall asleep in an instant.
Frankie sat beside me and pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, looking intently at the scar. His fingers touched it gently. The scar ignited again, fire surging through it. I shuddered and instinctively pushed his hand away. Frankie nodded at Dr. O. He gave my hand a squeeze.
Babe walked into the room, balancing a tray filled with a teapot, mugs, and a plate piled high with hastily prepared sandwiches. She poured out the tea and passed the mugs around. My fingers curled around the hot mug as peppermint steam filled up my nose. I start
ed to relax.
Then I noticed that Babe, Dr. O and Frankie were all looking at me intently. If felt like an intervention.
"What?" I picked up a sandwich and took a bite. Ham and cheese.
"Nina, we need to talk," Babe said gently, motioning for Frankie to move so she could sit down next to me. Dr. O nodded encouragement at both of us, as Frankie moved back to the fireplace, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
I shrank back a little. "About?" This felt weird.
"About your mom...." She twisted her lips.
"And my dad?" I finished for her.
"No, about your mom." Babe held her breath for a minute. "And me..."
"Am I going to need the tequila for this?" I squinted. Frankie nodded and bolted into the kitchen. I heard his heavy boots clomp down the stairs to the bar.
"Nina, honey, I didn't want to say anything until I was sure," she began. She twisted her moonstone ring around on her finger. "Okay, there is no other way to do this than just tell you. Your mom...and me...well...we're witches, dear."
I blinked. "Witches. Like broomsticks? And pointy hats?"
Frankie returned and placed the tequila bottle and four shot glasses on the table. He poured out shots.
Babe sighed. "Now, Nina, that's like saying Frankie here is Dracula."
He raised his eyebrows and smiled just enough to show his fangs. Yeah, he could be a bit of a cliché.
"Seriously? And you didn't tell me because?" I crossed my arms and glared at them.
Babe sighed again and looked at Dr. O. "You can blame me for that, Nina."
Dr. O sat on the coffee table, across from Babe, making sure to keep some distance between us. "I wanted to see if you had the gene first,” Babe continued. “We weren't sure, with the vampire gene so pronounced in you, that the witch DNA would manifest. We really did not think you could carry both and survive."
"That's a shitload of power in that little body, Nina," Frankie offered enthusiastically as he raised his tequila shot. "Cheers!"
"And that's exactly why we didn't think it was possible," Dr. O chimed in, giving Frankie a dirty look.
"And now you think that it can...because?" I sipped the tequila. I felt a little nauseated and lightheaded by the news, so slamming down the shot was out of the question. Unfortunately.
Babe reached over to me and gently touched the scar on my neck. "Because of this. You heal rapidly, Nina, but the knife? The scar? You were struck by a witch's blade. That this scar isn’t healing tells me that the witch in you has manifested."
I shook my head. "I don't get it. Why would this knife affect me any different than any other? You can buy the damn thing at the botanica Downcity. They sold one to Max! And he's no witch. Or wizard. Or warlock. Or whatever."
I finished the shot of tequila. Frankie dutifully poured another.
"Believe it or not, on a molecular level, witch DNA is stronger than vampire’s," Dr. O said, putting his hands over Babe's. She was shaking. "That your body cannot heal the knife wound is the witch DNA rising to the surface."
Plus," Frankie jumped in, "when I told Dr. O about our sparring match, that pretty much sealed the deal. Nina, you were fighting me with your witch power, not your vampire power. How else could you pin me to a wall without touching me?"
"So those books in the attic...." I trailed off. My eyes felt as wide as saucers.
Babe nodded. "Those are our family's Grimoires.”
“Our family’s what?” I asked.
“Grimoires. It’s our books of magic, passed down through the generations. I hid them away after your mother died."
God, this was so weird. "So, Auntie, you are no longer...witchy?"
Babe laughed softly. "I am still a witch, Nina. I just practice simple, easy spells. I don't want to attract attention."
"Attention. Right." I pounded the second shot back, and motioned at Frankie to refill my glass.
"Remember how Christina Tucci broke out in that rash when she refused to pay her brother's bar tab?" Babe nodded knowingly. "That's a good hex. I have to remember to teach you that one."
My circuits were overloading. I dropped my head in my hands. I was a living vampire and a witch. My Aunt Babette was apparently a witch, able to cause embarrassing rashes and fell vampires. I was so far removed from normal.
Frankie perched next to me on the arm of the couch and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "For the record, I think it's cool. And I say that knowing full well you could probably kill me without a wooden stake."
"So there's a rainbow in all this?" I rolled my eyes.
Frankie grinned.
"Do I get a wand?" I asked sarcastically.
"No," Babe sighed. "You know vampires are stereotyped. Why would witches be any different? No wands, no pointy hats. Definitely no broomsticks. Please, I don't need you falling off the roof thinking my kitchen broom can zoom you down the block."
"OK," I sighed, "So I am a witch. Can we move on now?"
"Not quite," Dr. O replied. He looked deep in thought. "Marcello is here, and we think he's being assisted by witches. As a vampire, he should not have been able to touch that blade."
“Wait? Vampires can’t touch the blade?” I asked. “How can I touch my dad’s? How could he have touched it?”
“His was spelled so vampires could,” Babe explained.
“How?” I pushed.
“We don’t know.” Dr. O stared at Babe. “But a witch must have spelled Marcello’s blade.”
"So those two women he was with the other night were probably witches," I mused, my brain beginning to kick into gear.
Babe nodded. "He hit you with that blade for a reason. Now they know who you are, and after tonight, what you are capable of doing."
"Tonight?" Dr. O looked at Babe quizzically.
As Babe got Dr. O up to speed, I slipped into the kitchen. I dug out a can of cheap beer and a grabbed a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips off the counter.
"Are you okay?" Frankie followed me. He was leaning against the doorway, his lanky six-foot plus frame filling it.
I nodded and popped open the beer. I didn't really care that I'd wake up with one hell of a hangover tomorrow.
"Babe just rocked my world." I took a swig. "But yeah, I am okay. I think."
"So, what now?" He took the beer out of my hands and helped himself to a fast chug. "Babe trains you up a bit, maybe?"
I shrugged and held out my hand for the can. He handed it back just as a huge crash from the bar boomed up the staircase. I jumped at the noise and dropped the beer, which sprayed all over the floor.
"Shit," I groaned. "And I forgot about Max!"
I raced downstairs and skittered to a stop in front of Alfonso. He was standing over Max, who was out cold. One of Babe's mysterious cobalt bottles was on the bar next to him.
Babe's voice called down the stairs. "Al, what happened?"
"I gave him the stuff, just like you said!" Alfonso yelled back at her.
"Bring him up here!" she ordered.
Alfonso raised his eyebrows and looked at me.
He grinned and said, “Lumen.” The lights in the bar dimmed.
Hot damn. Al was a witch too. One word of Latin and he could turn off the lights.
Al headed up the stars, leaving Max crumpled on the sawdust-covered floor. I stared at him, my mouth hung open in absolute shock.
"Don't worry, Nina," Frankie's voice echoed down the staircase, pulling me out of my stupor. "I'll clean up your beer mess."
I took a breath, heaved Max's limp body over my shoulder and hauled him up the stairs. This was going to be one long-ass night.
CHAPTER 19
It took less than an hour to sort out a short-term plan, just enough time for Babe to cook up an antidote for whatever Alfonso had given Max to make him pass out. We all crowded in her kitchen since she insisted I watch her. I had to get comfortable working potions, she said. But it looked like she was boiling some freaky soup that smelled like old socks. I stared at her while she worke
d up the spell, but didn't absorb any of it.
Frankie and Alfonso took Max back to the Biltmore with one of Babe's cobalt bottles filled with the antidote and a few spooky-looking talismans. They were wards designed to keep the supernatural mob that convened at the hotel out of his room, she explained. Since Frankie and Al were supernatural themselves, they risked being attacked. And as I learned firsthand, pissed-off poltergeists were no joke. There was a reason why we called in the priests to deal with them.
Babe gave Frankie and Al very specific instructions on where to set up the talismans and what Al needed to chant. They were to tip the liquid in the bottle into Max’s mouth right after and then come back to my apartment building to meet up with us.
We needed to regroup there since the sun was going to be rising soon and Frankie needed to get underground before daylight. I assumed he could feed at one of the clubs near the hotel -- there were always willing donors around places like that, especially when Frankie laid on the vampire charm.
I was stuffed into the back of Babe's Fiat 500, a giant pot on my lap. Oh who are we kidding, it was a goddamned cauldron. It was a welcome-to-the-coven gift from my aunt.
The cauldron balanced on top of more giant Grimoires that Babe insisted on returning to my possession. I sulked the entire ride back to my apartment.
My crankiness melted a bit when the light from the garage illuminated the bright shining eyes of the stray dog I’d fed earlier. Her pink tongue hung out panting, as if she had just run a marathon. I unfolded myself from the back seat, stuffed the pot along with the oversized books into Dr. O's arms, and walked out of the garage and knelt by the scraggy ball of fur. She stuffed her head under my chin and nuzzled into my neck.
"Hey Dog," I said sweetly. In absence of a proper name, Dog would have to do. I extracted her head and scratched behind her ears. She felt wet. "Rough night for you too, huh?"
She licked my hand.
"Well, come on." I stood and walked back to the open door. This time, there was no hesitation as she trotted right next to me into the building. I closed the garage door behind us.
Babe gave me a funny look as we passed her and headed down the hallway and into my apartment. She and Dr. O trailed behind us.
