by P. R. Mason
"I'll never forgive either of you." With that he turned and marched back across the field.
"He'll be fine," I said, trying to convince myself as well as Keagan. Liam would live to an old age and I had to be satisfied with that.
"I need you more than he does." Keagan's arms came around my midsection to embrace me from the back.
As his arms wound around me, I saw again his death in the park. The same scene as before played itself out in my head, complete with the old man clutching his chest and the woman's startled cry. But this time I realized something new: the woman was me.
I twisted in his arms as he leaned down to brush his mouth against mine with a kiss. An electric spark sizzled from my lips to my toes. I was out on a limb without a safety net. But that was finally okay. Life wasn't meant to be safe.
"I need you." Keagan nuzzled my neck.
"Yeah." With deliberation I made my tone teasing. "And don't you forget it."
"Oh I won't." He gave my neck a nip— something between a bite and a kiss. "And I won't let you forget I love you."
As emotion filled my heart and sensations coursed through my body, I choked out, "Love is all I can ask."
# # #
The Love Charm
The root doctor said it would work. The love charm. I never believed in magic, or voodoo, or whatever, but I was desperate.
“Don’t fret so, Sarah,” Rayanne said to me as she twisted the steering wheel to avoid a cavernous pothole in the dirt road.
Gripping the armrest of my seat with one hand and the passenger door with the other, I prayed we wouldn’t careen off into the adjacent swamp. There were gators in there and I had a fear of being digested.
The headlights of her 2001 Taurus had little effect in the moonless night. Twin beams lost in the inky blackness of the low country South Carolina backwoods we traveled to reach Mama Leti, Rayanne’s grandmother and powerful member of the Gullah community. I wasn’t Gullah, but Rayanne knew me and Max and she thought...
“How does she make this charm?” I asked. Okay. Maybe I should have asked sooner. “I warn you, I get faint at the sight of blood. Well, not faint so much as unconscious.”
“There won’t be a lot of blood,” she replied. “Mama Leti’ll just make a small cut on the tip of your ring finger.”
Great.
“She’ll mix the blood with a special powder then put it into something like a locket or a key ring.”
My blood sacrifice would be for Max. Lately, he seemed to be acting strangely, like he couldn’t wait to find a wife. How could I expect him to stay single forever? He’d broken up with the latest girl-toy— the twenty-two year old bimbette—a month ago.
Max wouldn’t wait until I mustered up the nerve to approach him and say something like: “I know we’ve been best friends since we were five years old, but I’m in love with you.”
Besides, if I said such a thing he’d probably laugh himself hoarse. No, an honest declaration would be craziness. Not like traveling at midnight to a shack in the middle of a swamp for a love charm. That was oh so sane.
Rayanne floored the break pedal and the car slid in the mud a few feet before coming to a halt. The shack was barely visible. Then, I saw a light from inside as the door opened.
I pulled on the car door handle, swung it wide, and jumped out.
“Let’s get this over,” I said walking down the dark path. Rayanne followed. No sound around us except the cacophony of insects. Give me the city noises any day. This quiet would drive me buggy.
A figure appeared in the door of the shack.
My, my. Rayanne’s grandma was tall and had the broad shoulders of a man in silhouette, I thought.
When we reached the cabin, the light from inside shown on the face of the figure. This wasn’t Mama Leti.
“Max. What are you doing here?”
Examining the ground at his feet, he held out a key ring, then glanced up at me with brown eyes I knew well. “This is for you,” he said.
# # #
Slightly Impaired
Since the accident, I wasn't quite right. Slightly impaired. Sometimes details dribbled out of my memory and I couldn't quite... Like, why was I standing at the cash register behind the counter of this old diner? Had I taken a job as a waitress?
Anything was possible.
Judging from the bills in my hand and the open cash drawer, I seemed to be making change. Was the cash in my hand for the till or the customer?
The place was almost empty. Just me, one customer at a booth, and the smell of stale fry grease. Where was the cook? In the back? Could I be the cook? Somehow I couldn't picture myself flipping burgers. Na, I must be the waitress.
The customer got up, his long trench coat sweeping around him as he moved. The guy winked at me before striding toward the back hall. He passed under the "restrooms" sign over the arch of the doorway and disappeared.
With his dark eyes and chin length black hair, he had been kind of cute, I thought. Cute in a pale, bloodshot-eye way.
Abruptly, my own thoughts irritated me. Forget cuteness. Think about what you're doing, I chastised myself. The cash register. Why are you at the cash register? Apparently, the cute customer wasn't looking for change so I thrust the money into the drawer and slammed it shut.
I glanced around. The inky night obscured the windows from the outside as if I was in a Formica and linoleum cocoon. The fluorescent light cast a harsh glare over the worn surfaces. They all needed a good scrubbing.
Well, if I was working here then I was the one to do the scrubbing. Glancing down at my clothes I wondered if what I wore was a uniform. Didn't seem very waitressy but then since the accident...Anyway, I might not remember what a uniform was supposed to look like.
I scratched my head and searched my sieve-like brain for where the cleaning supplies might be. Nothing came to mind. No memory. But under the counter seemed like a logical start. Sure enough. A rag and spray bottle of cleaner was tucked there on the first shelf. After removing them, I squirted three generous helpings of the yellow liquid onto the counter and began wiping.
I barely had a chance to enjoy the pleasantly chemical smell of the cleaner when the customer emerged from the back.
"I got the cook in the store room," he said.
Glancing up, I stifled a scream when I saw the lower half of his face covered with blood. He licked his lips and smiled. The white-hot light glinted off the tips of his fangs.
"What are you doing?" he asked, coming toward me.
Frozen in fear, I couldn't force out an answer.
The customer took the bottle and rags out of my hands and threw them down. Then, grabbing my arm, he pulled me out from behind the counter. As we rounded the end, I tripped over a body lying facedown. A small halo of blood framed the head...Now I remembered what a waitress uniform looked like 'cause the body was wearing one.
"Aghhhhhhhhhhhh," I screamed.
"Jesus!" the guy shouted. Stopping, he turned to look at me. "Don't yell in my ear like that. What's the matter with you?"
"Sorry," I said. "I almost fell."
"Oh yeah." He glanced down at the body. His gaze returned to mine and he smirked. "You shoulda seen her face when you moved on her. Priceless. She barely knew what was happening before you had your teeth in her neck."
"My teeth?"
Reaching up as I opened my mouth I explored the tips of the fang incisors with a tentative touch. Oh yeah. I wasn't a waitress. I was a vampire. So many little facts seemed to escape me lately.
"Enough chit chat," he said. "We just stopped in for a snack. We can't stay long. The Hunter is too close on our tails."
"Hunter?"
He shook his head. Stephan. That was the guy's name...maybe.
"How much of your brain did that wooden stake to the head take out, anyway?" Stephan eyed me with an arched brow.
"I'm okay," I said. "No problem. The Hunter. Got it."
"Did you clean out the register?" he asked.
"Umm."
He
gave a disgusted huff as he looked down at me. "If you weren't so damned beautiful—"
Beautiful? I couldn't remember my looks, but I was glad Stephan liked them.
He considered me for a moment before planting a hard, quick kiss on my lips. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Stephen pushed past me to return around to the back of the counter. A punch at the keys and the old register opened with a typical jangle.... at least I thought it was typical. He scooped out the cash and crammed it in his pocket before returning to my side.
"Come on," he said, tilting his head at me. "Let's get out of here."
Nodding, I followed him out into the night.
Vampire, I reminded myself. I must try to remember I'm a vampire. But since the accident...
# # #
POTIONATE LOVE
"There's only one way I'm going to get him," I whispered to my friend Gracella as the math teacher droned on. "A love potion."
The object of my adoration, Ronny Tallsman, sat in his first row, corner seat, blissfully unaware of my feelings or the plot. From my position in the second row, on the opposite side of the classroom, I had a perfect view of his profile. A faint wave curled his chin-length blond hair. His eyes—which I knew were a shade of vivid azure—darted between the board and his note pad as he scribbled with his pencil. He frowned and bit his full bottom lip before scrubbing at the paper to erase a line of writing. Then he shook his head, sending the curls swaying.
"You gotta take me to see your great aunt, the voodoo priestess," I continued to Gracella.
"Root doctor, Tina." She shot the correction under her breath from the seat beside mine without her head turning. If I didn't know better, I'd believe she was concentrating on what Mrs. Blake was writing on the chalkboard.
"Root doctor. Voodoo. Same thing."
"Not really," she said.
"But she can do a love potion, can't she?" I pleaded. "You told me she did one for your cousin and now your cousin's married."
"Yes but...Oh, I wish I'd never told you that."
"Constantina Dimas," the math teacher called on me.
My attention snapped forward.
"Here, Mrs. Blake." I thrust my hand in the air.
"Can you answer the equation?" She tapped the stick of chalk against the board three times while glaring at me. She obviously knew I hadn't been listening to a word she'd been saying.
I glanced at the foot-long problem and threw out the answer. "u/c = 9.352."
"Correct," Mrs. Blake said between grinding teeth, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Thank you, Constantina."
My being a math prodigy came in handy to cover for my lack of attention in class. My parents insisted that next year I enroll in Senior honors math. I had to take advantage of this year to coast. Only trouble was, my attitude irritated Mrs. Blake and she relentlessly tried to catch me out.
"There's something unethical about this," Gracella whispered.
"Ronny's not going out with anybody, so it's all right."
"Why do you want to go out with him?" My friend Nathan asked from the chair behind mine. "He's a stupid jock. He plays football."
"Yes but he also plays lacrosse," I hissed back.
"So what?" Nathan argued.
"That means he's cultured," I said.
Nathan gave a disgusted huff. "This is dumb. You can't make someone want you with a love potion. I thought you were going to be a scientist. This is totally a contradiction to anything scientific or logical."
"It fits perfectly." I spoke under my breath and over my shoulder. "I want Ronny to take me to the Spring Science Fair Fiesta Dance this Friday."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Nathan's breath was hot on my ear.
"That makes it science-related." I waved at my ear as if swatting a fly.
"Constantina Dimas," the teacher demanded, making me cringe. She was really trying to get me today.
Not hesitating, I answered,"10x minus 3."
The teacher stared at me silently for a moment and then nodded before turning back to the board for more scribbling. "Does everyone else see how Ms. Dimas reached her solution?"
"Besides," I continued to Nathan. "The Chinese part of me may be good at math and science, but the Greek part is superstitious."
"What Greek part?" Nathan asked. "You're adopted. You're all Chinese."
"Constantina Dimas," the teacher demanded. "Can you give us the answer to the next problem?"
"Y equals x squared over 3x minus 2," I said almost immediately.
Her mouth pursed so tightly I could count the twenty-three lines wringing her mouth. "Correct," she finally said.
I raised my hand again and the teacher fixed her gaze on me before nodding to give me permission to speak again. "Yes? What is it?"
"Mrs. Blake. I'm not calling myself Constantina anymore."
"What?" She gaped at me.
"Right." Nathan inserted himself into the conversation. "Now it's Istanbul, not Constantina."
His comments produced a few snickers quickly quelled by the furious glare of Mrs. Blake. "Do you both realize this is a serious class?"
"My point is serious, Mrs. Blake." I ignored an unrepentant Nathan chuckling behind me. "I want to be called Tina. Just Tina."
"Just Tina doesn't have the same ring as Istanbul," Nathan inserted to the whole class. "Besides, calling yourself Just seems like you're bragging."
This time the chuckles bounced loudly around the room until Mrs. Blake pounded the chalk to pulp on the board.
"Students. Come to order," she yelled, clapping. She wiped both hands against each other trying to get rid of the white dust. "As to the comedy team of Nathan Whitefield and Constantina Dimas, both of you report to the principal's office immediately."
Fantastic. I glanced at Gracella and grimaced. She shot me a sympathetic smile in return. Slipping from the seat I gathered up my textbook and other things to slink out of class in humiliation. Nathan, on the other hand, seemed to take a bow.
The hall was silent and empty of everything except the aroma of dirty gym clothes. The classroom door had barely closed behind Nathan when I scream-whispered at him, "How could you get me thrown out of class? We'll probably get detention."
"If you're serving detention, maybe you'll give up this stupid idea about going to a voodoo priestess."
"Root doctor."
"Same difference."
"Aghhhhhh." I whirled on one heel and marched down the hall.
Nathan followed on my heels, chuckling. "I'm sorry."
I didn't answer.
"What can I do to make it up to you?"
My silence left his question hanging.
"Okay," he said, as we rounded the corner to the administration offices. "No more jokes about Istanbul."
My disgusted harrumph should have warned him not to continue.
"But it's funny," he went on. "You know that song? It's Istanbul, not Constantinople."
Stopping mid-hall I turned on him giving him my best evil eye. "Nobody but a nerd like you would know that old song."
"I'll have you know there was an excellent cover version in 2006." When he continued he sang, "Been long time gone, Constantinople."
"It's not funny. My name is the bane of my existence," I said.
"Turkish delight, on moonlit night."
I had to smile at that despite myself. "Why do I hang out with you?"
"Because you're secretly in love with me and you want my hot bod?"
"Right," I said with sarcasm. Not that Nathan was ugly or anything. In fact, he was kind of cute. But in that brown shirt, with his shaggy hair dyed green, he could pass for a palm tree. The glasses did spoil the tree effect somewhat. Besides, Nathan was smart and funny. When he wasn't teasing me about my name, I usually considered him my best friend, although I wouldn't have admitted that tidbit to Nathan.
"I'm true to my love for Ronny," I added.
"Ronny's never even spoken to you."
"That's immaterial to the equation.
"
"What equation?"
"Me plus love potion plus Ronny equals date to the dance."
With Nathan's laughter ringing in my ears, I opened the office door and went inside.
The tire of Gracella's 1987 Buick LaSabre hit a rut in the dirt road, and my head hit the inside of the car roof.
"Ow," I yelled. "What the heck was that? A landmine?"
In the backseat Nathan shouted, "Doesn't this thing have any shocks?"
"Quit bitching. I can barely see. It's so dark. And we're only out here so late because you two had to serve detention." Gracella clutched the wheel. In the dim glowing light of the dashboard speedometer, her knuckles appeared white despite her cocoa color.
She was right about the darkness. With no street lamps and barely a sliver of a moon, the headlights of this old beater hardly made a dent in the inkiness of the night. The rotten egg smell told me this marshy area must have a lot of sulfur in the soil.
"We're only here because Miss Istanbul wants a love potion," Nathan remarked.
Gritting my teeth, I didn't answer him. If I stopped reacting to that nickname, maybe he'd drop it.
"Good point," Gracella exclaimed.
"Let's go back to Savannah," Nathan said.
"No." I braced against the dashboard with one hand and the door with the other to keep from bouncing wildly again. The seatbelt could only do so much. "We're almost there."
"Maybe," Gracella said. "It's been a while since I was out here."
"Great. Now we're lost," Nathan whined.
"We aren't lost," Gracella snapped. "At least I don't think so."
Nathan unbuckled himself and leaned up between the front seats.
"Are you crazy? You could fly through the windshield. Buckle yourself back in," I yelled.
"Come on," Nathan said. "If we head back now we can make it to Buddy Burgers before they close. I'm buying."
Gracella slammed on the brakes, and I threw out one arm like a railroad crossing gate to hold Nathan back.
"There it is." Gracella pointed down an offshoot from the road.
The house sitting alone in the midst of the woods was a small, square box. But even in the darkness, it seemed well kept. Whole conch shells marked the outline of the front yard.
