The Nebulizer Potion and the Electric Compass (Vampire DeAngeliuson Book 3)

by Kara Skye Smith

  “You're determined,” the Barista tells her.

  “Beats walking, back out in the cold, night air,” she says accepting the bag that he hands her.

  “I'll pour ya’ a real cup,” he says and then he investigates his newest patron a little further, “I take it you’re not out late save the occasional event?”

  “Good observation. Was it my lack of tail? Or the short, un-forked tongue?” Jessica responds with just a hint of her vampire status and good breeding for attitude.

  “Neither,” the Barista, who has now been put in his place, lights up a rogue-ish attitude of his own.

  “It's the demure appearance, the impeccable, good-girl manicure and the dainty way you're opening that cookie bag,” he says.

  Jessica tugs, “You mean, not opening it.“ She tugs again.

  The Barista steps two feet back from the bar.

  “Here, let me,“ he says. He whips out his tongue, again, razor sharp and shears the top inch and a half off the bag, a straight, clean cut.”

  “Wow! That must come in handy. Never need a pair of scissors, I’ll guess, huh?”

  “Yeah. Never,” he says with the tone of almost every receiver of an immortal ’gift’ which must be kept hidden in the world of sunlight and mortals above the underlands’ darkness and acceptance of such things unique.

  “So what are you?” he asks.

  “According to my Father or according to my husband?” Jessica asks him.

  “According to y-” the Barista is about to say the word ‘you’ when Jessica interrupts in a near wail.

  “Because according to my husband I'm a succubus!”

  The Barista covers his heart with his hand, “Ouch.”

  “And according to my father,” Jessica continues, “I'm one of the most prestigious vampires, who is not allowed to be a vampire at all - well almost all, anyway.”

  “I can tell by your voice you're really bothered by this,” the Barista leans closer to the bar.

  “I'm torn up, in knots! Pressure from both sides,” she openly admits.

  “Not to mention the internals,” the Barista laments, “That, I know about.”

  “See this ring?” Jessica shows him her wedding ring finger.

  “You bet, I've seen one like it before! Metal from the vortex,” the Barista starts to explain, “So as not to…“

  But Jessica finishes his sentence, “Disturb the immortal soul.”

  “Yes,” the Barista says.

  Jessica whines and nearly laughs all at the same time, “He thinks these two rubies mean our love for each other and our love for ourselves.”

  The Barista snorts a third time, loudly, “Quaint. Touching. What are they really for?”

  Jessica’s tone of voice grows serious and low, as though she has never said their meanings aloud, “Blood and the eye of the serpent fire. And the three v's? Entirely different than he spoke them to me.”

  “Something about validity, valiant knight in shining armor...?” the Barista speculates.

  Jessica half-smiles, “Something like that. But you know that's not what it is…”

  “O, of course not!” the Barista booms out loud, “O, let me guess! Vacuum-suc-tion vital fluids?!”

  Jessica laughs, “Venomous Viper!” adding a silly ‘v’ non-vampire ‘guess’ to the list.

  “Vein Vixen…” the Barista jokes.

  “O, that's good,” Jessica points at him, then taps her first two fingers together. “Actually, it's not that creative, really. Vampire…”

  They both burst out laughing, although it really is no joke at all.

  “Naturally. The obvious,” the Barista remarks.

  “Viciousness,” Jessica adds slowly, “and valor.” They both laugh.

  “See? It's awful!” she says.

  “Well, you're here now,“ the Barista tells her, “just come in, once a week, to un-load. It doesn’t seem so bad now, does it? Now that you’ve gotten your problems out and off your chest, right?”

  She stops laughing and wipes a tear that has trickled out, “It really doesn’t, but you’re right about unloading - my problems almost seem trivial now, practically ludicrous.”

  “It is holding it all in that’ll get to ‘ya,” the Barista says, “case in point,” he motions his head toward a grumbling leprechaun that approaches and sits down, taking up half the barstool just behind Jessica.

  “What'd'ya want, ya numen?” the Barista asks gruffly.

  “Drinks!!” the Leprechaun slobbers and his head bobs down atop the curved edge of the bar.

  “You can barely say the word! Get outta here, Lucretius! Go home!” the Barista yells at him.

  The Leprechaun grumbles all sorts of unsavory words as he slips off his bar stool and staggers for the door.

  “I didn't think leprechauns-” Jessica begins to say, watching the little fellow.

  The Barista interrupts, obviously emotional about the unsavory character.

  “O, what are ya gonna do? Where's he gonna go? He's got to have some place to go! Only one day a year he can show himself, his rightful self... I've got to put up with him the other 364 days, you know... But I just, I get so annoyed with him in here, night after night. I'm sorry. Look, I'm sorry. What do you want, bowl of soup? We've got a nice bowl of soup you can have. Clean soup, no demons, I promise,” he says.

  “Sure. That sounds good,” Jessica says thinking that maybe it’s the Barista’s turn to unload.

  “I can see this upsets you,“ she encourages the Barista to talk it out.

  “O, it does! It does,” the Barista exclaims ladling out a bowl of soup from an electric pot behind him along the back wall, near the register.

  “Here ya go, now,” he tells her setting down a set of utensils rolled tightly up into a paper napkin.

  Jessica picks out the spoon, unrolling the napkin, and dips it in the soup to take a bite, “Uahh!“ She sits up quickly, holding her neck from turning but peering her eyes to one side, then quickly back, as if trying not to be seen.

  “What? Hot?” the Barista asks, looking at the soup.

  Jessica shakes her head ‘no’, “Crucious Port! What is he doing in an underworld cafe?” she asks.

  “Some people just wander in,” the Barista says, a creepy sort of smile begins across his face.

  “No,” Jessica says firmly, “there's something about him.”

  “Crucious Port?!” the Barista asks loudly.

  “Shhh! He'll hear you,” Jessica snips pulling her shoulders in as though she could just disappear from his view.

  The Barista laughs, “You have to talk a lot louder than that for ol' guy to hear you,” he says.

  Jessica stammers, “He's... he's...?”

  “In here all the time? Yes he is. Uh-oh, here he comes.”

  Jessica turns her head, “Maybe he won't see me.”

  “O, look, he's waving,” the Barista says.

  “He isn't!” She turns to look.

  “Well, he wasn't, but look, he is now,” the Barista smiles.

  “O, hex you! He's coming over, here,” Jessica puts down her spoon in defeat and glares at the triumphantly-pleased-with-himself Barista.

  “Ma-dame,” Crucious drones, allowing the last syllable to hang in the air as if he might say more, but doesn’t, because that really is all the greeting he’s of a mind to say.

  “Crucious,” Jessica retorts in a curt manner.

  “What'll you have?” the Barista asks in a chipper tone inviting him to, “Pull up a seat.” Crucious grumbles and gives the evil eye to Jessica as he sits. She is taking another bite of soup and doesn't notice his ill manners, but she does start coughing as a carrot nearly goes down the wrong pipe.

  “You okay?”

  Crucious puts a hand out on the counter-top, a gnarled digit taps the bar as he grumbles out a slow and almost lascivious, “You o-kay?“ He nearly slobbers. Jessica loses her temper at the sight of the troll’s sputtering, nearly laughing out loud at her, causing her to lose her ap
petite. A pity, now that she finally has a meal in front of her.

  “O, witches, Crucious... what are you doing here?! Why aren't you at Father's?!”

  “I like to be here. It soothes me,” Crucious says.

  “Well, can't you sit somewhere else?”

  “Do you want to be alone... with him?“ Crucious looks at the barista and makes a hideous, almost snurggle.

  “No! I just want to be away from you!” Jessica is flustered at the sound of herself getting ruffled and losing her manners in front of this troll. The Barista’s eyes narrow.

  “Well, now, that's downright rude,” he says.

  “I didn't mean to,“ Jessica tries to explain, pulling herself together, “it's just, I don't agree with Father to employ him. I think he must have something on Father in order to be allowed to stay with us at all.. and now that I've moved out... I don't want to share an evening with him. Okay?”

  The Barista realizing his jovial mistake has not turned out to be jovial, attempts to sort things out, “I think I jumped the gun, dear Crucious Port, my man, inviting you over to join in. It seems the lady, here, would like to be alone, this evening.”

  Crucious mutters out, “She doesn't like me. But I know what she doesn't about why her Father sent me - to do her bidding. He thinks Drew has become a bit of a drain.”

  “Crucious, he said no such thing! See, this is why I don't like him,” Jessica says bluntly, looking right into the Barista’s eyes.

  “So he sent you? To find Jessica?” The Barista asks Crucious.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “He didn't,” Jessica says.

  Crucious almost laughs, “And I found her.”

  Jessica pushes the bowl of soup away and states, “I'm going home.”

  “Can I walk you?” Crucious asks.

  “Absolutely not!” Jessica gasps and nearly throws down the napkin she is holding in her lap.

  “In fact,” she adds, “make sure you don't follow me.”

  Outside, in the realm of ‘normal’, Jessica shrugs off her experience at the Underworld Café with a quick and pleasant thought about getting back home to Drew - despite the argument. Jessica, walking beneath lamplight, hurries along. Unseen behind her, Crucious Port follows her home. Hiding behind lampposts and sneaking like a spy (making an absolute character of himself), he follows. Luckily, only the moon saw him, or Jessica would have been downright humiliated. She does not like Crucious Port and for Jessica, this is a rare occurrence to have such an outburst of dislike nearly to the point of being - as the barista said it best - rude.

  Chapter Three

  Crucious and a ‘Calling’

  Sitting up in bed the next morning, Jessica sips her morning beverage and talks, quite apologetically, about her uncivil reactions toward Crucious Port to her husband, Drew.

  “I don't know why I can't hold my tongue around him... such a lowly creature, why do I succumb to it... why not just take the high road and be over it - pity him and then go on about my business? He's just such a creepy fellow, but I've been around creepy at other times and not been bothered in the slightest. This cafe I stumbled upon last night, the Curmudgeon Café-”

  “For sure! You have been around creepies,” Drew says emphatically which causes Jessica to raise an eyebrow while continuing to investigate the matter of her extreme dislike of Crucious Port.

  “I don't get angry at other trolls, undeads, or – although I don’t really know any other trolls. I think it might be the fact that Father had the audacity to hire a man whom both me and Mattressa find so repugnant, and she has to work with him, for coffin-wood sakes! I must remember to call and console her. I forget how she must be feeling about the arrangement. How could he do this to us? And yet, it's Crucious I get mad at. Not Father. I think I will go over there, today, and demand that Father let him go.”

  Drew zips up his sweatshirt in the mirror, “I'd like to go with you. I haven't seen your Father in a while.”

  Jessica smiles, “Good! Then it's done. We will go to Father’s together and get rid of this disagreeable Crucious, once and for all.” She pauses as a chill runs down her spine, “You know, I actually got the feeling he was following me home, last night. It has taken me this long to shake off the 'murkiness' he cast by just having sat next to me, last night, at the cafe.”

  “Where did you go again?” Drew asks, sitting down on the bed to put on his sneakers.

  Jessica thinks, “Hmm. It's not the Curmudgeon - it's some name like that. Just around the block, or several blocks - I don't know – but its presence provided a bright light in a very dark night. Never, never, never do I want to fight like that with you again.” She leans against her husband's shoulder.

  “Do you forgive me?” she asks, “Please will you forgive me?”

  Drew pats her on the head, “Never!”

  “O, you!” Suddenly, there is a knock at the front door.

  “Who could that be? At this hour, on a Sunday morning?” Jessica asks.

  “Maybe it's the paper delivery,”

  Drew rationalizes, “I think it's my week to pay the carrier.”

  “Well, that's quite inconvenient. Can't he leave an envelope or something?“ She snuggles closer, “I just don't want to let you go, or get going, myself, yet this morning.”

  Drew jumps up, “This'll only take a minute. And then, I’ll make breakfast,” He says, setting down the sneaker he has yet to put on and slips his feet, instead, back into his slippers.

  He is halfway down the stairs before Jessica can protest, and yelling toward the door, “Hold up there! Coming right down,“ he hurries down the remaining stairs to open the door.

  Jessica gets out of bed and pulls a warm sweater on over her night clothes.

  She hears Drew call out in a wavering voice, “J-ess?!…” Trudging down the stairs toward Drew, standing with the door wide open, a quizzical look on his brow, Jessica stops, still.

  “Cru-cious?...Port. What are you doing here?” Crucious is holding his hat in his hands and fidgeting with the sides of its brim.

  “Miss Jessica, I thought you should know…“

  Jessica interrupts, almost glaring at him, “Did you stay out here all night?!”

  Crucious nods his head in affirmation, “I thought you should know there is a summons for you.” Jessica’s eyes narrow with mistrust and almost utter disbelief.

  “Where?” she asks.

  “The In Between, the Underworld, I think. Here!“ Crucious hands Jessica an envelope, “I was supposed to give it to you last night.”

  “So that's why Father sent you?” Jessica demands.

  Crucious again nods his head in affirmation. Then he kind of snarl-laughs, “I wanted to see where you lived.”

  Jessica glares, “You followed me home, didn't you?! Ugh!“ Now she glares at Drew.

  Drew shrugs at her like ‘what did I do?’, but like the Barista he is almost amused at Jessica’s uncharacteristic rudeness and the discomforting affect the odd fellow has had upon the generally cool nature of his wife. He bursts toward the lurker, a near welcome to his home.

  “Well, come on in!” Drew says, “We'll fix you some breakfast.” Not really knowing where this kind of gesture is coming from, he almost laughs when his wife glares, her jaw now hanging half open - aghast at her husband‘s invitation of the troll into their home.

  Drew simply shrugs and adds, “Before you get going, back, home?”

  Crucious begins moving in through the doorway although Jessica does not step out of his way.

  “Right kind. Right kind,” he mutters.

  Drew gives his head a tilt, his eyes meeting Jessica’s and she moves out of the doorway with a sigh, turns toward the stairway, and resigns her protest of the troll her Father; and now her husband, both seem to adore.

  “You got me, Drew. I'll be up in my bedroom,” she says and hurries out of the way of any conversation between her and Crucious Port which could happen to start up, leaving Drew on his own with the guest.


  Drew, in an act of joviality, slaps old Crucious on the back, “So you stayed out there all night? You must be kind of cold.”

  Crucious glances up the stairs as Jessica's last few steps are taken and then she disappears.

  “Uh-huh,” he admits.

  Drew says, “Come on into the kitchen here, with me, Crucious. I got to tell you, I'm not too happy about you following my wife, home, late night, especially. However, you do work for her Father, still, if you do it again, I'll have to call the police. Understand me, here, Crucious?”

  Drew notices him looking at photos of the couple on a shelf, “You hear what I'm saying?”

  “Uh-huh,” Crucious says, again, “Didn't mean to offend you none. Sorry,“ he looks down, “It was late and I didn't want to knock and disrupt the whole household.” Drew pulls up a stool to the counter.

  “Have a seat. How do you like your eggs?

  “Poached,” he says, “toad in a hole, or eggs in a basket.” Drew reaches in the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of eggs.

  He looks at Crucious and says, “Okay. So, where was she last night?”

  “Not at liberty to say,” Crucious answers.

  Drew cracks an egg into a bowl, “Come on, now. She told me she was at a cafe.”

  “That's true,“ Crucious says, “At a cafe.”

  “What's this summons about? And why didn't you give it to her at the cafe?” Drew continues, another egg in his hand.

  “I forgot,” Crucious looks down again and fidgets with the edge of his hat, “Got kind of nervous and forgot. A summons is a call, an invitation, sort of. Someone wants to see her.”

  “Do you know who this someone is?” Drew asks.

  “No,” Crucious says, but looks to the side like he might be lying, or Drew thinks, asking for a bribe.

  Drew forgets and asks Crucious again, “How do you like your eggs? Scrambled okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” is all Crucious has to say about eggs.

  Upstairs, Jessica opens the envelope delivered to her by the most irritating messenger now downstairs brunching with her husband.

  “It's Father's handwriting,” Jessica thinks as reads the note.