by Gary Jonas
“Beyond mankind?” I asked.
“Let me handle this,” Amanda said.
“She’s all yours,” I said.
Amanda touched Chantelle’s shoulders. “Chantelle, I know this is hard, but you’ve already taken the first major step. You got away from him.”
“For now. He’ll find me, and he’ll finish what he started.”
“And what exactly does that mean?” Amanda asked.
Chantelle reached up and yanked the lace collar from her neck. She tilted her head to reveal two puncture wounds in her throat.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
Amanda held up a hand to tell me to be quiet.
“Chantelle,” Amanda said. “Are you saying Victor Pavlenco is a vampire?”
“Yes. And he wants to turn me. He’s taken the first step. He drank from me, made me drink from him, but I guess I didn’t drink enough. I pulled away and ran. He’s going to come for me. He’s going to make me drink his blood, and the change will be complete. I don’t want to be undead. I don’t want to kill anyone. I want to live, but he changed me, and now I’m caught between life and death and there’s no way back to what I was. Don’t you see that? If I can stay away from him for two nights, I’ll die and stay dead. That’s all I want now.”
“Two nights?”
Chantelle nodded. “He started the change last night. I got away, or maybe he let me get away. I don’t know.” “Does tonight count as the first night or the second?” I asked.
“First,” Amanda said.
“I tried to kill myself,” Chantelle said. “I shot myself in the head. It healed. I cut my throat. It healed. I sliced my wrists lengthwise. They healed too. I threw myself in front of a bus. Same result. Finally, I went to Tally’s and called you.”
“So why do you still have a black eye?” I asked.
“Because that happened before the change.”
“So that’s permanent?”
She shook her head. “It will heal if I become a full vampire.”
“I’m not buying it,” I said.
“Shoot me,” Chantelle said.
“I don’t kill the people I’ve sworn to protect,” I said.
“Then give me that gun and let me shoot myself.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
She turned, looked at the glass case and I realized what she was going to do a heartbeat before she took action. I was too far away to stop her.
She threw herself headfirst through the glass case then drove her neck down onto the broken glass. Shards littered the floor, but very little blood leaked from her injury.
Amanda and I reached her at the same instant. We pulled her up and out of the case.
As we turned her over, I saw the gash on her neck mend itself. The flesh sealed, leaving a pink mark which faded away to normal skin a moment later. A bit of blood remained, but when I wiped it away with my thumb, it was clear she’d healed completely.
I knew she wasn’t a Sekutar warrior like me, so I had no explanation for how it happened.
“Magic?” I asked.
Amanda shook her head. “Supernatural. I think she’s telling the truth.”
When Chantelle spoke, her first words came out choked, but by the time she finished her sentence, her voice was normal again. “I told you, I’m becoming a vampire.”
CHAPTER THREE
“There are really vampires?” I asked Amanda when we got a moment alone.
“I’ve never encountered one,” Amanda said. “And I’ve been a practicing witch since I was thirteen. The books I’ve studied made it seem like vampires went extinct around the year 1900, but there have always been rumors. What was she saying about men you fought?”
“Three losers came out of shadows to try and take her when we left Tally’s.”
“I thought you said there were no problems.”
“There weren’t.”
“But three men attacked.”
“And they were no problem,” I said. Amanda and I had been friends for nearly two years. I was a little surprised that she thought three guys would qualify as worth mentioning.
She shook her head. “You were attacked. You should have told me.”
“Let’s be clear here. They didn’t really attack me. They tried to take Chantelle, and I simply intervened and calmly suggested they seek other avenues of entertainment.”
“So you killed them.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I think they were already dead. One of them got away, though. Escaped into a shadow.”
“Hmm. You just left the other bodies?”
“They’re at Tally’s. I’m sure they found a use for them.”
“Point taken,” Amanda said.
Chantelle returned from the bathroom. “I think my dress is ruined.”
“Should have thought of that before you destroyed my counter,” I said.
“Sorry.”
“You’ll be really sorry when you get the bill.”
“I’ll pay for it,” Amanda said.
I didn’t argue.
Chantelle sat at my desk and leaned back in the chair. “So am I a prisoner here?” she asked.
“You’re under our protection,” Amanda said.
“So that’s a yes?”
“You’re not a prisoner,” Amanda said.
“So I can leave?” Chantelle asked.
“We’d rather you didn’t,” Amanda said.
“Speak for yourself,” I said.
Amanda punched me in the arm. Yes, I’ve killed people for less, but Amanda’s my friend, and I don’t feel pain, so I let it slide.
“I’m paying you to protect her,” Amanda said.
“I thought I was just picking her up.”
“Then three men attacked.”
“Not much of an attack.”
“Regardless, I’d feel better if you were on the job.”
“No discounts,” I said.
“Whatever. Chantelle, can you tell me more about Victor?”
“It’s better for you if I don’t,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because the less you know about him, the more likely he’ll let you live.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve learned a lot in the past few years.”
Chantelle nodded toward me. “What about her?”
“She’s a Sekutar warrior.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Chantelle said.
“Magically engineered assassin,” Amanda said. “She can take care of herself and us. You don’t need to be afraid when she’s near.”
“I’m not afraid,” Chantelle said. “I’m resigned to my fate.”
“Are we taking her to your place?” I asked.
Amanda hesitated. “Can’t she stay here? If men do show up, she’ll be safer with you.”
I had an apartment above the dojo, but it was a one-bedroom. “She’ll have to sleep on the sofa.”
Chantelle looked at me. “I don’t sleep,” she said.
Great, I thought, so she could sit on the sofa all night and practice brooding.
“And there you go,” Amanda said forcing a smile. “You don’t even have to get any sheets out.”
I pulled Amanda close. “Why can’t she stay at your place?” I whispered. “You can set wards.”
“My mother is coming over tonight.” She glanced at her watch and made a face. “In fact, I have to get going so she doesn’t get to my house before I do.”
Her mother was bat-shit crazy. Insanity and witchcraft really don’t go well together. “But Chantelle is your sister.”
“From my father’s first marriage. My mom and Chantelle hate each other. It wouldn’t be pretty.”
“Fine. Are you going to set some wards here before you leave?” I asked. “Keep her hidden?”
“You hate magic.”
“You know what I hate even more than that? Men popping out of shadows at will.”
“Some nights I’d pay to have men pop out of
shadows,” Amanda said.
“I thought you were dating that Kent guy.”
She shook her head. “Too many Mommy issues. I’ll set those wards and get out of your hair.”
“And you’ll be back tomorrow morning?”
“Mother will want to have breakfast, so it will probably be noon.”
“I have an eleven o’clock class.”
“I’ll try,” Amanda said, “but I make no promises.”
She moved through the dojo and took the stairs up to my place. Chantelle and I followed her. The door to my apartment wasn’t locked, so Amanda entered without hesitation. She moved to the balcony, and waved her hands around. I couldn’t see any light dancing along the rails, but that was normal. Amanda kept her magic on the down-low. Most mundanes had no clue real magic surrounded them, and when they did notice, they usually forgot in no time, burying the knowledge under more normal memories.
Amanda set wards at the windows, and on the stairwell.
“That ought to be good,” she said. She turned to Chantelle. “Kelly will take care of you tonight.”
“I’ll try not to be a bother,” Chantelle said.
“Awesome.” Amanda caught my attention with a look. “Walk me to my car?”
“Sure,” I said, “I need to add a dent to your collection anyway.”
“Funny.”
“Not kidding.” I touched Chantelle’s arm. “Don’t break anything while I’m gone. If anyone shows up, just scream. I’ll be here in a flash.”
“If they show up while you’re gone, they’ll take me with them before I can scream.”
“They won’t be able to find you that easily,” Amanda said. “I set wards. You’re safe.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Chantelle said. She sat on the sofa. “Do you have cable?”
“Of course. Remote is by the TV.”
I walked down with Amanda. She didn’t say anything until we stepped outside. “She’s a little ray of sunshine, isn’t she?”
I stepped up to her car and punched the door hard enough to leave a dent.
“Hey!”
“Just making good on my promise.”
“That was uncalled for.”
“One car, one spot.”
She rolled her eyes. “But it was supposed to start next time.”
“I changed my mind.”
Amanda ran a hand over her car door. “One of these days I’m going to repair Cecil.”
She named her car Cecil. I don’t know why, and I never bothered to ask.
“So what’s the story with Chantelle? Is she mundane?”
“Yes. My mother is a natural witch like me, but Chantelle’s mom was normal. So was my dad. I think Chantelle envied my magic, so she’s been looking for ways to get some kind of power whether magic or supernatural.”
“And she found a vampire.”
Amanda shrugged. “Granted, it’s just rumors and hearsay, and she could be pulling my chain, but after her dive through the glass counter, I know something’s going on, and she either has no pulse or a very slow heartbeat.” She met my gaze and her eyes glowed with excitement. “What if it’s true? What if there’s a real live vampire in Colorado?”
“Live?”
“You know what I mean.”
“If there’s a real vampire here, we should kill it.”
“Or something.” She gave me a wink.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe I’ve read too many paranormal romance novels. Sorry, I’ve gotta go. Mother will throw a fit if I don’t get over there now.”
“What do you want to do about Pavlenco?”
“Nothing right now. You have a nice night, Kelly,” she said and closed the door.
I could have stopped her from leaving, of course, but then I’d have to talk to her mother, and life was too short for that kind of torment.
“This conversation will be continued tomorrow,” I said.
She gave me a salute, started the car, and backed out of the twin spaces.
Amanda suspected Pavlenco was really a vampire. Up until thirty minutes ago, I’d have sworn up and down that there was no such thing. I wasn’t convinced yet, but I had to at least acknowledge the possibility.
When I went back into the dojo, I stopped at the weapons cabinet and removed a few wooden practice knives and tucked them into my jacket before heading up to my apartment.
Better safe than dead.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You don’t get to choose when or how violence happens to you,” I said to my self-defense class. I stood in my black gi and black pants. No shoes.
Chantelle was still there when my eleven o’clock students wandered in, so I had her sit with them in the bleachers.
Like most of the self-defense classes I taught, the students were primarily female. Many of them lived at a shelter for battered women, and while I loved getting paid top dollar, I gave massive discounts to those residents, and often didn’t charge them at all. I don’t put that in the brochure, of course. I have a reputation to uphold.
A new student named Beatrice sat in the front row next to Chantelle. Beatrice came in the day before, and like Chantelle, she had a black eye. She also had a split lip, and assorted other bruises and abrasions, mostly out of sight. This was her first class, and as I usually did when I got a new student, I went back to the basics. The women who’d been with me the longest always appreciated the refresher. Some of them told me the sight of a new timid woman taking her first tentative steps toward healing let them know how far they’d come on their own journey back to confidence.
“You need to understand that I’m not here to teach you how to fight,” I said. “There aren’t any tricks I can give you to handle all the ways bad things can happen. Martial arts as they’re taught in most schools, try to focus on having an answer before you even know the question. The problem is that they don’t teach how bad guys actually attack. And to be honest, there’s a threshold of experience you need before your brain rewires itself to react properly. It varies between three to five violent encounters, and I don’t need to tell you that if you’re not a professional and you’ve found yourself in five violent situations, you might want to make different life choices.”
Most of the students chuckled because they’d heard it before and realized now how true it was. The newbies including Beatrice and Chantelle did not laugh.
“Before we warm up, as there are new people with us, let me tell you how I teach. One constant is that I’ll talk about ways to recognize potentially violent situations so you can avoid them. That’s the best way, of course. If something does escalate, the first thing you need to do is look for a way out. If you hurt or kill someone when you could have walked away, your self-defense plea won’t hold up in court and you’ll go to jail. So always look for ways out.”
I looked around at the women. They gave me their undivided attention. Most of them had been in violent relationships, so they understood. They’d all opted out, and were trying to stay out. If I had my way, none of them would ever end up in a bad situation again, but that’s not realistic.
“All right,” I said. “Classes are set to condition you while we train. We’ll also treat this as intense play time. By that I mean you’ll get to face off with me in every class, and you are not allowed to pull your punches. I’m a professional, so even if you tag me, it won’t be a problem. I want you to hit me. Is that understood?”
Everyone nodded. Beatrice hesitated before nodding, so I stepped up to her.
“Does that bother you, Beatrice?”
“Yes,” she said without meeting my eyes. “I don’t want to hit anyone.”
I smiled. “It’s all right. I want you to hit me. I want you to make contact so you know what it feels like to hit someone. You won’t hurt me. I’ve been training since I was eight years old.”
The front door opened and three men stepped in, but they would have to wait. I wasn’t about to interrupt my class right now. Beatrice needed rea
ssurance, and it was important that she know not to pull her punches. Too many martial arts studios trained by tournament rules, and as such their students pulled punches in real encounters too. That was unacceptable to me.
“What if I can’t hit you?” Beatrice asked.
“I’m going to let you hit me.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Tell you what, if you hit me, I’ll give you a hundred dollars.”
“I’ll take that money,” one of the men said.
It’s not wise to upset me. I slowly turned my narrowed gaze to the men. They stepped onto the mats and walked toward me with their shoes on. That was a sign of utter disrespect. The men were large and wore sleeveless jackets to reveal their tattoo-sleeved, muscular arms. Two of them stopped and folded their arms to stare with as much menace as they could muster. They looked constipated.
The third man was the one who’d spoken. “I can always use cash,” he said, “but if you’d prefer, you can simply hand Chantelle over to us and we’ll leave you in peace.”
It may have been my imagination, but I could have sworn I heard a collective gulp from my students. They shifted uneasily.
I smiled. “Ladies, what you’ve just witnessed is a bad guy telling you he’s willing to do violence, but also offering a way to avoid it. He wants something and he knows I stand between him and the object of his desire.”
The man wasn’t as stupid as I thought because he stopped before he was in range. He recognized that I was not afraid.
“I understand you’re a good teacher,” the man said. “This is a teaching moment. You can avoid a fight by giving Chantelle to us.”
Chantelle rose and started toward them, but I stepped over and held up a hand to stop her. “Sit down,” I said. “You left Pavlenco for a reason, and you don’t have to go back.” Using Pavlenco’s name told the men I knew who’d sent them.
“For someone who says to avoid fights when possible, you’re not following your own advice,” the man said.
