by S. L. Eaves
“Trouble wit yo boy-toy?”
“Ex boy-toy.”
“Oh fo’ real? Sorry babe.” He places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, lets it linger a little too long which pulls my attention back. “Fuck ‘im. His loss.”
“Yeah, fuck him.” My tone is not convincing.
“So like, wow, you guyz been an item fo’ while?”
“A year, give or take,” I shrug. A lifetime in college years.
“Pleeze. Give me an hour and you’ll forget all about ‘im.”
I laugh, pat him on the back and walk over to the bar.
“You up in three g,” he calls after.
I turn to Zoe, the bartender. We’d met in class freshman year. I’d helped her earn a passing grade and since then she’s always hooked me up.
“Hey, busy night.”
“Yeah, does anyone have class on Friday anymore?”
“Outlawed.”
“Usual?” She’s already pouring the Smirnoff.
Once again, I steal a glimpse at Ryan. His back is turned, allowing me to stare unnoticed. Well, by him at least.
“Perhaps I’ll pour you another.”
I turn and she nods toward Ryan. It used to be me his arm was around.
“He’s got balls showing up here,” she adds. “Asshole.”
“You said it.” I promptly down one of the shots and set the other aside.
“I’ll put them on his tab.” She grins.
“Thanks.”
JD waves me over.
“Yo’ turn babe.”
I step up on stage, determined not look at Ryan, and pull a bar stool from the corner. Once situated in front of the mic stand, I shut my eyes.
“When it Comes” by Incubus starts to stream from the speakers.
Chapter 2
Combat ensues. East River Park serves as a battleground on this blustering night. Silver swords and white fangs are bright under a nearly full moon. Three vampires tirelessly fend off an angry pack of werewolves. Their figures are otherwise shrouded in a wooded area of the park. The city skyline makes for a dramatic backdrop. Blood and fur cloud the air. The only sounds to be registered by a passerby is faint howling and snarling akin to that of a pack of stray dogs.
***
Having finished the song, I beeline for the bar and knock back that vodka shot I’d been saving. A group of girls wearing matching Greek letters takes the stage. Rachel, Kylie, and Brett join me at the bar.
“Whoa, where’d that come from?” Brett slaps me across the back. Lucky for him, I’d already gotten the shot down.
“Beer pong tournament at Brett’s frat. You game?”
Rachel seems eager to bounce. She’d recently developed a crush on one of Brett’s brothers and is likely hoping for an introduction. Brett belongs to one of the ‘elitist’ frats that pose as a secret society. Except there is nothing secret about them; they are one of the most prominent houses in SoHo.
While all NYU Greek life resides in one building south of campus, they’ve expanded by inhabiting a house north of Canal. Too good for Chinatown. And their members sport their letters on everything. They even sew them on their boxers…don’t ask.
We’d managed to befriend the most normal of their members. You’d be hard-pressed to find anything Greek in Brett’s daily wardrobe and while he’s as loaded as the rest of ’em, he’s as modest as they come. A rare breed indeed. Kylie vibrates with enthusiasm, grinning ear to ear, pangs of her ex long forgotten.
I shrug. I am clearly outvoted.
“What the hell.”
***
Catch rips a silver scythe from the chest of a werewolf and looks up to see Adrian standing over him.
“How’d things go?”
“We weren’t prepared for this many. Bloody massacre.”
Adrian looks past Catch to the others who are making their way over, bodies sprawled across the grass behind them. Catch turns to them and back to Adrian.
“I didn’t fancy you for a New Yorker.”
“I’m in town on business.”
“So are we.” Catch looks around, spots his favorite sword by the decapitated body of an old man, and goes to retrieve it, gesturing at the severed head.
“He was the alpha; sired the others.”
Adrian eyes the now-human body.
“We don’t know what they’re doing here.”
“Expanding. For them, strength equals size.”
“No kidding.” Crina has joined them. “Is that what brings you here, Adrian?”
Catch hands her the blood-soaked scythe.
“Well, it’s a different matter, but it does concern the war. Mind if I have a moment alone with Catch?”
“By all means.” Crina joins Xan who is surveying the damage on his jacket.
“Who is he?” Xan inquires.
“That’s Adrian.”
“The Adrian? He looks awfully human for a Pureblood.”
Crina nods. “Must’ve just fed; needed to blend.”
“Why’s he here? He’s a little late for the party.”
“He’s here to see Catch, apparently.”
Adrian places his hand on Catch’s shoulder.
“Come. Walk with me a moment.”
They head uphill, away from prying eyes.
“Tonight I made a decision. And it involves you.”
“Okay. How so?”
“There is someone in the city who I feel will be a great asset to our cause. I’m going to assign you to her. You will send your team back to England—or wherever the war takes them—but you will stay behind and determine whether you agree with my intuition. I will confirm things with Marcus.”
“Can I ask why you’ve chosen me for this?”
“You can, but I think she will answer you best. Me, well, I think you’re ready; hell, I think you’re long overdue for a position of more responsibility.”
“I’m second in command under Marcus.” Catch puffs out his chest with reflexive pride.
Adrian laughs, “A different type of responsibility. It’s about time you turned someone, passed on your bloodline, your talents. She will be quite taken by you, I imagine. And you by her.”
Catch is rather thrown by this statement.
“Oh. I uh…I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but, well—it sounds as if you’re playing matchmaker.”
Adrian smirks and Catch studies the grass, kicking up a clump with his toe. They begin to head back toward the others, who are busy stacking the bodies.
“More in the mentor-student sense, but you could say that. When you're linked to someone for eternity you want to have chemistry. It's important to form a natural bond before she's turned.”
“So you want me to turn her and show her the ropes, so to speak?”
“Yes. But only if you feel a connection. It’s important that she trusts you because she’s going to rely on you heavily for a while.”
Catch nods. “I remember. I was your shadow for a year or two. You could not shake me. Guess this is payback.”
Adrian gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“Who is she? I mean, where do I start?”
“Lori Black. Just started her senior year at NYU.”
Adrian hands Catch a photo of her exiting a townhouse.
“Her address is on the back.”
“How long should I plan on staying in the states?”
“As long as it takes. I want to be certain with this one.”
***
Within minutes of leaving Catch, Adrian is standing in the shadows across from the frat house where he’d last spotted Lori. He wonders why he’s come back. Further stalking is not really necessary at this point. He starts to leave when Lori comes bursting onto the front porch, one of her friends from the bar draped limply off her shoulder. She supports her, helping her keep her footing as they hurriedly wobble down the steps and around to a side passage lined with shrubbery.
Where are they going? Her friend is visibly dazed. The result of too many keg stand
s or some equally inane college ritual, he assumes. But something is off. Lori appears panicked, frantic even.
After a moment he proceeds down the pathway after them. He catches a whiff of fresh blood. Police sirens can be heard in the distance.
Chapter 3
The persistent thumping of drum and bass can be heard (and felt) throughout the house. Downstairs, video game gunfire feuds with the bass.
I make a mental note to invest in noise cancelling headphones as I throw a tattered notebook and what has to be at least a five pound textbook into my backpack. I heave it over my shoulder and open my bedroom door.
A thick cloud hangs in the hallway.
I knock on Jeff’s door as I pass. Hard.
The music level drops slightly.
“Hold up.”
He opens his door and I am immediately struck by a wave of pot fumes.
“Recovering from a particularly stressful day?”
“Calc exam tomorrow. I’m freaking out. It helps me relax.” Jeff smiles, eyes glazed. Clearly he’d passed the relaxation point a few joints back.
“Well I’m getting a contact high down the hall and it’s making me sleepy. Which would be welcome if I didn’t have an economics exam to cram for.”
“Want a Red Bull?”
“Nah, I’m going to hit up Thirsty’s.”
“Okay cool. Good luck with the studies.”
“Yeah, same.”
I start down the steps.
“Hey Lori,” he calls after me.
“Sup?”
“You okay? I mean after—uh…”
I nod.
“All good, Jeff, thanks.”
“You uh—talk to Rachel?”
Again, I nod.
Figuring I should offer up more, I add, “She’s fine. She’s freaked, but she’s fine.”
“Well just know we’ve got your back. Sasha, Kylie…even Brett. He told me he totally buys your story, he’s seen how that creep—Anthony, right?—how he treats women. I bet you can get him to testify for you as a character witness or something if the, like, charges and shit stick.”
“Thanks, but he’s a brother; he’s not going to betray his fraternity. But your support and all—it means a lot.” I force an appreciative smile.
He nods and disappears back into the haze of his room.
Thirsty’s is a little pub near campus. It is one of many local watering holes in Greenwich Village. The only reason this bar is open on a weekday afternoon is the modest lunch crowd it draws from the school and the local shop owners. Their food is good and reasonable and they don’t need a website to promote it. By two the crowd has thinned to a few stragglers and will remain dead till happy hour.
Greg stands at the far end of the bar hunched over a book. His only customer sits at the opposite end, closer to the entrance, ignoring the full beer in front of him, pretending to care about whatever is on Sports Center.
Greg unglues himself from his book when he spots me.
“Hey, Lori, how’s it going?”
“Eh, okay.” I gesture to my backpack. “Exam tomorrow. Mind if I grab a table in the back? Too many distractions at home.”
“Don’t mind at all. This time of day it’s quieter than a church in here.”
“What are you reading?” I ask.
Greg is a fifth-year senior. Art history major, I think. He’s changed majors a lot. It was tough to keep track.
“Roman history. I have an exam Friday and I just opened the book for the first time last night. Tried to get some studying in before my shift, but I swear there were more drunks at the library than here. Either drunk or delirious from sleep deprivation.”
“Yeah, half the students bring flasks and spend their time socializing. Makes it hard to be productive.”
“Why bring the bar to the books when you can bring the books to the bar, right?” He flashes me a wide smile.
He has a warm, handsome smile. He probably does really well with the ladies. I find myself wondering why I don’t find him attractive. Maybe too cookie-cutter. He has that generic clean-cut look that makes him hard to pick out of a lineup.
Still, I laugh harder than I should.
“On that note, I’ll just take water for now. And some coffee if you have it.”
“No problem. I’ll put a fresh pot on.”
A few hours and a few cups of coffee later I have a better handle on economics. Not enough to ace the exam, but enough to know I won't bomb.
People start to trickle into the bar and I don’t want to hog the table much longer.
“Study break? It is happy hour.”
Greg places a beer on my table and shoots me the same big grin.
“You read my mind.”
More patrons come in and he returns to the bar. I resume flipping through pages, now with a beer in one hand.
“Well look who it is.”
The arrogant voice is aimed in my direction but is easily ignored.
“Lori Black.”
The voice is closer now, and I look up at the mention of my name.
“I know you?”
Three guys approach my table. The one running his mouth is flanked by two of his friends.
They all look athletic and wear some version of NYU branded Under Armor.
“We’re friends of Toni’s.”
“And you what? Wanted me to sign your bats?”
“You are one crazy bitch, you know that?”
“You’re defending a rapist, and I’m the crazy one.”
I stand up and lock eyes with the alpha asshole. He stands nearly a foot taller than me so it’s kind of hard. Standing was probably the wrong play.
“You know he didn’t do shit to your friend. You came to his house and lost your shit. Seems like jealousy issues to me. Word is he rejected you and you couldn’t handle it.”
I down the rest of my beer and pack up my books.
“Table’s all yours boys. Try not to roofie anyone,” I say dryly.
They step in front of me as I move to push past.
“Answer me this. If your friend was raped, why didn’t she report it? Why isn’t she defending you?”
Truth is Rachel isn’t comfortable talking about it, not to me or anyone. She was unconscious, she did not see what happened, and she even went so far as to suggest that she may have encouraged him. Said she’d been flirting with him earlier in the night. Which she had. That he might have just taken her to his bed to “sleep it off.” Well shit. Thanks for having my back. The only reason she could pretend nothing happened was ’cause nothing did. At least to her. But I am receiving the wrong kind of recognition for what I considered to be fortunate timing on my part.
“You know why. She’s not trying to make any enemies or risk expulsion. I, on the other hand, don’t give a shit.”
That was not true. I am so close to graduating I can taste it, but if found guilty I’d be expelled, scholarship revoked, all that hard work for nothing.
Greg comes over, deliberately stepping between me and them.
“Can I get you guys a drink?”
I pat his back in appreciation and make my exit.
***
Catch wakes just after sundown. He takes a packet of blood from the mini fridge and pours it into a glass, which he then pops into the microwave for two minutes flat. He’d relieved a store called Campus Lofts of a microwave, mini fridge, several sets of black-out curtains, and a few mattress pads. He’d had to run extension cords from a neighboring building, but he’d gotten his makeshift hideout up and running.
The microwave beeps and Catch consumes his breakfast while peering through the curtains. After a moment he spots Lori returning home, backpack slung over her shoulder. Another day of classes. Another day reminding him why he didn’t go to college when he was human. He is not known for his patience and is already growing weary of his assignment. After an excruciatingly mundane week of stalking, he had yet to find anything curious about this college student. She appeared to be living a
very normal mortal existence.
The daily routine of humans makes him nearly suicidal. He is beginning to suspect Adrian had given him this assignment as some sort of test or to keep him distracted while something significant was occurring with the war. The latter thought makes his body ache with anticipation. He hates missing any action. He decides he is going to steal a heavy bag to work off his cabin fever. He watches her walk up to the landing in front of her house and, finding the door locked, dig her keys out of her bag.
Lori’s chestnut hair is marked with blonde highlights and extends past her shoulders. Her face is pretty, amiable in appearance and expression. Standing at 5’4”, her petite figure is toned and athletic, shoulders broad, back forming a triangle down to her narrow waistline. She has the strong, lean legs of a New Yorker, calves having seen many a trek through the city streets. She walks with intent, her stride long and purposeful.
Most striking perhaps is the contrast between her gentle disposition and the torment conveyed by subtle, intrinsic mannerisms. There is an anger in her eyes that cannot be mistaken for anything else.
Catch is contemplating an errand run when a black town car pulls up in front of Lori’s house. And for the second time this week a tall man in a dark suit steps out of the backseat. Catch figures him for a lawyer, an accountant, or a very persistent salesman. Maybe she’s under investigation from the IRS, he muses. After a moment Lori emerges and they have what appears to be an intense conversation. Catch can make out several words here and there, but not enough to make sense of the context. He’d have to get closer.
His usual work involves tracking and monitoring werewolves, so he’s quite good at the art of stalking, but he views these talents as wasted on this ordinary human. And he is not used to being stuck out on assignment for such lengths in a country he rather dislikes, far from the base and far from the action.
But Adrian is one of the oldest and most dangerous of his kind, a Pureblood and a creature not to be defied. That should be reason enough to honor his request. So, out of the utmost respect, Catch would carry out his orders. He would watch Lori and, after sunset, anywhere she goes, he goes. Class. Bar. Class. Library. Class. Gym. Yawn. He would observe her interactions, listen to her benign conversations, and study her demeanor. Until Adrian relieved him of his assignment, but he could not see the value in turning her.
