Over My Dead Body

by Michele Bardsley

  To my surprise, Flet had taken instantly to Glory and she to him. He didn’t seem to care that she didn’t talk; in fact, he probably enjoyed having the full run of the conversation.

  A bear-shaped honey bottle and plate drizzled with its sticky goodness sat on the table. Flet shot over to the plate, shoved a handful into his mouth, then zoom, back onto Glory’s shoulder.

  I leaned down and kissed my daughter’s head. “G’morning, sweetheart.”

  She looked up at me and smiled.

  “Hello, Flet,” I said.

  “ ’Tis evening, you know,” he said in response. “You vampires sleep far too much. And pixies are day creatures. I can’t live a life in the dark. I need the sun, for the love of Brigid!”

  Glory looked at her new friend and put a finger to her lips. Flet shut up. Well, I’ll be damned.

  They returned their attention to coloring. I joined Gran at the stove. She’d already started dinner preparations. Rick would be here soon, so I could get my pint. I’d enticed him into the Sunday arrangement by loading up some GladWare with Gran’s cooking.

  Man, oh, man, I wanted to swipe a finger through those mashed potatoes. The roast beef was in the oven, stuffed into a plastic bag with onions, carrots, celery, and spices. The smell of cooking meat drove me crazy. It seemed cruel that being a vampire took away your ability to eat, but not your desire for food.

  Being blind hadn’t slowed Gran down, not even in the kitchen. She’d figured out everything she needed to know to put together meals, and off she went. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

  “That smells so good.” If I had the ability to drool, I’d be doing it right now.

  “I just hate that you don’t get to eat no more,” said Gran.

  “Yeah. What’s immortality when you can’t suck down a slice of apple pie and homemade ice cream?”

  “I wish you could eat, honey. I really do.”

  I looked at my grandmother, who was cutting up tomatoes with impressive skill. I realized that Flet owed me a wish. And with it, I could give Gran back her sight.

  “If you could see again, would you want to?” I asked. God, that sounded stupid. Of course she’d want to see again.

  “If a miracle restored my vision,” said Gran in her patient, all-in-God’s-time way, “I would rejoice.”

  How about a fairy wish given by a grateful grand-daughter? Although Gran would probably say that was the instrument by which God’s will was done.

  “Flet,” I called.

  I heard his tiny sigh; then he slowly floated to me. “Yes, my liege?”

  “That never gets tired,” I snapped. “Cut it out, all right? I want to make my wish.”

  “You already did.” He turned and headed toward Glory. I reached out and snatched him by a tiny arm. He yelped.

  “I did not make a wish, you little f—” My gaze shot to Glory, who was staring at me with quirked eyebrows. “Fairy,” I finished through gritted teeth.

  Flet’s tiny expression looked ashamed. Oh, crap. Not good. “Spill it,” I demanded. “Now.”

  He pointed and made a circle with his forefinger. A mirror the size of a cantaloupe appeared. Its gold rim shone as if just polished. The glass rippled and then I saw me and Jessica. We stood outside the garage with Patrick and Brady. I recognized the setup from last night.

  “If only that Invisi-shield had magic powers, too,” said Jessica. “Any vampire who stepped within our borders could suddenly eat with no consequence.”

  “Oh, man! I wish that could happen,” I replied. “I wish we could all eat again. And that it would just disappear. We’d get to enjoy it, you know? Then it would magic away.”

  The mirror disappeared. I poked my face down into Flet’s. I don’t know why I could see him better today than I could yesterday. Maybe he was allowing it, or maybe I was just getting better at focusing on him. Either way, now I could see that he had short blond hair, eyes the color of earth, gossamer wings spun from gold, and he wasn’t wearing any clothes. Terrific.

  “Before we get into this, I want you to put on some clothes.”

  Flet looked as though I’d asked him to dip himself in acid.

  “Pants. Shorts. Something to cover up your ding-a-ling if you’re gonna hang out with my daughter. Capisce?”

  He wiggled his fingers and a pair of brown shorts appeared on his tiny self.

  “Better. Now . . . we’re talking loophole, right?” I asked. “I said ‘wish,’ and you took it upon yourself to grant it, knowing that it wasn’t official.”

  “ ’Tis true,” he admitted.

  “As much as I miss eating, I would’ve much preferred that you restored Gran’s vision. That wish could’ve been used to help someone with a real problem, Flet.”

  His mouth set into a mutinous line. He didn’t like being upbraided, but too damn bad. He was my pixie, I was stuck with him, and he wasn’t going to act like a petulant toddler.

  “Can I trade the wish?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “The rules of magic and of pixies cannot be broken. One wish. Once granted, ’tis done forever.”

  He glanced at Gran, who continued with her dinner preparations. She didn’t seem to mind that the little bastard had cost her the opportunity to regain her sight.

  “All vampires can eat human food so long as they are within the borders of Broken Heart, as defined by the Invisi-shield. As you wished, once swallowed, the food will be magicked away.”

  If he’d hoped to cool my ire by reaffirming the wish I hadn’t wished intentionally . . . He. Had. Not. He flinched, his eyes going wide when I shook his little leg. His whole body flapped back and forth.

  “Hey, now,” he protested. I stopped, mostly because Glory was still watching me anxiously, her tiny bow lips pulled into a frown. Argh! I didn’t want to be accused of shaken pixie syndrome.

  “I lost my wish to your pettiness.” I said. “You owe me.”

  “Only until I save your life.”

  “Oh, no. This isn’t about repaying a kindness. It’s about compensation for doing wrong. You got me?”

  Flet stared at me, tiny arms crossed. There he was, cute (but so was Ted Bundy) and magical (in a bad way) and immortal (thus forever annoying), and I waited for him to blast me with his fairy crankiness. Instead, he said, “I am sorry, Simone. Though I cannot give you another wish, I shall find another way to make up for my . . . wrongdoing.”

  Even though he’d choked on that last word, he sounded sincere. Somewhat mollified, I let his leg go. “Thank you, Flet.”

  He nodded, then flew back to Glory. She used her pinky to pat him on the head. His glow brightened, and once again, they both focused on coloring.

  “I’m sorry, Gran,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about it, child. God’s will is being done. If it is His plan that I see again, then it’ll happen.”

  I really didn’t want to get into another God discussion. I’d gone from true believer to reluctant skeptic. How could there be God, the God of my upbringing and religion, and also creatures not mentioned in the Bible? I’d met a Celtic goddess, and now I sorta owned a pixie who was supposedly made by the gods (as in, more than one).

  “Stop worrying,” said Gran. “You’ll find your way again. And when you do, you’ll find God, too.”

  Yippee.

  Gran held up a spoon and I looked at the creamy mashed potatoes piled on it. They were still hot, and steam rose from the starchy goodness. I could smell the butter; she must’ve use two sticks of the stuff.

  Gran laughed. “Go on, Simone.”

  When I had first Turned, I’d been unable to resist trying food every now and again. I yarked it all up and felt miserable even after the purge. After a while, I accepted the limitation of my vampirehood.

  “Whether you intended to or not, you got your wish.” Gran waggled the spoon. “I’m not gonna hold this all day.”

  I stuck the whole thing in my mouth. Oh. My. God. How could I have ever taken for grant
ed the creamy deliciousness of simple mashed potatoes? It tasted like nirvana. I licked the spoon clean.

  Gustatory repercussions were usually swift, and I waited for the cramping and nausea. As pissed off as I was at Flet, I had to admit eating again was way cool. I stalled making a mental list of favorites I’d stuff my face with. I wanted to make sure the wish was just as Flet said.

  “How you doin’ there?” Gran asked, her voice laced with humor.

  “I’m fine. No, I’m great.” I grinned and did a little jig. “I can eat again!”

  After I sucked down a whole bowl of mashed potatoes, I whipped out the cell phone. The first person I called was Jessica. I explained how the wish was made and that I’d eaten without a single gastrointestinal consequence.

  “You’ve been smelling gasoline again, haven’t you?” Jessica asked. “I told you that it would rot your brain.”

  “We’ve seen a zillion weird things in the last year, Jess. Out of all the crap you’ve witnessed, this is what’s unbelievable?”

  She paused. “Good point.”

  “Tell her about the potluck.” Gran had gotten out more ingredients and started making more food.

  “Gran’s inviting everyone over for a potluck,” I said. “Bring your favorite dish, your kids, and your appetite.”

  “Shit. You’re not kidding.” She laughed. “All right. I swear to God, Simone, if this is a joke, I’ll skewer you myself.”

  “I wouldn’t joke about gorging on Godiva chocolate.”

  “Oh, my God. I’m so eating a truffle. Right now. Bye.” She hung up.

  Chuckling, I scrolled down the address book and started dialing.

  By the time I’d finished calling everyone, I was starving. Not for food, but for blood. The ability to eat was an illusion. A pixie magic trick. It didn’t nullify our natures or satisfy our appetites.

  It was approaching nine o’clock. Rick was late, and Brady would be arriving soon—as well as just about everyone else in town. I really wanted to have the whole slurping-of-blood thing out of the way before everyone got here.

  While I’d been making phone calls, Gran and Glory kept busy pulling out the extra set of dishes and clearing off counter space. When I was human, we’d never invited anyone over. I’d been too afraid to reveal too much about myself or my family. I had trust issues. Big time.

  Even though I wasn’t entirely sure about having an impromptu potluck, I couldn’t deny the joy it was bringing Gran. She’d sacrificed a lot for me and Glory. Seeing her genuinely happy made me happy, too.

  “Knock, knock,” called Brady’s voice from the living room.

  “Come on in,” I called, smoothing my dress. Glory clapped her hands, then ran out of the kitchen, presumably to let her favorite friend into the house. She must’ve forgotten that Flet was on her shoulder, and he squeaked in protest as she took off. Then he shook his tiny self and zipped after her.

  As was our habit, we always left the main doors open. The screen doors kept the bugs out and let the Oklahoma night air inside. I kept the air-conditioning on high, and didn’t mind paying a little extra for the pleasure of having the best of both worlds.

  There was something magical about nighttime in Oklahoma. No, really. I wanted a little of the magic (without withering away in the damned heat). The night was as black as Starbucks’ double espresso, the stars floating in it like shiny dots of cream. The breeze brought with it the smells of my adopted state: sweet honeysuckle, verdant earth, the sting of pine.

  I heard Glory squeal in laughter, and Brady chuckle. Then his boots clomped on the wood floor as he neared the kitchen.

  I stopped short of asking Gran how I looked—and not because she was blind. It was more a matter of revealing that I cared what Brady thought about my appearance. It made me uncomfortable to think I wanted to please him.

  I’d decided to wear a pink summer dress. It stopped above the knee, and its thin straps tied around my neck. I wasn’t a high heels kind of girl, but I had a pair of sparkly pink flip-flops. After my shower, I’d given myself a rare pedicure (pale pink, of course). Hey, I’m a girl. I’d left my hair down and brushed the strands until they shone. I’d even put on some light makeup.

  Brady appeared in the doorway, Glory clinging to his back, her small face alight with joy. Flet hovered about Glory, not looking particularly thrilled that his charge was so enamored with Brady.

  Brady’s gaze took in everything, from my long hair to my pale pink toes. His expression was worth every bit of time I’d taken with my appearance. He mouthed the word “Wow!” and his eyes went all dark and hot.

  My stomach knotted. Oh, baby. I did a little curtsy, smiling up at him.

  “Hello, Brady,” said Gran. “Didja hear the good news?”

  I hadn’t called him because I figured I could tell him everything in person.

  “Not yet,” said Brady. “You look gorgeous as usual, Elaine.”

  She turned and waggled a spatula, her wrinkled face going red. “Smooth talker. Glory, girl, leave the man alone, and come help me with the biscuits.”

  Glory scuttled off his back and skipped to her grandmother. In her hand, she clutched a daisy. Carefully, she put her flower aside and dragged the step stool to the sink, where she washed her hands. Then she used her foot to push the stool next to her grandmother and stood on it, leaning down to peer into the mixing bowl.

  Brady had given my daughter a flower. My heart squeezed. The man was so thoughtful. Something I would’ve never believed when I met him in February.

  “I have something for you.” Brady left the kitchen briefly and returned with two bunches of flowers. One he handed to my grandmother, and the other to me.

  “They’re beautiful,” I said. Warm fuzzies pum meled me until I felt all toasty and cottony. I got vases out from underneath the sink then filled them with water.

  “Thank you, Brady,” said Gran as she inhaled the fragrant bunch of wildflowers. “They smell wonderful.”

  I arranged the plants on the table, which drew Brady’s attention to the number of settings. His eyebrows winged upward. “You expecting more company?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Flet had been drawn to the flowers. He flew over them again and again and gold dust fell onto them. They brightened, straightening up in the vases. Whoa.

  With Glory and Gran busy making biscuits, and Flet distracted by the flowers, I figured it was a good time to duck out. I took Brady’s hand and led him out the back door. On one end of the huge enclosed porch were Gran’s lemon trees, and on the other, a large swing that I had built and tethered myself.

  We sat down, and I told him about how Flet had granted the wish, thus allowing vampires to eat again, while at the same time taking away my ability to make another wish. All because he was annoyed with me.

  Brady shook his head. “Hotheaded little bastard.”

  “Well, he did seem genuinely sorry about what he’d done.”

  “Being sorry doesn’t fix the situation.”

  “There is no fixing the situation. There’s only looking at the bright side of what’s been done.”

  Brady smiled. “You are an optimist.”

  Hah. If he only knew.

  We sat hip to hip. The warmth of Brady’s thigh filtered through my dress and scuttled up my leg. His arm was draped around my shoulders.

  Crickets chirped. The breeze rustled the wind chimes dangling around the perimeter of the porch. Gran had a real thing about wind chimes; she couldn’t see, so she wanted to enjoy every sense she had left.

  “You look so beautiful,” Brady said.

  Pleased by his compliment, I looked up at him. He licked his lips, his eyes dark with the same longing I’d seen earlier.

  “What? I’m not equally fabulous in my overalls and tennis shoes?”

  “Oh, hell no. I’m not getting caught in that girl trap.” His fingers drifted across my cheek. “Every time I see you, I’m struck breathless by how pretty you are.”

  “Good answe
r,” I said.

  He kissed me gently, ever Mr. Patience. Seeing as how he’d walloped me last night with that mouth of his, I figured I’d try a little payback. Nervous but determined, I moved my lips down his jaw.

  He shuddered.

  Wow. Since I was being all Miss Brave, I put my legs over his. Brady called me on that bet, then anted up by pulling me onto his lap. Now I was cradled under his jaw, my shoulder pressed into the crook of his arm, and my palm flattened on his chest. His heart revved, and if that wasn’t evidence enough of his arousal, the jeans-clad erection snuggled against my thigh sure enough was.

  “Simone,” he whispered into my hair.

  I kissed his jaw, slid my tongue along its curve, and then went down, lower, to taste his neck. He smelled delicious. Beneath my lips his carotid artery pulsed. Life. Blood. Mmm. I was so hungry. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, no amount of mashed potatoes in the world could ever satisfy me. Not like the exquisite delight that was a human’s blood.

  This moment right here, the moment when my fangs descended, the moment my inner beast rose and sniffed, licked, wanted . . . yeah, this was when I felt most like a vampire.

  “Simone,” murmured Brady. His hand tangled in my hair.

  I was the seductress. The predator. Pleasure rushed through me. Under the hand I had pressed against his chest, his heart beat frantically for me. I abandoned that—it reminded me of his humanity—and grasped the other side of his neck. He willingly angled it to the side.

  I kissed the tender spot where the artery pulsed in invitation. Then I flicked my tongue across it.

  Brady moaned.

  I did, too. Hunger gnawed at me. And Brady seemed willing enough. And though I’d only ever drunk from two people (Master Velthur and my donor, Rick), I wanted to literally taste this man. This wonderful, sexy, delicious man.

  I clutched him, my nails raking the skin as I sank my fangs into Brady’s succulent neck.

  Chapter 11

  From the field journal of Cpl. Braddock Linden Hayes

  17 JUNE 98

  Finished our first mission tonight. It’s goddamned stupid to write down any of the details—“plausible deniability” is our liaison’s favorite fucking phrase. But the good thing about working in such a tech-heavy unit is that no one worries about paper and pen. If it’s not digital, they don’t give a crap. No one would believe the kind of weaponry, shields, and technology we have. All that UFO crap the nut jobs talked about at Roswell? I’ve seen the saucer and damn, it’s badass. What I find really hard to believe is how anyone on Earth is smart enough to reverse engineer. Yeah. Think about that one for a minute.