Due to the need to impress Imogene, Celia called Steve The Blood Dealer. Celia really did not like seeing Steve. When she made blood pick-ups, she tried to stock up for a while so she didn’t have to go back again until she was desperate.
Before the change, she never met any “dealers.” Celia wasn’t a drug kid, not like the cool kids at Lazaret High. Dealing with criminals wasn’t her shtick, and even though Steve had a reputable looking job at Lazaret Memorial Hospital, his behavior was anything but.
Celia suspected he hated her guts. He was short, really short, and Hispanic. He had black eyes—really, black eyes. He looked like he had no soul, but as a fellow vampire, maybe he didn’t? Celia hadn’t given much thought to the whole God-body-soul thing. Just because she was immortal, she didn’t plan on getting philosophical, although maybe that was why Dr. Savage wanted her writing a journal—like through self-inspection, she’d find some deeper meaning. Dr. Savage was all about deeper meanings and how everyone was connected and positive life forces, blah, blah, blah.
Celia took a cab to Lazaret, since she couldn’t ride her powder blue beach cruiser all the way down Admiral Key, over the bridge, and into the city. She brought her red, plastic cooler and two hundred bucks—the going rate for a week’s worth of blood for a vampire of Celia’s size—plus a little extra for Imogene.
When she showed up at Steve’s lab, as planned, he looked up and said, “What are you doing here?”
She hugged her red, plastic cooler. “I said I was coming tonight.”
“Yeah, okay.” He lifted his black eyes away from a microscope. Steve always wore scrubs, and his shoes were always covered in white paper bags. It sounded like skates on ice when he walked.
Celia followed him toward the cooler. The smell of blood was in the air, and Celia drooled just a bit. She moved behind her angry midget blood dealer until he stopped and turned to face her. “You got the cash?”
“Yu-yeah,” she stuttered. She pulled the rolled bills from her purse.
Steve The Blood Dealer had the money out of her hand before she could stutter again. She put the cooler on the floor and opened it, waiting for him. He started pulling blood-filled bags from the icy shelving. She watched him closely. He liked to annoy her with B and O sometimes, when he knew dang well she liked A-positive. A-plus, like a star on her imaginary vampire report card.
She wondered what Dr. Savage would think of that.
That night, she allowed for all varieties, since that was what Imogene wanted. Once the cooler was full, Celia tripped getting out of the lab. She almost spilled bags of blood all over the floor, but Steve just shook his angry little head. “Damn newbie,” he said.
When Celia got home, she put the blood in the fridge and The Lost Boys on TV as kind of a joke. She got the feeling Imogene was an eighties kid, based on her choice of music and dancing style—plus the weird plastic sunglasses. Very Molly Ringwald—if Molly Ringwald wore combat boots and scared the shit out of people. Celia even lit some candles to give the place more of a vampire feel.
She was considerably surprised when Imogene knocked on her door at ten. She said she was a late sleeper, so Celia wasn’t expecting her until at least eleven, but she didn’t mind early company. She opened the door, and it wasn’t Imogene. It wasn’t even Heidi, the annoying landlady. No, it was Ian with a six-pack of beer.
Being unprepared for his blood cologne, Celia’s fangs came shooting out, and she covered her mouth.
“Hey.” He smiled.
“Hewoh,” she muttered behind the palm of her hand.
“Do you play Scrabble?” He held up a rag-tag box covered in duct tape.
“I’m acthally very good ath Scrabble.” Her voice came out muddled, filtered through her fingers.
“That’s excellent.” He walked past her, a wave of woodsy clean but no BO. Actually, he smelled like he’d just showered. She thought he even had on aftershave.
Ian walked into her apartment like he owned the place and set the six-pack of Natural Light on her living room table. He wore jeans torn at the knee and a white button down, sleeves rolled up. His feet were bare; Celia wondered if he actually owned shoes.
“Beer?” He pulled a can from its plastic loop and looked like he was about to lob it at her.
She held up the hand that wasn’t covering her mouth. “Yeth. Can you just give me a thecond?” She pointed to the bathroom and left before he could say another word.
His scent followed her in there, wrapped around her like bungee cords. Celia looked in the mirror. Yep, fangs at full attention. She was glad she’d put some effort into her appearance for Imogene. She had on a dark blue v-neck tee and the only pair of jeans she owned. She even had on little stud earrings, and her red hair was up in what she thought looked like a cool eighties side ponytail. All that was fine for Ian, but shit, she couldn’t go back out there with her damn canines poking out. She wondered if this was what it was like for guys in high school when they got boners in gym class. Back then, the boys joked they’d think about baseball or grandmas to get the protrusion to shrink, so Celia thought about the one thing that truly disgusted her: Ralph.
Amazingly, her fangs retracted in record time, but her gums ached. She felt like this was all just bad. She had Ian in her apartment, and all she could think about was…
Neck. Neck. Don’t stare at his neck.
She almost passed out when she left the bathroom, because Ian was on her couch with his head leaned back, neck gratuitously exposed. She wanted to nibble the freckle on the side. The fangs were coming back out, so she meditated: Ralph, Ralph. Her mantra worked.
“Did you know you have cracks in your ceiling?”
“No.” She didn’t know where to sit, so she stood.
Ian lifted his head. “Do you have a date tonight?” He took a sip of beer, then threw her a can, which she tried not to drop.
“N-no. Uh, a friend is stopping by later.” She realized then she needed to get Ian safely back to his own abode before Imogene arrived.
His light eyes brightened. “Great. I really need to start meeting people. So far, I’ve only met you and crazy Heidi and one other girl. I don’t even know where to go out around here. You should take me out sometime. Show me some good dives.”
“Oh, I don’t really…” She cracked open the beer and drank about half. Celia didn’t even like beer. “I don’t go out much.”
“Too busy swimming in the ocean at night?”
She sat down on the edge of the couch farthest from Ian. “I like swimming in the ocean at night.”
He nodded, watching her.
Oh, God. She forced a swallow. She was already crazy about so much of this man: eyes, neck, hair, mouth, and even toes. Now, she was growing pretty fond of his voice, too—baritone with just a touch of Southern accent from growing up in Northern Florida.
“So you said you’re good at Scrabble.” He put his beer down and reached for the ramshackle box that might have been produced before either of their birthdays.
“Yeah.”
“I need a worthy adversary,” he said.
Celia finished her first beer and realized she should slow down, which was hard to do since Ian had already placed another fresh beer in her hand. She watched him unpack the Scrabble board, which was in good condition compared to the box itself. He moved to sit on the floor, giving her full reign of the couch. She looked at the glowing red numbers on her VCR, which read 10:07. She had about forty-five minutes to get Ian out of her house. Even then, Imogene would know he’d been there. He was operating like some kind of human air freshener, filling her hallways and dusty corners with the smell of rainy forests, clean musk, and rare beef.
He held the silver bag up for Celia. “Pick a letter.”
She chose a B.
“Damn it. What are the odds of that? There are two of those in the entire bag.” He chose an E, which meant Celia got to go first.
She had a whopper, too: “exonic.” With the double word score in the center squar
e, that was thirty points on her first go.
“That’s not a real word,” Ian said.
“Yes, it is. It’s a sequence in nucleic acid that forms messenger RNA.”
“What the…?” He laughed. “What?”
“I was a biology major for two years.” She drank more beer.
Ian gaped up at her from the floor. “You’re a Scrabble hustler, aren’t you? You’re gonna trounce me.”
“No, just lucky on the first one,” she said.
He stared at the letters hidden on his letter tray. “Why were you only a biology major for two years?”
“My parents died. Their car got pushed off a bridge by a hurricane.”
She could tell he didn’t want to, but he snorted as the intro to a guffaw. He looked away from her, his eyes crinkled around the edges. “Jesus, that’s not funny. I don’t know why I’m laughing.”
Then, Celia started laughing, too. Maybe it was the beer or maybe the ease of his amusement. “No, it is kind of funny. I mean, their car got pushed off a bridge during a hurricane with Kenny G in the CD player.”
The sound of Ian’s laughter dwindled into a quiet, shaking hiss. Although the sound lessened, she could tell by the way his shoulders shook that he was only further into hysterics.
“How embarrassing, right?” she said. “Of all the CDs.” She shook her head. “I didn’t really like them anyway.”
He calmed down enough to speak. “So you just dropped out of school?”
“I didn’t really like college that much.”
Ian opened a second beer for himself. “Where did you go?”
“University of Miami. I wasn’t pretty enough to go there, anyway.”
“Bullshit,” he whispered.
She didn’t look at him, she couldn’t. She just sipped her beer. “I assume you went to college.”
“University of California, Santa Barbara.”
“I’ve never even left Florida. I’ve only been to Lazaret and well, here. I mean, the islands.” She nodded at the front door as if the Gulf Coast islands were standing in a line outside.
“We should go on a road trip,” he said, moving letters around. He said it like they’d been friends for years.
About an hour later, Celia had kicked Ian’s ass in Scrabble, and she was drunk. They finished off the six-pack, and he went back to his place for whiskey. Ian said he liked cheap beer and whiskey, preferably by a beach bonfire.
They were both sitting on the floor by then, backs against the table, staring at The Lost Boys on mute. Ian took a sip of whiskey from his red plastic Solo cup. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you?” he said.
“No. But I bet you have a girlfriend.”
He made a noncommittal noise.
Celia slurred, “My therapist says I need to get out there again.”
“Bad breakup?”
She shuddered.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
“You don’t wanna hear about that.”
“Yeah, I do. Tell me.” In her drunken haze, Celia wanted to eat Ian’s smile.
“Danny,” she said. “His name was Danny. I met him at a club.”
Ian leaned back against the table, which scooted into Celia’s couch and almost knocked her sideways. “I think it’s dangerous to meet people at bars.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t meet people anywhere.”
“Why not?” he said. “You’re so cool.”
Celia snickered. “I am absolutely not cool.”
“Yeah, you are. You play Scrabble.”
“I don’t think that usually defines cool.”
Ian refilled her plastic cup. “So tell me about Danny.”
Celia didn’t think about that night much, because it turned out to be a lie. She did remember it, though—a packed club, sweaty bodies, her feeling out of place in a knee-length dress that covered her pouch stomach and flabby arms. Then, later, the venom high. Something most people don’t know, and Celia certainly didn’t until that night—vampire fangs expelled venom that incapacitated victims in high quantities. She remembered she felt euphoric with Danny—until he disappeared. Instead of saying all that, she just told Ian, “He was way too hot for me. I should have known.”
“Known what?”
“That he was…bad. He lied to me. He told me he could change me, make me better.”
Ian was quiet for a second. Celia noticed the TV screen picked up the blue in his eyes. “No one should try to change you.”
“I wanted to change.”
“Into what?” he said. “A unicorn?”
She laughed and shoved him. “No, just someone better. Have you seen Pretty Woman?”
He paused and touched his mouth. “I think.”
“You think? How do you think? You’d remember.”
“I’m not really into many movies.”
“We’ll have to change that,” she said, feeling brave.
He poked her in the shoulder with his long fingers. “You’re not supposed to try and change people.”
“Shut up, Ian.”
He glanced at her.
“In Pretty Woman, this street girl becomes this hot, classy lady, and I always wanted someone to do that to me. Give me, like, the best makeover ever. And Danny did that. Or he said he was going to. It hasn’t really worked out.”
Ian nodded. “So you left the stupid prick.”
“He left me,” she said. “It was just a game for him.”
“His loss.” Ian downed the rest of his cup.
She elbowed him. “How about you? How many girls are you seeing right now?”
“I don’t know if I’m really seeing her. She’s not really…” He sighed. “I met her at a bike shop when I was getting new tires. She’s a competitive cyclist, too. I mean, she’s beautiful, but…” Ian smiled at her. “She doesn’t play Scrabble.”
Celia tried to play it cool and not look at his neck. “Why are you with her, then?”
He rubbed his hand over his forehead and pushed his fingers through his hair. “You’re gonna think I’m a dick.”
“What?” she said. “Nuh-uh.”
Ian took awhile and stared at Keifer Sutherland on the TV, which gave Celia the perfect opportunity to ogle his cheekbones. Then, he said, “She’s really good in bed. Everyone needs a fix.”
Celia was silent, because she knew he was right: everyone did need a fix. Shit, she was beginning to understand her therapist.
“See, you hate me now,” he muttered.
“No!” She put her hand on his knee, and somewhere in her drunken haze, she realized she had her hand on his knee and pulled back. “I’m just not that sexual of a person.”
Then, her undead head almost exploded, because he put his hand on the side of her neck and whispered, “Wonder if we can change that.”
Shakily, Celia said, “You’re not supposed to try and change people.”
Ian chuckled and licked his bottom lip. If Celia’s fangs could have made a noise, they would have said “boing!” Just as he leaned in, her front door banged open, and they both dropped their drinks.
Backlit by moonlight, Imogene looked like a fuzzy phantom. “Well, goddamn,” she said and lifted her sunglasses off her face to the top of her head. “Hello,” she said to Ian. She clomped over to where they sat on the floor and sat next to him. She then licked his cheekbone. “You smell delicious.”
“Thank you.” Ian was completely unfazed. Celia wondered how many women had licked his cheekbone before, like this was a daily occurrence or something.
“I’m Imogene.” She held out her hand to him; he took it and gave it a shake.
“Ian.”
“Ian. Yeah.” Imogene nodded, never once taking her eyes off his throat.
“Hey, Imogene,” Celia said as whiskey soaked a puddle into the carpet between she and Ian.
“What up, Merk?” Imogene still didn’t look at Celia. She was just staring at Ian’s neck, which reminded Celia: I thought we weren’t supposed to do that!
Ian moved to stand. “I can leave if you want girl time.”
“No.” Imogene latched onto his bare forearm. “No, stay. We’ll be right back.” Even though Celia had suggested the change in location, Imogene was the one who dragged her into the kitchen. “That—” she pointed toward the living room, “lives through there.” She pointed at the kitchen wall.
“Yeah, he’s my neighbor.”
“My neighbors are stinky bums,” Imogene said. She lowered her voice to a hiss. “Can you believe that guy? He smells like sunshine and rainbows.”
“I consider it more woodsy,” Celia said. “Like a magical fairy forest.”
Imogene shook her head. “Whatever. I’m gonna destroy that neck.”
Celia thought it was probably a mix of the alcohol and her sudden need to protect Ian that made her hold onto Imogene’s skinny upper arm and shove her against the fridge.
Her eighties sunglasses flew down on her face and landed crookedly on the end of her nose. “Ow.”
“You will not touch him.”
The edge of Imogene’s mouth turned up. “Merk. You got a hard-on for this guy?”
“No. He’s just…my neighbor, and you will get nowhere near his neck.”
Imogene lifted her chin and gestured to the living room. “Dude, he is epic first bite material. Girls don’t get so lucky.”
“No, I wasn’t thinking about that.” Celia realized her hand was still in a claw around Imogene’s arm, so she let go. “He’s just my neighbor and new friend.”
“Shit, Celia, haven’t you seen When Harry Met Sally?”
“Of course.”
“Women are not friends with guys like that,” Imogene said. She pointed a wicked finger in Ian’s direction. “Hot guys. Guys that make you go ‘mmm.’ You can’t sustain a friendship with that.”
“Yes, I can.” Probably not.
Imogene turned around, pulled a bag of O-negative from the fridge, and started to slurp. “You should bite him tonight.”
“What? No.”
“Why not?” She gulped. “You’re both drunk.”
“How do you know we’re drunk?”
Imogene finished the bag and started talking really, really fast. “It smells like a middle-aged cowboy in here. Like whiskey. Plus, you’re actually conversing with a human male, which based on your behavior at Necto, never happens. Like, ever. Plus, he’s got the half-lidded thing going on over those…” She sighed. “Dreamy baby blues.”
Bite Somebody Page 4
