Vampire Campfire

by Clare Kauter

“Despite everything?” I repeated. “Wow, you really know how to woo a woman.”

  “I’ve seen you murder multiple people. And rip out a vampire’s heart with your bare hands.”

  “Stop going on about that,” I said. “It was one time! And besides, some people would think that was hot.”

  “Maybe Ed’s the right man for you after all.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m just saying, I didn’t kill any of them in cold blood. It was self-defence. I was making the world a safer place. I’m basically a superhero.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Henry replied. “You did try to convince me I was insane to save your own skin.”

  “You keep bringing that up. That was ages ago, and I’ve already apologised about it.”

  “You know what?” he said. “I think I’ve changed my mind. I don’t know that I like you that much anymore.”

  “Nope. No take backs. You like me.”

  He smiled. “And you?”

  “I like me too.”

  Now it was Henry’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

  “I know,” I said, shifting my weight on my feet. “It’s making me uncomfortable.”

  “Why? Don’t you feel the same way?” When I didn’t answer immediately, he began to turn a bright shade of pink. “I’m sorry. I didn’t –”

  “No, it’s not that,” I said quickly. “I – I do like… you. Your baking, especially. Also your face. All of your faces. Which is weird, you know? Because I feel like I shouldn’t be attracted to a gorilla, but is it still weird if there’s a human inside? Like it still seems weird, but I’m not, like, hot for gorillas in the wild or anything, it’s just –”

  The rest of my words were muffled by Henry’s (human) lips pressing against mine. I cracked open an eye part way through the kiss just to check he hadn’t shifted like last time, but he was still human. While my eye was open, I noticed something moving between the trees. I nearly pulled away from the kiss, but realised in time that it was just Ed. He gave me a double thumbs up and I shooed him away. Why was he lurking in the trees watching us? I rolled my eyes. I already knew why – because he was a creep.

  Henry pulled back. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

  “Why did you have your eyes open?”

  “Why did you?” he countered.

  I hesitated. “Well…”

  “Were you making sure I was still human?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

  “Ed’s hiding in the trees!” I cried, pointing into the forest.

  Henry whipped around.

  “Keep your voice down!” Ed hissed. “I’m not going to be the only one who gets in trouble if your bosses find me here!”

  “What are you doing?” Henry asked in a sort of whisper-yell.

  “Being a creep,” I answered on Ed’s behalf.

  Ed poked his tongue out at me. “I’m here to pick you up for class.”

  “Why?” I whispered. “We’re more than capable of making our own way there.”

  Ed rolled his eyes. “Fine. I can see that you and your pet here want to be left alone, so I’ll meet you at my place. You bring the chips and dips.”

  Ed popped out of existence before I had a chance to berate him for referring to Henry as my pet. My eye began to twitch. Henry caught the look on my face.

  “If we can handle a vampire cult, we can handle spending an hour with Ed,” Henry said.

  Raising my eyebrows, I said, “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

  He laughed. “A bit of both.”

  I smiled. “We did good last night,” I said.

  “You were on fire,” he joked.

  I rolled my eyes. “I must have made that joke like, ten times already.”

  “It’s still a good one.”

  “That it is,” I said, smiling slightly. “You didn’t do too badly yourself last night.”

  “Why, thank you,” he said.

  “My trusty sidekick.”

  He laughed quietly. “Let’s just hope you don’t murder me like the first king did to his sidekick.”

  I took a step backwards, jerking away from him. “Uh, excuse me – WHAT?”

  Henry opened and closed his mouth without saying anything. “Oops,” he eventually said, grimacing. “I…”

  “I killed you?”

  “No,” said Henry. “The king killed some other guy. Nothing to do with either of us.”

  “Nothing to do with us?” I said, laughing humourlessly.

  Henry sighed and stepped towards me, but I stepped away again.

  “I was going to tell you,” he said. “I just… I wanted to wait for the right moment. I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.”

  I swallowed. “Right. I killed you last time round?”

  “Not me, and not you. That king and his friend. There’s no reason to be worried about it,” he said. “If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure I just killed the moment.”

  I blinked at him. Then I blinked again. Then I took another step back, and finally I answered. “You know what, Henry? I think I finally understand what you mean when you say that sometimes it’s inappropriate to make a pun.”

  * * *

  Want More Nessa?

  Join The Readers’ Group

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  You’ll also get some exclusive extras for free!

  Hey there, lovely reader!

  You're looking mighty fine today. Have you done something with your hair?

  I'm here to ask you a massive favour. In return, you'll receive my eternal love and affection...

  If you liked this book, will you please leave a review for me?

  OK, so you'll get my eternal love and affection anyway, but I would appreciate it so much if you'd take the time to write just a sentence to let people know what you thought of the book. That way more people will be able to find it and read it, and I'll be able to afford to pay rent. And eat. And boy, do I love to eat.

  Eternally, lovingly and affectionately yours,

  xx Clare

  Have you joined the Readers’ Group yet?

  No? Then you should head over to clarekauter.com/freestuff immediately.

  Why?

  Well, friend, because you'll get:

  A FREE copy of the Charlie Davies prequel 'Short Fuse', PLUS 'Losing Your Head' if you haven't picked up your copy yet

  TWO EXCLUSIVE EXTRAS: an interview with Satan (based on the 'Damned Girl' series), and Charlie's school counselling report (which her counsellor would probably also describe as an interview with Satan)

  SNEAK PEEKS into new books before they're released

  INSIDE INFORMATION about upcoming sales

  BEHIND-THE-SCENES of writing my books (which to be honest is mostly me lying on the couch covered in crumbs, but hey – you'll be right there with me. I know, the glamour is too much!)

  What are you waiting for? Join me in the Readers' Group! It's like a cult, but less terrifying.

  Also by Clare Kauter

  Damned Girl

  Deadhead

  Sled Head

  Hell's Belles

  Loch Nessa

  Vampire Campfire

  A Damned Girl Collection: Books 1-4

  The Charlie Davies Mysteries

  Losing Your Head

  Unfinished Sentence

  Graceless

  Higher Learning

  Santa's Little Helper

  Undetected

  Caught in the Act

  A Charlie Davies Collection: Books 1-3

  A Charlie Davies Collection: Books 4-6

  Short Fuse (Prequel Novella)

  Baxter & Co. Mysteries

  Live and Let Bondi

  Gone Ghoul

  Hark! The Herald Angels Sting

  About the Author

  Clare Kauter is a semi-professional lawn bowls champion and compulsive liar who writes books in her spare time. She describes her books
as "mystery with a twist-ery and fantasy with banter-sy" – and advises that if you don't like puns, you should back away now.

  Clare began writing her first novel at age thirteen, and eventually that book was published as 'Losing Your Head' (the first of the Charlie Davies Mysteries). She also writes the 'Damned Girl' series, set in a modern fantasy world.

  Find Me Online:

  YouTube: youtube.com/yamfaceon

  Instagram: @clarekauter

  Snapchat: clare.kauter

  www.clarekauter.com

  clare@clarekauter.com

  What now?

  Now that you've finished this book, you're probably wondering what comes next on your reading list. I'm guessing that since you've made it this far, you're a fan of light-hearted mysteries.

  If so, I have a suggestion for you…

  I've included the first chapter of my book ‘Losing Your Head’, which you can pick up in its entirety for free from clarekauter.com/freestuff.

  If you're unsure, why not give it a try? After all, it's free. What's the worst that could happen?

  Losing Your Head

  Chapter One

  Why is it that every time you do something you hope no one will notice, you get found out? I once read that the probability of someone watching you is directly proportional to the stupidity of the action. I know this is true, because I screw up a lot and I have never once gotten away with it. It has been that way since the day I was born – when I did a poo during my first ever bath, which my father kindly documented on film so that he may bring it out at dinner parties forevermore – and it will probably be that way until the day I die. (Given the number of ridiculous injuries I incur on a daily basis, that day can’t be too far away. Frankly I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long.) I know I’m not the only person who gets embarrassed, but I seem to receive more than my fair share of public humiliation.

  Just look at my time in high school. I did a lot of stupid things in the space of those six years. All were noticed. All were highly embarrassing. As early as my first school assembly the rest of the school learned my propensity for, as I like to call it, ‘bad luck’ (others call it ‘idiocy’ or ‘failing at life’), when I was called upon to receive an award. The laughter started the second I stood up and began walking towards the stage. I ploughed on regardless, hoping against hope that there was some event entirely unrelated to me that was causing this hysteria. I made it up to the stage, peals of laughter ringing throughout the hall, and accepted the certificate. That was when the man presenting the award leaned forward and whispered, “Your skirt’s tucked in at the back.”

  Right, I know what you’re thinking. OK, that’s mildly embarrassing, sure. It’s hardly next-level though. To be honest, I was expecting a little more.

  Well, my friend, you will not be disappointed.

  Realising that my bottom was on show to the entire school, I whipped around, trying to hide it. Unfortunately, however, my feet had become tangled in the microphone cord and I tripped right into the man presenting the award – also known as the school principal. We both flailed awkwardly for a time, but it was in vain – down we went, right over the edge of stage left, taking out a few members of the school band on our way down. Luckily, I came out relatively uninjured. The teacher I had landed on top of – one leg either side, straddling him – was less lucky. He tried to hold back the tears, but I saw them glistening in the corners of his eyes. He kind of took the brunt of the fall.

  He transferred schools not long after.

  From then on the other kids at school were always quick to ask whether my ‘boyfriend’ would be giving me another award at the next ‘arsembly’. I don’t even remember what the award was for. I just remember that I made sure I was at the bottom of the class in every subject for the rest of that year, out of fear that I may one day be called upon to receive another one of those dreaded certificates.

  Even after I’d finished Year 12, if I bumped into someone down the street who knew me from Gerongate High (teachers included), I’d still get that same line. Honestly, it was getting a bit old. I mean, c’mon, I’d finished school two years ago. Why the hell would I be at arsembly?

  There are many other occasions when I have found myself as the centre of attention through less-than-comfortable circumstances. Take my last job interview.

  Things got off to a bad start for me when I was walking into the interview room and realised – would you believe – my skirt was tucked into my undies at the back, revealing them to the world. (Oh yes. Again.) Whilst I was attempting to untangle the clothing that was – or, rather, wasn’t – covering my backside, I was also trying to remain balanced in my brand-new stilettos. I had worn them in the hope of making a good first impression, although I hadn’t quite learned to walk in them yet. I was nearly to the chair when, wouldn’t you know it, one of the heels clean snapped off my shoe. I fell face first and whacked my head on the table on the way down. I hadn’t shut the door on my way in, so everyone got to admire me as I lay face down on the floor, unconscious, with my hand still resting on my arse, outlining my failed attempt to pick my skirt out of my crack.

  And as though that wasn’t bad enough, the only pair of clean undies I could find that morning had been a G-string. Oh, no. I’m not joking.

  The good people at the office dialled 000, and were advised to leave the injured exactly as she was until the professionals got there, to prevent them from causing any further damage.

  As a side note, I feel I should tell you that not all of my humiliations involve bums and/or poo. Just most of them.

  For the record, I didn’t get the job. Not that I wanted it after what happened. Things would have been kind of awkward around the office, and I probably would have been a major Occupational Health and Safety risk. OK, I definitely would have been a risk. All in all, I wasn’t too surprised about not getting it. But I haven’t bought shoes from Payless since.

  Like I said, you can’t screw up and expect not to be noticed. It just doesn’t work that way. Even if you think no one sees at the time, sooner or later things are going to start to unravel and everyone is going to find out what you’ve done. That is life and, like it or not, that’s just how things go.

  Sometimes it can be a good thing. Like when someone commits a crime. A murder, for instance. Obviously, it’s not great news for the person who did it, but someone’s bound to see something. There will be some evidence, some hint, no matter how hard you try to hide it. Of course, somebody has got to figure out what those clues mean, and that doesn’t always happen. Which is how people get away with things.

  That’s what I’ve learned about crime. At least, that is what I learned from my first case. (Did I just say my first case? Cringe. It sounds like a Fisher Price toy.) It isn’t like I’m a professional or anything. I really only did it to prove that I could and I’ll admit that I made a few mistakes, but hey, how else are you supposed to learn? So, anyway, my first ‘case’ – the murder of old Frank McKenzie.

  * * *

  Gerongate wasn’t an exceptionally large place. I mean, it was a city, but with only 300 000 people, well, it wasn’t exactly New York. Even by Australian standards, it was fairly small. It was big enough, though, that you could never know everyone like you could in a country town. You’d get people who seemed to know everyone, but that was just because they always did the same thing and never saw anyone new. I guess I noticed this during the time I spent working at Gregory’s Groceries (George Street, Gerongate – just so you can avoid it).

  Every customer had a regular shopping day and time, so by the end of the first month I knew everyone’s name. Two months and I knew all about everyone’s immediate family. Three and I could name everyone in their extended family as well. Four months and they started to let me in on the latest gossip. Five months and my job really pissed me off.

  On the rare occasion that we got a new customer, it was normally just one of the regulars’ kids who’d grown up and left home. That was fine, but if someone en
tirely new came in, watch out. The amount of foul looks they received was enough to ensure that they would never return. The way people reacted to newcomers, you’d think that they were criminals. Then again, in the parts of Gerongate that I’d been in, change pretty much was a crime.

  So I was about to do something illegal.

  I guess this is about time for the boring introduction – don’t worry, I’ll keep it short. My name is Charlie Davies. I’m nineteen, and I have sometimes-curly, sometimes-straight blonde hair (it still hasn’t decided on its true identity), and dysfunctional blue eyes (read: I have to wear glasses). Being roughly 5 feet 3 inches, most fully-grown humans are taller than me. Some people think I have anger-management issues. I disagree with this. I disagree with most things.

  If you want a concise assessment of my general personality, you could just look at the sum of notes written in my file by the high-school counsellor over the course of my two-year stint of sessions. It was part of the anger-management program that the head of the P.E. department (is it me or is ‘physical education’ just an exceptionally creepy name for a school subject?) stuck me on after I attempted to assault a guy two years up from me with a hockey stick. Not that it was my fault. He had it coming. Anyway, the counsellor didn’t have much to say about me when I took a sneak-peek at the folder while he was out getting coffee one time. All he had written was ‘snide, jaded – would not date.’

  Ta-dah, my psychological profile when I was fourteen. Yes, fourteen, and I was already bored with the world. (And also apparently not worthy of the attentions of a paedophile, which is somehow both comforting and offensive.) I haven’t changed much since then, except that I’m slightly taller. Roughly a centimetre.