Not Just Voodoo

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Could nothing in my life be normal?

  My anguished thoughts were interrupted as Jason’s rapidly shifting body failed him, one of the bones in his right arm breaking to reshape and giving his vampire opponent the advantage. Slipping past his defenses, the vampire snatched Jason by the throat and began to part his jaws and extend his poison-dripping fangs.

  Then things went a little fuzzy…

  That’s what they say, at least: “things went fuzzy,” right? Like at the moment it most mattered—when everything fell on a decision that they’re still not ready to consider even after the fact—it just became so hard to remember exactly what happened. It’s a total load of BS. I might say that everything “went a little fuzzy” at that moment for the rest of my life when I tell this story, but I’d never felt so sure of anything. Years of training told me things went fuzzy. The memory of my mother’s funeral told me things went fuzzy. My father, my humanity… hell, even my sanity told me things went fuzzy. Because in the instant when I should have high-tailed it out of that lumber yard and let those monsters kill each other? I didn’t. Sure, there were possibly one or two more stragglers I might have to deal with on my way out, but there was a monster body a few feet below me that said I stood a chance. And that wasn’t even the “fuzzy” part of it. No. The “fuzzy” part—the part that could only be explained through Nicholas Sparks monologues or soap opera season finales—wasn’t that I didn’t run…

  It was why.

  I wish I could say that I screamed something awesome as I jumped down. All heroes have some dramatic one-liner before the climactic blow is landed, after all. Even my father had a few gems that I’d overheard when watching him finish with a hunt—ushering vampires into a fiery afterlife with the promise of boiling demon blood or calling a theriomorph “Ol’ Yeller” before taking the shot—but it’s safe to assume he’d said those more for my benefit than anybody else’s. Yeah, an intimidating one-liner would have been nice. Or maybe at the very least some kind of battle cry.

  Nope.

  No, while things were “going fuzzy” (but not really) I lost my footing and started to fall, so what I did say right before I righted myself in midair isn’t something I feel comfortable repeating. Let’s just say it was less than wholesome. But that’s not the important part. The important part was that I turned back—and, in doing so, turned my back on everything I knew; everything my life was built on—to save a werewolf.

  And why? To be rebellious? To make a statement? To claim my life as my own once and for all? Perhaps. That, and where else was I going to find such a good looking guy that I had so much in common with? I mean, sure, he wasn’t exactly normal…

  But who was I to judge?

  So yeah… I dropped down like a clumsy sack of manure, uttered something I was less than proud of, and landed squarely on top of Lanky-limbs, the vampire jerk, moments before he could sink his fangs into the heaving, twitching monstrosity I was hoping to possibly have a chance with. My knife sank halfway into the meat of his shoulder before finding something not quite so buttery-soft, at which point it stopped entirely. My hand, and the rest of my body for that matter, however, did not. Butterfly knives make great weapons—they’re easily concealed, effective if you know how to use one, and relatively cheap. That said, they leave a bit desired in the hilt department. As my falling body continued to fall and the lodged knife continued to be lodged, my hand slipped free of the handle and dragged across the first half-inch or so of the blade. Realizing I was dangerously close to becoming blood brothers with a nonhuman—and one with a thing for blood already—I forfeited my hold entirely and kicked away from LL with enough force to send him staggering back. Not quite enough force, though, to take him down.

  I hit the ground, knocking into Jason’s thigh and the shredded remains of denim that clung to it, and prayed that he retained enough of himself in that form to see me as something more than a mid-battle snack. Looking up, I was met with a set of intelligent, recognizing eyes—albeit still very much an animal’s eyes. This wasn’t a Disney moment; I wasn’t about to see my true love’s all-too-human eyes in that wolfish mug.

  “Jason?” I thought it best to check if it was, in fact, him behind those eyes.

  Tale as old as time, my fanny.

  The theriomorph nodded and reached out with a massive clawed hand to help me up, those eyes already moving back to LL and his right ear cocking back to aim itself toward the remaining monster waiting in the logs behind us.

  God help me, I actually took his hand.

  His, I realized. I was already recognizing him as more than just another it.

  Daddy would kill me.

  “You pink monkeys…” LL hissed, grabbing at the knife—taking a few tries to solidify his grip—and finally yanking it free before snapping it in half. “You never fail to prove just how self-destructive you truly are.”

  “Yeah… we’re funny like that, aren’t we?” I found myself slipping back into my humor-as-a-defense mechanism again and inwardly flinched at wasting words on the monster.

  To add insult to injury, I still gripped Jason’s clawed hand in my own.

  LL scowled at my response and shook his head, his dark eyes sparking with an electric fury as he shouted, “ENOUGH OF THIS. KILL THE—”

  Something sounded behind us—one part inanimate thud and one part no-longer-animate groan—and the vampire’s eyes jumped upward before going wide. Whatever he saw there was not what he’d been hoping to see, and I suppressed a shudder as I realized that could either be very, very good for me and Jason… or very, very bad.

  I was still trying to decide if I wanted to tempt fate by looking back when Jason twisted his massive form around and cast his predatory gaze in the same direction that LL was.

  Well, if everyone else is doing it, right?

  The heap of bound logs hid most of the monster that had once been standing alone there. The only sign of his existence was the twitching arm hanging over the edge. What did stand there was…

  A ghost?

  She was pale enough to be a ghost. Pale and ungodly beautiful, the kind of beautiful that was wreaking havoc on my still-blossoming sense of sexuality and self-awareness. I was still fighting with myself about the conundrum of falling for both a theriomorph and a ghost girl when reality caught up and I remembered that ghosts weren’t real.

  Or, at the very least, they weren’t in the business of drop-kicking murderous monsters into unconscious stupors.

  But that didn’t explain why a dead girl had managed to save us…

  Because, while she might not be a ghost, the female standing above us was undeniably the same one that Miss Leon had been crying over less than an hour ago.

  It was Estella.

  And, unless Miss Leon had taken up lying about some pretty morbid subject matter, Estella was dead and had been dead for several years.

  “Have we met?” Estella asked, suddenly on the ground and a few paces away from us.

  It was then that I realized I’d said her name aloud.

  “I… uh, no,” I admitted after an awkward stuttering fit. “I just… well, I work for Miss Leon at—”

  Estella smiled at that, and that smile was simultaneously the most relaxing and terrifying thing I’d ever seen. It was comforting and assuring and peaceful—everything you wanted from a savior’s smile, really—but with a distinct set of partially elongated canines on the upper row of teeth.

  “N-no…” I felt my knees buckle as hope left me once again.

  Jason and his grip on my hand managed to keep me upright.

  Estella, sensing the cause of my dread, closed her mouth.

  It helped only a little.

  She made no effort to say or do anything for me at that point, her sea-blue eyes moving past the two of us and locking on LL behind us. Those eyes sparked with anger and her hands vanished under her silver jacket before retrieving a pair of tonfas. The weapons, something I’d trained with only a few times, glowed with an unnatural gold and
silver luster, looking nothing like the familiar black nightsticks I’d worked with. She spun them in her hands, one taking a defensive place along the length of her right forearm while the other pointed out on the offensive like an accusing finger aimed in LL’s direction.

  “I think it’s only fair to tell you that your leader’s dead,” she informed the vampire behind us. “My husband informed The Council of his extermination less than four hours ago.”

  Though I couldn’t see his reaction, there was an angry chill that came from LL’s direction as he spat out the words “YOU LIE.”

  A black eyebrow arced at the vampire’s challenge and a few silent seconds passed as some sort of unspoken moment was shared between them.

  Then things really did go fuzzy…

  LL roared, a sound shattering the barriers between rage and agony, and I felt a chill, like Death rearing close behind me.

  Estella parted her lips as though preparing to speak, but then suddenly wasn’t there to say anything.

  Jason yanked me—or maybe something yanked him and I was pulled along with him—and we both fell to our sides.

  A sound like two buildings crashing into one another.

  Then…

  Silence.

  I entertained the notion that I’d been killed in some sort of vampire super-speed collision, but the steady impact and percussive rhythm of Jason’s theriomorph heart near my temple told me we’d both managed to survive. Opening my eyes, I realized that I’d fallen on top of him and was draped across his massive, furry chest. After a weak moment of trying—without actually trying—to pull myself up, I resigned to staying where I was.

  Hey, if he didn’t mind, I didn’t mind.

  The flurry of vampiric activity continued a short distance away, and flashes of light and movement broke through the speed barrier that otherwise kept my eyes from seeing whatever was going on. Several times I saw LL’s stunned and progressively beaten face slip into focus, only to suddenly get yanked back into the not-invisible-yet-still-unseen beyond by a silver-clad, well-manicured hand, or, once or twice, the silver-or-gold grip of a tonfa that hooked around his throat. Five seconds—or five hours—later, LL flew into view and slammed face-first into the wall of logs near our heads, sending splinters and a couple of teeth raining down. His unconscious body fell soon after. Then Estella appeared, tonfas still spinning—sparks spitting out from the arcs of silver and gold—before vanishing under her coat once again.

  “Is this the part where you kill us?” I forced myself to ask, too tense from everything that had happened to keep my fear to myself.

  Estella looked down at me and tilted her head as though I’d just asked her the dumbest question she’d ever heard. Extending a finger toward LL, who was still whimpering around what looked like a broken jaw, she said, “I didn’t even kill that.” Then, guiding my focus with her own toward the dead therion a short way away, she added, “Which is more than I can say for you, hunter.”

  “Hunter in training,” I corrected her without even thinking, for the first time trying to put as much distance between the life I’d known, and the life I now imagined myself pursuing.

  Estella smiled at that and nodded. “See to it you put as much distance as you can between that new life and your old one.”

  I was suddenly painfully aware that she was reading my thoughts.

  Then my mouth went on all on its own again: “My father…” I began.

  Estella tensed and looked away, shrugging one shoulder. “I can’t make any promises, Abby,” she said, seeming to abandon any illusion that she wasn’t seeing into my head by using my name, “but that shouldn’t be your concern any longer. Something’s coming—something that your father seems heavily wrapped up with—and I’d hate for you to get mixed up in any of it.” She glanced at Jason and offered a gentle smile, “Either of you.”

  “You’re telling me to abandon my home and the only family I have?” I demanded, feeling the rebellious teen rile up at the idea of a vampire telling me what to do.

  Estella suddenly looked like she wanted to cry. It wasn’t the face of a person saddened by somebody refusing a gift, but more like the one of a person who saw a wounded animal that was already doomed to die. The rebellious teen settled in my gut and I felt the urge to get as far away from everything and everyone as I could.

  Except…

  I glanced up and caught Jason gazing back down at me. He was still in his beast form, but I could somehow see through it and, past all the fur and muscle and shifted bone and even past my history of force-fed bigotry against everything he was, I felt like I could at least trust him.

  But that didn’t necessarily mean I trusted her yet.

  “Why bother saving us?” I demanded, looking back at the silver-clad vampire.

  Estella regarded me with patient humor as she shook her head. “A lot of us are constantly saving a lot of you,” she answered. “I understand that goes against everything you know of our kind, but it’s no less unfair to point out that humans aren’t exactly a much more reliable source of either sympathy or brutality—every species has its good and its bad.” She scratched the back of her left wrist and broke eye contact before adding, “What you should be asking is why I let you remember that I saved you.”

  I considered that a moment, realizing that if she could read my thoughts so easily it wasn’t entirely unfair to assume she might be able to erase thoughts, as well.

  I nodded slowly, “Then why—”

  “Because it looks like you’ve got something worth remembering this night for,” she interjected, nodding toward Jason again. Then, turning away, she added, “And because my husband and I both feel that a time for change is coming, and I’d like to think of you as a first step in the right direction.”

  “Your husband?” I struggled to stand then, finding it as difficult as I’d pretended it to be earlier. “And what sort of change?”

  But she was already gone.

  5

  I was reviewing my old journal entries and looking at how they differed from my more recent ones when Jason slipped through the door to our hotel room, carrying a bucket of ice and a few vending machine warmed cans of Coke. I wanted to feel more excited at the sight of this, because it represented what would be our fifth “date.” After the blood-stained first, we’d had three more equally awkward and unconventional ones, but he’d still somehow managed to slip in our first kiss somewhere during our fourth.

  I wanted to feel more excited, but after getting off the phone with my father. He’d finally answered after the dozens of messages I’d left after that first night, and after hearing all his thoughts about me and my plans to pursue a life of actually living, it was hard to feel excited about much of anything.

  I tried to drown that pain in the memory of my prior call to Miss Leon, a courtesy call to tell her something had come up and I’d be unable to make any future shifts. Though saddened by the news, she’d still sounded joyous and, after we’d gotten past the business part of the call, she’d told me an angel had visited her. Apparently, that next morning, she’d opened the library and found a Post-It note on the framed picture of Estella. Despite how impossible she knew it sounded, Miss Leon swore that it was unmistakably Estella’s handwriting. It read “NO MORE TEARS.” Thinking on that, it had occurred to me that our vampire savior might have caught sight of her old boss remembering her fondly and gone back to make yet another step “in the right direction.”

  I didn’t offer Miss Leon much more than my forced “oh!”s and “ah!”s—honestly it didn’t feel like she needed anything more—because, like her, I’d come across my own Post-It note inside my jacket after Jason and I had reached the outskirts of the city and decided to call it a night.

  Though it wasn’t what my note said, “NO MORE TEARS” seemed a pretty universal statement for both Miss Leon and me. I’d cried myself to sleep the past few nights as Jason tried his best to be a comfort, despite our still not knowing each other all that well. But it was my own
personal “angel” note that seemed to gain more and more truth with every night that had passed since then.

  Still reeling from my father’s words and trying to conceal the hurt from Jason as he went about putting our Cokes on ice, I found myself reaching into the journal once more for the already worn-out note. Though I wasn’t sure when Estella had planted it in my jacket, I figured it was an easy enough trick for a person who could move as fast as she could, and I’d been rubbing the corners and just about every surface that didn’t have any words scribed across it as I considered the message over and over again. Once more forcing myself to abandon my old life so that I could get excited for this fifth date, I mouthed Estella’s words to myself yet again before tucking her note back into my journal:

  “THERE’S NO MAGIC IN BEING NORMAL”

  The End

  About Megan & Nathan

  Megan J. Parker  lives in upstate New York and is normally found lounging in the writing office with her husband and fellow author, Nathan Squiers. Since the debut of her first novel, Scarlet Night, Megan J. Parker has gained international recognition and has been a bestseller in paranormal romance and dark fantasy. Her first novel, Scarlet Night, also was a runner up for 2013’s Best New Series Award on the blog, Paranormal Craving.

  https://www.facebook.com/MeganJParkerAuthor/

  Nathan Squiers (AKA The Literary Dark Emperor) resides in Upstate NY with his wife and fellow author, Megan J. Parker. Nathan is usually found in his writing lair where he is either typing away at his latest work or staring out the window as he plots a new idea in the subspace of his mind. His first series, Crimson Shadow, is a bestseller on Amazon in both Dark Fantasy and Horror categories. Along with that, his Death Metal novel won two awards in 2013 for best paranormal thriller and best occult through WaaR reviews. Nathan Squiers was awarded 2012’s best indie author of the year through a paranormal indie blog and has since then been rampaging through the literary world with his take on vampires and the paranormal world.