11
If you’re new to a relationship and your plans for the evening involve alcohol, consider this formula to determine your consumption: however many alcohol units it takes to get you to start complaining about your last boyfriend minus 100 percent.
—Love Bites: A Female Vampire’s Guide to Less
Destructive Relationships
I was, of course, the first person to show up at the restaurant, because, silly me, I assumed that when a meeting starts at seven, that’s when you’re supposed to show up. The rest of the Courtneys, and Jenny, showed up at 7:20, just as a table for ten became available in the crowded dining room. Apparently, I was the designated table saver.
This was going to be a fun night.
Puerto Vallarta was run by the Gonzalez family, first-generation Mexican-Americans whose parents had come to Kentucky in the 1970s to find seasonal work on the tobacco farms. The three siblings served affordable, delicious Mexican cuisine with just the right amount of “authentic” mariachi-ized ambience and a smile— even when the locals butchered Spanish while ordering “case-o-dillias.”
Hector, the oldest Gonzalez, led us to the back room, which was set up for large parties. When Head Courtney saw the unassuming spot under crisscrossed guitars and a neon sign for Dos Equis, she shook her head and said, “We would like a different table,” with loud, deliberate pronunciation. Then she repeated the phrase with big, swooping hand gestures.
Apparently, Head Courtney didn’t think that Hector spoke English. But she did believe that when you speak really slowly and loudly, English automatically becomes whatever language is understood by the person you’re yelling at.
“We want that table,” Head Courtney said, pointing to another long table underneath huge hanging bunches of dried garlic and chili peppers. Then she added more hand gestures.
Hector, who had been the go-to grammarian for my honors English class at Half-Moon Hollow High, looked to me with a puzzled expression. I rolled my eyes and shrugged.
Several of the Courtneys seemed to be watching me as we approached the table. As we were seated, I mentally reviewed the benefits of belonging to the Chamber of Commerce. Legitimacy, contacts, free advertising. I said it over and over in my head, like a mantra to keep me from strangling one of the Courtneys with their imitation Coach purse straps.
“Thank you,” Head Courtney said loudly. Hector nodded.
“Good to see ya, Jane. I’ll have a server with y’all in just a few minutes,” he said in his perfect, heavily-Southern-accented English. Hector, who insisted on being called Heck in school, had always looked a little like Lou Diamond Phillips and sounded a lot like Larry the Cable Guy. I winked at him.
Head Courtney looked momentarily confused but quickly forgot her ethnic profiling as she watched me settle in with a menu, ignoring the cluster of dried garlic hanging over my head. Contrary to what movies would have you believe, vampires aren’t allergic to garlic. It does, however, smell to high heaven, and we have supersensitive noses. But it had been a long time since the specimens overhead had remotely resembled usable food. The smell was strong but not unpleasantly so. It reminded me of coming to Puerto when I was living. Zeb and I would come on Tuesday nights to split a carne asada platter and chat with Hector over cheap beer.
“Are you OK here, Jane?” Cankles Courtney asked, peeking carefully over her menu. She nodded up to the garlic. “Jenny said you have … allergies.”
I’ll bet she did. I glared Jenny’s way, but she seemed completely absorbed by her menu. I smiled sweetly at Cankles Courtney. “Thanks for asking, but I’m fine.”
Cankles Courtney gave Toady Courtney a triumphant look, as if to say, “See, I told you! She’s not a vampire.”
I sighed, making a show of studying the menu. I missed carne asada. And chocolate. And ice cream. And lasagna. And cheeseburgers. Basically, I missed all food, except brussels sprouts. It still irked me that my last meal had consisted of potato skins and liquor. People who get the chair receive a better culinary sendoff.
I wasn’t going to order the carne asada, because that would just be depressing, even if I used Jolene’s disgusting food-craving imagery. I decided on tamales. They were mushy and messy, and it would be difficult to tell how much, if anything, I was eating. Plus, I’d never liked them much, so staring at them for an hour or so without being able to eat them would be bearable.
Our server suffered through our ordering pronunciations with a brave face. When he came to me, I ordered the tamales, and whatever remaining interest the Courtneys had in my eating habits seemed to melt away. The server stared at me for a long moment and then asked, “And to drink?”
I thought about sweet, fortifying tequila, since all of the Courtneys were planning on bellying up to the margarita trough. But I wanted to keep my wits about me so I wouldn’t get wrangled into cleaning up after the petting zoo or any of the other undesirable jobs Courtney had lined up.
“Water’s fine, thanks.” The server seemed to sense a weakening in my resolve and continued staring at me. I took the bar menu from the little plastic console in the middle of the table. “Actually, I’ll have a beer.”
The Courtney on my left gasped in horror. Jenny sneered as I looked over the beer selections.
“El Torrente Sanguíneo?” he asked.
For a moment, I and my three years of poor Spanish instruction thought he was asking if I wanted a raincoat with that. I squinted at him. He pointed to a selection near the bottom of the menu. The little dark brown bottle on the illustration looked like any beer. I knew that Sanguíneo probably had something to do with sangre , which translated to “blood.” And torrente probably meant “river” or “stream.” So it probably translated to something like “blood stream” or “vein.” Was he offering me synthetic blood?
I looked up at the server, who smiled back at me, looking a little dazzled. Now that they’d been thoroughly horrified by my choice to drink beer in public, the Courtneys weren’t paying attention to what I was ordering. I guess they figured vampires wouldn’t drink beer and order tamales.
“Please!” I said emphatically, smiling back.
The waiter practically scrambled over the adjoining booth in his rush to get our drinks back to us. He set the brown bottle in front of me with a flourish, a slice of lime carefully balanced in the lip. I thanked him as he served the margaritas and took a long pull from the bottle.
Ahh. Sweet, slightly spicy, a thick coating of synthetic blood rolled down my throat and soothed my nervous stomach. I was going to have to remember this brand. The waiter watched me expectantly. I wanted to smile, but I was pretty sure my teeth would be blood-stained for the next few minutes. Also, my fangs were trying to creep out of my mouth. I pressed my lips together but nodded enthusiastically. I was going to have to tip this guy in a serious way. The waiter backed away from our table but promised to be back soon.
“If Jane’s done eye-flirting with the server,” Head Courtney said, clearing her throat and pursing her thin, cranberry-glossed lips, “we should start the meeting.”
Crap, I’d totally forgotten why I was there.
It was a good thing I’d elected not to drink. Courtney tried to stick me with petting-zoo clean-up, sitting in the dunk tank, and putting down the deposit on the inflatables (out of my own pocket, apparently, with the hope that the Courtneys would remember to reimburse me).
Each of the committee chairs was given a progress evaluation. Head Courtney wasn’t pleased with our work. Cankles Courtney, who was in charge of food, had neglected to think of vegetarian options for the festival attendees. (Because nothing says old-fashioned family fun like a tofu dog.) Short Courtney, who was in charge of publicity, had yet to secure an interview with the local morning radio show, so that Head Courtney could educate the masses on the importance of the chamber’s philanthropic efforts. Also, Short Courtney had ordered the promotional posters in an autumnal burnt orange instead of the chamber’s signature pink, so five demerits for her. I was failing miserably, and I was lucky that Jenny was there to save my butt. Head Courtney placed her right hand on Jenny’s shoulder while she pronounced this. Jenny tried to preen subtly but failed. I was reminded of the scene in The Omen when Damien realizes the extent of his evil power.
Seriously, could I buy my way out of this gig? What if I just gave Head Courtney $5,000 for the animal shelter? And then moved and changed my name?
By the end of the “meeting,” Head Courtney had four empty margarita glasses next to her plate and was starting to tell the other Courtneys what she really thought of them. Short Courtney needed to get her roots done. Cankles Courtney had, well, cankles. Toady Courtney had almost reined her in when Head Courtney’s gaze fell on me. At this point, I’d been pushing tamales around on my plate for two hours while watching my sister get fawned over. As far as I was concerned, Head Courtney could bring it on.
Head Courtney was swaying in her chair, her cornsilk-blond hair clinging to the light sheen of drunk sweat on her cheeks. “You think you’re so much smarter than the rest of us. That we don’t know what you really are.”
“Courtney, I don’t think you’re feeling very well,” Toady Courtney said loudly, her brown eyes wide with alarm. “Those enchiladas must have been rancid!”
“Oh, don’t interrupt her, Courtney,” I said, smiling and tilting my head. “I think she was on a roll.”
The jig, apparently, was up. And I felt a little foolish for picking at those damn tamales. Oh, well, I might as well have some fun with it.
“Jenny told us all about it. You think we would have let you in if we had known?” Head Courtney hissed. “We would never—and now, we can’t kick you out because you people sue for discrimination at the drop of a hat. We don’t want you to pull a Frink on us.”
Did she just call me “you people”?
The whole table was suddenly quiet, as if Courtney had dropped a glass dome over us. Suddenly, it all made sense. The stupid tasks, the poor performance reviews, the general bitchiness. It wasn’t just that they didn’t like me. They wanted me to quit. They’d managed to weed out everyone who didn’t live up to their standards through intimidation and misery, but they couldn’t get rid of me because I scared them. I was making them miserable by my mere presence. I smiled, letting my fangs peek out just the tiniest bit.
“Jenny, I’m surprised at you,” I said in my blandest tone. “I thought you’d be too ashamed to tell anybody about your sister’s shameful vampire condition. I mean, really, where’s the benefit in outing me? Aren’t you afraid of tarnishing your reputation?”
“Shister?” Head Courtney slurred. “What do you mean, ‘sister’?”
The silence was broken, and a rush of whispers rounded the table of Courtneys. Now it was my turn for my jaw to drop. I stared at Jenny. “You told them I’m a vampire, but you didn’t tell them I’m your sister?”
Jenny’s jaw clenched. Her face turned a pasty shade of oyster gray. “There was no reason to. My sister died last year.”
I waited for the twist in my chest, the pain of being rejected by Jenny once again so she could spend time with people who were better, more important than me. But it didn’t come. I was used to it. She’d made her feelings clear a long time ago. There was a freedom in just not giving a damn anymore. And Jenny had granted me this gift. I was free. I could walk away. Part of me wanted to, to give Jenny and the Courtneys what they wanted. I could quit and walk out the door so they’d have to pay for my synthetic-blood tab. But the more perverse part of my personality was intrigued by the possibilities. So, I did something that shocked the Courtneys.
I laughed.
Everyone at the table winced as I threw my head back and laughed like a big old donkey. I giggled until my sides ached. I laughed for every fat girl, bookworm, and wallflower who’d ever felt powerless in the wake of the Courtneys of the world. I laughed because I knew that when I got up, Jenny was going to have to explain to the Courtneys why she had lied to them. She was going to be left holding the conversational bag for once. I laughed because this was such a silly high school drama to find oneself enmeshed in at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.
Once I’d recovered, I wiped at my eyes, hoping that there weren’t streaks of blood tears running from my lashes. Other diners had lifted their heads from their tacos and were starting to stare. I stood up, prompting another communal flinch, and tossed some bills on the table, enough to make up a 40-percent tip for my buddy the waiter.
“That is my big sister,” I said loudly. “Always looking out for number one. You girls are hilarious! Courtney, what a sense of humor you have! I had a great time tonight. Thanks for asking me. I’ll see you at the next meeting!”
I took two steps, then turned around, prompting the entire table to press back away from me, knocking Short Courtney off her chair. “By the way, the waiter figured it out faster than y’all did. And he had a hell of a lot more class about it.”
I giggled all the way from the table to the front door, to the point that Hector stopped me at the door and asked if I was OK to drive.
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Sober as a judge.”
“You haven’t seen Judge Frye in here after about three beers.” Hector snickered. “He wears a sombrero and everything. Hey, Jane, are you going to the reunion? It’s coming up pretty soon.”
“I don’t know … I haven’t really thought it through.”
“What’s to think through?” he asked. “You see some old friends, laugh at everybody who got fat and bald, get drunk off spiked punch, and go home. Come on, I’ll need someone to listen to my bad jokes. I miss seeing you and Zeb around here. You used to come in all the time, you know, before …”
I winced but realized that Hector was standing as close to me as he always had. The friendly warmth in his eyes was genuine. “Yeah … before.”
“Look, I don’t care. I haven’t been attacked by a vampire yet. I don’t figure you’re going to be the one to do it. I am a little hurt that you don’t come in here anymore. But I figure you have your reasons.”
“I can’t eat.”
Hector chuckled. “Well, that’s a reason. But we put that bottled-blood stuff on the menu for a reason, Jane. We don’t turn away anybody’s money here, dead or undead. You’re always welcome. But try for Wednesdays, because I want you to see Judge Frye do what he thinks is the Mexican Hat Dance.”
“Thanks, Heck.”
“Anytime,” he said, giving me a brotherly punch on the arm. “And the reunion, think about it, OK?”
“I will.” I laughed and bopped his bicep lightly.
“Ow,” he said, rubbing his arm dramatically. “You didn’t hit so hard in high school.”
“People change,” I told him, giggling as I walked out the front entrance.
Andrea and I were backed up on several days’ worth of deliveries that we hadn’t had a chance to open. So, we sat at the coffee bar, pretending it was Christmas.
“I think that’s the cookbooks I ordered,” I said, taking a load of packing peanuts to the trash as Andrea picked up an Amazon.com box. “Apparently, some chef in New York was turned and is doing amazing things with drinkable sauces that are tasty and won’t make vampires vomit. So I got a dozen of them.”
Andrea bounced the package gently. “It seems kind of light for a dozen books. I think it’s probably that unnatural number of Jason Statham DVDs you ordered.”
“He has to have filmed a nude scene at some point in his career. I don’t care how many shoot-’em-up action movies I have to watch, I will find it,” I said solemnly. “Oh, yes, I will find it.”
Andrea rolled her eyes as she pressed the brass athame Mr. Wainwright used as a letter opener to the packing tape. “I know money isn’t really that much of a concern for you anymore, but have you ever stopped to examine some of your odder spending habits?”
“I’m comfortable with the balance I— Do you smell something?” The back of my throat itched as Andrea sliced through the tape. She squealed when the box hissed and then spattered her face with a sheer silvery mist. I tried to call out to her, but my throat wasn’t working right.
I screamed noiselessly as smoke rose from my arms. My skin crackled and burned. I think I made a very undignified, strangled screeching noise as I smacked the box off the counter to the floor.
Dick emerged from the back room, coughing.
I heard Andrea screaming, “What is it? What is it?” while I dropped to my knees and gave hoarse, choking, rattling coughs. My throat was closing up. I didn’t have to breathe, but the inability to draw in air was even more painful than the slow flames of pain licking at my face. I was going to die. For real this time, I could feel it. My strength was ebbing out of my limbs, and I could feel my body shutting down.
Gabriel. I would never fix things with Gabriel. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized I had expected that I would. As the edges of my vision began to darken and blur, I struggled to tell Andrea to find Gabriel, to tell him how sorry I was.
“Get it out of here!” Dick yelled as he swooped behind the counter. “Keep the door open.”
Andrea, still wiping frantically at her cheeks, tossed the box out through the front door. Dick propped me up against his chest and dragged a fingernail across his wrist. “Come on, sweetheart. Come on, Jane, please, calm down and drink.” Dick coughed slightly as he pressed his wrist to my mouth. He hissed in pain as my mouth touched his skin. The flesh against my lips sizzled and turned black as his skin reacted to the silver on my face. He murmured soothing words as I struggled to swallow. “Good, good. You need this. It will help. There’s a girl. Long, slow sips.”
Despite the fact that our organs are no longer functioning, vampire cells actually reproduce at a rapid rate. When we’re injured, tendrils of tissue and muscle reach out to each other to replicate the previous alignment, which is why we don’t gain weight or age. Drinking the blood of another vampire, particularly an older one, speeds the process along. The blood pouring down my throat was a balm. The comfort was almost instantaneous. My skin stopped smoking; the burning subsided. My throat relaxed, allowing Dick’s blood to soothe and heal.
And laced through it all, like a gold ribbon streaking through the pain, I felt love. Dick really did love me, in a sweet, brotherly manner that sent his thoughts scattered in a million directions. Images whizzed by without rhyme or reason. Our meeting in the parking lot at the Cellar. Dick coming to River Oaks and realizing that Gabriel was my sire. Me introducing him to Andrea. Dick bickering with Gabriel while I refereed. His trailer exploding. Dick spending time with Zeb. Andrea and Dick dancing at Zeb’s wedding. Sitting with Andrea at her kitchen table. All of these little scenes were tenuously connected to his knowing me. He saw his life as being better after he met me. He didn’t want to lose that.
Aww.
I broke away from him and let him wrap his arms around me, hugging me close. “Don’t ever do that to me again, do you understand?” Dick demanded, his voice rough. I nodded, squeezing his shoulders, before he released me and checked the damage to my face. I didn’t mention the visions, even though we both knew what I’d seen. Dick wasn’t much for big emotional displays.
Gently, he leaned me against the cabinet. I pressed tentative fingers against the raw, ravaged skin of my cheeks as Dick rummaged for a wet rag. “What. The. Hell. Was. That?” I wheezed.
Rubbing his wrist as the flesh reformed and healed, Dick said, “You were having the vampire version of a bad allergic reaction. Can you explain to me how you managed to release aerosol silver directly into your own face? What’s next for you, stake juggling?”
And with that, Dick had recovered from his fit of fraternal devotion.
“Why are we assuming that I did this to myself?” I growled, my voice still hoarse. Dick gave me a flat stare. “It was worth a shot,” I said, swiping the rag across my cheeks. “Andrea! Andrea opened the box. Is she OK?”
“I’m fine,” she said, peering over the counter, rubbing her own face with a dust rag. “It doesn’t even hurt. I’m sorry I screamed. It just freaked me out.”
“Eh, just promise you’ll let me have the panic attack next time we’re accosted by the mail.”
Dick seized Andrea’s shoulders and hugged her long and hard. “Dick … can’t … breathe,” she wheezed.
“Sorry, delayed reaction to you using your panicked voice. I love you like crazy, woman. It does strange things to me,” he said before kissing her. He winced as the silver sizzled against his lips. He pulled away, carefully sniffing her face.
“That was so sweet,” Andrea said. “Until you sniffed me.”
“Colloidal silver,” he announced. “A pretty strong dose of it.”
“The health-supplement stuff?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Why am I not surprised that you know what it is?” Andrea grumbled, rinsing her face under the coffee-bar tap. “OK, geek girl, would you mind filling in the people who don’t memorize everything they read?”
“It’s basically microscopic clusters of silver particles in liquid. New-age types use it for everything from burns to eye infections, because it supposedly keeps germs from being able to metabolize. Hundreds of health-supplement Web sites sell it. It’s perfectly safe for humans, with the exception of people who take too much over a long period of time. They have a tendency to turn blue. But obviously, it seriously screws with vampires.” Andrea stared at me, her expression amazed and amused. I shrugged. “I saw it on Oprah .”
“But how did it get sprayed at us from what was supposed to be a box of books?” Andrea griped. “What supervillain did you piss off this time, Jane?”
Dick examined the box carefully. “It looks like a pretty simple device. Once the tape was ruptured and the box top split, a lever compressed on this spray can and sent the silver into the air. In fact, if that had happened in a room full of humans, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But obviously, someone thought there would be a good chance you would be opening the box.”
“You seem to have to figured that out awfully fast,” I commented dryly.
“It’s a common trick if you’ve pissed off a vampire,” Dick said. I narrowed my eyes at him. He gave me his best impression of an innocent person’s indignant protest. “Not that I’ve ever done it.”
“So, basically, we’re looking for the Unabomber or MacGyver,” I muttered. “Why is someone always trying to kill me? This never happened to me when I was alive.”