Angeles Vampire Page 9

  “Oh my God, what happened to your hand?” Mom cried, looking up from her tablet and coffee.

  I glanced down at my bandaged hand, with all the events of the ceremony flooding back to me, but tried to keep myself from being pulled down the rabbit hole. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said. “I just cut myself preparing a sandwich last night.”

  “Does it need stitches? It’ll scar worse if you just tape it closed.”

  I glared at her, but she didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

  “Well, I don’t know what it looks like. I’m just trying to help. I can take a look at it if you want.”

  “No, Mom. It’s fine,” I insisted and continued into the kitchen to start a new pot of coffee.

  “It’s still fresh,” she said from the couch. “No need to dump it.”

  I dumped it nevertheless and brewed a new pot amidst adamant grumbling from the living room.

  Once I had my coffee in hand and poured Mom a second cup, I curled up on the opposite side of the couch. Mom put down her tablet and repositioned herself to face me.

  “You working today?” she asked.

  “Yeah; you?”

  She nodded. “But not until this afternoon. We should go out for lunch. When was the last time we went out together?”

  “I dunno. It’s been a while,” I said.

  “Precisely,” she said. “The accident scared me to death, so I don’t want this to come off insensitive or anything, but I loved spending the day with you after it happened. We haven’t been spending time together. I don’t want us to grow apart.”

  “We’re not,” I said. “We’ve both been busy.”

  “Which means we need to make time for each other—schedule it. I don’t want to deprive you of your friends, but I need some quality Fiona time too.” Mom smiled and patted my knee.

  “Lunch would be great,” I said, placing my hand over hers. I could use the distraction, not wanting to simply sit around here.

  All throughout lunch, I kept checking my phone for messages. I had it out every time I received a notification, most of which were junk that had nothing to do with me personally. I always got a few messages from Alexis or Candace throughout the day—and today was no different—but they were not the people I was hoping to hear from.

  My mind continually wandered back to the final moments in Matthew’s SUV, but in my thoughts, he reached over the center console and planted his full lips on mine.

  “Fiona, are you and Sean okay?” Mom asked, stirring some sugar substitute into her iced tea with the straw.

  Her question instantly brought my attention back to the table.

  “You haven’t mentioned him recently. I haven’t heard you talking to him on the phone. You took all those pictures off your walls.” She stopped, waiting for me to say something.

  “Okay… we broke up,” I said after a long pause.

  “Did it have to do with the accident?”

  “No; it actually happened before the accident.” Her eyes had gotten so big and sorrowful, she almost forced me to look away to keep from breaking into tears. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m okay. It wasn’t some big dramatic thing. We hadn’t seen eye to eye on certain things for a while and decided it was better to just go our separate ways now—before things got too serious.”

  “It already seemed like it was getting serious.”

  I shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Did this have anything to do with him accepting admission to NYU for next year?”

  “No; it wasn’t that.”

  “Because you still have a good chance of getting into Penn. It’s only like two hours to New York City.”

  “I’ve already told you, I don’t want to go to school on the east coast,” I said. “I can’t be that far from home.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” Mom said. “It would give me a good reason to get out there. I haven’t been that far east since I was a little girl.”

  “I know, Mom.” I probably sounded exasperated, even though I didn’t mean to. As much as I wanted to be there for her—to keep our small family unit alive—I couldn’t abandon Becca.

  “Can I interest you both in any dessert?” the waiter asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. “I can personally vouch for the peach cobbler. You cannot get a better one in all of Orange County. Trust me; I’ve tried them all.” He flashed us a brilliant smile of almost too-white teeth.

  “Well, you’ve sold me,” Mom said. “I wouldn’t have even considered a peach cobbler thirty seconds ago, but now there’s nothing I’d want more.” She was laying it on pretty thick.

  “And if you don’t think it’s every bit as good as I’ve promised, then it’s on me.” If his smile widened any more, it would have split his face in two. “How about you, miss? Would you like to join your sister in trying the best peach cobbler around?”

  Now Mom was blushing. She loved the attention.

  “I’ll just steal a bite of hers,” I said.

  “Good luck with that,” the waiter said as he removed our empty plates from the table, then glanced at Mom again before leaving our table.

  “God, Mom; he’s like twenty-five,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “It’s not like I’m gonna do anything about it.” She slurped up the last of her iced tea. “You have to let an old lady like me have some fun once in a while.”

  Five minutes later, we were sharing a bowl of peach cobbler, digging into it with our own spoons. Mom didn’t have the heart to, but I told the waiter that our dessert was simply alright, so we could get it knocked off the bill. He seemed happy to do it—as well as adding his number to the receipt.

  “I’m too old and you’re too young,” Mom said as she folded the receipt and stuffed it into her pocket. “I guess there’s no justice.”

  “He’s closer to my age than yours,” I said sarcastically. “I’m legal now.”

  “Eww; don’t say it like that, kid,” she said.

  I smiled at the nauseated face Mom made as we maneuvered past more servers and patrons, on our way to the door. I did miss this; it was a welcome distraction. I hadn’t thought about Matthew or the crazy True North Society all through lunch.

  Dammit.

  17

  Matthew

  I didn’t make it to Sisters of Mercy much anymore. The Operations Manager, Jack Nelson, took care of the day-to-day, so I could devote more of my time to the Society and other side projects. Jack was one of the natural born vampires I’d found in 1963 and brought to my adaption facility posing as a psychiatric hospital. I hadn’t started it, but merely adapted it to my own vision when I took over. Jack had become a huge asset over the decades, as well as a close friend.

  Like Jack, I was not given a choice with what I became, but my transition wasn’t the gradual torment he’d been forced to endure, which was what made my facility so important. I could help people like him as they went through the multi-year transition from angsty teenager to vicious killer. The killer needed to be controlled, if he was going to live long in this repressed and paranoid world. And Jack was a testament to what this facility could accomplish.

  The day crew was always minimal since the hospital functioned on reverse shifts—the hospital primarily being open and fully operational at night. There were only four other cars in the parking lot when I arrived, probably belonging to Jack, two orderlies, and an overseeing nurse. Jack wasn’t typically here during the day, unless there was something he was working on for me.

  I swiped my keycard to unlock the front door, anxious to get out of the hot sun, and strolled into the front reception area. I expected it to be unmanned and many of the lights to be off.

  I walked by one of the patient rooms being cleaned by an orderly, the patient huddled on the bed in bloody rags from whatever activities she’d been subjected to the night before. She was no longer hurting, now simply afraid. I understood that fear—having experienced it myself many years prior—and it was important. It was a vital outlet for my
kind in a safe space. I could admit that the treatment our human patients had to endure was cruel, but it was necessary for the greater good. The greater good was also an important concept for the Society—not simply in theory, but in practice. But I also knew that was a small consolation for the few confined within our haunted walls.

  I continued to Jack’s office and found him behind his desk with an open laptop, typing away at the keyboard.

  “Knock, knock,” I said, entering without an invitation and grabbing a seat on the opposite side of the desk.

  “Let me send this email. I’m just about finished,” Jack said, without looking up from the screen.

  While waiting, I gazed around the room. This used to be my office, but when I turned over the primary operations to Jack, I gave him the office as well. I didn’t need another place where I could store more junk. The few precious possessions I wanted to keep, I moved to my office in the North Building. Most of the items were specific to this facility, and the rest, I chucked.

  “And sent,” Jack said, not thirty seconds later. “Now let me bring up the videos.” After more aggressive typing, he turned the screen of the laptop and came around the table himself, so he could view the video as well. “These originally came from a Snapchat feed before they expired. We haven’t found any other footage popping up regarding the incident. Miraculously, the videos never made it to Facebook or Youtube, so it never went viral.”

  “Not like it would have been our problem anyway,” I said. “We’re not the paranormal police.”

  “I know, but we more often than not clean up messes set forth by the careless.”

  “When it protects our interests,” I answered.

  “Which this would have.”

  “True. But according to you, we don’t have to worry about that,” I said.

  “So far, so good,” Jack said and clicked the play button for the first video.

  We watched what looked like a coyote trotting behind some trees and bushes lining a sidewalk. A thin voice could be heard, the voice of the girl shooting the video. “Look at the coyote. That’s so cool! Never seen one in town before.” But then the animal suddenly dashed across a multi-lane street, causing panic from several passing cars and the girl.

  Cars were slamming on their brakes and swerving—among them a red Civic. I couldn’t make out anyone in the car from the video’s vantage point, but knew Fiona was in the passenger seat. The Civic did indeed strike the coyote as it fishtailed and veered off the road to avoid other vehicles. The body of the coyote bounced off the front bumper and skidded across the sidewalk, ultimately landing in a green belt away from the road. Then the Civic violently struck the light pole. The girl behind the video was shrieking now, partly in horror, partly in exhilaration of catching such a thrilling scene on video. The video cut off.

  The next video picked up seconds later, focused on the coyote lying motionless in the grass. After some comments about the demise of the poor animal, it stirred from its slumber, then got back to its feet and limped away. It remained in the grass, following the sidewalk, as it now trotted behind trees along the way. The girl taking the video expressed her relief that the coyote had survived. Then it disappeared behind one tree and didn’t emerge again. The video cut out once more.

  The third video panned around the space where the coyote had last been seen, but seemed to have vanished. The girl rationalized it had slipped into some nearby bushes without her realizing it, but then the camera stopped on a gaunt man in black pants and nothing else. He stood next to the tree where the coyote had last been seen, and he gazed out at the accident which had still not received the first emergency responders. The girl kept the camera on the shirtless, barefoot man, making childish comments about his toned physique.

  “There’s your guy,” Jack said. “Do you recognize him?”

  He looked familiar. I racked my brain for an identity or confirmed connection, but couldn’t come up with any. I shook my head. “I feel like I’ve seen him before, but can’t remember where. At least we’ve confirmed he’s one of us. Now we just need to find out who he is and who he’s working for. I still say Frederick’s behind this, but I don’t want to retaliate until I’m sure.”

  “I’ll keep digging,” Jack said, returning the laptop to its original position on his desk.

  “Thank you, my friend. Let me know as soon as you identify this guy. No one touches him but me. Since this involves Fiona, I insist on questioning him myself.”

  18

  Fiona

  I hadn’t heard anything from Matthew or anything to do with the True North Society all weekend, forcing me to try to get back into my regular routine of normal life. My sole reminder was the white gold necklace with the compass pendant, which I continued to wear every day.

  “When did you get this?” Candace asked as she held the pendant in her palm, forcing me to lean forward on the barstool.

  “Yesterday,” I said. “I went shopping with my mom.”

  “Good. You don’t get enough stuff for you. I like it.” She let the necklace go, allowing it to fall back between the open collar of my button-down blouse.

  I took the final sip from my white mocha and slid the mug across the bar. Candace snatched it up and dropped it into the half-filled sink of other dirty dishes. She was waiting for me to come on shift, so I could wash them all. She despised drying out her hands, while my skin wasn’t as sensitive as hers, or maybe I just didn’t let it get to me as much.

  Eli emerged from the office and noticed me sitting at the bar. “I’m gonna take my lunch as soon as Fiona’s clocked in,” he said, then checked the timers on the coffee urns.

  “Yes, sir,” Candace said, sarcastically.

  “Get off the counter,” Eli scolded. “We shouldn’t have to go over this every shift.”

  “Oh, come on, Mr. Fiennes never comes in this late.”

  “But his little minion does.”

  “Who cares about her?”

  Alexis walked around from the espresso bar, approaching the resister. “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of all the customers.”

  “You’re doing great, hun,” Candace said, finally hopping down from the counter. “If you needed help, all you had to do was ask.”

  “It’s your job to anticipate my needs.”

  “Oh, I’ll anticipate your needs,” Candace said, subtly spanking Alexis as she passed the register.

  “Screw it; I’m going to lunch right now,” Eli said, sliding the supervisor keys across the bar, and marching out the door with a sigh.

  I caught the slung keys and stretched their band around my wrist. I had a few minutes, but I might as well help out. I donned my apron as I threw my purse into the office, then joined Alexis and Candace out on the floor.

  We worked in between playful banter while Eli was away. I had the keys to the store, so I was pseudo in charge, even though Candace had seniority. Eli would never give her the keys, even if she was the only other person on shift. We were always expected to be back on time, yet he rarely ever was. Even though Candace complained about it, we all enjoyed the extra unsupervised time.

  “I’m in the mood for a hot coffee. What would you recommend?” a voice said from the bar.

  Alexis was on register, Candace on bar, and I’d been floating between them to pass cups and retrieve food. I glanced over at the bar adjacent to the register and found a familiar face smiling at me, stopping me in my tracks.

  “Matthew, what are you doing here?” I asked, a little breathless.

  “I was in the neighborhood,” he replied casually. “Thought I’d stop in and see what I was missing.”

  Alexis was now looking over, eyes wide, cheeks pinked.

  “Only the best damn coffee in the county,” called Candace from the bar. Then a few seconds later in a softer voice, “Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to curse.”

  Matthew chuckled, causing me to laugh as well. “How about a simple dark roast? I’m not high maintenance.”

  “Then you
don’t want to know what I drink,” I said, grabbing an overturned mug from atop the espresso machine.

  “A medium three-pump, extra hot, extra whip white mocha,” Alexis rattled off like an auctioneer.

  I glared at her as I poured Matthew’s coffee.

  “That sounds terribly decadent,” Matthew said, still smiling.

  I placed his steaming mug on the bar before him and shrugged. “It’s Candace’s fault,” I said.

  “I heard that!” Candace said, already on her way over to us. “So, who’s your friend?”

  “This is Matthew,” I said, trying to sound casual.

  “Since when do you have a friend we don’t know about?” Alexis asked, leaning against the register, her eyes still glued to Matthew. I could only guess what was running through her overanalyzing brain.

  “He’s… more of a family friend,” I said. “Right, Matthew?”

  “Yes; Fiona’s mom, Susan, and I go back a few years. Our moms are friends—they used to work together. I just thought I’d stop in and say hi. Didn’t think it would cause such an uproar.”

  “No uproar here,” Candace said. “Just curious. Just talking. Casual conversation. So, what are your intentions with our friend?”

  “Candace!” I whined, rolling my eyes.

  “I have no intentions,” Matthew said.

  “She has a boyfriend, you know,” Alexis added.

  “I’m aware.”

  “I do not,” I protested.

  “Have you forgotten all about Sean?” Alexis asked, one hand settling on her hip.

  “I’d forget about Sean with Matthew here,” Candace said.

  “Shut up. You’re spoken for,” I snapped.

  Candace shrugged, giving me a pout, then returning a smile to Matthew.

  Matthew sipped from his coffee, seemingly amused by the confrontational exchange.

  “There’s sugar and creamer in the lobby,” Alexis said.