Mixed Feelings (Empathy in the PPNW Book 1) Read online

  “I don’t know,” I said. Wondering how much I should give away, I bit my lip. “I—when you were little, do you remember… I mean, I was four when I got a visit from—”

  Marian jerked back and whispered, “The monsters.”

  Even though I’d been fishing for that exact response, I found myself briefly stunned that she’d dealt with them, too. I was quiet for a moment as we shared the remembered terror and I wondered if things in my life would have gone differently if I’d ever mentioned what I’d seen to anyone. Cowardice had kept me silent for years, but maybe bravery would have made me feel less alone.

  “I guess we’re on the same track,” I said finally.

  “You think they took her? You think the creatures that came to me—to us? You think they—”

  “No! They don’t have her,” I assured her.

  Duane was looking between us. “What? What monsters? What are you two talking about?”

  “Kids like Marian and me, like Ashley, who have powers? We get a visit from, uh...” How the hell do you explain something like this? Succinctly, I guessed. “Fairies. The monsters that came to me, that came to Marian when we were Ashley’s age, they’re fairies. Not the little, pretty, winged kind, but still fairies. They’ve come to me again, asking me to help find these kids. They’re after whatever took—”

  “These kids?” Duane demanded, loud enough that a couple a few tables over glanced at us. “Others are missing?”

  “I thought you knew, I’m sorry,” I admitted, trying not to feel stupid for assuming. “Yes. Three kids are missing and I’ve been… called on to help get them back. I’m going to do my best to do just that. Mel’s going to help. He’s good at what he does. We’ll bring your daughter home.”

  Duane was a sticky, prickly mess of emotions. Outrage pestered me with thorny fingers, doubt clung to me like slime, and worry for his daughter rustled around us all like barbs. His proximity would have been bad enough on a normal day, but after the attack I’d suffered it was like being wrapped in a giant sheet of fly paper and thrown off a cliff.

  Marian, though, just reached out, took my hand, and leaned in. She was serious, intent, desperate for my words to be the truth. I focused on her face, on the hope that had pushed through a crack in the stony heartache that surrounded her.

  “You swear you’ll bring her home safe?”

  I nodded. “I swear.”

  ***

  Marian and Duane left before long. We went over what had happened when Ashley was taken once more, promised to keep them apprised, and then it was just Mel and me. My insides felt wrung dry when they left and I desperately wanted a nap.

  “That went better than I thought it would once you started babbling about having magical powers,” Mel admitted. I shrugged, digging into the remainder of my cake. It made me feel marginally better, at least. Behold, the healing power of sugar.

  “I don’t think it got us anywhere, though,” I muttered.

  “We know Ashley’s a fire-starter, we know her mother’s one of you. It’s more than we had.”

  “So what’s the plan now?” I took another bite. “What gumshoe tricks do you have up your sleeve?”

  “Not gumshoe tricks,” Mel said with a smile. “Werewolf tricks.”

  “Get out,” I said, squinting at him. “What’re you gonna do?”

  “That’s for me to know.” He leaned back, looking smug and arrogant again. I didn’t like it.

  “Tell me more about vampires,” I said. Mel’s shoulders slumped. I couldn’t feel it, but I could see the annoyance snap through him like a pair of cartoon wind-up teeth. It made me giggle.

  “I told you already that you don’t want to know anything about them. I don’t know why you won’t listen.”

  “I tell you things all the time and you never listen.”

  “That’s because you tell me things like, ‘No, I don’t want to have sex with you’ and ‘No, you don’t turn me on at all,’ when I know neither of those things is true.”

  I jolted, suddenly self-conscious. I really don’t want to have sex with Mel, I swear. I mean, my brain doesn’t. Sometimes when I’m home alone, my hormones and my erogenous zones team up and get liquor involved and everyone plays a big trick on my body while my good sense is passed out in the corner. Okay, so sometimes I do wonder what he looks like naked, but only once these tricks have been played. That’s absolutely the only time. I swear.

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Shut up.”

  He laughed but dropped the subject; he didn’t even try to grope my knee under the table. It was like a whole new Mel. Figuring his good behavior deserved some from me in return, I finished my cake in silence, leaving him alone. We were quiet for awhile before, to my surprise, he broke.

  “Vampires are rare. I’ve been all over the country, come across a number of other inhuman creatures, but I’ve only ever met one vampire. I’ve known Dirk since we were kids, before he was turned. I’ve actually given him blood a few times. He’d gotten a scholarship to U-Dub, but got turned instead. He’s been sick ever since. You haven’t seen sick until you’ve seen Dirk. He was bone-skinny, wheezing like a leaky balloon the last time I saw him. He doesn’t leave his house and doesn’t usually let anyone in.”

  “And he’s normal? He’s—all vampires are sick?”

  “I think so. That’s what he told me, anyway. They have entire no-humans-allowed hospitals where they go to get treatment. Not just vampires, but anything—I could go if I had a problem. That’s why Dirk’s bald; he’s currently got leukemia from a bad batch of blood and he’s been going through chemo at the hospital. They've got support groups, even.”

  “Vampire… hospitals? Who runs something like that?”

  “Fairies. It’s pretty much all fairies, across the board. Upper fae with lots of property and the magic to keep humans the hell away.”

  I sat back, absorbing the soul-crushing news that vampires were nothing like I had hoped. I was never going to be able to read another paranormal romance without feeling a little bad and wondering if the heroine swapping spit with her undead lover was going to get him sick as a dog. I was going to have to tell my sister to stop buying me books.

  “This is… wow. I still don’t… So they don’t heal fast and lift cars and seduce virgins?”

  “Oh, they’ll seduce virgins.” He paused to elaborate. “On a good day.” Another thoughtful pause. “Which probably means never, actually. Of all the people, virgins are their favorites, though. Less chance of—um. Contamination. That sounds bad. I don’t mean like—”

  I waved him off. “I know what you mean. Besides, you’re the last person I would expect to hear complain about promiscuity.”

  Mel chuckled, apparently pleased that I understood, and continued. “As I was saying, there’s probably nothing more annoying than a vampire with gonorrhea. They don’t heal very well—I mean, not quickly—well, I mean... it’s hard to describe. They have all sorts of problems; I can’t really go into it without keeping you here for awhile. Think of an untreated case of AIDs and you have your typical vampire. Only they don’t die from disease, they just heal really slowly. Technically, their bodies can overcome anything, even beating the worst virus into submission. But it takes a long time, sometimes years, and in the meantime, they’re overwhelmingly vulnerable to even the mildest disease. I’ve seen Dirk, at one time alone, with a cold, cancer, athlete’s foot, and leprosy.”

  “Jeez.” I shook my head. “How often do you give him blood? Does he... uh...”

  “Oh, it’s only been two or three times, and I donated at one of the hospitals he frequents. They’re the only ones with the right tools.” He tapped his inner elbow, but I didn’t know what he was alluding to. “The only good side I can see is that vampires can’t get the same strain of a disease twice. They can still get other strains, but I’m assuming if they live long enough, they could be immune to everything. Sadly, Dirk’s not helping my theory in the state he’s in now. You know, he had scurvy once.”


  I wanted to laugh, though it wasn’t at the image of a sickly vampire yelling out for oranges and grapefruits; scurvy’s just a funny word.

  “If they’re so frail, how did Dirk even get turned?”

  “I never actually asked. He was in such bad shape it seemed uncouth to make him go into details. Maybe it was an accident.”

  This time I couldn’t resist the laughter that bubbled up through my lips. “Like he got sent the wrong thing in the mail? This isn’t the pair of pants I ordered!” I mimed opening a box and reacting to something shooting out and chewing on my face. Catching Mel’s disapproving glare, I forced myself to sober up. A minute passed before I glanced up at Mel’s expression and figured I still had a chance to get my questions answered if I played it cool.

  “Does sunlight kill them?” I asked, thinking of Stoker.

  “Oh, no, but they burn like an Irish baby. It’s pathetic. No problems with garlic, mirrors, or running water, either.” Mel paused before leaning close, evidently deciding he was done with the subject. “So, did you want more cake, or are you interested in beating around my bush?”

  “Don’t be gross,”

  He laughed. “Well, then I guess there’s nothing left to do except get you home to your wife.”

  “I’d make a terrible husband,” I said as he helped me to my feet. Any other day I would have rather followed lemmings off a cliff than let Mel touch me, but we were getting along pretty well, all things considered. Plus, I’d felt lousy enough even before being pummeled by the emotions of grieving parents; I needed the assist. Mel didn’t even make any comments about how getting to my feet made me groan like a dog being hugged too hard by an excitable child.

  “Because you never want sex?” Mel asked once I could make my body cooperate with the orders to move. I almost would have preferred falling flat on my face.

  “I never want sex with you,” I corrected.

  “But you want sex with Chloe? No wonder you’re not interested in all of this,” Mel said, and I didn’t need to look over to know he was gesturing to his physique like it was an expensive car.

  I rolled my eyes, but found myself laughing at his arrogance. “No matter what you say, I refuse to believe that the only women who turn you down do so because they’re lesbians.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply you’re gay,” Mel said, picking up the pace to open the car door for me. I paused next to him, eyeing him suspiciously for not only the nice gesture but also whatever was about to come out of his mouth. I knew it wasn’t likely to be as nice.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask what you are implying.”

  “Just that Chloe would kick my ass if I ever suggested I’m better in bed than she is.”

  “Is that so?” I asked, heaving myself into his ostentatious SUV with another groan of displeasure. “I like the mental image of Chloe knocking you around.”

  “Me too,” he murmured with a grin. “I like it rough.” I should have known better than to give his mind any chance to head for the gutter.

  Chapter Ten

  Mel offered to carry me into the house, but I couldn't tell if he was sincere or just looking for an excuse to cop a feel, so I declined.

  “You look worse,” Chloe said as we stepped inside. “Why do you look worse?”

  “She ate half the cake at the café,” Mel said. “Her insides are probably revolting.”

  “They're no less attractive than the rest of me,” I countered, angry he'd ratted on me. Silence had been part of the deal, dammit. “And it wasn't that much cake.”

  “You didn't need any cake,” Chloe chastised. “Now sit down before your legs give out.”

  “I look that bad?” I asked as I hit the couch. Chloe was already in the kitchen getting me some water.

  “You look worse,” Mel said and I turned to snarl his way.

  “I didn’t ask your opinion, so stuff it. No!” I held up a hand, anticipating his next comment. “No more gutter talk. If it doesn’t have to do with the case, I don’t want to hear it.”

  Mel watched me in silence, poised on the edge of innuendo and clearly trying to decide if he wanted to take orders or let me be. Chloe dropped down next to me and pressed the glass of water into my hand.

  “We’re not here to joke about your dick, Mel,” she said, though her tone was much less aggressive than mine. “Keep it civil.”

  “No one jokes—”

  “I will throw this water at you!” I threatened, my frustration at how quickly he could go from affable to insufferable making me forget how unpleasant I felt.

  “You could, but then I’d have to take my shirt off, maybe my pants and—”

  “Mel.” Chloe’s tone was still pleasant, no threat or irritation in her voice, but it shut him up instantly. I considered her and her impressive powers of persuasion and wondered if she would ever be willing to teach me how to get Mel to shut up with a single syllable.

  “Right,” he said after a few moments. “We met with the Morrises and learned that Ashley has recently developed fire powers. She’s started melting toys, burning sleeves, that sort of thing.”

  “She’s so young,” Chloe said, distress waving out of her to splash against my shoulder like water at the edge of a lukewarm pool. “Is that what her parents do? Start fires?”

  “Marian can tell when people are lying. It’s the only reason they agreed to let us help, I think,” I explained.

  “Gwen nearly scared them off when she started rambling on about feelings.”

  “You told them you’re an empath?” Chloe asked, the distress lapping against me harder. “You don’t usually do that.”

  “I figured it would be fine to do with them. If Laurel and Hardy were headed over there, that meant there was a fifty-fifty shot the kid could do something and they’d seen it.”

  “And if they hadn’t? If you just announced you’re psychic and they didn’t take it well, what then?” Disapproval slithered through Chloe’s distress and I shrank back.

  “Um. They’d think I was crazy?”

  “Best case scenario, we would have lost out on a lead. Worst case, they might have reported you two to the police, worried you were in on the kidnapping somehow. You didn’t think it through.”

  “What was I supposed to do? They were crying and I wanted to cry and I could tell they didn’t really trust us so I just sort of blurted it out.”

  “It worked out in the end,” Mel said, drawing Chloe’s attention. She studied him for a moment, still unhappy that I’d revealed my power to the Morrises.

  “It worked out fine. No one called the cops on us, as far as I know.” I glanced at the picture window that sat behind Sonny’s cage. “No feds parked on the street in a stakeout to catch the empath and smuggle her into a government lab.”

  “That you know of,” Mel whispered.

  “Shut up,” I snapped. He laughed but didn’t continue to tease. Chloe’s emotions melted away from distress and she looked between us.

  “I’m surprised you two convinced anyone to trust you. You’re like children.”

  “Am not,” I argued, stomping my foot as petulantly as I could manage.

  “Hey, I’m all man,” Mel said, lifting his arm to flex his bicep through his sweater. Chloe didn’t look his way, her eyes on me as she gestured for me to keep going.

  “Oh, ah...” I took a second to remember where I’d been before she’d gone all mom on me. “She—so, they agreed to let us help and we talked some about Laurel and Hardy and how we both saw them when we were kids. Then I promised to bring Ashley home safe and that was kind of it.”

  “I hope you can keep that promise,” Chloe said.

  “Me too. And not just because of what Laurel and Hardy might do to me if I don’t.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes in disapproval but I trusted she knew I was joking. Mostly.

  ***

  I spent the evening lounging, picking at the foods Chloe had left me—everything had vegetables in it; unbelievable! It was like living
with my mother again—and communed with Sonny in front of the worst television programming mankind has to offer.

  As the bird and I discussed the finer points of a TV movie about the ghost of a detective helping solve his own murder, I realized I needed to be more like the Inspectre. I couldn’t just sit around mourning the loss of my candy-filled life of happiness; I needed to do something about it. I needed to get off my achy ass, head to the store, and restock my kitchen with all the junk food that had been stolen from me.

  Sure, it wasn’t as impressive or difficult as being incorporeal and leaving clues by ruffling papers or fogging up mirrors, but I felt it would be just as worthwhile.

  I pulled into the parking lot of a gas station mini-mart several blocks from my house and wobbled inside, headed straight for the candy aisle. I held my reusable bag open and dumped in candy bars, crispy rice bars, and an entire bag of something that I recognized as chocolate but couldn’t be bothered to consider any further. Then I made a beeline for the drinks and inspected my options. Straight cola didn’t look intriguing, but I did spy a bottle of something claiming—with more exclamation marks than necessary, I thought—to be grape-flavored. My tongue turned purple just looking at it. I grabbed the largest size of it that I could find, heaved it into my bag, and turned toward the counter, foolishly thinking I was done shopping.

  Then the siren song of the ice cream cooler called my name and I was powerless to resist.

  I perused my options with the glee of a five-year-old given free rein and finally settled on something chocolate that was not only laden with a slightly different kind of chocolate but also swirled with utterly artificial “cherry” flavor and gummy bears, which were also covered in chocolate.

  Just to be safe, I grabbed three containers.

  I paid cash for my bounty and the boy behind the counter had a knowing look on his face. I realized he probably thought I was stoned, but I took his “solidarity, sister” expression and returned a small, proud smile. I don’t need to be high to eat this way, buddy, but whatever floats your boat.