American Vampire. Jennifer Armintrout
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“So, what kind of a monster are we talking about?”
“I’ve never exactly asked It to classify itself while it was chasing me.” She blew out a breath and raised her hand to push her hair back. She still shook, giving Graf the visual interpretation of the old “like a leaf on a tree” expression. She didn’t stink of fear anymore, so she must have just been burning off adrenaline. “It’s just a monster. That’s the only way to describe it. Some people thought It was some mutant kind of giant possum when it first started attacking people, but …”
He frowned. “When did it start attacking people?”
“About five years ago,” she replied in a “Gee, what do you think?” tone. “Right after we all got stuck here.”
For a few minutes, Graf didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes on the painfully straight road and let everything she said tumble around in his mind. For five years, an entire town had been held captive by some kind of monster, and no one on the outside had noticed? There was clearly more at work here than just plain old monstering. That was the kind of thing only a spell could accomplish, not that he’d tell her that. He never liked to reveal the existence of the supernatural to a human, even if they had already experienced it in some form. There was always a ton of explaining to be done, and the same tiresome questions. Questions a lot like the ones he’d had for her.
“My place is right up there.” The girl indicated, pointing to where a mercury light cast the side of a white farmhouse in a sickly green glow.
Graf pulled into the driveway, lined on both sides with milk cans rusting under their coats of white paint. “Nice decor.” He sneered.
“Yeah, well, I’ve been really worried about my curb appeal during the last five years that I’ve been unable to leave town and lived in constant fear of a monster, so go fuck yourself,” she snapped, pushing the passenger door open.
She was feisty. Now, he didn’t know if he wanted to fuck her or eat her. Or, he could do both, but only if she let him into her house.
“Wait,” he called after her, turning off the engine.
He got out of the car, and she stopped, hands on her slim hips as she turned to face him. “I hope you don’t think you’re coming into my house.”
“Look, I know that we got off on the wrong foot—”
“The wrong foot?” She laughed, tilted her head back, and gave the trees above her an imploring look, like they could save her from his stupidity. “I’m going to have to disagree with your assessment of the situation. You see, getting nearly killed by It and then being left for dead by the person you think is trying to save you, that’s not getting off on the wrong foot. That’s called getting screwed, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to do that to me again.”
“I’m not trying to … screw you.” He forced away an immature giggle. That would not help his cause in the slightest. “If I’m trapped here, I’m going to need a place to stay. Can’t you at least give me directions to a motel?”
“Yeah. I can.” She smiled sweetly. “It’s about twenty miles away, just over the state line in West Virginia.”
He cursed and turned away, then turned back. “Is there anyone in town who would put me up?”
“As charming as you are, I’m sure you’ll find someone delighted to have you as a guest in their home. But not here. There is no room in this inn.” She walked up the lawn, toward the wide front porch.
“Just, wait.” He wasn’t asking this time. The sun would be up soon. The sky was already turning that weird grayish-blue color that it did toward dawn. She was going to let him inside, or she was going to die trying to keep him out. “I need a place to stay, and you owe me.”
She stopped with a noise of disbelief. “I owe you? For what? Stranding me on the side of the road?”
“For saving you from your monster. And for the ride home.” He could have left it at that, but he didn’t, striding up the lawn to loom over her. “You stranded yourself. You ran out there. You were going to be walking home, anyway, so I was good enough to give you a temporary reprieve, not really stranding you at all.”
Her jaw dropped, but thankfully no words came out of her pretty little mouth.
“I won’t be here for long. Just give me a place to stay until I figure out a way to get out of here.” It still sounded like he was asking permission. What he needed to do was rip out her throat and go right on inside.
“We’ve been trapped here for five years, and you think you’re going to waltz right on in and out in a few days?” She shook her head. “Oh, yes, please do come into my house and continue to insult me.”
“Look, I know I’ve been a huge asshole. But listen, I have this … medical condition.” He fished in the pocket of his pants. It was time to play the card that most people saw right through, the one that practically screamed, “I’m a vampire, put a coffee table leg through my heart.” His fingers closed on the slender piece of metal and chain. “See this? It’s a medic alert bracelet.”
“Good for you, you’re allergic to penicillin.” She turned away and took the steps up to the porch two at a time. When he followed, she whirled and shouted, “Get away from me!”
“Would you listen to me for a minute? I have photosensitivity. Polymorphous light eruption. I won’t go into details, because it’s disgusting. Pus is involved. I can’t be in the sunlight. I need to be indoors.” He had one more trick to pull out of his sleeve before he decided to bite her and be done with it, an option that was looking less and less appetizing the more she opened her mouth. It was drastic, and he hated to say it, but he braced himself and added, “Please.”
She considered a moment. A sick part of his mind wondered if she would look so serious and doubtful if she knew the only option left was getting her blood sprayed across the faded white siding. Finally, with an annoyed sigh, she said, “Look. I don’t know you. You could be a psychopath. There is no way that, under normal circumstances, I should let you into my house. But normal circumstances went out the window about, oh, five years ago. You can’t stay here permanently, and I think it’s only fair for you to know that I have my dad’s double-barrel shotgun inside and it’ll be the last thing you see if you try to lay one finger on me.”
He held up his hands and tried not to smile at the absurdity of her statement. He was too strong and way too fast. He could do anything he wanted to her; she wouldn’t even have time to load. At this point, though, he didn’t want to do anything but get her to shut up. “Understood.”
She hesitated a moment, then turned to open the door. “You’re going to stay in the basement.”
“That’s fine.” He’d slept in worse places. And most basements he’d been in had couches and pool tables.
Inside, she flipped on a light switch, and the full Midwestern horror of the house became instantly apparent. Everywhere Graf looked, doilies covered end tables and decorative plates hung on the walls. Beyond the living room—and the hideous floral couch—the archway leading to what Graf assumed was the kitchen had a pair of antlers mounted over it.
“This is.” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to mentally erase the figurines of chubby German children on the fireplace mantel. “You decorate this yourself?”
The girl stopped, her mouth again in the increasingly familiar half-open position, like she’d never heard someone say that her place was hideous before, which Graf couldn’t believe. “Don’t worry. The basement isn’t anywhere near this nice.”
She marched into the kitchen and turned on the lights there and a ceiling fan began to whirl gently. Graf watched it for a moment, something nagging at his brain. “No one can leave, and no one can really arrive, right?”
“Yup.” The woman went to the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of plain water. “Thirsty?”