Bloody merry, p.2
Bloody Merry, page 2
"Mercy, Mercy! Can we go see Santa? Please?" Mel begged, practically bouncing up and down with anticipation.
I fixed Mel with an icy stare. "You do realize that's not actually Santa, right? That's just some sad sack who couldn't hold a year-round job, so he's reduced to letting brats drool on his lap for minimum wage once a year."
Mel's face fell. "But I always tell Santa what I want for Christmas! It's a tradition!"
I scoffed. "You're a grown ass woman, not to mention a vampire. He's not going to give you shit for Christmas, except maybe a boner when you plop your ass down on his lap. Don't be a ho-ho-ho..."
Muggs, who'd been silent until now, chimed in. "Oh, let the girl have some fun, Mercy. You're such a Scrooge."
Before I could retort, he scampered off, his heightened sense of hearing guiding him unerringly toward the Santa line. With a pleading glance at me, Mel hurried after him.
I rolled my eyes again, but followed them over to indulge Mel's childish fantasy. As I watched the progression, my lips curled in a smirk. Muggs plopped himself down on Santa's lap, and I could see the old man's eyes bulge in dismay at having an elderly blind geezer perched on his thighs.
With my vampire hearing, I picked up on their conversation.
"Ho ho ho!" Santa exclaimed with obviously forced jolliness. "And what do you want for Christmas, um... little boy?"
Muggs leaned in close, his cloudy eyes peering sightlessly as he whispered his request. "I'd like a nice young lad, preferably with B positive blood, hold the hepatitis and the AIDS."
Santa recoiled, his bushy white eyebrows shooting up in shock. I had to stifle a laugh. This was even better than I'd hoped.
Before the traumatized Santa could eject Muggs from his lap, Mel bounced up with a wide grin on her youthful face. "My turn!" she sang out.
Santa's demeanor changed instantly when Mel settled onto his thighs. His eyes roved over her appreciatively and he gave her a squeeze, chuckling with far more authenticity. "Well, hello there, little girl! Have you been naughty or nice this year?"
Fucking creep. I rolled my eyes.
Oblivious to his leering tone, Mel launched into her wish list. "For Christmas I want a new PlayStation 5, some designer shoes, because a girl can never have too many shoes… Oh! And a pet penguin!"
I shook my head, smirking. Looked like Santa was getting a bit more Yuletide cheer than he'd bargained for. As I watched the pathetic scene unfold, a flashing sign across the street suddenly caught my eye.
I turned and noticed a small storefront that I could have sworn wasn't lit up before. It was as if it had just opened up for business. Strange considering it was nine o'clock and most of the shops on this street were closing down.
The sign over the door blinked erratically, spelling out "The Peddler" in glowing red and gold lights. I frowned. Despite the holiday decorations covering the exterior, this place gave me an uneasy vibe that I couldn't quite place.
Curiosity won out over caution, and I decided to investigate while Mel and Muggs were distracted. I crossed the street, my boots crunching on the salt-strewn sidewalk as I approached the peculiar shop.
A bell jingled overhead as I stepped inside, greeted by the cloying scents of cloves and aged paper. The lighting was dim; the shop illuminated only by a few weak bulbs and candles flickering on the shelves. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out the shop's wares—a cluttered and quaint collection of antiques, trinkets, and other arcane objects.
Many of them looked to be Christmas-themed, reminiscent of decor from decades past. Tarnished bells, faded tinsel garlands, and retro glass ornaments that would have been in style back when I was still human. Before I could study anything further, a gravelly voice spoke up from the shadows.
"Welcome, Mercy. I've been expecting you."
I whirled around to find the source of the voice, my muscles tensing instinctively. Behind the counter stood an old man watching me with keen interest. He had bushy gray eyebrows, a hooked nose, and a hunched back. His nametag simply read "The Peddler."
"Who are you?" I demanded. "How do you know my name?"
The Peddler smiled, the corners of his mouth nearly reaching his eyes. "Well, it's what I do. Call it my business. I know many things—especially concerning those touched by the craft."
I narrowed my eyes. Either this guy was psychic, or he wasn't entirely human himself. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I have something that might help you, Mercy Brown." The Peddler reached below the counter and produced an ornate oil lamp etched with strange symbols. "A token to mend bridges. That's what you desire the most, is it not, to fix what's been broken?"
I snorted. "I suppose."
The Peddler held the lamp out more closely for me to examine. It was beautiful, no doubt, but not the kind of thing that appealed to my minimalism. It was more Ladinas’ style. "Well, I suppose I know someone who might appreciate it."
"Indeed. It's a priceless artifact, but for one who has lost her way, consider it a gift. On the house."
I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Yeah, no thanks. I've learned a few things through the years. Nothing's ever free, and don't accept gifts from strange men."
But the Peddler insisted, wrapping the lamp in tissue, shoving the lamp into a gift bag and handing it to me. "Please, I wish for you to have it. No strings attached. Consider it a Christmas gift."
"I don't know what the hell to do with it!" I protested. "I mean, I appreciate the generosity, but—"
"Keep it. Or don’t. Give it away. The choice is yours, and the answers you seek will soon become clear."
"I'm not looking for any fucking answers. What the hell, man?"
Before I could object further, he ushered me out the door with surprising strength for such a frail-looking man. I found myself back on the sidewalk, confused as hell and holding the mysterious gift. What was that place? Where had it even come from?
I turned around again, certain the shop had been right behind me. But there was nothing there now except a vacant storefront. Unease crept down my spine. I'd been a witch long enough, faced enough nastiness of the supernatural sort, that when things like this happened, I knew it was just a matter of time before shit went south. Strange men don't appear out of nowhere and insist you take gifts. Not without an ulterior—usually pervy—motive.
Shaking my head, I tightened my grip on the bag and went to find Mel and Muggs. I had an internal debate with myself about whether I should tell them about the Peddler and his strange disappearing shop. They didn't follow me out onto the streets after my disagreement with Ladinas because they trusted me. They were worried about me, the same as him.
To think. My two progenies were chaperoning me? The idea would have been laughable if it wasn't the damn truth.
People in puffy coats, stocking hats, and ugly sweaters stomped around me like a herd of buffalo.
"Muggs," I muttered under my breath, appealing to the vampire-druid's doubly enhanced hearing. "Where the fuck are you two?"
If he heard me, there was no way to know. Not like he'd teleport himself to me in the middle of a crowd. Maybe they'd find their way to me. Whatever. It was just as likely they'd find me if I sat on my ass and waited.
I had to be extra careful being out and about. When Oblivion was with me, influencing my every move, I'd become something of an outlaw. We'd even made quite a show at the local precinct. I still couldn't believe I'd told the cops that I owned the city now. No one in their right mind really wants that kind of responsibility.
Sure, pretty much every bad guy ever has said at some point or another that he wanted to rule the world. I'd said as much under Oblivion's thrall. But can you imagine all the crap you'd have to deal with ruling a freaking planet?
Ruling the world is one of those things that sounds appealing until you actually try it. Like shower sex. Once you give it a go, it's only a matter of time before you lose your footing and slip and slide like a dumbass until you realize things were a lot easier before.
So far, though, no one recognized me. Except for the Peddler. Maybe that's how he knew so much about me. He wasn't a cop or anything, but that didn't mean he hadn't seen my mug on the news, or whatever. That didn't explain his disappearing act, though.
I found a vacant park bench on the sidewalk, just in front of a candles and oils store that had already closed up shop for the night. I reached into the gift bag and pulled out the lamp.
It was a beautiful piece of work, with ornate and intricate designs etched into the porcelain. The writing on the surface was unusual, similar to Arabic, but different, simpler, more archaic, perhaps. Not that I could read Arabic, anyway, but I knew it when I saw it. There was a subtle thrum within it as well, almost as if the lamp had its own energy source—which made me anxious. It felt like magic, and messing with mysterious magical artifacts rarely came without unforeseen consequences.
Intricate floral designs that must have taken the lamp's maker hours to complete decorated its porcelain base. Its metal handle was small and curved to make an elegant "S" shape.
"A token to mend bridges, to fix what's broken," I muttered to myself, recalling the Peddler's words. "What the hell does that even mean?"
I stared at the lamp for what must've been several minutes, trying to sort out the mystery and get a feel for the kind of magic the thing contained. It was alluring, like it was calling to me, begging me to take it and study what secrets lay inside. But before I could lose myself in the mystery of the lamp any further, I heard a familiar voice interrupt my reverie.
"Hey Mercy! Over here!" I looked up and saw Mel and Muggs standing several yards away, waving energetically at me. They’d dressed themselves up in festive holiday costumes, with Mel wearing a penguin onesie and Muggs sporting an elf costume.
I quickly wrapped the lamp back in tissue and put it back into the bag as I rose to approach my two overly spirited progenies.
"Whatcha got there?" Mel asked.
"Nothing really." I lied. Not sure why. "Just something that caught my eye."
Muggs fiddled with the plastic extensions he'd slipped over either ear. "How do you like them? Do they look real?"
"Sure." I shrugged. "I'm clearly not imagining them. They're real false ears."
Mel nudged me. "Stop! You know what he meant. I think they look real enough."
I rolled my eyes and smiled. "Yeah, they look great. You both look great." It was strange to see them dressed up like that, but it was nice, too. How long had it been since we had just hung out without some kind of world-threatening baddie to deal with? It was almost like I'd forgotten how to enjoy myself.
"So, where to now?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the gift bag in my hand.
"I was thinking we could go ice skating," Mel suggested.
"Ice skating? Really?"
"C'mon, Mercy!" Mel grabbed my arm. "It's Christmas Eve. Live a little!"
I snorted. "Live? You know who you're talking to, right? Been there, done that, a hundred and thirty-one years ago. Besides, I don't know if putting a blind man on ice is a great idea."
Muggs shrugged. "I'll be fine. I'll just stay on that bench you were sitting on and enjoy the carolers. You two have some fun!"
"Fun," I muttered as Mel took my hand and dragged me through the crowd. "Yeah, right."
Chapter 3
The frosty air nipped at my cheeks as Mel and I glided across the ice. I scanned the crowded rink, taking in the glowing Christmas lights and cheerful skaters, oblivious to the fact that they were skating with vampires.
Muggs sat hunched on a nearby bench, ever the watchdog. The gift bag with the peddler's lamp lay beside him. If anyone could detect magic, it was Muggs. But if he didn't touch it, maybe he'd remain oblivious to what was within. I'd tell him about it later, most likely. Or would I? it felt like the whole damn encounter with the Peddler was some kind of secret I was meant to keep. But I wasn't sure if it was a "keep this a secret, for your own good," kind of secret or a, "don't tell your mommy and daddy, this'll be our little secret" kind of secret. The Peddler seemed genuine enough, but most monsters do at first. They rarely show their true colors at first encounter. That's how they lure you in. I'd learned that lesson well enough with Oblivion.
Lost in thought, I nearly collided with a bundled-up little girl wobbling nearby.
"Eyes ahead!" Mel teased as my legs nearly split beneath me in my attempt to avoid the girl. "I'd think it had been a lifetime since you skated last."
My tightened chest relaxed. "It's been at least that long. Not the sort of activity that attracts a lot of vampires."
Mel laughed, flashing her pearly whites. "Vampires on Ice! You know, like Disney on Ice, but with fangs. I could totally be the next Disney princess, you know."
I raised an eyebrow. "A vampire as a Disney Princess? Are you serious?"
Mel nodded matter-of-factly. "You're a queen! And since I'm your progeny, that means I'm a princess already. Think Disney would go for it? Every brooding vampire tween needs a role model with bite."
I laughed and shrugged. "You never know. Representation matters. Maybe you'll inspire the next generation of bloodsuckers to aim higher."
"I know, right? I mean, they already did Zombies. Across two sequels, they added werewolves and even aliens to the musical series. Why not vampires?"
We shared a grin, coasting on, even though I didn't know what the hell Mel was talking about. Did Disney seriously do a zombie-themed musical? I shuddered thinking about it. What ever happened to the good old days when vampires and zombies were monsters... and Disney characters were genuinely terrifying?
What? You don’t know what I’m talking about? Let me explain.
Disney might not be a mill for horror flicks. But there are undercurrents in their films that will scare the shit out of you if you're paying attention.
Take Pinocchio, for example.
If you're a vampire and find yourself standing in front of Pinocchio, you'd better hope he sticks to the truth. Especially if the little hormone-crazed marionette is staring at your chest. Don't ask him about it. Don't let him say a word. If he lies, it'll be a wooden nose to the heart for you. He’s like a walking vampire killer. Until he becomes a ‘real boy.’
Don't get me started on the anti-witch stereotyping in even the most beloved classics. Maleficent, the "Mad" Madam Mim, and Ursula, to name a few. None of them have happy endings, either. Look it up.
How are young witches supposed to grow up with a wholesome worldview when the only characters they relate to end up dead or diseased at the end of the story?
At least Broadway got it right with Wicked. Except for the fact that the actress is in green-face through the entire show. I mean, come on! Most witches aren't really green.
Another damn stereotype perpetuated by the system.
But at least the musical gave us a witch we could cheer for.
For a moment, as my mind wandered, considering the absurdity of Mel's Disney princess dreams, I forgot the chaos swirling around us and lost myself in the crisp night air. All I really had to worry about was avoiding a collision with humans.
A legitimate concern. I'd hate to sever someone's limbs with my skates. Dismemberment has a way of ruining someone's holiday season. And triggering my thirst.
Beyond such worries—which I tried to keep tucked away in the back of my mind—it wasn't as horrible an experience as I'd expected. While I'd never admit it to Mel or anyone else, I was having a shockingly good time. It was peaceful; almost relaxing. I couldn't recall the last time I did something so mundane as skating.
I barely realized Mel was still chatting away beside me. Rambling on about the same convoluted topic.
"I think it's bullshit," Mel added. "Sure, I mean, vampire romances cast us in a more desirable light. But we're more than sex dolls that bite. Sure, there are a few vampire heroes in major movies, but there's nothing for young vampires to look up to. Nothing so aspirational as a princess!"
I laughed out loud. When Mel turned on "chatterbox" mode it was hard to shut her down. "You're really stuck on this, aren't you?"
"Think about it," Mel added. "Maybe if Jinx had a Disney princess vampire she could model her existence after, she wouldn't be such a bitch. If I didn't have you as a role model, I'd probably be just like her."
I shook my head, growing more serious. "I'm not so sure Jinx is just another youngling vampire girl gone wild. She's too strong, too calculating. The way she commands those orphaned vamps... it reminds me of someone far older."
Mel tilted her head. "But you said vampires rarely gain extra abilities until at least their first century, right? Takes that long to cycle the energy of enough souls from feeds to develop new powers."
I nodded. "Usually that's true."
Mel bit her lip and tilted her head. "What if a youngling bit a lot of people? Went on some kind of major binge and devoured hundreds of souls. As many in a few weeks that most vampires do over the course of a century. Could she develop abilities, then?"
"It's possible, but unlikely. I'm not sure how our metabolism works, exactly, but when we get a taste of a soul, the part that lingers in someone's blood, we have to savor it to benefit from it. More like tasting wine in the Alps than drinking beer from a funnel at a frat party."
"But it's not impossible. We can't really rule anything out at this point."
I took a deep breath, the cold winter air filling and chilling my lungs. "Jinx didn't reveal any unique abilities. That's what I'd expect if she'd extracted a new power from human souls. It was more like she had the heightened speed and strength that only comes with age."
"What about all those piercings?" Mel asked. "I mean, that's not the kind of style you'd expect from an ancient vampire. Not unless you consider the punk rock era ancient. Besides, we heal. She either doesn't take those piercings out or she has to re-pierce herself every time she puts one in!"
I mulled over Mel's theory as we glided across the ice. "With time, we become resilient to pain," I explained. "The piercings may sting at first, but if she's a century old or more, she'd be numb to it by now."
