Willing (The Un #1)

5. Chloe

Five

Chloe

Putting my phone down on my nightstand, I start the process of getting ready for my day. For normal people, I imagine such a process is probably simple and easy. You throw some clean clothes on and get on with it.

But for me, it’s a little more complicated.

For my own safety there are extra steps I must take. Steps I can’t risk skipping if I don’t want to be discovered for what I am.

Besides seeing my mark, which isn’t likely given its location, the creatures that hunt women like me can identify us in other ways.

One way being our scent.

And it’s not only the shadow that hunts me that I have to worry about—it’s all of his kind. Every vampire can smell what I am.

There are hundreds, if not thousands of them plaguing our world, walking the streets after dark, and they’ll know I’m cursed if I don’t actively hide it.

No one in the Order is quite sure why, but those of us with the mark smell different from normal humans. It’s not a smell any human can smell. I’ve never smelled it myself, but I’ve been told too many horror stories about cursed girls getting grabbed off the streets after dark to question it.

Even if it’s not true, if it’s some old wives’ tale, I’d rather not take the risk.

After drying my hair and applying deodorant, I take what’s left of my holy water and dampen my face and neck with it. Then, on top of the holy water, I rub some anointed oil mixed with cinnamon into my skin.

It’s not the most pleasant smell. Seriously, it reminds me of Christmas and all the scented pinecones Sister Edna would spread around the convent, but it could be worse. Back in the old days, before someone discovered that cinnamon messes with the monsters’ sense of smell, the Cursed would use garlic oil to mask their scent.

Just the thought of that makes me want to gag. I’ll take smelling like a Cinnabon over smelling like garlic bread any day.

After dabbing the cinnamon oil onto my neck, I work my way down. Dotting the parts of my body that will be exposed. Thankfully I don’t have to worry about my legs or any other places.

The clothes I’ll be wearing will take care of the rest.

Once the oil is fully rubbed into my skin and no longer glistening, I head over to my dresser and grab a bra and a pair of panties. Then I check my closet to see what I have to work with today.

The biggest downside of hiding what I am is the clothing situation. When I’m home and not planning to leave, I can wear whatever I want. But if I need go out, like I do today, I can’t wear my own clothes.

I have to wear something my roommate, Charity, has already worn.

It’s disgusting, and I’d give almost anything not to have to do it, but I have no choice.

Apparently the cinnamon oil alone isn’t enough to keep me safe. I need to smell like someone normal as well. Someone who’s not cursed.

The one consolation is that I can wear my own undergarments. If I had to wear her dirty panties… That would be too much.

Unfortunately, my small stash of clothes Charity has worn is running low, and after quickly sorting through them, I realize I don’t have a shirt to wear today.

I have two pairs of leggings to choose from, but the two t-shirts she gave me are beyond inappropriate. I’m working in the church today, and I’m sure showing up in a shirt that says— Lazy Little Bitch— wouldn’t go over very well.

Nor would a shirt that says— I Don’t Spit, I Gargle .

If I only planned on running errands like heading to the grocery store or returning books to the library, I’d grit my teeth and bear the humiliation.

It’s not like this is the first time she’s done this to me. It’s extremely passive-aggressive, but I get it. If our roles were reversed, I might be a little annoyed too in her situation.

But these two shirts are the worst yet.

And there’s no way I can face the congregation, let alone whoever is replacing Father McCall today, wearing either of them.

Wrapping my towel back around my body, I grab the two shirts and march out of my bedroom.

Seated at our small breakfast table, bent over her cereal bowl, Charity’s blonde head shoots up, her eyes locking on me as soon as my door opens.

Steeling myself for the argument we’re no doubt about to have, I take a deep breath and slowly walk over to her.

Blue eyes narrowing at me, Charity drops her spoon into her bowl with a loud clatter and leans back in her chair. Crossing her arms defensively over her chest, she looks me up and down, then her eyes lock on what’s gripped in my hand.

Her mood instantly lightens, and a smug smile begins to curve along her lips. Leaving no doubt in my mind now that the shirts were intentionally meant to be malicious.

“Good morning,” she says sweetly.

Too sweetly.

Gritting my teeth, I force my own smile. “Good morning, Charity.”

Tipping her head a little to the side, her eyes widen with feigned innocence. “Is there something you need?”

So far, during the three months I’ve been living with her, we’ve managed to avoid a serious fight. We’ve come close plenty of times, but for the sake of maintaining the peace I usually back off in the end.

After all, I’m technically a guest in her house, though neither of us have a choice in this.

I’m imposing on her, and I know it because she’s made it very clear many times that she doesn’t appreciate it.

Before I came along, Charity had the entire townhouse to herself. She’s used to not sharing with others.

The only child of one of New Elysium’s most successful businessmen, she’s been pampered and spoiled her entire life.

Then she messed up somehow.

I don’t know the exact details of what she did to make her father angry with her, but I know there was an ultimatum.

Either she allowed me to move in or she could find a place on her own.

With no job, and relying completely on her father’s money, naturally Charity agreed.

And she’s resented me ever since.

Lord knows, I’ve had worse roommates in the past, and worse living conditions, given how often I’ve been forced to move around.

But her constant animosity is really starting to wear me thin.

Holding the shirts out to her, I say as neutrally as possible, “I can’t wear these.”

Charity immediately scoffs and looks offended. “What? Why? Are my shirts not good enough for you now?”

Just like the innocent look she gave me a moment ago, the offense is obviously phony and overexaggerated.

She’ll never win an Oscar for best actress, but I’m tempted to award her a slap for her effort.

“It’s not that,” I grit out instead, clenching my jaw in irritation. “I’m working in the church today and these shirts are far from appropriate.”

Charity looks at the shirts I’m holding out in front of her face before she lets out a loud sigh and looks away.

Picking up her spoon, she says dismissively, “Sorry, that sucks. Those are the only two I have.”

I let my arm drop. “What happened to all the others?”

Charity takes a bite of her cereal and chews obnoxiously loud for a minute before she smiles. “I threw them in the wash.”

“What?” I gasp.

Charity takes yet another bite of her cereal, chews, and says cheerfully, “They’re in the wash.”

I shake my head in disbelief, wondering what I ever did to her to make her stoop so low.

“You know, you could always flip the shirts inside out,” she says between chews, as if she’s trying to be helpful.

I could do that… but both of the t-shirts happen to be white and made of a thin synthetic material. They’re not even cotton, and anyone who looks hard enough could probably figure out what they say.

She’s thoroughly set me up.

I can’t wear these shirts and I can’t wear a shirt that’s been washed. What I wear has to smell like someone else, otherwise I’d wear my own clothing.

“Or, if you don’t want to do that, you could stay home,” she adds, knowing full well that’s the last thing I want to do.

Evil witch.

I only get to leave the townhouse two days a week. Two .

I can leave one day to shop for the things I need, and I can leave one day to attend Mass.

Otherwise, I spend every other day trapped inside for my own protection.

Staring hard at her as she does her best to pretend like I’m something insignificant that doesn’t deserve her attention, I say, “Or I could wear the shirt you’re wearing.”

Having just taken another bite of her fruity cereal, Charity nearly chokes.

Coughing, she slams her spoon down and shakes her head.

“No way,” she wheezes.

“Why not?” I ask, throwing her own phony innocence right back at her. “These two are inappropriate, and all the others are in the wash…”

“Because this is Chanel!” she screeches before coughing up a storm.

Treating her the same way she treated me, I show no concern for her as she coughs and coughs.

Ignoring her flushed face and the tears streaming down her cheeks, I say, “So? It’s not like I’m not going to give it back as soon as I get home.”

Shaking her head again, Charity throws her arm out and nearly knocks over her glass of orange juice in her haste to pick it up.

She takes a few gulps to get her coughing under control then gives me a nasty glare. “Because you ruin everything.”

I open my mouth, intending to promise not to ruin her precious Chanel shirt, but then the true meaning of her words hit me.

Feeling a pang of guilt, I press my lips together, and consider dropping the whole thing.

I could stay home and stare at my walls, watching the paint peel for the umpteenth time.

But if I give in now, she’ll just keep doing this.

“Okay,” I say, and let out a long sigh.

Charity must take my sigh as me giving up because her eyes gleam with victory and her shoulders start to relax.

“I can’t wear the shirt you’re wearing, and the others are in the wash…” I purposely draw out, watching her nod head sharply in agreement.

Then I smile. “I guess I’ll just have to give Father McCall a call and let him know why I won’t be at Mass today.”

“What?” Charity asks as I turn away from her.

“I’m sure he’ll understand when I explain the entire situation. No doubt he wouldn’t want me to show up in the inappropriate shirts, either.”

Charity makes a scoffing sound.

I glance over my shoulder. “Though he’ll probably wonder why you don’t have enough clothes for me to wear. Maybe he’ll reach out to your father and ask him to provide you an adequate wardrobe.”

Charity sucks in a shrill gasp as I start to walk away from her.

Then she shouts, “You bitch! Don’t you dare!”

Stopping, I turn back to face her. “Don’t I dare what? Tell the truth?”

With angry tears gleaming in her eyes, Charity stares daggers at me, clearly wishing my death.

When I don’t flinch, she stands up quickly from her chair and says, “I hate you.”

I watch her march off, storming into her bedroom, and wonder how we came to this.

Over a stupid shirt, no less.

When she reappears, she stomps right up to me and throws a wad of cloth at my face. “Here! You can wear this!”

Peeling the fabric off my face, I examine it.

It’s not the Chanel shirt. Soft, silky, and red, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this shirt before.

“Did you wear this?” I ask, hoping she’ll answer truthfully.

Her upper lip lifts. “No, it’s Allison’s. She left it here the last time she was over. And before you ask, no, I haven’t washed it. Happy now?”

Happy?

Happy to wear yet another person’s used shirt?

Not even.

But I nod my head in acquiescence.

“Good,” she says, and I turn away, thinking that’s the last of it.

But her next words cause me to nearly trip and fall on my face.

“Because I’m done following the rules when you keep breaking them.”

Me? Break the rules?

Surely, she must be talking to someone else.

Whipping around, I see Charity staring expectantly at me.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

I’ve never broken the rules. Not once in my life.

The rules are the only thing that keep me breathing.

Charity rolls her eyes in disgust. “Don’t play coy. You know exactly what I mean.”

Still confused, I say, “I’m sorry, I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“You can stop treating me like I’m stupid,” she snaps. “I’m not stupid. And I have ears. I’ve heard you.”

“Heard me?”

“Yes, I’ve heard you, and I’ve kept my mouth shut. Because, unlike you, I’m not a fucking snitch. But I’m done, I’m so fucking done.”

It takes me another few seconds to figure out what she could have possibly heard, but when I do I’m overwhelmed with mortification.

She’s heard me when I had those dreams…

Oh God.

How loud was I?

“I don’t know how you’re doing it,” she goes on. “I don’t know how you’re sneaking him in, but if you’re going to have guys over, I’m going to do it, too.”

“I haven’t had a guy—” I try to say in my defense.

But she immediately cuts me off. “Stop lying! I told you, I’m not stupid. I heard you. I heard you talking to someone.”

I shake my head in denial, and Charity makes a loud sound of disgust.

“Oh stop , you’re just embarrassing yourself at this point. We both know you’re not the innocent little girl you’re pretending to be.”

My cheeks burning with heat, I’m utterly speechless as she goes off on me.

“You were born vampire bait, and that’s okay, you didn’t have a choice. I get that. We can’t help what we are. But it’s not fair that you get to force your way into my house, and I have to change my whole life to accommodate you.”

Vampire bait .

Out of everything she said, those two words cut the deepest and hurt the most.

I’m well aware that there are many in the Order who believe that those of us bearing the mark are simply that—bait to attract vampires.

Bait that puts the Order and all the followers in danger.

In their eyes, we’re not even human.

We’re a waste of resources.

Usually when someone in the Order calls me vampire bait though they do it in a whisper behind my back.

Rarely is it slung so boldly at my face.

“Anyway, I know your dirty little secret.” She frowns at me, not giving me a chance to respond. “So, if you tell on me, I’ll tell on you. Got it?”

Spinning on her heel, she walks back into her room and slams the door.

Assuming I agree.

But I can’t agree.

I didn’t have a man in my room. It was only a stupid, embarrassing dream that’s completely ruining my life at this point.

I don’t know how I’m going to convince her though. In fact, I’m pretty sure nothing will convince her because she wants it to be true.

And if that’s the case, I have no idea what I’m going to do.

* * *

Picking up Charity’s abandoned cereal bowl, I carry it into the kitchen and rinse it out. Then I go through the motions of cleaning up the kitchen area. Loading up the dishwasher, wiping down the counters, and straightening the napkins. Hoping she’ll eventually make a reappearance after calming down.

But she never comes out of her room.

Giving up on having a calm, rational conversation with her, I head back to my room and finish getting dressed for the day. Once I’m done and have everything I need packed in my bag, I wander back out to the kitchen.

Lingering for as long as I can.

Remembering I promised Isaac I’d eat something for breakfast, I grab a strawberry cereal bar and take my time eating. Nibbling it down bit by bit until I reach the tips of my fingers.

When Charity still fails to make an appearance, I have no choice but to give up for good or risk being late for Mass.

Using the magnetic notepad we keep on the fridge for grocery lists, I write her a quick note, asking her to please be available to talk tonight.

Praying she won’t do anything rash or stupid before I get back, I sling my bag over my shoulder, walk out the front door, and step into the real world.

The first step outside is always the most jarring. Even wearing dark sunglasses, the second the sun hits my face at full force with no panes of glass or curtains to filter its strength, I’m thrown off balance.

My head spins and I have to concentrate all of my focus on not stumbling forward like a drunk that’s been up all night drinking.

The sun hasn’t always affected me like this. I mean, the sun and I haven’t been getting along since I hit puberty, but it’s definitely been growing worse over the past few weeks.

I figure most of it is because I’ve spent the last few years of my life cooped up behind four walls and it’s starting to take a hard toll on me.

There was a time I had more freedom. More space to move around and people to interact with. The nuns in the convents may have been unpleasant to deal with most of the time, but they were still other people who could fulfill my need for interaction.

Unlike the constant snubbing and cold shoulders I get from Charity and her friends.

Unfortunately, just before my sixteenth birthday, one of the convents was attacked by a creature seeking out his Cursed.

And all the nuns that were living there were either slaughtered or taken.

Since that day, the Cursed no longer live in the churches or convents to protect the Order. We’re kept spread out across the country, living secretly in the houses of the most devoted followers.

Followers who know that one day their personal sacrifice will earn them a higher place in Heaven.

It takes a few minutes for the dizziness to subside, but once it does, I push my body into moving forward. Tucking my chin down, I walk out onto the sidewalk and blend in with the other people going about their business.

The bus stop I need is only a couple of blocks away from the townhouse, and the walk there is the easiest part of my day.

Once the bus comes to a squealing stop and I step on, things get hard again.

The morning buses are almost always full of people on their way to work, and while I’m practically starving for more human interaction, being surrounded by strangers takes its toll on my nerves.

I’m too aware of the people near me. Overly aware of their closeness. I can feel it pressing in on me like some invisible force even though there’s a polite amount of space between us.

Then you have all the smells and sounds…

Today I find them especially difficult to handle. To the point of being almost unbearable.

When the bus finally arrives at my stop twenty minutes later, it takes every bit of willpower I have to keep myself from shoving through everyone to get off first.

Once I’m in the open air again, with the sun beating down on me, I step up next to a building, seeking comfort in the shade of its shadow to catch my breath.

In the heart of downtown now, people are moving all around me, filling up the sidewalks as they go about their day. Like busy worker ants completely oblivious to someone like me.

A woman that doesn’t quite fit in.

There have been many, many days when I’ve longed to fit in with them. To be so busy I’m completely oblivious of anything and everything that doesn’t personally affect my life.

What would it be like to be like everyone else?

To not worry about the vampires?

To just accept they exist and avoid them?

Would life be easier? Would I have more purpose?

I can’t count how many days I’ve secretly fantasized about walking away from the Order and taking my chances at being normal.

Today, though, is not one of those days.

Today I just want to get out of this sun.

Old gothic architecture surrounded by gleaming modern skyscrapers, New Elysium’s Saint Benedict’s cathedral is a relic of the past struggling to keep up with today’s godless society.

A hundred years ago, there were at least a dozen churches in the downtown area alone, serving multiple denominations.

Now only Saint Benedict’s remains.

The other churches were destroyed and replaced by more lucrative enterprises. Victims of the vampire’s relentless war on religion.

Sweeping my eyes over the crowds of people power walking to their brunches or morning meetings, I wonder if any of them are aware of how close humans are to being at the full mercy of the monsters.

If Saint Benedict’s ever falls, there will be no one left to stand up to them. No one left to protect us. The vampire’s numbers may be small in comparison to ours now, but that’s only thanks to the work of the Order.

Without the Order around to hide the Cursed, the vampire’s numbers could grow exponentially…

Shaking those gloomy thoughts from my head, I step away from the building and back into the brutal sun. Saint Benedict’s is directly across the street from me, but at the moment it might as well be a million miles away.

With each step I take to get there, I swear I can feel the rays of the sun scorching into the back of my neck.

I’ve never been this sensitive to the sun before, and it’s more than a little unnerving.

The fear that I might actually burn to a crisp has me quickening my steps.

When I finally reach the massive black iron doors, I yank them both open without a thought to how heavy they are and rush inside.

“Chloe!” Sister Susan admonishes me a moment before the black doors slam shut behind me.

The sound resonates and echoes throughout the cathedral, vibrating through the very rafters like a long, drawn-out chord strummed on a guitar.

It’s still early in the day, so there are only a few people scattered around the pews, sitting or kneeling in quiet prayer.

But every one of those faces turns to me in surprise.

Black robe snapping behind her, Sister Susan marches quickly down the aisle and grabs me roughly by the arm.

“What on earth has gotten into you?” she hisses between her teeth while smiling apologetically and nodding to those looking our way.

Wincing in embarrassment, I say, “Sorry.”

Shaking her head in obvious disappointment, Sister Susan tugs me around the pews and leads me through a door behind the altar.

Once we’re finally away from the prying eyes of the worshippers, she practically throws my arm away from her and says angrily, “You’re late.”

Frowning in confusion, I pull my arm close to my chest. “I am?”

I could have sworn I only stopped for a couple of minutes after getting off the bus…

“Yes,” she snaps impatiently. “You’re twenty minutes late and there’s extra work to do to prepare for Mass. Father Dominic is on his way right now, and his ceremonial robes are not ready for him!”

I almost cringe at Father Dominic’s name but catch myself at the last second. Out of all the local priests who could replace Father McCall on a moment’s notice, Father Dominic would be my last pick.

He’s extremely prejudiced against the Cursed. He’s one of the ones that believes sheltering and protecting us is an unnecessary risk.

“Come.” Snapping her fingers at me like I’m a dog she expects to heel, Sister Susan spins and marches down the hall.

Sighing, I rub my arm then follow behind her. Telling myself that putting up with this treatment is the cost of getting to do what gives me fulfillment.

Working in the church is literally the most important thing I have going on in my life.

This is my sanctuary.

To some that might be pathetic and sad, but it truly fills me with a sense of purpose. I have a reason for living. I’m not just a drain on society.

I matter, and regardless of what others might think, in God’s eyes I’m important.

I’m helping spread His message.

Sister Susan leads me straight to the vestry, and I throw myself into getting everything prepared for Father Dominic’s imminent arrival. Helping her inspect the robe he’ll wear and spot cleaning or dusting where needed.

Thankfully, once we get to work and start making progress, Sister Susan’s mood drastically improves. Her words are less clipped and she even smiles at me when we finish our work in the vestry and move on to preparing Communion.

Her good mood lasts until we finish all the preparations and Father Dominic still hasn’t shown up yet.

Scowling and causing the fine lines around her eyes and lips to deepen, she watches the back door like a hawk, obviously expecting him to appear at any second.

When twenty minutes pass, she starts to pace.

After forty-five minutes, she disappears into the office.

Needing to stay busy, I grab a broom and dustpan out of the closet and begin sweeping.

Sister Susan reappears a few minutes later and lets out a long, heavy sigh to get my attention.

“It appears Father Dominic is running late,” she says, as if it’s not a big deal.

But I know, despite her act otherwise, it’s most certainly a big deal for her.

Sister Susan is very punctual and hates running late. Absolutely loathes it. Thus her earlier irritation with me.

Her voice cracking midway through the sentence like she’d rather choke on the words than say them, she finishes with, “We’ll have to cancel the afternoon Mass.”

I nod and grip the broom I’m holding tighter, feeling a spike of apprehension.

“What about the evening Mass?” I ask.

If all of today’s services are cancelled, I’ll probably have to go straight home, and I won’t be able to return until next week.

Another long week of twiddling my thumbs, with nothing to do…

Her expression softens at my concern. “He should be here in time to perform the service. Until then, find some way to keep busy. I’ll take care of all the announcements.”

Taking that as I should get back to work, I nod at her and start sweeping again.

With so much time to kill, once I finish the hall I move on to the sacristy. After finishing the sacristy, I move on to the office.

I work my way through most of the rooms by the time Father Dominic shows up.

“You’re late,” I hear Sister Susan chide him in the hallway.

“Yes, I know,” he snaps back. “It couldn’t be helped.”

Tucked into the broom closet, inventorying the cleaning supplies, I freeze in place. The door to the closet is wide open, and Sister Susan certainly knows I’m right here, but I’m hoping Father Dominic doesn’t notice me.

It’s hard enough to deal with him on a good day. I’d rather avoid him until I have to see him after Mass. Which will be torture enough as it is.

Literally.

“Couldn’t be helped?” Sister Susan scoffs.

“Yes, it couldn’t be helped,” Father Dominic growls. “I was given very little notice I’d need to be here, and traffic was backed up for miles.”

“That’s no excuse!” Sister Susan says, sounding truly indignant. “It is your duty to be prepared to be called on at any time!”

“Duty?” Father Dominic chuckles, but it’s not a friendly chuckle. No, it’s low and dark and sends shivers down my spine.

That chuckle haunts me almost as much as the shadow that invades my dreams…

“Do you really want to get into duty , Sister Susan?” he says coldly.

“Yes, actually, I do,” Sister Susan says without missing a beat. “You have a duty to be here on time. You owe it to our charge. By being late, you put her safety at risk.”

“Owe it to her? I think not! I owe that little—”

“Father Dominic!” Sister Susan cries out, quickly cutting him off. “God is listening!”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Father Dominic grits out, “Yes, yes He is. How nice of you to remind me, Sister Susan.”

“You’re welcome, Father,” Sister Susan says without an ounce of shame.

Father Dominic chuckles again, sending more shivers down my spine. “Shall I return the favor? Shall I remind you of your duty and what it implies? Your duty is to serve this church and to serve me without questioning me. Is that not correct? God works through me, and it is not your place to question my motives.”

I hear Sister Susan suck in a small breath.

“It would be a shame if I had to report you, wouldn’t it? What would happen to your dear charge then? Now if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for Mass.”

A door opens then slams shut.

Sister Susan grumbles, “Wicked, careless, beast of a man,” under her breath.

Then I hear her footsteps approaching me.

When she steps around the open door, the look she gives me screams she knows I was listening in, and she wanted me to hear all of that.

“Chloe,” she says with an urgency that shouldn’t exist, “you should head out to the nave and take your place for Mass.”