Chapter Five
FIVE
“I’m running errands, Gigi,” Ben said, phone cradled between his cheek and shoulder as he fumbled with the car keys. “Can I call you back?”
The take-out bags of blood wouldn’t stay hot for long, and he wanted to make sure Eleonore fed well. His nose crinkled at the rich, coppery smell, which should have bothered him far more than it did. Unfortunately, the wolf in him liked that sort of thing. There was an itch in his gums where fangs would drop at the full moon.
His sister made a rude noise. “This is important. Or does buying decorations for your coffee shop matter more than your little sister?”
Ben was very familiar with this manipulation tactic, which was employed mercilessly in his family. That didn’t mean it wasn’t effective. “All right,” he said, feeling a surge of guilt. “What’s up?”
He put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the passenger seat before pulling out of the parking spot. The SUV was more car than he needed, but his height required accommodations. He checked his rearview mirror, then stiffened at the sight of a red-haired woman crossing the street. Had Eleonore gotten out? Then he recognized the piratical figure of Lilith, the so-called Mother of All Demons, and relaxed.
It might not be the usual response when someone encountered one of the oldest living demons, especially not one who was cheerfully, self-admittedly insane and had a reputation for violence. In fact, it wasn’t even Ben’s usual response, but he’d rather see Lilith than Eleonore at the moment. Lilith had been a regular sight in Glimmer Falls since her son, Astaroth, had started dating Calladia. The worst behavior she’d engaged in on the mortal plane these past two years—that Ben knew of, anyway—had been a few acts of vandalism, some mild arson, and a regrettable amount of public indecency with Kai, one of Ben’s friends and a member of the nearby Fable Farms werewolf pack.
Lilith didn’t seem to pose a threat to Glimmer Falls so long as her son was happy—there were plenty of other cities, countries, and astral planes to wreak havoc in, after all. Eleonore, though…he had no idea what sort of threat she might pose.
“—so I was thinking you’d be great at helping organize events,” Gigi was saying, and Ben realized he hadn’t been paying attention.
“Sorry,” he said, forcing thoughts of vivid emerald eyes and sharp fangs out of his mind. “What was that?”
“Did you hear anything I just said?” Gigi’s tone was annoyed.
“I’m driving,” he pointed out. “And I thought I saw someone I knew.”
She muttered to herself—something involving Jesus Christ, Thor, and an expletive. Despite their mother’s civilizing attempts, Gigi was an equal-opportunity curser, name-dropping whatever deity, historical figure, or swear word felt natural at the time. Most werewolves were the same, though for his mother’s sake Ben tried to stick to mild exclamations like “Lycaon” or “God.”
Gigi cleared her throat and started again. “You know I’ve talked about public service before, right?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, wondering where this was going. Gigi had always been interested in politics and activism, especially on the local stage.
“Well, I’ve decided to run for mayor.”
Ben nearly steered his SUV off the road. “What?” he asked, startled by the magnitude of the announcement.
“Cynthia Cunnington is running unopposed, probably because she’s blackmailed, threatened, or bribed any possible opponents. I’ll be the dark horse she never sees coming.” She chuckled. “Or the dark wolf, I guess.”
Ben pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not on the wheel. “Gigi, do you really want to get on her radar?” He didn’t doubt his sister would make a decent mayor—as much as he teased her for being an outgoing party girl, he knew she was whip-smart, well-informed on politics, and genuinely invested in bettering the world—but Cynthia Cunnington was…
Well, Cynthia Cunnington.
Glimmer Falls had been founded by the patriarchs of two families: the Cunningtons and the Sparks. They’d engaged in a fierce rivalry over the generations, though the latest heirs—Mariel Spark and Calladia Cunnington—were best friends and genuinely nice people.
But Mayor Cynthia Cunnington was cut from the cloth of the older, more ruthless generations. She was all ice and ambition, as calculating as she could be vindictive. Her thirst for power was so all-consuming, she’d abused and belittled her own daughter for being “bad for optics.” And while Mariel’s mother had taken steps to grow closer to her daughter, Cynthia had chosen politics over family. Calladia had, tragically, been forced to cut off contact with her mother for her own mental health.
As someone with a large, loving family, Ben couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be rejected by the person who was supposed to love you above all else. But Calladia had a fighter’s spirit, and she’d decided to form her own family out of their friend group, bloodlines be damned.
If Cynthia Cunnington could treat her own child like that—what would she do to Gigi?
“Everyone is so afraid of her,” Gigi was saying, “and this is only her first mayoral term. Are we going to reelect her two more times, letting her taint the office for eight more years? She almost got half the forest chopped down for that resort she fabricated paperwork for. What else will she do in the name of bringing big business to Glimmer Falls?”
Ben tried a different tack. “Isn’t it a bit late to be running? The election’s in two and a half months.”
Gigi clicked her tongue. “The window to apply closes in a few days. It’s a small town—it’s not like running for president or something, and Glimmer Falls always does things a bit weirdly. I just needed to pass a scrying test to ensure there isn’t secret evil in my soul—nailed that, by the way—and then collect enough signatures to get on the ballot by the sixty-ninth day before Election Day.”
“Shame they didn’t ask me about the secret evil,” he said. “I could have told them you’re a menace and not to let you anywhere near public office.”
“Rude!”
Ben stopped to allow an elderly centaur to carefully pick her way across the street. He smiled tightly and raised a hand in greeting when the gray-coated woman nodded in his direction. “Do you have a platform you’re running on?” he asked more seriously as he turned right. “Increasing affordable housing or something?”
A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, making him tap the brakes, but when he looked there was nothing but a row of scraggly trees with the trademark ballooning shape created when deer and perytons nibbled away the leaves near the bottom.
“No,” Gigi said. “I have given my political campaign zero thought and don’t have a single idea or conviction. The only platform I know is ClipClop, so I’m going to bat my eyes and ask everyone to please give the little lady some power, as a treat.”
The sarcasm was hard to miss. “Point taken.” Ben sighed. “I just worry about you.”
Her voice softened. “I know. But I’m not a kid anymore, and you can’t plant yourself in the way of anything that might hurt me like you used to. I’m more than ready to take on Cynthia.”
What Gigi wanted, Gigi generally got through hard work and sheer bloody-mindedness. Ben breathed out his instinctive urge to argue and reframed his thoughts. Gigi was running for mayor. All right. “How can I help?” he asked.
“I knew you’d come around.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I was thinking that with your business savvy and community connections, you’d be great at helping me arrange campaign events. What do you say?”
Ben considered the demands of running the Emporium, the upcoming opening of the adjacent café, the unfinished hat and scarves and baby blanket, the vampire succubus in his house, his current state of chronic exhaustion, and the limited number of hours in the day. Then he considered Gigi and how far he would go to make sure the people he loved were happy and fulfilled.
Ben sighed. “Count me in.”
“I’m back,” Ben called out as he opened the front door. He didn’t want to startle Eleonore if she was resting. She clearly had no issue with daylight, since she’d stood in a fall of sunshine in his kitchen after sucking his finger—and no, that was not a memory he needed to revisit—but he didn’t know if her sleeping schedule was affected by her vampiric half.
A gust of wind whipped past him, ruffling his hair. He looked over his shoulder, but the trees in his front yard were still. Odd, but Washington weather could turn on a dime, so he shrugged and turned back around to head inside.
Eleonore was standing directly in front of him.
Ben yelped and staggered back, clipping his shoulder on the doorframe. “Do you have to do that?” he asked, clutching his chest with his free hand.
Eleonore ignored the question, eyes fixed on the take-out bag. Her hair was tangled, and her skin was sheened with a light layer of sweat that made her look like she was glowing. “A positive,” she said, nostrils flaring. “And O negative. And…” Her nose wrinkled. “Something else.”
“A medley of blood types.” Ben hefted the paper bag, which contained three plastic packets of blood. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”
NecroNomNomNoms ethically sourced their blood from paid donors, and their meat menu had a roadkill section for guilty eaters. Ben rarely ate there, but he appreciated the thoughtfulness.
Eleonore’s hand darted out, though she stopped an inch away from the paper bag. Her eyes raised to his, silently asking a question.
Ben nodded. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s all for you.”
The bag was instantly ripped out of his hand, and in the space of a blink, Eleonore was seated with her fangs plugged into a plastic bag of O negative. Ben cringed at the thought of blood spattering over his couch, but she was a tidy eater, and soon the bag was drained.
Eleonore dabbed at her lips, which were a shade of red only marginally lighter than the blood. “Who did this come from?” she asked, looking surprised.
Ben eased closer, settling onto the opposite end of the couch. He still wasn’t sure if the wrong word or movement would set her off, resulting in the abrupt removal of his jugular. “I don’t know specifically,” he said. “The restaurant uses a pool of donors.”
“Hmmm.” Her tongue darted out, lapping up the sole drop of blood that had escaped to bead at the corner of her lips. “This donor was happy.”
It was Ben’s turn to be surprised. “You can tell that?”
Eleonore nodded, raising the bag of A positive to her nose to sniff. “Emotion affects the flavor of blood. Anger gives a bitter spice, and grief makes my tongue tingle in a way I don’t like. Happy or aroused blood is best. For me, at least. Other vampires might disagree.”
He thought of how she’d sucked on his finger in the kitchen and repressed a shiver. “What did mine taste like?” he dared to ask.
Her eyes fixed on him, deep wells he thought it would be easy to fall into. “You were afraid,” she said, “but you were also aroused.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Though I could sense that without the blood, of course.”
Ben’s cheeks heated. She was so blunt about things most people would be too polite to mention. “Sorry,” he said.
She cocked her head, and a lock of red hair slid over her shoulder. “Why?”
“I—” What was he supposed to say? Sorry for being aroused and scared? Sorry you could taste it? “I’m just generally sorry, all right?”
That seemed to flummox her. She hadn’t looked away from him during the conversation, but her brow furrowed, and her stare had gained the intensity of a scientist inspecting something under a microscope. “You apologize a lot,” she said.
He let out a strained laugh. “Do I?”
“No one apologizes to me,” she said matter-of-factly. Then she bit into the bag of A positive and started sucking.
Ben watched, fascinated. Her throat rippled with each swallow, and a flush gradually washed over her alabaster skin. He felt the bizarre urge to follow that blush with his fingers, feel her skin heat as she took sustenance. When she was done, she no longer looked like a marble statue but a living, breathing woman with pinkened cheeks and an aura of healthy vitality. Just as beautiful, but realer. More touchable.
Not that he was going to touch her, of course, no matter what his addled instincts were telling him. It would be like sticking his hand in a lion’s cage and hoping the lion was feeling friendly.
Eleonore sighed and sank back against the couch cushion, eyes growing heavy-lidded. “I normally wouldn’t need to feed so much,” she said. “It’s been a while.”
Because she’d been trapped inside a plastic rock for Lycaon knew how many years. “What’s it like?” Ben asked hesitantly. “Being inside the fake crystal.”
Tension stole over her face as her lips turned down, and Ben instantly regretted the question. He had a werewolf’s curiosity—the sniffing he did at the full moon, good Lord—but she was clearly dealing with some trauma.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I was just curious.”
Her head lolled on the couch, and she looked at him directly again. “It is misery,” she said. “Not because there is much pain, but because it is…” She trailed off, gaze growing distant. “Hazy,” she finally said. “Like being in a fog, and you do not know how long it has been or where the fog ends. The hunger is there always, like a dull ache that never gets better or worse. There’s no time, no beginning or end, only what dreams and memories choose to visit.” There was another pause. “And the hate, of course. Like the hunger, that never goes away.”
Ben swallowed. It sounded like a horrifying existence. “Hate for what?” he asked.
“You,” Eleonore said bluntly, and Ben flinched. “Or what you represent. Her , I suppose it would be better to say. The one who imprisoned me six centuries past.”
Ben shifted on the couch, drawing a leg up to face her more fully. “Who was she?”
Eleonore laughed bitterly. “I do not know. She never gave me any name but the Witch in the Woods. I never saw her face, not even during Star Trek .”
Ben blinked. “Did you say Star Trek ?”
“The only good thing she did for me,” Eleonore said. “The witch liked to be entertained sometimes, and your technology brought a welcome reprieve from having to read her poetry or hunt her enemies for sport.”
This was enough to make his head spin. “I can’t imagine.”
“You should try,” Eleonore said with sudden venom. “Perhaps then you would reconsider my eternal servitude.”
Ben’s heart rate kicked up to a higher pace at the murder in her eyes. “I don’t want your eternal servitude,” he said. “How do I set you free?”
“She did not tell you?” Eleonore asked. “When she sold me?”
“I’ve never even met her. I don’t know who she is or where she is or anything. I just got a package on my doorstep.”
Eleonore spat out a harsh word that was definitely some sort of curse. “Useless.”
“Hey,” Ben protested. “I brought you blood.”
Eleonore paused. “True,” she finally said.
Considering the circumstances, that was likely as close to a peace offering as he’d get. He lifted his chin toward the remaining pouch of blood on the table. “Do you want to drink that one?”
Eleonore yawned. “Later,” she said, eyes drifting closed. “You can put it in the root cellar.”
Moments later she was asleep, chest rising and falling evenly.
Ben dithered internally for a few moments. He had a napping vampire succubus on his couch and a bag of blood he didn’t want to go stale. He also didn’t have a root cellar, but he suspected a refrigerator might be the better option anyway.
After putting the bag in the fridge he returned to the living room, where Eleonore was still curled up in a corner of the couch. Ben hesitated, then grabbed a blanket from the armchair and draped it over her sleeping form.
Then he headed to his office to start researching mayoral campaigns.