Chapter 11
While we close up Pete’s, Nick and I do manage to agree on one thing. If we’re going to provoke my slayer, we’ll need to do it someplace where the only thing I can set fire to is…well… him .
At the thought of that, I get a sick feeling in my stomach. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” I say.
“I told you,” he says. “I can handle it.”
“But what if I can’t?” I ask. “What if the urges are too strong for me to contain?” I start to feel the same kind of jitters I normally feel before an audition, only worse. Way worse. If I flub a line reading, nobody actually dies.
“That’s your slayer talking,” says Nick. “You need to show her who’s boss.” He grins and cue the dimples. “Just treat her the way you usually treat me.”
Despite my nerves, I smile back.
I suggest using the alley out back again as our training ground. But it turns out Nick lives not far from me, in Venice. I never knew that before. I guess there are a lot of things I don’t know about my coworker. But anyway, after a brief discussion, we decide to take our cars home and regroup down at the beach.
I park on Main Street, in full view of the Ballerina Clown . As I lock up my Prius, there’s no one around, but I get the creepy feeling that I’m being watched. Only it doesn’t feel the way it did last night. It doesn’t feel like a vampire is stalking me. And my slayer seems totally unconcerned. So I dismiss my own uneasiness. I figure I’m just imagining things.
I walk west on Rose, and just as I reach the beach path, I spy Nick standing on the sand, down by the water. Waiting for me.
Now, my slayer sits up and pays attention. Out here in the open, without the potential for injury to people or property, there’s nothing to keep her reined in.
Nothing except me.
Trying to maintain that restraint, I take a careful step out onto the beach.
“So how are we going to do this?” I ask, raising my voice so it carries across the distance, so Nick can hear me over the crash of the waves behind him.
“You don’t have to yell at me,” he says.
“I wasn’t yelling at you,” I yell. But then I lower my voice to a more normal level. “I just want to know what the plan is here.”
He shrugs. “I thought we’d play it by ear,” he says.
Typical , I think.
“So you don’t have a plan?” I ask.
He shrugs his big shoulders again. “There’s not exactly a handbook for this kind of thing,” he says. “How are you feeling right now?”
“Like I want to kill you,” I say.
“Because of the slayer thing?” he asks. “Or because of the no-plan thing?”
“Both?” I offer, borrowing his words from last night. “Either?”
He laughs. After a moment, I do too.
“Okay, here’s an idea,” Nick says. “Why don’t you try to walk toward me? And when you feel like you’re starting to lose control, stop and try to get a grip.”
It doesn’t sound like much of a plan to me, but considering I don’t have an alternate suggestion, I nod.
I take another tentative step forward. My Nikes sink into the sand with a soft crunch .
“How do you feel now?” he asks.
It’s almost like we’re playing some supernatural version of red light, green light or Simon says or something.
“Honestly?” I ask. “I feel a little silly.”
“Better than homicidal,” he says.
“Don’t get too comfy,” I warn him. “I still want to kill you.”
I take another step. My vision briefly flashes red, reminding me that this really is no game.
“Easy there, slayer,” says Nick. “Easy does it.”
“It might help if you distract me,” I say.
“Distract you how?” he asks.
Unconsciously, my eyes drift down to his chest.
“Carrie?”
Okay. It’s time to stop and try to get a grip—and not just on my slayer. “So what’s with the T-shirt?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Grateful Dead?” I step cautiously closer.
“Good band,” he says.
“So that’s it?” I ask. “You don’t have a secret death wish or anything?”
He frowns at me. “Why would you ask me that?”
I step a little closer. “Because you’re playing with fire here,” I say. “Literally.”
“If I had a death wish,” he says, “I wouldn’t have signed up for immortal life.” He grins at me. “Sometimes a band tee is just a band tee.”
After a beat, I smile back, step closer. There’s about six feet of beach separating Nick and me.
“So what’s with your shirt?” he asks. There’s a strange undertone to his voice. I feel the same weird vibe I was getting from him back at the bar.
I tug at the denim button-down, a little self-conscious. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“Is that your boyfriend’s shirt?” he asks.
I blink, a little taken aback. “My ex -boyfriend’s, actually,” I say after a moment. “How would you know that?”
“For one thing,” he says, “it buttons to the right, so it’s a man’s shirt. And for another thing, I…uh…I can smell him on it.”
I blink again. “I’m sorry,” I say. “You can smell him on it?”
He shrugs. “Vampires have a more highly developed sense of smell,” he says.
“B-but I’ve washed it since the last time he wore it,” I say.
“I know,” he says. “I can smell the laundry detergent. And the dryer sheet too. Lavender.”
Well, this is news.
I grab the collar and give it a quick sniff. I swear, I don’t smell a thing.
I look back at Nick. He’s eyeing me strangely.
“You know, sometimes the shirt you borrowed from your ex and forgot to give back is just the shirt you borrowed from your ex and forgot to give back,” I say. “It’s not like I’m wearing it to remember him or anything. It’s not like I’m carrying a torch.”
He raises his eyebrows at me.
“Okay, okay, bad choice of words,” I say. “I guess, these days, I am kind of carrying a torch. But not for him . Definitely not.”
He nods. “Okay,” he says. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
I take another step forward. And another. Nick and I are about four feet apart now. My slayer is on alert but not on attack—mostly, I think, because we’re both still trying to digest this latest revelation.
“So you can really smell my ex?” I ask Nick.
“Yes.”
“So can you…uh…smell me ?” I ask.
He hesitates. “Yes.”
“What do I smell like?”
He gazes at me for what seems like a long time. “Sunshine,” he says softly.
Sunshine?
It’s as if the word floats across the space between us and strokes my cheek, gently caressing my skin. It makes me melt inside a little. Maybe more than a little.
“Sunshine?” I ask out loud. My voice is soft too.
“Yes.”
This word of his is also like a physical touch. But it seems to touch me in other places, more intimate places. It sends a rush of heat spreading through me that has nothing to do with my slayer and everything to do with the way that Nick is looking at me right now.
“B-but you’re a vampire,” I somehow manage to say. “Sunshine can kill you.”
With a sigh, he runs a hand through his shaggy, dark hair and scratches at the back of his neck. In the moonlight, I get a glimpse of his well-developed biceps and the guitar tattoo on the underside of his forearm. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess it can.”
I move a little closer. We’re near enough now that I have to look up at him. But for once, I don’t mind looking up. Actually, I have to admit, the view is kind of nice. The moonlight is reflecting off the barbell piercing in his eyebrow again, making the silver balls glitter like diamonds. Out of nowhere, I think of the expression diamond in the rough .
Is that what Nick is?
Or is he, as my slayer thinks, a bloodsucking predator who must freaking die?
Tomato, to- mah -to?
“How do you feel now?” Nick asks.
“Like I want to kill you,” I say. “But… not .”
The truth is I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt more confused in my whole life. It’s like there’s a big-screen-blockbuster-worthy battle raging inside me. I’ve got my human side fighting with my slayer side. I’ve got all these preconceptions about Nick facing off against the very different picture of the guy that seems to be emerging. And I’ve got my urge to attack him wrestling with my desire to attack him…but in another way entirely.
“Progress,” he says.
“Progress,” I echo.
I step closer. We’re not touching, but we could be. Oh, we definitely could be. We could be doing a lot of things here, in the dark, on this empty beach.
“So are all your senses jacked up?” I ask, just to say something. “Not just smell?”
“Not just smell,” he says.
“Hearing too?”
He nods. “Hearing too.”
“Is that why you told me I didn’t have to yell at you?” I ask.
He smiles and shrugs. “But you also didn’t have to yell at me.”
I smile back.
And then it’s like we’re having a moment. As in… a moment .
That’s when something occurs to me. My smile fades, and I get a slightly nauseous feeling in my gut. “So earlier, back at the bar… Did you hear my conversation with Heather?” I ask.
His smile fades too, morphing into a frown. “I try not to eavesdrop,” he says. “But I can’t always help it. This is all new to me too and, well, I’m not always in control either.”
“So you heard—”
“It’s not a date,” he says. “Got it.”
But there’s a note of challenge in his voice. He stands his ground, not moving away from me, like he’s silently daring me to back off.
I don’t. I stay exactly where I am, feet planted in the sand, just inches separating the two of us.
He doesn’t look away, and neither do I. And suddenly I don’t feel confused at all.
“Nick,” I whisper. I say his name like it’s a prayer and a confession and an invitation all rolled into one little syllable.
In answer, he starts to close the short gap between our bodies, between our lips. He moves slowly though, so slowly it’s almost as if he’s not moving at all. I wonder briefly if it’s because he’s unsure of my slayer or unsure of me. But after what seems like a lifetime—like an immortal lifetime—his mouth is hovering over mine, so close I can feel his breath.
I shiver with anticipation, and—
Nick abruptly pulls back. Looks around.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “What is it?”
“Someone’s here,” he says.
I do my own quick sweep of our surroundings. I don’t see anyone, but I know what he means. I have the same sensation of being watched that I had when I got out of my car earlier. I consult my inner slayer, but it doesn’t feel like an enemy is watching. Not an immortal one anyway.
“I’m not picking up on any vampires,” I say.
“It’s not a vampire,” says Nick.
“Maybe it’s just someone out for a late-night swim?” I suggest.
Nick shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
Honestly? I don’t either.
Then, somewhere near the start of the Venice beach walk, fire suddenly shoots into the air. At first, I think it must be some kids playing with fireworks. But the fire extends way, way up and over in an arc, streaking straight across the night sky like a rocket. I peer up at the fiery trail as it blazes through the heavens until it fades off into the distance.
“What in the actual hell was that?” I ask, my voice a little awestruck. I’m still staring where the light vanished.
Nick pauses a moment, brows knit together, before he gives me his one-word reply. “Slayer.”