Chapter 2 - Ari
I stood at the kitchen window, sipping a cup of coffee, and trying to blink the sleep from my eyes. I'd woken late and texted Ben that I needed to postpone our meeting at the museum until after noon. It was already past eleven, and I still felt drained.
Literally drained.
I tried to minimize the effects for Soren's sake, but his vampiric habits took their toll. My body couldn't regenerate blood as fast as he needed to consume it, and it left me slightly anemic. If I were a normal person, it would have been much worse.
I could no longer tap into the great well of living magic that had inhabited my body a few months back, but the spell had left its marks on me. Four, to be exact. One on each of my palms, one over my heart, and the little seven-pointed star on my forehead.
The marks on my hands represented life and death, and through these, I was able to access the ambient energies of the natural world. My ability to do so was feeble compared to when I'd been bound to the great spell, but sufficient for me to replenish my own vitality after Soren fed.
I sighed, thinking I'd better get to it if I was going to get anything done today.
Outside, I sat on my favorite flat-topped rock and gazed at the view. Our tiny bungalow was perched on a cliff above the edge of the sea, about 30 minutes up the coast from the small town of Santa Marina, California.
I'd lived most of my life in that town, residing with my uncle after the deaths of my parents when I was sixteen. Unfortunately, Uncle Theo had tangled himself in the affairs of the necromantic cult that tried to kill me last fall, and had paid for his mistakes with his life.
The old house held too many memories now, and I'd been glad to move out when Soren's unthinkably wealthy father purchased this place for us as a gift.
Settling into a light meditative trance, I expanded my awareness. Like the ceaseless rhythm of the waves on the pebbly beach far below, or the rise and fall of my own breath, the energies of life and death permeated the ever-changing fabric of the world around me.
I held my left hand, bearing the sign for life, over my solar plexus, and my right, with the sign for death, palm up in the air before me. Breathing in, I welcomed the flow of energy that filled me, gradually restoring the vital forces in my body.
An hour later I felt markedly better. Not fully recovered, but well enough to function normally. With a few more sessions, I'd be completely restored.
For the moment, I had an appointment with a haunted object to keep.
~
I pulled up in front of the old Victorian townhouse that had, until recently, been my home, and checked myself in the mirror. Except for the bruise on my jaw, I looked normal. Almost. I adjusted the light scarf I'd taken to wearing to hide the bite marks on my neck, and steeled myself for an encounter with Ben.
Ben and his boyfriend, Matt, had moved in to my uncle's old house when I moved out. They took care of the museum and its occupants and oversaw the upkeep of the house. In exchange, I significantly undercharged them on rent.
I should also mention that Ben is my ex... something. Our relationship had lasted a little less than a year, and ended because of my asexuality. We'd reconnected right before the business with the necromancers, and now he was firmly back in my life. The dynamic didn't always make for the most comfortable of situations.
He greeted me with a hug at the door and ushered me inside with offers of coffee and scones, which I declined. Matt had gone out to run an errand, it seemed, and we sat in the parlor to wait for him.
"How's the collection?" I asked, glancing around at the familiar shelves and display cases.
"Good, overall," Ben said. "Matt thinks one of the haunted dolls isn't getting along with the others, though. We had to move her to the other side of the shelf, but that upset something in the armoire. Now it smells like burnt onions and it won't stop creaking."
"I'll ask Pete to deal with it before I leave," I offered.
Pete was a poltergeist and the house's strongest resident spirit. Despite his mischievous and often disruptive behavior, he seemed to view it as his duty to look after the house and its otherworldly tenants.
"Thanks. Matt's tried to talk to him a few times, but I don't think Pete trusts us yet."
"He'll come around." I looked up at the row of cursed clocks lining the wall, and Ben caught sight of the bruise darkening my jaw.
"Hey, what happened there?" he asked, pointing.
"Oh. Nothing," I said automatically, and covered it with my hand.
Ben's eyes widened as he reached swift and horrifying conclusions. "Oh my fucking God. Did Soren do that? Did he hit you?"
"It was an accident," I protested, too quickly.
"Jesus, Ari. That's what they all say. If that bastard hurt you—"
"No, seriously Ben," I cut in. "He was asleep. I was trying to wake him up from a bad dream. That's all."
He looked at me skeptically.
"You've been different ever since you got together with that guy—since all that stuff happened with your uncle."
"Have I?" Almost being murdered by a necromantic cult changes a guy, I guess.
He went on. "And you've been wearing that stupid scarf nonstop. I mean, who wears a fucking scarf with short sleeves?"
Before I could stop him, he reached over and pulled it off me.
"Ben!" I clapped a hand over the bite marks on my throat, but the damage was done. He'd seen.
"What the fuck, Ari!? What the fuck is that?"
This was not a conversation I wanted to have right now, but there was no helping it. I tried to think up a plausible lie to explain why I had two puncture wounds on the side of my neck, and failed.
"Soren's a vampire," I said.
"He... what now?" Ben gaped.
"He's a vampire. He got hurt when we fought the necromancers, and he had to turn. I'm his source—willingly. He'd never hurt me on purpose."
"Oh. My. God. Please tell me this is not the sweet-but-abusive vampire boyfriend trope. Because if it is I'm going to be sick." I had to give Ben credit for his open mind. He'd skipped right over the whole 'vampires are real' issue.
"No! Soren's not—" I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled sharply. "Listen, Ben. I'm fine. We're fine. And I don't want to talk about this right now."
Fortunately, we heard Matt return right then and call a greeting from the hall.
"And don't tell Matt," I warned. "The fewer people who know, the better."
He glared, but when Matt joined us he did a surprisingly good job of acting like we'd talked of nothing more unusual than demonic armoires.
~
Half an hour later, I left. The 'haunted object' turned out to be an antique Japanese tea set which was, as far as I could tell, old but not particularly sinister. Matt was disappointed. Apparently, the seller had claimed it housed a yurei who would poison any tea brewed in the pot. I told him I thought it was probably just a story, but not to use it just to be safe.
On my way out I'd had a word with Pete. Or with Pete's bowling ball, more accurately. It was the object to which his spirit was most strongly attached, and rested on a pedestal near the bottom of the stairs. He didn't give me any sign that he'd heard me, but that was just as well. Pete's manifestations often lacked subtlety, and his silence probably meant he'd accepted my request.
On the way home I stopped at my favorite bakery and picked up a pot pie for my dinner. Meals had become a somewhat lonely affair since Soren turned. He no longer needed food, and without him I often forgot my own need to eat on a regular basis. It was one of the downsides of dating a vampire, I supposed.
There were others, I had to admit. Soren's preoccupation with his dreams was getting worse, and it had a dampening effect on his mood. And eventually, I'd have to admit that being his only source of blood was unsustainable unless I found some way to regenerate myself.
The words I'd spoken to Ben came back to me like an echo. I'm fine. We're fine. But I noticed that the voice in my head didn't sound entirely convinced.
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