Page 11 of Falling for a Villainous Vampire

“I have died every day waiting for you,” he belts out in an actually fairly pleasing baritone. If he wasn’t a maniac, I’d probably enjoy it. Maybe I even am enjoying it, until I register what song this is. “Darling, don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years,” he continues, and there it is in my head.

The end of fucking Twilight.

He’s singing the song from the end of fucking Twilight.

The one I used to listen to all the time. That I loved, back before I had a thousand memories of what being hunted by a vampire is really like. I remember gazing up at the movie screen, rapt, ravenous for more, sure that I could think of nothing better than being so loved by something so strange.

But I was wrong.

I was wrong.

All the childish dreams I had about magic and wonder, they were wrong.

And so I sigh and flop onto my back and tell him to fuck off. As if he’s just so fucking tiresome, just such a nuisance, oh, he’s almost boring to me. But really it isn’t how boring he is that makes me do this.

It’s the tears suddenly pricking my eyes, that I don’t want him to see.

CHAPTER FOUR

I don’t know how I manage to fall asleep. I guess it just happens, courtesy of a party, followed by a fight with a vampire, followed by flying and then another fight with a vampire. Plus there was the sudden weight of my horrifying life sinking down on top of me, all at once. The sense of what could have been, of what I had hoped for, of what it almost seemed like it might be.

That kind of sadness often sends me off.

As if I can escape it inside the unconscious depths of my own head.

Maybe I even sort of can, because when I wake up I feel fine. I stretch and sigh and consider the day ahead: investigating the reports of a “large bear” causing havoc in Mr. Peterson’s apple orchard. Only of course it won’t be a large bear, and I won’t be investigating.

I will just report that it was, and that I did, right after I lure away the ogre that is obviously getting drunk on fermented fruit, by using some sort of trick or trap that doesn’t let on what I’m doing. It always has to be something that doesn’t let on what I’m doing. I don’t ever reveal that I’m a witch, not even to other supernatural beings. But that doesn’t mean I can’t lend the occasional helping hand.

Or use my magic to secretly protect people.

I did it for my own parents ages ago. I made them forget me and move to France, in part because I half feared what Halsten would do to them if he did show up. But mostly because of the ghost infestation at the community center. The very last thing I wanted was for them to be possessed again by the undead soul of some Puritan pilgrim, simply because I wanted the walls to stop bleeding during bake sales.

And the same goes for everyone else.

Or it would, if there was anyone. But of course I made sure there wasn’t. I keep my distance. I stay professional. I sometimes write mean headlines so everyone stays away. In fact, the only person I haven’t managed to make stay away is sweet Nancy. Though I think part of that is down to my aversion to treating her terribly.

She’s too kind. Too soft. It stung me just to say her store was struggling.

I had to write fifty incredible magic-imbued reviews and sales adverts for her just to keep it from crushing my soul. And yes, that means she talks to me. But I don’t think it means she talks to me too much. I wouldn’t say she’s attached or anything. Even after the mistake of the party, it’s not as if we’re best buds who know everything about each other. I can easily keep her and Cassie away from all of this business, I’m sure of it.

And then I hear the bell above the door go downstairs.

And I just know. I know before I even hear her cheery voice.

“Oh my goodness, what has happened in here?” Nancy cries out. Then even worse: “My dear Marley, are you dead? Are you hurt? Speak to me, please.” And I swear I actually clutch myself. I come extremely close to screaming, Nancy, get out, get out—go, go, go, run now, there is a vampire in the office, like a complete psychopath, and only catch myself when I remember that she might not actually know that vampires are real. And even if she does, even if she’s calling up magic like there’s no tomorrow and having constant orgies with every supernatural creature there is, that does not mean my yelling will do her any good.

I have to get down there.

I cannot allow my problems to kill her.

Though I swear, I don’t intend to make another hole in the ceiling to facilitate this. Panic just causes me to blaze out a laser beam from my hands, and then crash through three layers of wood and plaster. I land on my own desk, feet thankfully cracking soles down onto the wood, fists already blazing with more fire.

I don’t know why it shocks me that Nancy shrieks.

Or that she stands there, mouth gaping open, eyes like saucers.

God only knows what I must look like to her. A really small Hulk, I imagine, about thirty seconds before he goes on a rampage. Or maybe a really small Hulk that has already gone on a rampage, considering the state of me. My hair is almost white with plaster dust. It’s literally all over me—my face, in my eyelashes, streaked down my stockings.