7

It wasn’t a bad place, in fact, far nicer than Dori expected. After the officer led them to the real log cabin, the first she’d ever actually seen in her life, they were told everything they needed to know.

“Fireplaces are all lit,” the handsome fair-haired, blue-eyed policeman stated. “Lots of firewood out on the back porch.”

His eyes kept slipping to Dori, making her blush – and Gabriel fists flex. A little competition was healthy for a relationship, but she quickly snuggled close to Gabriel, setting the record straight.

“Sheriff’s bringin’ groceries for the fridge and some hot dinner from Cassie’s Pub. Uh …” he looked like he was desperately trying to remember a mental check list. It was kinda cute and Dori grinned. “Clean sheets and towels in the hall closet,” he continued. “Sorry, no phone. Sheriff rents out this cabin, he had the line shut off when old Colby moved last month.” He pointed out the still open door. “But, you’re just across the street from the police station and a block from the clinic. You need something, just come on over and tell us.”

“Thank you so much.” And she grinned wider. He smiled back, glanced at Gabriel and quickly left, pulling the heavy door closed behind him. “You’re so much cuter than him,” she teased and Gabriel moved off to check out the other rooms. Dori followed.

“It’ll do.”

“Come on, it’s nice. Three big bedrooms, lots of burning fireplaces. It’s cozy.” She ran a hand across his back and he turned so she reached up to brush a light kiss on his lips. “It’s romantic.”

“This isn’t a romantic holiday.”

“No, but it’s not so bad. So, we’re off schedule, we’re off plan. So what?” She followed him back to the living room where Clovely stood, looking nervous and shaky. Hands on hips she shook her head and huffed. Were these guys so blind they didn’t see? “This is all good! We survived the crash, we got rescued. We’re in a nice, warm house. This is –”

“Terrible,” whispered the leprechaun. “Food? Is that fucking vampire really going to bring us groceries?”

Dori’s brain screeched to a halt and she dropped weakly onto the sofa. “Vampire?”

“Nice. Real nice, Clovely.” Gabriel glared and the little man paced.

“What’re we going to do, boss? Vampires and damn shifters.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Gabriel’s spat.

Now Dori’s brain swung to overload. “Shifters? What kind of shifters? How do you … how come I don’t know … what makes? Oh good God, are they werewolves? Pete said werewolves are –”

“Not werewolves, sweetheart. Shifters. Polar bear shifters.”

“You never noticed they all have light hair?” Clovely rubbed his temples. “We’re so fucked.”

“Polar bears? Everyone’s not blond.” She wasn’t sure her heart was capable of pounding harder than it was at that moment. Her mind raced through all the faces she saw that day. No, no she was right, not all of them had pale hair. How many shifters does it take to tear a person apart? Ten? Three? One? “Oh good God!”

Gabriel sat and gripped her shoulders. “Look at me, Dori. You need to calm down and listen to me.”

“Shhh!” she hushed him, her hands desperately waving. “This place is probably bugged!”

“What?”

“Bugged, you know, so they know what we’re up to.” Why was her voice squeaking like that?

Gabriel grinned and smoothed her mussed hair. “They don’t even have a phone in here. Look around, honey. This town isn’t exactly a Mecca for high technology. We’re in the middle of nowhere. No one’s listening to us.”

“Right, right. But trust me, Gabriel. We’re prisoners! They’re watching us!” her eyes scanned the room wildly. “I just know it!” What at first seemed like an idyllic few days of peaceful romance had turned ugly with a few words. Vampires. Polar bear shifters. “We’re prisoners and they’re going to kill us … or use us … or make us do things we don’t want to do!” Tears fell and drenched her face. “I just know it! I’ve seen Lost!”

The leprechaun and Gabriel were silent for about two seconds before Clovely let loose with a guffaw worthy of a Friday night at The Laugh Factory on Sunset. At first she was terrified – then a little insulted.

“Seriously. Don’t tell me you didn’t see Lost.”

Clovely wiped his eyes and blew his nose then cleared his throat. “Damn, I sure needed that. Comic relief aside, what are we going to do, Gabriel?”

“Are we going to get out of this?” she blurted before he had a chance to respond. That’s when she realized that Gabriel had no earth-shaking, problem-solving response to make anyway.

He simply shrugged. “We’ve got to play this as it comes but don’t forget, we can’t be killed, so we can actually walk out of this town. The problem is –”

“Neave,” Dori whispered.

“Who gives a good god damn about that old witch? Let’s just walk out that door and … and …” Clovely scratched his chin. “You even have a clue which way to go? No sun to steer by.” He looked out the window. “No moon. Dark. Cold. Blizzards. We really have to get out of here! We’re at the beginning of a long, long night.”

“Full of vampires,” Dori squeaked again.

“We’re so fucked,” Clovely groaned. “What kind of leader are you?”

Dori had just about had enough. The irritating leprechaun’s rant wasn’t going to solve anything. She grabbed Gabriel’s hand and tugged him frantically to the bedroom. Shooting an angry glance back at Clovely, she slammed the door soundly then spun on her heel and glared. Oddly enough, Gabriel simply glared back. She knew him and this was not the way he handled trouble. Why wasn’t he pacing or planning? Where was his fire to resolve their problem? Then again, what exactly was the problem? Her fear of vampires and unfamiliar shifters aside, they really could simply walk out if they wanted. She watched Gabriel slowly sit on the edge of the bed like an old man and wondered. Did he have a plan he wasn’t about to divulge? Something he was afraid would scare her even more? Or …

“Talk to me,” she said, her voice calm but forceful.

Again, Gabriel shrugged.

“No, no more avoidance. You have to talk to me. You have to tell me everything.”

“Like?” His left brow rose.

“Let’s start with vampires.”

“Dori, you don’t even have a grasp on witches yet, and they’re just human.”

“Fine. Let’s skip witches and go right to vampires. I want to know everything about them.”

Silence. He looked down at his knees.

“You were a vampire, Gabriel! The least you can do is let me know the nature of these creatures … so … so … so I can defend myself because it sure as hell doesn’t look like you’re going to –”

He was on his feet with his arms tight around her so fast her eyes never registered his movement. At first she felt suffocated, trapped and terrified. Was this how he’d teach her about vampires? By being one? But suddenly she felt his warm breath on her neck and big hands smoothing over her back.

“All right,” he whispered. “You wanna know so bad, here’s the truth. Vampire is death, Dori. Not dead like us but death that brings more death. It’s a despicable, hellish existence and it can not, I repeat, can not be controlled. Period.”

Trembling, she tried to speak calmly. “You killed?”

“Damn it, don’t you understand? Survival demands it.”

“How … how many?”

“Too many. One is too many. Hate me if you like, leave me, stop loving me, but there, I told you what you wanted to know.” And he released her so abruptly she nearly fell over. Sitting on the bed again, he looked up, his expression chillingly cold and blank. “What else do you want to know?”

Dori slowly lowered to sit cross-legged on the floor. This is a man she’d been intimate with, loved and adored. This is the man who blessed her life with joy and safety, but now she realized that Gabriel was a once vampire who repelled her to the core. He was a murderer. A monster. Her logic tried to break in, to point out that he either killed or starved to death, that he didn’t want to kill, but her stomach turned at the whole idea. What did she expect? He wasn’t the one who told her he used to be a blood-sucking fiend, Pete did. Gabriel wasn’t the one who taught her about her new world, Mumbu and the other dead supernaturals took on that task and very lightly at best. Was he ashamed to teach her, or did he find it fun to watch her struggle in the dark?

What was it he’d said? Hate him? Stop loving him? Was that possible? Although, how easy would it be to love something that sickened her?

Looking into his eyes she tried to penetrate the adolescent-like rebellion that radiated from them. Was he trying to make her hate him? At that moment she knew one thing, sure as she knew her own name. Something was wrong with Gabriel.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t like you a whole lot right now, but let’s set that aside for a moment. Just tell me one thing. Gabriel, are you … okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m serious, I’m worried. You’ve never been like this.”

“Like what?” Anger heated his expression and she struggled not to recoil.

“Like that. Are you afraid?”

“I’m not fucking afraid!” Gabriel was on his feet and she scrambled to stand too.

“What’s wrong with you?”

His arms reached for her but she stepped back.

“Baby …” he whispered and actually wavered on his feet. All the color drained from his face and even his eyes looked dull.

Something in his weakness made her feel stronger. “Please, Gabriel, I told you. I’m … uh … mad at you right now. You know what … I think you need some sleep. Maybe you should get some rest then we can talk again later.” She tugged at the blankets and let him pull her onto the mattress with him. Blessedly, Gabriel was sound asleep before his head reached the pillow.

Dori released a quiet sigh of relief. If he’d asked for sex, would she have given in? What if he demanded? Vampires could do that, right? At least the ones in the movies did. She so wasn’t in the mood, and definitely wasn’t willing to let him in, physically or emotionally. Dori wasn’t even sure what he was anymore – a dead vampire wanting to be normal, or a dead vampire wanting to be a live one. It was confusing and terrifying, to be at his mercy and at the same time, want so desperately to protect him. Who was going to protect her?

She carefully slipped from the bedroom, pulled on her coat and left the warm cabin. It seemed easier to face the dangers outside than the one in her bed.

“Did you eat something bad? Drink something you shouldn’t have? Good lord, it’s not drugs or whiskey, is it?”

“No!”

Martin fussed over the boy. Perhaps the experience of actually being arrested and put behind bars had a strong affect. Perhaps too strong. Young Charlie was burning with fever and the Elder wondered if someone had brought illness to Maxtla. Couldn’t be the dead supernaturals, they carried no germs. The Soul Eater was deader than dead, but wearing an illusion like nothing Martin had ever witnessed in his life. Charlie had not been near the old woman in the clinic. So, that left the local natives or shifters. Several had gone to Barrow for supplies a few days earlier. They must have brought the flu back with them. Damn.

He poured a glass of water for the boy and offered aspirin, but Charlie refused.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Maybe I should take you to the clinic, son.”

“Nah, I just want to sleep.”

“I’ll stick around and watch over you, my boy.”

“That’s dumb. Sheriff D’s waiting for you and I know first hand, that dude can be mean. You do not want to go to jail, Pops. Go do your Elder thing, I’m just going to crash anyway.” Charlie shivered hard and pulled a blanket tighter around his frail shoulders. The hem trailed along the hard wood floor like a regal robe, all the way from the kitchen to his messy bedroom.

Martin shook his head sadly. He constantly worried for the boy who had mysteriously and inexplicably come into his care fifteen years earlier. A message tucked into the rough wool blanket wrapped tightly around a very noisy and wiggly infant simply said: The seventh of the seventh of the seventh generation. It could mean anything. There was no clue as to where in the world the child came from, north, south, east, west, below or above. All natural and supernatural traditions honor and respect the power of purity and generational legacy, but what power lurked inside young Charlie? And why did the giver of such a gift assume that Martin would know how to manage it? Understanding that there are questionable genes flowing inside the innocent teenage body, Martin constantly wondered if or when they’d rear their ugly heads. And … what was the danger or importance of those genes to the world?

Aside from big responsibility, Martin deeply cared for Charlie and now there was concern for the boy’s health because in an Alaskan winter, the flu could rage into pneumonia in the blink of an eye. Images of a long darkness riddled with sickness haunted the Elder – another issue for his small village of remarkable supernatural peoples to deal with. An hour later, he checked on Charlie, found him sound asleep and less feverish, so he left for the sheriff’s house with full intentions of making the meeting brief.

It was a short walk but cold enough to clear his mind. Being summoned before d’Longville was always unnerving and it hadn’t happened in over three hundred years. The demand came the old way, laden with ritual and impact when a fire blackened bottle of blood appeared on Martin’s doorstep. What was the problem? Was the plan he and Luc devised showing a weakness? It was so simple – raise no suspicions (nothing new there), take care of the survivors, get them out of town, and go on like always. Almost too simple to fail.Granted, this was all to happen in a fresh season of darkness, but he honestly believed it could be handled by the inhabitants of little Maxtla.

The welcome was not warm.

“You’re late,” growled the sheriff before he turned and left Martin to enter and close the door himself. Ah well, all vampires are grumpy during the darkness.

“Forgive me. What’s the trouble, Luc?” But as he entered the living room, he got a pretty good idea by the company there. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

All three community powerhouses were present, the old native medicine man, Raven, sat in the big chair near the hearth, next to him, shifter leader, Ralph Stetzle, and across the room, seething in his own agitation, the vampire Damian Hawthorne. No one responded to his greeting and Martin wondered, should he take a seat or run for his life?

“Hey, Marty my man!”

He turned to see Megan, looking bright and lively, carrying her school books and heading upstairs to her room.

“Good evening, little maiden Megan.”

“How’s Charlie?”

“Why?” Did this vampire delinquent do something to his boy? “What do you know of –”

“Hey, hey, chill old man. He wasn’t feeling so good today, that’s all. Sorry I asked.” And she stomped up the stairs. It seemed that not only vampires got cranky during the darkness. He made a mental note to apologize next time he crossed paths with the girl.

God, his bones ached, his face tingled from the cold outside and his heart was tired from the day-to-day pressure of stitching together a peaceful life for Maxtla. Best get down to things. He sat, closed his eyes for a silent moment and listened to the energy in the room. The vamps didn’t breathe but their brains were working at full throttle. The sound was distinctive, a muttering overlapped with more and more and more of the same. Every time he listened for it, he wondered how many personalities actually lived inside a vampire.

Shifting his attention, he could smell Stetzle’s mood. It reeked of anxiety laced with growing anger. Finally he focused on the old medicine man and Raven gave him the lowdown in one pure human sigh. Something had to be done to regulate the upheaval the town’s unexpected and unwelcome guests had caused.

He opened his eyes and drew in a long cleansing breath then eyed each man present before speaking. “Okay, who wants to start?”

“I will,” stated the beautiful Gen d’Longville as she entered and handed Martin a steaming cup of tea.

The frigid temperature actually froze Dori’s tears. Wiping them away with her mittens was useless, the knit had frozen crunchy from previous tears. She needed to stop crying. She needed to think. As she turned the bend, a bright red neon sign called to her. Cassie’s Pub, Open 24/7/365. Now that’s what she really needed. She needed a drink. Couldn’t hurt. Vampires don’t drink, so only shifters would be in there. Maybe some real people too, she rationalized, because not everyone in the town was fair haired. There must be a few Eskimos around, right?

Entering the place was like walking into an Alaskan frontier documentary come to life. First she encountered rows of shelves and coolers, all loaded with the necessities of life – canned goods, paper products, soda, milk, packaged bacon and bologna and dozens of eggs. Next were racks and racks of coats, imprinted tee-shirts, furry hats that made Dori consider making a purchase, and plaid flannel shirts of every color combination, shape and size. Next, a display of do-it-yourself auto and mechanic maintenance stuff, oil, tools, polish. Obviously Cassie’s Pub was a place for everything a Maxtlanite could want or need. Dori knew because the sign said so, right next to the arrow pointing to the bar and restrooms. The sound of laughter, breaking pool balls and tinny music drew her deeper. A huge fireplace blazed and she tugged off her gloves and loosened the buttons on her coat then looked around the dim, crowded pub.

Blessedly the bartender, wearing the name tag “Cassie Herself”, was very brunette and sipping hot coffee. The woman was pretty, probably in her early thirties, and obviously a tough cookie to be running the place in such a remote outpost of the world. Dori settled on the bar stool and smiled. Cassie didn’t exactly smile back, but at least she didn’t growl or snarl or sprout fangs.

“What’ll ya have, lady?”

“Um … I’d like some hot coffee … with a shot, no better yet, two shots of whiskey please.”

Finally, Cassie Herself grinned. “Some crispy onion rings? Spicy Nachos? Maybe a thick, juicy mooseburger?”

“Can I see a menu?” She didn’t even realize she was hungry until the descriptions sang to her like a rhapsody of sensuous ingredients. Without even wondering if Gabriel and Clovely had been fed, she dove into a massive chili burger and fries platter, swallowed two beers and another whiskey-laced coffee before she finally felt sated.

It was well past midnight and Cassie Herself sat beside her at the bar, gulping shots of tequila between beers. The place was empty and dark except for the red glow from the neon window sign, reflecting back to dance off the littered floor and tables. The juke box played a medley of 70’s rock, interspersed with an occasional Elvis Presley ballad and Country/Western crooning. It seemed all was well with the world and Dori logically assumed that they were both very, very drunk.

“So, what’s it like living in a place like this?” she stuttered between hiccups and pouring herself a shot of tequila.

“Ah … you know. Was born here, I’ll die here. The neat thing about Maxtla is … only God knows how I’ll die. Natural causes aren’t high on the list. My turn.” She swiveled the squeaky stool seat to face Dori and squinted. The action made her look like an old lady trying to read a prescription label. “So … what were you when you were alive?”

Dori gulped tequila and almost choked. “You know about … me?”

“Yeah, we all know. What were you? I’m dying to hear.”

Dori tried to sit straight, square her shoulders and be proud of the answer, but unfortunately she was too drunk and far too humble to pull it off. How could she have pride for something she never knew about herself until after she kicked the bucket? She cleared her throat and shrugged. “I was a muse.”

“No shit? Seriously?”

She nodded, shrugged again.

“Prove it.” The bartender actually put down the tequila before pouring a refill.

“Okay, what have you always wanted to do? I mean, what really lights your fire, makes you excited, makes you feel … invincible?” And she gulped. What if Cassie was one of those shifter polar bears with a good dye job? What if she was about to show her how invincible she actually was? Oh lord, what if it was a trap and she foolishly drank herself right into it?

But Cassie slowly smiled, her pretty dark eyes sparkled and she leaned closer to whisper her deepest desires. She looked right then left and so did Dori. The bar was still empty and suddenly quite silent – even the juke box had stopped serenading them. “I always wanted to be a songwriter. A lyricist.”

Dori let the interesting information digest then picked up the menu. “Did you write this?”

“Yeah, who else is going to write my menu? You still hungry? Cook’s gone home, but I can nuke something for you.”

“No. But Cassie, look at this. The pub background, the history, the poetry of your descriptions. You’re already a songwriter, I can almost hear music in your words.”

“Really?” Cassie took the menu, flipped slowly through it, looked up at Dori then back again. “You really think so? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Dori felt a glow of accomplishment as the bartender’s face brightening with delight. “Cassie, I think you should do something with this talent. Go to Hollywood or Nashville, contact people, show them samples of your ideas.”

“I have boxes full of songs up in my apartment! Do you really think I can make it? It would be so amazing to do that!”

“Trust me. You follow this dream, you will be successful.”

For several moments the women sat in silence until Dori reached for the tequila and the pub owner/songwriter-to-be shook her head. “It’s time to get you back to the cabin.”

“Don’t wanna.” The last thing she cared to do was face Gabriel.

“It’s time to get things straight with your man. No point in fighting when you could be making love. What else is a long, long night for?”

“But … but …”

“Get over it. You’re what you are and he’s whatever he is. You belong together. Some things a bartender knows. A woman drinking alone in a strange town needs to get on board with her own life. There, we’re even on the advice front. Now,” she stood, wobbled a bit and helped Dori to her feet. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Is it safe?”

Cassie chuckled. “Hell no. Safe ain’t a word in Maxtla’s lexicon. But like I said, a gal’s gotta get on board with her own life. S’go.”