Page 8 of The Curse of Eternity
“My scrunchie isn’t the only thing missing after the fight,” I explained, sullen, and Olivia glanced down at my belt loops. It felt weird without the weight, so I strapped my machete’s sheath to the belt around my hips while we crossed the road.
“Your lucky keychain is gone,” Olivia said, and I nodded, grouchy. “Should we search the building you killed that vamp in? Maybe it’s somewhere between here and there…”
Fear laced with guilt spurred me to reach for her shoulder as she turned, already scanning the nearby buildings.
“No, it’s okay,” I blurted. “I’m exhausted. I’ll come back tomorrow to look for it.”
Avoiding her gaze, I trudged up the sidewalk toward the F-250. The truck’s interior light came on, illuminating the parking lot when Laura opened the door while Johann shuffled things around on the truck’s bed. Then the hood closed with a shuddering thud, and Caleb emerged from around the front. Our gazes met, and his concern was palpable through his kind deep brown eyes.
“Man,” Caleb breathed the word, closing the distance between us with several long strides. “Are you okay, Maria? I’ll knock Andrew’s lights out for being such a—”
“I’m good,” I assured, and smiled. Caleb Tsosie’s signature lopsided grin lit up his copper complexion, and my shoulders relaxed. Long black hair fell in waves around his shoulders, clad in a red T-shirt covered with grease stains and darker splatters, the latter courtesy of a now really-dead vampire’s blood. The Harkers and the Tsosies had been thick as thieves since Johannand Elias, Caleb and Laura’s father, learned that they were both hunting the same things.
That was way back in the day, and now the Tsosies were practically family.
“The fluid’s alright, Caleb?” Johann asked, walking around to the driver’s seat. Laura appeared to be back on their phone and riding shotgun, as per usual.
“Looks fine,” Caleb replied.
Exhausted, my smile faded on my way to the back seat. Olivia and Caleb hung back a step while I climbed in, but I glimpsed the curious glance they shared. When Olivia shook her head at him, I gritted my teeth. Even one of my best friends thought I’d run off to party.
In the window seat, I scooched over to make room for Olivia in the center and Caleb on the far side. His considerable height forced Laura to move their seat forward. The truck’s engine started up, practically purring. My brain tuned out the story Olivia relayed to Caleb of my noble victory over a wayward vampire. To avoid his curious, worried stare, I closed my eyes and relaxed into the seat.
Comfortable as I was, my mind wouldn’t stop whirring. I wouldnotbreak my family’s trust a second time. After everything, I couldn’t lose their belief in me—again. I said I’d eradicated the threat, and damn it, I was going to make good on my word. Except, the more I thought about the last few hours, the less sense I could make of the whole night.
I must have fallen asleep on the ride home. Because I had to be dreaming if I was starting to consider that maybe—just maybe—the vampire was telling the truth.
Light filtered in through my east-facing window past sheer curtains, and the sun’s rays glared across my analog clock’s glass surface. I chewed on the inside of my cheek while watching the little red hand ticking away atop my nightstand. It wasn’t until both hands stood straight up, officially making it ‘afternoon,’ that I hauled myself off my decadently soft pillow.
Then the aches hit me, vibrating all the way up my side and through my funny bone. My exterior was healed, but a fight still stung the next day on my sore muscles. Regret laid heavy over my chest, twisting my heart and lungs as I debated telling everyone the truth.
It would make hunting the vampire a lot easier if my family was involved. They’d come up with a plan, and deduce his whereabouts with a radius of probable locations based on how long it took the vampire to drive me back. Even taking into account that he might have obscured the route on purpose, the Tsosie family had a network in Albuquerque as old as the clay dirt, which would help us track the sucker.
All I had to do was admit that I’d lied.
Chewing on my lip all morning might have left a permanent dent, but at least it stopped me from shouting in frustration. Because the extent of my uselessness was irritating. Not only did the vampire beat me more than once, he’ddriven me back—relatively unharmed.
That’s the part that really crushed me, because I couldn’t figure it out. Okay, so he said he didn’t drink people-blood—was that even possible for the undead? Despite the stack of books on lore sitting in our family’s library, I was clueless.
Years of at-home lessons with my cousins to ‘know our enemy’ hadn’t proved fruitful in my case. The whole time we were sitting around the dining table, meant to be studying up on vampire history and anatomy, I was sharpening my machete.
It’s not like I hated learning or reading, I just couldn’t wait to get out there and live it. After all the stories that Grandpa told us growing up, tales of his and our ancestors’ brave efforts taking out vile monsters, I wanted nothing more than to be a part of that. Until I turned eighteen, and joined my first vampire hunt.
Maybe if Mom was still around…Nope, I wasnotgoing down that sinkhole. I patted my face with my cold hands to wake myself up, and promptly shot up out of bed, aches be damned. Wincing, I limped over to where my dresser stood, shoved against the wall opposite my bed. The ceiling fan high above was stationary, unnecessary with the temperate springtime air drifting in through my open window.
What had once been one of several offices that belonged to the Holy Trinity Church had since been transformed into a modern bedroom—at least, what was modern in the 1930s when my great grandfather bought it out of foreclosure. Sure, we’d gotten weird looks growing up in Thomas Village, as the family of woodworkers who lived in a church.
Hence the vanity by the door, which had been a handcrafted birthday present from Johann when I was twelve. My dresser was a family hand-me-down, built by my grandfather back in the ‘80s. Regardless of what our neighbors thought about us, this was home. Had been for generations, and we were here to stay.
Fully dressed, I shambled out into the long stretch of hallway. At the end was the closed door to Johann’s study—our family’s ‘library’ and where Uncle Alaric managed the woodworking store’s finances. Behind me was the stained-glass window, haloing my shadow in a rosy glow as I made my way to the third door on the right. Bright sunshine pooled over the hardwood floor where it met the kitchen’s tile.
I raised my hand to cover a yawn, and smacked into something hard.
“Ow!” I rubbed my forehead.
“Ugh, damn it,” Andrew grumbled.
“Language, Andrew!” Aunt Susan scolded from her position before the stove, and the spicy scent of sizzling sausages made my mouth water.
