Page 57 of Slayer Mom
I raised a hand to say something, then shook my head and kept walking. In the kitchen, my handswere shaking as I put on the water and turned on the music. “Play a bossanova,” I ordered. That’s the song I’d been listening to the day Lock came home, close to his twelfth birthday, and tried to kill me. I mean, if I’d lived through him draining me of all my blood, he probably wouldn’t have minded that I wasn’t dead. I was his mother, after all, and even monsters loved their mothers.
I dropped the pan and water spread all over the floor, splashing my torn red pleather pants. Laughing or crying hysterically, I couldn’t tell which, I sank down to the floor and wrapped my arms around my knees. I should order a pumpkin pie decaf latte, but I had no phone.
“Call the nearest all-night coffee delivery service,” I said through tears and my cracked voice.
“Calling Joe’s Living Dead Coffee Shop.”
Well, that was ironic. Or maybe vampires were running coffee shops. Turkish coffee was super popular with the particularly old ones. The ones that really knew how to mess with your mind. For years.
“Hello? This is Joe.”
“Hi, Joe. This is Lucy, Lucky Darnell. I desperately need a pumpkin pie decaf latte, or chai, or whatever you have, as long as it’s got a lot of nutmeg. Can you help me?”
“Sure. What’s your address?”
I gave it to him.
He whistled. “That’s some neighborhood.”
“Everyone’s a vampire or a zombie.”
“The lifeless business suits, yeah. I left that rat race to do what my heart called me to do. Sounds like your heart’s telling you some things too. It hurts, but afterwards, things will be better. I’ll be right on that and bring it over personally.” He hung up without taking my credit card number. Oh well.
I sighed heavily. Did I have time to take a showerbefore the guy brought my coffee? Probably, but not if I had to climb all those stairs to the master bath. There was a small shower in the guest bedroom where Tom had slept last night. Good times. Slayer sleepover. Should do that every Tuesday. Was it Tuesday? I’d lost track of days of the week.
I dragged myself off the wet floor and wandered towards the shower, careful to take a way that wouldn’t lead me past anyone I’d thought I knew. I couldn’t even think of them without…
Nope. I just couldn’t. I’d completely lose my mind. Not that there was much sanity left at this point. May as well let the zombies eat my brains.
I took a shower, a crying, trembling, miserable shower, full of seaweed and mud, zombie guts and blood. The bites stung under the hot water. Was that a good sign or a bad one? No idea. I’d take a salt soak after my delivery arrived. It was very important to keep up on my salt soaks so zombies didn’t follow my children… Were they my children? I remembered delivering them, but I couldn’t be sure if what I remembered were my memories, not when Wat made it perfectly clear that Hazen could… I shook my head and collapsed against the shower wall, letting the water beat against my back while I didn’t think for a long time.
The front bell rang.
Oh good, my coffee was here.
I got out of the shower, pulled on a guest robe without drying off, and headed to the front door. Hazen and Wat were still glaring at each other, having a battle of wills or whatever. I didn’t look at them. I couldn’t. I went to the front door, opened it, and then stared at the very well-bearded male holding my coffee.
“Cash. I was going to get cash.” I patted my wethair like I’d stuck bills in there when I wasn’t paying attention.
He gave me a friendly smile. “Don’t worry about it. Are you okay? You’re crying.”
I touched my face. Oh. Those were tears streaming down my cheeks. How embarrassing. “It was a bad day. You know how it is.” I stepped outside and took the coffee, closing the door behind me. I leaned against the door and took a delicate sip of the scalding stuff. A big motorbike was parked in front.
“Sure. I’ve had bad days. I’ve had very bad days. Two of my employees were killed a little while ago.”
I sniffed. “That’s terrible.”
“It is. Do you think I should kill the person who killed them?”
I looked up at him, confused. “You know who killed them? Personal vengeance is usually problematic, you know, dealing with proof and individual rights, and…” I trialed off with a sigh. “So many people have tried to kill me lately.”
“Why is that?”
“Are you a coffee therapist? Coffee bartender?”
His smile got crooked. “Something like that.”
“Why have people been trying to kill me? Why indeed? Probably to get to my husband. He’s not who I thought he was. It would have been useful if he warned me, but then I probably would have left him. I don’t know.” I sank down the door to sit on the front mat with a cheerful ‘hello’ written on it. Hazen didn’t like welcome mats that said, ‘welcome’, probably something to do with vampire invitations into homes or something. I should have suspected something ominous based on that. Or not.
