The Vampire Keeper (12 page)

“I am sure it was not by pure misfortune that the bullet only grazed her,” and with that remark they reached the entrance near the water tower.

Larkin said, “Here let me help you down.”

With a devilish grin he replied, “Right after you tell the truth about why she is still alive.”

“It was a bad calculation that’s all. Come, so Wyler can stitch you up.”

Julius let out an ominous grunt and said, “Our precision is our specialty. Save us both energy and come out with it, or Wyler will be pulling this metal shard out of your skull.”

Julius tossed the throw off and gripped the shard, but before he could tug, Larkin said, “Stop! The blood.” Julius made no response as he gave Larkin an unwavering glare and gripped the metal tighter causing his hand to slice open and blood droplets to fall to the ground. As the blood droplets hit the ground, a light pounding rang in their ears, which inevitably forced the truth from Larkin’s lips. Larkin watched as the blood hit the ground and felt no reaction to Julius’s nonverbal threat to expose their underground tunnel. However, his failure to kill Jezalyn was weighing on him and he needed someone to confide in. Julius was the closest thing to a blood family member Larkin had left, so he glanced up at Julius and with a sigh said, “Don’t be so dramatic, Julius.”

“Huh, only humans are dramatic. I am simply passionate.”

Larkin bent down to pick up the bloody throw that had once been covering Julius’s wound, and finally admitted, “I don’t know why she is alive. She was already bleeding, and all I had to do was suck, but for some reason when it came time I choked.” True, the bullet had displayed a wound that would have cloaked his entry. True, when it came time to press his lips against her neck he was unable to follow through. False, he had not known why he did not follow through, for when he peered into his victims face he saw Isadora’s eyes. Taking a deep breath, without acknowledging his companion, Larkin self-justified his weakness, “I think I have been stagnant way too long.”

“Thank you. Was that so hard to admit?”

“The decision to kill or not to kill—no. The recognition that I buckled under pressure—yes.”

They entered the entrance to the underground tunnel. As Larkin closed and hinged the exit shut, Julius for a brief moment unguarded his selfish whims and casually told his maker, “You know - you don’t have to do it right now. If her thoughts start to madden you, you sedate yourself while she is awake.” Noticing no response to his suggestion, Julius reverted back to his old behavior and added, “Besides, you can always waste away with your meditation at any point of the day.”

Larkin understood his wisecrack as it was meant to aide him in a plan to keep his sanity, for he could see having a reverse schedule was a good plan since Jezalyn did not dream, so he acknowledged Julius’s final suggestion with a nodding glance. They were almost back to the apartment when Julius made another joking remark about their evening. “You know ice-cream is always a good date desert, but you might want to think about spending the whole dollar and order the malt if you want another date.”

Larkin replied, “Perhaps, but you never seem to acquire a second date.”

Julius let out a robust laugh that melted away any evident tension, and they both joked and laughed hysterically until they reached Wyler. Their laughter caught Wyler’s attention, so he was ready and waiting to attend to them at the entrance.

“What happened?” said Wyler as he saw the blood soaked Christmas throw in Larkin’s hands.

“We had a little misunderstanding.”

“Where!?! With whom? How long is the blood trail? Is it something or someone?”

As Larkin moved past Wyler, Julius came into view and replied, “No. It was with each other, and we were careful with the blood.”

They entered the kitchen where Wyler kept his old black medical bag.

“Here bite down on this,” said Wyler as he handed him one of Ana’s wooden spoons.

“I won’t need this. Just pull it out.”

With the spoon still out toward him, Wyler said, “Indulge me. The object is embed deep, so it may take a few tugs.”

Larkin made a fire in the old wood heater as Julius clamped his teeth down on the spoon. Julius rolled the wood back in forth between his teeth before uttering; “Get on with it.”

Larkin watched as Wyler examined closely around the impaled object. Then with a slight twist of the wrist, Larkin flung the throw into the fire and watched it burn as he tried to determine beyond Julius’s muffled groans if Jezalyn had been awakened.

Twilight was fleeting when Wyler finished patching up Julius’s wound. The clouds radiated a reddish-burnt orange that faded into a shade of creamy tangerine; the sun was coming, and Julius was running out of time. Unlike his creator, he could not venture out into the sunlight. There had always been two lines of vampires: ones who could and ones who could not endure the sun. Luckily for the human world, the majority of vampires suffered the same limitations as Julius.

As Wyler put away his surgical tools, Larkin tossed something to Julius and said, “The sun is about to peek.”

Julius snagged the cloth with a firm grip before letting it dangle. A light shake of the material revealed that Larkin had flung him a black single pocket tee. “Since it looks like I’ll be staying here awhile,” he paused and gave a mischievous grin, “what do you have on tap?”

Larkin moved to the refrigerator and said, “Let’s see.” He carelessly opened the door. “We have aged and aged. What would you prefer?”

“I think I will take the second aged,” replied Julius with a more serious edge than it deserved.

“Very well, I will take the first.” Larkin popped the two bags of blood into the microwave and pulled two cups from the cupboard.

Wyler peered back in astonishment at their mutual changes in temperament. Just a short while ago, they had tried to kill each other; but now, they stood almost side by side as they passed light bantering back and forth, while having an early morning snack, as if nothing had ever occurred. Wyler mumbled, “Uh! I need a cup of tea.” He moved to put the kettle on but stopped short when he remembered all of the sugar was upstairs.

With the wound pretty much patched up, Wyler said, “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll be upstairs making a cup of tea.”

After quickly surveying Wyler’s handy work, Julius waved a dismissal the way one would wave off the nuisance of a fly. Trying to alleviate any hard feelings for such an ungrateful brush off, Larkin stepped forward. “It looks like the bleeding has almost stopped. Go ahead and make your tea. I’ll come up to the shop after I get Julius all settled in.”

It had never been Wyler’s idea to be a Keeper, and he especially never expected to fulfill the role for two once he had accepted. He had always found his duties to preserve Larkin doable although sometimes challenging, for he liked things a particular way, yet he never placed himself into harm’s way. However, once Julius entered the family, life as a Keeper for Wyler had become taxing. It was rare that Julius showed Wyler any appreciation, and only adhered under the direction of Larkin. Although there were many reasons for Wyler to despise Julius, he did not. He would simply fold to the will of both Larkin and Julius. Ana, however, faulted Julius for all his bad behavior, but if not for any reason alone, Julius’s lack of regard for her husband was enough to make Ana despise him for all eternity. Therefore, when Julius coolly called out, “Thanks for the help.” Wyler did not notice Julius’s dispassionate gratitude; he had one target in mind. Instead, Wyler proceeded to the stockroom. He always needed a cup of tea after stitching up one of the vampires. Their recent medical needs, as well as Jezalyn’s, had brought back memories of the war, and a cup of tea always soothed him from the discombobulating sentiments.

When the door shut, Wyler left the thought of blood, needles, and thread behind. He meditated on his soon to be hot cup of tea. He thought about the aroma, the smooth blend, and the way it would flow warmly down his throat. His anticipation was so great it almost seemed as if he could smell the tea brewing. He weaved around a few piles of books and finally made it to the kitchen area where he saw Jezalyn sitting at a small table holding a little green and white teacup.

“Good morning, Wyler.” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “I made a pot of tea. Hope you don’t mind.”

Startled at the sight of her, Wyler responded, “Oh, no. Not at all, I just came up to make a cup myself.”

Jezalyn gestured toward the kettle while holding the cup with both hands, “I think there is enough water left for another cup.”

Wyler nodded and moved toward the kettle, “How is your neck?”

She lightly cupped her hand over the wound, “It’s a little sore. Thanks again for taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome,” said Wyler as he turned and leaned against the counter, “so are you feeling up to working today.”

She gave a sweet smile as she responded, “I took an ibuprofen this morning, so I’m good to go. Besides, it’s not as if today’s events will be a matinee of yesterdays. I am determined to make it through one day of work without so much as a paper cut.”

Wyler only stared not knowing how to respond, but all the while he was laughing within. A paper cut was the least of his worries; he just stitched up a large gaping hole in Julius’s chest, which had to have left a trail of blood. Pouring himself a cup of tea, Wyler contemplated how and when he would be able to clean up the careless mess of his vampire rulers.

There was an instance of silence, before they heard the chiming tolls of an old grandfather clock marking the hour. Wyler smiled and said, “I guess we should get set up.”

“Okay. I’ll clean up my mess and be out in a jiff.”

Wyler nodded his head and walked toward the entrance that led into the shop. When he exited the entranceway, Wyler saw Larkin pop up from behind the counter.

Stunned to see him behind the counter, Wyler said with some surprise, “Larkin! What are you doing?”

Grinning at Wyler’s alarmed face, he coolly responded, “I see my presence is startling even after I told you I would be right up.”

“No. I’m fine,” he told Larkin, moving closer to the counter. “Jezalyn is in the back. She will be out in a moment.”

“I know. I can hear her. She is humming a little ditty to herself, and now she’s thinking,
One more saucer and I will be done. No, wait, maybe I should ask Wyler if he wants me to clean his cup, too.
”

Wyler stared at him with almost a blank expression as he mumbled, “What? Why would she…”

Larkin ducked behind the side of the counter as Jezalyn appeared, “Hey, Wyler.”

“Yes?”

“Would you like me to wash your cup before I drain the dish water?” she asked sweetly.

Interested as to the reasoning why Larkin hid, Wyler took a big gulp of his tea and handed the cup to Jezalyn. The tea being quite warm burned into the pit of his stomach, but it was worth it he thought so long as it gave him a couple more minutes alone with Larkin.

Accepting his empty cup and his thank you, Jezalyn bounced back into the stockroom. Her departure brought the arrival of Larkin into his view, for he reemerged and said, “See, I told you.”

Uninterested in his lighthearted banter, Wyler ignored the tease and asked, “Why did you hide?”

“Me? Hide? I did not hide.”

“Yes, you did. One minute you’re standing right there, and the next you are crouching down out of sight moments before she came in.”

“My pants leg was twisted, and I simply bent down to straighten it out. Besides, what reason would I have to hide?” he said, still evading Wyler and his suspicious questioning.

“I don’t know; that’s what I am trying to find out.”

Larkin smiled and said, “She is letting the water out of the sink. Maybe I should go see if she will make another pot.”

Wyler suspiciously thought Larkin was not ready to see Jezalyn yet, so he decided to test out his theory.
If I tell him to go see if she will make another pot of tea and he recants the idea, then I will know he was definitely avoiding her.

“That’s a good idea. I could go for another cup of tea, and while you’re gone I’ll open the shop,” responded Wyler putting Larkin to the test.

Larkin did not show one hint of reluctance as he turned to prance out of the shop. Wyler lingered a moment as he reflected on the outcome.
This just reminds me why I never play poker with him anymore,
and with that thought, he turned, moved toward the door, flipped over the open sign, and unlocked the door, but before he could fully open the blinds covering the windows, he heard the door open. Wyler turned to find a woman with tight blonde curls standing in front of a man with a rather large video camera. Wyler knew who she was before she even opened her mouth. Her name was Mary Sherwood, a reporter for Channel 3 News and Transylvania’s Watchman.

“Excuse me,” said the woman. “I am Mary Sherwood from Channel 3. I am looking for Jezalyn Williford and,” she glanced down at the notepad, “you must be Larkin. How does it feel to be a hero?”

Wyler held up his hand, “You are mistaken. I am Wyler and this is my shop.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” she said and continued to point a microphone toward Wyler. “Mr. Wyler, how do you feel about the events that unfolded in your shop yesterday? Were you afraid for your life?”

With almost no emotion Wyler responded, “There was no incident in my shop yesterday. I think you are inquiring about the incident that took place at Transylvania General Store. You should check with Mr. Peterson next door.”

“I did, but I got a tip that someone at your shop was injured, so I am here to acquire an interview with either Jezalyn or her rescuer. Aka, knight in shining armor,” she said with a little wink. “Do you know how I can get in touch with them?”

Wyler looked at her with masked frustration, “Sorry, but no. I am trying to run a business, so I must ask you to leave.”

“And a nice shop it is. I’ll poke around a bit before I go,” she said, not waiting for a response as she scurried over to the closest bookshelf.

Wyler moving to her agreed, but not without one condition, “Sure, but you’ll have to leave the cameras behind.”

With some irritation, she whipped around and said, “Wait for me outside, Paul.” She winked at him as they both turned; Paul left the store and Mary faced Wyler once again. She gave Wyler a smiling nod and walked over to the next bookshelf and scanned the collection, but that was not all she was scanning. She slowly made her way to the end of the shelf. Once at the end of it, she squatted down to take a book from the bottom shelf on the pretext of probing. Every once in a while Mary abandoned the bookshelf to examine the wall adjacent to the general store. She moved up several bookshelves before Wyler caught on to her scheme, and before he could scamper over to her, Mary had already discovered a bullet hole. As he approached, she pushed her little notepad back in her pocket.

He hovered over her. Not wanting to be thrown out before making it to the next shelf, she held up a worn pocket-size red velvet book. Its condition was somewhat good; it only had a few bald spots for its age.

“How much is this?”

With a blunt tone Wyler responded, “Fifty-two dollars.”

Mary swallowed hard, but did not let it show. She thought twelve dollars was more than sufficient for any used book. She debated in her mind over it and eventually decided,
Sometimes you have to pay for the scoop, but this time It’s a small fortune.

She handed Wyler the book and said, “I will take it.”

“Alright, the register is this way,” he said as he hesitantly scuttled off with Mary trailing behind.

Mary lagged behind letting some space gap between them. Instead of following Wyler to the register, she ducked off behind another bookshelf, but this time she did not linger. She rushed directly to the wall and examined it. There were two more bullet holes. One hole looked clean as if the bullet had passed straight through, while the sheetrock around the other had pothole type indentions like the shell had been dug out.

Wyler had reached the register alone. Angrily he charged back through the store and once he spotted Mary, he advanced upon her rapidly. “You are trying my patience; I told you there is no story here. I think it’s time you left.”

Mary was stunned at his tone, but did not waver. “If there’s not a story here then how do you explain those,” she said as she pointed to the bullet holes.

“That is the results of having artwork brandished throughout the store. No more inquires. Now purchase your book or leave.”

She had agreed to purchase the book so that she could get a closer look at the back of the store even if it would be from a distance. This time Wyler walked beside her, so she would not be able disappear again. As he was checking her out, Ana appeared next to him. She had just arrived home from her double shift. Mary took one glance at her and eagerly proclaimed, “You must be Jezalyn. Do you feel Mrs. Peterson should be charged with your attempted murder?”

Ana peered at her with some confusion, “Who are you?”

Mary tried to respond, “I am… ,” but Wyler cut her off.

Wyler’s anger was now borderline fury, which was unmistakable in his tone, “This is my wife, Ana.” He shoved the book across the counter and with a point of his finger he demanded, “Get out of my shop!”

Mary grabbed her book and said as she retreated, “If there was no story then you wouldn’t be so defensive.”

Wyler followed her to the door, and before she left he said, “If you call someone liking to not have their privacy invaded a story, then sure there is a story.”

As he slammed the door and locked it, he heard her say, “I won’t consider this story over until I get my interviews. Paul! Get the gear out we’re setting up camp.”

Ana glanced at Wyler alarmingly. “What’s happening around here? And why is a reporter snooping around?”

“Mrs. Peterson found out about Mr. Peterson’s affair with Greta. Her reaction caused quite a scandal,” he explained. Wyler tried to relate the event, but Ana held up her hand to stop him.