Free A Little Undead by Laira Evans Page A

couldn't deny the hair dryer was a good choice as I
ran it through my hair. The warmth and simple comfort of doing
something routine made my worries seem less frightening. With regret
I left my bastion of normality to step back into the chaos that was
my new reality. Hopping into my only spare uniform I shifted the
door aside with one hand, straightening my new apparel as I stepped
outside. 'At least I look good in sunglasses.'
    Sunglasses at night were rarely
looked on as fashionable, but I was hardly the only strangely dressed
person on the public bus at six o'clock in the evening. Most
respectable folks didn't head back home with so little time to spare
before nightfall. I really wished I had chosen a seat closer to the
front. I kept my nose close to the window, but there was no hiding
the miasma of odors emanating from my fellow commuters. The
seductive scent of the blood beneath their skin was thankfully faint
enough to ignore due to my two seat buffer from the other passengers,
but my oddly sensitive nose kept picking out various offensive body
odors. At least the squelching of my feet in my still sodden boots
was annoying enough to keep my mind partially distracted.
    Some amount of time later I
found myself staring from across the street at the police station,
wondering how I could possibly pull this off. So far I had shown no
signs of returning entirely to normal. My hands, currently stuffed
into my pockets, still sported fingernails that looked far more
threatening than even the most aggressive clip on nails I'd seen
outside of Halloween. Not to mention that the police force wasn't
exactly the proper environment for long nails: fake, real, or
supernatural. I could probably hide my fangs if I was careful of how
I spoke, but with the sun dipping below Boston's crowded skyline I
doubted wearing my sunglasses would fly for very long. Well, if
nothing else, my time on the bus had proven that while slightly
curious how human blood tasted in comparison to werewolf I wasn't
ravenously driven to attack normal humans. It really brought into
perspective all those fantasy stories about vampire versus werewolf
wars. The violent little things tasted like candy, it was a tragedy
bound to happen.
    There was something bugging me
though, something I'd missed from our conversation. “He said
Queenie didn't have a name.” Past tense. As in either deposed, or well and truly dead. It had
sounded like vampire hunters had ceased their hunt as well. If they
were anywhere near as gung ho as Van Helsing that would only have
happened if all the vampires were... no longer walking around. Was
it possible that they hated vampires so much as to hunt them (us?) to
extinction? ' Of course they do.' I
saw it in Alex's eyes when he pressed the crucifix to my forehead,
hoping to watch me burn.
    An
ember of disgust and disappointment lit in my chest. If I was in
fact a vampire, was it possible all the stories were wrong? Maybe
people weren't made into vampires, but born as them. I'd lived
eleven years in Haven and caused considerably less mayhem than most
of the other children. To suddenly be denied my right to exist
simply because of this affliction was galling. I was sure that if I
could just find another vampire they could teach me how to curb my
thirst for blood. I was not a parasite. I had a good job that helped the community, and there
was no way a stupid werewolf or a pair of fangs would keep me from
doing it. The walk symbol on the crosswalk chose that
moment to blink out and with it my courage.
    A short while later I regrouped,
now with a giant cup of hot chocolate in hand from the corner café.
It tasted a little different than normal, but not “bad”
different, exactly. Regardless, with this little pick-me-up I was
ready to face anything. Anything, I realized as I finally entered the
double doors, hopefully included the always-watchful Fred. “Officer
Fisher, you're late,” he said, his tone slightly biting. 'Does he have eyes in the back