Chapter Three

Now Here’s a Little Story All About How My Life Got Flipped

Texas

In the Prussakovs’ basement the next morning, I stop my onslaught of punches to catch my breath and prop my gloved fists against the punching bag. Anton’s music helped me fall asleep, but then the chatter, the voices inside my head, woke me up around four a.m. Nothing clear or strong or creepy as what they’d shouted yesterday about wanting me.

Whatever that means.

I got up, tried to meditate—failed—and then felt the need to punch something. So far, it’s working for me.

“You’re up early.” Grandma Lou slides off her slippers before she steps onto the red mat.

I don’t ask her why she’s up so early, since she always wakes at sunrise. She told me the reason isn’t because she’s old (my original guess).

“Chile, I’ve been roaming in the dark for too long. Now…now I want to soak up the sun for as long as I can.”

“Seems like you had a good time at your party last night.”

Not really, but I decide to lie by way of smiling.

“I’m glad.” Grandma Lou twists her hands together. “Real glad.”

“Sorry about the party. I know…” I clear my throat and push myself off the punching bag to fully face her. “I know what that day means to you.”

Grandma Lou’s mouth falls open and a fine, dark blush creeps up from her neck to her cheeks. “That’s the day you were born. It is by far the happiest day of my life until…until it wasn’t.” Her voice is so high and so uncomfortable it feels like I’m wrapped in nylon on the Fourth of July.

“I’m sorry about Mama and…and Grandpa Willie and Grandpa Jeffrey.” I don’t remember a thing about them—can only recall the pictures hanging on the walls of Grandma Lou’s parlor. My mom looked just like Grandpa Willie—she only had Grandma Lou’s nose and mouth. And Grandpa Jeffrey, well, I’m thinking he wasn’t really my grandpa because he’s white as the driven snow.

“Well…I’ve got to finish my warm-up before Anton comes downstairs for training.”

Then I have to figure out what the hell those souls want with me, or maybe Richmond can help if he wasn’t such a fuckboy.

Why is he that way? I punch the bag harder and harder, thinking about all the crazy things happening to me. Like, how am I supposed to help these souls? Are they trapped in the bottle like that genie in Aladdin ? And damn, if they are, there’s one hundred of them. Not a lot of space in there, unless the stone is somehow an infinite amount of space on the inside.

I shake my head. This alchemy stuff is gonna break my brain.

“You angry, baby?” Grandma Lou shouts above the sound of my aggression.

“No.” I stop punching. “Why do you ask?”

Grandma Lou tilts her head toward the bag. I follow her attention and notice sand seeping from the seams.

Okay, maybe I’m a wee bit angry.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me, baby. Is it that dark thing inside of you? The thing that hurt me, too?”

“I…” My voice trails off, and I shrug.

“Charlotte says its generational trauma,” she enunciates slowly. “You know, I need to tell you about my origins and our family. She says talking helps.”

“I don’t think that’ll help, Grandma.”

She walks over to the couch near the Prussakovs’ office. “Let’s chat for a while.”

Shrugging off my gloves, I follow her to the couch and slouch. “So, what if it’s generational trauma? Have you, like…heard things?”

“My hearing’s fine, child.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Like other people, like…voices?” I whisper the last part while looking around the room.

“No, baby.” She pats my hand. “But I have nightmares that seem real.”

“Then it’s not generational trauma, Grandma Lou. It’s…something else.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing.”

“Girl, it’s something, and it’s eating you alive, gal. Trust that I can handle whatever you have to share. In fact, I’ll help you carry the load.” She grabs my shoulder and pulls me into a tight hug. “C’mon, baby. Trust me. If not as your grandmother, the one who raised you, then as a vampire slayer. And baby, I’ve killed more than you can imagine. Whatever it is, you know I’m going to help you, baby.”

Her eyes are warm and make me safe. She’s always been my safe space.

I inhale, then jump from the seat, pace the floor. No way could I say this all calmly on the couch. “Okay, but just hear me out.” I turn to face Grandma Lou. “I hear…voices. Not like I’m talking to myself. They’re voices from the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Her eyes go wide. “Baby are you saying…all them slayers souls didn’t move on?” She massages her forehead, like she can’t believe it. “H-how…how do you know?”

“When I saw Rich at the party last night, they screamed, shouted. They hate him. They wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire. And they clearly told me that they are stuck in here.” I point to my palm.

Grandma Lou looks beyond my shoulder. “Wait a minute, baby.” She holds up her hand like she can’t take anymore. Well, that’s too bad because I can’t stop. Somebody else needs to know how crazy this is.

“Baby, we aren’t—”

“I hear them when I try to sleep,” I roll over her protest. “When I wake up. It’s like I’ve got someone watching me, my every waking move. The darkness…” I shake my head. “It’s there, but it’s, like, shoved in the corner. Like I’ve got so much stuff jammed inside of me that I can’t even touch it. I can’t feel it.” I run my hands through my hair. “Grandma, I can’t feel me. And I’m scared. I’m scared that maybe no one will believe me. Or maybe you will but you think something’s wrong with me.”

“Baby Girl…” She stands and hugs me. “I believe you.” Her skin is warm and her high cheekbones sit right on my shoulder. Five years ago, our embrace would be opposite with my head on her shoulder.

“I believe you, too,” I hear a familiar voice behind me.

“Me, too.” This one feminine and firm.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

“Don’t tell me Anton and Charlotte are here,” I whisper in my grandma’s ear.

Grandma Lou clears her throat. “Well, I did try to stop you, but baby, your motor was running.”

She turns me around, likely knowing that I was seconds away from bolting.

“Heeyyy, Charlotte. Anton.” I bow, to my commander, of course. Not Anton. “What’s up?”

“I had a meeting with Anton, but it’s over now.” Charlotte stares at me, her eyes wide with something that looks kinda like terror.

A meeting with Anton? I snort. She’s probably here to spy on me.

“If you’re here to check on me, then I’m perfectly fine.” It’s a lie, a stupid lie, and everyone knows it, but I can’t help myself. “I was just telling Grandma Lou about—”

“The souls trapped in the stone.” Charlotte huffs. “I know you don’t fully trust me, but I need to know what’s going on with you. I’m calling Richmond right now. You’re meeting with him—today.”

“But Charlotte…”

“No. Right now.” With one hand on her chest and the other hand in the air, she looks like she’s about to break out in a praise dance or strike a pose like the Statue of Liberty.

“Now, we only heard part of what you said about the one hundred souls speaking to you. Is that why you needed to talk to Rich?”

“Yes, and I did, but…he wasn’t much help. He didn’t tell me anything.”

“He didn’t or he wouldn’t?” Charlotte narrows her eyes.

“You never know with your…” I clear my voice when I see the look of murder on Charlotte’s face. Maybe they aren’t together anymore. “Sorry, you never know with him.”

Charlotte glances at her watch. “I’ve got a meeting with our builders. We’ve run into some issues for materials for our new headquarters, but I can reschedule—”

“No need. I’ll take her.” Anton stares at me. “And I’ll make sure Richmond gives us everything we need.”

…

Rich isn’t staying with the other slayers but lives five miles down the road from the temporary campgrounds.

He’s got acres of beautiful, flat land. Perfectly green with a few horses and cows and chickens. A mess of materials lies beyond the pastures of green grass and peaceful animals.

A shell of a house sits in front of neatly stacked rows of wood and bricks. Just to the left of it is a mobile home. When Anton and I pull up to the rocky driveway, Richmond opens the screen door. Hands over his head, he grips the top of his door like it’s a lifeline. He’s not wearing his usual frown when he sees me, but he doesn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat.

Anton presses the ignition to turn off the car. When I reach for the handle, Anton leans over, his fingers brushing mine.

“I’d like to remind you that Richmond is no longer the Maximus.”

“I am very aware he’s no longer Maximus,” I reply with squinty eyes.

“What I’m inferring is that he’s been through a significant change and that can transform—”

“If you want me to feel sorry for a guy who refused to transfer power peacefully and literally risked the world for his greed, then you are howling up the wrong tree.”

“I do not feel sorry for him.” His eyes are like ice chips, and his voice is rope tight. “In fact, I am angry. Furious. His actions led to my mother’s death. It forced you into an ugly transition in an unsafe environment with those who wanted to tear you apart.”

“What are you saying, then?”

“He knows things. Things that will ensure your success and safety. And that is all I’m concerned about. So please do not agitate him with the rhyming name and curse word.”

“You mean Bitch Rich.”

“It’s vulgar.”

“It’s the truth. He is a bi—”

“He hates it, and he will instantly shut down if you insult him. We need to understand what’s going on with you. We must prepare for Alexander. There is no room for ego or hate. We need to do all that we can to keep you safe. So please help me do so.”

His words clog the air that fills my lungs. I take a deep gulp of air, forcing myself to breathe. “Y-you’re concerned about me. Like, for real?”

He sighs. “Do not confuse my distance for disdain.”

I shrug, suddenly at a loss for words. “You… When we first met, you treated me like I’m a job.”

“You are my job. But you are also my…my friend.” The irises of his eyes bloom, flashing in the near darkness.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He relaxes his fingers, releasing me. “Our host awaits.”

Not really. He salutes us and then walks behind the mobile home. He returns with three collapsible chairs and places them outside his mobile home.

“Wow. So hospitable.”

“Focus,” Anton reminds me.

“But it’s cold.” Not cold-cold, but a strong sixty-five degrees.

“You need to handle the heat and the cold, Texas.”

“Sure, I do.”

Anton winks, and he looks downright friendly.

Nah. Couldn’t have been that. “I think you’ve got something in your eye.”

He shakes his head and laughs a little. “Sure I do.” He tosses my flippant response to me, then opens my door.

We both walk cautiously toward Bi-…I mean (redacted) Rich.

I sit on a red Atlanta Falcons chair. Rich returns, cradling cans of Coke, Sprite, and beer. I reach for the Sprite and pop the top of the can.

Rich gets right to it. “Charlotte tells me you want to discuss Maximus’ duties.”

“Yeah.” I raise my eyebrows. “There’s a lot of sh…stuff going on, and I need to figure out if this is normal or if I’m…”

“Crazy,” Rich finishes.

“She’s not mentally ill,” Anton argues.

“I know that. But she feels it all the same.” Rich stares at me, sipping a can of beer. “So did I.”

“There are voices I hear. Voices from the stone.” I cut to the chase. “They keep yelling at me.”

“Yeah. They do that.” Rich stares off to his pastures and cows.

“It’s overwhelming. How did you manage?”

“It takes time. It’ll get easier once you gain their trust.”

“And how do I do that?”

“There are souls that require fighting. Some just want a conversation. Some like to observe who you are to make sure you’re worthy of their power.” Richmond clears his throat. “I found that while in battle, when my life was in danger, they seem more motivated to help.”

“How long did it take you to connect with them?”

“Days for some. Decades for others. A century for a few.”

I cross my arms and my legs, soaking in this information. I don’t have centuries, or even decades. Alexander wants me dead, like, yesterday.

“The best you can do is understand who they were before they entered the stone. I can share my notes, some books I have.”

“Oh, the books you didn’t have yesterday?”

Anton looks at me in a way that reminds me to mind my manners.

Fine.

“That would be fantastic,” I reply between clenched teeth.

Rich goes inside, then returns with an open duffel bag. He tosses the bag near my foot and takes another pull of his beer. “Go on. Look.”

Anton and I lean over. Rummaging through his bag, I grab his field notes and flip through the pages. His notes are neat and organized. He’s even sketched some of their profiles.

“Is this an encyclopedia of Royal vampires?” Anton asks, holding up a tattered book.

Richmond looks at the book. “Yes. I’ve marked an X over the ones who are deceased.”

“Excellent,” Anton quickly praises him.

“T-thank you, Rich.” I jump on to the bare-minimum praise train.

“Welcome,” he says, not looking at us.

I cross my ankles, going for a meek mentee. “Got another question for you. The voices…the souls claim that they are trapped.”

He looks at me now. His eyes are wide and wild. He lowers the beer from his mouth. “Trapped?”

“Yes. Did they, like…know what they were getting into? Did they die when they transferred their power?”

“No.” Rich shakes his head. “No, they didn’t die.”

I let out a breath. He didn’t answer the question . I tilt my head, attempt, probably will fail, but attempt to drop the accusation from my tone. “But are they trapped? Can they not leave?” I ask, punctuating my question with claps in between each word.

He squeezes his empty can and leans back into his chair.

“I’m not trying to judge you,” I lie. I’m totally judging him. He’s a loser. “But I want to understand because it seems like they want out of this stone.” I wave my jeweled palm in the air.

He stares at the grass, as if it can give him answers…or a conscience.

Anton stares at me, then shifts to Rich, with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“Understand that we were desperate back then,” Rich finally answers.

“Who is we?” I ask.

“Everyone.” His voice cracks. “Death spilled over in the streets. So much so that disease spread, not just the vampire disease. Back then, vampires were Ticks in every sense of the word. They took without regard to draining their supply. Alexander would never admit this, but those mindless beasts overwhelmed him. All in the name of giving his precious progeny independence.”

“But didn’t you have the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“I did. But I’m only one man. Strong, powerful, but it only amplified my abilities.”

Anton strokes his chin. “What was your guild?”

“Internist.”

I let out a low whistle. “Not the best guild to fight Alexander.”

“Correct.” Rich snaps his finger and points at me. “I excelled at combat, but it wasn’t enough. That’s when Eduard Magnus, who led the Alchemist Order at the time, suggested we alter the stone.”

“Did he know?” Anton asks. “Did Eduard explain how the souls would be tied to the stone?”

When Rich shakes his head, I let out a long breath, relieved that he’s at least not a supreme asshole.

“But maybe after a decade, I had the realization that they were tied. As the slayers died, the stone absorbed their souls. None of them lived a long life. I…” He licks his lips. “Never mind.”

“No. Go ahead,” I encourage. “This is a safe space,” I lie. Again.

“I told Paris. We ran tests on the stone, on me. We even had a trusted alchemist try to connect to the stone, to the souls. Paris said it was inconclusive. That we should move forward until we defeat Alexander.”

I sneak a look at Anton. His eyes have darkened like the sky before an electrical storm. He grips his chair so hard that his knuckles are paper white. What he doesn’t do is deny Rich’s claims.

Neither do I. It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, but until a few months ago, she sent her only son away and never told him that Alexander is his father. Paris was many things—intelligent, shrewd, with some kindness. But that lady was an opportunist.

“I told them I would set them free after we get Alexander,” I whisper to Anton. “But am I any better than you or Paris?”

“What my mother and Eduard did was wrong. But we need their abilities—”

“Maybe there’s another way. It’s not fair to ask them to wait. They’ve been waiting for centuries.”

Rich looks to the sky and lifts his left hand, the one that used to host the stone. “On one hand, you’ve got the world in your hand and the power to save it.” He lifts his right hand. “In the other, you’ve inherited my sins and the blood I’ve spilled. What will you do with it?” He doesn’t say it in that arrogant way of his. He sounds honest-to-goodness curious.

“Better than you,” I snap. But is that really true?