Bloodshifted (Edie Spence 5)

“As much blood as I heard you got? You’ll probably feel like Superman for a month.”

“And after that?” I pressed.

He shrugged. “If you don’t get more blood, you’ll start to feel sick soon. You won’t like it when your humanity comes back, with all its aches and pains. You’ll start to age, and you wouldn’t be supercharged anymore. But you’d still have to obey him, even after the good parts wear off. It’s a devil’s bargain—you make it once and you make it for life, either your lifetime or his. After a while without blood you’ll feel like you took a drug, missed the high, and got only the shitty side effects.”

I tried not to frown, but Jackson easily read my face.

“You’re new. Everything’ll take a while to get used to. Let’s move this over there.” He jerked his head toward a zebra-print rug on the floor. We picked up the coffee table together again, and I realized as we neared the rug it really was the skin of a zebra.

“Wow.” I knelt down to pet it after we set the coffee table down.

“She can be a bit exotic.”

I made a show of looking around the rest of the room. Her bed occupied most of it, looking like a four-poster throne, and I noticed the vanity mirror pointed toward it. Shining chrome bars joined all the posts at top, and curtains hung off these, along with several sets of handcuffs.

“You think?” I said, trying to sound as ironic as I could. If becoming a daytimer had stranded Celine in the 1980s, did that mean I was going to be frozen circa 2014?

Jackson clapped my back. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, Edie.”

It took all my strength not to nod in hope. He looked down at the floor where the coffee table had been. “Okay then. Let me go get you a cot,” he said, and left the room.

I had that urge you get when you’re alone at a stranger’s place to go through all their stuff. But I didn’t know when Celine would be back—and I noticed there weren’t any locks on the door, which seemed odd. Jackson returned momentarily, carrying a cot, and unfolded it for me. It was covered in unfortunately placed stains.

“Sorry about that. There’s sheets somewhere too, I’ll find them. It’s been a while since we had company.”

“Thanks.” I looked down at myself. I was still encrusted with sweat and salt from the sea. “Is there any clothing here?” I knew Celine and I weren’t the same size since she was a foot shorter than I was.

“Yeah. You want to take a shower first?”

I did. If—and it was a big if—it was safe.

Jackson grunted at my hesitance. “You just got a pint or two of vampire blood. No one’s going to be able to hurt you for a while, unless they manage to physically pull off your limbs.”

All too easy to imagine—at least while the vampires were up. “Somehow that image doesn’t help.”

He snorted. “Sorry. I guess not. But you’ll need to know where the bathroom is anyhow; you’ll need to pee eventually. Come on, it’s just down the hall.”

The door to the bathroom looked just like the door to Celine’s room, only I could smell the water behind it.

It was half prison bathroom, half horror movie. The toilets were inside stalls, all missing doors. Across from the toilets there was one long countertop with five sinks, and three showerheads at the far end, without any curtains. A row of lockers was tucked in between the showers and the sinks, but none of them had locks. The tile floor had divots leading to multiple drains—the easier to clean up bloodstains, I presumed.

“Classy,” I said after taking it all in.

“Yep,” Jackson agreed. “I’ll go work on sheets and clothing. Everyone’s busy now—it’s a good time for you to shower, if you’re going to. You can use my stuff—” He popped open a locker, revealing a shaving kit and a few bottles of toiletries. “If you go back to Celine’s room smelling like her shampoo, she’ll kill you in your sleep. We get decent water pressure, but it takes a while for the water to get hot,” he said, and left.

I stared at the showers once I was alone. I was disgusting, the salt embedded in my clothing rasped at me, and I stank. But it was hard to feel comfortable showering anyplace it looked like a slasher film was about to break out in.

Then again—I stretched my hands out in front of me, remembering the strength I’d had when I’d lifted the coffee table. I’d never be safer here than I was right now, with Raven’s blood fresh inside me.

Okay. Let’s do this, baby.

I quickly stripped off all my clothing and cranked the water on.

* * *

Everything from Jackson’s locker seemed to have a slight manly scent—and I wondered if that was true, or if it was just me now being more sensitive. In an effort not to wind up smelling like he was my boyfriend, I borrowed just a bar of soap, swiping it over myself and lathering it into my hair, trying to take the fastest shower I’d ever taken in my life.

I wasn’t quite fast enough. Jackson came back in the room and walked past me, a stack of fabric in his arms.

I slammed the water off and picked up my clothes to cover myself with, quickly shoving my feet back into my tennis shoes.

“I thought you might need a towel,” he said, coming back to me, holding one out. I took it from him and made an indelicate transfer while he looked away. The towel was a short one, and I was nervous when he looked back. I didn’t care if he saw me, but I didn’t want him to see my stomach, just in case. I knew I still had meat on my bones despite my recent starvation, and there was no way I was showing yet. But if Raven hadn’t told anyone else about the baby and my subsequent ticket out of here in eight months, courtesy of Anna, I wouldn’t volunteer it. Just thinking about it made me want to shelter my stomach with my hand.

“Do you all usually bring in your own curtains?” I stepped out of the shower and slunk over to the clothing he’d put by the sink.

“They aren’t big on giving us any privacy.” I could tell he said They with a capital T.

I folded the towel under my armpit and picked up the shirt he’d brought me. It looked two sizes too small. “I don’t think this’ll fit me.”

“It will. It’s mostly spandex,” he said, and seeing my mouth open he cut me off. “Don’t ask where it came from.”

“Okay.” I held it up in front of me and waited for him to go away.

He made a show of turning around, arms crossed. “We aren’t big on privacy with each other either, just so you know.”

“Duly noted.” I pulled the shirt on quickly, over the towel, then held up the skirt. More spandex, ugh.

“Now’s as good a time as any for me to tell you the house rules. First off, never speak to one of them until they ask you to. And then address them as Sire or Madam. Their names are not for you,” he said, talking to the wall before him. I held the skirt open, stepped into it with my shoes on, and wrestled it up.

“Only tell them what they ask you to. They don’t want to hear your stories, they don’t care. Don’t make excuses, and don’t lie. Generally, they’ll know, and then it’s bad for you. Don’t assume they can’t hear you because when they’re up, it’s just safer to assume they can. Don’t ask about where they sleep, you don’t want to know. If you ever make one of them mad, bow and beg immediately for forgiveness. Pride will only get you killed.”

I had my underwear in one hand, the towel in the other. I didn’t want to put my old underwear back on, but I didn’t want to ask him for a “new” set, not when I suspected they were off other people and I didn’t have access to malathion. I tried to nonchalantly shove my current pair underneath my towel as he turned back around.

He took me in, black spandex much closer to Spanx, and pointed at the corner of my underwear peeking out with a head shake. “You’ll learn not to have any shame soon enough. Shame only gives other people power over you.”

I tucked my underwear in. ?

??Does your Zen vampire philosophy come with a side of detergent?”

He snorted. “Nope. We use a laundry service.” He walked toward the door and stopped to look back. “Any other questions?”

A thousand—and none. Where in LA were we? What would I do here? Celine had a phone—could I have one? Could I call home? Who paid for things? How?

But I didn’t really need to know the answer to any of those yet. Without context the answers would be frustrating or overwhelming. I decided to ask the only easy one that I was genuinely curious about. “How often have you given this talk?”

“Too many times.” He gave me a sad smile and opened up the door. “You’ve had a long few days, I’m sure. We get the news upstairs, the Maraschino’s sinking has been all over it. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off and rest? I can finish the tour this evening. I’m sure you can find your way back to Celine’s room.”

I nodded, and he stepped outside.

* * *

I washed my underwear as best I could in the sink, and then wrung it out before folding it up in the towel and taking it and all my old clothes back to Celine’s room. When I got there the door was open, and the room was empty. The lights were on, and I didn’t see a light switch, but that was fine; I didn’t want anyone sneaking up on me in the dark.

I walked across the room over to the mirrored vanity. Despite feeling healthy, I still looked wan—not even vampire blood could “fix” depression, I supposed. I hesitantly lifted my upper lip in a semblance of a smile. I didn’t have the full vampire fang jack-o’-lantern thing yet, but my teeth were on their way. I frowned at myself and turned back to the rest of the room.

Jackson had stacked sheets on the cot, in a faded forest green. I folded them out carefully, so that only one side ever touched the old stains on the cot and I could lie on the cleaner opposite side.

I’d have to figure out how to get new clothes before I did start to show—I was bustier than my top’s original owner, so there was a band of naked skin between shirt and the skirt, and the skirt was so tight it would probably show off the outline of whatever I ate next, like I was in an old-fashioned cartoon.