The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) (5 page)

“But it wasn’t me. I’m
really
sad for her and I just hope they catch whoever did this quickly before they hurt somebody else. Are you coming with me to the library?”

I picked my backpack up off the cafeteria table and as I did the flap on the outer pocket opened, scattering the things in it—spare change, my driver’s license and student id, and a couple of small packets of aspirin—across the table and floor.

“You’ve got to get a new pack, girl.”

Tyreen helped me pick up the things that had fallen out. The last item she handed me was a small charm bracelet my grandmother had given me. The clasp on it had broken a couple of weeks back, and I kept meaning to fix it, but forgetting. I did a quick check of the charms and they all seemed there. My favorite was an old black and white portrait of my grandmother from when she was a girl about my age. She looked enough like me that people often asked if it was me in the picture. I put it back in the outer pocket and zipped it again. The teeth started to split again almost immediately, so I made sure to be extra careful as I slung it over my shoulder.

“I hope they catch this sicko, too,” Tyreen agreed, picking up her tray. “Yes, I’m coming along with you. But we ain’t staying there long. Our asses had best be back in the dorm before it gets dark.” She gave me a sly smile, though the look in her eyes said she was extremely worried.

Tyreen got her wish, and we left the library by four o’clock. Two and a half hours can be plenty of time to get homework done. It used to be, back in high school. But that afternoon, I got very little accomplished—largely because Tyreen couldn’t stay focused on her own studies long enough to give me peace. Every time she wanted to talk about what happened and what it could mean to her, me, and the rest of the females on campus, I had to start over on whatever I was working on at the time. Of course, I wasn’t much help to my cause either, as every time this happened it got me thinking about the murder, Garvan’s warning, and everything else from last night.

The temperature had dropped nearly twenty degrees by the time we walked back to Massey Hall, which often happens when the sun begins to set in eastern Tennessee in late fall. Every shadowed archway and stairwell—even the thick juniper bushes—looked suspicious to us. We practically ran home.

Once safe and sound in our dorm room, Tyreen immediately turned on the TV to learn the latest news on the murder, while I turned up the heater in our room. We already planned to order take-out of one variety or another. The debate between Chinese and the local Steak-out hadn’t been decided yet, when my cell phone rang.

It was my father, calling from Richmond.

“Txema?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Tyreen motioned that she was going to order for us on her phone, telling me the decision on what it would be had already been made by her. I shot her a playful scowl.

“So, you are all right!” He sounded relieved. His Brooklyn accent sounded almost mobster when he got upset. “We heard about the girl who was killed today.”

“Yes, Papa, I’m fine,” I assured him while waving my money at Tyreen. “My roommate and I are staying in tonight, so don’t worry. Okay?”

“Stefan Goizane is an old friend of mine in New York, and your Grandma tells me his daughter attends college down south. It’s got to be the same girl. How many Goizanes do you know, eh?”

It pained me to hear my normally jovial father so worried. I was his only daughter and very much a daddy’s girl. I tried my best to assure him that I’d be careful.

“None, Papa, she is Basque, too,” I said, not sure what I could say to make him feel better about my situation. My father is not one to be won over by a lot of ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine!’ statements. But, maybe a promise would help, although it would be difficult to keep.

“I promise not to leave the dorm at all—not unless a fire threatens to burn the place down.” I chuckled, hoping to ease the seriousness.

“You make sure you
don’t
leave,” he said, focused on getting me to commit to do what I promised. “They do have security guards watching your dormitory, right?”

“Yes, Papa, they do.”

It was sort of a lie, since the guards came and went at different times throughout each day. So it was possible to be vulnerable… if it was some crazed killer out there someplace.

“The Goizane girl looks a lot like you, so what if her killer sees you? He might come after you then.”

“And what if it’s
not
some guy doing this?” I replied, set on easing the deepening worry I heard in his voice. “It could be a crazy, jealous girl instead. What if this girl Irma messed around with some other girl’s man?”

“It’s not the Basque way,” he said, his tone saddened, as if he seriously considered my point. “The old ways have changed for many of us. But, if I know Stefan as well as I used to, when we hung out together long ago, that’s not the way he would raise his daughter…”

He grew silent, and I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t bother to let him know he had a lot to learn about how daughters acted when not in the presence of their fathers. I did hurt inside for how much he worried about my welfare. He knew I could take care of myself, and he trusted my choice to go to Tennessee for college. But I guess the stakes had changed with a murderer on the loose—one who brought tremendous violence against a girl who reminded my father of me. And, worse yet, one whose family he knew personally.

“Your Grandma told me to tell you to be especially careful,” he added, perhaps to break the awkward silence. “She says you are one of the last ‘special ones’, so you should know you mean the world to all of us.”

“Of course Grandma thinks so.” I hoped I didn’t sound disrespectful. “I know you all love me, and I love you very much, as well.”

Again, more silence, and then I heard a low sigh on his end.

“Txema… your Grandma Terese means this literally,” he said. His voice was softer, and it seemed as if he was searching for the correct words. “I’m not sure how to explain this without sounding corny. I wish I didn’t have to do it over the phone. But, after what has happened, there is no putting it off. Please listen closely, honey. Until this afternoon, when I spoke to your Grandma, I didn’t realize your birthmark meant anything, other than old wives’ tales and legends from the old country.”

“What did she tell you?”

I tried to sound nonchalant, although my heartbeat quickened. I pictured the two small streams of blood trickling down my neck again, and the angry redness that swiftly disappeared, leaving no trace of any trauma.

“Well, the birthmark is supposed to have originated many hundreds of years ago. The ancient Basque rulers once bore this mark,” he said. “It changed down through the centuries to where only females carry the mark, and only a few girls have it at any one time. Momma says that each generation produces a handful of females around the world with the birthmark, which is hard to track since we are spread out everywhere. That’s why she called when she heard about the murder today. She decided this couldn’t wait until your next trip home. And, she thought it would be best if it came from me. She’s very upset.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What does this,” I chose my words carefully to not cause him further worry, “tragedy here have to do with the birthmark?”

“Ah, maybe I shouldn’t have told you in this manner,” he said, his tone one of regret, and I could tell he was ready to forget the matter for now.

“No, Papa… please tell me,” I insisted.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s mysteries where the person holding the useful information keeps it to themselves. I hate movies, books, and TV shows that end on painful cliffhangers. Whoever writes that shit should be hung by their thumbs, so they can never use them on a computer keyboard or typewriter ever again!

“She says they are all dying. From what she has heard from our family back in France, the girls with the mark are not surviving.” His voice choked up. “There are now just three that she knows of. Two of your cousins that are still living in the Pyrenees and you.”

The world began to swim around me and being on the phone was not helping things. There were too many strange things happening in too short a period of time for it to all be coincidence. It was all starting to be too much.

“Papa…” I trailed off for a second as I tried to make sense of it all. “Papa, I love you. Give my love to Momma, and everyone else there. I will be careful, but I have to do this Lit assignment. I need to go.” I didn’t wait for him to answer before ending the call. I wanted to know more, much more, but I didn’t even know what to start asking. I tossed the phone down on the bed and started processing everything he told me. A few seconds later, Tyreen sauntered back into our room with the announcement that dinner was on its way.

I prayed she didn’t sense the insincerity behind my frozen smile. I wasn’t about to let her know that my world had just been rocked harder—hard enough that my pragmatic mind had splintered with unreal possibilities. Perhaps there truly was a madman out there after me.

How was I to know I was still blissfully ignorant? I had only been told a very small portion of the whole story.

ello… Hel-lo!”

I awoke with a start. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dorm room’s dimness. I could make out the faint outlines of my desk and the TV that still bore a faint glow from when it had last been turned off. Tyreen often took awhile to fall asleep, and would watch late night talk shows or VH1 videos until well after midnight—usually outlasting me by an hour. Me? I can sleep through almost anything.

“
Huh
? Who’s in here?”

I was a little surprised by the shrillness in my voice. Nothing like an immediate white flag when I could least afford one. Somebody was in my room. My brain was still foggy from sleep. The voice that had woken me was a male and had an accent, but it was different from Garvan. It felt vaguely familiar to me—perhaps it was one of the voices that had kept me awake last night.

Luckily, or so I hoped anyway, I brought a small penlight to bed with me. I also had my Taser, hidden beneath my pillow. A vulnerable sleeping girl couldn’t be too careful with a vicious murderer on the loose in Knoxville. Especially when that sleeping girl’s own father had warned her she might be a target.