Gypsy Blood

“I told you so,” the ghost says as he appears against the wall beside where Damien is slowly standing to his feet.

I glance at the blood on my shoes and back up to him.

“Take four steps to your left,” the ghost says.

I do exactly as he says, which draws a very dark and somewhat scary grin from him, as though he enjoys my compliance a little too much.

Damien lunges, tackling Vance to the ground, sending snow spraying into the air in the exact spot where I just was. This ghost must haunt them quite often.

I huff out a breath as I try to picture this from the outside. Just two guys fighting. Not a monster and monster slayer tackling each other hard enough to crack the sidewalk, while a ghost and a gypsy look on.

“I really haven’t adjusted yet,” I say as I turn and walk into the house.

“Very brave for a Portocale gypsy to simply walk into unknown monsters’ homes. Or stupid. Which are you, Violet Portocale?” the ghost says as he sticks with me instead of lingering with his usual targets.

“I know you’re probably starved for conversation, and I made the stupid mistake of meeting your eyes, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend the rest of my life being at your beck and call. I already have one ghost. Two is one too many.”

“I promise not to be too clingy,” he assures me with a devastatingly charming grin.

“Fine. But only if you promise to be nice to my ghost. Chat away. Tell me your woes, distract me from that madness out there while they finish up.”

He bites down on his bottom lip before guiding me into a room, holding his hand out as though to gesture for me to walk in first. My life just keeps getting weirder.

The fun never ends.

“I’m seconds away from a possible nervous breakdown that could result in temporary or permanent hysteria, so you might want to make it quick,” I tell him as I spot a massive liquor cabinet.

I’m tempted to pour a drink, but decide my mind has been clouded enough in the past twenty-four hours.

He smiles as he takes a seat next to me, crossing his arms over his chest as he props his feet on the table, giving the illusion of a flesh-and-blood man lounging comfortably next to me.

“What makes you so fascinating, Violet Portocale?”

“Anna keeps asking me the same thing. Really, you two should meet,” I state dryly, massaging my temples to stave off the impending migraine.

“If you’re planning to be around them, you should know this is how they usually interact. You should also know they won’t ever actually kill each other, no matter how bad those fights may get,” he adds.

“Really, talk about anything else,” I tell him tightly with an edge of warning in my tone.

“Very well. Do you know what sort of computer a fellow should buy if he was in the market?” he muses.

I give him an incredulous look. “No,” I state simply, and then let my head fall back as I try to ignore the crashing sounds outside.

I can feel his weird grin.

“Your dad doesn’t have gypsy blood?” he asks next.

“No. He didn’t even know magic really existed until my mother. He fell in love with her because of how amazingly seductive it all was. Caught up in magic’s thrall, is what he calls it.”

“Sounds like a great guy,” he tells me, seeming much too amused for a confession I don’t mind telling the dead.

They don’t like it when you’re the one whining. At least not usually.

“He actually is,” I tell him on a quiet breath. “I took too much energy out of a person. My mother was the only one I know who could have ever handled a daughter like me.”

“Which is why you’re searching for her killer,” he states in a pleasant tone.

Narrowing my eyes, I face him a little better. “How do you know that?”

“All they do is talk and obsess over you, and all I do is stalk them. Usually. To be completely honest, you’re starting to ensnare my attention now, simply because I’m fascinated by how fascinated they are.”

“To be fair, I’m not at all fascinating,” I assure him, brow furrowing. “And I don’t know how I feel about the fact they’re discussing me so much.”

“You’re a puzzle. Live long enough, and the world stops producing things that are truly puzzling. Usually they obsess for a moment, figure it out, and then move on. Yet here we are, almost a month later, and they’re still obsessing,” he goes on just as a loud curse is shouted and something shatters in the distance.

“They always fight?” I ask instead of chasing him down that rabbit hole.

I have enough to process. I don’t need to wonder why immortal monsters and a monster hunter are finding me to be puzzling or obsessing over me. It’s simply too much too soon.

“Do you always have your world turned upside down and just carry on like it’s a small hitch in the road?” he volleys.

I glance over at him. “I grew up in a house where I waited for my mother, with sick knots in my stomach, to return from her jobs, knowing they were dangerous, because she came home bruised and battered. She dealt with hostile spirits.”

As if cued, something shatters, and he turns to face me more. If he’s been watching them, then nothing I can say will even phase him.

“But she always came home,” I go on. “You start taking it for granted, growing less sensitive to the word dangerous. My mother built a separate set of rules for survival for me than she lived with for herself, but on both our lists there was one rule.”

“Which is?” he asks, seeming genuinely intrigued as he props his elbow on the back of the couch, angling his body toward mine.

“You lose when you take time to fall apart just when things are starting to unravel around you,” I tell him in an almost muted tone. “You can eventually have your moment of weakness; you just have to be patient.”

“Sound advice that isn’t so easily followed,” he murmurs as though he’s lost in thought. “How do you pause fear?”

I wish I could answer that, but I’m scared of my answer right now.

Fortunately, I don’t have to answer, because we both hear the absence of things breaking. It doesn’t take long for Vance to walk in, nursing his split lip.

It looks like he’s already washed up somewhat, and there’s only one drop of blood on his otherwise immaculate, blood-approved T-shirt. The shirt looks brand new, so I’m not sure why it was considered a toss-out.

Which isn’t the important part…

“Damien is just changing. He’s always messy when he fights,” Vance says in a disapproving, putout tone.

“Common occurrence between you two, then?” I muse.

He doesn’t answer as he goes to pour himself a drink. It’s really too early to drink, but since I considered it myself, I decide to not be a hypocritical/judgmental twat about it.

“Not so much anymore,” the dark haired, tall ghost says from beside me as he leans in closer, as though he’s getting ready to deliver some juicy gossip. “In fact, Damien hasn’t even had the urge to fight anyone in far too long. This is why I’m finding you more interesting by the second, gypsy girl.”

I watch as Vance turns to face me, sitting down in a chair across from me.

“Damien and I hate each other a little more coldly these days,” Vance states tightly.

“Damien’s pride is suffering because he begged Vance to kill him a few centuries back, apparently,” the gossiping ghost from beside me informs me, causing me to clear my throat. “It’s theorized that a Van Helsing could truly kill any alpha with the right conditions, weapon, and mentality of focused intent.”

Vance is also speaking, but I’m more interested in the man at my side, who is still whispering in a conspiratorial tone.

The single-word question that really is getting redundant gets swallowed down, since Vance is still speaking.

“…but he really does need to work on his left. I’ve told him this. None of them ever listen,” is all I catch from Vance’s conversation just before his phone rings.

He excuses himself and goes to the back of the room to answer, as the man at my side continues speaking, answering the question I don’t have to ask.

“Damien’s curse is cruel,” he informs me.

“He’s cursed?”

“They’re all cursed, gypsy girl. Surely you don’t think being a monster is a blessing,” he states as though he’s educating me.

“But Vance is a monster hunter,” I remind him very quietly.

Vance turns and glances over his shoulder, looking around, eyes passing over me like he heard me speak and is searching for who I may have spoken to.

Great. Super hearing. Just freaking awesome.

“Yes. His hearing is exceptional,” the ghost states as though he’s reading my mind.

“Who are you?” I mouth.

“I’m your Ace, sweetheart. When you want to really fuck them over, I’m your key to success,” he informs me.

Ace seems to be making assumptions about a predictable future, which just sets off my wary alarm again as I redirect my attention to Vance. I’m not sure why I thought it was cool to cozy up to a monster hunter on day two.

It’s like trying to tackle a problem head-on and not seeing the danger present because it’s wrapped in a pretty package with a disarming smile and boyish sincerity. I start wondering why Damien is taking so long, and dread the possible answer.

Ace said they wouldn’t—

Damien walks in, and I weirdly blow out a breath of relief, happy no one has died because of me today. I’m still struggling to believe the immortal thing.

His eyes flick over to mine and he rolls them while giving me a bitter smile. “I won’t come into your home unannounced again,” he tells me, causing my eyes to dart over to Vance’s back, as the Van Helsing continues to stay really quiet on his phone.

“She healed the wolf who was hurt. The wound was no longer bleeding profusely or quite so fatal when he limped off with his tail between his legs. Some pride is hurt,” I hear Vance grinding out. “Their grievance is with me.”

Damien glances over his shoulder, distracted by Vance as well, since he’s getting louder.

“It’s your wolves. Do something about it then. It may mean doing more than fucking your omegas, drinking yourself into a stupor, getting high on gypsy spice, or running around as your wolf, you lazy mutt,” Vance says before hanging up.

“Emit’s all patched up and liking you about as much as I do right now, eh?” Damien asks with a cold smile.

Vance just gives him a bored look before returning his attention to me.

“The question of why he was in my room has remained unanswered, and that’s the entire reason for this trip,” I remind Vance, who exhales harshly and shakes his head like he dreads what’s about to come out of Damien’s mouth.