Chapter Thirteen: Family Ties

Vic Vera usually worked four shifts a week, 2 am to 2 pm if he could get it, since anything midnight to 7 am offered nighttime pay. On those days, he went to bed early, usually around 8 pm, so he could have some vague semblance of a regular sleep schedule. Thus, when Verne stopped by around 4 pm, he was settling in for the evening. It was a good time to get him, with supper in his belly and a Michelob Ultra in his hand. Verne hesitated at the door and then saw himself in, deciding that if he had a house key and a bedroom upstairs, he was implicitly welcome. He stepped in without a twinge of anxiety.

The downstairs of the Vera townhouse consisted of a stairwell, a closet, and a door to the garage out back. Verne texted his mother and then waited at the bottom of the stairs. He didn't want to creep into the living room and take his father by surprise. Ashley poked her head through the upstairs doorway and then scurried down.

"Verne?" She frowned and tugged at his shirt sleeve. "What are you wearing?"

"Um..." Verne straightened the shirt and felt to make sure his ponytail was in order. "Clothes. I wanted to wear something, I dunno. Gender-neutral. So dad wouldn't get too spooked."

"Gender-neutral, huh?" She put her hands on her hips. "Well you failed. It's not the worst thing you could wear... you aren't wearing a dress... but would a boy ever wear that?"

"Um... maybe not. Ellen doesn't have many 'boy' clothes."

Ashley didn't ask who Ellen was. "My kiddo cleans up pretty good," she said eventually, her lips hinting at a smile.

Then the two of them went upstairs, with Ashley insisting that Verne should follow at a safe distance. He had no problem with that. He waited back as Ashley explained the situation to Vic – who at first (and understandably) thought it to be some sort of strange joke. But he didn't take much convincing. Verne, who had once taken after his mother's side of the family looks-wise, now took after his father's side, slender and fair of skin with barely-wavy brown hair. He bore a striking resemblance to his Aunt Reya, albeit twenty years younger.

Vic stood from the couch with a grunt and made a circuit around Verne, prodding him in the shoulder as if that might prove anything. Verne met his gaze but said nothing, waiting for either of his parents to make the first overture.

"It's because of the medical treatment he took," Ashley explained again. "It was very experimental."

"I'll say. Doesn't look much like a 'he' to me... what in the heck have you done to yourself, Vernon?"

"It's the treatment..."

"Bullshit," Vic spat. He was normally as curse-word-averse as Ashley, and he said it with enough venom to make clear that he meant it. "This is unnatural is what it is. You think your old man is too stupid to know what the transgenderism is? No wonder you didn't want to give your money to the church... you've rejected everything we stand for... you... you've been saving up to turn yourself into this."

Verne shot him an angry look. "Seriously? Do you know anything at all about medicine... do you honestly think people shrink six inches from reassignment surgery? Do you think... look, does it even matter?" Verne balled his fists and squared his shoulders - perhaps not especially threatening with his slim frame. "What if this was on purpose? What if my biology fucked up and made me the wrong gender instead of giving me a deadly brain disease? I’m who I am now because I wanted to live. Dad, I promise I'll get the church their money when I can, but this is something that I had to do. Do you want your only remaining child to die?"

Vic crossed his arms. His forearms were taut with sinew and muscle – he was a slim man, but he packed a decent amount of rangy muscle into himself on account of his work. "As far as I'm concerned, both of my children are dead. Get the hell out of my house."

At the moment his welcome was revoked, emotion overcame Verne. It ought to have been something akin to panic, but he was so worked up that it channeled out as rage.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he screamed, rushing toward Vic and baring his fangs in the man's face. He choked back tears. "I haven't done anything to you. I just wanted a normal life, and now I'm never going to have one, and all you can think about is your goddamn church?"

Vic made the sign of the cross with his fingers, his eyes taking on less anger and more fear. "Satan, I rebuke thee," he said.

"I'm not Satan! Fuck!" Verne shrieked. He shoved his father, sending him tumbling across the room, and then leapt on top of him, realizing at the last second that he was about to bite his old man. That he was taking in the scent of blood, that he could hear every milliliter pulsing through his arteries. Instead, he leaned over and whispered: "If you want to apologize, you know how to reach me. I won't darken your doorway any longer, Vic."

Verne hopped to his feet and headed for the door, turning back at the last moment to regard his mother. She was in the corner of the room, sobbing and miserably heartbroken. Verne wasn't sure whether to blame himself or his father for that. A bit of both, he supposed. His own inky tears welled up, turning his vision pink.

"I'm so sorry, mom," he said, and he left down the stairs, wondering if he'd ever return.

+++++

Verne was shell-shocked on the bus back, not quite able to believe what had just transpired. He stared daggers into his phone, ignoring the messages his mother had sent him. He realized that she was largely blameless in the matter, but he didn't want to think of his father at all, and she would only remind him. He played what had happened over in his head, how his father had made the little cross with his fingers and stated, Satan, I rebuke thee, as if Verne was some kind of hellspawn. And, he hated to admit, the sign of the cross sent his guts to roiling, at least if it was directed at him. Maybe he was some kind of horrible demonic thing. His phone buzzed, and it took Verne a moment to realize that it was his other phone.

He reached into the little aquamarine clutch he'd borrowed from Ellen's room. Girl jeans didn't have much in the way of pockets, so he needed something to make up for it, and this barely did the job. He had some cash, his bus ticket, and either phone in there. He took out the vampire phone, a little 'Anyos Verge' – a cheapo smartphone brand and model that he'd never heard of – and stared daggers into that instead. He swiped the screen open and read the message:

C: <Meeting tonight at Juvechrome Corporate Office 10 pm. Respond 'Yes' to confirm. -CB

Verne's finger hovered over the keypad for a moment...
V: <Yes

Then he started sobbing right there on the bus, chest-heaving sobs and inky tears that streaked across his cheeks when he wiped at them. Everybody was watching him. He was suffering a mental breakdown in the middle of a busy public bus. People edged away or else studiously ignored him. But one of Verne's several 'admirers' worked up the nerve to shuffle up and sit next to him, stretching an arm behind Verne's shoulders and spreading his track pant-clad legs a bit wider than necessary.

"Hey, it's okay," the bro said softly. His arm eased down, barely touching Verne's neck. "What's wrong? Guy problems?"

Verne scowled at the guy. "My father just disowned me, I think my girlfriend is dying, and I owe a massive debt to some very bad people." He lifted the bro's arm off of him with perhaps a bit too much force. "But, no, I do not have 'guy problems'. Thanks, bro."

The bro stood up, rubbing his wrist where Verne had gripped it. "Fine, Jesus..." and, as he shuffled to the back of the bus, he muttered, "fuckin' bitch."

Somehow, though, that encounter got Verne to stop crying and even buoyed his spirits a bit. When she thought nobody was watching, the older lady sitting across from Verne even gave him a thumbs-up. And Verne's 'admirers' did an even more studious job of ignoring him when they thought Verne was watching. But Verne still noticed... were people really that clueless? There they were, stupid meat-bags sitting around with too much blood and not enough brains... Verne shook his head. Where had that thought come from? He really needed blood.

He walked from the bus stop on the old Cleves Highway to Maxie's, the sun beating at his back most of that time. He willed it to burn him, wanting to feel that prickling heat to take his mind of things. And the sun complied, turning his skin pinkish-purple wherever it cast for more than a minute or two in a row. The sunscreen was also fading in random patches, and little bits of skin were starting to blister where the protection was weakest. Verne was curious to see how far things would go along. But Maxie's was only a five minute walk from the highway, and so he wasn't even close a crispy mess when he trudged through the door, merely moderately uncomfortable.

"How did it... oh, honey," Maxie said. She hesitated before hugging Verne. "Does it hurt?"

Verne shook his head. Some parts hurt, but most of the discoloration was already fading. The blisters would take fifteen or twenty minutes to subside. "My dad disowned me, and I almost attacked him," Verne said. "And I'm going crazy, and I really need a bite."

"I've got some minestrone in the pot if you're hungry," a woman called from the kitchen. "Veggie lasagna will be a bit longer."

Maxie tutted. "Gloria, this is the girl I was telling you about. The one with the, um, condition."

"The vampire," Verne clarified.

"You know, I don't think I've ever met a vampire," Gloria said, as if it were reasonable to expect that she might have.

She shuffled in from the kitchen, an older woman somewhere in her sixties with the same unabashedly cotton-white hair as Verne's grandmother pulled back into a low ponytail. Her face reminded him of Jane Goodall from the nature show he'd seen not so long ago. It took Verne a moment to realize she was offering her hand for a shake. Her grip was gentle but steady.

"Hmm," Gloria said. "Warm-ish skin, quite fair, interesting eyes... I thought you'd be... oh, I don't know. Scary? Evil?"

"My father thinks I'm evil," Verne said. "What if he's right?"

"Oh? And tell me, miss vampire, how many people have you killed?"

"Nobod..." Verne started to say. But that wasn't true, was it? He'd probably killed Lisa. He'd been trying to save her, and had instead injected her with a heaping dose of probably-deadly venom. His lip wavered. His eyes watered. "Lisa..." Not wanting the women to see him sobbing, Verne blurred past them and back to Ellen's room, shutting the door behind him. He didn't cry again, or at least not much, but it took a moment for him to calm down. Dharma the dog was sitting on the bed, giving him as look of plaintive uncertainty. As he ran his fingers through Dharma's coarse fur, he could hear them talking about him out in the living area.

"Honestly, Gloria," Maxie said. "Sometimes you come on too strong."

"Oh, you're one to talk," Gloria said.

"Valid point. Still... she's very fragile, and we're asking a lot of her."

Gloria tapped her fingers on a ceramic mug. "She seems... I don’t know... a tiny bit unstable."

"Vera's had a very rough day, and she's starving for blood. From what Eva's told me, hungry vampires are unhinged killers... our Vera is a gentle soul, relatively speaking."

"Relatively speaking," Gloria repeated.

Verne scrunched his face in thought... Eva, for whatever reason, knew something of vampires. Interesting. And hungry vampires, according to her, were 'unhinged' killers. Was he a killer? He'd assaulted his father and very nearly bitten into him... he could have easily killed his father. As big of an asshole as the old man could be, he didn't deserve to die. But, in his hunger, Verne was having trouble controlling his emotions, and he suspected it would only get worse. Already, he was experiencing a gnawing, craving need not too different from hunger.

Verne padded out a moment later, feeling contrite over his outburst. He was so silent that Gloria startled over his sudden appearance, but she soon recovered and also appeared contrite. He sat across from the two women at the round wooden table in their dining area, a heavy, glossy thing with wavy, textured wood. His fingertips traced out tiny divots and scratches from years of use.

"Sorry," Verne said. "I'm a little bit out of it... lots going on, you know? But I'd never kill anybody on purpose. I have these... instincts, I guess. Like a cat might have when it plays with its prey, or a dog thrashing a stuffed toy."

"People aren't mice or stuffed toys," Gloria said carefully, gauging Verne's reaction.

"I know that," Verne said, a bit annoyed. "A martial artist whose hands are deadly weapons has to learn better than anybody else how to control those deadly instincts. She has to learn how violence works so she can fall back on those instincts only in self defense or to prevent greater harm. I understand why you're wary of me just like you'd be wary of a 'roided out gym bro. But I've known a few of those guys - professional body-builders - and most of them are super nice... I figure a few bad apples make the rest look bad, and I don't want to be one of the bad ones."

"Well said," Gloria said. Then her eyes brightened. "Can you drink tea?"

Verne nodded happily. "No cream, no sugar."

He drank tea as the two women supped. Eventually Eva showed up, too, with Hector in tow. One whiff was enough for Verne to know they'd been up to something. Marijuana and sex. Watching the older women enjoying their real food and seeing Hector and Eva in their happy daze of budding romance gave Verne a pang of jealousy. These were things he might never enjoy again... the tea was nice, though - warm and aromatic and sinus-opening. He was even more acutely aware of the mixed odor of food, humans, animals, and blood. Glorious blood.

Verne cleared his throat. "Erasmus... er, the vampire people... they want me to meet with them at ten o'clock. About what, I couldn't say. But I think they're trying to nudge me into their fold."

"Hmm," Maxie said. "Gloria, have you got the amulet?"

"The amulet? Are you sure?"

Maxie nodded. With a shrug, Gloria stood and padded back to her room, opening a jewelry case with a key and rummaging past... metal, stones, pearls, and crystal. Verne could hear each of them distinctly, each sound clear and unmistakable. Her fingers grasped around something leathery with three stones that clacked together. She hesitated, perhaps uncertain, perhaps just gazing upon the thing for the first time in a while. She came back out, her expression guarded enough to be conspicuous, and carefully placed the necklace in front of Maxie. It was a necklace of twined leather with three small stones in blue-green jade, each with a symbol on it.

Maxie slid it across the table. "This is for protection against black magic. It should keep you safe, provided you don't make any pacts with malign entities or dark forces."

Verne put the thing on, pulling his ponytail through the loop and mindful of the way the amulet rested between his breasts... he still wasn't quite used to that. It didn't feel unusual.

"Dark forces?" Verne asked. "Aren't you guys, like, witches?"

"Not that kind of witch," Eva said, sitting herself in between Gloria and Maxie with a feline grace. "If you come across black magic, you'll know it."

"Dude, I'm fucking starving," Hector said, and he plopped himself next to Verne.

Verne sipped his tea as the others ate.

+++++

Verne felt ridiculous. He'd wanted to look serious and professional for his meeting at Juvechrome corporate, even if the meeting was with vampires  and long after business hours. Ellen, it turned out, had a decent professional wardrobe, on account of her being a finance major.

"I've been stuck with this stuff just gathering dust, ever since Ellen... left us," Maxie said. She said it with enough poignant gravity that Verne thought she'd meant her daughter had died, and that somehow he'd missed on that little tidbit.

"I'm so sorry..."

Maxie shrugged, a wistful look in her eyes. "I'm over it," she insisted. "I tried my best. If Ellen wants to go into... business..." she spat out the word, "instead of witchcraft, then I suppose that's her path. I've got her business attire packed away. I can't stand to have it in her closet, hovering like a laughing spectre."

So Verne dressed in Ellen's pant suit, with its silky, black, butt-hugging trousers, smart blazer, and patent leather slip-ons with their one-inch heel. And, looking in the mirror, he looked like a hot intern trying to impress the boss... which was almost true.

"I look ridiculous," he said.

"You don't," Maxie insisted. She shifted back and forth to take him in from different angles. "You just need to do something with your hair... and maybe a touch of cosmetics."

She called for Eva, who slunk out of the guest room a minute later. If Verne hadn't been able to hear her and Hector making out in there, her smudged lipstick made it obvious. Eva pretty clearly outclassed Hector in the looks department, but if the two of them had chemistry (and they sure seemed to), then good for them.

"Eva, what are the kids doing with their hair and make-up these days?"

"Maxie, first, I'm not a kid. I'm twenty-three. And second, I don't know anything about white girl hair and coloring."

Maxie clacked her beads in thought. "Can you do a bun?"

Eva sighed. "Yeah, I can do a bun."

The two women might have been unsure of themselves, but in ten minutes of pulling, tucking, painting, brushing, and otherwise fussing over Verne, they managed a minor miracle. He felt ridiculous because the pair of them had turned Verne from a pretty vampire into a woman so striking, it would have made Verne do a double-take to see her walking down the street. He brought his hand to his face, watching the cute/smoking-hot girl in the mirror copying his movements.

"You'll smudge it," Maxie said... and when she went to swat his hand away, Verne caught her arm out of reflex and had to restrain herself to avoid causing bodily harm.

"Sorry," Verne mumbled. "It's just... this is who I am now, isn't it?"

"The unbearable burden of being a hot chick," Eva agreed.

"Ah, to be young again. Enjoy it while you can," Maxie sighed. "Though, I suppose, Vera will be stuck like this forever. Better get used to it, kiddo." She clapped her hand against Verne's shoulder, and this time he resisted the reflex to intercept her arm and pull. "All right, enough girl talk. You've got a meeting to make."

OvidLemma

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