A Vampyre's Daughter, Jeff Schanz [read books for money .txt] 📗

should pursue if we were willing. We knew we'd have no air support, no backup, and in those mountainous areas, we'd have no allies. The farmers and villagers hated pretty much everybody, and I couldn't blame them. We were about as subtle and helpful as a wrecking ball to their lives, and we knew it. But we went anyway.”

Brandt paused and examined the amount of milk in his bucket. The goat seemed resigned and bored. Brandt continued with both the milking and his story.

“We tracked them to a village that abutted a hillside. It was actually good cover for recon. We stayed in the hills initially, but we eventually ran short on rations. It would take a while to smoke out the insurgents and we needed a more long-term plan. The closest thing to us was a little farm, so we decided to sneak down at night and get some goat milk and a few vegetables. We were mindful of how the US military was perceived as bandits, murderers, and thugs, so we decided we'd risk it and leave the old farmer some money. The old guy not only accepted the money but left us some extra food in the barn the next time we went down there. He never ratted us out. One of our privates was a farm boy from Iowa. He taught us what we needed to know about milking, and a few of us managed it pretty well, all things considered. In the dark, and super fast, trying not to be seen? An interesting experience.” Brandt nodded to himself at the memory.

He once again examined his bucket. Satisfied, he stood up and let the goat wander off. He and Lia began to walk out of the barn. Brandt had finished as much of the story as he was willing to tell, but Lia was giving him an expectant look, hopeful that there might be more.

As they both closed the barn doors, she asked excitedly, “What happened then?”

Brandt didn’t want to be rude, but the full story was an acutely sore subject. He was reluctant to even share the beginning of it, but that part was innocent enough. He faked a smile and tried to think of a way to politely refuse.

Lia noticed his apprehension and, as she had so accurately done before, made the correct assumption. “I’m so sorry. I am asking too much. You don’t wish to tell me more. I understand.”

Brandt looked at Lia’s deflated face and wished he could say, “No it’s fine. I’d love to tell you.” But it wasn’t fine. And he didn’t want to tell anybody. It wasn’t so much the telling, it was the reliving.

“It’s ok,” said Brandt. “But, yeah, I’m not ready to talk about the rest to anybody. Sorry.”

Lia nodded slowly and stared out at the ocean. And to recent form, her mood made an abnormally quick change. Her face now looked drawn and wistful. “You’ll have to excuse my eagerness. I don’t hear many new stories here. There’s no one to talk to. I have my books, but they speak to me silently. I long for a human voice.” She paused, probably realizing that she was doing far worse than asking Brandt for more: She was guilting him. Her hand covered her mouth as she faced Brandt. She was simpering and trying to hide her shame. “Oh, listen to me being pitiful. I am making it worse, aren’t I? I’m terrible”

Brandt had felt guilty for saying “No,” but seeing her be self-conscious about feminine persuasive power through pity and guilt, he held back his own laugh. He said, “It’s like telling a starving puppy he can’t have my cookie.”

For an instant, she looked like she might laugh too, then a sudden pinched look came over her face. With a stern tone, she said, “You equate me with an undernourished dog?”

Brandt was stunned. “I, uh… Oh, no, I didn’t mean…” He was both aghast that he had somehow offended her with an innocent joke, and perturbed that it was that easy to offend her with an innocent joke.

A moment later she took the lump out of his throat as she burst into twittery laughter. She grinned and pointed at him. On anyone else, the grin would’ve have been roguish. On her, it was simply charming.

“You little…” he started, knowing he shouldn’t finish. Instead, he dipped his fingers in the goat’s milk and flicked it at her.

Considering she was completely covered from head to toe except for her face, and at worst two whole drops made it to that face, her intentionally vaudevillian look of shock and offense was even more comical. She made an equally comedic angry smirk as she snatched up one of the eggs from her pouch and held it up threateningly.

“I dare you,” said Brandt.

Wavering, she first looked like she didn’t actually dare, and then decided that she could dare. She threw the egg.

Brandt didn't know many women that had accurate aim throwing things, but the egg was on target for his face before he could register that Lia had done it. The egg hit him in the forehead before he could decide to duck. She was not only accurate but fast. He stood dumbstruck with egg on his face – literally.

“Uhhh,” he said, lost for words.

Lia immediately threw both hands up to her face. She looked ashamed but was laughing. “You – you dared me to,” she squeaked.

Brandt blinked deadpan as egg yolk slid across the bridge of his nose. Lia’s cream-colored skin was turning bright pink from laughter. Brandt reached up and sloughed off some of the egg, cupping a considerable amount of it in his palm. He slowly, stiffly walked toward Lia. Her hands lowered to just her lips. She mouthed, “I’m so sorry,” shrinking back.

Brandt examined the egg in his hand. “You know, there are starving children in China. Puppies too.” He was relishing her anxiety of retaliation. “Sooo wasteful. I should really share.” Standing directly in front of her, his submerged grin was slowly rising to the surface. He held up his palm.

“No, no. You wouldn’t. You won’t,” she said, not for a moment believing her own statement.

Brandt made a pretense of considering a choice, then he smeared Lia’s face with the leftover egg. She didn’t even block his hand. She just closed her eyes and scrunched up her face. He painted her cheeks and with the transparent goo and cocked his head to review his handiwork. She shivered a little, her pink cheeks shining brightly from the oozing egg.

“Ok, ok, ok,” she begged, her lips twitching from the effort to keep from laughing. “Are you finished?”

He smirked and said, “Almost.” There was a glob on his forehead, so he grasped her head in his sticky fingers and pressed his forehead against hers. The egg made a sickly squishing sound and squirted a little across both their eyelids. She grimaced, still holding in laughter. He let her go and said, “There. We’re even. And we’ve completed the ritual of the egg squishing. Now we’re blood brothers, or engaged, or something.”

He regretted the words before they even left his mouth. He was thinking of the funny stories of ignorant travelers to isolated tribes that unwittingly made social faux pas by giving someone eating utensils, or a piece of food, or doing something fun to express friendship, and finding out that they had either been knighted, promised their lives, or married their women by accident. It was a careless thing to say “engaged,” even if it was meant in jest.

Lia gave him a curious little squint, but defused the moment by saying, “I think it only means that we both need to get cleaned up.”

“Are you calling me dirty?” said Brandt, happy to roll with the direction change.

Lia shot him her charming little rogue grin, then turned and walked back to the house. She patted the pouch hanging from her shoulder. “Don’t try anything. I have the rest of the eggs.”

“I’m sneaky,” said Brandt, following her.

She almost laughed again. “No, not really.”

Touché’. Brandt was going to need to keep a notebook with diagrams in order to figure out this girl. Lia was far more than she seemed. In so many ways.

 

 

The breakfast was only adequate to curb Brandt’s hunger, not quench it. He was hesitant to tell her that he was going to need something more substantial for lunch. To her credit, Lia seemed to guess as much, and as she cleared their plates, she said, “We should get you some meat for your lunch. I’m sorry. This wasn’t enough.”

“It’s great for now. Really, thank you.”

She nodded and seemed mollified.

She had looked comfortable enough in the previously abandoned kitchen, which made Brandt adjust his theory that she never used the kitchen at all. Just apparently not often. He had tried to help, but she insisted he stay seated. His help at the goat pen and barn were enough of a strain on his body for a whole day, she told him. Brandt didn’t agree, but didn’t outwardly argue the point.

Lia said she had other things to do, and for Brandt to do whatever he wished, just preferably take it easy.

Since his wrappings were still snug and holding, and he had spent enough time confined inside, he decided he would roam around the island. As he had noticed before, the flat, traversable area was fairly small and didn't take too long to comb. Besides simple exploring, he was looking for anything he missed in his earlier panicked escape effort. But there were no docks, ramps, or stairs anywhere that he could see. He didn't retry the little cove he had found. Another attempt at climbing down to that should come much when his body could handle the stress. For now, he was content to casually walk around and just view things. The island was indeed beautiful, despite its isolation, or perhaps because of it. His nervous energy and feeling of wasting time were fading a little, but only a little. He hated doing nothing unless it was keeping hidden on a recon mission. He needed purpose. Here was just solitude and nature. One needed to appreciate both, or go crazy.

His ankles had been pushed to their limit, so he decided in order to remain outside he would just sit somewhere until either his energy waned, or he just got too bored. Anything to stay out of bed. He sat on a low stone wall that extended from the house, which was far enough away from the cliff to be safe, yet close enough for an excellent view of the ocean. The late morning light flashed in the wave troughs, occasionally illuminating a sea lion's head or a porpoise fin. He wasn't certain, but he thought he caught the white plume of a whale's blow off in the distance. Watching carefully, he waited for the telltale fluke to appear, or another blow, but saw neither. The effort of scanning the water for another whale wasn't rewarded. When he turned away from looking at the water, he noticed that the reverse image of the light speckles had been burned into his retinas. He blinked them away eventually and continued his lookout, mindful not to stare at any one place too long.

His mind was turning its cogs and wheels to tell him that there were things that needed to be addressed and reconciled. Or at least revisited. But he felt his brain was untrustworthy until he got over his concussive symptoms. For now, he’d simply go with the flow and figure out his next moves in bits at a time.

He noticed a few boats off in the distance. Probably fishing vessels. Commercial cargo and passenger ships likely used the waters further south. Nothing he saw sparked any concern.

He took a deep inhale of the sea air. There were a lot of things to think about and he had been ignoring them. For a little while today it was nice to do nothing more than talk