Once Bitten, No Longer Shy, Julie Steimle [i wanna iguana read aloud TXT] 📗

movies that was recently out on DVD—and watched it with popcorn. Troy went out for a walk to burn off steam and did not come back until the film was over. Art had gone to bed while Hanz was still up. Troy wondered about this, thinking at first it was because Hanz was waiting up for him, though he realized later it was because Hanz was still jetlagged. It was not night yet in California where he was from.

“So,” Troy broached the subject that had been on his mind for a while, “Have you found your internship yet that will take you abroad?”

“Fellowship,” Hanz corrected. “And maybe. Mr. Deacon is going out of his way to help me, but I get the feeling that his help might actually be hindering my chances as there are too many people who do not trust the Deacons.”

“Because they are werewolves.” Troy nodded.

Hanz sighed, nodding also. “Which is stupid.”

“Is it?” Troy asked after a moment.

Hanz leaned back and stared at him.

With a nod, Troy said, “Hear me out. The Deacons, as werewolves go, are decent. They’re not man-eaters. They prefer living as humans. They do their best to keep away from people on the full moon. But that is not the norm.” Troy waited for that to sink in. Then he added, “In my research about vampires, I ran across a lot of information about werewolves. In the ancient days, people had a difficult time telling the difference between a vampire, a werewolf and a witch. Many said they were one and the same thing. And considering vampire culture, that is not too far off.”

“What do you mean?” Hanz regarded him gravely.

With a shrug, Troy said, “Vampire magic includes shape-shifting. Though Rick ascribes werewolfism to a witch curse, he ignores the other legends of werewolves. The Lycans who reportedly still live in Greece by some accounts, that’s the result of an elf curse. And there are other tales that do not fit the witch-curse narrative that come across as legit. But really, some vampires masquerade as wolves in some parts of the world. And those man-eaters who attacked Rick in Germany? They are more historically typical than those peace-loving packs Rick says exist.”

Closing his eyes, Hanz exhaled and shook his head. He rose and headed to the kitchen. He took out a carton of milk for a drink. He didn’t say anything. Hanz only filled a glass, thinking. Then he got out a pot to prepare the warm night drink for Troy.

“Do you understand?” Troy got up, following him.

Hanz sighed. He nodded. “I understand… that you have a prejudice against Rick.”

Troy stiffened.

“I’m an individualist,” Hanz said, meeting his gaze. “I don’t judge a person by their group. If I did, I wouldn’t be here.”

He then went to work on the warm drink.

But Troy felt like Hanz had punched him in the gut.

Hanz went sleep on the couch not long after that. But Troy could not sleep. He could not bring himself to down the drink Hanz had made for him either. Not that he didn’t trust it, but that he found it difficult swallowing after being reminded that he was the one acting like a complete jerk. He had been continuing to hold onto old prejudices—and he had been frankly averse to Art who had done everything exactly as he had promised.

Art was an efficient assistant. He also didn’t complain. He just did his work. But the guy just grated on Troy’s nerves for really no reason at all. Troy just wanted to be angry with somebody, and being angry at Hanz made no actual sense. But Art was easy to be mad at simply for being annoying, simply because it was Rick who had arranged it all.

By the time Troy fell asleep, his thoughts busy and the milk drink untouched, it was near morning.

 

Since back in their home apartment, Art continued to work behind the scenes to arrange for Troy to have a stocked laboratory and all the other logistics connected to the support group. He had been texting Mr. Lenox while confirming the Holy Seven’s participation. When Troy finally came down around eleven in the morning—Hanz nowhere to be seen—Art informed him that he had confirmed at least Semour and Andrew (along with his wife Jessica) would be there.

“Daniel and Peter might be there also, depending on when they head off to England to look for their elf.” Art was sitting in a pair of jeans and a tee shirt that had Bueller? written on it. “Or that’s what they said.”

Troy nodded. That was three guaranteed. Possibly five. There was something about Daniel that had unnerved him, though—a lot like Andrew, and yet, creepier. Older. Andrew gave off the aura of a young buck. But Daniel gave the impression of an old warrior.

Troy went to the fridge to get something to drink. He had left the now cooled milk drink upstairs, untouched. The chance that drinking it would make him groggy had occurred to him when he had picked it up that morning, so he set it down again, leaving it on the nightstand next to his bed.

“Mr. Lenox had texted me last night and said three people have already responded to his posts on the internet.” Art jotted a few notes down on his large calendar, hardly looking up. “He told me he expects some kooks, a few mockers and some real vampires.”

“Real vampires? As in not like him and me?” Troy asked.

Art met his gaze, nodding. “Yeah. He says he thinks some vampires will see this group as a feast. So he is hoping the Seven will come prepared against the possibility.”

Troy nodded. Three were coming. But so was Matthew, JJ, Deidre, and Officer Johnson.

“Oh, and your friend Matt called.” Art said.

Troy stared, wondering for the briefest seconds why Matthew had not called him… when he remembered that the vampires had tossed his cell phone out a car window.

“He said your friend Tom Brown found about the group and intends to come also.”

Relief swept over Troy. He had not thought to ask Tom, as Tom was a busy, busy half-imp. The CIA was keeping a close watch on him recently, and the chances of Tom being allowed to aid a newly-turned vampire was low, even if they were old friends.

“When’s our first meeting?” Troy asked, glancing to Art with rising hope. This was going to work.

Art peered over his notes and said, “In two weeks.”

 

Two weeks was too long to wait. Troy spent most of it reconstructing the manuscript he had ‘borrowed’, jotting more notes on the things he discovered about each page, including the dimensions, burns in the paper and cracks which at first had seemed part of the regular wear and tear of time. Now they looked like clues. Near the end of the two weeks, he had copied barely a sixth of it. He also allocated time in the lab for pure research and study of his own vampire blood, not taking more than pinpricks at a time as he could not afford to lose any. He took copious notes and made multiple copies.

One thing Matthew told him before leaving the apartment the day they had moved back in was there were multiple safes in the apartment where he could hide his research if necessary—little black boxes, if you will, like they had in the airlines. Two were in obvious locations. Decoys, Matthew explained with a chuckle. It seemed silly to Troy to go to such lengths—as such information was not like a government secret or anything. Troy had kept most of his documents in the safe in his room just under the top of his night stand. It popped open and slid out like one of those Chinese puzzle boxes. There was another one under his bed which seemed more obvious, meant to be the decoy. He had put in that one some of his old thesis papers from earlier research which had led nowhere. Matthew insisted.

Currently, Troy took out his real research and extracted only the pertinent information for the meeting that evening. He was nervous, but he wanted to present to the group a possibility for a cure. So far he had figured out a temporary treatment that at least allowed blood to clot until the next vampire encounter opened up the wound again. One of his biggest worries was that he would cause wounds to open up, being mostly vampire himself. He didn’t know yet if that would happen. He had not yet met a bite victim since his transformation.

“Are you ready to go?” Art called up as Troy stuffed back the things he was not going to use.

Troy cringed. He breathed in and out, telling himself that Art was just doing his job and not being a control freak while treating him like an invalid. He replied with a steady voice, “Yes. I’m coming.”

He went downstairs.

Hanz was not coming. He had an urgent meeting which might get him the position he was looking for and he had left early. Art had dressed casually, a warm sports fleece jacket on over a plain button-down shirt and jeans. Troy had put on a clean long sleeve pullover and slacks. He pulled on his hoodie over it, snatching up his sunglasses.

Anonymous Bitten Association

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twelve

 

 

They took the subway to the university.

The sun was still shining when they arrived, but Mr. Lenox would not get there until after it set. Already Matthew and JJ were there with Officer Johnson. A few minutes after, William and Jane McAllister arrived, both dressed as medical professionals with uniforms and name tags. Then Andrew and a woman who Troy assumed was his wife showed up.

Jessica Cartwright at first glance seemed about as ordinary a human being as they come. Brown hair, brown eyes, a creamy sort of tan, she was neither beautiful nor ugly—at least not at first. But on further inspection, Troy noticed she wore the same red crystal as her husband, and her eyes revealed a clever, if not sneaky human being—if she let you see that at all. She had shaken Troy’s hand and asked, “So how’s the manuscript?”

Blinking at her, Troy hesitated. But then he remembered she was the one who had gotten it for him. “Uh… I still, I still have much to study on it. Are they missing it much?”

She shook her head. “As far as I know, they don’t even know it is gone. However did you manage to track it down? I had a look, and it’s legit.”

Andrew watched Troy carefully as Troy responded to the man’s wife, “Uh, lots of other research, actually. And a lucky chance. I was examining through all ancient documents the school had.”

Jessica nodded, smiling.

“Did you find what you were searching for?” Andrew asked.

“I am close,” Troy said, unsettled under his stare. He could feel in it a threat—that if Troy ever did anything ‘untoward’ his wife, he would kill him in a snap.

Then more people came.

Their first arrival was a cut frat boy who looked embarrassed just being there. He introduced himself as Dalton Hayes and explained he just wanted a cure for the eternal bleed he was suffering from. William and Jane who knew him as a patient, greeted him.