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

actually know more about who she is rather than about how you can make her squeal?”

Troy thought on that for a moment, never having any of that before, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never really met anyone except Randon who made me want to feel like that.”

Sighing, Matthew stepped back from him. “Troy. I’m speaking as a concerned friend. You need serious help. You gotta let go of stuff, and you need to move on. Do what Nicole said to you. Find some interests outside of curing vampirism.”

“Am I really that boring?” Troy grumbled back, his face getting hot. He might not be blushing, but something was happening.

Matthew rolled his eyes. “You were more engaged with life during high school. You got obsessed when you went to college and forgot everything else. Being a vampire expert is not a bad thing, but you could spend some time finding yourself again.”

That sounded so lame. People who had to find themselves were pathetic. Soppy.

They picked up lunch, but Matthew had to say goodbye after he got a quick text. He left Troy on the street. But that was how Matthew was. Busy, busy, busy. Yet as Matthew rushed off, it put Troy to mind that he ought to be busy too. So he called Randon, and that was to get a hold of Silvia whose phone number he did not have.

When Randon picked up the call, he laughed and handed the phone to his wife the second Troy said, “I need a favor from your wife.”

<< Hello? >>

Sighing, Troy said, “Is it still possible to put a shadow spell on my apartment? I kind of lost my two roommates.”

She laughed, then shared the news with Randon. She then said to Troy, << I wish we could, but you actually need a roommate for it to work. >>

He had figured as much.

Randon called over and Silvia relayed his message. << Do you want to come over for dinner? >>

He sighed. “I can’t eat garlic anymore…”

She laughed more, as she loved to put garlic in her food. She said, << No problem. I can make a vampire pleasing meal. >>

“No blood,” Troy said, already worrying what she might put in for him.

Laughing more, Silvia handed the phone to Randon.

<< She’s not going to put in blood. >> Randon’s voice was like music Troy had missed. << We’ve been researching, and apparently the word out is that dairy is the way to a blood-free vampire’s heart. So we have some garlic-free cheesy options you might like.”

Troy recognized the tone in Randon’s voice. He was begging. Troy wondered if Randon had figured out he had feelings for him or if he truly was oblivious. Randon had a way of ignoring things he did not care about. It was purposeful, so it was likely he knew but felt it was best not to draw attention to it. He was, after all Randon’s best friend, aside from Silvia.

“Ok. I’m coming over.”

 

Troy took a subway to their place. He arrived well into the afternoon. While Silvia prepared an amazing meal, Randon asked Troy almost the same questions as Matthew had, without the commentary about Nicole. Randon didn’t know her and had not met her. He was just making sure Troy was not succumbing to vampire habits. However, he did say, “How serious are you about this girl?”

“Just curious, I think,” Troy said.

Randon sighed.

“She’s beautiful, and she’s interested in me,” Troy said, leaving out the part where Matthew suspected she was a nymphomaniac. “Maybe we moved too fast for the taste of my stuffy roommates, but it felt right at the time.”

“So it’s good riddance to that guy, Art?” Silvia carried over two plates of fusion food. It was half Middle Eastern fare with chickpeas, the spice, and rice with vegetables and meat, the other half seemed more Mexican with tortillas rather than flat bread. “I’m sorry I can’t do a shadow spell for you, but your hanging wards should work fine. They did so far, right?”

Troy nodded. “Beautifully.”

“So what’s this I hear about you infusing oils with comfrey? You do know that fresh is better, right?” Silvia sat cross-legged with her own plate, picking up her fork and listening with interest for his response. Despite being a witch, Troy found it difficult to entirely dislike her. The air around her was lighter than he expected for a witch—nothing like that last one from Rick’s hometown, twitchy Megan Dalane. And Silvia made Randon happier than he had ever seen him. Beside, she was pretty.

So he responded, “I wanted to make a balm that would keep. But… is it really the only way? Fresh comfrey leaves?”

She nodded. “The fresher the better.”

“But I am looking for a permanent cure,” he murmured, thinking this would not do.  

Silvia shrugged. “Comfrey is only for topical healing. The bite is more than skin deep. It goes into your muscles and reaches the veins and arteries. You need something that seeps in, and I don’t think you are going to find it.”

Troy did not want to hear that. He had hoped for a topical salve. If it went deeper that meant something more drastic. He had read some really drastic cures in the manuscript, which seemed more dangerous than the eternal bleed. A desperate person had cut his own jugular and had bled to death.

“Uh.” Randon straightened up, thinking on the same lines. “What about your manuscript? How is your interpretation going on that?”

Moaning, Troy said, “It’s like trying to read tea leaves. There are puzzles within puzzles.”

“You were going to recreate it,” Silvia said, stabbing another part of her food with her fork and lifting it to her mouth. “Is that even going to work?”

Shrugging, Troy admitted that it most likely won’t work. He had been doing all the folding and refolding, only to discover there were several ways to fold on those same lines to make numerous configurations. He needed years, not days. Something in him said he had to find a way to keep the manuscript even though that meant stealing. Would the Holy Seven have an issue with that? Would they just take it back from him, or were they the type to bend certain rules for more important, supernatural issues? Both seemed likely for some reason. The fact that they had smuggled it out for him in the first place showed that they lived by a different set of rules. Whatever made them so-called ‘holy’ wasn’t some firm adherence to the Ten Commandments. They were not above stealing. And of course, he knew they were not above killing.

In fact, the more Troy thought about it, the more he seemed to think that the name Holy Seven more of a title than a descriptor. There were eight of them, to start with. And the most saintly people were not chosen, never mind the nearly noble-knight like stature of their leader, Andrew. They seemed to be, rather, a mishmash of dangerous oddballs with a huge skill set involving magic, medieval weaponry, and high tech. After all, that death threat he got from that techno-genius Semour did not seem very holy, but he sure came across as deadly.

“Maybe you ought to just create a treatment kit,” Silvia suggested with a giggle, breaking his thoughts. “You know, a cooling salve for the comfrey itch and a potted comfrey plant. Clove oil and camphor would cool the itch.”

Troy stared at her. She knew. She had known this entire time the treatment for vampire bite? Of all the… He felt like he had been one upped by an amateur, after all his research.

Yet he noticed Randon raise his eyebrows, smiling with pride at his wife. And it hit Troy. But of course she knew. She was a witch. And it struck Troy harder that all this time he had been ignoring his best possible asset. He had been reading old manuscripts from witch doctors—those that cured witch curses and whatnot—but had never thought to read what witches wrote. In fact, it struck him that Randon’s wife would make a better lab assistant than Art. However, peeking at Randon, he knew that his friend might get jealous if they spent any length of time together alone, even if it was for research. He had to handle this delicately.

“Can I use you as a consultant?” Troy finally asked Silvia, realizing it was the best to do it this way. He nodded to Randon. “With your permission, of course.”

Randon smirked and returned the nod. A silent agreement had passed between them.

When he left their apartment that night carrying leftovers in a plastic snap container Silvia had forced on him, riding the subway home, his thoughts muddled over the events of the past two days. He still did not regret sleeping with Nicole. In fact, he was hoping it was a start of a thing rather than Matthew’s prediction that she was just a curious nympho. But the apartment felt like a tomb when he arrived home. It needed more than just him.

 

Robert Lafon, or Bobo, as Troy would rather think of him, showed up the following morning, offering his personal assistance for Troy’s work. He had a key to the front door. He even had the passcode to the Lazlo Holyfield entrance and had come in while Troy was in there continuing his recreation of the manuscript.

“I don’t need any help, Bobo,” Troy said, avoiding bumping into him when he got close. “This is singular work.”

“What about someone to continue to maintain your computer work?” Bobo stood next to him, peering over his shoulder at the precise folds in the paper Troy was making. Troy leaned away, not sure if he was feeling Bobo’s curse exude from him or imagining it. “Your previous assistant was working on a website to reach out to bite victims outside the New York area. Do you still need help with that?”

Troy froze. He had forgotten about that entirely. Mr. Lenox and he had both agreed that Art take care of that and when it was finished to let them know about it. How far did Art get with it? He was even going to maintain it.

“You do need someone then,” Bobo said.

Nodding with a cringe, Troy muttered, “I completely blanked on that. Yes, I’ll need someone to finish his work.” And it started to bother Troy… so much that he began to fume. “I can’t believe he did not mention it to us. I don’t even know how far he got. He just stormed out with his bag.”

Bobo nodded. He then pulled up a stool (the lab had four) and sat down next to Troy. “Look. I’ll be your gopher. But, uh, I don’t do website computing stuff. So someone else is gonna have to be hired to take that guy’s place.”

“I don’t want another roommate,” Troy moaned. The last one was a disaster.

“Not even me?” Bobo asked.

Troy stared, shivers going through him. “I thought you had a place.”

Bobo shrugged.

Groaning inwardly, wondering what gossip about him had been spread, Troy said, “Do they really think I need a babysitter? Is that what you are here for?”

“You can’t hurt me,” Bobo replied—a real truth. No one could hurt Bobo. Nobody even wanted to touch him, as even a bump bounced back and could hurt you. “And nobody wants you to be alone. The mind goes crazy when people in our situation are alone.”

A sensation of almost warmth swept over Troy. They were not sending Bobo as a babysitter. Dammit. They actually cared about him, but they still thought he was emotionally unstable. However, it was lonely without someone in the apartment. And admittedly, Troy was not likely to crush on Bobo. Besides not being his type—lanky, tall, and mildly fit—Bobo was too dangerous to be near. This would force him to live more carefully.

Yet Troy was not entirely buying the whole roommate/assistant thing either. How would it be to live with Bobo? Was Bobo a good roommate? Would there be other clashes? Food? Shower?