I was not going to chance them hopping a ride again.
Taking pity on the cashier, I pointed to the bags. “Have you checked the bags yet? You may have placed it over there.”
The cashier rounded on me, “The key never moves. It should be right here.”
I held my hands up and motioned for him to calm down. “Hey, just trying to be helpful. Obviously, the key has moved. Might as well check the area thoroughly before panicking.”
Rolling his eyes to make it obvious he was just humoring me, he rustled through the bags.
“I don’t see—” His voice trailed off and he held up the key.
He looked at me suspiciously. I shrugged.
He didn’t say anything as he unlocked the drawer and gave me my change.
I smiled and told him to have a nice day as I grabbed my bags and walked out. As soon as I was through the doors, I dumped everything on the ground and shook the bags out. I inspected every item thoroughly before putting them back in the plastic bag.
Groceries taken care of, I headed home. My apartment was a one bedroom walk up located right outside the campus district. I’m about eighty percent sure the rickety wooden staircase leading to the second-floor entrance wasn’t up to code but complaining to the landlord would be a waste of time.
My place was small, and while the area wasn’t rough it also wasn’t nice. Most of my neighbors were college kids or grad students.
Things went missing around here all the time, so I hoisted my bike onto my shoulder and carried it up the stairs. A porch light illuminated the steps, not that I really needed it. Vampirism came with improved night vision. I’d say I had the vision equivalent of a cat if I knew what that equivalent was.
At the top of the landing, I propped the bike against the rail and reached in my mailbox. Pulling a cinnamon spice container out, I shrugged off my bag before emptying its contents on to the wooden landing. I liberally doused everything with the cinnamon and shook it a few times over my bag.
A soft sneeze, and then something darted past me, faster than my eyes could track.
Ha. Served the little bastard right.
Pixies disliked cinnamon. It affected them much like ragweed affected humans only about three times worse. They wouldn’t linger long in an area that contained it.
It was one of the most effective, low cost methods I’d found for warding off pests. Much cheaper than a charm from a witch and just as effective.
Satisfied no other pixies lurked in my items, I dumped everything back into the bag and wheeled the bike inside, propping it inside the entryway.
My kitchen was small, just a fridge, stove and microwave, with barely any counter space. Since food was optional for me, I didn’t really need counter space any more. It only took a few minutes to pack away my groceries.
I grabbed a wine glass out of the cupboard and fished a bottle from the fridge. The dark liquid was mesmerizing as I poured it into my glass. I unconsciously licked my lips, my stomach rumbling. I was already anticipating that first sip.
The blood tasted cool and crisp as it slid down my throat. I could practically feel the tissues soaking up the liquid. In seconds, it was gone.
I set the glass down, licking my lips free of any blood. God, I’d really needed that.
A stray spot of red drew my eye to the counter. I stared at it transfixed. I must have spilled a drop.
My eyes drifted to the clock. 1:07. I didn’t have it in me to walk away from that drop, but I could wait. I had enough discipline for that. Five minutes. If I ever wanted to have full control of myself, I needed to start exercising will power.
I could do this. No problem.
My finger tapped against the counter anxiously. I let go and crossed my arms in front of me. My eyes never strayed from that drop.
Imagine the worst craving you’ve ever had. You know, the kind you get for that last piece of pizza after a stressful day at work. You’ve been thinking about it all day and remembering how it tasted last night and imagining the hot cheese on your tongue, the springy dough as you bit into it. Now take that craving and magnify it by a factor of about ten. That might give you some idea of what it’s like to crave blood.
I’d be tempted to compare it to how a junky feels staring down their next fix, but I’ve never done drugs so I can’t be too sure of that.
Either way, blood was addicting and damn near impossible to resist. I was determined though. I was getting better at fighting temptation too. When I’d first been brought over, I would have licked that drop away almost as soon as it hit the counter. I also would have licked the entire glass in an attempt to get every speck of the life-giving nectar.
These little exercises in self-restraint were torturous but oh so necessary. One day it might even save someone’s life.
