Love 'N Lies: Evermore Chronicles, #1

By Aspen deLainey

Leticia is a vampire, and she’s just woken from a year long slumber to the unpleasant surprise that she has put on some pounds. A ridiculous thought, but her clothes don’t lie. So Letty sets out to lose some weight, does a little shopping and then goes out to see what’s changed in the year she’s been asleep. Being a titch lonely, one of her friends suggest a cat, so she finds one at a shelter and adopts it. However, when she gets the cat home he acts a bit un-catlike. Especially when he turns into a hunky human male cursed by a nasty wizard. Unfortunately, by turning Justin back to human Letty is now a target as well, and her comfy life is about to turn upside down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Nov 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781771552189

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Champagne Books 

www.champagnebooks.com

Copyright 2015 by Aspen deLainey

ISBN 978-1-77155-218-9

December 2015

Cover Art by Ellie Smith

Produced in Canada

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Champagne Book Group

19-3 Avenue SE

High River, AB T1V 1G3

Canada 

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Dedication

To Ann Kyle and Linda Vanneste for making helpful suggestions after reading the beta ms. Thanks Jim Silvius for lending your name to my Magi. A really big thank you to my daughter for believing in my ability to craft a decent story and encouraging me to keep writing on dark nights. Thanks to my family for putting up with me for days on end when you didn't exist in my world.

One

This whole fiasco happened because I’m lonely. Not friend lonely. Believe me, I have lots of friends.

Heart lonely.

I woke up near the end of June, in Calgary, Alberta. You know, that cowboy city in the great white north—Canada.

Right in time for The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth, the Calgary Stampede. That’s when every citizen and all the tourists in this crazy city dress up in their favorite cowboy ensemble.

Honest!

Men wear plaid western shirts, string ties, and blue jeans. Women wear either blue jeans or blue jean skirts, western plaid shirts or their flooziest bordello-type top—the one they’d wear for Klondike days in Edmonton in a couple of weeks. And everybody wears cowboy hats. Some even wear cowboy boots. Even the tourists visiting just to see the Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth, dress western and party.

I mingled with all those Stampede cowboys downtown the first evening, wearing my new jeans. My bustier’s only real western claim: the denim strips supporting the lace. This time it really needed the support, as I overflowed magnificently.

It’s a party here for ten days straight. I kid you not. This city pretty much shuts down corporate headquarters to celebrate.

I walked downtown Calgary, listening to the echoes of drunken yahoos, laughter and the clip-clop of horses being ridden through the streets. The leftover odor of ubiquitous pancakes, sausages, eggs, bacon and champagne-orange juice, served at every street corner, lingered. Stampede breakfasts are tradition, after all.

I drew stares. But I corralled most of my come hither attitude tonight. No time to dally, no time for sensual imbibing. Tonight I would only disappoint.

For tonight, I started my diet.

I needed an out-of-the-way space to just watch the crowds for a moment. To get a good spin on my lasso. I picked the alley just up ahead. I’d duck into that one, hide until I got a good spin on my lasso. Once I had it going really good, I’d exit, stage centre like an actress, winning applause with my rope trick. Perfect plan, right?

But back in the shadows of my chosen alley, near the dumpster, a little man relieved himself.

I recognized the facial features and bowed just a little, welcoming him to my fair city; in his own language, I hoped.

Jeez, I know my Mandarin’s better than that, I carped to myself as he startled. He bowed deeply to me, without answering. His eyes darted around for an escape route back into the safety of the main crowd.

I raised my lasso higher, smugly swung the loop over his shoulders, herding him deeper into the alley, away from any prying eyes.

Hey, it took me years to learn to rope even a post. I’m proud of my skill and don’t get to trot it out very often. During Stampede, any kind of pseudo cowboy skill rates high for showing off. Being able to swing a mean lasso is mine.

I pulled him into an embrace that would fool anyone brave enough to look for more than a few seconds. I took advantage of his effort to push away. His strain lifted his throat into a perfect arch as he recognized the flash of my teeth.

I only nibbled, savoring that sweet rush, that trickle of heart’s blood.

He fainted. I held his sagging form long enough to finish. I didn’t kill him. I just needed a healthy, pick-me-up sort of snack. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, straddling his limp figure.

Be hungry in twenty minutes, just like the joke, I burped, fanning the smell away. Too much Wasabi. I tucked him behind the dumpster, covered, so he wouldn’t be found before he woke up.

Imagine the tales he’d have to tell when he returned home. Bitten by a Vampire at the Stampede and lived to tell about it.

Good for local tourism, that’s me.

He had been in the right place at the right time. From the taste of him, I’d say he probably came straight from the Orient. So, according to the calorie counter I’d devised, I’d stayed within the acceptable limit.

This diet thing all started, you know, just recently. I woke up after my Sleep (you know the kind, every decade or so we Vampires take that year-long hibernation-type nap to regenerate and age—just a little), to find fat.

I’m not talking little love handles here! No siree Bob. My scales showed this formerly trim and almost ageless frame carrying an extra twenty five kilograms—that’s fifty six extra pounds or my personal favorite, just over four stone.

Of course I denied it totally. My scales had to be faulty. That dwarf-beaten, polished, gold-plate mirror lied. It had to have!

But my wardrobe agreed, showing me the inescapable truth. I tried on everything, to the very back of my closets. Nothing fit. I stood posing in front of that damned mirror, front view, side view, moaning over the unfairness of it all.

All the while sucking on a cold blood snack. Uncle Cy had loaded my fridge with these bagged snacks just before I woke. He’s got some deal going with the Blood Bank Services, I swear. ’Cause we get these just past their ‘best before’ date blood bags. Instant food, without the bother of hunting up a human.

After I waded through mountains of mail, found my credit cards in good standing (thank you again, Uncle), I phoned in validation and computer ordered (yes, even we can be computer literate) a selection of my necessary new size Stampede street-wear, to be delivered the next evening. Isn’t it wonderful you can specify time of delivery now? I fed on another of the oh-so-handy refrigerated Red Cross blood packs to take the edge off my hunger.

Look, I know I’m guilty of pigging out just a little before my Sleep—I consider it hibernation readiness. I hate waking up ravenous. But this bulk! Just totally out of proportion. Vampire metabolism is fast. I know that. I have never experienced weight gain before, not in almost two hundred years! Waking usually saw me hag-thin, almost skeletal, flesh hanging from my frame.

I researched online until my parcels arrived, sipping on a few more snacks, napping every couple of hours. There had to be some reason I had gained all this weight. Maybe some illness bit me while I lay comatose?

I found oodles of ‘lose inches’ sites.

That’s not what I typed in! I wanted information, not diets. Fasting resulting in weight gain, I queried. Look, computer. Yes, I know I talk to my computer. Just the facts. The cold hard facts. I can take it!

Eureka! Almost at once I found a site about cholesterol. HDLs, LDLs. All the bad, all the good. Even hypothetical reasons some foods caused more fat than others. This looked promising.

My reading took me through the red-meat plus processed carbohydrates resulting in the high cholesterol diet of the North American couch potato.

Just what do you think I’ve been feasting on all this time? Well, duh! Easiest meal to obtain. I’m guilty of indulging on the ‘super-size-that’ population for my meals. They’re slow moving, easy to pick up, and tasty.

I made a quick call to Uncle, the regular ‘Hi, I’m up, thanks for looking after everything’ type of obligatory call we all owe our relatives when we emerge. Then I got down to business. Say, Unc. Have any of the family put on a little weight in the last while?

When he admitted a couple had, I asked if anybody had looked into this HDL and LDL conundrum. After a no, I told him what my googling started to turn up.

Leticia, honey. You’re one of our smarter kin. You should look into this further, he advised. Your sister Ginny won’t even leave the house.

I laughed as I hung up. Bet it looked good on her.

Now I am sure the Edmonton area, where Uncle and Ginny live, is happy about that. Edmonton has a lot more missing persons than Calgary. Ginny has never been very particular how she leaves a meal, leaving Uncle to clean up after her. She doesn’t care if her meal lives or dies after she’s finished with them. That’s why she’s still living at home. Where someone can clean up after her. And keep Vampire presence a secret a little longer.

Me, I’m trying to keep a low profile here. I prefer my meals to have pleasant memories when they wake up. As I am the only Vampire, so far, in this city, I don’t need every drained vic assault ending up on my doorstep. That is, if the human cops ever find out there’s a Vampire living here. Or the Weres decide to make an example of me. Which they would if I left desiccated bodies in my wake.

Thanks, but no thanks.

Two

Tonight I promised myself I wouldn’t do much. Just feel out any changes in the lay of the land. After all, I’d been asleep for one whole year, and changes happen fast these days. Maybe I’d even snack a little.

So I’d hustled myself out onto the streets, dressed western in an outfit to kill. Tourists came in droves this time of year. I fit right in, gawking just as much as them.

Not everybody dressed cowboy. I saw more Goth and Punk than last year—an anomaly during Stampede. The dragging-crotch pants hadn’t left the scene yet. Soon, maybe? Grunge seemed popular. I am far too much a lady to try that.

But cowboy still reigned supreme, as always. Especially this time of year.

That little Oriental who had stumbled into me in the alley? Remember him? Of course I took him as serendipity. Kind of a reminder I probably needed a snack right then. Wouldn’t you?

My hunger sated, I hoofed it a little faster. Gotta burn off that meal. I’m not hunting any more food, not now. I just wanted to get my bearings again. See what’s new, what’s been happening while I’ve been sleeping.

I aimed towards my favorite bar on the southeast side of downtown—the wrong side of Centre Street. What other cities would call the wrong side of the tracks. It felt like the city had given up on this area. Only every other streetlight lit. Garbage filled the gutters. The buildings looked a little the worse for wear, more warehouses empty and fenced for destruction. Homes here looked shabbier too, with their uncut grass and weedy front lawns. Didn’t see much pride of ownership on this side of town. Probably because most residents here rented; they couldn’t afford to buy.

I actually had to snarl at one gang of kids. They came out of an alley swaggering, asking why I thought I could walk through their territory without paying their toll. Theirs, huh?

One snarl had all of them tucking their figurative tails between their legs, hightailing it outta my sight. They had to be new here. I’d have to look into them. When I had a little more time.

But not tonight. Tonight, this time’s for me! I need to check out the changes. Something I have to do every time I wake up from one of my Sleeps.

I kept walking.

A couple more alleys over and I ran into another gang, a familiar group. They tipped their hats to me. Hey doll, the leader crooned. Back in town?

Needed a holiday, I answered, flipping my long hair. Here till I need the next one.

Anytime you want some action, you remember where to come. He grabbed his crotch at me.

Kids these days, really!

I blew a kiss in their general direction. They’ve always been good fun to hang with and easy for a nibble. Fortunately, they hadn’t moved on. In their own way, they kept their turf safe. Not really violent, just the occasional mugging.

I passed some street girls, most whom I knew. Busy tonight? I asked. When I’m really lonely and just snackish, I’ll team up with one of them. I don’t need the cash; my investments take care of all that. But sometimes I’m lonely and don’t want to put much effort into my hunt. Johns are easily distracted. The girls get the business, I get the snack. I even make it a wee bit safer for them that night. Hey, I can smell disease, so I can warn the girls. And I’m stronger than I look—way stronger. Nobody gets hurt. The john doesn’t miss the blood. He gets a fantastic memory of his night. Sometimes she even gets repeat business. Everyone wins!

I remembered one pimp. He caught me helping out one of his girls. Thought he could press-gang me into his stable. Threw his weight around to show me who’s boss.

My only kill in recent years.

Eventually his desiccated body will show up. If anyone drains that swamp.

I posed with them, chatted, refused a couple of offers, waving good luck to them before continuing on my route. Stampede can be a lucrative time of the year for them. Believe it or not, there’re johns who wanna score a whore in every city they visit. Heard they have some sort of passport-like folder. Want the girls to initial the john’s page for their city. Sick!

Couple more areas to check out and then on to my final destination. My favorite bar. Getting nearer and nearer.

Good thing too. My feet had started to throb. I really should spring for decent-fitting cowboy boots. You know, the six-hundred-dollar-plus kind. The ones that actually fit.

I limped past an old school, rundown, but still in use. Didn’t see anyone out playing in the playground. Sometimes I come across a really young kid playing there at night. To me, that’s kind of dangerous. But maybe not as dangerous as whatever’s happening at home. I always walk them home. Go right inside with them, too. Amazing how many parents apologize after I explain my fears for their progeny. I’ve only had to bare my teeth a few times. Once though, I did have to show a father just what it felt like to be on the receiving end. I still keep in touch with that kid. She’s doing well, almost grown up, finishing high school; maybe even going to have a future.

Hey, I gotta look out for my herd. This is my city.

Finally. There. I took a right into a back lane, couple of steps down to a dimly lit doorway and knocked.

The peephole cracked. Yeah? a surly voice demanded.

I tried the old password. Not accepted. Look, I’m Leticia. Tell Gareth I’m back.

A small peep opened wider. This is a private club, lady. We don’t allow strangers.

Tell Gareth it’s Leticia, I repeated slowly, or I’m going to tear this door right off its hinges and shove it down your throat.

The peep closed. I knocked again. No answer.

I’m usually patient. But remember, I just woke up. I’m always a little grumpy when I first wake up. By now I had only a lingering memory of that last snack. Gareth had invented a wonderful protein drink for me. I wanted it. Immediately!

I kicked the door, wincing when my toes protested.

Lady, I said get lost, the guy snarled as he reopened that peep. You hit this door again, I’ll come outside. The boss doesn’t want his door damaged.

I snarled back, twisting the doorknob. Pulled. I felt a flash of heat race down my arm. My hand tingled. I heard a loud thlurrrrp.

The doorknob hung from my fingers.

He slammed the peep.

I counted to ten.

The peep opened again, cautiously, and a familiar bright blue eye behind glass so thick coke bottles would be envious, looked me over. Leticia, it’s you. Come on in. Gareth himself struggled to open the door, welcoming me. I’ll just take that. He helped himself to the doorknob.

This’ll come out of your wages, he informed his guard. I gave you a list of patrons who might not have the password. What’d you use it for?

He turned back to me. So good to see you. Just wake up?

Security glared at me as we passed.

Sorry ’bout that. Good help, and all that, he offered as an excuse. Especially this time of year. Gareth seated me on a bar stool where my drink awaited me. I expected you to show up tonight.

Oh... Thank you. I’ve been dreaming about this drink the whole way over. I wet my lips in anticipation, gulped a swallow and smiled. As good as always.

Gareth’s is a private club. Uncle sent my references down just before I moved here. If you don’t get vouched for, you don’t get in. I hadn’t even expected such a new city like Calgary to have any establishments catering to just our kind. Well, not just our kind. I am the only Vampire here so far. This place would be bankrupt already if it only catered to Vamps.

I twirled around on my stool, comforted by the fact no major changes had been made to the bar during my Sleep. Gareth still had his curved bronze-edged, marble counter top, bronze beer taps, and a white porcelain sink just visible under the counter. I could tell the stools had been recovered, but Gareth kept the same rusty color. His walls hadn’t changed; still wainscoted halfway up with a series of carved scenes Gareth insists portrays the future. I’ve never looked closely at them, not sure I want to know the future as Gareth sees it. The wide wooden sill still held patrons’ drinks and elbows. And the tables scattered around the floor hadn’t moved an inch from what I could tell.

Gareth didn’t have any straight lines in his bar. Once he told me he designed it that way to keep magical energies minimized.

I sighed in relief. This familiar setting hadn’t changed. I breathed in the ambience, relaxing.

I looked over the clientele to see if anybody I knew well happened to be here. Tonight a couple of wizards enjoyed some brews, an ogre in a corner sat drinking something, three dwarves quaffed and sang at a low table. Hanging tables above doubled as light fixtures, some full of tiny, sparkling patrons—probably pixies. A witch holding a conversation with her familiar. I could even scent a Were. Not too busy.

So, what can you tell me? Anything happen recently? I feel out of touch, I asked Gareth. As the place wasn’t bopping, I figured he had the time to talk.

Gareth polished a glass as he considered my question. His long braid crept over his shoulder, his deep blue eyes, magnified by his glasses, unfocused. He says he comes from a long line of seers, which wouldn’t surprise me at all. I’ve never heard anyone ask for a drink. He always serves exactly what we want.

Lost Charlie—he opened his own place in Regina, Gareth nodded towards his new security. Still looking for somebody permanent. Fire elemental came through town, burnt down a new development before one of the wizards bottled it. He nodded at the lamp behind the bar. The radiant being inside banged against the containment, furiously trying to escape. Lit Gareth’s area up real bright.

Gareth flipped his long, shaggy, brown and grey braid