The Vampire Always Bites Twice | Wattys 2022 Grand Prize Winner

63

Isla, Formerly Reformed Necromancer

"Dmitri's still in his coffin upstairs," Greg said, grunting as he collapsed against the wall of the mausoleum beside me. "Here, let me have a puff."

I passed him my lit smoke and dug another crumpled one from the pocket of my pajamas. My hands were cold. I couldn't quite get the lighter to catch. Greg, ever the gentleman, gingerly took the device from my hands and did it for me. I pursed the cigarette between my lips. His hands, cool and careful, cupped my chin to protect the flame from the blizzard outside.

Blew smoke in his face once it was lit.

We sat, backs against the stone wall, exhausted and sucking on our cigs—Greg's eyes fluttered closed in something akin to bliss after his first exhale and my chest heaved—in silence. It wasn't comfortable. But it wasn't quite awkward either. We were in some kind of in-between state. Limbo. An undercurrent of unspoken anger and hurt still swam beneath the floods of relief and camaraderie and adrenaline coursing through us both.

Grumpkin and, uh, Grumpkin, curled up in our respective laps. The cat formed from his front half, who I suspected was Grumpkin Prime, purred loudly as he made biscuits on my thighs. I scratched behind his ears. Soft and fluffy and whole.

The second Grumpkin swished his tail against Greg's stomach. The fluff seemed to tickle his enticingly exposed patch of belly through that ripped shirt. Watching my vampire rub a knuckle under the cat's chin warmed my center.

Every few seconds, our silence would be punctuated by Mrs. Cabroni's labored breathing. Her bleeding had stopped. Thanks to Greg. His spit and his quick bandaging her up with supplies he found in the house.

"So, let me get this straight," he eventually drawled, cigarette perched between his lips and hair hanging over his eyes in a way that made my stomach flip. "All this hooey was because Rosemond, whose soul you accidentally trapped in Lily Perez's body whilst trying to resurrect the gal, sought vengeance on the old git for not turning her, but wanted to use necromancy to magic her aforementioned soul back into her original body, restored to full health, first?"

"Basically."

"And she recruited Lily's werewolf boyfriend—the boyfriend who, seemingly accidentally, murdered Lily—as an accomplice by promising to return Lily's spirit to her rightful body in the process?"

"Yep."

"And she killed both Taylor and Sloane's bloodbag for some spooky-wooky necromantic spell ingredients, but it didn't take?"

"Essentially."

Greg glanced at me. "What the hell does it take?"

"A strong stomach." I shrugged.

"Huh. And Rosemond did all this, instead of just staking Dmitri outright, for... the drama?"

"Something like that."

Greg ran a hand through his hair and whistled. "They really were fanging perfect for each other."

I chuckled – oh balls that hurt my head.

"And she's gone, now, right?" he tensed, risking an uncomfortable glance up at the decaying pile of Rosemond's original bones. "For good?"

As we kissed... Oh damn Greg and I kissed. I fucking kissed him and that spell worked like the vamp was a heckin' surge protector oh shit oh wow this was new for me. But, ah, yeah guess I could unpack the consequences of that magic later. But as we kissed, and Greg so sweetly closed his eyes and my tongue caught that agonizingly pretty moan in his mouth... ahem, right. As we kissed, and Lily's body faded to dust, I saw Rosemond. The real Rosemond, her ghost, no longer hiding in shadows or somebody else's meat suit. Wild red hair past her waist. Skin paler than Greg's. Decked out in jewels and flowing gown.