"Don't let the sun go down on me. Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see. I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free. But losing everything is like the sun going down on me." ~ Elton John, Sick City (Album)
Chapter One
California has always been a vampire state for as long as people have been finding their way to the coastline. The growing hubs of humanity and transient trade routes are a big draw for those who wish to hunt out in the open. Santa Carla had seen countless vampires, rouges, and packs come and go over her long history and the mid-twentieth century was no different.
During the early part of the eighties David was the resident bloodsucking nomad. He was a lone wolf that kept to the south end of town in the commercial and industrial areas as well as the Boardwalk. There were more nooks and crannies to hide in during the day and plenty of faceless transient targets to pick off once the sun went down who would not be missed.
As for Fay, her home was in the heart of the suburbs over on the north end. It was a nice little close-knit community where the houses were small, the families were average, and the kids played together in the streets until the street lamps came on at night. It was safe, quiet, and more importantly vampire free. The only time Fay willingly ventured into the downtown core was for work. At night for the most part, she stayed on her side of the zip code.
That arrangement remained unchanged for a few quiet years until one night the unexpected happened. A vampire came crashing through her front window at three in the morning.
Fate? Coincidence? Bad luck? Or as Fay would say, "Boh, che ne so?"
"Holy Christ on a crutch!!!!" Fay swore as she bolted upright in bed. The jarring sound of a shattered glass filled the house and a hard impact sent a shudder through the floorboards.
"What the hell?"
The eye-mask that covered half her face was ripped off as an alarmed chirp came from the pillow next to her. A pair of emerald green eyes blinked into existence and vanished a moment later.
"Figaro, downstairs, now!" Fay fought with the cotton sheets before she swung her legs over and leapt out of bed. The fuzzy half-sleep feeling that fogged her mind was quickly replaced by a rising sense of alarm and an even larger helping of severe annoyance.
"Those little jerks!"
The words were hissed from between her teeth as she groped in the dark for a fuzzy pink bathrobe. A striped silver tomcat, Figaro, meowed in agreement before he bolted out into the hallway. Fay headed for the door but stopped short when she remembered something. With a curse that was anything but ladylike Fay turned and dove onto the bed to slide her hand under her pillow. She pulled free her trusty go-to for all things out of the ordinary. A well-made solid wooden cooking spoon.
"So help me if it's those stupid senior punks again I'm going to backhand the whole lot of them." Fay growled as she finally hurried out of her bedroom. Fay took the stairs two at a time and landed lightly when she reached the bottom. Figaro had been waiting for her on the last step. With his delicate ears laid back, eyes dilated, and thin tail puffed out to twice its size there was no question that something was amiss.
"What is it?" Fay muttered and adjusted her grip on the worn handle of the wooden spoon.
There were no heavy footsteps or drunken catcalls coming from the front yard. The typical gunned engines and squealing tires were missing. Everything was quiet and the house had begun to feel cold and dank.
But in April?
Fay did not like this. Not for a second.
"This is my house. It answers to me. Honestly Fay get a grip girl."
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