Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.
Charlemagne finds himself in a bit of a situation. Not only has he drained another person of too much blood and killed them, but a stranger says he knows what Charlemagne is! What to do, what to do, what to do! See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them! Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
“How old do I look?” I countered, although that
wasn’t really what I wanted to say, but those were the first words to fall from
my tongue. I’m not really what you might consider a smooth talker, although I
can be when circumstances warrant. Such as when I’m charming a blood donor out
of their precious red fluid. Although some might argue that the spice is life,
with vampires it’s all about the blood. And perhaps calling them donors is
stretching the definition just a little bit.
I held out my hand in order to keep this stranger at
arm’s length, although that was probably not necessary, considering the corpse
that lay between us was effectively performing the same function.
He stopped in his tracks. Well, his lower half did.
But he proceeded to lean across the dead body as if having this conversation in
the middle of the night, in the midst of death, was the most natural thing in
the world. Which it certainly wasn’t. Shouldn’t have been, anyway. For either
of us. If he just wanted to move closer to me in order to keep from being
overheard, he was wasting his time. I have excellent hearing. Comes with the
territory.
And if he had any other motive, such as becoming
intimate with me on any level, he was really
wasting his time.
And why I hadn’t just removed myself from this
situation by now was a complete mystery to me, one I couldn’t even begin to
explain.
“I know you’re a vampire,” he said in a confidential
tone, completely ignoring the question I’d only half-heartedly expected an
answer to, not that I really cared what he thought. But his words confirmed
that he did indeed think he knew what I was, and the fact that he looked
neither terrified nor intimidated was also confusing. How many people do you
know who would confront an alleged supernatural being with the knowledge of
their existence and not have the common sense to be scared of the consequences?
I find that akin to confessing to someone that you know they are a murderer
without bothering to consider that admission could get you killed. Because
murderer, yeah.
Not that I was about to admit to what I was just
because he guessed correctly, either. This wasn’t a quiz show, and I wasn’t
about to give out prizes for right answers anytime soon.
I gave him my best disdainful look, one I’d been
practicing for many years (having learned from one of the best). Strangely, he made no move to draw back from me,
his eyes locked on mine in some strange sort of staring contest. His youthful grin
appeared even wider now, due to proximity, but his eyes, in contrast, seemed filled
with ancient wisdom.
“And I know
you’re nuts,” I countered. “Where are your keepers and how long ago did you break out of the asylum?”
Whatever retort he’d been about to make (and I’m
fairly confident his reply would not have been very convincing) he seemed
suddenly distracted and began to reach toward my chest.
“Ooh, that’s pretty, can I see?”
Without thinking, I hissed at him, even as I pulled
back, baring my fangs in the process as I defensively clutched the object in
question. “Don’t. Touch. That!”
“Sorry,” he instantly apologized.
Just then the moon, which had been playing peekaboo
with the heavy clouds, chose that moment to make an appearance, illuminating
his rather puppy dog-like eyes. His hand frozen in position, as if he was
afraid to move. “I won’t touch it, I promise. It’s just beautiful, that’s all.
I’ve never seen a cross quite like that. I mean, it’s almost circular. And I
don’t mean to be rude but that’s the last thing I’d ever expect to see a
vampire wearing. Kind of ironic, don’t you think? Doesn’t it hurt you or
something? Where did you get it?”
Such a plethora of questions. Personal questions. Ones I was not particularly inclined to
answer. Yes, this cross was mine and it was beautiful, and woe betide anyone
who tried to take it from me.
Before I could articulate those sentiments, however,
I became aware that someone in the house had awakened. A light snapped on
somewhere inside. It was only a matter of time until they came looking for the
young man at my feet and we would be discovered. We had to get out of here. Now. And by we I meant myself and my late dinner companion. Tyrone was free to
do as he pleased.
“I don’t know
about you, but I think we should take the car and get the heck out of Dodge.” He
seemed to have read my mind, recalling his hand with a last longing glance at
my cross, which I still cradled protectively.
Correcting him with the information that we were
nowhere near any place called Dodge seemed inane at best. And it was quickly
becoming a moot point, anyway, as I could hear voices coming from inside the
house. Time was running out. I could ditch Tyrone later, but for now necessity
insisted we make our escape together while the getting was still good.
Wait a moment. Scratch that. Why couldn’t I just
throw the body in the back seat and just take the vehicle for myself? I knew
how to drive, had been driving for years, despite not having an actual license
of my own. Why bother, when fake ones were so easy to manufacture?
Moving with great vampiric speed, I tossed the
corpse into the back seat and vaulted behind the wheel, reaching for the keys,
which should have been dangling from the ignition.
They weren’t.
“Move over now. I’ll drive.” Tyrone stood just
outside the window. The car keys glittered in his hand. I just didn’t have time
to argue. At least that’s what I told myself as I scooted over and he took my
place.
When exactly had I lost control of the situation?
to be continued
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