Death Takes a Holiday (17 page)

“And the girl?”

I sigh. “As far as I know, she’s fine. She has my card.”

“Very well. I’ll review your report and if I have follow-up questions, I’ll call. I’m transferring you to Will now.”

“Why?”

“He wanted to discuss your solo mission as well. Go over the technical aspects. I’m transferring you now.”

The line goes silent, and I find myself pulling my hair out of the rubber band and smoothing it as if he can see me. Yes, I have officially lost my mind.

“Hello?” Will asks, out of breath.

“Um, hi. It’s Bea. George said you wanted to speak to me?”

“Oh, um, hi,” he says, still out of breath.

“Are you okay? You sound—”

“No, I was just on the rowing machine.”

Hot. Dripping with sweat. My overtaxed libido pants. “Oh. Fun.”

“Not really.”

One of our infamous awkward silences follows. “So, um,” I finally say, “George said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah. Yes. I just wanted to make sure you followed proper procedure last night.”

“I just sent my report. Everything is in there.”

“Good. Good.” Another pause. “And you’re okay? The vamp didn’t … ”

“The only thing bruised is my ego,” I say with a chuckle. “But what about you? You went to West Virginia?”

“Yes. Just got back a few hours ago.”

“And everyone’s okay?”

“Few cuts and bruises.”

“Well, I’d love to say I wished I went with you, but I’d be lying.”

“It was cold, wet, and muddy, so I don’t blame you. Unless things out there are … you know. Bad. Or something.”

“No,” I lie, “everything’s fantastic here. Watching old movies, wrapping presents.”

“Sounds like fun. We’re just … doing the usual.”

And awkward silence two is right on schedule. This one lasts ten seconds before I can’t stand it anymore. “So, is there anything else?”

“I, uh, guess not. For now. I’ll review your report and see if I have any comments.”

“Okay. Good. So I’m gonna … ”

“Yeah, it sounds like you’re busy. I’ll let you go.”

“Okay. Glad you’re okay.”

“You too. Um, Merry Christmas.”

“You too. Bye.” I flip the phone shut, pinch my closed eyes, and groan in abject embarrassment. What the heck is it about that man that turns me into a gawky fourteen-year-old with a five word vocabulary? I should have asked more about West Virginia. About his Christmas plans. If he’d mind naming our first child Elizabeth. Anything.

I don’t know how it’s possible, but I feel worse than before. The embarrassment, okay the
yearning,
is overwhelming to the point where I can’t breathe. I have to leave this house. I have to get away. Somewhere with some freaking air.

My daisy tote bag is still in my closet with the matching towel. I toss in my iPod, the latest Sophie Kinsella book, sunglasses, wallet, car keys, and turned-off cell phone in it. I’m going where I always have when my life is falling apart. It’s beach time.

Today is one of those gray days where the sky bleeds into the earth, making everything dismal. The sky has infected the sea and my mood with its depressing nothingness. The sun should be setting by now but it’s nowhere in sight, hidden by those pointless clouds. Yeah, my temperament has improved leaps and bounds since I arrived here.

I gave up trying to read about ten minutes after I got here and my iPod was discarded shortly after. Instead, I’ve just been watching the waves crash and the people stroll by. Couples mostly from the Hotel Del Coronado or surfers in their wet suits. April and I used to spend all day here watching those surfers stroll out in their skintight suits, which they would then shed, revealing taut wet muscles. And yet I haven’t received a single thrill today. Okay, maybe one.

This beach. When I wasn’t boy watching, this is where I’d come to be alone and think. I came here when I realized my high school crush Caleb didn’t like me back. I came here when Nana had a cancer scare. And I came here to decide what to do about the Steven situation the first time around. I think the constancy of the waves settles me. No matter what, a new one will crest and crash until the earth ends. And just up the beach is the Hotel Del Coronado where they filmed one of my favorite movies,
Some Like it Hot
. It’s totally possible that Marilyn Monroe sat in this exact spot and thought about her problems. She had a rough life too.

I hug my knees closer to my chest and rest my chin on them as another wave lands. Too bad it’s too cold to swim. I curl my toes in the soft sand as a surfer leaps up on his board and rides a wave to his idling friends. It’s so quiet with only the waves keeping the world from feeling like a total void.

That ends. “There you are!” April shouts behind me. She moves around to face me, stopping with one hand on her hip. “I have been calling you all day! You’ve been avoiding me!”

“Did Nana tell you where to find me?” I ask with a sigh.

“I will not reveal my sources.”

“I want to be alone.”

“You know, that line didn’t work for Garbo either.” She sits down across from me Indian style. “Steven called me this morning.”

“Did he? And why would he do that?”

“He’s worried about you. He said you went to some strange guy’s house. Alone. That the guy beat up his girlfriend or something.”

“He has no idea what he’s talking about,” I say.

“So he lied? You didn’t go over to some strange dude’s house after the guy beat up his girlfriend?”

I don’t want to lie. I just don’t have the energy. “It’s complicated.”

Her mouth opens in surprise. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

“I can take care of myself, okay? I had the whole situation under control.”

“Are you on crack?” she shouts. “You could have been killed!”

I can’t deal with this right now. Shaking my head at the ridiculousness of my life, I stand up. “I don’t want to talk about this.” I roll up my towel.

“You’re leaving?” she asks incredulously. She leaps up, snatching the towel from my hands. “I am your best friend! I used to know you better than anyone and now … ” She shakes her head. “You leave the state without telling me. You’re beyond secretive. You have lunch with weird people. You rush into strange homes with dangerous people inside. And if you think for a second I believe your stories about all those scars, that kids bit you and you were in a car accident, you’re nuts! Or about your job! I did some research. Black Industries doesn’t exist! So, what the hell is going on?”

I’m speechless. No lies come to me. But instead of panic, I feel relief. I’m like a guilt-ridden criminal who was just caught. It’s over, the Sword of Damocles has fallen. So my mouth opens and I say, “I work for a clandestine branch of the FBI called the F.R.E.A.K.S. where I fly all over the country investigating crimes committed by monsters and psychics. I was recruited after I saved a student from an out-of-control car. The scars on my arm came from a zombie. A necromancer raised an entire cemetery, and they attacked a whole town, but I killed him. The scar on my neck is a vampire bite. Oliver’s bite. He attacked me, but it wasn’t his fault. And Will’s a werewolf.” I take a breath. “The girl you saw me with yesterday, her boyfriend’s a vampire. He hit her, and she called me. That’s it. Oh, and I almost had sex with Steven last night. I think that’s everything.”

The color has drained out of her confused face. I know it’s a lot to take in, but she doesn’t have to look at me as if I’ve grown a third eye. “Well?” I ask.

“WHAT?” she shouts.

“You asked.”

“You’re a … monster hunter? Like you kill Bigfoot and gremlins and witches? And vampires? They’re, like, real, and you’re hot for one?”

“Yeah. Not what you expected, huh?”

“I thought you were a drug dealer or something! I need to sit down,” my bewildered best friend says after her butt hits the sand.

“I would never deal drugs,” I say as I sit across from her.

“You’re lying to me, right?”

“Not anymore.”

She’s quiet for once as she lets this sink in. Then she looks into my eyes. “Holy fucking shit, Bea! Are you out of your damn mind?”

“I ask myself the same question every day,” I say.

“And you’ve, like, killed things? People?”

“Yeah, but they were all bad.”

She takes another few seconds to process this. “And your other …
co-workers, they’re vampires and werewolves? Like suck your blood, undead, howl at the moon?”

“We also have a medium, a teleporter, and a guy who touches things to know what happened to them. Plus three real FBI agents to help us.”

“Holy shit, Bea! You could die!”

“I know.”

She scoffs. “
And
you almost had sex with Steven!”

“I know.”

We sit in silence as she stares at the sand shaking her head.

“Does Nana Liz know?” April asks.

“No. Just you.”

“She should know! Seriously, Bea, what the hell are you thinking? I’ve known you most of your life. You’re a teacher, not a killer.”

“I had training. And I have my … ability. I can control it now.”

“And that’s why you joined,” she says more to herself. “They took you in the night you almost killed Brian. And you’ve been lying ever since! You never drove cross country! Everything you’ve told us has been lies!”

“I had to. People have been killed for knowing this stuff. I’m only telling you now because I can’t hold it in anymore. If word got out about vamps and people like me, it’d be a disaster.”

“So you didn’t trust me, is that it?” she spits out.

“I was trying to protect you!”

“Bullshit!”

April leaps up and storms away, but I follow. “April, I’ve wanted to tell you a million times! I just, I don’t know, didn’t want you to think less of me.”

She stops walking and spins around. “What the hell are you talking about? Why the hell would I think less of you?”

“Because! Being a freak of nature is one thing—”

She points her finger right between my eyes. “I never judged you for that! It’s
you
who’s had problems dealing with it!”

“I know! And they’re helping me come to terms with it a little, but it’s a big leap from levitating a bed to snapping necks and squeezing hearts for a living!”

Anger is slowly replaced with shock. “You do that?”

“Yeah. And a week ago I chopped the head off a forty-foot snake with a machete. April, I’m a trained killer. I’ve lost count of how many things I’ve slaughtered. How the hell can you not be freaked out? I sure as hell am, and I live with it every day.”

April looks down at the sand. “Bea … ” she looks up and smiles, “you’re a moron!”

“What?”

“You say I don’t know you, but you obviously don’t know me! And that kind of pisses me off!”

“Huh?” This was not the reaction I was expecting.

“I love you! You could tell me you’ve decided to become a man, or that you want to move to Iraq, or that you’ve become a monster hunter, and no matter what, I will love you and support you. It’s kind of my job! Just like it was your job to listen to me for days when I was deciding to marry Javi. We’re best friends! We don’t judge, we support as best as we can even when our friend is being an idiotic douche bag.” She lightly pushes my arm and shakes her head. “And for the record, I think you’re awesome. You save people’s lives. You have a machete. That is beyond cool. I may think different of you, but not in a bad way. Though you do owe me a car for not trusting me. Red. With satellite radio.”

I grab her and give my best friend the biggest bear hug possible. “I love you.”

“Well, I am the best friend
ever
,” she says mock serious. “And I love you too.” She pulls away and smiles. “Okay, now onto the important stuff. You almost had sex with Steven last night! Oh my God!”

I grimace. “I know. Not my finest move.”

“Well, why didn’t you round home?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “We were having fun talking and joking around, and it just sort of happened. And it felt good cause, you know, it’s been
forever
, but then Steven kissed my neck and I thought of Oliver and then all of a sudden Will’s face popped into my mind, and I freaked. I don’t know why, really, but—”

“Um, because you’re totally in love with them,” she says as if I’m an idiot.

“I am
not
in love with them. Oliver is a dead man, and Will’s too in touch with his jerk side.”

“And yet they pop into your head when you’re about to do the nasty and stop you. Maybe it’s not love, but it’s something.”

“It’s horrible is what it is! Oliver is my best friend there, but he’s a corpse! A five-hundred-year-old corpse! I mean, eww. How do you get past that? I don’t think I could no matter how much he makes me laugh or how safe I feel with him. And Will … I don’t know what’s going on there. When I can have an actual conversation with him without shouting or drooling, he’s so hot and cold I want to attach a faucet to him.”