Gypsy Blood_Love bloody hurts Read online

  Helen Allan

  Gypsy Blood

  Love Bloody Hurts

  First published by Helen Allan in 2018

  Copyright © Helen Allan, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  First Edition

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  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  For Zoe

  You really shouldn’t encourage me

  There has fallen a splendid tear

  From the passion flower at the gate

  She is coming, my dove, my dear;

  She is coming, my life, my fate.’

  The red rose cries, “she is near, she is near;”

  And the white rose weeps, “She is late;”

  The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear;”

  And the lily whispers, “I wait.”

  (Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1833, ‘Maude’)

  Preface

  The smell of rust and urine is what I first notice when I wake. The second thing is the absence of my arms.

  I wince and open my eyes; I have a splitting headache. Looking left and right I realise I still have my arms, they are just completely dead. I’m hanging from manacles, my wrists imprisoned and stretched up above my head, and all the blood has apparently run out of them.

  “Ouch,” I moan. My throat is incredibly dry, and I start to shiver. I’m still in just my blue lacy underwear, and I’m hard up against a damp rock wall in what looks to be some kind of underground dungeon. I can see big rock tables with a hideous assortment of torture implements not far from where I hang, and chains and manacles on the walls opposite me, streaked with old blood. There is no sign of Zan.

  “Well this can’t be good,” I mutter, shaking my head to get the hair out of my eyes.

  “No, I expect not,” a cool voice says from the shadows.

  Chapter 1

  ‘Stay calm, don’t be mean, try to smile’ I say the words over and over in my head like a mantra as I watch him walk up to the bar.

  “Yes, what can I get you?” I ask, as he slides onto a stool, ‘shit, not a nice voice, must try harder.’

  “Uh, just a beer thanks.”

  “Did you have a variety in mind or just something brown?” ‘Ah fuck, I’m leaking sarcasm like a lifeboat with a shark bite. Jeezus.’

  He smiles and looks up at me, ‘oh those beautiful blue eyes,’ and I turn to jelly, I can literally feel myself becoming more of a bitch as he smiles.

  “You know sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

  “Yeah,” my shoulders slump, “sorry, long night. What variety would you like Sir?”

  His smile broadens, perfect teeth. “Nah I like it better when you are sarky. I’ll take a Guinness please.”

  I nod and pour his beer. I know some bar people can spin the glass and put a four leaf clover on the top in the foam, but I’m not exactly barmaid material. I ponder something witty to say to him as I hand him his change, but nothing comes.

  He sips his beer quietly and turns from me to face the crowd, and I breathe a sigh of disappointed relief. I wish I could make small talk, find out about him. He’s gorgeous, speaks with an accent, and he’s been coming in for the past two weekends, clearly not from around here. That’s pretty much all I know.

  I frown as I wipe down the bar with a damp cloth and check the time. I’m rostered for another hour. I wish my friend Tanya; the walking man-magnet was here, she’d give me some advice on how to talk to him. But then, she’d probably kill him, after all, she is a vampire.

  Nah, I decide, probably better she is out of town for a couple of weeks. I might work up my courage to speak to him at some point. It’s not like I want to be this way, it’s just, whenever I see a really good-looking guy, I automatically think he must be way up himself, and I become a mole. Totally. And that is why I’m still single while my friend Tanya is a walking sex toy. I just can’t be bloody nice.

  One of the regulars orders a whisky and I glance in the mirror behind the top shelf; my hand shakes as I pour the shot; he’s looking at me. I serve the regular and try a smile in the handsome stranger’s direction.

  “So peanut shells on the floor huh?” he says, raising an eyebrow. I so wish I could do that sexy eyebrow thing. But suddenly it makes me nervous. He is obviously aware of how good that looks; he must be a dickhead, like every other handsome dickhead I’ve met since coming to this city. All hands and tongue, no brains.

  “Ah, yeah, it’s a Texas thing,” I shrug.

  Of course, when I first saw it I thought it was pretty strange too, peanut shells six inches deep on the floor, but that was the theme for this place, Nuts ‘n’ Beer, ‘you shell em you eat em.’ The charm had kind of worn off for me by now. Peanut shells soaked in spilt beer had a sort of musty, mouldy smell after a few days. I was way over it and not a little worried that I would develop some kind of rare lung disease if I worked here for too much longer.

  “It’s cool,” he says, taking another sip of his beer. I notice a little bit of foam has stuck to his top lip and I immediately want to lick it off. ‘Such full lips, bet they are soft.’ But I don’t obviously.

  “So, ah, you’re Aussie?”

  “Yeah,” I give him a genuine smile, “and you’re not.”

  “Kiwi.”

  “Ah, come from the land of the ice and snow,” I smirk.

  “Led Zeppelin,” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “But you’re wrong; it’s the land of the long white cloud,”

  I’m genuinely smiling now, not many people pick up on my little song puns, and I do them all the time.

  “I’m just over here on a business research trip. I’ve only got another two months on my visa,” he adds.

  I feel disappointed, but I’m not sure why. Maybe part of my brain was already planning the picket fence and babies, the part that didn’t want to be rude to him.

  “How long are you over for?” he asks, trying to draw me into conversation. I’m surprised, I had hoped he would talk to me, but now that he is, I am tongue-tied – and this doesn’t happen to me often. The bar has slowed down a bit now; I could stop and chat, but, I hate answering questions. I ask them; I don’t answer them.

  “Ah, I’m on a working visa, a scholarship, I can stay for another two years.”

  “Really?” he says, turning on his stool, so he is directly facing me, “what is the scholarship for?”

  I blow some escapee strands of my frizzy auburn hair out of my eyes and regard him coolly, considering whether or not to bullshit to him or tell the truth. I often lie to customers it saves having to explain things to idiots. Football was my standard answer. I decide this time I’ll try for the truth, something in his eyes makes me reluctant to lie.

  “I’m a cadet journalist. I won a scholarship to work on a big newspaper here while I finish my degree, kind of like an exchange, but a working exchange.”

  He looks impressed, nods and takes another drink.

  “If you are working on a paper each day how come you are behind the bar here?”

&n
bsp; ‘Because they pay me a pittance,’ “Ah, you know, experience, keep my nose to the ground, I hear a lot of story tips, and the rents are pretty high around here, so…” I leave the word hanging.

  “Yeah, the exchange rate is pretty shit,” he nods. “But aren’t you a little young to be working behind the bar, they have different age regulations here, don’t they?

  “Ah yeah,” I shrug, I have to be careful what I say, “the owner is a friend of the family, so…”

  “Ahh,” he smirks, “So, are you finishing soon.”

  I frown. “Why?”

  He looks amused and shakes his head. “I noticed you checking your watch, so I figured you leave around this time of night. I thought maybe we could have a drink together when your work is finished, that’s all. Why are you looking pissed off?”

  I laugh and shake my head.

  “Dude, you are not in New Zealand now. I’m not just going to tell you when I leave or whatever. There are some crazy people in this city. I mean, you could be an axe murderer and if I tell you when my shift finishes you could wait in the carpark and chop me into little pieces.”

  He bursts out laughing, and I have to agree, it did sound absurd, but then, if he knew my friend and the kinds of people she hangs around with, maybe he wouldn’t find it so funny.

  “Well,” he says, “I’m Zan.” He holds out his hand for me to shake. I take it, warm, firm, a little calloused. I don’t usually like shaking hands, I think it is an archaic form of male salutation, something from way back in history to show you don’t have a sword in your hand, and it annoys me that we still do it. Also, some people use it as an excuse to show their strength, which pisses me off, and others have sweaty palms, which grosses me out. And then, of course, lots of people don’t wash their hands after they go to the loo, and I don’t like the idea of getting germs, or, really, of touching strangers, I’m not your warm, fuzzy, hugger type. But I’ll take any excuse to touch him. “I work with timber. But I don’t have my axe with me tonight,” he says looking at me with those gorgeous eyes, “so, do you want to have a drink?”

  I smile, nod and untie my apron, I want to ask him about his name, it’s unusual, but just then Tanya walks in. ‘Great, goodbye hottie.’ There is not a man alive that she can’t take from me, she’s proven it well and truly over the years. I used to be fucking annoyed about it, now I just think of it as a test, if they don’t pass the ‘run off with Tanya test’ then they probably weren’t worth my time anyway.

  He turns, seeing the direction my eyes have taken, and glances at Tanya before turning back to me. I pour myself a glass of white wine, him another Guinness, and pay the till from the tips in my apron pocket. Unlike some of the other waitresses, I never drink on the job, and I always pay for anything I drink after hours. Tanya says I’m puritanically honest, but she would, she’s a kleptomaniac.

  “Hey Tanya,” I say, as she walks towards us and pulls up a stool next to him.

  “Hiya,” she smiles, her big, blonde beautifully straight teeth smile and flashes her green eyes at him. She’s wearing a low-cut shirt; her bosom heaves a little, and I know I haven’t got a chance in hell. But for some reason, the smile doesn’t have its usual impact, and her eyes don’t seem to be working their magic.

  “Ready?” he asks me.

  “Uh, sure,” I stammer, “Tanya, this is Zan,” I nod in his direction, “and Zan,” I wave my hand towards her, “my best friend, Tanya.”

  “Well hello long, cool, drink,” Tanya drawls in her fake Texas twang. She can speak two ways, my friend; with a broad Australian accent since she was raised there until she was 16, or with her newly acquired American twang. How she speaks I have noticed, depends entirely on who she is talking to and what her aim is. Tonight it was fairly clear, Tanya was all about feeding and getting laid, either one and then the other or both at the same time. For some reason tonight, I don’t want Zan to go with Tanya, I really want him to pass the test.

  “Hey, I thought you were away for a few more weeks?” I say, trying to get her attention.

  “Yeah, I guess I’m a quick study,” she drawls, not taking her eyes off Zan. I can see she is watching the pulse in his neck where his shirt is slightly unbuttoned. I can’t see any hair peeking out, which I’m secretly happy with, I’ve never liked hairy men, hairy backs especially - makes me gag just thinking about it. And he’s not wearing a chain around his neck, another big tick from me, necklaces on men; sleazy, and yeah, I am a choosy bitch.

  “Well, I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” I give her a significant look as I come around the bar. She’s eyeing him off like a toffee apple in a free candy store, ‘hands off – he’s my candy apple.’ As I walk up, I notice she has put a hand on his arm. Normally men love this kind of thing. Not Zan, apparently.

  He gently slips out from under her hand and rises to meet me. ‘Guess he’s the licking not sucking kind.’ I grin at my dirty thoughts and take my hair out of its ponytail, fluffing it around my cheeks to hide my expression. I know I have great hair when it’s out, people tell me all the time, it’s thick, naturally curly, and a natural tri-colour of shades - I’m pulling out all the stops tonight.

  Tanya shrugs. “Ok, see ya tomorrow then honey,” she says, slinking out the door. I can tell she is annoyed; she has that tiny little frown line on her forehead that she gets occasionally when she doesn’t get her way. Knowing Tanya, she will kill someone tonight. She nods to Zan as she leaves, but he doesn’t watch her go.

  Chapter 2

  “So you know how to stop now?” I ask her as I sprawl on the couch and hoe into a bowl of crunchy noodles and prawn crackers.

  It’s a Monday night, I’ve been at the paper all day, and I only work at the bar on weekends, so, it’s just Tanya and I at home tonight in our shared apartment - and takeaway Chinese for me.

  “Yeah,” she stretches.

  Her long brown legs are resting on the coffee table near my food. You’d think vamps were pale, but spray tans are brilliant these days. She looks like a real live person. Of course, I’ve never thought of her as actually dead, just changed. Actually, really dead, to me, are zombies. But she and I have never seen one of these, so we have established they are Hollywood bullshit. Still, I never say never, and I’ve had an old fake Samurai sword I picked up at a flea market under my bed for aeons – just in case a zombie comes a-callin, and I have to cut the mother fucker’s head off. I move the bowls of food a little aside so her toes aren’t near my crackers. I notice her toenails are blood red – fitting.

  “The Queen’s camp Nazi’s gave us all three people each day to focus on, feeders you know, people who like giving blood. They watched us as we sucked, which was, ewww, I mean, do you like people watching you eat?”

  I shake my head and grimace, nodding for her to go on.

  “Anyway, it is all about pacing and flow. You suck until you feel their heartbeat begin to slow down, and then you stop.”

  “Sounds pretty easy,” I say dubiously, “that’s all?”

  “No,” she rolls her green eyes, “you also have to suck slowly and steadily. My problem is I just suck as hard as I can, I want it all, and I want it fast. So, yeah, that kills people.”

  “Well, you’d think they would have given you this kind of training in the beginning,” I sneer, “I mean, they waited 18 months after turning you, and now they decide to take the killer in hand?”

  Tanya is holding strands of her hair up to the light and admiring the gold streaks; she nods, she doesn’t mind being called a killer, we have always been totally honest with each other, mostly.

  “Yeah well, it’s cos I’ve only just settled in this city since you moved over. Before that I travelled around a lot, sampling the regional food, so to speak. Country people, out of the way spots. You could say I was part of the ‘slow food movement.’

  I roll my eyes and chew thoughtfully, flicking through the muted television channels as we talk. Tanya had been hauled up to some kind of vampire queen and told off a few we
eks ago for leaving a body trail throughout the city. It was hard for me, covering the stories for the paper when I really knew what was going on the whole time. But it was worse for Tanya. She had been sent to a vampire boot camp to learn how to control her feeding.

  “So no more Tanya body count?”

  “Only when I have to,” she says, flicking a piece of invisible lint from her top and rising.

  “What do you mean?” I frown.

  “This, Freely,” she shakes her bracelet at me and rolls her eyes as though I’m stupid.

  “Ah yeah,” I nod, considering the gold vampire bracelet with the dark red ruby in its centre, “well, you haven’t had to do anything with that since you were turned, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

  “True,” she smiles and tosses her hair, “anyhoo I’m off a huntin, I think I feel like a little Chinese too,” she grins at my disgusted face, “see you tomorrow night.”

  “Just don’t eat my chef,” I call out to her back as she is leaving, “it’s taken me ages to find the best satay in town.”

  I hear her peals of laughter as her heels click down the hall.

  As per usual she was so self-absorbed she hadn’t bothered to ask me about what I had been doing while she was away, which was probably a good thing because I had no idea what I was doing. All I knew was that I was holding my breath waiting for the weekend until I could see Zan again.

  “So how long have you and Tanya been living together?” he asks as he shovels down his second maple syrup and cream waffle. Strictly speaking, you’re not supposed to bring take-out into a bar, but hey, he’s foreign and hot, so I figure I’ll let it slide.

  I watch him eat, he has excellent manners, chews with his mouth closed, I like that, you’d be surprised how many guys sound and look like pigs when they eat, but he doesn’t. I’m only half listening to what he is saying, the other half of my brain is imagining jumping him in so many ways, I have a very active imagination. ‘Oh here we go, he wants to know about Tanya, of course’ “Um we’ve been friends since we were about 10-years-old. Her parents are American; they moved back here when she was 16 and when the opportunity came up for me to get a scholarship it seemed perfect to move to Texas and move in with her.”