Vampire Bride

Chapter 1: Part ONE

Charlie

Nothing appealing catches my attention to keep me alert. I've been here since seven this morning and the slow ticking clock finally says it's after eleven at night. The more I glance at those stupid numbers, the slower the hands tick by.

Knowing that I'm forty-five minutes late and counting for my night out, no doubt my good friend Juliet will have a lecture waiting for me when I finally do arrive. Juliet may be happy-go-lucky at times but an enforcer nonetheless. Keen attributes every junior high teacher has on their résumé, I imagine. My head thumps against the desktop in defeat as I contemplate staying in this dank office or facing a disappointed Juliet. A groan of protest rumbles in my chest, which loudly sounds throughout the room. An echo almost taunts me.

A voice sounds from down the hall. "Charlie?" The footsteps get louder and louder until they stop outside the open doorway. "Are you ready?" Morgan, my faithful assistant asks, trying to hide a yawn with her purse slung over her shoulder and keys in hand. The jingle of the metal expresses her anxiousness better than any words can.

"I was ready hours ago, but unfortunately there's work that has to be done. So much work that has to be done." I don't make eye contact with her for the very reason of knowing what I'll see: an exhausted and irritable Morgan.

Wanting more than anything to stay and finish every last detail, I decide against it. After placing all the scattered papers into organized piles, I follow Morgan to the front of the building. A quick glance at the front reception area is the last thing in view before a flip of the light switch makes the room go black.

Morgan takes a deep breath of the fresh night air. "It's Friday, it's Friday," she chants as she shimmies her way to her car, her once tired mood revived. Stopping dead in her tracks a few inches away from her driver's side door, she turns toward me with a mischievous look plastered on her face. "You've gotta go to your precious dance club tonight, don't you? Have you met Mr. Right yet?" A joking laughter seeps out at her own words.

I contain a smirk as I place my hand gently on Morgan's shoulder. Pity fills my gaze as I stare the younger girl down. "Do you think before you speak, Morgan?"

The laughter that was threatening before comes pouring out immediately after the words are spoken. Walking to my driver's side door, I shine more light on the conversation. "You're asking if I met the man of my dreams at a dance club? In case you've never been to a club before, they're filled with perverted wannabe cool guys that aren't Mr. Right material. Recommendation number one: stay away from them."

"Then why do you go?" The parking lot is barely lit, but you can still see Morgan quirk an eyebrow at my hypocritical words. Anyone would be the same way if someone told them not to do something when that very person was doing what they just said not to do.

"For a friend." Truth be told, I do many things that I'm not fond of for friends. Another truth be told, I do many things that I'm very fond of for friends.

"I see," Morgan mumbles as she unlocks her car door. Her slouched shoulders from the long day of work block half of her face from being seen.

Morgan's the best assistant I could ask for. It took months after opening up my party planning business for somebody like her to apply. She fit every attribute I needed in a partner. She's punctual, polite, and can be ordered around without question. She knows her place at work, but she doesn't always know her place in my personal life.

When she puts her two cents in about my love life, I tend to get a little snobby, but I try to mask it by being motherly. Morgan's idea of Mr. Right is a pastor's son with good morals and strong beliefs in a higher being. I, on the other hand, go to a dance club on a Friday night. That should be enough said about how interested I am in finding a future husband.