The Last Corvus (completed)

Ch. 5 Isadora

Chapter 5

Isadora

I unlock the door and it creaks open ominously, revealing mass chaos, the floor covered in my stuff. I walk through the filth, a tear forming on my bottom lashes. "What happened?" I ask, my back to Linden as the tear frees itself and runs down my cheek.

"The others must have found out where you live. Start packing, they could be back soon."

I tidy as much as I can on the way to the kitchen. It's the worst mess of all, cupboards spilling their contents in a metallic jumble. One of the windows above the sink is smashed, most likely the point of entry. Bending down, I pick up the closest thing to me, my mother's frying pan. Just as I set it on the counter I hear a crash from down the hall. Looking around the corner, I see Linden still in the living room, packing everything near him into an empty box from the broom closet.

Turning toward the sound, I grab the frying pan and grasp it with both hands. Walking down the hall, I almost walk into the vampire exiting the bathroom. I don't stop or ask questions, I just follow my instincts and swing the pan with all my might- right into her head. She collapses, blood running from her nose and down her cheek.

"Are you okay? I heard a crash." Linden turns the corner and sees me standing over her, pan poised in case she decides to wake up. "Wow, Kitty's got claws! It's okay Dora, you can stop hissing now." Wait, was that creepy guttural noise really coming from me? Weird.

I turn, lightning fast, and point the frying pan at his head. "Don't EVER call me DORA!" I shriek, jabbing the pan toward him with every word to add emphasis. He takes a step back and raises his hands defensively.

"Okay, Kitty, I won't call you Dora. Can you please put the pan down? Nice and slow." I lower the pan to chest height, still keeping it between us with both hands.

Looking between him, the frying pan and back, I seriously doubt that I would have really hit him. After all, he was just checking to make sure I was okay; how could he possibly know how sensitive I am about being called Dora? My parents used to call me their little explorer when I was little and would get into everything. My love and tolerance for that nickname died with them.

Even though it's really creepy, what with him being a vampire and all, and the incident in the alley still fresh in my mind; I still feel strangely safe around him.

But what if what happened in the alley happens again? What if I don't see him coming or he attacks from behind? What about the others in the Complex; what if one of them attacks me? I know the man in the wheelchair said he'd make sure no one hurts me, but will that actually stop them?

I sigh, knowing I'm just psyching myself out. Calm down.

Linden gasps, looking at my mouth in astonishment. "What?" I ask and accidentally bite my lip. Huh? Touching my lip, my finger comes away covered in blood. Going to lick my lip I stop, confused. Running a finger along my top teeth I find my canines elongated to about the length of my pinky toe, twice their normal length.

I have fangs! Granted, only small ones. But still! FANGS! Thinking back to Linden's fangs, his are about 1/3 longer than mine, my middle instead of my pinky toe. It might seem strange if I had to explain to someone else using my toes as a basis of measurement, but it makes perfect sense to me.

I shoot him a freaked-out pleading look, but he's still staring at my newly formed fangs and doesn't seem to notice. "I remember hearing about your clan having fangs, but I didn't know it was true." That might make it a little better, knowing that it's a genetic anomaly and not me being a complete and total brain case.

Looking down, I'm reminded of what was happening before my teeth decided to play mind games with me. "What are we going to do with her?"

Hearing my voice, he snaps out of the almost semi-trance he was in. He looks down at the unconscious woman still laying at my feet, a golf ball-sized lump swelling above her right eyebrow. He leans down and uses one of her arms to pull her to standing. Walking down the hall, he has her leaning against his body with her arm around his neck, her legs dragging slightly and her toes digging into the carpet behind her.

A minute later I hear the door close. I'm alone.

Walking past the kitchen, I lean the frying pan against the wall and climb the stairs. Stopping at my room I find it in worse disarray than downstairs (if that's possible). What was she looking for; did she find it? Walking past the doorway, I pull the cord hanging from the ceiling between Aunt Molly's and my rooms. Extending the rickety old stepladder, I climb cautiously into the attic.

Could there be more vampires up here? I don't see any, but that doesn't mean there aren't any. What will I do if there are? I stupidly left my only weapon downstairs.

When did I become so bloody paranoid?

Ha! Blood... Vampires! Wow, the fact that I'm starting to find anything even remotely related to vampires funny just goes to show how I'm losing my mind.

Going to the back corner, I find the stack of moving boxes and do a quick scan of the small room. There's the box of my old toys, the mannequins we used to dress up for Halloween, our old couch, and a little box on the shelf on the far wall. Turning the box, I see the label BOX OF MEMORIES sprawled in black in mom's curlicue handwriting. I tuck it under the arm not full of collapsed boxes, afraid that if I open it I'll start crying.

This one small box holds everything I have left of my parents; their wedding certificate, rings, both of their favorite cameras, and about a million photo albums. My parents believed in documenting everything from the day they met in Boston to my tenth birthday- the day after which I spent with Aunt Molly while they went to a photo-communications seminar. 

Little did we know it would be a permanent move on my part. No. Stop. I'm not going to think about that. Iz, you have too much to worry about without thinking about the accident.

Oh no. The eight year anniversary of the day that changed my life is... tomorrow.

Happy birthday me.

Throwing the moving boxes down the stairs, they land with a thud ten feet below me.

A thought occurs to me as I stare down at them: maybe my balance has improved. I mean, why not? In the last few hours I've: found out I'm half vampire, learned that I can telepathically communicate with vampires, and grown actual fangs. It's a definite possibility my balance has improved. Then again, anything better than SUCKS would be an improvement.

Praying I won't break my neck, I jump feet first onto the stack of boxes, the boxes making a soft 'whumph' as the air is pushed out of them

I just jumped ten feet! And I'm still alive!

Grinning ear to ear, I do a tiny happy dance before I walk into my room and sit the little blue box on the only non-shredded corner of the mattress.

I remember when I first started at Bob's and I broke my wrist. I was standing on a chair having just finished cleaning one of the ceiling fans. Turning to climb down, I tripped over my own feet and fell on my face, hand throbbing under me.

Having that as an example, my balance and coordination have been absolutely BAD my entire life.

Going to my closet I change out of the dress from yesterday and into my favorite grey sweats and a loose black tee, unconcerned with the already ninety-degree weather. Quickly running my fingers through my hair, I twirl it up into a bun on my way to the bathroom.

Brushing my teeth proves harder than expected; I keep biting my lip. Will these stupid things ever retract like Linden's? Why couldn't I have normal fangs? Realizing that I actually just thought that makes me laugh.

Hearing knocking at the front door, I quickly rinse and proceed downstairs. Practicing hiding my fangs, I smile and it feels like my top lip is practically being ripped off. Besides the evident pain, I doubt it will take that long to get used to them. Although hopefully I won't have to.