A Vampyre's Daughter - Jeff Schanz (easy to read books for adults list TXT) 📗

perfect skin, it would be hard to determine age. If she had pointed ears, which she did not, and hair a shade lighter, she could pass for one of Tolkien's immortal and majestic elves. Whoever she was, she was not getting closer to calming down. She mustered enough courage to reach for the door and was out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her before Brandt could even register that she had moved. He had never seen anybody move that fast. Am I stoned? The sleep cobwebs in his head must’ve affected his perception of speed and movement. Or maybe she was an elf.

“Wait!” he called, but the words fell into an empty room as the door latched shut. Just great. Some strange girl – albeit a gorgeous, strange girl – was watching him while he slept, she freaks when he wakes up, disappears, and he still had no idea who she was and why she was here. Or even why he was here.

Brandt thought about yelling through the closed door for the girl to come back, then snuffed the idea, guessing that if she was that terrified of him just talking to her, yelling at her would only make things worse. He sat still in his bed, realizing that he had been ignoring the pain in his neck and ribs, and his neck and ribs decided to remind him of that neglect.

“Ow,” he said softly and tried to relax his posture to lean back against the headboard. He sighed and tried to think.

Ok bud, now what? Someone is here, and she’s not very threatening, and she’s scared to death of you. And she’s probably the one who’s been taking care of you. She definitely was not Coast Guard personnel, didn’t look like a nurse or a gangster, and not police. Brandt wasn’t prepared to make a full guess based off of the brief observation, but a few things came to mind. Maybe she wasn’t used to people. Or has some kind of social anxiety? Perhaps, someone like that would want to live way out here, far from any other people. And how would someone realistically live out here? There’s no way.

Brandt’s body was in no mood to get back out of bed after that sudden trauma he had just put it through trying to sit up. Maybe if he sat still for a few moments he would feel good enough to try and get to the door again. Or, maybe if he just stayed quiet and patient, the girl would come back on her own accord.

Girl? He knew he probably shouldn’t think of her as a girl. She looked like she could be in her early twenties. Twenty-one, twenty-two-ish? He wasn’t too much older himself at twenty-eight. Well, whoever she was, and however old she was, she deserved courtesy and trust until proven otherwise.

Brandt stayed seated, the pillow stuffed into the small of his back, waiting for the woman to return. He didn’t have a watch, but it felt like a half an hour had passed, and he hadn’t heard a peep. Maybe she was on the phone to somebody reporting that her charge was awake. Like there's a phone in this place. He tried to imagine what would make a person live way out here, or if she didn’t actually live here, then why was she here? She wasn’t dressed like any park employee, or anyone else he could think of besides an actress in some historical film. Maybe she was a nun. Nuns dressed ultra conservatively, didn’t they? He had never seen a nun’s outfit like that one, but he wasn’t up on the latest nun fashions. Maybe nuns had stepped up to Edwardian fashion. Dude, you’re just being silly. And why do you care what she’s wearing?

Being stuck in bed had made his mind a little too active, and he was still hyper-aware of why he had come out this far in the first place. Information he wasn’t going to discuss voluntarily until it was necessary. Plus, he was thirsty. There was no telling how long it had been since he drank water.

He examined his room again. The candle on the desk was burning now, and there was no light coming from the window anymore. Most of the day seemed to have been slept away. He patiently remained in his bed wishing he had something to read or watch. He had no cell phone, which he assumed had been lost in the explosion, and no possessions except the clothes on his back, which were at least still on his back. Nobody had tried (or succeeded) in removing his clothes, so he didn’t have that awkwardness to overcome. He didn’t wear a watch because smartphones had clocks. His wallet was taken from him before he got on the boat. Except for his dental records, he may not be identifiable if he died. Which was what he had expected to happen when he had motored out to sea.

There was movement at the door. The doorknob twisted slightly and made a single rattle before it stopped and went quiet. Brandt stiffened in anticipation, then tried to relax. Don’t freak her out. It was several seconds before anything happened. A soft knock sounded at the door. It took a moment of hesitation for Brandt to realize she actually wanted him to answer.

“Uh, come in,” he said.

She slipped through the door nimbly and flattened her back against it as it shut. She moved like she had a cat’s spine that could bend in any direction. Brandt blinked twice, thinking his eyes were deceiving him. She stood ramrod straight, a kind of absent expression frozen on her face like she was processing which emotion to paste onto it. And then, like a switch inside her was turned on, she snapped a wide smile on her face that was as bright as any electric light. She shrugged shyly and simply said, “Hello.”

“Uh, hi,” he said, sounding too hesitant in his own mind. “I mean, hello,” he said more welcoming.

She bit her lip bashfully, still not moving anywhere, only shifting on the sides of her feet. He noticed she was barefoot. She seemed to be waiting for something.

“Do you speak English?” he asked. Anyone could say “hello” and not know English.

She seemed a little confused but nodded. “Yes. May I – approach you?” she asked.

Approach me? “Please. Of course. Have a seat.”

She moved over to the desk on his right, almost flying. Her feet seemed to brush the ground like she was floating. She pulled the chair from under the desk and moved it closer to him. Smoothing her skirt, she sat primly with school-straight posture. Again, she seemed like she was waiting for something.

Brandt decided that it was up to him to direct the conversation. “My name is Brandt. Rembrandt Dekker. My mother thought it was cute to name me after a famous painter. But I just call myself Brandt. What’s your name?”

“Natalia.” She fidgeted with her hands while answering, like her name needed affirmation of acceptability.

“That’s a very pretty name.” Brandt wasn’t sure what might spook the girl, so he wanted to keep the conversation unintimidating. He decided to go for playful. “Actually, I remember a girl in high school named Natalia too. Exchange student from the Ukraine. I’m sorta into nicknames, so I called her Lia. I thought it was cute, but she didn’t like it.”

Natalia tilted her head as if trying to hide her smile, which was strange because she had been smiling continuously since she came in the room. But she stared at the floor for a moment before she met his eyes again, and said, “Well, I like it. You may call me Lia if you wish.”

“Oh, ok. Well then, Lia, it’s nice to meet you.”

She nodded, her eyes back on the floor for another moment. When she lifted her eyes, the embarrassment was replaced by genuine excitement.

God, she’s got entrancing eyes. They were a luminous blue like the water of a shallow Caribbean beach. “Well, Lia, I’m guessing you’re probably wondering who I am. And likewise, I don’t know who you are, and where I am exactly, or how you found me. So, maybe you could…”

She did a little rapid tap of her fingertips together. “Oh yes, of course,” she said with more enthusiasm than the response required. She looked almost giddy with anticipation to speak to Brandt some more. Seeming to realize that her enthusiasm was a little excessive, she relaxed her shoulders, sat a little straighter, then continued. “My father found you in the water. I spotted you, and he went out and brought you back here. I dried you off and got you into bed, and checked your injuries.” She hesitated momentarily, then continued. “Your body had numerous contusions and sprains, possibly some rib fractures, but I didn't think there was internal bleeding. I thought you would need to rest, so I left you alone. You have been sleeping quite a long time.” She bit her lip and averted her eyes, adjusting her posture and smoothing her skirt. Apparently, it was Brandt's turn to talk.

“Well, thank you, Lia,” said Brandt. It hadn’t hit him immediately, but several red flags in the explanation she just had just given were dawning on him. He could sort through them in a moment. He said, “Your father?”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

Apparently, to her, that was enough of a disclosure. Brandt asked, “Is your father in the Coast Guard?”

She looked a little puzzled, then answered, “No.”

“Oh, ok,” said Brandt. “But he has a helicopter?”

Again, the slightly confused look. “No.”

Evidently, Brandt was going to have to get used to simple answers without expansion. “Then how did he get me here?” He didn't think that was a difficult question, but the look on her face said otherwise. She almost looked crestfallen. Why would that question upset her? He didn't want to end the conversation or hurt her feelings, so he offered, “It’s ok. You can tell me all that later. I’m just glad you found me.”

She brightened and the shy smile returned.

He tried to find new tack. “Can you tell me where I am?”

“Of course. You are in my father’s house on our island. Makal Island.”

“How many people live here?”

“Just me and Father.”

“You live here by yourselves?”

She nodded.

“Way out here? All year ‘round, or just sometimes?”

“Always,” she said, a little hint of misgiving in her voice.

Her father’s transportation and her residential status seemed to be speed bumps in this conversation. Brandt nodded absently, acknowledging her answer, trying to think of a different line of questions. His mind, however, was preoccupied with lamenting his thirst. He must’ve unknowingly licked his lips, because Lia suddenly stiffened and exclaimed, “Oh my! I have nearly forgotten. You must be parched.”

She reached under the bed and returned with a ceramic jug. Was that always there? She popped the cork from it and handed him the jug.

He tried not to make an obvious show of smelling the jug’s mouth before he drank, luckily there was no telltale smell of poison or drugs. He lifted the jug to his lips and sipped a little of the liquid. It was cool water. He opened his throat and guzzled most of the rest. A little bit was left in the jug in case it was poor etiquette for a convalescing house guest to drink a whole container of whatever was offered.

“Thank you,” he said, trying not to belch.

“You are welcome.” Lia didn't seem concerned with his manners. She re-corked the jug and placed it on his nightstand, then returned to her usual prim posture.

Feeling a little better already, he came up with a new question. “You said you thought I didn’t have internal bleeding. Are you a nurse or a doctor?”

“Oh, no. But I read books. I have read numerous medical books.”

“Books?”

“Yes.” Her closed-mouth grin was like a child who was asked if she liked ice cream. “You had a lot of bruising, here…” she began to reach for his