Chapter 26

Chapter 26

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"You look ravishing."

Thomas smiled that genuine smile that made Regan's cheeks burn with nerves.  She turned and faced the long mirror hanging in her living room.  She had work to do this evening, possibly a life to save.  That was if her suspicions were true and Jeremiah, Lord of the Library of the Straits, did have something planned.  Regan was making a point not to think about the number of vampires that would be at this party and the fact that this was her own first introduction to most of them.

She had to admit that she looked good.  The dress fit like a glove, tailored with the kind of precision that only a master, and fourteen thousand dollars, could produce.  Emma had been waiting at dusk with her tackle box of makeup and a stylist friend.  Henri had already come and gone, insisting on making some last moment adjustments to bust and to the back draping.  He had looked tired and Regan was forced to wonder if he had slept at all from the night before.  His work done, he had kissed her cheeks and gave her a final look, his eyes a little wet.  Regan supposed it a mix of professional pride and fatigue overtaking him.  Even Shannon, her newly hired personal assistant, had arrived promptly at nine thirty to provide Regan with her first meal of the day.  She was currently sleeping it off upstairs.

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

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When Regan was twelve she went to her first formal dance.  She had been given an allowance for a dress and shoes and left to her select her own gown.  It had been in that moment that she first saw pity in the face of her best friend.  Where Emma had selected a dress with a short skirt and spaghetti straps, Regan's selection was long and flowing, its high neckline not only hiding her budding chest, but her shoulders as well.  Emma had tried desperately to get Regan to consider something else, presenting asymmetrical skirts, off the shoulder cuts, backless, strapless, and even a cat suit with flared pants as alternatives.  Regan would have nothing of it and had insisted that her dress was perfect.

Regan had suspected that her father did not understand the drama that had risen over the last hour when he picked up the girls from the mall or how it was that the usually glowing Emma was so dour.  Regan for her part had refused to make eye contact with Emma.  The drive to drop off Emma had been awkwardly silent, the drone of the NPR reporters providing the only thing approaching conversation.  Regan had given quiet thanks that her father did not ask what was going on.  She could clearly remember how badly she prefered the silence.  By the time they had deposited Emma on her doorstep, her father seemed to accept that something had happened and that Regan would manage it as she always did.

The fight had been forgotten, of course, over the next few days and did not resurface accept for that moment when Emma's mom had picked up Regan to take the two girls to the dance.  Each girl had offered a terse "you look nice" to each other, and then walked stiffly back to the car.  Regan could remember the look of concern on her father's face as they had backed out of the driveway and he watched from the front porch.  But within minutes of reaching the dance, the two were engaged in a long conversation about Emma's streak of shockingly white hair that she had added that evening, Emma's mother's disapproval, and of course, which boys would be most interested in it.

Over the course of the evening, neither had really budged from the small stretch of bleachers they had staked out.  Emma had been asked to dance by a boy seventeen times, five of them for slow dances, twelve for popular songs.  Regan's count had ended the evening at ten, eight slow and two fast.  When she was asked for dance number eight, a slow dance, she felt she was winning in the count that mattered until Matt Newcastle groped her ass halfway through the song.  She had not exactly known what to do about the advance; it was decidedly unwelcome, but she did not feel  confident she should react at all to it.  She did not want to appear the prude and therefore ignored the gesture, turning and beelining back to Emma's side as the song faded and another began.

The entire ordeal had taught Regan many things, facts that the next five years of school and dances would regularly affirm.

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

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"You'll never get away with this," Regan shouted up from bottom of the well, trying to ignore the sensation of ice cold water flowing down the inside of her boots.  Nine hundred eighty six dollar and ninety seven cent boots, to be precise, not that the additional expense did anything to help keep her feet dry when they were submerged.

Jermiah Book, Master of the Library of the Straits smiled down at her. "Oh, but I already have," he answered with a grin.  "And there's no meddling kids with their dog to stop me."  He knelt down as though he were not a good fifteen feet above her.  "Just be glad that I still need you, dear Miss Fairchild.  It's the only reason I'm covering this and sparing you the noonday sun."

"I'm not helping you," she spat back defiantely.

"Such a curious thing to say in your position, girl," Jeremiah shot back.  "After all, I could also leave this uncovered and allow you to aquire quite the tan by midday.  I would think that someone in your position would be a bit more compliant."

"You haven't given me a good cost-benefit analysis to compare it with."  Regan paused.  "Have you considered that, really, as it applies to you?  Surely you could use an objective pair of eyes to review the accounts on the library.  I would wager that with your operation you're probably bleeding about thirty  forty percent of your gross revenues, which if you were able to harness them I could reinvest and leverage for a fifteen percent margin benefit.  Then when you consider the misappropriation of material resources in procuring and managing those margins you will probably find a gross improvement of twelve percent across all of your accounts."  She could feel the power of the words coursing through her as she talked, projecting confusion and compliance upwards as she had done with others.  To her surprise  Jeremiah only smiled back down at her.

"Well said, bookkeeper.  But, sadly, I'm afraid I've been around long enough that those powers have little effect on me now, at least by someone your age.  I admire your effort but now am forced to bid you good evening."

And with that one of the stone servants of the library covered the hole, sealing Regan in the darkness.

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

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Regan paced the short length of her kitchen waiting.  She had a nervous energy, unsure what to do, but unwilling to start anything significant only to have it interrupted.  A few times she started to work on some files for her one of her clients.  Summers were terribly slow, the exception being a law firm that had shifted its fiscal calendar to end on September first.  She found her tablet computer and started to sift through some of the records, trying to keep her mind busy, leaning over the kitchen counter.

Yet again she found herself forced into the role of the servant.  Go get this.  Go get that.  Do this because I command it.  Do not do this because we forbid it.  Smile.  Dance.  Laugh.  Cry.  Obey.  Obey.  Obey.

Her fist came down with the kind of finality that only vampiric strength could provide, breaking through the glass of the tablet’s screen and sending shards flying in an upward spray.  She swore as she stood again, and swept the destroyed gadget off of the counter and into the trash.  She was going through computers at a faster rate than she had budgeted for and out of continued frustration send two jars, one containing uncooked noodles and the other dry lentils, smashing into the wall as well.  She stood a few moments and looked over her miniature tempest of destruction, her blood spread in wide swatches across the granite backsplash.  It was then that the pain in her hand began to register and she forced calm upon herself while she began to pick the shards from her tablet out of her hand.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

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Regan and the gentleman settled into a table at the back of the bar area.  He had been quite the gentleman, his hand in the small of her back as they walked through the crowd, not pressing her forward but simply reassuring her that he was still with her.  With a gentle touch on her right side he had steered her towards the corner booth, secluded, shadowed and far removed from the bulk of the patrons.

She knew on some level that she should resist, that it was a bad idea to be so trusting.  She had been burned so many times that there was no reason to believe that this time would be any different.  She glanced over at her companion as he took his seat and slid along the vinyl padded bench towards her.  Perhaps it was his unassuming demeanor, or perhaps it was his disarming smile.  She just felt comfortable with him.

There were no scents of mistrust, fear or disdain that she often detected around most mortals.  In fact all she could really smell was the rich aroma of her wine and the bitter tang of his beer.

Holiday Hiatus

Due the mad rush of personal events that surround the holidays, Mind the Thorns is going on Hiatus until the new year.

I would like to personally thank all the fans and readers of Mind the Thorns that has made it the successful reader-directed novel that I have been lucky enough to administer these last 6 months and 21 chapters.  It has been a joy to share this story with you, and to have you help me tell it with your input.

For this holiday season, whatever you celebrate, I wish you all well, and send hope for a prosperous new year.

If you would like to indulge in some other reading to pass time through the season, I offer up the following links:

Becca - A story after the end
Hosted at:  Wattpad.com

Two survivors try to make the most out of their chance meeting.  But what price will one pay to stay alive?


 "The Next Best Thing"
Hosted at:  Fictional Omens

A 2nd year Midshipman is well on his way to a drunken stupor when first year student Mercy Lyons, protagonist of the upcoming novel Alongside the Enemy, enters his crosshairs.

 "The London Kiss" 
Hosted at:  Fictional Omens

The tradition of sharing the first kiss is "granted" to Midshipman Mercy Lyons. Only she's the target of a prank; she has no one to greet her at the station.

I would like to thank all of my readers for their support through the last year.  It has been an honor to write for you and I look forward to resuming regular updates to Mind the Thorns in January.

Sincerely,

Rob Osterman
Author

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

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Regan watched as the waitress slid back to their table, a plate of miniature beer glasses balanced before her.  Despite a long stretch of partying into the wee hours of the morning, the idea of dating was still something she felt was too elusive.  It seemed finding someone at a bar to curl up with and forget the world for a few hours was an easy task.  Getting them to call again; that was considerably not so easy.

This whole date had been a bad idea, though she had been left with little choice. It was this or wonder when the police would recognize her car and resume the high speed chase she had just barely survived.  As such she really was at Dodger’s mercy.

“Thanks,” he said as Marcella put down the tray of drinks.  She quickly began to list off which beers were which, while Dodger smiled politely up at her. Regan tried to follow but got lost in most of the technobabble about brews and after tastes and hops choices.  She never was a beer drinker before her death; after it she had avoided anything but blood.  She still had no idea how she was going to fake sampling all these tastes without spitting them back up again.  It was highly unlikely that a series of beer-based spit-takes was part of Dodger’s grand plan.

Marcella had finished rattling off the choices available to her and turned to smile at her. 

“Those all sound great,” Regan said quickly, sure that none of them would taste better then bitter vinegar with a bad sawdust aftertaste.  She looked back at Dodger whose eye brows arched upwards to be visible from behind his glasses.  She smiled as sincerely as she could under pressure.  “But not as good as the waitress,” she said quickly.  “You were right she is absolutely adorable.”  She reached out to grab Dodger’s hand.  “Hon,” she added with what she intended to be a loving nod.  “I should know better than to ever doubt my true love’s taste in women.”