1
While the path of peace and kindness is a worthwhile goal for any vampire, remember to pursue progress, not perfection. At first, just try to kill fewer people.
—Peace, Blood, and Understanding: A Living Guide for Vampires Embracing Pacifism
I liked to think I was too emotionally evolved to get into an altercation at a one-gate airport involving a box of imported succulents and obscene gestures. But clearly, I was wrong.
I’d been having such a good night, too. My window-box rosemary plants were showing signs of flourishing. I’d finally unpacked the last box in my apartment after living there for almost four years. I was on the verge of being able to quit my part-time second job with the Council. And I had a special event scheduled at Specialty Books that night. Life was coming up pretty freaking rosy for Meadow Schwartz.
But I just had to haul my vampiric ass out to the tiny Half-Moon Hollow Municipal Airport, launching myself toward a near-certain karmic shit-storm. I’d been waiting for weeks for that special shipment of Jewels of Opar to get through customs. And I had to admit I was in a rush to get to the box, as I’d been eagerly planning how I might use the Jewels in various products for my shop, Everlasting Health. The succulent was native to Paraguay and prized for its ability to suppress vampire hunger by helping our bodies absorb more from our feedings. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it and begin experimenting with new tea blends. That was the sort of scintillating nightlife I led.
But my plant nerdery, a skill I hadn’t even discovered until years after I was turned, was a source of comfort to me, not to mention income and passion and healing for the… dozens of people that came into my store every week. (It hadn’t quite taken off yet.) Life was good for me in Half-Moon Hollow, better than it had been in years. And offering teas and potions including rare Paraguayan succulents was going to make that life better.
I parked my early-model Prius in front of the airport, in one of ten parking spaces, checking my reflection in the rearview. Yes, despite centuries of thematically convenient hype promoted by humans, vampires have reflections. At the moment, mine showed long, heavy dark hair that was windblown, but not crazy-cat-lady levels. It framed an oval face with large gray eyes and a chin my mother liked to call “recalcitrant” when it suited her. I grabbed a tube of beeswax-based lip gloss out of my shoulder bag and swiped on a coat of Chipper Cherry.
I was not insecure about my looks. Like most vampires, I was attractive enough to draw in the prey meant to feed me. But it didn’t do, as a local business owner in a very small town, to walk into a public place looking like you’d wrestled an angry badger. Human and vampire gossips alike started talking, and the next thing you knew, your potential customers believed you were an unreliable kook with an addiction to spray inhalants and catnip.
Half-Moon Hollow was one of those lovely little towns, nestled in a curve of the Ohio River in the far reaches of western Kentucky, that wasn’t quite rural but certainly wasn’t urban. It had a few chain stores and restaurants and even a Starbucks—yes, just the one—but without losing its small-town charm. The Half-Moon Hollow airport was like the dollhouse version of a travel hub, and I loved it. It had one gate for one morning flight and one evening flight. While the schedule was pretty limited, it took about four minutes to get through security.
I walked through the airport ticketing lobby, home to a complimentary coffee cart and a suspiciously pink display from the local Chamber of Commerce titled “the Hall of Entrepreneurial Courtneys.” A half-dozen evening arrival passengers were waiting patiently for the ticket agents to feed their luggage through the doggy door toward the single baggage carousel.
“Well, hey there, Meadow!” a raspy feminine voice called from the check-in desk. I waved at Hannah Perkins, one of the airport’s two security agents. She was a sweet-faced little thing, so petite that I wondered how she managed to walk around wearing all that security gear without wobbling. But Hannah was the only girl among six brothers, most of whom grew up filming their own MMA matches in their backyard. I wouldn’t mess with her, and I had superstrength.
I’d met Hannah the same way I’d met most of the people I knew in Half-Moon Hollow: through the book club at Specialty Books, a vampire-friendly occult book shop here in town.
“Hey, Hannah!” I called, grinning. “How are you doing?”
“Oh, better than I deserve,” Hannah drawled, lifting a large shipping box onto the ticket counter. It was covered in stickers that read, “Caution—LIVE PLANTS” in both English and Spanish. “We got your package right here. I just need you to sign all these scary customs forms. I filled out as much of it as I could, to save you some time.”
“Aw, thank you.”
She clucked her tongue. “Well, I’d like to say it was purely unselfish, but your handwriting tends to set off what we in the business call ‘bureaucratic red flags’ with the USDA.”
“Fair enough,” I conceded, taking the clipboard full of customs forms she offered. I signed my name about twenty times and handed it back to her. “Have you read the book for the next book club meeting?”
“The zombie-hunting mash-up of Wuthering Heights?” Hannah said. “Yeah, but I don’t think Jane’s gonna appreciate my comments. I did what she said and stuck a little Post-it note on a page every time I had a strong emotional reaction to the book. And all my Post-its say, ‘Kill Zombie Cathy sooner, please.’ ”
“Well, all of my Post-it notes say, ‘Kill Zombie Heathcliff faster,’ so we’ll have an interesting back-and-forth,” I said, making her giggle.
“You hated it, too?”
“No, I just really hate Heathcliff,” I told her. “In all forms. Dead or undead. And Cathy. This book has been a problem for me since I was a high school senior. I wrote a twelve-page research paper on how dysfunctional their relationship was, not realizing it was my English teacher’s favorite novel. I almost ended up in summer school.”
Hannah laughed. “Well, we’ll just have to get through the discussion without hurting anybody’s feelings.”
“For the very first time.” I laughed, hefting the box off of the counter.
“You want me to get that out to your car for you, Meadow? It’s pretty heavy,” Hannah’s partner, Denny, called from across the lobby, where he was sweeping before the gate’s closure. Denny was a tall, thin, balding man, and like most of my neighbors, his thick bluegrass accent turned my name into “Medda.”
“No, thanks, Denny!” I called back. “Vampire strength!”
“Oh, right!” Denny laughed, clapping a hand to his shiny forehead. “Sorry, I forget sometimes.”
This was one of the strange dichotomies of living in the Hollow. Although, generally, I didn’t appreciate the sentiment that as a female, I didn’t have the upper-body strength to open my own door, I knew Denny wasn’t trying to be condescending. He was honestly raised to believe that the polite things to do were to open doors for a lady, carry her heavy objects, and stand when she entered a room. Like with a lot of men around town, his actions weren’t directed at me, but centered on honoring his beloved mama.
“It was sweet of you to offer,” I said. “Y’all have a good night!”