I’m the only healer in two hundred miles that would let a vampire dump a half-dead snack off on my doorstep. I’m also the weakest healer in over two hundred miles, my magical talent is in brewing potions and salves, but I can keep a necker alive if a vampire gets a little overzealous.

Which is why I’m opening the door to a half-dead woman bleeding out slowly on my front porch. Her neck is torn in two narrow strips from where they dragged a vampire off of her.

I drop to my knees and put my hand over her heart to take her pulse. It’s beating, but thready, and her skin is cold. I grab my exacto knife from right inside the doorway and cut off her top. The poor girl isn’t even wearing a bra. Glancing down at her clothes I realize that makes sense. She isn’t exactly dressed for church, and any bra would have shown in that shirt.

I run my hands slowly and firmly down her torso, increasing blood production and warming her. Her heart beat regains some confidence as my magic wraps around it. It’s moving under my skin like I’ve pulled it inside me.

I hook my hands under her arms and drag her inside. She’s fairly light, so I take a deep breath, then haul her torso up onto the table. Her legs go up next, then I roll her onto her back, but give up on trying to get her on there straight. I could really use some help just for this part.

The emergency supplies are all laid out. The IV, scissors, gauze, and cleaning supplies. The IV bag is already hanging from the stand, ready to go. I don’t bother with gloves, but I do grab an alcohol wipe and scrub down her arm. The healing goes much smoother the sooner I can get fluids into the injured person.

A vein is easy to find, thankfully, and I slip the needle in carefully. This part has always made my stomach churn. I wish I could heal without all of this, but I’m simply too weak to rely on magic alone.

Now that the IV is started I can continue healing. Her body sucking up the fluids like a sponge as I push my magic through her, encouraging her body to replenish the blood she lost. They had gotten her to me just in time. She had been very close to beyond my ability to help. I suspect she was fed on by several vampires, there are bites in various places on her torso. If she had already lost quite a bit of blood, having a young vampire lose control while feeding was very risky. The past six months worth of practice I have had pay off for her, maybe working for the vampires isn’t a total waste.

I had been contacted by a vampire about six months ago when I was a little desperate for money, working as a waitress doesn’t pay quite enough to live off of, and offered a job. The job was simple, I would do house calls to keep the humans they fed on healthy and help them recover more quickly so the vampires could drink from them more often. The vampires bring them to me if there is ever an ‘unfortunate incident’, which is a professional sounding term for somebody losing control and nearly draining a necker. In return, I’m paid a decent salary, definitely more than I could get paid for my mediocre healing anywhere else.

Healers are rare, good healers rarer, and you almost can’t find a healer that’d stoop to help vampire leftovers. We can get a bit snooty since we’re a rare breed. Of course, I’m so far at the bottom of the barrel I’m barely even recognized as a healer. I’ve never been able to earn money from healing before. That’s enough to take the snootiness out of anyone.

The vampires also aren’t as terrible as I expected. They seem to take care of the people they feed on very well, I think they care about them, possibly even love some of them. It’s more of a balanced relationship than I had thought. I should know better than to buy into stereotypes.

I measure out a small amount of my most used salve. It will heal the nasty tears on her neck in a matter of days.

“Who the fuck are you?” The girl slurs as she tries to slide off the table. They always wake up faster than I want them to. I think the magic is stimulating.

“Nope, get back on the table, I’m not done yet,” I say as I grab her arm. She pulls against my grip with a shaking arm.

“You can’t tell me what to do, bitch,” she says as she leans forward to try to bite me.

I do not understand why they always try to bite, it’s like they forget they’re the food and not the vampires. I smack her across the face, hard, and she jerks back, looking at me with wide eyes that are a little more awake.

“Sit the fuck down. Whoever you were playing with almost killed you. I’m in charge of fixing you. If you give me trouble, they will kick your ass,” I snap, pointing at a sign hanging on the wall behind me.

It’s a simple sign, something I requested after the first few gave me trouble since they were waking up in a strange place with no idea who I was. It says COOPERATE OR BE PUNISHED. Beneath the words are the clan’s sigil and the clan leader’s signature.

The girl’s eyes go wide and she slumps back down on the table.

“Sorry, lady.”

“Drink this,” I say, handing her a small vial. “It’s gonna be disgusting but don’t you dare spit any of it out. It’s expensive.”

The girl pinches her nose and chokes it down, cursing me and the vampires as soon as she can get a breath. “What the hell was that?”

“Something to replenish your iron and blood levels. You’ll probably have a headache until it wears off in a few days, and you’ll have a hard time getting drunk.”

“I’m supposed to go to a party tomorrow tonight!”

“Guess you can be the designated driver,” I say with a shrug. “Lay down.”

She complies, still grumbling about her party. I push her chin to the side and spread the salve on the bites. She yelps and the skin twitches as the area reddens.

She reaches up to scratch it and I bat her hand away.

“It itches!”

“I know, it’s going to itch until it’s healed, but if you scratch it, you’ll tear it open and then no one is going to want to bite your ugly neck.”

She sticks her hands under her arms, looking mutinous, but still complying. I grab one more potion off my desk and hand it to her.

“If you are going to let someone feed on you again within the next 72 hours, take this about an hour before.”

She slips it into her pocket, but the pout doesn’t leave her face. I toss a plain white t-shirt at her as well and she pulls it on. My phone buzzes, it’s a text from the chauffeur service the vampires arranged.

“Your ride is here, you can leave through that door,” I say pointing at the door behind her. I made sure to set up this room so that no one would have to walk through my house to get out. The neckers had a tendency to take things when you weren’t looking. After my third patient, a six-foot tall man had stolen my flip flops I made some changes.

I rub a hand down my face, I’m tired, but healing always gets my adrenaline going. There’s no chance I’ll fall back asleep now, which is fine since there’s order that I need to deliver, I glance at the time again, today. I have just enough time to make it and deliver it before lunch.

I’ve been brewing since I was five, so I could make any of these potions in my sleep. The process is cathartic these days. Brewing has always given me a sense of control. It’s measured, predictable, and reliable. Water boils at the same temperature every time. A bat eye, dandelion petals, and a pinch of fool’s gold always brews into a simple blood replenishing potion.

Mr. Bronson, god rest his soul, had never understood that. He thought the brewing was what got me in with a bad crowd, but it was what had kept me from really losing myself. It was helping me get my feet back on the ground now too.

I wipe a drop of sweat from my forehead and lean over to crank up the window unit. This old rental house doesn’t seem to have any insulation left and Texas is hot as Satan’s balls in the summer. If I didn’t have the contract with the vampires I’d be moving into one of the little apartments in town instead of renewing the lease on this place, but I need the privacy.

Soon enough I forget about the heat and vampires and even Mr. Bronson’s voice in the back of my head telling me I ought not do the devil’s work. I’ve been working on this acne salve for two weeks. Each stage has to sit undisturbed in the cauldron for thirty-six hours. Then I had to wait for it to settle into the right consistency. It’s been stubborn, to say the least.

I lift the lid from the cauldron and poke at the translucent, rosy substance. It’s slick and about the same thickness as lard.

“Finally,” I lean down and give it a quick sniff too. It smells like rose and marshmallow.

I scoop it into little plastic tubs, wipe off any drips, and slap the labels that Maybelle printed for me on them. It says ‘Carter’s Brews’ in a swirly blue font over a shiny, silver background. It’s a little girly for me, but she said it was good marketing and since Maybelle runs the most successful business in town, I took her advice without arguing.

The next brew is a quicker one, there is no need to rest it. It actually works best the faster I can get it bottled. It’s been one of the best sellers which suits me just fine. The centering brew is simple and cheap to make. It was one of my mother’s best sellers, but that’s to be expected in a big town. I wasn’t sure how it would do here. Apparently, even out in the country, people want the pinpoint focus and energy the potion provides. They’re willing to deal with the minor headache it causes, and I can’t blame them. As far as side effects that’s not half bad.

The cauldron I need isn’t where it should be. I turn in a circle, scanning the room, then remember the one I need is still sitting by the sink. I’d left a potion too long the other day and have been scrubbing goo off it since.

The cauldron is sparkling, polished steel. I bought it two months ago when the previous one fell apart. The magic puts quite a bit of stress on the metal.

I twist the knob on the stove and the burner flares to life. Before the metal of the cauldron gets too hot, I dip my finger in the saltwater solution I keep next to the stove and trace a spiral from the middle of the cauldron up and around the sides to the top edge.

The ingredients for the brew are all lined up on the shelf behind the stove. I set a plain, clear crystal the size of a pea in the very center of the spiral and pour essence of mint over the top. The mint obediently settles into the lines I drew in the bottom of the cauldron, slowly creeping up the sides as though it’s trying to escape the heat.

I pull a bottle of cheap Prosecco out of the mini fridge and pour it straight into the cauldron. Something bubbly to give them pep while the mint makes them sharp. It hisses up immediately begins to boil.

I pick out a few wasp wings and crumple them in my hand as I grab my sturdy, old wooden stirring rod. They drop into the cauldron and I stir quickly. Right, right, left, right, right, left. I stir until the rhythm feels natural and mindless.

The mint, still clinging to the sides of the cauldron, begins to glow green as the brew tugs at it. I pass my hand over the cauldron, my fingers wiggling and scattering bright sparks into the bubbling liquid.

“There we go,” I whisper as the brew begins to spin on its own. I lift the stirring rod out of it and roiling liquid begins to spin faster and faster until it suddenly stills in a flash of green tinted light. “One down, six to go.”

The hours pass quickly as I fill little glass vials with my potions, then start another batch. One of these days I’ll be able to afford a bigger cauldron.

I’m a sweaty, tired mess by the time I’m done. The workroom is scattered with ingredients, and I need to wash out this cauldron, but I’m actually running out of time to get to town.

I double check my order list and make sure everything is packed up and ready to put in the car, then head into the main part of the house to take a quick shower. I can’t show up to Maybelle’s looking like a hobo.

* * *

A country song twangs out of my speakers as I pull into town. I wouldn’t have been caught dead listening to country music before I moved here, but it’s become something of a guilty pleasure. The songs make me nostalgic for a peaceful small town life I’ve never had.

Maybelle’s General Store is the biggest store on Main Street. The sides of the building facing the road are glass all the way around and lit up day and night with antique styled lanterns that always stay polished to brilliance. Nobody can walk by without slowing down to look inside.

She has everything from clothes to kitchenware to potions. Upstairs is a cafe with a balcony that overlooks the street. I can smell the pies from down the street near the service entrance where I’m parking.

Johnny is at my trunk before I can get out of my car. That man has a sixth sense for deliveries.

“Hey Johnny, how’s it hanging?”

“Little to the left,” he says with a cackle as he grabs the first box of potions out of my trunk. Johnny is missing a few teeth and has spent so much time under the sun that he’s darker than even Mr. Brunson was. Johnny’s wrinkles are more like craters, even though I suspect he’s only about sixty. He moves too fast to be any older. I follow him inside and set my box down on a table in the storeroom, the little vials all clinking together.

“Is that who I think it is?” Maybelle comes out of her office in a whirl of color. She’s wearing a ruffled pink skirt with an ethereal yellow blouse. A teal headscarf is holding her curly red hair out of her face, which is covered in freckles and brightened by a wide smile. She’s even older than Johnny, but nobody would dare mention it.

“My sweet Olivia, I have not seen you in a full week!” She says as she sweeps me into a hug, bending me side to side. I hug back as well as I can. “Have you been avoiding me?”

“Not at all,” I laugh as I pull away. “I’ve just been a little busy this week.”

“Busy with that good-for-nothing boy,” she says, flicking the tip of my nose before she sashays over to my box of potions and inspects a few.

“He’s not that bad. Besides, we aren’t even dating. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“You are having sex with him and you are thinking about a future with him before you’ve even gotten him to say he’s your boyfriend. You know that’s backward.”

I shrug and look at the floor. She’s old-fashioned, and it never does much good to argue with her. It had been over a year since I’d gotten laid. Tyler was easy on the eyes and had that good ol’ boy feel about him. He opened the door and paid for our dates and always made sure I came first.

“It’s good enough for now Maybelle.”

She tisks at me but drops it. “I have a new business proposition for you since you’re here.”

I perk up immediately. “What is it?”

“I bought a little storefront down the street a few months ago. I think I want to turn it into an apothecary. What would you think about supplying me with more medicinal brews?”

Medicinal brews cost five to ten times as much as other brews. They’re tricky to brew, tricky enough that people won’t buy them from anyone other than a healer’s guild shop. Unless they’re stupid. I can brew them, but I’d never be able to sell them on my own. Maybelle however—people would buy it from her.

“I think I would like to do that very much,” I say, hoping she can’t tell there’s a lump in my throat. If I had a contract like that it would change everything. I wouldn’t have to work for the vampires. I would be able to afford a rent house that wasn’t a hundred years old with rats living under the porch.

Maybelle nods at me with a twinkle in her eye.

“I have contractors coming tomorrow to start building it out. I’ll let you know when I’ll need some brews. You better give me your best work girly.”

“You know I don’t do anything else.”

She nods proudly. “You coming upstairs for some pie?”

“Not today,” I say standing up straight and smoothing down my shirt. “Apparently I need to go visit Gerard.”

“Alright, well you don’t be a stranger. I better see you again in a few days.”

“I promise I’ll come by,” I say, pecking her on the cheek and heading towards the door.

“If you don’t I’ll send Johnny to grab you. Don’t think I won’t!”

“Wouldn’t doubt it for a second!” I say as I slip back out into the heat.

I climb into my car and let out a sigh. I’m ecstatic about the business opportunity, but medicinal brews mean specialty ingredients. And specialty ingredients mean Gerard. And Gerard is creepy. There’s no use putting it off though.

A quick five minute drive brings me to Gerard’s warehouse. It’s the polar opposite of Maybelle’s place. His office is in a rickety metal storefront with one window that is boarded up with weathered plywood. The door is always locked, and the sign on the door always reads closed. I’ve never been sure how he makes a living since I’ve never seen another person here.

I take a deep breath and rap out three loud knocks on the thick metal door, wait three seconds, then one more. I step back from the door and settle in for a wait. He always makes me wait at least five minutes, which is why I jump when the door immediately swings inward.

Gerard is in the doorway, eyes wide and bloodshot. His white t-shirt is stained, and he is sweatier than usual.

“Get inside,” he whispers hoarsely, scuttling backward out of the sunlight.

I leap inside to get in before he pulls the door shut on me. It’s almost pitch black so I pull out my phone and use the light from the screen to follow him back to his makeshift office, stepping around moldy pallets and trash. There’s also a dead rat, but that’s better than the live one that ran across my foot the last time I was here. Gerard is practically jogging, and he keeps scratching at his arms.

“Everything okay Gerard?” I ask as I jog to catch up.

He stops and whips around. “Better watch your back, Olivia. There’s trouble in town and none of the powers that be are going to do a thing about it. They don’t listen to reason.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The bad kind,” he says as he steps into his office.

Cryptic as always. The man’s impossible to have a coherent conversation with. I put my phone back in my pocket, the ambient glow of eight computer screens is enough to see by. This whole room is a spiderweb of wires across the walls and ceiling. There’s a pile of empty ramen containers in one corner and a big water jug next to a black rolling chair that leans to the left.  He tosses me a notepad and then a pen which I barely manage to catch.

I write down my order, mentally running through the ingredients for the new brews I’ll need to make. Some of them I haven’t made in years, but the recipes are ingrained in me. A few minutes pass, then I hand the notepad back, three pages filled out front and back. He flips through it eagerly.

“These are new,” he says squinting at me. “Who do you think you’re gonna get to buy healing brews from a girl with a felony on her record?”

“Can you get it all for me or not? I think I’ll need to be brewing within a month,” I ask, trying not to bristle at his question.  There’s no way I could do this without Maybelle, but I don’t need Gerard of all people reminding me of past mistakes. He’s always known things about me he shouldn’t.

He squints at me for a moment longer, then nods.

I take that as my cue to leave and start picking my way back through the warehouse. 

Right before I reach the door he yells across the empty space. “Try not to die!”

I open the door and step back into the sunlight, blinking. I have goosebumps despite the heat.

* * *

Rudie’s is the best bar in town, and also boasts the best hamburger and curly fries in three counties, possibly even the nation. They open at eleven am, except on Sundays when they don’t open until two pm and have a dedicated lunch crowd. Every time I’ve had the money to spare I end up here for lunch.

My stomach growls as I walk inside and the delicious aroma of fried food hits me. It’s glorious. Chevy is behind the bar handing over a beer to Fred, one of the regulars. Chevy waves at me before moving down the bar to take the next order. Susan waves too, pointing at a free table in the corner. I nod and take a seat with my back to the wall. It takes a minute before she can make it over to me, stopping at a few tables to take a request for more water or sweet tea.

“Hey darling, the usual?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a grin. It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been in for a burger and I’ve been craving them.

“You got it,” she says before bustling away.

The door to my right tinkles and I glance up, a smile springing to my face when I see Tyler walk in. The smile turns brittle when I see Joanna, the blonde bimbo town slut, hanging off his side. She isn’t interested unless the guy has a girlfriend or a wife. I’ve never been sure if it’s daddy issues or if she’s just mean. He’s got his hand on her ass.

He doesn’t see me until he gets a good five steps in. My face is going blank like it does when I get mad. He stops in his tracks and Joanna trips over his feet. She finally catches on to where he is looking and rolls her eyes.

“Come oooon Tyler. Let’s get lunch.”

“Just give me a second to talk to Liv, alright?”

Joanna sticks her bottom lip out like a five-year-old and blinks her eyes up at him. “But I’m hungry baby. You wore me out this morning.”

So that’s why he hadn’t responded to my texts since yesterday afternoon.

“I’ll be just a minute,” he says as he finally gets his arm out of her grip.

She huffs and shoves him. “Fine, go talk to that stupid bitch, but I’m not hanging around waiting for you to talk to some other girl.”

She throws a glare my direction and stomps out.

I lean back in my chair as Tyler approaches, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck.

“Hey Liv,” he says, looking at me with a half smile.

I stare him down, a hundred useless things running through my mind, like the last time I saw that smile and how his hands felt on my ass.

“Look, we hadn’t talked about being exclusive or anything.”

I don’t say anything, there’s no point. We hadn’t ‘defined the relationship’ or whatever, but he’d started talking about taking me to meet his family in a few weeks because they were having a barbecue. It had felt like we were dating. Then again, any guy I chose was almost guaranteed to be an asshole. It was a family curse.

“I must have thought it was implied when you told me no one else had ever made you feel this way and you didn’t even want to look at another girl.”

“Come on Liv, we were in the middle of, you know,” he says, waggling his eyebrows and glancing around like he’s embarrassed to say the word sex in public. “That doesn’t count for anything.”

“Tyler,” I say carefully, leaning forward onto my elbows. “Fuck off and let me enjoy my burger.”

Susan walks up with perfect timing and sets my burger down with way more force than necessary, bouncing a couple of curly fries off onto the table. I rescue them and shove them all in my mouth at once.

“See ya some other day Tyler,” Susan says with her arms crossed and a thicker accent than normal.

“Whatever,” he says before storming out of the door he came in.

“I’m gonna bring you a milkshake sweetie.”

“No, that’s okay Susan, I’ll just—”

“No objections allowed. It’s on the house, Chevy will insist on it.”

She walks away before I can object again, not that I really want to argue. Their milkshakes are great and I could use some chocolate.

I take a bite of my burger but it doesn’t taste quite as good as it usually does when I’m not trying not to cry in public.

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