La Posada --Chapter 9 --PG-13

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librarian_7
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La Posada --Chapter 9 --PG-13

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Disclaimer: I don't own Josef. He thinks he owns freshie Lucky, but I do.

La Posada

Chapter 9

Marla tapped her pen on her desk, thinking, then rose to pace her office nervously. Outside the deep sills of the windows piercing the thick adobe walls, a late afternoon thunderstorm was rolling through the high park, and the ground was frosted with piles of tiny hailstones. It was dramatic, beautiful, and completely wasted on her. She found herself fingering the old scars at her wrist. Almost ten years down the road from her time as a freshie, and whenever she was stressed, just a little pressure on those scars could evoke the echo of the serenity she’d known with her last vamp. Maybe tonight she should call him, just say hello and hear his voice, the sound of it like a drug to her, a velvet addiction. Maybe he’d have some advice. Anything to take her mind off this mess.

The Posada was supposed to be an oasis, a calm refuge for the walking wounded. And it had been. For decades the depleted had come, rested, healed. And returned to the beings who both cherished and damaged them.

Sometimes Marla wondered if the whole concept was wrong, if isolating these petted victims was exactly the opposite of what they deserved. The vamps, she knew, would never agree, as invested as they were in keeping the status quo. The strongest voice she knew of being that of that bastard, Kostan.

Marla’s lips tightened. She so wished she could choke that spoiled, uppity freshie of his. How Lucky had managed to whine a vamp of Kostan’s age and power into running to her all the way from L. A., Marla would never know. She didn’t even want to think about the extent of the relationship between those two. Unhealthily close, to say the very least. Most of the vamps who sent freshies here were old, and thinking with their fangs, but Marla was starting to wonder if Kostan was thinking with something else entirely. And that seemed very unlike the Josef Kostan she’d met once, long ago.

It was time to call in a favor, and see if she could find out anything. She pulled a key on a long gold chain out of her neckline. She hadn’t had occasion to call him in quite some time now, and it wasn’t a number to put on either speed dial or a rolodex. The key opened a secret compartment in her antique desk. In the small recess, a little, innocuous-appearing notebook held a carefully coded list of numbers. And even those were not what they appeared. Marla ran a finger down the list to the number she needed, then mentally performed the calculation to tell her the actual telephone number. Dialing the listed number not only would not get her through, it would set off a complex series of alerts that would cause, well, would cause some bad things to happen, and some very scary lady vamps in black leather to show up at the Posada. Not good. She did the math again to make sure she had the number right, took a deep breath, and called. Her heart was in a nervous flutter, and she hated it. Great, she thought, just great.

The phone in Denver was answered on the second ring. Slade Weston’s voice was the same slow, sleepy drawl it had always been, reflecting the speech patterns he’d learned as a child, well over a century ago, but he still managed to come straight to the point. “To what do I owe the pleasure, sweetheart?”

“Slade, I—“ Dammit, the sound of his voice wasn’t supposed to make her so breathless. Not after all these years. “I think I have a situation brewing. At the Posada.”

“And this is my concern, how?” His voice was cold, and Marla wondered if calling him had been a mistake. He’d never cared as much for her as she’d hoped, but she had thought there was at least a little warmth left between them. Suddenly she was feeling as shy as she had when she’d first known him, unsure if he’d ever look her way.

“I just—some advice would be helpful, Slade.”

“Thought you had everything under control, darlin’. Isn’t that your specialty?” Slade paused. “Hold on.” She could hear him ordering someone out of the room. From the sound of it, some little freshie tramp. There was a giggle, and a coy protest. Then he was back with her, at least as much as he ever had been. When he spoke into the phone again, his slow Western twang held an edge of annoyance, somehow reminding her of the deadly buzz of a disturbed rattlesnake. “Since you have seen fit to interrupt my breakfast, Marla, perhaps you’d better tell me what’s going on up there.”

Marla hesitated for a moment, deciding where to start, then plunged into the tale. Slade listened without comment until she wound down.

“Marla,” he said when she’d finished. “offhand, I’d say you’re screwed.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Don’t know what you could have done with Don Diego’s girl, except have made sure she didn’t find out about him until she was under better observation. But you should’ve treated Kostan’s pet with kid gloves. And eased that idiot boy away from her,” Weston said.

“I tried, Slade. I really tried.”

“And you failed. Don’t whine. You need to be in damage control mode at this point.”

“I—I didn’t tell you everything just yet.”

Over two hundred miles away in Denver, Slade Weston ran his tongue over his fangs. He was regretting having sent out the freshie he’d been on the verge of feeding from. His hunger, he could tell, was starting to distort his judgement, and the last thing he needed right now was a problem at the fucking Posada, of all places. He stilled, listening to Marla growing more agitated. “I’m waiting. And you remember how I hate waiting.”

He heard a faint rustle, her skirts shifting slightly around her as she moved nervously. “Slade—I can’t explain it, but the reason I know how pissed Kostan is—he told me.”

“I assumed he had.”

“In person.” Marla swallowed at the memory, a hand rising to her throat. Her voice sank to a whisper. “He was here.”

There was nothing on the other end of the line for a long while, and Marla knew the vampire was thinking. She only hoped he wasn’t thinking about killing her. If she thought the danger was great enough…she could call another number off her coded list, throw a few things into a suitcase and take one of the Posada’s vehicles…not a Hummer, that would be too obvious, maybe one of the Jeeps. Surely she could find a place to hide, long enough to get into the underground network that could make her vanish from the radar. And how did she know that was even real? Maybe it was a ruse, maybe she’d only be delivering herself up for execution. The meshes of this net were too tightly woven. She’d have to take her chances.

Then Slade spoke, seemingly randomly, tangentially. “Marla, tell me this freshie’s name again. Kostan’s girl.”

“Lucky. Lucky Alexander.”

“What does she look like?”

“Red hair, tallish. Pale…but that’s a given.”

Slade cast his mind back over his recent trip to L.A. There had been functions he’d attended at Kostan’s house. Of course, the dinner selections had been lavish; L.A. vamps never did anything by half measures. He’d been particularly pleased with the pretty little blonde Kostan had detailed to be his personal escort, and even considered seducing his way into more than her veins. But among all the humans, he did remember Kostan’s personal crew. They’d been reserved, almost to the point of standoffishness. Very devoted, all of them, and unique.

“That one,” he said. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart. I’m not sure exactly what Kostan sees in her, and I don’t ever plan on getting close enough to find out. He’s paranoid about his food supply, even for a vampire. But I do know this. That freshie is smart. Smarter than you.”

“But what should I do about this?”

Slade was off in lala land again, his attention diverted by the ache in his fangs. He dragged his thoughts away from visions of pulsing red life offered up to him willingly. He supposed it was up to him to at least offer Marla a little advice. He sighed. “First thing I’d do is get that freshie boy off the premises. Immediately.”

Marla frowned. “He’s not healthy enough, Slade. It’s too soon.”

The vampire’s voice cooled a few degrees. “You asked for my advice, I gave it.”

“You don’t know his vamp. This could kill him.”

“No, but I do know Josef Kostan, and if you piss him off—further—this could kill you. We live in a harsh world, darlin’. Or didn’t you know?” And with that he cut the connection.

Marla sat, staring out at the mountains, watching the valley fall slowly into darkness.

She wasn’t sure what was worse, the invasion of outside politics into her haven, or the physical invasion of the Posada by a vampire. She hadn’t laid eyes on an actual vamp for years, not since the last painful interview with Slade. The interview where he’d told her with absolute finality—after feeding on her, of course—that she just wasn’t good enough, wasn’t special enough, to be his exclusive. Everyone here thought her a retired exclusive, and she certainly preferred them to think so. She’d never been sure whether Slade had arranged this job for her because he thought she’d have a talent for the work, or to stash her out of his sight. She suspected it was a little of both.

And now a trio of spoiled brats was threatening her safety. First Carmencita, and how badly had that been handled? To make matters worse, she’d been informed only that morning that the girl’s new patron wanted her sent back to the Posada to recover from her suicide attempt. Pathetic twit. Then those other two. Sam Logan, with his take no prisoners attitude…she supposed it was a survival mechanism, but it was damned abrasive. And Lucky, who never said a word out of line, never a gesture or a glance that could be construed as rebellion, who seemed to draw trouble to her. If she was typical of Kostan’s current crop of freshies, Marla hoped that the rest of them stayed healthy. And stayed far away from the Posada. That would be the last thing she needed.

And then there had been the terror of Kostan’s cool hands ripping her out of her bed at 5:30 in the morning, his silvered eyes blazing. Caught in her fear of his strength, she barely remembered his words, but the gist was clear. He’d reminded her that by putting one of his treasured possessions into her keeping, he’d expected her care of that possession to be considerably more painstaking than it had been. There was no explaining to him about her efforts, and that she’d spent more time on his freshie than on most others. Possibly to the detriment of the establishment as a whole.

What she wouldn’t forget, soon, or likely ever, was the way he’d pulled her to him, the way she’d struggled in his grip, knowing escape was impossible even as he grazed the skin of her neck with his fangs.

“What does it take,” he said, “to show you that you are not in charge?” She tried to pull away, and he laughed in her face. “Maybe I should just mark you, just take a taste. Something to remind you what we are.”

“I know what you are,” she ground out.

“And I know what you are, too,” he replied in a low growl. “Do you think I couldn’t hear your heart speed, Marla?” He put his face to her neck, and she could hear him inhale, feel the coolness of his skin next to hers.

Marla closed her eyes, cast back unexpectedly to her freshie days, waiting to feel the slide of his fangs through her skin, the pull of his mouth drinking her blood. God help her, if he meant to kill her, she could think of worse ways to go. Her lips parted, and she drew in a silent breath.

“That mix of lust and fear you’re throwing off is quite appetizing, Marla. Almost irresistible,” Josef whispered in her ear. He gave a mirthless chuckle and released her so suddenly she staggered back, nearly falling. “Then again,” he said, unmistakable malice in his tone, “I do have a reputation as a picky eater.”

He paced the office as the slow seconds ticked by endlessly. Marla thought his silence would drive her insane, but she was not stupid enough to speak before he did. Finally he stopped, smiling at her futile attempts to maneuver herself so that her desk was between them. As if that would hinder him in the slightest. “Marla, I could sit here and harangue you until the sun comes up, but I trust I’ve made my point.”

Relief flooded her, literally weakened her knees. “Yes. You have.”

The look in his eyes softened a bit, the silver fading to a bare gleam in the warm, more human brown, and he gave her a snarky smile. “By the way, you’ll be getting a detailed memo from me shortly on the security upgrades you’ll be making.” And he was gone.


The clouds had cleared, and the evening shade had fallen across the adobe buildings of the complex. Marla sighed and stood up. Night had come, and she had work to do.
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darkstarrising
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Re: La Posada --Chapter 9 --PG-13

Post by darkstarrising »

Marla screwed up handling Lucky, Sam and Carmencita and now she's screwed, as Slade pointed out to her. If she thought otherwise, the early morning visit from Josef should have driven that point home.

What I find interesting about Marla (as a former freshie) is her response to Josef's remonstration - she's scared silly, but at the same time, she almost wants to feel his fangs. Retired she may be, but she still remembers the thrill. Even Josef picks up on it:
“That mix of lust and fear you’re throwing off is quite appetizing, Marla. Almost irresistible,”
I wonder just how much trouble Marla is really in :chin:
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