Forever Starts Now Read online

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  Alinar Publishing

  www.alinarpublishing.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Kallysten

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Forever Starts Now

  Prelude

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

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  Forever Starts Now

  Kallysten

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Copyright © 2008 Kallysten

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published May 2008

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Mary S.

  Cover by Kallysten

  ISBN

  1-906023-51-4

  978-1-906023-51-5

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Prelude

  Two empty boxes waited on the bedroom floor, opened, carefully taped shut and labeled in capital letters, the marker lines dark and crisp on the cardboard. Claire could still smell the permanent ink. It held the sharp edge of finality. As she walked further into the room, she caught a glimpse of the moon through the window. Full and heavy, it was struggling to rise into the early evening sky. Soon, it would cast enough light over Haventown to make it seem like day. Past experience told Claire that Jonas would be out hunting vampires for the best part of the night, giving her more than enough time to finish before he returned.

  A bead of sweat trickled down her neck, and Claire shrugged at the feeling. The air was slow in cooling down after a hot day. She couldn't wait to be done with her packing. She hadn't started more than an hour earlier, but already her t-shirt was sticking to her back in a decidedly unpleasant way. It wasn't difficult work, but the lingering heat of the day made it more tedious. It made her even more grateful for Maggie's help.

  "Why don't you take the closet,” she said, pushing the words past the lump in her throat, “and I'll do the dresser."

  Maggie gave her a worried look and reached out to her. Claire forestalled the comfort and question she could feel were coming with a slight shake of her head and a forced smile.

  "I'm fine."

  "Liar."

  The gentleness of Maggie's tone softened the accusation, and Claire suddenly had to blink away rising tears she refused to shed. She had cried too much already.

  They had known each other since elementary school. Claire's first instinct, when she had made her decision, had been to call her. Maggie had arrived ten minutes later with chocolate cake and two boxes of tissues.

  "I'll be fine,” she amended.

  Maggie seemed to understand and accept this answer. She squeezed Claire's shoulder for a second before turning back to their task. Claire pushed one of the boxes with her foot and it slid easily on the black and red rug Jonas liked so much. She realized they would need to roll it and take it out when they were done with the boxes. One more thing on the list. Maggie opened the closet doors wide; the movement brought Claire back to the immediate present. She turned to Jonas’ dresser and took a deep breath. She could do this. She had to do this. If she didn't, if she caved in once more, she would never be able to look at herself in a mirror again.

  Her hands trembling a little, she began emptying the first drawer. Her actions were methodical, enough so that she chided herself for refolding a t-shirt here or matching up two lonely socks there. She knew she was a little silly to take such care in packing these clothes, especially since she was rarely as thorough with her own clothing. On a recent job evaluation, her new boss had used the words ‘disorganized’ and ‘messy’ to describe her desk while grudgingly complimenting the quality of her work; he might as well have been describing her personality. She had rather set ideas over what mattered and what did not, and she acted in accordance. It didn't matter what her desk looked like as long as her clients were satisfied and the commissions she rolled in. The same way, on any other day, she wouldn't have cared that a pair of boxers was folded just so, or that a box was tagged according to what it contained. Today, though, she did. When she closed the last box, she wanted the peace of mind that came from knowing that she, unlike Jonas, had done everything right.

  The sounds of packing behind her suddenly stopped, replaced by the crinkling of plastic. Claire laid another t-shirt in the half-full box and turned toward her friend. She had pulled a wedding dress out of the closet and was holding it up at arm's length in front of her. Specks of dust rose from the clear plastic bag that protected the dress without hiding it.

  "It was my mother's,” Claire said, her voice choked up as she walked to her friend. “It's the dress I told you about."

  Maggie turned to clasp Claire's arm, and met her eyes with a hint of apology.

  "And that's definitely not going in a box,” Claire added with a strained smile.

  They worked in silence after that, and Claire tried not to look at her left hand—tried not to miss the light weight of the ring on her finger. She had only worn it for a few months, after all, not long enough to truly get used to it. Taking it off had been the first thing she had done after making her decision. She wouldn't regret it, not now, not later. She refused to.

  The boxes ended up having enough free space in them to pile up two sets of satin bedclothes and a coverlet over the clothes.

  "You're sure you don't want to keep these?” Maggie's look was wistful as she brushed her fingers on the black satin. “They're really nice."

  "Jonas bought them,” was all Claire said, and it was enough. She wanted Jonas out of her life, and there was no point in keeping mementos.

  One after the other, Claire held the boxes closed as Maggie taped them shut. They carried them to the front porch with what they had already packed in the kitchen and living room. Then they returned to the bedroom and worked together to free the rug, roll it, and carry it down. She remembered it being heavy when they had bought it, but now it seemed to weigh nothing. It certainly weighted less than the past eight years of living with Jonas. She couldn't help wondering how much of it had been a lie,
or even why he had finally proposed, less than six months earlier. Heavy or not, she still sighed when they dropped the rug on the concrete porch next to the boxes.

  When they returned inside, Maggie sat down in the living room to pack up the piles of books Claire had pulled from the bookshelf, leaving it half empty and looking rather desolate. Most of the books dealt with the occult, accounts of vampire lives or retellings of famous fights, and while Claire had sometimes claimed they belonged in the basement, with Jonas’ weapons, she had read most of them, fascinated by the glimpses they gave into vampire clans and customs. Claire had already put away Jonas’ knick-knacks, shot glasses, coasters and pictures. The room looked bare without them and Jonas’ leather armchair, even more so than it had when Claire had moved in. She would need to make the place hers again, change the colors, move the furniture. She would feel better once she did.

  Taking with her the two smaller boxes she had piled up in front of the basement door, Claire descended the treacherous steps carefully. She had fallen and broken her leg while running down those same steps as a child, and the lesson had stuck with her for close to thirty years.

  At first, she felt a little uncomfortable handling the weapons. Jonas had never liked her touching them even when he had taught her the basics of defending herself and staking a vampire. She pushed the feeling away and set herself to work. She picked up a couple of crossbows from the storage shelves that lined the wall, and carefully placed one in each box. She then tucked a quiver full of wooden arrows in one, and a few stakes, some as pointed as a needle, others not completely carved yet, in the other. Three knives, as many sheaths and a sharpening stone completed her loot. She had never understood why Jonas felt the need to keep weapons here when he had a much more complete arsenal at the agency. There were many things relating to Jonas and his work that she didn't get. She didn't care anymore to try to understand.

  She looked around the basement when she was done, checking that she wasn't forgetting anything. The tools on another shelf had been left by her father. The washer and dryer had been a joint purchase, but she didn't see herself packing one of those up. Besides, she had been the one using them more often than not.

  The boxes felt light as she brought them up, lighter than the first one she had carried outside had, and it had nothing to do with their content. Maggie was almost finished too, and she was flipping through a notebook when Claire stopped next to her.

  "That's his tallies,” she explained, grimacing. “He has paperwork to fill out for his job, but he comes home every night and he adds whatever vamp he's killed that night in here. He says he wants to be able to add it all up the day he retires and know how many vamps he killed throughout his career. Morbid, huh?"

  Maggie shivered. “A bit, yes.” She flipped through some more pages, her finger following lines of numbers. “And not very reassuring. I never realized there were that many bad vamps running around town. You'd think the media would be all over that."

  With a frown, Claire placed her boxes on the coffee table and sat on the arm on the sofa so that she could read as well.

  "What do you mean? There aren't really that many, considering how many vampires live in Haventown."

  Maggie pointed at the notebook, then turned back a few pages and showed Claire another column of numbers. “On the last few pages, the numbers are almost double what they were before that. Special Enforcers get paid by how many vamps they stake, don't they? I see where the satin sheets came from!"

  "Actually,” Claire said, reaching down to take the notebook from Maggie's hands, “he's been complaining for months that he doesn't get paid as much as he deserves."

  Beginning at the end, she looked at the pages more closely. Each number was accompanied by a date, making it easy to trace trends. It seemed as though the last couple of years or so had been really busy, but Jonas had never mentioned that hostile clans had arrived in town. What else could it be, though, when a single day registered seven kills? On regular nights, Jonas had told her long ago, a Special Enforcer could count himself lucky if he found one or two vamps that deserved to be staked. Most of their work involved performing disinvite rituals on houses and checking reports that led to nothing interesting. Why would Jonas hide from her that he had more work than ever? Why wouldn't he get paid for the extra kills?

  A picture began to form in her mind, and Claire wasn't sure she liked it much.

  "If he started killing vampires without proof that they're hostile, it'd explain why his numbers jumped so high. And why he feels he doesn't get paid enough. He can't report those kills; it'd seem too suspicious."

  With a shake of her head, she stood and slipped the notebook into the box with the rest of Jonas’ things. Maggie handed her the roll of tape, but she seemed hesitant.

  "Shouldn't you keep this book? I bet the police would be interested in seeing it."

  Tape poised over the box, Claire thought about it. It could be important, yes, but how would Jonas react if the notebook was missing? It'd complicate everything, and what she wanted, what she needed, was a neat end.

  "I know what the numbers mean,” she said as she taped the box shut. “But they wouldn't mean anything to anyone else. If he's really killing vamps he shouldn't, he'll get caught. It's not my problem."

  Even as she said the words, discomfort settled inside her, making everything seem tight and oppressive. The brief flash of disapproval in Maggie's eyes didn't help. However, rather than arguing with her, Maggie picked up the box and led the way out.

  "You mentioned the attic, too?” Maggie asked as they stepped outside once more. There was a thread of tiredness to her voice, barely there but Claire couldn't miss it because she was just as tired. It had been a long day for her, packing after working behind a desk for eight hours; she could only imagine how Maggie would feel after dealing with a class full of four-year-olds all day.

  "There's only a couple of things up there, and they're already boxed. I can finish alone."

  Maggie gave her a sharp look. “You're sure? I don't mind staying a little longer. Or even until he comes back. The offer still stands."

  With a grateful smile, Claire leaned in and hugged her friend. “I know you would stand by me, and just knowing that is enough. I'll be fine."

  "I shouldn't be the one saying it,” Maggie said when she pulled back, “but since no one else will, let me tell you I'm proud of you. You've made the right decision, standing up for yourself. I know you have."

  Pleased and a little embarrassed, especially because another decision, made only moments before, was still pulling at her conscience, Claire offered Maggie coffee, but she declined.

  "I can't wait to take a shower. I swear, the air conditioning unit is the last thing we should have packed!"

  She left on that shared laugh and an admonition that she wanted to hear from Claire as soon as it was over, whatever the hour.

  Claire climbed to the attic to retrieve the two boxes there. She sneezed when dust rose in the air, disrupted by her steps. She couldn't remember when she had last come up, and she wasn't even sure what was in the boxes anymore; it had been that long since Jonas had stashed them up there. But they were his, and they would leave her house with him.

  Once those last two dusty boxes were set on the porch, Claire stood, hands on her hips, and surveyed an evening's worth of work—and eight years worth of love. It didn't seem like much at all, suddenly. She would have thought there would be more things to pack, more traces of Jonas in her home than what was now in front of her. The realization left an almost bitter flavor on her tongue.

  Shaking her head, she stepped back inside, and took some pleasure in snapping the new locks shut. She had thought of everything, or at least she thought she had. The only surprise would be to see how Jonas reacted to it all. She had a bet with herself that denial, once again, would play a large part in his answer.

  They had been in the same place, three years earlier, when she had confronted him and he had refused to admit to his infidel
ity. He had pleaded with her, argued, cajoled, promised, and when she had asked him for a few days to think, he had refused to give her space, refused to even leave her bed. She had let herself be convinced by sweet promises, and now she knew she had given in too easily. She had loved him too much to truly press the issue and risk losing him, especially when he claimed it was all a misunderstanding and he loved no one but her. The fear of being alone had weighted on that too, a fear she still felt even now.

  This time, she wouldn't believe him, and wouldn't let herself be swayed by his words or her own fears. This time she had proof. It had come through the mail, in an unmarked envelope, with a short handwritten note that merely said, “I thought you should know.” She had no idea who had sent the envelope, but the pictures inside had not been as much of a surprise as they should have been.

  That realization had hurt, but it had also been the wake-up call she needed to make a hard decision. If she confronted Jonas as she had before, if she gave him the opportunity to lie to her again, history would only repeat itself. He would only need to plead hard enough and she'd forgive, forget, and play his game until the next time, and the next one after that.

  Maybe pushing him out of her life like this and ending eight years of what she had thought had been love and mutual respect was too harsh, or too unfair. Maggie had been wary of the idea, at first, and had cautioned her not to go too fast. Yet, after thinking about it for a few days, Claire was determined to see this through. The fact that Jonas had not even noticed anything strange with her during that time had sealed the decision for her. She had given him her trust, and he had shattered it beyond repair. The best she could do, for the both of them, was to make the cut as clean and easy as possible. She wouldn't scream at him. She wouldn't argue, or demand an explanation or an apology that would mean nothing. She wouldn't destroy his things, or pile them up as trash on the curbside—even if the temptation to do just that had been very strong.

  The shower Maggie had touted sounded like a wonderful idea, now that dust from the attic was sticking to Claire's sweaty skin and stinging her eyes enough to make her cry. She'd freshen up before Jonas came back. She didn't want him to think she had been crying because of him. She didn't want him to believe she hurt. Even if she did.