CHAPTER ONE
I could feel the sweat trickle down my back and I fidgeted uncomfortably trying not to spill the brimming contents of my shopping basket onto the floor.
Was it even possible for the Sun to produce heat like this?
I was standing in aisle five of an air conditioned grocery store, yet I could literally feel the fluids in my body sizzling as they evaporated into the hellish atmosphere.
I quickly grabbed the fat tube of red icing from the shelf and disgustedly watched as a wave of dust particles began dancing in the air at the disturbance I had caused. I scowled and wiped the dusty tube on the side of my shorts before dropping it into the basket to accompany the other culinary supplies.
Almost everyone in Bon Temps would be either indoors, rickety metal fans blowing full speed at their faces, or they'd all be at the manmade lake down by Rodney Summer's house.
Whichever one it was, it looked like me and the cashier were the only ones inside the grocery store.
I quickly took a look at my shopping list which was now soaked from being held so tightly in my sweaty palms. From what I could make out of the smudged ink, it seemed like the only item I still needed was whipped cream.
I eagerly trudged towards the refrigerated section and glanced down aisle after empty aisle, the sound of my sandals slapping loudly in the eerie silence.
The single reason why I wasn't currently at the lake with a tall glass of lemonade and a good book was because of my older sister. Miranda's twenty-third birthday was tomorrow and it was my job to bake the cake.
Ever since we had lost our mother to a heart attack a few years ago, all of the cooking had landed on my shoulders. Perhaps our father would have cooked for us now instead; but unfortunately for us, he was simply non-existent. Mr. Fredrick LaCoon had abandoned his family in the dead of night upon finding out that mother was pregnant with yours truly.
That had come as quite a shock to our small, closely knit town since his family had lived in Bon Temps for the past three generations and a majority of the citizens thought of Mr. LaCoon as a first class gentleman who loved his family dearly; so much for that assessment.
I snapped out of my reverie and returned to reality as I found myself staring at a wall of deep red.
I grimaced at the synthetic blood that lined the shelves; tall bottles, short bottles, fat cans and skinny cylinders all sat straightened and untouched row after row. Why they would choose to put the whipped cream next to the vampire sustenance was beyond me.
I slid the glass door open; the cold air felt amazing as I reached into the refrigerator and plucked out a can of Cool Whip, trying to be extra careful about avoiding the "vamp juice." But of course I failed miserably, cursing loudly as I stumbled and clanked the bottom of the can against the tall neck of a Trublood. Before I could even make a grab at it, the heavy glass bottle toppled over and cracked like an egg with a dull SMACK.
Blood and glass sat in a thick pool before my now scarlet speckled feet.
"Damn it." I glanced over at the price tag; of course I had to knock over the most expensive brand.
Mumbling, I shucked off my sandals and wiped the tiny specks of blood off my legs and feet before it had a chance to dry.
Reluctantly bending over to examine the damage, I spotted the plastic label jutting out of the remains.
Trublood was written in a majestic shiny red font, but what caught my eyes sat just above in small bold lettering that read, O POSITIVE.
My blood type.
I shuddered involuntarily and straightened myself out.
Deciding that I'd end up making an even bigger mess if I tried dealing with the spill, I quickly headed towards the check out, the items in my basket clanking and clanging with every hasty step.
It's not that I had anything against vampires, I hated to admit my naivety and narrow-mindedness, but they were actually still categorized as mythical creatures in my head.
I recalled the night about two years ago when they had made their existence public on national television. Miranda and I had been in the basement watching TV when our program had been interrupted by an elderly man, closely resembling Bill Clinton, standing in front of a backdrop of the American flag. His face was grave as he began speaking, and from that moment on, the world had been turned upside down.
I remembered laughing at the announcement at first, thinking it was some sort of commercial. But five minutes later I was flipping through the channels in a state of shock and terror as every station was broadcasting the same thing; an old man standing in front of the American flag, exposing to the world his true nature.
For weeks after that night, now known as the "Great Revelation" by most, big black letters headlined everywhere read "SYNTHETIC BLOOD ENCOURAGES EMERGENCE OF NEW RACE."
Bon Temps hadn't had a single member of the "new race" pass through here and for that I was exceptionally glad.
Like I said I wasn't one of those wacko's who would kill you for even looking at a vampire, but I wasn't one of those idiots who went out seeking them, or who longed to meet one either; fang bangers or vamp humpers they were called.
I guess you could say I was sanguivoriphobic; a term I'd looked up a couple months ago in order to be able to explain my unease for the newest race upon our planet in a civilized manner.
It meant fear of blood eaters.
"Hey there Lylah!"
Due to the racket I was producing, the cashier, who I was now able to identify as Steve Vinyard, was made aware of my approach long before I made it to the counter.
Steve's grand-father, a grumpy, gnarled old man, owned the grocery store and gloated about it as if it were a platinum mine. Steve and I had been in the same grade in High School, and although I never did talk to him much, he was nice enough for me to like him.
Steve waved cheerily at me as I heaved the red plastic basket onto the ceramic counter top, immediately beginning to unload its contents.
"Hey Stevie," I said wearily as I allowed him to help me unpack. I felt exhausted; the heat was really starting to take its toll on me. I stood back, letting him scan each one of my items as a monotonous beeping filled the air.
I realized suddenly that I wasn't sweating bullets and found that it was much cooler here compared to the rest of the store. I peeked over the till and saw that Steve had placed four fans behind the counter which were whirring at full speed.
Selfish hog.
"All this food just for you girly?" Steve's mahogany eyes were scrutinizing the total on the screen as he finished bagging all of my items.
"No, its Miranda's birthday tomorrow," I fought back a smile as Steve smacked his large forehead in remembrance. "My job to make the food," I added with false enthusiasm.
"Well, I better be getting some of that delicious cake of yours!" Steve chirped excitedly.
I hated to brag, but I was without a doubt one of the best cooks in town, and according to the Bon Temps Bugle, my coconut cream cakes were "more addictive than crystal meth".
Steve smiled again before telling me what I owed him. "One hundred twenty-seven dollars and ninety-two cents."
I propped up my tacky leopard print coin purse- which I carried only for grocery shopping- onto the counter to fish for the wad of twenties when I remembered my incident earlier.
"Oh shoot, do you mind adding a bottle of Trublood to the total?" I watched, confused as the cheery expression vanished from Steve's face.
He was staring at me like I had just asked him to ram my foot up his ass.
"I accidently knocked one over and it spilt all over the place... sorry." I tried to sound sheepish but I could blatantly hear the rough edge in my voice.
I wanted to get out of here.
Steve obviously didn't pick up on my tone because I was actually frightened to see how fast his features twisted back up into a smile; it almost looked like he was snarling and I involuntarily took a step back.
"Oh don't you even worry about it Lylah," he said feeling the need to wave a hand in dismissal before continuing. "For a second there I thought you were drinking that Vamp trash." His eyes shone maliciously as he spoke the last two words.
I forced out a weak chuckle and wondered what he would've done if I had been.
People in my small town thought they were open minded towards vampires, but I knew they'd sooner burn one at the stake than invite one into their homes.
I continued smiling and handed him my wad of cash, not bothering to count it up since I knew he'd redo it anyway.
"So you sure you don't mind the bottle?" I asked again insistently. I was only a little over 19, but I had been lucky in landing myself a job at the police station as a receptionist. So I guess it was only natural that I felt exceptionally wrong about not paying for the Trublood, seeing as how I worked in a facility that enforced citizens to obey the law.
"I told you, it's on the house," Steve leaned over to hand me my change and winked as he plopped the last quarter into my clammy hands. I'd never noticed before how unsettling his large eyes were and I quickly averted my gaze. Perhaps I was too quick to say that I liked him.
I forced my mouth to form a wide grin and thanked him before chucking the change in my coin purse. I hopped over to the bags that sat wilting in the heat and hauled two into each hand as I then began to scuttle my way out of SuperSave-a-Bunch.
Stepping outside the doors was like entering the seventh lair of hell. I could almost feel the hair on my arms and head smoldering away, and I began running when I thought I could smell burning flesh.
My beige sedan was parked nearby underneath the skimpy shade of trees that bordered the parking lot. I didn't even bother to make an attempt at opening the malfunctioning trunk, so I jammed all of the groceries into the passenger's seat as I climbed into the sweltering car.
My bare skin stuck to the faux leather seats as I tried to maneuver myself into a comfortable position. I could still feel a heavy knot in the pit of my stomach for knocking over the Trublood, and it wasn't because I thought Steve would be upset.
As childish and idiotic as it seemed, I was afraid that some member of the American Vampire League would come find me for so carelessly wasting a bottle of their precious food supply.
I hastily promised that if I ever met a vampire. I'd just offer up a pint of myself in return; after all I had knocked over my own blood type.
I smiled weakly at my own joke but failed to stifle the shiver that ran up my spine.
I sighed and turned to do a shoulder check even though the parking lot was empty, and found Steve unexpectedly glaring at me from a large, spotless window behind the front check-out counter. I gave a little jump, yelping in surprise but then smiled at my own paranoia and waved at him.
But when his face remained expressionless and he continued glaring at me with those large, unblinking eyes, I swerved out of the parking lot and drove like a bat out of hell.