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americanphysco · 13 days ago

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I decided to try my hand at posting some original fiction (that I may be tweaking and submitting to a local lit mag in the spring) if any of you are interested in reading it!

Namesake (2313 words)

Summary: 21 year-old Jesse is forced to ask his boss for a favor, a lift to work, after his car breaks down for the utmost time. They discuss potential baby names despite the awkward tension, culminating in a suggestion that hits a little too close to home for Jesse.

Notes: This is an original work exploring a transgender character's evolving relationship with his deadname, the family history behind it, and what it means to pass that name on to someone new. Mild content warnings for mentions of weed and mentions of transphobia.

Here is the story itself for those of you who prefer not to read on AO3.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Of course, on today of all days, when I had already woken up late from my afternoon nap, did my car battery have to give out. It’s the second time this month that I’ve needed to jump my car, but the $150 price tag made it a choice between groceries and a new battery, so that purchase will have to wait.

Usually I’ll ask my neighbor to help me out here. Mr. Davids is a Navy vet with an iron scowl and a heart of gold, and he’s always willing to lend his car for some juice or the occasional ride. He says I remind him of his son but, seeing as his son doesn’t come around much, I can’t tell if it’s a compliment.

Today Mr. Davids is at the senior hall for bingo night. He says it’s gonna be a hell of a tournament, and that there’s even an Applebee’s gift card on the line.

Besides him, I don’t know who to call. Most of my friends are away at colleges along the coast, the big artsy kinds of schools I could never afford, and the ones that are local have already left for their night jobs so they too could make ends meet. And my other neighbors are much less kind than Mr. Davids. Shit.

I unlock my phone and scroll through my contacts list. It’s mostly people I went to high school with, some old coworkers, a few college lab partners from projects I don’t remember doing, and - oh; There’s Craig.

Craig’s father, an angry businessman with a combover and a slew of ill-fitting suits, owns Flights, but he only ever handles the back end side of things. It’s Craig who really manages the bar, drafting up our weekly schedules and navigating customer complaints. He’s a nice enough guy, albeit a little awkward, and I know for a fact he drives through my neighborhood on his way to work each evening. Besides, the worst thing he can do is say “No”, right?

I select the contact and hit dial. He picks up after two rings.

“Hey, Jesse. Everything alright?” His voice is muffled and I can hear the faint whooshing of the wind against his car.

“Actually, no, it isn’t.” I take a deep breath, feeling my lungs struggle to inflate against the steady pushing of the binder on my chest. I can hear Craig lower the radio’s volume through the receiver. “Listen, I’m really sorry to ask and I know I’ve had a habit of coming in late these last few weeks but my car isn’t starting and I need a ride to work.”

A few moments pass where I’m alone with the muffled sound of the wind. There’s a chance he already drove past my street and was debating the pros and cons of turning around, or, worst case scenario, he was weighing the ethics of firing me over the phone.

I make my way over to the front of the building as I wait, seeking shelter from the falling rain beneath the porch awning. With my back against the building, I can feel the faintest bit of heat seeping through the exterior walls.

“Oh, that’s it?” Craig says, “Sure, I’ll be right there. You still live by the police station?”

Phew. “I do. Thank you so much Craig. I really owe you.”

He says a quick “of course” before hanging up the phone. And, true to his word, he comes rounding the corner roughly five minutes later.

His car slows to a stop in front of my apartment building, hazards already on as his tires skim the curb. He rolls down the passenger window, his eyes narrowed into thin slits as he peers between the raindrops, looking for me. I wave to him from where I’d been sitting on the porch, my knees curled underneath the fraying end of my puffer jacket, and I keep my face tucked beneath one arm as I approach his beat-up Prius.

“Thanks again, man.” I say as I slide into the seat. It’s a bit damp from the open window, but at least this car runs. “I promise this won’t happen again.”

Craig waves his hand in dismissal. “It’s no big deal. You’re practically my neighbor.”

He switches off his hazards and pulls back into the road. The radio is still playing softly, a jazz song I only recognize from his quiet humming as he helps bus tables. His fingers are tapping along the edge of the steering wheel in a pattern of pointer, middle, ring, pointer, middle, ring to match the beat.

I can't tell if the air feels thick from the humidity or the silence between us, either way it forms a hot blanket around my shoulders, pressing in on my throat and weighing down the rest of my body.

“You think it’ll be a busy shift tonight?” Craig asks.

“Maybe,” It's a Tuesday. Of course not. “We had a busy weekend.”

Craig nods. “I hope so. Helps the shift go by faster.” He taps his fingers a bit faster now, breaking the rhythm of the music. I can see his brows furrow out of the corner of my eye, lips pursed together tightly.

Craig’s father stopped by the bar a few nights ago wearing a deeper frown than usual. He’d pulled Craig into the backroom without sparing a single “hello” for any of the other employees, his knuckles streaked white around Craig’s wrist. I could only make out bits and pieces of their conversation through the heavy office door, muffled mentions of declining profits and real estate agents. Flights hasn't been doing well for a while now, and Craig’s phone calls with his dad have only gotten longer and longer with each passing week. It was only a matter of time before the property got sold to make way for something more profitable anyway, even if Craig liked to pretend that wasn't the case.

I can appreciate his commitment to the delusion, at least.

“Jesse,” Craig starts. The tail of his voice is lilted, as if my name were a question. “You know how Tina and I have that baby coming?”

“I do.” She's either six or eight months along; I can't remember which.

“Well, we've been picking out names and I wanted your opinion on one of them.”

It isn't the first time Craig’s run names by me. Sometimes, during our slowest nights when the bartenders have all pulled out their phones prematurely, he’ll ask a group of us to pick between some. James, Jack, Henry, Brian if it's a boy. Claire, Penelope, Gracie, or Jane if it's a girl. Usually he’ll jot down our responses, a collection of quick tally marks in the corner of his notepad. He never seems all that convinced, though.

“So,” he continues, “we’re going to be having a little girl.” I overheard him mentioning this to our senior server earlier in the week, but I congratulate him as if it’s my first time.

His fingers lose the rhythm of the music, instead tapping along to their own nervous pattern. If he weren't driving, Craig would be picking at the skin around his nails, a habit he's formed whenever gearing up for a conversation he’d been avoiding.

“We were thinking Juliet, but I don't know,” he says.

“Juliet?” The last time I heard that name it was being spit at me from across my family dinner table, the word cutting between my tearful attempts at explanation, my choked out promises that my mother hasn't lost her daughter. She was cycling through half-true memories of Barbie dream houses and braided hair, a mantra of Juliet, Juliet, Juliet woven throughout them. She repeated the name like a plea, as if saying it enough times made it reality.

The way Craig says “Juliet” is much softer. The name sounds nothing like a threat on his tongue.

Craig frowns. “You don't like it, do you? It was my mom’s suggestion. She wanted to name me Juliet if I was born a girl.”

“No, no. It’s not that. I just, I knew a Juliet once.”

“Oh.” Craig's frantic tapping resumes.

The night before my sixteenth birthday I caught some kind of stomach bug that had me in a cycle of waking up at odd hours to dry heave over the toilet in hopes of eventually throwing up. After my third or fourth round of almost vomiting I found my mom sitting alone in the living room, the table side lamp lit up beside her, with a sudoku puzzle sprawled across her lap. Only two numbers were filled out, and she was fiddling with our small radio, searching for a decent station through the waves of static.

“Juliet,” She didn't look up from the radio as she spoke, and her voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it made me stop and listen regardless.

“Have I ever told you about your great-grandmother?” she asked, finally settling on 101.7, a local station that plays classical music anytime past 11pm.

She had, if only in passing. I knew that her name was Juliet. I knew that she collected and repaired broken clocks. I knew that she was the kind of woman who only ever said “I love you” to relatives on their deathbeds. Despite this, I shook my head “no” and watched as my mother pat the empty space on the couch beside her. I sat.

My mother pointed to the cuckoo clock across from us, which sat proudly atop our large box TV. The clock was stuck on 2:33am, and had been for as long as I could remember. My parents always shushed me whenever I asked why they hadn't taken it down.

“My grandma made that clock,” she said, “It was a baby shower gift.”

She placed the sudoku puzzle on the arm of the couch and turned to face me completely.

“It’s funny, actually, she never showed up to my baby shower. She gave it to my mom to give to me instead. She didn't even leave a card.” She dragged her finger through the air, tracing along the side of the clock from a distance. “She carved J. N. in the side of it somewhere. Your father thinks that’s where I got your name.”

My mother called me about a month ago, on the morning of my birthday. She brought up her grandma again, if only to tell me how much it’d kill her to see me throw away her name so easily. She wished me a happy birthday, asked how school was, and told me she missed me. I listened to the voicemail three times before deleting it.

“What was she like?”

I look up from where my gaze had settled on the dash in front of me, my eyes briefly meeting Craig’s as he juggles his focus between me and the road. “What?”

“What was she like? The Juliet you knew.” He pauses. “Was she a good person?”

My first instinct is to laugh. It’s stifled laughter, but laughter nonetheless, and the way Craig’s brow furrows at the sound makes me feel guilty.

“Sorry, sorry. I don't know why I did that.”

If you asked my mother whether or not Juliet was a good person, she’d wax poetic about the promising young woman I was before I decided to shave my head and skip class to smoke weed. Back when I would let her wrangle me into puffy church dresses and force smiles for family photos. She likes to pretend all those times I asked for Star Wars action figures and tried on my father’s ties didn't exist, as if I completely blindsided her by wearing a tux to my freshman homecoming dance.

But Craig wasn't asking her. He was asking me. And the Juliet I knew was the not same one my mother knew. My Juliet would draw all her holiday cards by hand, painstakingly picking colors to match the message inside. She would sock playground bullies in the jaw, and would keep trying to bake cookies even after burning her first few batches, and would apply to IVY League schools even if she didn't think she could get in them. The Juliet I knew watched with pride as I signed the name change paperwork at my local DMV.

“Yeah,” I say, “she was a good person.”

I can see Craig still fighting back his frown in my peripheral vision.

I continue, “I think Juliet is a beautiful name. And I think your daughter is gonna wear it well.”

Finally, his frown dissolves into relief.

“You really think so?”

“I do. And I'm not a very good liar, even if I didn't.”

Our laughter dies as Craig pulls into the lot, choosing a spot between a pickup truck and an island of brown grass and cigarette butts.

“Thank you, Jesse.” He claps me on the shoulder before either of us can leave the car. “You’re a good friend.”

“Don’t mention it. I owed you for the ride anyways.”

Craig pulls out his phone as he closes the door behind him, opening his list of baby names and drawing a red circle around “Juliet”.

Later that night, after counting the soggy wad of tips I’d stuffed into the pocket of my apron, I type my mother’s name into Facebook’s search bar. Sure enough, three accounts down, is her, her profile picture a grainy image of her and I posing in front of our lopsided Christmas tree about fifteen years ago. The picture is too small to tell here, but I’d walked past the larger, framed version enough times to know that I’m missing two teeth in it and that my mother is holding a broken ornament behind her back, slightly visible in the space between us.

I take a screenshot of the picture and block her account.

#my writing #mine #original fiction #transgender #transgender fiction #transmasc #lgbt #lgbt fiction #short story #queer fiction #original work #writers of tumblr #levis greatest hits

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kavalyera · 9 months ago

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𝒔𝒆𝒊 𝒎𝒊𝒐 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐 ( 𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒊 𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 )

paura di uscire, anche se non accade | trans mtf!gianna d’antonio

⟢ a/n: la mia prima volta a scrivere in italiano scusate se ci sono errore :[

version on ao3 for quick translation | wc: 1090 | divider by @/benkeibear

Il buio gelido della mezzanotte che albeggia sulla casa della Famiglia D'Antonio, l'odore della polvere depositata su ciottoli e marmi, la puzza di un qualcosa di dolce, l'odore del mare che circonda l'Italia. Un mare freddo di notte. C'è un sentimento, quello disgustosamente opprimente dell'empatia. Non essere spietati per qualcuno, nientemeno che per Gianni stesso. Gianni D’Antonio. Il figlio d’oro. Il favorito della famiglia.

Santino è avido, è sempre stato un uomo avido, avido. Tutto quello che voleva, e anche di più, lo pretende da tutti gli altri. Lui è così.

Vuole tutto e ancora di più. Lui, è avido. Ma mantiene una facciata di elequonza.

"Gia", chiama Santino bussando alla stanza del fratello. La risposta? Silenzio. Santino bussa ancora, prima di decidere di aprire la porta a se stesso. “Gianni?” La stanza è buia, fredda. Molto freddo. L'odore del profumo—

Aspetta.

Profumo? Santino si guarda intorno nella stanza del fratello. Profuma di ciliegie e di odori dolci e femminili. Qualcosa che Santino si aspetterebbe dalle sue ragazze— e non dalla stanza di Gianni. Oro e ornamenti finemente lavorati sono sparsi ordinatamente per la stanza. Alle pareti sono appesi quadri, la collezione d'arte privata di Gia.

Santino invidia Gianni, da cose semplici a una comprensione molto più complessa. Il suo aspetto, la sua sicurezza, il suo carisma, il modo in cui si comporta; Santino vuole sentire che, la falcata sicura di Gia.

Un’altra cosa: è differente. Più morbida. Le coperte che drappeggiano il letto sono morbide, foderate di pizzo insieme ai cuscini. Fiori in vaso: sul comodino, nell'angolo, accanto all'armadio.

Ora che è qui, forse può rubare l'auto di Gianni per un'ora o due. Santino apre uno dei cassetti di Gia sulla scrivania per le chiavi dell'auto. Lo trova quasi subito, ma sotto c'è un piccolo quaderno. Suscita il suo interesse, così lo raccoglie rapidamente e si siede sul bordo del letto di Gia."Non gli dispiacerà se ho dato un'occhiata ai suoi pensieri,” Santino pensa che mentre sfoglia le pagine. Le parole non lo interessano, poiché si tratta soprattutto di come Gia racconta la sua giornata e le cose che ha fatto. A Santino non importa nulla della sua vita.

Ma c'è qualcosa che cattura lo sguardo di Santino.

‘Non mi piace essere un uomo. Vorrei essere una donna. Prima a Roma ho comprato degli oggetti che mi aiutano a sentirmi meglio.’

“Santino!” Santino ha appena il tempo di accorgersi che Gianni è tornato nella sua stanza. Rapidamente, Gia strappa il taccuino a Santino. “Cosa hai letto?”

“Niente!” Santino promette, mentre prende le chiavi della macchina e le infila in tasca. “Posso avere la tua auto?”

“Non dirlo è papà, per favore, Santino.” Gia sa che Santino sa. “Qualunque cosa leggiate qui, non diteglielo.”

Santino è silenzio, la sua lingua diventa secca. Gia espira pesantemente.

“Perché?” Santino chiede. Santino ridacchia a mezza voce. “E’ uno scherzo, vero?” Gia è silenzio stavolta. “No..?” La voce di Santino si disperde mentre guarda Gianni, osservando l'espressione del volto del fratello.

“No, Santino.” Gianni dice. “No. Vorrei che fosse uno scherzo. Vorrei. Così posso ridere con mia madre quando chiedo di andare in altri posti. Ma non. Fa male desidare qualcosa che non si avvererà.”

Santino guarda Gianni con attenzione, in attesa di qualcosa. Non si sa bene cosa stia aspettando, ma tra i due fratelli c'è silenzio. Sorella? Forse.

Schiocca la lingua prima di passare silenziosamente davanti a Gianni per andarsene. Santino non aveva intenzione di fare nulla. Ma ora lo fa. Gli costerà molto, ma non gliene importerà nulla.

Sono passate quattro o cinque ore da quando Santino è tornato alla villa e ora è di nuovo qui!

“Quello stronzo ha preso la mia macchina.” Gia sussurrò sottovoce mentre vede Santino scendere dalla sua auto. “Cazzo,”

Quel coglione sta tornando a casa dal garage con le borse in mano. Probabilmente un regalo per la sua nuova ragazza. Esibizioniste.

Gia ha un sapore amaro in bocca mentre guarda Santino che torna verso la porta d'ingresso della villa. Il palmo della mano sotto il mento, guardando con i suoi occhi verdi. Gia sospira, la mano gli accarezza la testa mentre lui sbuffa per lo stress. È in difficoltà. Il suo cuore batte forte e i suoi pensieri corrono più veloci dei cavalli in fuga. E se Santino lo avesse detto al padre? E se lo avesse detto a tutti? No, no, no. Cazzo. Non avrebbe dovuto scriverlo, non avrebbe dovuto—

“Gianni!” La voce di Santino è forte dall'altra parte della porta bianca. Bussa, con forza.

“Vattene.” Gia grida dall’altra parte. “Vattene, Santi, Vattene.”

“Le chiavi…?” Santino dice di entrare. Si lascia convincere e Gia ci casca. “Le chiavi dell'auto, le ho prese io. Se non apri questa porta, la tua macchina è mia!”

“Questo fastidioso parassita…” Gia borbotta sottovoce. “Mio dio,” Gia apre la porta, ma Santino entra a forza con un sorriso fastidioso. “sei irritante, Santino.”

“Sì, lo so, cara sorella.” Gia deve ammettere che quelle parole di essere chiamata sorella le hanno dato un po' di felicità.

Santino ha in mano delle borse. Gia è un po' preoccupata per l'interno delle borse. "Santino, che cazzo hai in quelle borse?" Gia chiede, indicandole.

"Sei molto eccitata, Gia." Un'osservazione sarcastica e sciocca di Santino, che si siede sul letto di Gia come se fosse suo. Santino apre la borsa che ha, prima di richiuderla e lanciarla a Gia perché la prenda. “Ho graffiato la tua auto. Non voglio pagare i danni.”

“Certo che hai danneggiato la mia macchina, insolente, disordinato, irritante stronzetto....” Quando gli occhi di Gia guardano la borsa, le sue parole svaniscono mentre elabora ciò che sta vedendo e che suo fratello le ha appena comprato (sacrificando la nuova verniciatura della sua auto). “Cosa?”

L'incredulità colpisce Gia.

“Cos’è questo, Santi?” Gia chiede a Santino che sta scegliendo delle scarpe di Gia che molto probabilmente vuole portare con sé.

“Ha?”

“La borsa, Santino.”

“Sì, è?”

“Gli abiti di seta sono per le donne.”

Gia dice, mentre Santino raccoglie le scarpe— "Non toccarle.” Lei dice severamente.

“Non ti ho ancora comprato un vestito o dei tacchi. Dato che potresti dover iniziare dal primo livello. Bisogna entrarci lentamente.” Santino fa spallucce.

"Non so cosa dire" Dice Gia mentre si siede e guarda l'accappatoio.

“Grazie mille?”

“Benvenuti,” Gia dice che è un modo per colpire Santino.

“Dovrebbe essere il contrario, Gia.” Santino dice.

“Hmmm….. no.” Dice Gianna prima di lanciare un paio di scarpe a Santino. "Ora vattene"

“Hey!” Santino osserva le scarpe. “Puttana.” Sussurra prima di andarsene, posando le chiavi sul letto di Gia.

( wickblr pride anon if you see this i love you )

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siobhanhazel · 23 hours ago

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Once Upon a Time - HP Rec Fest 2024

Once Upon a Time by busaikko (podfic version by malnpudl)

Gen - Dudley. Rated: G. Words: 1,200. Trans Femme Dudley, Harry Potter, Cousins, Transgender, Post-Canon,

Day 26 Prompt: a fic under 5k In which Dudley discovers who she really is. Warm, good feels all around. I wish I could give justice to this fic with an amazingly worded review but, all I can manage with my exhausted brain is to yell READ IT.

The writing is so tight and impactful. The character portrayal of Dudley is just chef’s kiss. It’s such a heartfelt 1,200 words. Excerpt (the first two paragraphs):

Dudley's got five suits in the closet, one for each day of the week, and three chins like a ladder up from necktie to scowl, and a solid German car for driving to the corporate headquarters of Consolidated Demolitions, Ltd., every morning at half past seven. Dudley sits with thighs pushing knees wide apart, and drips sweat climbing the stairs, and when the receptionist snipes under her breath it's not like you can eat yourself happy Dudley throws such a wobbler that the next day she applies for a transfer to the department of breaking big things into little things with hammers. She starts Dudley thinking about happiness, though, which leads to thinking about unhappiness. Once upon a time, Dudley had the pleasures of life sucked out by an invisible creeping horror. Knowing that evil really existed, waiting just around the corner from normal life, made it hard to go back to school. After that, Dudley was afraid of being put in the cupboard under the stairs, afraid of dirty old clothes and sharp words and birthdays with no presents or cake, of being laughed at by friends. It's an unpleasant shock to trace the roots of those fears down into the childhood certainty that if ever Dudley were a freak like Harry, there'd be no more love, ever.

★★★ Check out my other HP Rec Fest 2024 recs ★★★

@hprecfest

#hprecfest2024 #Day 26 #Gen fic #hp fic rec #Dudley Dursley #transgender fiction #trans

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constance-mcentee · 2 months ago

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Saturday, 2 November 2024

I just finished reading A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall. At last! A book featuring a transgender character where being transgender wasn't a part of the book's conflict!

#book report #transgender fiction #historical romance #queer fiction

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roanrosser · 7 months ago

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Pre-order now open! Release Date August 6th! Part of the Friends of Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue MM Romance series.

https://books2read.com/RuffStart

Sawyer

I’m deathly afraid of dogs, so why am I signing up to volunteer at an animal shelter?

When my therapist sends me to the newly opened Safe Haven Animal Rescue to get up close to a dog in a safe environment, my nerves almost get the best of me in the lobby. But a run-in with a handsome employee makes putting up with the terror worth it. I’m so besotted, that before I know it, I’m signing up to be a volunteer at the shelter.

Neil

Crushing hard on my first volunteer is not a good way to start my new job as a volunteer coordinator.

When he starts flirting with me, I shut him down despite his pushing all my buttons. Yet the more time we spend together, the more my crush deepens, and the more I regret staying so professional. But even if I do jump despite the consequences, will he still be interested when he finds out I’m trans?

Ruff Start is a slow-burn gay romance novel between a work-a-holic corporate professional and a laid back artist who needs to learn when to ask for help.

#trans masc #trans author #contemporary romance #transgender romance #transgender fiction #my writing #trans books #trans man #trans male

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umabreakdown · 9 months ago

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Late for tdov but it's just short of my 2 year hrt anniversary (which is 420) and after a pretty horrible period of low self estime this is the cutest picture I've got of my self in a while. Thanks to my partner for making the slacks, and the low sun at this latitude.

#queer artist #transgender writer #transgender fiction #transgender #transfem #tdov #tdov 2024 #transgender artist #digital artist #horror games #queer scifi

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ritualoftheancients · 10 months ago

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Ritual of the Ancients Chapter 14: Unexpected Connection

by Roan Rosser

This is a chapter of a complete vampire novel with a trans-masc main character and a gay romance subplot. New Chapters are posted every Sunday. If you like the novel and want to support the author, ebook and paperback copies can be purchased here.

*****

Jack and Stacy waited for me in the parking lot when I pulled up in Jack’s destroyed car. Jack did a double-take, his mouth dropping open as I pulled up to park alongside them.

“What the hell happened?” Jack cried as he got out of the passenger side of a red convertible Porsche that I assumed was Stacy’s. He was wearing another set of the shapeless, baggy sweats from the office rather than the clothes I had seen him in last.

“Drive-by shooting,” I said, futilely pushing at the driver’s-side door, which was refusing to open. “Sorry about your car.”

Jack came around and grabbed the door handle, and with both of us together we managed to pry it open. I got out, and to my surprise, Jack leaned over and wrapped his arms around me. “I don’t care about the car. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

I leaned into the hug, sniffling. “You too. I was so worried when they called me to ransom you.”

Jack’s arms stiffened around me. “Everett, you’re bleeding. Were you shot?” Jack looked down at me in concern.

I frowned, confused. “What? No.”

“The back of your leg,” Jack said. “Stacy, will you take a look?” Jack turned sideways, turning me with him.

Stacy got out and walked around the front of her car to come over, her heels clacking on the pavement. She glanced down at my back and nodded. I looked down, twisting back to see. The back of my right pant leg had dried blood running down it.

“I don’t feel anything,” I said, staring with fascination at the blood.

“From the flush in your face, it looks like you fed well tonight, so it would have healed near instantaneously,” Stacy said, looking me up and down with narrowed eyes, her lips pressed tightly together. The expression made me uneasy.

“Fed?” Jack asked with alarm. “You didn’t—”

“I didn’t kill anyone…” I protested automatically, and then trailed off as I realized that maybe wasn’t true. I had killed that vampire, hadn’t I? Or had I? I didn’t know. Jack was looking at me with wide eyes. “I think. It’s complicated,” I said as my eyes met Stacy’s. “How do you tell if a vampire is dead?”

Stacy glared at me. “What kind of a question is that? And we don’t have time for this.”

“What about my car?” Jack asked, eying the wreck.

“Leave it. I’ll send Zoe or Ted over later with a tow truck.” Stacy walked back around and got in the driver’s seat of her convertible.

Jack opened the passenger side door and gestured at the back seat. The top was down, but I hesitated, glancing down at my bloody leg and then back at Stacy’s immaculate car.

“Don’t worry about the blood,” Stacy said, glancing at me over her shoulder. “There have been far worse things on my seats.”

Shrugging, I climbed over the side and into the back. Jack shut the door and vaulted over the side and into the back next to me. I gave Jack a shy smile.

“May I? Jack asked me with his hand hovering over my shoulder.

I nodded, trying to not to blush as he snaked his arm around the back of my neck. I relaxed back against him.

Stacy started the car, and the automatic top began to unfold up and over our heads as she pulled out onto the road. By the time we approached the nearest stoplight the top was up, encasing Jack and I in the tiny back seat. It was surprisingly intimate.

As she drove, I caught Stacy glaring at me in the rearview mirror. When she noticed me she didn’t stop or look away, and if anything her glare deepened. I remembered what Jack had said about not trusting the vampires. I wished Jack had brought someone else with him.

“How’d you get away?” I asked Jack as Stacy wound her way through the maze of tight St. John streets, avoiding the major roads. I guessed she was trying to throw off any tail that might have followed me here from MLK Street.

Jack chuckled, his white teeth flashing in the dim light when he shot me a smile. “They were humans, and they didn’t know I was a shapeshifter. When it finally got dark and they left me alone, I shifted to my jackal form and slipped right out of the ropes.”

I leaned against Jack, enjoying his warmth along with the feel of his strong chest against my side, and the press of his arm around my shoulders. It made me feel safe. “I was so worried. I didn’t know what to do. What did they want?”

“They asked a lot of questions about where you were and how you’d survived, but I played dumb.” Jack shrugged. “You did the right thing by bugging out and not trying to play the hero. Alerting Dave and Stacy was a smart move too. Where’d you hole up during the day?”

“Your place.” I bit my lip, looking down. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Like I said, good instincts. I’m impressed you managed to day-proof my place so fast with only the minimal instruction I gave you the other night.”

I blushed. “I had a good teacher.”

Stacy glared at us in the rearview mirror. “Try to keep your pants on in my backseat.” Her tone was dry, but held an undercurrent of anger. I got the feeling she didn’t like me much.

Jack laughed. “No promises, but we should change the subject. Ev, you mentioned they called you about ransoming me. What did they want?”

I warmed at the nickname. Normally I hated people trying to shorten my chosen name or make it cutesy, but for some reason I enjoyed hearing it from Jack. The question Jack was asking, however, turned my insides cold. I didn’t want to reveal the amulet to a vampire after the other attack, and I doubly didn’t want to admit to Jack, the former cop, that I was a thief.

“You never answered my question about vampires, Stacy,” I called to the front seat in an attempt to change the subject. I could feel Jack’s gaze boring into the top of my head, but I ignored it and kept my eyes on the bit of Stacy’s face I could see past the headrest. “If a vampire looked like, let’s say a desiccated, dried out corpse, would they be dead?”

Stacy slammed on the brakes, stopping in the middle of the road. Jack and I were thrown forward, and my seatbelt dug into my stomach for a moment before I fell back into my seat. Stacy twisted around to glare at me. “What the fuck, Everett? Of course a vampire’s dead if it looks like that. Are you fucking stupid? You’re a vampire, you should know these things.” She huffed, giving me one last glower before straightening back up and hitting the gas again.

I crossed my arms and bit back a reply. I agreed with Jack’s assessment that I needed to keep my true situation from the vampires for now, especially given that I’d killed one of the locals. I wondered if Stacy had heard about that death yet. The PCA, as the enforcers of the supernatural world, would likely get word of it eventually. I kicked myself for saying anything at all to her. Oh well, nothing to do about it now.

The rest of the ride passed in awkward silence.

Stacy pulled up to the curb in front of a nondescript house and hit a button on her dash. The automatic top began opening. Once it was all the way down, Stacy turned to glare at Jack, studiously avoiding looking at me.

“I’m only doing this for you, Jack. I didn’t like it when I found out you lied for him, but I was willing to put that aside because I know how passionate you are about helping people. That was, until he put your life in danger by dragging you into his mess. It’s clear by his jokes about dead vampires that he’s not taking this seriously enough.”

“That’s not—” I protested, but Stacy kept talking over me.

“I want him gone by tomorrow night.” She jerked her thumb at me. “Now both of you, get out of my car.”

Jack climbed over the side of the car and offered me a hand. I took it and got out. We began walking up the sidewalk, me still clinging to the comfort of Jack’s hand. Stacy peeled away before we’d taken two steps.

“Sorry,” I said to Jack. “I don’t mind her being mad at me, but I didn’t mean to ruin your relationship with your boss.”

Jack shrugged. “She’ll get over it. Besides, she doesn’t know that you never got shown the introductory Powerpoint presentation.”

I snorted out a laugh at Jack’s serious tone. “Powerpoint? Don’t be… Wait, you are kidding, right?” Jack’s wry smile made me cautious.

“I’m afraid not. Shapeshifting and You: Exploring Your New Body.” Jack made air-quotes with his free hand as he said the name. ”Got bad clip art and everything. I’ve never seen the vampire one, but I imagine it’s similar.”

“Oh. My. God.” I shook my head in disbelief as we went up the steps to the door.

Jack let go of my hand so he could retrieve a key from his pocket. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. “After you, sir.”

“Thanks,” I said with a laugh. “What is this place anyway?” I asked, looking around the living room. The decor could have come right out of an Ikea catalog.

“A safe house, of sorts. We put newbies up here when a situation demands. Like if they have a roommate, or are having trouble adjusting and need time away.” Jack closed the door behind him and flipped the lock, then went around the room, closing the blinds and curtains. “Only PCA employees know the address, plus it has light-proof rooms for vampires.” Task done, Jack flopped onto the couch and patted the spot next to him.

I dragged my feet over and sat down on the other end of the couch, as far from Jack as I could get. I hugged my legs to my chest, putting my feet on the cushions—I didn’t miss Jack’s wince at seeing my shoes on the furniture—and rested my face on my knees.

“Is this about that vampire you mentioned to Stacy?” The couch creaked and I felt Jack’s weight settle in next to me. There was a light touch on my shoulder.

“Yeah.” I shuddered and leaned into Jack’s touch. “I think I killed him, Jack, but it was an accident, I swear.”

“I know Stacy thought it was a bad joke. I’m sorry, but I could tell you were serious. Do you feel like you can tell me what happened?” Jack moved his hand over and began rubbing my back.

Jack’s tone was very even and nonjudgmental, and I found myself telling him everything, starting with realizing he was gone and ending with the hostage exchange. I left out all mentions of the amulet. In my story, the vampires demanded I leave the territory and attacked when I refused, and I said that Lady Ann wanted me in exchange for him. As I talked I felt himself relaxing more and more, until we were cuddled up together, with me leaning back against Jack’s side with his arms around my waist, and his head resting on mine.

Jack hugged me close, and I heard the frown in the distressed tone of his voice even though I couldn’t see his face. “How long after the phone call before the shooters showed up?”

I paused and thought about it for a moment. “Maybe ten minutes?”

“Sounds like you were on the phone with her long enough for her to trace your call’s location to the nearest cell tower. But for them to get there that fast, she must have had people combing the city for you.”

“You think it’s Lady Ann trying to kill me.” He confirmed what I’d already suspected.

“I don’t know the why yet, but yes, there’s a good bet that she’s the one that set up the hits on you. That’s also why she wanted to have you trade yourself in for me. When you hesitated to send her the selfie that was probably when she sent those thugs to kill you, thinking you’d rethought the deal. What I can’t figure out is the vampire angle.”

“I had some thoughts about that,” I said, remembering my investigator’s notebook. I sat up and pulled it out of my back pocket while Jack gave me a curious look. The pages were a little crumbled from the run and the car ride, but still legible. “Your Detective Pikachu poster gave me the idea,” I said, holding up the page labeled “Clues”.

“That one is in my office.”

“I know. Why hide it there? What, you a closet Pokémon fan?”

Jack waved his hand. “Not important. Anyway, what do we have here?” He leaned over me to look at what I’d written. “You think the vampire turning you is a different person than whoever tried to kill you? I agree.”

“But what I can’t figure out is, why turn me?” I sighed.

Jack scooted away and turned to face me, putting one bent leg up on the couch.

I mirrored his pose, closing the notebook and clutching it.

“I don’t know, and I don’t think I can speculate. Let’s ignore that for now and concentrate on the humans after you. You don’t have any idea why this mobster wants you? You sound like you know her. How?”

“I don’t really want to talk about her right now.” I crossed my arms and turned to sit back on the couch, covering my face with the notebook.

“I’m sorry to bring up bad memories, but you heard Stacy. We only have tonight to figure this out.”

I groaned, but Jack had a point. “I… work for her. Or I did. Obviously not anymore.” I snorted, and imagined I could feel Jack’s disappointment and disapproval, though I couldn’t see his face from behind my paper shield.

“Doing what?” Jack’s voice was low.

I sighed and lowered the notebook, but kept my gaze fixed on the far wall so I wouldn’t have to see Jack’s judgment. “I was a dual major in archeology and art history at the University of Oregon. I got a few loans, but my parents were paying for most of my education. Until I came out to them. They totally cut me off, and I ended up homeless.” I let out a shaky laugh, trying to keep from crying. I thought I’d gotten over this, but talking about it still hurt.

“Geez. I’m sorry, Everett.”

“At least it happened between semesters. Glad I listened to the people online in the support groups.” I sighed. “I guess Lady Ann found out somehow. One of her people contacted me on my cell phone before my parents had it shut off. They set up an entry level job for me at the art museum, in the restoration department.”

“And in return?” Surprisingly there was no judgment in his tone, just compassion.

“She wanted me to steal things for her. Little things, here and there, from the storeroom. She always paid me for them, on top of my wages.” I twisted the notebook in my hands, curling it up into a tube.

“So she’d ask you to steal specific things?” Jack shifted over closer and put a hand over mine until I let go of the notebook with one hand, and took his hand. I didn’t know why, but it made me feel better.

I shook my head. “No, she just said to use my best judgment. Her only requirements were nothing new, gold and other precious metals preferred, and to make sure they were authentic. I think that was why she hired me.” I hesitated, and ran the sweaty palm of the hand Jack wasn’t holding along my pants, feeling the amulet in my pocket. Jack had done nothing but help me, and I owed him the truth, no matter how much I didn’t want to. “It had been that way for almost a year, until a few weeks ago.”

I risked a glance at Jack, who was smiling gently at me. “What changed?”

“She wanted something specific. My contact described the amulet they wanted perfectly, even knew the lot number. But that store room is a mess. Parts of it haven’t been touched in almost a hundred years, and the lot that amulet was in was from the 1920s. I couldn’t find it.” I shuddered, remembering the stressful phone calls I’d had with my contact. “She was getting impatient. I never dealt with her directly, but my contact was starting to threaten me, and calling me daily for updates.”

Jack nodded. “I’ve seen this before. Those early thefts were tests, to see if you’d do what they wanted and if you could do the job without getting caught. Then, when they were sure they could trust you, they had you go after what they really wanted all along.”

I frowned and ran my thumb along Jack’s hand. “But why threaten me?”

“I’d guess they thought that you were holding out on them. The attempts on your life make sense, at least if we ignore the vampire angle.”

I stared at Jack, the pieces coming together at last. “I get it. The mugging. The thief stole my pass card so they could get in and search the storeroom themselves.”

Jack nodded. “And killing you ties up the last loose end. I’m guessing that no matter what, after this job they’d been planning to kill you.”

“What?” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut against the tears that blurred my vision. “Even if I’d given it to them like they wanted?”

“That’s how these guys operate.” Jack slid off the couch to crouch in front of me and took my other hand in his. “Look at me, Everett.”

My head spun at the revelation I’d just been a tool—and a stupid, gullible one at that. I clutched Jack’s hand as I opened my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Why hire me, if they just broke in anyway?”

“I’m guessing that they would have preferred the theft go unnoticed, but they thought you forced their hand.” Jack reached up and gently wiped a tear away and then cupped my cheek with his palm for a moment before dropping it back down. “It’s not your fault, Ev.”

“That makes sense.” I did my best to gather my swirling thoughts. Jack’s presence both helped and hindered, making me feel better about being manipulated, yet at the same time making my stomach do excited flip-flops about the intimate pose. I was suddenly distinctly aware of the fact that Jack was pressed up between my thighs. I pushed the thought down, focusing on the facts about the storeroom. “With a break-in the contents of the storeroom will be audited, and the thefts discovered. But if I died—”

“Especially if they made it look natural or accidental, like a car accident…” Jack added in.

“Then they might not find out anything was missing for another decade. Or more, judging by the dust in there.” I swallowed, surprised my nose wasn’t running like a faucet like it usually did when I cried. A small benefit to being a vampire, I was guessing.

“Well, they might have gotten the amulet, but at least you’re still alive.” Jack frowned, realizing his faux pas, and hastily corrected. “Or undead, as the case may be.”

I swallowed again, and reached into my pocket to finger the amulet. Jack hadn’t blamed me for the thefts, so I could tell him. Should tell him the truth. Jack was giving me a curious look.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered my courage and reached into my pocket, pulling out the amulet, presenting it to Jack on the palm of my hand. “They didn’t get it. I had finally found it the night that this all started. The mugger didn’t find it because I had it in a hidden pocket of my coat,” I said softly. “It wasn’t me. This is what she really wanted in exchange for you.” As I said it I realized why she’d asked me for a selfie with it: to ensure I’d have it with me, or go to where it was, and not use an old picture.

Jack stared at me, barely even glancing at the gold amulet resting in my palm.

“Like I said, I would have sold it to them, but then everything happened…” I sighed and closed my hand around it. Having it in plain sight like this was making me anxious for some reason. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I was afraid you’d have me arrested for stealing or something.”

Jack gave a relieved smile. “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me. But I meant what I said, the amulet doesn’t matter. What’s important is keeping you safe.”

Before I could respond, Jack leaned forward and kissed me.

#original fiction #trans author #trans masc #urban fantasy #ftm #transgender fiction #vampire novel

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