Page 2 of Blood Bonds

Chapter 1

Marked

Vanessa

“This is stupid,” I complained for what felt like the millionth time in the space of an hour.

My roommate had come home with another hair-brained idea for us to go and see a psychic. “For fun,” she said. “To see what the future holds,” she said. “Plus, I was given a coupon,” she said.

I swear, that girl would have bought a discounted donkey if she had a coupon for it. And as for the ‘fun’ she said we would have; well, I was yet to experience any… especially after the cab ride and train hopping we had to do to get here.

“Remind me again, why are we in Yonkers?” I asked sardonically, and my friend laughed despite my lack of enthusiasm.

I mean, I wasn’t exactly all fired up in knowing my future. My main priorities were paying all my bills and having enough money left over to eat. I swear, if I never saw another box of mac n cheese so long as I lived, I would die a happy woman. But Jesus, what I would have given for a steak dinner.

Thanks to my shithead ex-boyfriend, I was lucky if I got to eat meat these days. He was the reason for the pitiful state of my life. The asshole had fucked me over and got me into so much debt I felt like most days I was drowning.

Vanessa Cadell, age twenty-six, hopelessly fucked… yep, that was me. Which was why whenever Stacey usually asked me to go to these crazy places with her, my first answer was, “I can’t,” quickly followed by having no money. She rarely accepted my excuses though, but Christ, the girl had bailed me out more often than I changed my bedsheets.

However, this time when she called it her treat, she added a great deal of guilt with it in order to get her way. About how we never went out anymore, how I complained if she tried to help me, and all the rest of it. So, in the end, I caved… hence why I was now standing in a shady part of Yonkers after walking from the train station past a creepy cemetery.

“This doesn’t look right,” I said, focusing on our reflections in the dark window. It was like some ominous mirror showing your other worldly self, looking back at you from the other side of the void.

My best friend and roommate, was the total opposite to me. Our reflections were like Ying and Yang.

Her dark purple hair was up in two bunches and reminded me of Mickey Mouse ears. The comparison was something she always giggled at, and we loved to tease each other. Her large circular glasses that constantly slipped down her nose made her the cutest girl in existence…in my personal opinion. Her dark gothic make up and the lip ring with its tiny skull attached only added to her cuteness. However, sharing clothes was usually out of the question because, let’s just say, her pleated miniskirts and fishnet tights weren’t exactly my shopping bag. And this went both ways, because my plain dress sense most definitely wasn’t Stacey’s.

We made quite a pair. My wavy, shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair and blue-green eyes were usually void of any makeup. I was fortunate that my lashes were dark and long enough not to need mascara, and my skin was lightly freckled enough that it hid any imperfections. Good job really, because I couldn’t afford the luxury of beauty products unless they fell under the ‘necessity’ category.

Even if Stacey and I had the same style, it wouldn’t have mattered because I was short with an ass bigger than I would have liked and a bra size that could be considered as more than a handful. As for Stacey, she was tall and slim enough that she got away with most styles. She often complained that she wished she had my curves, whereas I would wish for her height and athletic build. Although with the amount of ice-cream the girl ate, I had no clue how her stomach remained as flat as it was. All I needed to do was look at the stuff and I would put on five pounds.

I guess I was at least grateful that I seemed to wear my curves well. Most of my unwanted weight went straight to my hips or my breasts, and my stomach thankfully only had a mini pooch. I mean, I still criticized my little tire overhang whenever I got out of the shower or when I was stuffing it into a pair of jeans, but it could be worse.

My outfit of choice today, the dreaded denim in all its shades of blue and whatever T-shirt was clean enough at the time. A zip-up hooded sweater and pair of worn sneakers completed the daily look.

Stacey still hadn’t responded to my comment about how our location looked wrong, so I asked,

“Are you sure we are at the right place?”

I eyed up the peeling, aged white paint that surrounded the large window. One that a decade ago might have actually been glossy. A large crack in the shop window mirrored the one at the door next to it. The temporary fix of duct tape stuck acrossit made me wonder just how long its owner considered this as being sufficient because it looked as old as the building itself.

A single piece of wood that looked as if it had been torn off something bigger had black painted letters saying open and hung from a rusty chain. Another crudely hand painted sign above the door said,

“Yeah, I mean, it has the same name on the coupon and everything,” Stacey said, glancing down at the crinkled piece of paper in her hand. It looked like she had torn the paper from a pin board at the Fulton Market Building we both worked at.

“Well, it doesn’t look that inviting,” I pointed out, wondering if this was what was supposed to entice people inside and if so, how bad was the inside?

“Oooh, perhaps it’s a secret place,” Stacey said, tapping her fingertips together like she usually did when she was excited. It made her look like a cute villain cooking up her next evil scheme. She reminded me of Mr. Burns fromThe Simpsons… well, if he was a twenty-five-year-old gothic girl with pointed black nails with spiderwebs on them, that was. As for me, I made a face that clearly showed my thoughts on the place.

“Oh, come on, Nessa, don’t you want to know who you’re destined to be with? If you’re going to get married and have kids? All that jazz,” Stacey asked.

I held back my eye roll because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Stacey was one of the most optimistic, happy-go-luckypeople I had ever met and thank God I had, because she had literally saved me.

We first started working together in a little bookstore called ‘Written in the Stars’ that was in the trendy Fulton Market Building. A unique place that had a ‘hangout’ kinda vibe, with its little coffee bar in the corner and comfy armchairs and couches dotted around the place. Every inch of the walls was covered in shelves and literature, it really was a place I adored working. Of course, it helped that it was also owned by Stacey’s wacky and wonderfully weird uncle, so naturally, the two of us usually got away with murder.

Through all our differences, the one thing Stacey and I most definitely had in common was our love of books.

Two years ago, I had walked into the store with a crumbled and admittedly pitiful resume, and tears of frustration in my eyes after spending too many weeks trying to get a job. Stacey had taken one look at me and then called back over her shoulder to her uncle,

---