Young Writers Society

Tuesday, 15:30, route 42

The moment Rick crawls to a stop and pulls up the bus’s parking brake, a clatter of metal washes down from the back of the bus. Mellie staggers down the stairs, her hair on fire and thick, coal plant smoke pouring out of her ears. Her eyes are wide, and she uses one trembling hand to point outside the bus windows.

“T-the, weirdo who got off with Martin,” she rasps, “they’re out there. Right now.”

Rick wants to ask Mellie to literally cool down, but he turns to follow her finger instead. Someone in a cape and hood is indeed wandering the bus station, but since no one saw a face on the bus, and Rick can’t see one now, there’s no guarantee this is the same person.

A sudden gust of wind rattles the bus, and the hooded stranger’s cape flutters up to reveal classy dress pants, the kind with the stripes of ribbon running down the sides, and shiny, black loafers. When a second breeze blows past, the stranger’s white and red vest comes into full view, and his hood falls back.

Rick blinks. He’s seen this man. One of the kids on the bus that morning had tricked the hood off of some fellow uninformed enough to ride during the school rush, and the long, blonde ponytail and pale skin were exactly the same.

One of Mellie’s hands finds its way to Rick’s shoulder and squeezes.

“That’s a vampire,” Mellie says. She gulps. “Look, he’s already burning. I wonder why he’s not putting his hood back up.”

Rick says nothing, only watches as a longer, steadier wind swirls through the station, sending the vampire’s smoke spiraling in the air and showing his stylish outfit again. Then Rick’s breath hitches. The red on that vest is blood.

“Y-you know, Mellie,” Rick says, “even though I still don’t think that’s the guy who got off the bus with Mr. Stevenson’s kid, we should probably make sure the boy’s okay anyways.”

“I told you so,” Mellie replies, though her voice shakes on each syllable. She fumbles with the screen of her phone, swiping to see if she has Mr. Stevenson’s home number listed, but she ends up calling his cell phone instead. Eyes still trained on the vampire, she holds the speaker to her ear and waits through the rings.

The vampire pauses, and though he doesn’t face Rick’s bus, Mellie swears she can feel him looking her way. A second later, her fear is confirmed, for he begins stalking towards the bus.

“Mellie,” Rick breathes, “what do I do? He’s coming this way. He can't drink my blood now! I still have ten trips left, and my kids are cooking tonight.”

Mellie’s phone beeps; she’s connected. Mr. Stevenson’s deep voice crackles over the line, rumbling with confusion.

“Melody? What’s wrong? If there’s an emergency, you’re supposed to call an actual police number.”

Rick shivers in his seat, fidgeting and eyeing the bus controls as though he might decide to start the next route early. “Mellie,” he whines.

“Err, Rick will explain,” Mellie splutters. Shoving her phone at Rick’s ear, she dashes off the bus, one hand hovering over the handle of her rapier. The armor strapped over her coveralls clanks and rattles, but she is still quick as light.

Rick gulps and adjusts the phone on his ear. “Mr. Stevenson?” he asks.

“Rick? What’s going on? Why did Melody call me and not the dispatcher?”

Outside, Mellie slides to a stop in front of the vampire. She makes a few vague gestures, but Rick can’t hear what she’s saying. Mr. Stevenson repeats his question.

“Um, well, Mellie thinks a vampire attacked your son, but we didn’t actually see anything, so, uh, yeah.”

“Hold on, a vampire? There aren’t any vampires registered in this city. You and Mellie are overreacting, and I know Martin can handle himself in front of the powerful folk.”

Rick gulps, trying to force down the lump in his throat. Through the window, he sees Mellie crouching in a fight stance, sword in hand. Her armor glints in the low afternoon sun, glowing blue and gold. What the heck did she say to that vampire?

“Um, I guess the vampire is unregistered. Anyways, I don’t think Mellie will calm down until she knows your boy is safe. She looks ready to burst into flames right now.”

“Is that why she had you talk to me?”

“N-no,” Rick stammers. “She is, or was, talking to the vampire.”

“Was?”

Wincing, Rick wishes he had picked an occupation in a call center instead of as a bus driver. There’d be less chance of dealing with stressful situations in person. “Yeah,” he says. “Was. Should I call the emergency number?”

“Please do,” Mr. Stevenson replies, “and I’ll make sure Martin’s okay while you’re at it.”

The conversation ends without a goodbye, and a soft click tells Rick that Mr. Stevenson has hung up. Frantic, Rick jabs at Mellie’s phone to bring up a number pad. He dials the police dispatcher and waits, wide-eyed, watching the exchange between Mellie and the vampire.

They circle each other slowly, both poised to either attack or defend at a split-second’s notice. Then, at a moment when Mellie’s back faces Rick’s bus, the vampire leaps. He grabs for Mellie’s shoulder, intending to vault over her, but she ducks and stabs at his chest first. The vampire crumples and drops to the ground.

A voice echoes in Rick’s ear, making him jump in his seat. He nearly forgot he was calling the police.

“Hello, this is the Franklin City Police Department. What is your emergency?”

“Oh, uh, there was a magical brawl at the East Side bus station just now. I think it’s over though.”

The fight certainly looks over. Mellie has tied up the vampire in his cape and is now standing over him, arms crossed, uncertain of what to do next.

“Would you mind describing the powerful folk engaged in the brawl?” asks the man on the police side of the phone.

Rick scrunches his face, trying to remember Mellie’s last name. “Yeah, sure. There’s a fire witch named Melody Brimston, and a vampire.”

“Sir, there are no vampires registered in this area. We do have Melody Brimston in the database though. She’s an officer of the law, yes?”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’re sending several officers to interrogate Miss Brimston and take her opponent into custody. Does there seem to be any kind of space-clearing magic in use?”

Though unsure of what exactly space-clearing magic is, Rick informs the man that the area is unusually quiet.

“There is magic then.  Well, as a witness, we ask that you please sit tight until the police arrive, so you can provide contact information, should we require additional testimony. Any further questions?”

Rick glances at the clock on his dashboard. “Yeah, I’m actually a bus driver, and I need to leave soon. Can I just give Melody my contact info?”

“I highly advise that you stay put, Sir.”

Or in other words, he’ll be pestered if he doesn’t. Sighing, he thanks the man on the phone and hangs up before standing and calling for Mellie. She jogs over, leaving the squirming bundle of vampire and cape behind.

“Here’s your phone,” Rick says. He holds it out, and she takes it, one eyebrow raised, silently asking a question.

“No. Mr. Stevenson hasn’t called back yet. I doubt he’ll be much longer though— Hey!”

The vampire bursts from his cape, leaving a mess of black, satin confetti on the pavement. Immediately, he is burning again, black smoke drifting from his head. He points at Mellie and cackles, and his long, exaggerated canines gleaming like a starved wolf’s.

“Fine then, witch girl!” he shouts. “Protect your friend! I’ll just find someone else to turn before I die!” The vampire spins on his toes and races off, prompting Mellie to mutter a comment about pirouettes and chase him across the bus station.

Rick reaches for his radio so he can relate the past five minutes to his boss and ask for a substitute, but he stops. Mellie staggers to a stop as well, just before reaching the street. She hunches over, clutching her stomach and holding a hand over her mouth.

The vampire is a stain on the asphalt, bulldozed flat by thin air.