“I bet they have one down in the lobby,” she suggests, her face white with panic now. What happened to the cocky, confident slayer who waltzed into my bedroom the day before? “I’ll wait for you here, okay?”
I don’t think so. “Sorry, I won’t make it that far,” I moan, clutching at my crotch. A little crude, I know. But it works for two-year-old boys… “If I don’t go now I’m going to piss my pants!” I do a little pee-pee dance to hopefully better prove my point. She stares at me, then at her perfectly pristine room, in horror.
“Okay, okay!” she cries. “Go ahead. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!” She steps out of my path, biting her fingernails. What the heck is behind this door? Do I even want to know? So help me if she’s hiding a bunch of severed heads or something…
I wrap my hand around the doorknob, praying for something not gross. Even Pyrus himself would be a better alternative than blood, carnage and…
… pepperoni pizza?
The large bathroom is filled practically waist-high with room service trays. Plates, bowls, and silverware fill the bathtub, covered in half-eaten food. I stagger backward, the myriad of smells assaulting my senses.
What the hell? I turn back to Bertha. She slumps down on her chair, staring at her hands, her face flaming red.
Wow. I guess you could say she isn’t quite as recovered from her eating disorder as I first assumed. Abandoning my mission for the moment, I walk over and sit across from her, peering at her with worried eyes. I try to remind myself once again she’s the bad guy. But the pity I feel won’t go away. I must be getting soft in my old age.
“Have you talked to anyone about this?” I ask. “I mean, I know it’s scary. But—”
She looks up, glaring at me with eyes full of hate. “How do you know anything?” she demands. “Little Miss Perfect!”
I raise my eyebrows. “Perfect?” I look around the room, making sure she’s not talking about someone else. “Um, are you talking about me?”
“Duh,” she spits out. “Everyone loves you. You’re beautiful. You ace every mission you’re given. Your Teifert’s little golden girl—able to do no wrong.”
Wow, if I’m Teifert’s golden girl, I’d hate to see who gets the bronze. Most of the time he’s too busy yelling at me or calling me a complete screw up to even consider singing my praises. In fact, up until now, I would have bet my life he wouldn’t know a praiseful tune with my name on it if it smacked him upside the head.
“You don’t know what it’s been like,” Bertha continues, all her haughty poise forgotten at my discovery of her dirty secret. “All my life I’ve been told I’m too ugly, too fat, too stupid.” She scrunches up her face. “And then, when I finally do find something I’m good at? Being a vampire slayer? It all gets ripped away—because Slayer Inc. wants someone more attractive on the payroll. So they can get more positive media attention, like they did when Buffy was on the air. They didn’t care one bit that I was the best there was when it came to slaying actual vampires. They just knew you looked good in a leather pantsuit.”
While I have to admit I do look damn fine in a leather pantsuit, her words make me cringe all the same. Was she telling the truth? Was that really why they retired her and brought me on in the first place? It would make sense, I suppose, judging from the extreme measures she’s taken to achieve external perfection—at the expense of sanity and health.
“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching out to touch her hand, in what I hope appears to be a comforting gesture. “I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she growls. “You were too busy living the perfect life.”
I snort at that. “Oh yeah, my life is so perfect,” I reply. “My father was murdered by evil fairies. My mother currently lives in an alternate dimension. And my twin sister is running for her life—and I’m the one who’s supposed to track her down—or else I get dusted, too.”
Bertha scowls, staring down at her hands, picking at a hangnail. I draw in a breath. I really don’t want to get into any of this—especially not with her. But at the same time, I realize she needs serious help. And I’m the only one, it appears, willing to give it to her.
Here goes nothing.
“Look, Bertha, I understand what you’re going through more than you know,” I start cautiously. “I had an eating disorder, too. Well, a drinking disorder, if you want to be technical. I had denied myself real blood for so long—feeling as if that gave me some kind of control over what was happening to my body as a vampire.” I cringe, remembering the hunger I felt at Riverdale Academy. How the bloodlust raged inside of me as I slowly starved to death.
“But it was all an illusion,” I continue. “And I ended up losing control big time—causing someone I cared about to lose his life because of my weakness.” My mind flashes to Corbin’s anguished face. The pain, the betrayal in his eyes, all because of me.
“So… what happened?” Bertha asks softly, as if against her better judgment.
“I got help,” I tell her. “I sucked it up—pardon the pun—and went to vampire rehab. I learned healthy drinking habits and how to control my bloodlust. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was damned hard. It still is. But I feel so much better now, I can’t even tell you.” I pause, trying to meet her eyes with my own. “You could feel better, too, you know,” I tell her. “You can kick this addiction for good.”