Mosquito District

Excerpt

Mosquito District
Leona Bentley © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

I felt like a fly with nowhere to land, buzzing in ceaseless circles with no bright light to syphon me to a sudden end. The entire district was a cesspit where the dregs of the city huddled in vermin-ridden homes, cursing each salvaged day. Our ruling masters would bleed us dry eventually. When they moved on, the vermin and insects vying for what we’ve hollowed out would end up the victors.

Like survived best with like, after all, and we had a serious mosquito problem.

I clenched my free hand into a fist beneath my desk, pointedly refusing to acknowledge the mosquito looming impatiently across from me. As a night-shift librarian I was somewhat used to his type, but that didn’t endear them to me. Always so self-important, they all believed in their right to muck up our mandated schedule whenever it suited their fancy. Longevity was likely the culprit there.

Frigging vampires.

Ross quit—I jotted down, knuckles white around my pen. I tried to look busy, hoping to create the appearance that he was a minor inconvenience at best—I’m leaving his keys for Joan in the broken cupboard. I took my time dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s, delaying as best I could. Finally, I gave in to the inevitable and looked up again.

Yep. There and still seething.

“Is there something else?” I asked with faux politeness. An itty-bitty part of me really enjoyed the way his jaw twitched.

“Get me the documents.”

“No,” I repeated flatly. I’d told him the same thing when he first made his demand. He could likely hear my fear pumping through my veins, but hopefully he’d take that for anger. The last two years of practice, dealing with these insects had greatly improved my facial control. Plus, I honestly felt no sympathy for his impatience. “Like I said, we close in fifteen minutes. There isn’t time to get your list pulled. Leave it with me. If you come back tomorrow night, we should have everything set aside for you.”

And that would only be possible after our day staff put in several hours digging through the basement archives. Seriously, not even one of the books he requested sat amongst our regular stock.

My third repetition of the facts didn’t work much of a charm—imagine my shock—the vampire across my desk might be aggressively set on getting his way, but he’d find me just as stubborn. I wasn’t about to break the rules and stick my neck out for any reason, no matter how snarly and intimidating said reason presented itself.

The beast flashed his teeth at me, dark lips curling to show the elongated incisors framing his pointed front teeth. “Confident you won’t have time?” he demanded again.

Nice. Considering the smooth, crisp look of the suit practically molded to his dark skin, I doubted he had much experience with humans getting in his way. That was too bad. Tonight could be a first for him, and hopefully it wouldn’t be my last, but when did my mouth ever show any concern for my safety?

“Not if your boss is to have his way,” I answered anyway. “You really want to tell me to break curfew and stick around? This isn’t a restaurant or bar, you know.” Both of which granted select employees passes stating they were permitted outside during the hours between 4:00 and 6:00 a.m. “Get us some passes and maybe we’ll talk.”

Gooseflesh prickled up my arms at his answering snarl. I steeled my expression, focusing on the bridge of his nose—safe—and refusing to let the thudding of my heart show in my face or voice. He could likely tell anyway, what with those extra senses, but I’d be damned before I showed him my fear.

“I can point out the time you showed up here,” I added. His continued refusal to take my point wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “We have surveillance, and you walking corpses do show up on film, no matter what popular media says.”

The bastard snarled again before jerking his head sideways in a silent, sneering insult. Fine. I found him insulting, too. My hand curled over the pen, using it now as more of a stress ball than anything that hard and thin should ever be. I waited him out. One of us would have to give ground, and it wasn’t going to be me.

“Have the books pulled,” the mosquito finally snarled. “Hope, too, that my boss doesn’t take offense at the added wait.”

I shrugged, hiding behind more false bravado. “Come before closing next time,” I suggested. “If your boss wants them so badly then I doubt he meant for you to put off coming for them until this late.”

There, I’d hit a nerve.

The flunky didn’t even try to soften the cut of his newest snarl. All snarls and hisses, this guy. The slam of his fist overtop of my note sent my eardrums aching. I was still flinching backwards, bravado lost and pen clattering across the linoleum floor, as he swept out the door.

Addison slunk out from his hiding place in one of the aisles nearest our desk. Likely from the cookbooks, the smart jerk. Addison Patt was my fellow librarian also graced with the lovely night shifts, and I could always count on him to let me know how much of a fool I was being. His pallor and horrified expression were just what I needed to help feed my own horror at myself and my actions.

“Lee?”

That was me, Liam “Lee” Farrow. I offered a wry smile and a half shrug as I knelt to collect my lost pen from under the desk. It was enough to unclog his throat.

“You’re mad,” he declared rightly, voice edging towards shrill. My mouth and temper always did get the better of my common sense and survival instinct. As my brother would say, I had precious little of the latter and barely a drop of the former.

“So they say.” They being my brother and his girlfriend, among others. The pen didn’t want to come back out from the sliver of space between the drawer and the floor but I was equally determined not to lose it. Half the ones on the desk didn’t work right.

I got the escape artist free from its hiding spot, and as I lifted the free-spirited pen, I noticed Addison had visually calmed down. His short blond hair stuck up where he’d been pulling at it, but otherwise he was as put together as always in his tan sweater and slacks. Wiping the dirt off my hands and onto the pants I’d bought my first year of university, I stood and faced his nervous gaze.

“What does he want, anyway?” Addison asked, his thick eyebrows furrowed over hazel eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched with nerves.

The list sat where the vampire left it. I picked it up with two fingers, twisting my face in disgust as Addison snatched it away. Wrinkling my nose, I watched as he clutched it in his clammy hands. Gross. Not that mine were any better after my experience under the desk. I could feel the cool prickle of sweat in my palms and armpits.

It was quite a list: newsprints, a handful of fairly old books on the city’s early days, and even some old aerial records. Most, if not all, had been archived in the basement ages ago. It was almost all pre-fire stock, and while I was confident we had everything on there, it would take a lot of time to round up; time that, frankly, Addison and I didn’t have left.

Addison whistled. “Yeah, that wouldn’t get done before dawn, let alone in time for us to get home by four.” Four being the curfew for humans not given passes.

If someone were lucky enough to be graced with one then the hours were extended, letting them come and go at literally all hours of the night. I never saw the draw, personally. My brother and I preferred point A (work) to point B (home) travel after the sun went down. Abigail “Abby” Walters, my brother’s girlfriend, had a pass, but luckily she rarely needed to use it. Her shifts tended towards the short side, which while bad for pay was great for safety.

“Joan and the others are going to hate us tomorrow.” I tried to make the comment a joke, but my lungs ached from the strain of having had to draw slow, calm breaths under narrowed eyes and bared teeth.

Our boss, Joan, and the rest of the day staff always finished before dusk, so Addison and I rarely saw her other than in passing. I had a feeling we’d be less fortunate tomorrow. Addison’s wrinkled nose suggested he felt about the same. At least Joan tolerated me.

“Mind writing the boss a note to go with that list?” I asked. “I have a few things to finish. You can add it to the message I already started.”

I shoved my little letter and the rescued pen his way and left him to it. Hastening around the corner, I made a beeline for the customer washrooms. Cold water on the face and a few minutes to freak out in private do wonders for one’s mental health.

“God,” I hissed, cupping two handfuls of water and shoving my face into it.

Part of me wondered how I’d ended up here. The rest knew better than to ask.

Vampires owned almost the entire district, down to the jobs we worked and the holes where we slept. Honestly, even with the night shift, mine was a better life than most in our town. At least it was usually pretty boring.

In order for the library to remain in what was apparently prime real estate, we were required to extend our hours until 3:00 a.m. to grant the “less living” denizens access. It was an old rule implemented in its early days and survived the burning. Vampires apparently liked to read too. Who would’ve thought? Not me, anyway, and my job did little to change that idea. Ever since I finished my degree and got the job, Addison and I were the only two to ever work this shift and not quit. The last part I never understood. It was only marginally quieter during the night shift than it was during daylight hours, and I was pretty sure most of our patrons were as alive as we were.

Better shake my head and start lock up, I told myself. Otherwise Devon would see the cracks in my nerves and demand answers. He’d be there soon to drive me home, so I didn’t have long to pull myself together.

Devon worked in the kitchen at a nearby restaurant, Mariner’s Lament, a position barely a step lower in danger level from work at a club or bar like his girlfriend, Abby, but things were worse again because, unlike for us, his boss was pure human. The two of us worried about him, but that was a default state when living here.

I took a deep breath and let it whistle out between my teeth, shaking off the unease creeping into my gut. When I wandered back to the main area, Addison had already finished the note and left it propped against the corded phone cozied up alongside our computer’s blocky monitor. The entrance door clicked as the last holdouts of the night shuffled off, likely empty-handed.

“Thanks,” I said on a sigh. Addison had to see the damp ends of hair curling around my face but he was nice enough not to comment. Sometimes he could be reasonably considerate.

“Think Devon will be on time tonight?” he asked instead. The familiar shuffle of closing had chased the tense lines off his face.

I lifted a shoulder in a shrug as I set about helping him. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Devon usually ran late, not that it mattered. Addison was nice about hanging around in the entryway with me until my brother got there. I’d be more frustrated at the repetitive waits if it wasn’t for how good they were to Devon. Mariner’s Lament stayed open twenty-four hours a day but they let him match most of his shifts to mine in return for forgoing a pass. Adding in the fact his pay always came on time, something even scarier than the odds of finding a steady job, made me keep my mouth shut for once. Most people had to take worse with a smile. It was better to take delays and duck their head than to confront the undead mosquito paying their wage.

Addison leaned against the wall next to the doors. A collage of faces stared at me from the missing persons posters that smothered the smattering of adverts on the public interest board beside him. The names at the top changed too often to bother keeping track. “Ross,” he sighed.

Focus returning to the present, I grimaced. Ross, the newest to join our ranks, had taken off earlier that night with no intention of ever darkening our door again. He’d lasted almost a month, which was pretty good given our track record. We hadn’t been able to keep a third on this shift for longer than that. The man before him? Gone in a week. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so weird.

“At least we don’t really need anyone, I guess,” I muttered, scowling out at our poorly lit parking lot. Addison sniffed his disagreement.

Considering how quiet our shifts usually were, we didn’t have a lot of room for complaint. Our invisible owner already chose to pay us for sitting or standing around half the night doing little to nothing. Only having two of us made the hours long and not just a bit tense on each other’s nights off, but that was it. Such was my view, anyway. Addison was nervous enough on a night with both of us there. I cringed just imagining him managing the place alone.

“It shouldn’t be this hard for Joan to find someone,” he muttered.

Addison’s exasperation was fair. In a month or two a new third would show up, but there would be no more rush filling the position than there had been the last time, or the time before that. Someone always eventually took the post; they just never kept it. Any job in this district was a blessing, which made the situation doubly ridiculous. Somehow, in a city where missing persons were the main cause of job openings, our revolving door stayed revolving with all persons accounted for.

“Maybe we’ll be lucky next month,” I offered, my smile returning in the face of Addison’s sulk.

Addison scowled at me. I simply grinned, unrepentant.

Headlights flashed through the glass of the door as Devon’s rust-speckled wreck turned into our parking lot. I grabbed my green knapsack and shrugged it over my shoulder before shoving open the door and flicking the lock.

“See you tomorrow!”

Addison shuffled out after me, checking the door and then double-checking that it caught as I shifted from one foot to the other, eager to escape. Addison’s grunt of satisfaction set me loose.

I was already in the passenger seat and finished fighting with the seat belt by the time Addison had his driver’s door open.

“That good a night?” Devon asked, watching me with a wry smile. Even in the dark, his face was as familiar to me as my own. Seeing him there, happy and hale, whittled away at the remaining dregs of my night’s stress.

“Just that good,” I said with a sigh. “I hate mosquitoes.”

“Trouble?” Worry creased his brow. I quickly shook my head.

“Nothing serious, I promise. It was just a long night.” And I meant it.

Most days felt like slides on an old projector. Cycles of the same problems and fears kept our bodies in motion, and things would continue that way until we surrendered to death. The faces of our library’s faithful patrons mirrored that helpless loop with vacant eyes that searched the familiar rows of books and hands that flinched back towards their vulnerable throats each time the main doors opened. We were all lobsters in a tank, and it was our misfortune to know just what watched and selected us as their dinner.

Not to say life at the library was so very terrible. We were sometimes harassed or offered favour or pleasure if we just traded some blood, but none tried force. Rules, I supposed. It was all about having the right name to invoke. We humans do our duty, toe the line, and are in turn rewarded with life. Vampires are bullies, but even undead ones can be managed so long as one has the right means to play their games. A sufficiently strong name can keep them in check.

Names signify deals with the higher-ups, deals that keep our blood right where it belongs. Our library staff were given a name—Alwyn—to use if given any trouble. It would supposedly give us peace. Bobby, one of our daytime co-workers, claimed he used it once, out at a club, and that it saved his life. I’d personally had to invoke it a few times at the library. The offenders all rolled their eyes, but they’d backed off. Needing it should have probably bothered me more than it did.

The thing is, when starving, who cares who rules their life if it means food, warmth, and a possibility of survival? Horrific, acknowledging the fact.

As for owners, we were luckier than many. Alwyn’s minions might sometimes hang around the library, but they usually acted the menace without a show of fangs. Overt proof of their monstrosity, such as Mr. Procrastinator flashing his teeth, shook me to the core, and not just me. It wasn’t needed; most of our visitors rushed their stay when the goons were present, a prickle in their skin or tickle to their instinct enough to send humans like us scuttling for hidden cracks.

The show earlier had been for the beast’s own pride.

“One more employee of our illustrious library has bitten the dust.” It was smarter to offer Devon something. If I left him with nothing, he’d just get himself and Abby worked up.

Devon snorted, taking the bait. “Not literally, I hope.”

I’d never be so flippant if that were the case but I shook my head anyway, playing along. Addison eventually finished his methodical process of climbing into the car and righting himself. As his car finally lurched forward and pulled onto the road, Devon followed suit.

“Quit,” I assured my brother. “One of the insects crawling around the room came on a little strong last night, and I think it spooked him. She came in again early tonight, and that was it.”

The loitering of the usual bugs was frustrating, but nothing could be done about it. What option did we have, considering that voicing complaint to our owner meant we might get eaten and then dumped in some alley with the other refuse and leftovers? Any of a hundred desperate souls begging for scraps would be all too eager to replace us, even if Joan’s usual lovely picks never lasted. Jobs were rare and precious—again, except at a nightclub.

Devon’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, and I could see the worried thoughts circling in his head. So much for the easy distraction.

“You know I can walk home,” I reminded him, changing the subject. Ross and our insect problem were the last things I wanted to think about just then.

“Yeah, not happening, duck.”

I scowled at the nickname but didn’t bother arguing. At least his pensive look was replaced with his usual annoyed impatience.

Devon hadn’t let me walk home alone since a mosquito tried to get its teeth into my shoulder one night just after I started my job. We lived close to one of the seedier restaurants in our district, which was saying something considering where we lived. While our overlords don’t eat, they do conduct business, and apparently a lot of it must be with humans. That and, as my brother liked to joke, the good smells probably drew in prey. If a mosquito wanted to eat well without drawing attention, they looked for where the lowest rank of those able to afford luxury went and waited for the foolish blood-filled saps who could afford it. Once those little mice gorged themselves,the mosquitoes fed off them.

Devon had a pretty perverse outlook on life. It’s probably why my own was so skewed.

*

Our apartment complex was an old, five-story brick building that had once been factory housing in the early days of the city. The one-bedroom hideaway was tucked in the middle of the third floor, up two narrow flights of poorly lit stairs. It wasn’t the most welcoming place, but it was far better than the streets. We managed among the three of us to make rent, even with the added fee for safety, so there was little reason for complaint. Others had it much worse. The three of us had each other’s backs, so we were already a step ahead of most.

I felt the last trace of the day’s stresses fade as I walked through the door behind Devon. It felt good to twist the lock home and slide the chain into its slot. Neither would keep out a mosquito bent on entry but that was what we paid for.

The futon creaked beneath me when I flopped onto it. Home at last. I had my feet up on the milk crate we used as a coffee table and my arms tucked comfortably behind my head before Devon so much as got his shoes off.

Of course, I wasn’t the one with an armful of snuggly girlfriend.

“Today?” I announced over their noisily smacking reunion. “Horrible.”

Abby laughed and I rolled my eyes. They separated, Abby reclaiming her supper and Devon bending to take off his boots. She patted my head in mock sympathy as she settled next to me, balancing a plate of spaghetti on her knees. It smelled amazing, and my stomach cramped at the reminder of how long it had been since I’d last eaten.

“Poor little duck,” she hummed, her still kohl-lined eyes crinkling in amusement. “You better get some supper before you starve to death.”

Devon, sweet brother he was, filled two plates and carried them over. He handed one to me and took Abby’s other side. “Thanks, Devon. Thanks for making it, Abby.” I smirked and they both narrowed their eyes. “Any garlic bread?”

Abby snorted and Devon heaved a sigh.

Garlic was one of those things we avoided for safety’s sake. There were two failing Italian restaurants in the area, and garlic was used very sparingly at the restaurant where Devon worked. All of those things taken together weren’t concrete proof that garlic had any effect on the infestation. Proof was hard to get on any of the old stories and wives’ tales, and with good reason. No one wanted to chance drawing attention to themselves and becoming an intentional target.

Sunlight? Yeah, that was a no-no for the mosquito overlords. If anyone knew what these fellows did during daylight hours then they were keeping their mouths shut. Sleep? Pace? Burrow into the dirt like overgrown worms? Who knew, but at least during the day we had our peace.

Garlic vs. vampire hovered in the same sphere for me as vampire vs. large body of water. There were enough of them on this side of the world that I had serious doubts about the validity of the whole dead not crossing water thing, but it was impossible to rule anything out completely without ridiculous risk followed by a likely very blood-hollowing reward. No, thank you.

As we were the minority in this area, garlic was pretty much stamped out of our lives. I’d never really tried it until I started university on the other side of the city. Even though I wasn’t much of a fan, hearing no made me want it.

Luckily for me, my family was more interested in survival.

We finished dinner and Abby grabbed our plates for the sink. Her energy this late at night was enviable. Her eyes were bright and her face beneath all that blond hair glowed with happy contentment. Getting from work to home always sapped what little energy I had left after a night at work, and that was especially true after the excitement earlier. Eating and sleeping were about all I wanted.

Hurrah for the hours appointed by blood fiends, and to living in the cheapest place boasting safety that we could find, which was a one-bedroom middle-floor hovel, where we were effectively trapped from curfew to dawn. All the same, it was our little middle-floor hovel.

“Dishes will keep,” Abby offered, “but you boys had better do them as soon as you wake up tomorrow. We have enough bugs.”

Devon snagged her around the waist as she came by again and pulled her into his lap. I made a face at his comically loud kissing noises. They ignored me. Doing an exagerated gag sound, I twisted until I could aim a light kick at them both. They broke apart, laughing. Devon yanked my pillow out from under his ass—this was my bed, after all—and threw it at my head.

Squawking, I threw up my arms and ducked. My awkward block sent the plush projectile spiralling into the old milk crate. Down both crate and pillow went, along with the pile of books I’d left there that morning.

“Your fault!” All three of us yelled in unison, mature as always.

I slid to the floor and started piling it all back up. Devon, watching, slumped against the futon. Great help, him. Abby, retaking her previous seat, hummed inquisitively.

“Work has been weird,” Devon offered, one of his rare critiques. Getting information about work out of him was usually impossible, so he had our immediate attention.

I looked over at him carefully, trying to decide between commenting and possibly sending him scurrying back into his closed-off mind or waiting patiently and seeing if he planned to keep sharing. Devon was pretty much my opposite in every way, from his curly blond hair to his thick-boned height of six feet. I was a heartbreaking five four, my hair a fluffy brown mess. I looked like a twig next to my brother the tree. Even Devon’s eyes were brown while mine were a stale bluish grey.

Our differences beyond the physical were even greater. My mouth had almost no filter while he bottled everything up until bits trickled out, like this hint about work, because there was just no room left for them. Was there more to trickle, I wondered, or had he already played the share game and moved on to silent mode?

“Weird how?” Abby broke the stalemate. The firm undercurrent in her voice spelled trouble for Devon if he decided not to answer. She didn’t pull it out often so we’d likely get answers.

As expected, Devon huffed but capitulated. “Ed Grey was promoted last night.”

Abby and I both scoffed, insulted for him. Ed had started working in the kitchen alongside my brother maybe two years ago, around the time I began at my own job. He was one of the newest employees, and they would have had to pass by several other long-time workers, my brother included, to move him up.

“That sucks.” Abby scowled as she rested her hand on Devon’s shoulder. Devon shrugged as he curled his own hand over her smaller one.

“They let two of our wait staff, Susan and Andie, go, too. They were great workers and always received high tips, so I don’t get it.”

Devon’s restaurant, Mariner’s Lament, might be owned by a human but that didn’t stop it from being the victim of outside influence twisting the hiring and promoting process. Any human owning a successful business in our area knew how to work within the vampire’s system. It was either do so or eventually sell.

“Something must have happened with alliances.” As a waitress at a mosquito-owned bar, Abby was far more experienced in the unfairness of that process. The three of us knew no one of import, and so we were basically the dregs in the bottle of our district. “Keep your nose clean, okay?” I doubted she thought he would do differently. This was Devon.

“You should’ve been promoted,” I grumbled. Connections or no, he was a damn good worker.

“He will someday,” Abby assured us in a chipper voice, but the emotion sounded forced. She kissed his cheek, soft and sweet, and I could see the tension melt from his shoulders.

Abby and Devon were quick to get distracted after that. I slipped down the hall to snag the shower ahead of them. They weren’t in any rush, after all.

We kept the apartment as clean as we could, but its age remained evident from living room to bathroom. The paint of the tub was worn, with dark holes chipped out of its yellow surface. Black-brown gunk built up in the moulding around the tub and shower, and it was easy to catch a bug or two creeping around in the holes of the caulking.

There were always bugs in our bathroom. Bug spray would’ve been helpful, but since we couldn’t also use it as a condiment, the possible benefit didn’t outweigh the cost. It didn’t matter how many insects we killed, or how heavily we doused things in vinegar. More just crawled from the cracks in the tile and out of the rotting sections of the floorboards, seeking out the living in the home of the dead. This entire building was rotten at its core, just like the rest of the district. The high rent was an insult we bore out of desperation.

I made the comment once to my little family that you’d think the bugs would seek out the living corpses, not the dead living. I’d been given a pat on the head courtesy of Abby, and a firm, hushed, “You’ll be our deaths,” from Devon.

I’d have a quick shower, take a little time to read, and then the cycle would renew again.

It wasn’t that I hated our cycle. Books—they were the route to survival I’d chosen. Books were my refuge as a child, and I’d chased their offering of shelter into adulthood. I’d taken on a debt I never really thought out in order to study library science. Now I had the job I’d wanted, but it was a shallow victory. We could barely manage to both pay all of our bills and keep ourselves fed.

If we changed apartments, yeah, we’d manage better. Except then we’d lose out on the security of a safe night’s sleep. Living bill to bill was worth being able to close our eyes without listening for rustling in the dark.

No, we were poor, but we were surviving. That’s all we could ask.