~Daphne~

Cambridge Massachusetts - November 2nd, 2004

Painted nails danced across the rim of her Cosmopolitan. 'That's only cheap vodka drowned in equally expensive cranberry juice.' Fred must've said that every other time they went out. Always picked and prodded at her choice of drink, what she wore, the way her bangs draped over her ears. More than cranberry juice, he always forgot the triple sec. Never remembered the little things. But hell, what did he know? He wouldn't have passed the Federal Bureau of Investigation's background check, let alone the lie detector test, and -as far as Daphne could assume- he wouldn't have passed the physical either. Sure, Fred was cut, even played Linebacker for the heralded Crystal Cove Football Brigade of 1999, but that didn't mean he was tough. Hardly. If she learned anything from the FBI's draining physical it was rational decision-making under pressure is equally important as training your muscles or learning to run miles without stopping. Fred never had that. Why else would he have put Shaggy and his dog in danger all of those times?

"Can I trouble you for another one of these," Daphne asked the bartender -some hip young Bostonian with a quirky cap and round glasses.

"Of course. Just give me one second." The bartender's hands worked methodically at the drink-station, cupping ice with one, moving orders with the other.

Those glasses... They looked a little like Velma's.

Fred couldn't make it into the FBI, sure, but neither could she. And she actually wanted it. Once, more than anything else. Even after all of those strenuous exercises, nights spent studying and abusing caffeine. She had been so close, and then there had been Antonio... All of it for nothing. What would Fred think if he knew I threw that away?

Why am I even thinking about Fred right now? She swirled the remnants of her drink. He has nothing to do with any of this. Still, he lingered in her mind; they'd spent five years together, could she really be blamed for having a shadow of him following her?

Forget him.

This one was a keeper. Italian, tall and dark, well-cut in the body and face. He'd better be worth it. He cost me a career at the FBI. He cost me my dream. Daphne should have hated him... should have -if he wasn't so damn beautiful.

She knew what history told of the Benito's, it didn't take an FBI recruit to figure that out; generations of bloodshed trailed the family. Antonio was heir-apparent. His bad reputation drew her in equally. Sure, he made her feel like she was in control, in those small ways. Daphne felt like a little girl again around him. Fred never had sway over her like Antonio. Even after all those crazy high school years of public notoriety. Enough life and death experiences packed into four years to give her that single gray bang, cutting the fiery red like a premature hint of her vanity slipping away.

'Leave your job. Come be with me. I could support you; we could support us.' Antonio had said that to her across an interview table with his hands bound on Daphne's final day interrogating him. All I had to do was write a report, and be done with it.

One report.

Dead, musty air. A ticking clock. White walls, and moment was vivid; she'd relieved that day too many times, reconsidering every word and choice. 'You could get me into some serious trouble, Red.' He said to her across the interview table. He had been trying to charm her, her superiors warned. Frankly, she had stopped caring whether or not he actually participated in the horrific business he was being prosecuted for. It didn't matter. She saw something in him, and he saw something in her. She had this outlandish fantasy she could pull it all off -complete her training and still weasel a relationship with Antonio. Her ignorance did her in, as even after she shut the tape recorder off at the end of the session, the bug in the corner of the room slipped her mind. A rookie mistake.

Whatever. The FBI was just another one of her girlish fantasies. The dream had grown dull the second she had it.

Antonio could support her, his family had more money than anyone in Crystal Cove had ever dreamed of. She used to be enamored by the wealth in the sunken armored trucks she and the gang found hidden in the swamps. Shaggy's voice still reverberated in her mind -'Like, that's 30,000 dollars!'

I think Shaggy goes by 'Norville' now. Who knows...

Fred would know.

The Benito boy probably spent half that on their first date. She had to beg him to meet somewhere more down to earth. Well, I suppose he's making up for it now, Daphne thought, where the hell is he, anyways?

A group of college-aged students walked through the door, obviously together, obviously having fun. It made her uncomfortable. They were too young to befriend her; she was a step too far into the 'real world' to strike up a conversation without seeming needy and contrived. They reminded her of the gang. A freckled girl with long lashes staring at a boy who held her as if he'd be there forever. Just that, a girl and a boy. Just as they had been. She and Fred. They-

Antonio entered. His presence dominated the room -as if everyone in the bar watched him in their peripherals. He wore a lavishly cut sport coat over drapey linen, unbuttoned just enough to hint at his chest hair. Subtle, save for the leather shoes set with floral embroidery.

Dark eyes, deep with unfaltering intensity, it was the same gaze over the interview table that got her booted from the FBI. A gaze that fell dreams. "Rolling solo tonight?" He smiled, took the seat next to her.

Her spine melted with glee, and triple sec. "I am now, handsome. Don't tell my boyfriend."

"I've caused enough trouble already, bella, I don't want to ruin another one of your careers." Her dark man let a laugh escape three times his age.

Bella. He called her that over the interview table, and Red, among other things.

"Oh, so making quick work of you boy toys is a career?

Antonio smiled back, though he didn't show his teeth. "Had me fooled," he said.

"I'm sorry for the wait," the waitress huffed, scanning the bar. She replaced Daphne's empty glass with a fresh Cosmopolitan. "Tourist season."

"Thank you, I appreciate it," Daphne said drunkenly.

The bartender looked at Antonio. "What can I get for you?"

"Gin, on the rocks."

No please or thank you's, Daphne thought, he's assertive. Fred could hardly buy gas for the Mystery Machine without 'helloing' everyone in a ten mile radius.

"Errr, just gin? You want me to throw some juice or anything in there?," the bartender said, hesitating.

He shook his head.

"Squeeze of lime, pinch of salt?"

Daphne cracked a smile, and nudged Antonio's knee.

"Just gin, dear." The smile he gave was hardly genuine, but better than nothing.

See. He has manners when prompted. Daphne reassured herself.

A man in a sport-coat sat a few empty seats down from them. For whatever reason she kept catching him in the corner of her eye. It's not like he was doing anything particularly out of the ordinary, just nursing his drink, but the longer she glanced the more abnormalities she noticed. White lace frilled up at his neck, it looked... old. He wore a golden broach on his left breast. About a century out of style. It's like he raided a thrift store in the weirdest corner of Italy.

Daphne lost count of how many Cosmopolitans she'd had. Conversation between her and Antonio was fresh. She needed that. Fred knew everything about her, at least, all she knew he could muster. Get to know someone too well and you may as well be alone.

They'd talked about everything but her past. It was a subject she avoided; In Daphne's experience, notoriety led others to unsound assumptions. They'd assume she was still the same spunky girl from the photos, news reports, her old Myspace page. She knew Antonio could care less. Still, Mystery Incorporated is hard to explain, let alone bring up in conversation.

It was unavoidable. As always, it came creeping up behind her. Mystery Incorporated. As if whispered in her ear.

The only real ghost Daphne had ever encountered.

"You know they tried to prosecute my father for those armored trucks full of drug money you and your friends uncovered seven years ago."

Antonio's words sat in the air for a moment. Just like that, her past came sneaking up, razor talons lingering on the thin twine connecting her and Antonio.

"Daphne, you look white as a ghost." He smiled. She smiled. "You know the history of my family. I'm not worried about some old felony my father beat. Relax."

"I know." Daphne's face was hot, red. "So why bring it up."

"I just think it's funny… ironic that we're here together now. After my fathers lifetime of unpunished crime some ragtag group of teenage 'private investigators' nail him for it." He chuckled to himself. "Crazy. Walked free in the end, but a few of his close friends got locked up for ten years."

"Woah." Oh shit. "You're telling me Mystery Incorporated put your fathers confidants in Federal prison for ten freaking years?!"

"That's right." He kept smiling.

"And this doesn't upset you?" Her voice cracked.

"Upset me?" He laughed. "The opposite. I just think it's funny, and kind of interesting. I don't know, it would have felt strange keeping it from you. Thought you might as well know"

Her cheeks felt hot, the shade likely matched her hair. She didn't know what to say -she felt disarmed.

"C'mon, bella, I know you have FED in your blood -nothing could shock me. You think I'd let a genuine Crystal Cove celebrity go under my radar like that?" He teased, leaning in reassuringly.

"It is a strange coincidence isn't it?"

"My family has a lot more loose ends than some sunken trucks, and if all it took was a troupe of teenagers to do it, then it's his fault." He shook away the smile, sipped his gin. "You don't like to talk about high-school much, do you?"

"Well, neither do you." Daphne crossed her arms.

"I was hardly up to anything as interesting as you were. Don't worry, I won't pester you for the stories. I'm sure you've told them enough times. I am curious about how you found those armored trucks."

"Hey, I thought you weren't going to pester?"

"Hardly pestering. C'mon, Red. This will be my one and only."

"I mean, It's a long convoluted story. We were driving back from some party and picked up a hitchhiker who turned out to be a zombie. Obviously, we had to investigate."

Antonio interrupted her. "Did Mystery Incorporated ever really believe any of that paranormal nonsense? It seems like you would always stumble across some otherworldly being, only to find out it was a criminal. Must've seen through it, right? Nice as the spectacle was."

Damn. He's smarter than he looks. "You've done your research. No, of course we never really believed any of that was actually real. Shaggy, maybe. But we were all optimistic. That's why we'd always investigate that 'paranormal nonsense' with a thorough eye. It's not like the police would, and nine times out of ten it would lead to something larger. Never paranormal," her voice trailed off for a moment. "We were certainly open to the idea. As if we were waiting to see a real ghost, a real mummy, or vampire, or something."

"And that never happened?"

"Nope. Ghosts aren't real, Antonio. If I got anything out of those surreal four years with Mystery Incorporated, it was that."

"So you were investigating this zombie you and the gang saw?" Antonio prodded her back to the story."

"Well, it wasn't just a zombie. There was a witch with him. I guess you could say they were partners in crime. That, or involved in some cross-ghoul relationship."

"Groovy."

"I know."

"How would that even work? I mean, wouldn't zombie organs be… dead. Sounds like something you'd read in some garbage fan-fiction."

"W-wait," Daphne stuttered. "You read fan-fiction?"

Antonio smirked, adjusting his cuff. "Only the stories with literary merit. Most fan-fiction is all the same; sudden and under-explained non consensual relationships between the weirdest side-characters from the most obscure form of media you can remember. We can thank adolescent girls for that…" Antonio said speculatively.

"Woah." Thoughts of Fred drifted away with the recognition in Antonio's voice. "Of course, you'd know what fan-fiction was," Daphne said, blushing.

"You're looking at a genuine trekkie, bella. I more or less base my entire personality around Captain Picard." Antonio shook his head, smiled, fingered a temple.

So he does feel all that Gin. Daphne smiled to herself this time.

"What I'm trying to say is: I've read a lot of fan-fiction," Antonio reiterated. "Get deep enough into anything, and it consumes you."

"Okay, Picard. Whatever you say."

"I told you I'm into Star-Trek, now tell me your obsession."

Fred.

Daphne chuckled, blushed. "Promise you won't make fun of me."

"Not like you're making fun of me?"

"Alright." She sipped her Cosmopolitan for courage. "The Hex Girls."

"I don't even know what that is."

"A band. Once upon a time I was enough of a fan-girl to scour the internet for short stories based around the characters." You're really telling him about the freaking Hex Girls? Can you get any more girlish? "I'll agree with you on one thing: fan-fiction is a little strange, and in definite need of quality control. Ninety-percent of the stories I read start with someone waking up, or getting physically assaulted," Daphne admitted.

"So what if the writings crappy? It's all just for fun, the only thing that really matters is the intent of the author. Sure, there's plenty of bad stories, but at the same time there's some that never leave you. Some you search the web for ages trying to find."

Daphne smirked. "Agreed." This was the last thing I'd imagine talking to Antonio about. The gang I can expect. This was unexpected.

"Excuse me, dear," Antonio signaled the bartender. She huffed, clearly didn't love being called dear, but he already had a ten dollar bill waiting in his grip. "You control the music?"

"Nah, that's Mac -in the back."

"Radio, or CD's?"

"CD's, but there's a radio we can put on if you want to listen to the game or something," the bartender furrowed her brow, inched her round glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Not necessary," he handed her the ten dollar bill. "But if you could check if he has anything by the Hex Girls in that CD collection of his, you'd be forever in my favor."

The bartender smiled, tucked the bill into her back-pocket. "I got you."

Their drinks were dwindling, but Daphne was far too drunk to order another. Antonio seemed spent as well, easy as he handled the gin.

"Should I just ignore that you completely diverted the conversation from High-School?" He said.

"Should I just ignore the fact you just tipped the bartender ten freaking dollars on the premise 'Mac in the back' could possibly play the Hex Girls?"

Antonio grinned. A swell of music came to the speakers: power-chords.

'Hit it Sisters!'

It all came down on her at once. The ghost of Mystery Incorporated. Memories flooded her mind. It's like she was there again. It wasn't nostalgia. It wasn't the Cosmopolitans. It wasn't the Hex-Girls. No. Whatever it is, it's radiating from Antonio. . .

Listen to yourself. You sound crazy.

But it was so vivid.

She was back in the Mystery Machine. Driving. As she always did. Fred drove like her grandmother. Time was money; she was different back then.

Sure, they made it look like Fred drove the van -in every photo for the news they'd conveniently set him in the driver's seat. Better for PR, that bitch of a manager had deluded them. In reality, Daphne was behind the wheel when it actually mattered. Bypassing stop-signs. Passing family-filled sedans on double yellows.

She could see the rest of the gang in the back of the hollowed out van. Shaggy in those dumb JNCO jeans, Velma biting her nails to stubs, Scooby just a pup at that point. She wanted to go back.

'I'm gonna cast a spell on you

Your gonna do what I want you to

Mix it up here in my little bowl

Say a few words and you'll lose control'

No way. "This is my favorite song," Daphne said.

"You mean our favorite song?"

Daphne blushed, and tucked a lock of red hair behind her shoulder. She dragged Antonio to the center of the bar. It wasn't a dance-floor, per-say, but the closest thing to it. She was already dancing, he was stiff as a board. "C'mon loosen up a little, wise-guy," she teased.

He did his best. It was admirable. Even if he danced like elderly folk with bad knees. He still held her tightly by the waist, and gazed deeply into her eyes. Fred's eyes were opaque, blue. She always thought they were gorgeous. Crystal as the clear sky. Antonio's were emerald, veins like flecks of gold. Piercing. Daphne was confident Antonio would beat Fred in a fight.

'I'm a Hex Girl,

and I'm gonna put a spell on you!

Gonna put a spell on you!'

The table full of college students glared as they danced like idiots, snickering to themselves and spilling their drinks. Daphne didn't care. Love was intoxicating. Well, that and Cosmopolitans.

After what felt like only a few moments of dancing, the song ended. Silence -only for a moment. Mac in the back must've been waiting for that dumb old song to end so he could dial it back to the oldies he'd been pushing all night.

"Another song?" Antonio asked.

"I can barely stand."

Antonio let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you said that. If you haven't noticed, I'm not the best dancer."

Daphne lay a kiss on his cheek, then another at the edge of his mouth. "That's okay. You're good at other things."

Antonio ran his hands along her figure. "Let's get out of here."

There were only a few stragglers left anyway, and a bunch of sauced college kids. No point in staying.

Daphne didn't remember leaving the bar.

"You parked in the alleyway?"

"The lot was crowded. A tickted'd be worth it."

"You're bold, Benito."

"You don't know the half of it."

Antonio's car was midnight black, windows tinted, sharp angles with a threatening chrome grill. Under the streetlights Daphne saw glimmers of deep purple in the paint.

He peppered her neck with gentle kisses, holding her tightly in his arms. It was a little strange kissing in such a squalor, sketchy alleyway -he even had her back pressed against the mortar building coated in graffiti and grime. But he was so gentle. He felt the curves of her neck with both hands, deeply embracing her by the mouth. She didn't have a second to think, and each of her unsteady breaths heightened his intensity. He bit and tugged at her bottom lip. That was her move. Fred always got a kick out of that. Called her 'bad'; called her 'ravenous'. But Antonio wasn't Fred, and that's why she wanted him so damn badly.

"C'mon, let's do this somewhere else."

He ignored her -focused on her neck. "You smell magnificent, all of you," he said, inhaling deeply, still on her neck.

Sure, the comment was a little strange, but Daphne wouldn't blame some dumb boy for getting caught up in the moment. Fred always found a way to say something awkward at the most awkward of times.

Two fangs sprouted from the back of his mouth. That's the only way Daphne could describe it -sprouting- as the two glistening white molars seemed to swell and contort into razor sharp points from nothing.

"Woah, that's freaky. I never noticed those," Daphne said, thrown off.

"No kidding." He grazed her neck with the sharp fangs, a slim trickle of blood ran to her low-cut collar.

"What the hell?!" She pushed him back. "Not cool, dude. You'd really think I'd be into that. Gonna stain my freaking dress!"

His grin went from endearing to sinister. He pushed her back against the mortar wall. "You taste as good as you smell."

Ghosts aren't real. Daphne reassured herself. You know this. You've proved this firsthand. Sure ghosts weren't real -but criminals were.

"What is this?" She asked, bewildered.

"This is the hunt, dear bella." The fangs grew an inch. Antonio looked bestial. "And you're the prey."

"Rapist piece of shi-" She clawed him, tried to push him away again but he resisted. "I don't know what's happening. Why are you doing this to me? I thought I could trust you!"

He pinned her against the ground. Smelling her neck, then whispering into her ear, "after everything you know of me and my family, you thought you could trust me?" He laughed heartily, a mist of spit coating her face, mixing with the tears. "Suppose I should have known after you sacrificed your entire career for some random Italian. You think I give a shit about fan-fiction -or your hair? The Hex Girls? You think I ever listened to a word you spoke about Crystal Cove? You're nothing to me. Just another bella."

Crystal Cove. She could have cared less for all that other trivialities he threw in her face. That stung more than all of them. You'll never know what the gang and I had. Same as anyone else. You'll never understand the connection the five of us had. That's why you're like all of those other people.

She grabbed him by his stupid frilly collar. "Try me." Her sharp, painted nails dug into his neck. Deep.

Daphne was stronger than she appeared at first glance. She was thin as a tooth-pick, sure, but hardness was a separate muscle entirely than those displayed on one's arms. Strength built over experience. Daphne had encountered, spat rhetoric against, and overpowered numerous ghouls and other equal criminals among her formidable years in Mystery Incorporated.

This moment cornered herself in -being overpowered by a lover- was not one she expected from Antonio, but one she was prepared for. You always had to keep your guard up. Let it slip, and you will be tested. So be ready. Know where to strike, when.

Fred taught her that.

Daphne kneed Antonio in the groin as hard as she could muster. Something popped beneath the pressure. He shrieked, released Daphne's arms, rolled in pain cradling his crotch. Only a breath. He was on his feet. Already. Her guard was up.

She sprung to her tote bag splayed across the gravel, fished out the small can of pepper-spray, and unloaded the entire can into Antonio's eyes.

Run. A voice whispered to her. Run while you still can.

She bolted from Antonio, who lay cradling his face with one hand, and his groin with the other. He was howling inhumanly.

She ran as fast as she could. As fast as her legs would take her, but only got as far as the end of the alleyway before a figure rounded the corner, she hurdled straight into them, sending both the figure and Daphne back to the gravel.

Her vision went grainy, everything went quiet for a few labored breaths, then she was slammed back into the moment.

She could see the figure she hurdled into clearly now.

It was the man with the old sport-coat, the broach, the one seemingly straight out of Italy. Oh no. It all came together. He's working with Antonio. "Get away from me," she screamed, hurling a loose piece of cement at the man's face. He blocked it with his left-arm, then produced a snub-nose revolver from his coat pocket with the right.

Life did not flash before her eyes. That was a myth, it seems, as all she felt was a cold sense of melancholy and numbness as the world around her became clear for the first time in her entire life.

The man unloaded all six shots, Daphne flinched, covering her face. . .

And breathed in a deep breath. He didn't shoot me.

When she opened her eyes, the revolver was already stowed away, and the man walked past her.

Antonio was full of holes, dead, blood running rivulets across the eroded cement.

"T-thank you," she said.

"That was not for you," the man said. "Antonio was to be killed tonight, you only got lucky he decided to attack you here and now."

"The momentary sense of relief at escaping her attacker was immediately overshadowed by panicked thoughts. I know too much. He won't let me leave here alive with these secrets. "Please, let me go."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. You're not the first outsider to catch a glimpse of our clan."

Clan? How many more of them are there? "You're just going to let me go?"

"Not without an exchange of favors."

"Exchange of favors?"

"Favors given can change hands. I was sent by Madamus to eliminate the Benito boy as a favor or someone else. You see? It is a raw cycle, I know, but this is how our House survives."

"What could you possibly want from me?" Daphne pleaded. "What could I offer you?"

"Favors given require rightful payback. That is fair. I did you a favor, so you owe me one. You don't know when it will be asked upon you, who will, or what it will be, but the favor remains. Do you understand?"

"It doesn't sound like I really have a choice."

"Oh, there is always a choice." He glanced at Antonio's mangled body. "This one made a choice, and he suffered the consequences." The man put one of his leather shoes on Antonio's lifeless face, and pressed down as hard as he could, sending loose molars and an eyeball spraying across the ground. "Will you shoulder the burden?"

She couldn't take her eyes from Antonio's ruined visage. Her man. He was supposed to change everything. Whisk me away from this painful life and give me a new path to happiness. Naive. So freaking naive. I knew this would never work out. She knew it in her heart; when she first saw Antonio dead, laying across the gravel full of bullet holes, the first thought that crossed her mind was: What if that happens to Fred.

Fred. Her thoughts looped back to Fred. As always. I love you Fred. I love you and I miss you. I don't know what I'm doing with my life. This path is strange and cold. And I need you.

Hard as her thoughts swam, she came back to her senses.

"Daphne, will you shoulder the burden?" He reiterated, booming this time.

"Yes."

That creeping dread of nostalgia. . .

It all made sense. Ghosts were real -her past. . . and vampires.

Oh shit. I have to go back to Crystal Cove.