Origins (A Demonkin Novel) (22 page)

I read the article by Steve Jezwyrski and almost started crying. He had arrived on the scene after several people in line had phoned into police witnessing a vampire attack. The little bastard even had several quotes from eye witnesses stating they had seen a vampire fitting my description attack a large man on the outside of the club. Of course Jean Philippe as the owner of the club had not disabused anyone of the notion either and hoped, "To never see the menacing FBI agent in any of his businesses again". Even Veronica the bouncer had chimed in with, "She walked in like she owned the joint and started harassing all the vampires I work with".

I handed the article back to Thompson so he could have a good read. I crossed my legs and stared at Reese, who stared back at me, while Thompson read the printed lies (sort of). After what seemed to be an eternity, Thompson tossed the paper down on the desk next to Reese with a grunt and shake of his head. "Bullshit," he said disgustedly. "She couldn't wait anymore, not without attacking one of the vampires at MegaBites. Be thankful I had been there, sir," Thompson defended me.

I looked at his face again and he looked down at me and I offered up a little smile of gratitude. He winked back with the eye Reese couldn't see. I put my head in my hand and looked back at Reese. He still didn't look appeased. "Well at least the Deputy Director is still happy with the media coverage. He feels the vampires of Chicago will be quaking in their little vampire boots around you and will scramble to aid your investigations in any way. I tried to tell him it would probably just piss them off even more, but he just doesn't get it. I'm at a loss. Go on, get out of here the both of you," he said and shooed us out of his office. I really don't like being shooed.

"Wait, what are you doing next?"

"Hitting more bars to see if we can find any helpful informants," Thompson yelled without even turning around.

We walked through the main office area and ignored the stares of the agents still working and headed out to the parking garage.

"Thanks again Thompson,. I owe you dinner."

"Cuz I fed you last night?"

"No, because if it wasn't for you I'd be up the creek," I replied levelly.

* * *

I found myself in another club with a bad vampire pun for a name. "The Vamporium" wasn't a normal club either. It catered to a different crowd I had only heard about on the internet. "Goth" and "Scene" didn't even begin to cover the descriptions of the people milling around the large dark club listening to a cross between Techno and Gregorian chant music. Most of the outfits had been manufactured out of PVC or vinyl and every other person you saw wore a collar and leash. I had worn a skirt and jacket combo and felt completely out of place. I kept telling myself, "at least it's black."

The far end of the club held a large stage, but instead of a DJ or live music, people posed almost naked in various sexually explicit positions. They would hold the pose for a minute or so and then everyone would switch positions and partners. It looked like an Andy Warhol sexual round robin. I found it more than a little disturbing. My life, so far, had been one long vow of chastity. It's not because I wasn't interested in sex. It's just hard when you spend most of your life as a hermit, to meet new people, mingle, and find a special someone you’d want to be your first. I needed one of those promise rings all the kids seemed to be wearing.

We walked through the place and finally made our way to the bar. I couldn't believe the outfits some of the patrons felt comfortable in. How do you wear an outfit with holes cut out where your nipples should be? How in the hell do you feel comfortable with everyone staring at your nipples? Hello people? I tried hard not to stare at them and I forbade myself from looking at the stage. I found a spot on Thompson's back and tried to pretend I found it very interesting.

We idled our way up to the bar and the bartender made her way over to us to take our order. Thompson asked for a cola and I declined. I wanted to leave in a bad way. The bartender turned to fill a glass with ice and I looked down damn it. She wore chaps which gave the impression of leather pants from the front, but when she turned around, her butt cheeks became fully exposed with nothing covering them except a tiny string in between. I could only imagine what it would look like if she bent over to pick something up. I gulped and Thompson heard me and gave a bark of laughter.

"Sheltered life, kid?"

"You have no idea."

The bartender returned and Thompson took the glass of brown liquid. He handed her a five dollar bill and laid a picture of Matt on the counter he had cut out of the paper. I guess he had gotten tired of carrying the whole front page around with him.
Wow, he wasn't just muscle.

"You ever see this vampire?"

"No" she answered without even looking.

I thought she might be trying to protect her own kind, but then I realized she wasn't a vampire. Her tan gave it away for starters. The second reason I knew is I felt the energy vibrating off her the way I had with Thompson when he made his way to the bar last night. Where he felt like a vibrating mountain, she felt more like a purring cat. He snarled at her quite loudly, I almost mistook it for a roar. She cowered, and I jumped. Everyone around us became very interested in their drinks. I stared at Thompson like he had grown an appendage out of his forehead.

"Let me ask again, have you ever seen this vampire?"

She picked up the picture off the counter and looked at it. She nodded once and told us he came in every once in a while, but she hadn't seen him for a few weeks. This wasn't getting us anywhere. A whole other world of supernatural beings lived in the Chicago area and we just had to fight talon and fang to even get the simplest of answers; sometimes, life could be frustrating. Thompson continued his questioning about the last time Matt had been in and if he had come in with anybody, but the girl either didn't remember, or found an extra set of testicles behind the bar and suddenly developed amnesia. I would have put money on the latter.

Thompson must have believed her when she said she didn't remember because he just nodded at her and let her get back to work. I thought we would move on to questioning others in the club or move on to a different club all together, but we just stood at the bar and took in the sights. This wasn't helping my celibacy situation. I found myself staring at things I shouldn't even be looking at. Not just on the men either. I found myself glancing at the posterior end of the bartender every time she turned around. I wasn't a person who found members of the opposite sex attractive in anyway, but as she turned, I found myself staring at the suppleness and smoothness of her hindquarters like a haunch of beef. I became mesmerized and had been picturing sinking my fangs into the twin golden orbs of flesh when one of the clubs security people walked up.

"Is there a problem over here?" I heard over my shoulder. I needed to pay attention.

I turned and found an ashen looking vampire in a leather suit. I didn't even know they made such a thing. The effect looked kind of cheesy. I expected to see a shirt with extremely wide lapels to be underneath the jacket, like something out of the seventies, but instead the vampire wore a black fishnet shirt. Mr. Fashionsense my mind dubbed him. I looked at him and tried not to laugh. He even wore a fake silver rope chain. I knew it wasn't real because his skin wasn't burning and smoking. Even Master Vampires had little tolerance for the mysterious metal. I could handle it with impunity, it's one of the other reasons I thought I wasn't a vampire.

"I'm Special Agent Thompson with the FBI; we're investigating a series of murders. Have you seen this man in the club?" Thompson showed the icky little vamp the picture from the newspaper.

"Nope, I've never seen him before in my life, or afterlife, so there's no reason for you
or
her to be here. Please leave."

Wow, rude from the start. I looked over the pimpish vamp and didn't like what I saw. I gave a quick whiff and found him covered with a sickly sweet combination of cheap aftershave and cloves. His odor settled it; there wasn't anything I liked about this man. I looked over his shoulder at another vampire walking up behind Mr. Fashionsense. He stood much taller than the rat we found ourselves currently engaged with and much more striking. You hear about debonair vampires all the time in stories and movies. With the exception of Nosferatu, becoming a vampire changes you and makes you more desirable and beautiful. It apparently skipped the rat and landed square on our new visitor.

He stood about six feet tall and had long wavy brown hair down to his waist. He wasn't dressed in leather or vinyl or PVC like everyone else in the club. Simple blue jeans with a straight cut down to his brown loafers topped off by a simple black silk shirt. The bartender's provocative outfit is what attracted me to her, but this vampire in jeans and a shirt took my breath away. I would have found him attractive wearing nothing. I would find him very attractive wearing nothing. I hoped to gods I wasn't actually blushing.

"Is there a problem here, Tony?" The vampire’s cool voice sent shivers down my spine. "Special Agent Thompson, good to see you again, what brings you to my humble club?" The vampire held out his hand to Thompson, who heartily took it and shook it.

"Good to see you again Marcel. This is Agent Ashlyn my partner. You got someplace we can talk?"

"Sure, C'mon" he said and turned. We followed and I brushed by "Tony" trying very hard not to touch him.

He led us into a back office completely paneled in cedar. Very rustic for a sex club owner, he surprised me. The laptop computer on the desk and the large plasma television on the wall showing at least ten camera feeds looked to be the only technology in the room. Each feed took up a small portion of the flat screen. It would be very effective if one person wanted to keep tabs on every portion of his domain.

Marcel sat down behind his desk and motioned for Thompson and I to sit in the big leather chairs positioned in front. Tony followed us into the room and closed the door. I felt a flare of power from Marcel and a shocked look passed over Tony's face. He opened the door and exited, leaving us alone with Marcel. I tried very hard not to laugh, and I hoped I had as much control over my power one day.

"So what can a humble club owner do for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Jim?" Just how well did these two know each other? For some reason I couldn't picture Thompson frequenting an establishment like this.

"There isn't a humble bone in your body, Marc. Damn, it's good to see you again. Ashlyn and I are looking for a killer. He's offed a couple of local cops and one vampire. We know who is ultimately responsible for the deaths, but I figured we'd have a better chance of finding
him
by finding the killer. Here's a picture of the dead vamp," Thompson said and slid the newspaper clipping over the desk to Marc or Marcel, whatever his name may be. I thought about changing mine to "Confused".

"Matt's dead?” Thompson nodded. "Damn it. He had approached me for work a few weeks back, and frequented my club often. He wanted out from underneath Jean Philippe. I told him to give Jean notice, and I would give him a job behind the bar, either here or at one of my other clubs. Poor bastard, he was good vampire, and we're few and far between. I should call Veronica, she must be devastated."

I shrank guiltily in my seat. I had played no small part in the death of the tall vampire, and I had found his girlfriend to be a complete bitch. I had only dealt with vampires like Cicero and Gloria before I had left for the academy, and I hate to admit it, I stereotyped vampires. I knew in my soul I wasn't like the others, and I just equated it with moral superiority. I felt more than ashamed and I slunk even further into my chair.

My movement didn't go unnoticed by Marcel. He seemed to focus in on me for the first time. I watched curiosity be replaced with recognition, and recognition be replaced with distaste.
Oh shit, here it comes
.

"Your partner is the Verminator?" He stood from his desk.

"Calm down, Marc. She's a newbie."

"Yet Matt is dead and he did nothing wrong except to have the misfortune of meeting your newbie," he stated vehemently.

"She's young, Marc, real young," Thompson went on to defend me.

"Who's your maker little one, how did you free yourself to pursue your own desires?"

I looked into his eyes. There wasn't one doubt that I sat before a master vampire. This time I felt myself being sucked down into his stare. The room fell away and I could feel the ocean of his power. While mine seemed violent and capped with turbulent waves, his felt like a rolling ocean on a summer's night. I could feel the ebb and tide of his power in its enormity. Mine felt both larger and stronger, but I could tell he could call those waters to flood rivers, destroy beaches, and erode mountains. His waters would answer his every whim, mine on the other hand produce massive waves, but I often rode them.

The oceans fell away until we floated in darkness and our bodies illuminated each other. He walked toward me and held my head in his spectral hands. "Who made you little one?" The thought drifted across my mind even though the words never left his mouth.

"Why should I answer?"

"Because you have no choice, you cannot lie with your mind."

"But I don't have to answer, do I?"

He laughed and we returned to his office in the club. He still stared at me, but this time he had a smile. "I see why you like her old friend. She is full of power and mirth, but lacks any control over what she could be. I have met thousands of vampires over the years, some over a thousand years old, but none with the raw power she has," he told Thompson, but his eyes never left mine. "I promise not to harm you or yours, but for my own curiosity please, I must know, how old are you and who made you?" He sat back down in his oversized leather chair.

"I am eighteen years old and I have no idea who my father is, I'm sorry," I answered truthfully.

"You have been a vampire for less than two decades?" I nodded. "Unbelievable. No wonder Cicero wants you less than alive," he laughed.