sanguineangels (65 page)

The Watcher

I called Tommy’s cell phone on a Thursday night. Weary from lack of blood and feeling more alone than ever, I shivered inside the phone booth and waited for him to answer. Five rings. I was about to hang up when his voice came on the line.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Tommy, it’s Angela.”

There was a long pause in which I heard the distinct sound of a comforter rustling and a yawn.

“Oh Angela, God I was afraid you wouldn’t call. I’m kinda out of it. I had an early morning. Lot of work.”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling defeated. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“No!”

“No?”

“Don’t hang up on me.”

“Okay.” I glanced across the street at a pair of lovers walking hand in hand. The night sky tinged over with pink, a shade I knew would grow to red as it had when Rory turned me. I didn’t know if I could be close to Tommy and still stave off my hunger. “Can I see you tonight?” I asked, hoping I’d be human enough to resist.

“Um, yeah. You want to meet somewhere?”

“No. Can I come to your place? Nothing fancy or anything, I just want to see you.”

The blankets rustled again. His breathing changed, more rapid now. I’d startled him, set him into motion. I imagined he must be running around cleaning up his bachelor pad.

“Yeah, um, yeah you can come over here. Just, let’s see, um, how far away are you?”

“I don’t know. Where do you live?”

“Morenci Apartments at Forty-third and Main.”

“Nice,” I whispered. “I can be there in a half hour, maybe sooner.”

“Um, okay.” Something clattered to the floor on his line. His voice changed and I knew he was smiling when he said, “I’m on the ninth floor, apartment seven.”

“I know this is probably unladylike, but can I spend the night with you, Tommy?”

He chuckled, the uncomfortable laugh of a man who didn’t know what to say.

“Never mind. I’ll let you decide after I get there.” I hung up the phone and hurried down the street, searching for a fire escape ladder that wasn’t too far out of reach. I didn’t want anyone to see my wings. I didn’t want an excuse to have to feed.

Behind an abandoned warehouse I found what I wanted. I climbed up the rusty metal and eased my heartbeat. The thought of Tommy—of kissing him, holding him—made the thing inside me stir with decadent cravings.

I unbuttoned my blouse and tucked it into my pants. I left my bra on. My wings usually didn’t interfere with it. The cool air awoke my nipples and set my instincts aflame. My body wanted sustenance, blood, the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the catch, and the bliss of the inevitable death when I took my prey from this world. My mind denied my lust. I climbed onto the small wall of concrete and spread my wings. They ached now, and I knew my shifting abilities would be bothersome the longer I starved myself. It didn’t matter.

Falling forward, the feathers caught the air, fanned to allow me to glide and soon I was airborne on my journey to see what my devil soul could bear. I circled Morenci Apartments for a long while, judging the best spot to land where onlookers might not spy me. I didn’t want to be caught here no more than I had in the racier district I usually prowled in.

A small park stood across the street, riddled with old pines. There I alighted on a crevasse between two man-made hills, forced my wings to retract, and pulled my blouse on.

My hands shook with the stress of my situation. I buttoned and rebuttoned until I got them all straight. With a rake of my fingers through my hair, I set off for the street, hoping I could cross it and the many barriers before me.

Soon enough, I stood in front of apartment seven on the ninth floor and rang the bell. He opened the door in seconds, as if he’d been waiting behind it the whole time. A smile lit his face. His blue eyes sparkled, and they reminded me of Rory. I trembled before taking a step backward.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said. He came out into the hall, his eyes taking me in. “Damn, you look good.”

Before I could say anything, he hugged me.

Time stood still in that awkward moment. Old feelings of not being part of anything drifted away. I belonged with Tommy. It didn’t matter that we came from two different worlds back when we were in high school, didn’t matter that we were two different things entirely now. He made me feel wanted. He dragged me into his apartment, holding me the whole time and laughing in a soft way.

I wrapped my arms around him and hugged back this time.

“I was so afraid I wouldn’t see you again,” he said, his voice muffled in my hair. “Thought I was dreaming when you called.”

He let go long enough to close the door before he took hold of me again. Together, we hobbled over to his leather sofa and he sat back, pulling me with him and into his lap. I lifted my head.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he told me.

His affection had captured me in more ways than one. “Okay,” I said, afraid now. His mouth looked delicious, his neck even more inviting. I heard his pulse, rhythmic and frantic with his excitement. My stomach pained me. My teeth lengthened even though I didn’t want them to. I couldn’t breathe right with him against me like that. His eyes slipped shut as I leaned forward. Lips met mine, soft, inviting as they parted. His tongue traced mine and the years we’d been apart meant nothing.

We made out like teenagers.

I suffered through it, turned on and hungry for him in more ways than one. His large hands slipped beneath my blouse, running over my skin in warm, slow circles. He didn’t push me for more like Rory always had. We just kissed over and over.

I think it was almost two in the morning when we slowed down. He brushed my hair from my face, smiling up at me. “Where have you been?” he whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

I wanted to cry, to tell him everything. But what could I say? Look, I was abducted by a vampire, turned and brainwashed to forget about you? He’d think I was off my rocker. “After Mom…” I began then stopped, unsure of where I’d go with this. “Well, after she killed herself, I was lost. I lost track of myself.”

His eyebrows furrowed. I read so many questions in his eyes. “You should have called me, Angela. My parents would have let you stay with us. I didn’t even know where you lived. I tried a few times to find out, but the landlord wouldn’t tell me anything. The counselor at school said he’d try to call your house, but when he looked in your file, there wasn’t a number listed.”

“We didn’t have a phone, remember?” I explained.

“Where were you?”

I didn’t want to lie, but I could hardly tell the truth. “Um, I went to live with an uncle. He showed up after Mom died and took me away. I wasn’t well.” I should have summoned some tears, but I couldn’t. I’d cried too many times in Rory’s house when I thought he wasn’t looking.

Tommy waited for me to offer more, but I didn’t.

“Can I sleep here...with you?” I asked.

He slid sideways, flashing a goofy grin. We fell side by side on the couch and smiled at each other. “Only if you’re still here in the morning when I wake up.”

“Just keep your curtains shut and I’ll sleep all day.”

My request puzzled him, but he didn’t ask for an explanation. “Okay.”

“You’re tired. Should we crash here or in your bed?”

He groaned. “My room’s a mess. I don’t have company often except for my brother. Mom and Dad moved to Miami last year.” He shrugged. “Come on.” We stood up together.

My head pounded. His heartbeat lured me, but I resisted.

“So don’t look, okay?”

“I’ll only look at you,” I promised.

Tommy blushed. He took my hand and led me down the hall to his bed. It wasn’t a big ornate thing like Rory had, but a simple full-size with a battered headboard and hastily made linens. The room smelled like him. I sat on the bedside and took off my boots.

“You want a glass of water or anything?” he asked.

Shaking my head no, I eased back onto the bed to stare up at the plain white ceiling. “If it’s all right with you, I just want to hold you all night. I’ve dreamed about you. I’m sorry I left. Things didn’t turn out the way I wanted. Wasn’t much I could do about it.”

He pulled off his shirt before tossing it at the hamper. “We can start over tonight.” The mattress dipped when he settled beside me. “I’ll start over as many times as it takes if it means I get to be with you in the end.”

Tommy and I curled up together and stared with wonder into each others’ eyes. Mom always said if something was too good to be true then it probably was. I wanted her to be wrong.

Dark circles hung beneath those beautiful eyes of his. I ran my fingers over his eyebrows until he closed his eyelids and his breathing slowed in sleep. He dreamed, his pupils moving from side to side, and I wished I could join him. Instead, I lay there watching over him, counting each time his chest rose and fell. I could have stayed there forever if not for my hunger. To sate myself, I slipped the fleshy side of my thumb past my lips and bit down. My blood dribbled into my mouth, coppery sweet, thicker than a normal person’s and quenching my thirst for a time. I wondered what Tommy’s would taste like. Would it be bitter or thick? Would I be able to tell any difference or would it taste just like other people?

The last thing Rory had said to me was, “You are what you eat”. Did it mean every person’s blood I took in changed a little bit of who I was? If I tasted Tommy, would he become a part of me? Would I carry some sliver of his soul mingled with mine?

I rested my head on his chest, his heart beating beneath my ear. Little curls of hair stood out across the middle of his chest. I toyed with them for a while and contemplated biting him. A prick to the small nipple near my face. A quick taste. A sip. It maddened me and made my hunger worse.

His well-muscled chest attested to the fact that he still worked out, probably in a gym somewhere. I imagined him bench pressing weights or doing push-ups. Tommy was all man to me, all muscle and strength, my source of hope for a fleeting time when I had none. He was that now as well.

His digital clock warned me that it was six in the morning. Half an hour later, the alarm went off. I hadn’t slept a bit. Tommy stirred. He reached over and pressed the snooze button, smiled at me with bleary his eyes, and cuddled close to sleep some more. When he started to snore, I opened my mouth and ran the tip of my tongue over his nipple. It hardened at the contact. I edged closer and drew his soft skin past my lips, sucking in a gentle way.

His snores ceased. He moaned.

I grazed my teeth over his skin.

He squeezed my shoulder and muttered in his sleep.

I released his skin and bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, wishing it was his.

Karada

I woke briefly when Tommy kissed my cheek. “I have to go to work,” he explained. “Don’t leave, Angela. Promise me.”

“I won’t,” I told him. He looked good, all dressed up, his face freshly shaved and his hair combed back. “I promise. I’ll be right here when you get home, probably still sleeping too.”

“Good.” He made sure the curtains were closed tight and left me. I listened to him packing a lunch in the kitchen, the zipper closing on the bag he carried his laptop in, and the jangle of car keys. The front door shut. He was gone. I was alone, but I didn’t feel it now. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.

I dreamt of the asylum. Rory hadn’t come with me this time. I stood by the patient in the straitjacket, hovering over his bed. He stared up at me with huge black eyes, thick lashes, and bushy eyebrows expressing curiosity. “Karada,” he muttered. “Karada.”

“I don’t understand.” And I didn’t. I’d never heard the word before the night Rory killed him. The man had said he’d seen others like Rory in Egypt. “Is it a place?”

He shook his head. His eyes sparkled. “No. Closer. Come closer.”

I knelt, my face inches from his.

He reeked of death gone bad. His expression twisted, and he became the woman in Rory’s dreams, a woman who danced and sang and had long, straight hair tied with colored ribbons at the ends. “Karada,” she said, rolling the R. “Karada.”

I shook my head and decided to leave this dream. Not that we have much choice in the matter, but I turned and walked toward the open door. Bare feet padded behind me. I looked over my shoulder to find the bed empty. No one stood in the room. Alone, I crossed the cold hall and left the asylum, dreaming of the hunt now and my need to feed. The sky had gone a shade between pink and red, a magenta of sorts with flashes of gold for stars. I breathed in the night air, my nostrils flaring, my muscles readying for the hunt.

“Karada.” A whisper caressed my left ear. I turned and saw nothing.

“Who are you?” I shouted.

“In the garden, by the fountain. Come and find me, little angel.”

Laughter bubbled up inside my head, female laughter, taunting and cruel. This woman meant something, but I didn’t know what. I dreamt of feeding on a young man as he read the evening paper and woke with a ravenous hunger biting into my midsection.

The door to Tommy’s apartment clicked and opened. I sat up. I’d slept the day away, my usual routine. “I’m home,” he called. “Are you really still asleep?”

A glance to the clock revealed the hour. Six in the evening. The sun had recently set. I pushed up from the bed and rubbed my eyes. “Yeah. I have a little sleeping disorder,” I replied. “I’m a night owl. Hope that doesn’t bother you.”

He entered the bedroom and took off his dress shirt. “No, not at all.”

My mouth and fingers tingled. The patches of skin where my wings normally broke through burned. Pursing my lips, I fought my inner demon for control over my body.

“You hungry?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah,” I breathed the answer, too afraid to speak. I had to get out of there or I’d kill him. Pain racked my temples.

He bypassed me and opened the curtains to reveal a night sky gone blood red. I whimpered despite myself and backed to the doorway. “Tommy,” I whispered.

“Hmm?” He turned, his forehead crinkling with lines. “What’s the matter? You look like you just saw a ghost or something.”

“I have to go.” I stepped out of his bedroom, focusing my eyes on his exposed skin for every place a vein could be. I wanted to take him, to feast on his soul and feel his life drain into my own. I needed to feed.

“Hey, no!” he shouted, obviously realizing I was on my way out.

“I’ll try to come back...” The front door was just behind me. I turned the lock with my mind, then the handle with my hand before I raced out. Behind me, Tommy followed, his voice echoing in the corridor. I took the stairs two at a time.

Outside, the night air bathed me in its cool touch, easing my hunger pains somewhat. People crowded along the sidewalks and in cars up and down the street. The park bustled as well. Everywhere I looked I saw someone I wanted to take hold of and drag into a dark place.

“Angela!” Tommy came up behind me. “What’s wrong?”

I faced him, tears pooling in my eyes. There were lights over the entry to his apartment building. I know he saw my tears and the ghastly color of them. He paused there, looking both frightened and sympathetic. He held his hand out to me.

I shook my head. “I can’t,” I cried. “I want to, but I can’t do that to you.” Backing further, I turned and sprinted along Main Street. I ducked into an alley, tore away my blouse and took to the air. I flew from the city, from the hope I wanted to cleave to, and returned to the only place I could think of.

Rory’s estate greeted me in the same manner it always had. I alighted on the roof where I last saw my guardian alive and climbed down the steps to the back yard and the vast gardens beyond. Hugging myself, I sat beside the place where Rory had fallen and wept. There were no remains of him now, all the ash blown away in the wind over the weeks I’d been gone.

Remembering my nightmare and the way Rory always used to stare at the fountain in the gardens, I mimicked his gaze and watched the water trickling over old marble. The shapely carving in its midst looked familiar now, like an old spirit I once knew but had long forgotten the name of. When the moon peered down at me from the bloody sky, I rose to get a closer look at the fountain.

A bat made faint chirruping sounds somewhere near me. I looked up to see it chasing moths near the lamp post. At the fountain’s edge, I stopped and tried to see the statue better. Water ran over every smooth surface, clear and clean. Near the base of the statue, just beneath the water’s surface, I read the name engraved there. “Karada.”

Chills swept through me.

A voice tickled the back of my mind.
“Karada
.
”

Spinning around, I saw no one, and yet I knew I was not alone on the property. Someone else must be near; at least close enough to send her thoughts into mine. Leaving Tommy so abruptly tormented me. The sky darkened, a stain of red unbearable for me to look upon. Even the moon took on the unholy shade. I needed to feed, and feed I would.

The nearest home lay ten miles to the east, but it was not human blood I would thieve. I took to the sky, leaving the mystery behind me for the time being. The river called my name. There I went to seek out some unfortunate animal and sate the ache I suffered. Opossums found their end at my hand that night. I felt ridiculous and wild as I feasted on them. The thrill of the hunt did not rise for me. I hated the low of feeding on vermin.

For a week I didn’t call Tommy. I rifled through the papers of Rory Archibald, known the world over in the art scene as a high-ticket buyer of obscure pieces depicting the American slave trade. Why he obsessed over such a subject I could not guess at the time, but I had an idea it might be related to this Karada person or thing recurring in my dreams.

In Rory’s office, at the bottom of a file drawer, I found a piece to the puzzle. An old, worn leather diary, the pages tattered and feathered on the edges. Opening it, I delved into my dead guardian’s past and wondered at his half-mad musings.

October 1840

She came to me this night again. I thought her a dream, her hair so long and silken against my chest, her lips divine, her sharp teeth digging past my skin. Sweet Karada, how I love you. I cannot push away your essence no more your heart, despite the wrong of it.

The others laugh at me, James and Stephen. They say I’m ill and it cannot be helped. I will die within the year. The agony only being I will not see my lover again after that. Maybe in the afterlife we will find one another, for here there is no future for us.

I flipped ahead, past similar entries of laments and sorrow, longing and lust. I paused to read over an entry where the script became blurred by water damage.

April 1841

Now I understand the nature of her. God has sent this divine beauty to me to relieve me of this burden I carry. He has asked me to do these things, that I kill those who would stop my lover’s seed from spreading. They would kill her and cut off her head. They would do the same to me if I let her take me. They must not know. And so I will secret this journal away, my link to who and what I was. The voices tell me to do so many terrible things. I need them to stop now. I need to know her warmth, to bury myself in her heaven and forget all this darkness and death. Karada will have me. I must share her, true, but I will forever be her angel of death.

The pages after that were blank.

I searched through the rest of Rory’s files. Most held lists of art either purchased or to be bought. I found strange records of family trees with no last names. Beneath the bed in the master bedroom, I found something else.

A specially made box, metal, perhaps fireproof, rested there. Tracing the lock with my finger, I moved it with my mind. When it opened and I lifted the lid, a wrapped parcel waited inside. “What’s this?” I wondered aloud.

I stripped away the brown parchment and stared down at the woman’s face, captured in oils so long ago, the eighteen hundreds to be exact. The artist, R. Archibald, had dated his work. She wore only a swathe of bold orange fabric that hid nothing of her nakedness, surely a racy piece of art for its time. But that’s not what bothered me. The woman, her skin dark and smooth, her face narrow and her eyes alight with blue sparkles looked very much like
me.

At the center of the bottom frame, an engraved placard spelled out her name. I didn’t need to read it to know. Karada, perhaps Rory’s first love, stared back at me in her immortalized painting, and I knew my meeting with the vampire was not a thing of coincidence at all.

He had chosen me, watched me grow, and in his own way, raised me to replace this love he had lost. I can’t guess how old Rory had been, but if he had been in his twenties when this Karada turned him, he would have been well over a hundred years in age. I shuddered at the thought. Would I live so long? Could I? And more important, did I want to? I knew I didn’t have the strength to do it alone. But how could I bring another into my hell and expect forgiveness or understanding?