Sunset Strip: A Tale From The Tome Of Bill (4 page)

Tom would probably be wearing that stupid amulet of his, but that would just allow him to live long enough to watch his limbs get wrenched off. Don’t get me wrong - even with me by their side, there was still a good chance we’d get our asses handed to us, but at least I had the advantage of knowing it in advance.

There was also the little fact, something I didn’t make her privy to, that I wasn’t entirely considering this a rescue mission. Though I didn’t consciously admit it, this went deeper than that. Pandora’s Box was where it had all started for me. Thirty years of fucking misery as little more than a slave.

Sure, it hadn’t been all bad. Not to mince words, but I enjoyed an awful fucking lot of it. No matter how much compulsion is shoved through your skull, there are times when being a vampire - a predator amongst sheep - is completely and uttering addicting.

The rush of a mouthful of blood is incredible. It’s what we live on and thus nearly all of our senses are heightened, amplified toward the goal of finding and devouring as much as we can. Blood, by itself, is more than sustaining to my kind. Every single drop is like the best meal you’ve ever eaten.

That’s not all, though. I was never much into heavy drugs, but I’d dabbled back in the day. Maybe it’s the rush of chemicals the victim releases, but blood fresh from a still beating heart makes a drug high pale in comparison. It goes from being a feast to ambrosia itself - a nose full of the best Columbian blow doesn’t even come close.

That’s part of the reason so many vampires are such animals. It’s an addiction, pure and simple. Those who can subsist off of the bottled stuff don’t know what they’re missing. At the same time, though, they’re lucky. They can control themselves, live almost normal lives. Some days I envy that...some days.

See, the rush is only part of it. Being a vampire is a heady experience. Even the meekest of the turned find themselves a lion prowling the Serengeti. The power, the near invulnerability, it’s every bit as addicting as a successful hunt. Imagine if tomorrow you woke up to find yourself completely above the law, with almost no consequences for your actions - at least in normal society. It’s something like that.

We have rules, sure, and our own hierarchy. Step outside of that and you can find yourself back at the bottom of the food chain faster than you can blink. But even so, there’re a whole lot more humans than there are vamps. Even the lowest of us is a lord when walking amongst them.

That’s what most of us try and fool ourselves into believing, at least. The truth is a bit more complex. Vampire society is often times little better than a caste system. There are leaders, soldiers, and then there are the rest - those who are little more than shit upon the boot heels of the masters.

Most don’t realize that. It's almost pathetic. The rabble of the undead often fool themselves into thinking they’re gods amongst men when, in reality, they’re little more than what they were in life - maybe even less.

You see, vampires tend to be very selective about who they turn. It’s not what you think, though. The vampire nation isn’t always on the lookout for the best and brightest - quite the contrary, in fact. True leaders are rare amongst the undead.

Don’t believe me? That’s fine, but I’m here to tell you if that were the case, every great person who ever lived would now be an immortal creature of the night.

I’m sorry to say, but that doesn’t happen often. Sure, Alexander the Great walks amongst our kind, and we formerly counted Ogedai Khan, son of Genghis, in our numbers, but that’s more the exception than the rule. You won’t find many others. No FDR's, JFK's, MLK Jr’s, or Abe Lincoln's wander the night seeking the flesh of the living. Hell, sad to say but not even Elvis made the cut.

Most that are turned are easily controlled - cannon fodder for their betters. They exist as forces to keep us strong, but can be sacrificed without a second thought if the need arises.

Why? It’s simple. Leaders want to lead, not follow. An entire society based on the best and brightest would erupt in civil war as countless factions each tried to seize control. We would go extinct fairly quickly, not from outside forces, but from within - staking each other in the back as we did so.

Thus, often times, it is the weak-minded but able-bodied who are brought into the fold.

The thing is…sometimes they make a mistake. Bill is definitely one such miscalculation, whether or not he wants to believe it.

Most don’t realize I’m one, too.

* * *

I hung up the phone. Speaking with James almost always made me feel better. He was a rarity amongst the rare...a vampire with the brains to lead and the foresight to make sure what he was doing was for the greater benefit. You’d be hard pressed to find another vamp like him. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t a pushover by any means. Those who crossed him often didn’t get a second chance. His allies, though, were treated quite well. Take me, for instance.

I’m fifty…well, something. Never ask a lady her true age, especially one that can snap most men’s necks like a toothpick. Regardless, I’m but a babe in the woods compared to some vampires. James is one of the Draculas, the
First Coven
- our ruling council. Only the strongest and smartest get to play ball for that team. James wasn’t the oldest vamp out there, but I had personally seen him edge out others who had greater experience on their side.

The thing is, the Draculas were well known for not tolerating what they called “children.” Most vamps under a century in age that tried to seek an audience with them would be taught a lesson in respect that they…well, those around them anyway…would never forget. That I had James’s personal cell phone, as well as an open invitation to use it, was almost unheard of. Thankfully, I had a few plusses in my column. Being allied with the legendary Freewill certainly didn’t hurt. James and I also had history together. A history of mutual, if not entirely equal, respect.

I had felt like shit as of late for lying to him about some of the things that had gone down here in New York. Still, mutual respect was one thing, but a death wish was quite another. Had I spilled my guts to him it most likely would have resulted in more guts being spilled - mine chiefly.

Because of that guilt, I felt the need to tell him of my intent to visit Marlene’s territory. If things went badly, which was an almost one-hundred percent likelihood, then at least he wouldn’t be caught off guard.

Typically, spats between covens were considered a personal matter. The Draculas were our law givers, but they weren’t our babysitters. We were expected to handle a lot of intra-vampire shit on our own. It wouldn’t do to have a bunch of apex predators come crying to their mommies every time their feelings got hurt.

These days, though, things were different. We were on the eve of war. Bizarre happenings were going on all over the world as we and our allies prepared to do battle with our ancient foes. Because of this, I felt it was a good idea to give the heads-up in a case where there was potential to thin our ranks a bit. I hoped it didn’t come to that, but...

Wait, did I really just think that?

Goddamnit, Bill’s simpering humanity must’ve really been weaseling its way into my frontal lobe. I really needed to stop with that shit...maybe kill some old ladies or burn down an orphanage to get my mind back on track.

Of course, I wouldn’t exactly mind if shit turned bad while in Vegas...at least, as long as it turned bad in my favor.

Marlene and Pandora’s Box was where it all started for me. It was where I...

No, that wasn’t quite right. In all fairness, it started long before then.

Chapter 7

1969

“Lucinda Marie Carlsbad, do you have any idea how long our mother has been calling for you?”

My sister, Linda, stood in the doorway of the bathroom, hands on her hips. She considered herself an adult, far too sophisticated for her fifteen years of age. She often acted like she was forty years older than me instead of just four. Personally, I just considered her a stuck-up bitch.

“I heard her,” I said as I lifted the hot appliance, lest it start to burn, and inspected myself in the mirror. “I’m not finished yet.”

“What are you doing?”

“Ironing my hair.”

“Why?”

“I saw a picture of it. Looked neat.”

“On someone good-looking, maybe. It’s going to look stupid on you.”

“Not as stupid as your face,” I spat back.

“At least I have a pretty one. Nobody’s ever going to like a bookworm like you.”

I lifted my eyes briefly in her direction. One word flashed through my mind:
cunt
. I stifled a giggle as the most forbidden of the forbidden words danced at the tip of my tongue. It fit her to a tee.

Tall like our father, she was slim with full-bodied hair. No matter what she said, I didn’t think she was nearly as beautiful as some of the women in the fashion magazines Mama liked to read. Even so, she had her pick of suitors at school, especially ever since she had graduated from a training bra. All the while I could still pass for a boy with my shirt off - not that I’d ever even dream of taking mine off in front of one.

I decided to stifle the words begging to be released. Linda would probably just use them as an excuse to get me into trouble. “What does she want?”

“It’s not a child’s place to question her elders.” I stood and stared at her, refusing to take the bait. Finally, she relented. “Dad’s bringing someone home for dinner, an important investor at his firm. Mama wants us tidied up and downstairs.”

My eyes opened wide. Our father mostly left the discipline to our mother, but his job was one place where we knew not to step out of line. If he was bringing some bigwig home, then he was expecting dinner to be on time, his wife to be beautiful, and his daughters to be respectful.

My dress had been slightly wrinkled the last time he’d brought a guest home and I’d caught three weeks of grounding for it afterward. Now, here I was with half my head ironed, the rest looking like a rat’s nest of curls.

“What time?”

Linda leaned against the wall and smiled wickedly. I got a bad feeling in my gut.

“In about fifteen minutes,” she said. “I told you, mama’s been calling.”

* * *

I’d learned my lesson about the dress from the last time. Though I only wore them during times such as these, I made it a point to keep a few hung up neatly in my closet at all times. Maybe I’d never be as glamorous as Linda, but she wasn’t even close to being an A student like me - with maybe the exception of the occasional B minus in math. Once was often enough for me to get the drift.

It was a simple matter to throw one on over my shirt and shorts. My hair was another matter entirely, though. There wasn't time to finish straightening it and Linda would have sooner swallowed a frog than help me out. A ponytail was out of the question. Daddy considered them unladylike. It would just get me grounded again.

Tears rose in my eyes as panic began to set in, but then I remembered the magazines. I quickly shoved aside the stack of history textbooks on my bed, locating the issue of Cosmopolitan I’d borrowed from mama’s bureau. It held a look that might just work...a tight bun on top with a few errant curls escaping. I began flipping through the pages. If I could pull it off, I might just survive the night.

* * *

Mama gave a sniff as I ran into the kitchen to grab the place settings. It rang of disapproval. I’d checked myself in the mirror against the photos maybe a dozen times in hopes of pulling off the look. Obviously, I hadn’t. My sister’s grin burned a hole through me. That was the worst of it. Though I’d miss my friends, I could handle being punished. Dealing with Linda’s smug attitude was the real torture.

She was everything a perfect daughter should be: pretty, popular, interested in the things Dad thought she should be. She’d be sure to make some lucky fella a happy little baby factory one day. I, on the other hand, would have been better off being born a boy. If that had happened, I’d have probably gotten a pat on the back and a “Go get em, Tiger!” at every possible turn. As it was, my father constantly bemoaned me under his breath, wondering where I got my ideas from and lamenting me not knowing my proper
place
.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway dragged me from my thoughts...foolish daydreams, as my father would say. The headlights of the family sedan momentarily flashed through the front windows. There was no time to fix my hair into something acceptable. As Mama ushered us all into the living room to greet Dad and his guest, it was clear that I was sunk.

* * *

“Honey, I’d like you to meet Mr. Kennelsbeth,” my father said brightly. I forced a smile as he made his customary introductions. Unfortunately, I’d seen the brief shadow cross over his face as he walked in the door, performing a cursory once-over in my direction. “Mr. Kennelsbeth is a very important investor in my firm.”

“
Potential
investor, Roger,” the man chuckled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He was tall and thin with neat black hair. I didn’t know much about men’s fashion, but even I could tell his suit must’ve cost a lot more than the brown slacks and sport coat my father wore. He had very alert eyes that seemed to take in everything and everyone at once. On a lesser man they might’ve been considered shifty, but I was sure Dad would insist that a man of Mr. Kennelsbeth’s caliber should be considered shrewd instead.

He extended a hand to my mother. “Please, call me Colin.” My eyes opened wide. I’d never seen such neat hands before, not even when Linda and Mom treated themselves to manicures.

“It’s rude to stare, Lucinda.” My father's tone was jovial but his gaze icy.

“Nonsense,” replied our guest as he turned toward us. He gave my sister a quick glance before focusing all of his attention on me. For just the barest of moments, a blush rose to my cheeks. “Lucinda, was it? A pretty name for an even prettier girl. Why, you look just like a Hollywood starlet.”

My blush deepened. “Thank you, Mr...” I stammered.

“None of that,” he corrected. “As I said, you may call me Colin.”