Underground Vampire (14 page)

He stood waiting and, from the
dark, two shapes materialized in the last bit of light; and then she was
silhouetted between them, wielding a sword in short vicious strokes and the two
heads bounced against the walls as the bodies slumped to the ground. 
Ortega stared, stupefied at the suddenness of the ending.  The headless
bodies flamed, crumbling to dark sandy ash until all that was left of the two
was a heap of ash rather like the residue in the fireplace after the embers
smoldered down.  The last were the skulls, which glowed hot in the
passageway, then ignited into white flame, their brains bubbling out through
the eyes and ears.

Gently taking his arm as if he were
escorting her to a movie, she leaned close saying, “Come, someone up above may
have heard your shots and raised an alarm.”

“I need to find my gun,” he
replied, “I can’t lose it.”

Pulling his service revolver from her
pocket, she handed it to him saying, “Here, I saved it for you; you did well,
turning to fight, very few Humans can take it.”

“What was that smell?”

“They’ve been feeding on rats;
hiding in the depths undetected; without the nourishment of Human blood they
did not develop properly, they are an abomination.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“No.  Their hunger is driving
them to the surface to feed.”

“That,” pointing at the smoldering
skulls, “running loose in the City,” grimacing, he drew back.

“Do not fear, Human, I will protect
you.”

“My name is Jesse.”

After a moment, “Thank you, Jesse.”

And, after a moment, “You’re
welcome, partner.”

Together they turned and, taking
his hand in hers, she led him out of the Underground.

“Congratulations,” drawled Jason,
preening on the baroque velvet couch he favored in the grand salon of his
residence.  “I’m sure everyone was impressed as I was by your
performance.”  Dressed in black, which certainly was not unusual for this
group, he nonetheless managed to look chic and polished, whereas many of the
others looked drab and common in their monochrome selves.  A rare albino,
his skin was so pale and white as to draw notice even from the People of the
Night.  

With his pale blond hair pulled
back into a long ponytail reaching the middle of his back, piercing light blue
eyes over prominent cheekbones and slightly flaring nostrils, only the most
discerning would guess that he was born in Africa.  Made in the mid-18th
century by a Dutch Vampire busy looting the continent, he’d traveled the world,
first as a slaver on transport ships then as a freebooter.  Eventually
ending up in the New World, he became the premier purveyor of exotic pleasures
and entertainments to Vampire Clans in the Americas.  

Oliver discovered Jason on a
pleasure trip to New York and the two became fast friends if not, as many
suspected, lovers.   Soon Oliver persuaded the Queen to allow Jason
entry to the Northwest and very shortly the social center of Vampire life
centered in Blood Simple, the club he opened under the City.  Adroitly
weaving his way through the politics of the Clan, he became necessary to many
Vampires because of his ability to maintain a ready supply of young women who
willingly offered their blood in exchange for Vampiric pleasures of the flesh.

“Did you miss me?” replied
Oliver.  His return from the dead caused equal parts excitement and
apprehension in the group that had coalesced around Jason at Blood
Simple.  “Or didn’t you notice I’d been gone these last few years?” said
Oliver, an edge to his voice that caused several patrons to discreetly slide
their backs toward a wall.

“Whatever are you wearing,” said
Jason, ignoring the implied threat, “you are dressed like a lawyer on casual
Friday.”

It was true, and after a moment
Oliver looked down at the green cable knit sweater covering cuffed and pleated
khaki pants over actual Brooks Brothers penny loafers and began to laugh. 
“I borrowed these when I escaped and haven’t had time to shop; their previous
owner was deliciously preppy.”  One by one the others laughed with him and
came up to him, welcoming him back, thrusting glasses of the freshest blood
into his hands.  And, like the prodigal accepted into the bosom of his
family, he drank glass after glass of the red rich liquid until he was
thoroughly sated and his blood lust forgotten for the moment.

Sensing that the time was right,
that Oliver was calm, Jason, still in his customary position on the couch,
stretched his impossibly languid arm out saying, “Come, sit beside me and tell
us what happened and where you’ve been.”  

Sinking down into the luxurious
cushions of the richly brocaded couch, Oliver told them of his capture by
Arabella and Petru.  At the mention of those names the group cringed, for
their names reminded everyone present that Oliver was an escaped traitor. 
Oliver went on telling of imprisonment, the sordid burial at sea, how he’d
starved and scratched until he was free, how he’d swum to land and fed for the
first time in over a century, how he’d made his way back to Seattle, feeding on
the way. 

The only thing Oliver didn’t talk
about was the thought on everyone’s mind; Arabella and Petru, and how soon the
Queen would send them out to hunt down Oliver and kill him and, while they were
at it, kill everyone associated with him.

The group grew uneasy with the
telling; not only had he escaped from the Queen’s imprisonment but he had
broken the law by openly feeding on Humans.   Killing Humans was
expressly forbidden and the punishment was death.  It was quite simple
really, the Vampires’ world existed parallel to the Humans’, invisible and
unsuspected; no one was permitted any action that would bring the slightest
suspicion, let alone conflict, between the two. 

Now, Oliver was brazenly describing
pulling people off the streets to feed upon them and actually relishing in the
ecstasy of the taste as the life drained from his victims.   It was
clear that his actions were meant as an open challenge and the trail he’d left
led straight here.

“Now,” he announced, “I’m back.”

Stunned, they all stared, wondering
if Petru was coming through the door like the avenging angel with the Queen
close behind to dole out their punishment, where permanent banishment would be
the best they could hope for but death was more likely.  All except Jason,
who appeared as unperturbed as ever and quipped, “I suppose you have a
plan?  I mean, what else could you have been doing for all those decades
while you were eating concrete except plotting revenge.”

“I’d forgotten how attractive the throat
of an unwilling victim is, the arched neck veins exposed, a pulse beating with
fear and anticipation, raging hormones pumping adrenaline into the body till
the taste of the victim is the elixir we need to be ourselves,” he said, as he
looked around the room fixing each with his gaze. “The blood you served me
tonight came from the herd maintained by our host,” tipping his head toward
Jason, “farm animals maintained by the Clan, they are part of your captivity
with no taste, no nutrition, no life force.” 

Looking about the room he knew that
he had their attention.  Each face was raptly imagining the hunt, the feed
and the kill, for it was true the most satisfying and nutritious blood for a
Vampire came from feeding upon a pure Human to conclusion.  Unfortunately,
this resulted in the death of the Human, a messy, bloody death fraught with
terror and hormones with sexual overtones that inevitably led to conflict among
the Vampires, spilling into Human society. 

Because of this, the Clans had long
ago adopted the aptly named Concord of Harmony Between the Races, which forbade
the indiscriminate feeding upon Humans except in certain designated world
zones. Enforcement and interpretation of the Concord was left to each
individual Clan leader and there were minor variations. 

The Cincinnati Clan, for instance,
allowed a certain number of street people to be harvested yearly.  The
annual hunt attracted Vampires from all over the world who purchased tickets
for the lottery, winners receiving ear tags for that season’s cull.  
Photos of the hunts were prized and hung prominently in Vampire residences,
attesting to the hunting skills of the owners.  Cincinnati rules provided
that the Human must be taken cleanly, with no evidence of violence or abduction. 
The body after draining must be disposed anonymously and permanently so that
the authorities tallied the Human as missing.

The only other alternative for a
Vampire craving a fresh kill was an officially designated zone, usually an
impoverished nation involved in a civil war, someplace without any natural
resources that could safely be ignored by the world.  However, with the
increased computer surveillance by the major powers, it was becoming more
difficult if not impossible to travel unnoticed to these countries.  Most
designated zones were so poor and desolate that there was no tourist industry
and no plausible reason to support the visa applications.  The good old
days of wide-open wars were gone, and travel to one of the destinations
guaranteed attention from one of the government agencies that kept track of
such things.

For the Vampires present, free
range Humans were a distant memory.  All relied instead upon purveyors
like Jason who maintained herds of Humans who, for whatever reason, usually
psycho-sexual dysfunction, served as voluntary donors to the local
population.  The allure of the hunt, however, was strong and not far from
the imagination of every Vampire, the desire to possess and destroy not far
from the surface. 

Oliver rose to his feet, “I propose
that we return to what we are, that we live as Vampires.”

“And the Concord, what about the
Concord,” asked Linda, one of the twins who vogued the Seattle scene recruiting
for Jason, “What about the Clans?”

“The Clans will tolerate us so long
as we are in control of the City, they will not intervene in our affairs when I
rule the Clan and operate within their restrictions, something that I will do
with latitude,” he said, as dissembling as any politician advocating an
expense-free war.

“Sounds like treason,” said a Vamp
lounging against the wall, still guzzling the free blood, “are you suggesting
rebellion?”

“I think,” interjected Jason from
his seat on the couch, “our dear friend Oliver is suggesting a change in
management.”

“It is time,” said Oliver looking
for all the world like a Republican calling for the invasion of some obscure
country, “time we took back our destiny.”

“How do you propose we do this,”
said Jourdan, an older Vamp watching the speech from the side of the
room.  “She is powerful and has the backing of the Clan.”

“Yes, she does and we cannot win a
war, but we need only replace her and the Clan will follow; we need only cut
off the head,” Oliver replied, turning to face him.  “Of course, my plan
depends upon secrecy and stealth.  Everyone in this room is with me,
no?”  He looked around at the faces, nodding to each.  “If one of you
was a traitor, an agent for her, then it would be very bad for all of us,
wouldn’t you agree, Jourdan?”

Uncomfortable with the sudden
attention, Jourdan slid back so the wall was behind him.  The other Vamps
in the room looked on with the bored insouciance of those who had been there,
done that a thousand times.  Oliver flashed across the room to suddenly
stand in front of Jourdan, pinning him to the wall.  Jason was off the
couch in a heartbeat, no longer languid, his long fingernails poised like
daggers at Jourdan’s throat. 

Leaning forward Oliver whispered in
Jourdan’s ear, “What do you suppose I thought about, my friend, all those long
years when all I had to do was scratch at the ceiling and slowly starve.”

“I don’t know,” replied Jourdan
motionless between the two, “It must have been terrible.”

“Yes, it was terrible.  As you
know, the agony of starvation never really ends for us; it takes so long to
perish in that fashion, centuries I’m told.  Maybe I should be grateful
that my agony was so short, barely a century, don’t you agree?”

Jourdan made his move, thrusting
his right hand toward Oliver’s neck in a desperate attempt to escape. 
Oliver easily trapped his hand, forcing his wrist back and bending Jourdan to
his knees.  “I’m very strong now,” Oliver whispered.  “Hunting and
feeding and killing have returned my strength.  I am my own best
advertisement.”  Jason’s hands were around his neck and the only sound in
the room was the gurgle from Jourdan’s throat as he tried to breathe.

“Don’t strangle him,” said Oliver,
suddenly solicitous of Jourdan’s health.  “I think he wants to say
something.  Maybe he wants to explain how Petru and the Bitch knew where
to find me that night.”

Jason relaxed his hands from around
Jourdan’s neck.  He pulled his right hand back and bunched his fingers
together so that his long crimson nails were a spike aimed at Jourdan’s carotid
artery, saying, “Yes, I’d like to hear your explanation for that evening, since
only you and I and one other knew of Oliver’s location.”

“Maybe it was you or the other; why
do you think it was me?” Jourdan argued, smelling a way out of the trap.

“It wasn’t me and it wasn’t the
other; I know because I questioned him until I was sure he told the
truth.  That only leaves you.  All these years while I’ve waited,
I’ve known you were her spy.  Why else would anyone spend time with
Petru?”

Jourdan drew himself up, “I am a
member of the Clan, loyal to the Queen and will always serve her,” he said,
defiant to the end.

“Serve her then,” screamed Oliver
as he drove his nails into Jourdan’s neck, severing his windpipe, then cutting
his arteries, finally slicing through his spinal cord.  As the head
toppled, Jason grabbed a fistful of hair as Jourdan’s body disintegrated to
ash.  The facial skin melted until Jason was left holding a skull with
eyeballs obscenely bulging, which he spun about by the hair.  At the
apogee he released Jourdan’s flaming head, sailing it over the gawping Vampires
into the fireplace, where it flared into a green fireball and was sucked up the
chimney.

“Would someone get me a drink?”
asked Oliver.  “Rooting out spies is thirsty business, don’t you think?”

All the Vampires except Jason
sprang to the bar, eager to show their allegiance. 

“Nice to have you back,” leaning
close, the ever-bitchy Jason purred.  “It has been boring, but that’s
about to change I think.”