Underground Vampire (16 page)

Looking out the passenger side
window, he saw Arabella scurry from the alleyway with her distinctive steps
sliding between the raindrops so that when she entered the car she was scarcely
wet.  “What have you two been doing?” she demanded, sensitive to Jesse’s
confusion and Malloy’s introspection.

“Just bringing Boyo here up to date
on the intricacies of close combat Vampire style.”

“We should discuss that,” she said,
placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m ready,” Jesse said, “I’m in.”

“Alright, in that case let’s feed
you.  I know of a cafe close to where we’re going, Malloy, if you could
drop us there.  We’ll have time for a nice dinner, then we go
Underground.”

“Of course,” said Malloy, firing
the V8 and rolling into the street. Using the opportunity, he glanced at Jesse
sitting with a stupefied face.  “Buckle up, Boyo, it’s going to be a wild
ride.”

Today she wore what he’d come to
learn were yoga pants, fashionably black, and a half zip gray top.  She’d
traded in the customary heels for black leather running shoes. “It’s going to
be dark and rough down there,” was all she said when he noticed she wasn’t, for
the first time ever, wearing heels. 

Malloy dropped them at a small
restaurant on Capitol Hill that looked like a rustic stone outbuilding with a
house-sized front door.  The windows were boxed out with polished panes of
glass framed in marine grade white.  The door was thick wood matching the
windows.  It was painted a deep rich green shining like a beautiful car in
the night, the hardware was polished brass.  If the food was as nice as
the door, he was going to love this place. 

A place he’d never heard of, one
that she apparently frequented because the owner made a point of swinging by
the table for a quick kiss kiss.  She ordered for him, a salad hostile
with aggressive lettuce rescued by duck prosciutto and a poached egg topped
with harsh garlic croutons, followed by seared scallops in a butter wine sauce
and a root vegetable neither he nor anyone he knew had ever consumed.  She
announced that she wasn’t very hungry and if he didn’t mind she’d share off his
plate, so he ended up devouring most of both plates with her tasting and
savoring tiny bits like they were perfect jewels to be admired, not destroyed.

It was a celebratory dinner, she
announced, to mark the first time they went hunting Underground, more an amuse
bouche than a proper meal.  If he was hungry afterwards they could eat
again, but for now they needed to be fortified but light, didn’t he agree. And
yes, he did think it was perfect, light but filling the right amount before an
evening of Vampire eradication and a memorable spot for their first evening
together. 

This last delivered lightly but
pregnant with subtext, which she blithely ignored, choosing to comment on the
wisdom of skipping dessert in order to avoid bogging down in a sugar
fugue.   Agreeing, he advanced the proposition that even if they
weren’t famished post sewer activities, perhaps an evening recap over coffee
and profiteroles, whatever they were, would be appropriate summation. 

No bill was presented but the owner
circled by, wishing them a good evening, pulling out her chair and escorting
them to the door where she admonished him to add a little extra to properly
reward their server for the excellent, discreet service the chef’s talents
deserved.

Taking his arm they exited and,
strolling along, they dropped down Mercer into the city proper, prolonging the
evening beyond its natural end till they reached an ancient door set back into
an alley so that no one would notice it, so unremarkable was its standing. They
stood before it as pilgrims before a mystic gate waiting for the secret word to
swing it open, or so it seemed to Jesse, till a trash pile in the shadows
announced “I have the key.” 

Ratman stood and, reaching grimy
fingers into his rags, fished around until he located the correct pocket and
triumphantly produced a brass key which, bending so his beady eyes were close
to the lock, he pushed forward, pausing to spit once, “Lubrication,”  he
said, as the lock clicked open. The inside was dark as hidden sin, smelling of
ancient decay.  Arabella motioned Ratman forward saying, “Slowly, my
friend, we will follow along behind you.”

Ratman stepped through,
disappearing into the dark.  Taking his hand, Arabella guided him in so
that they were all beyond the door.  Behind him he felt rather than heard
Ratman pull the door shut and lock it from the inside. “If we should become
separated, meet me here and I will open the door,” squeaked Ratman, as he
brushed past.  “Don’t lag, you will get lost.”

Claustrophobic fingers tightened
around Jesse’s throat and he wanted to scream, how am I going to find the door
in the dark, what if something happens to you, what if I get separated from
Arabella, where are we going?  Instead, he took cleansing breathes,
drawing the taste of the sewers of Seattle into him so that he didn’t scream,
and when Arabella lightly squeezed his hand he was able to  squeeze back
and follow her down dark corridors, twisting and turning, until he was lost and
knew he could never find his way out.

The thought liberated him. 
His future was as tenuous as his next step, and he grew bolder until she
touched his lips with a cool finger and secretly shushed him to slow
down.  After an unknown time in the maze they halted and she handed him
the smoky black goggles she’d brought to protect their eyes from the surprise
that would, they hoped, equalize the battle.

Slipping the goggles over his eyes,
he settled down in the cozy, damp vestibule she had whispered to him to wait
in.  Leaving him with a last touch, she disappeared to the other side to
lie in wait. Sitting on a rocky ledge, with seeping water soaking his backside,
he waited, cradling her treasured .45 in his cold, sweating hands as he
squatted and tried not to think about what was coming.  Wiggling to
relieve his cramped thighs, his wet behind shameful and uncomfortable, he
waited for a sign in the dark. 

Doubting he would be able to hear
them coming, anxiety crept through him till he thought he would begin sneezing,
as the hot sweat turned cold against his skin.  Sinking into the meditation
practice he’d picked up since he met Arabella, he concentrated on the hot spot
at the end of his nose, gradually coming into equilibrium with his
present.  Assimilating the annoying sounds intruding into his session, he
jerked at the savage needle teeth at his ankle and, before he could lash out, a
familiar voice from darkly close squeaked, “Now, Human,” and the 1,000,000
candlepower light went off, and even behind his goggles his eyes burnt but he
could see Vampires blinded by the light.

They stood still in the tunnel, a
long line, more than they’d planned on. Stepping out, he opened fire with the
.45, moving from target to target as the angel of death dropped into their
midst.  If she didn’t have the flaming sword, the one she brought was sufficient
and she began to hack and slice as they collapsed to the ground, their final
flames providing eerie illumination. 

Their leader, a pale salamander
with long hair and eyes bulbous from life Underground, came up behind Arabella
as she advanced against the rear of the raiding party.  Jesse shot twice,
the first round stunning him, the second knocking him to the ground. 
Shocked, the moist Vampire lay in the waste trickle draining the bottom of the
tunnel.  Recovering, he rose to a knee. 

Jesse, moving forward to shoot him
again, held his fire as a flood of grey brown flowed over his feet and ankles,
carpeting the tunnel, engulfing the struggling Vampire.  The river of rats
covered the Vampire, each taking a mouthful until his flesh was stripped and a
last skeleton hand pulled voracious, murdering rats from his face, exposing a
nearly naked skull with a sleek sewer rat locked onto his protruding, bloody
tongue.  The Vampire sinking under the collective assault, the writhing
mass moved off, resembling an anaconda that swallowed a struggling animal as it
disappeared into the tunnel. 

He faced Arabella looking past her
down the tunnel while she looked past him.  “I don’t see anything,” she
said.  “Me either,” he replied.

 They stood, elated to be
alive.  “I think that’s enough for tonight,” she said, “We got them all, I
think.” 

“Nothing got by me,” panted Jesse,
adrenaline still pumping.

“You did a good job,” she said,
“These were unformed, grown on rat blood, occasional Human; a good start for
you.”

For a moment he
deflated, as if his contribution had been against the backups, not the first
string.  Then, seeing her smiling face, he savored the moment, accepting
his fear and that he had stood and advanced in the blinding light, unsure of
how many Vampires there were or the outcome of battle.  And they fell into
each other laughing that they were safe and alive, as only those who share
combat do.

 Over her shoulder, Ratman
crouched in the shadows watching them hug, surrounded by the votive flames of
the defeated.  As if she could see from the back of her head, she said,
“Well done, Ratman, are your brothers and sisters satisfied?”

“Yes,” a satisfied sibilant
sound.  “They are grateful for the meal, revenge served hot,” giggling at
his witticism.

“Take us back,” was all she said.

“Another way, I think,” he said,
nails scratching across the rocks.  “My family may be unpredictable in
their celebration and attack out of joy.”

“By all means another way,” said
Jesse, not wanting to see the horde swarm again, ever.

They left the maze through another
passage, exiting closer to Yesler, and when Ratman led them to the street, they
were both soiled from the evening and she said, “let’s go home and shower and
I’ll order in, you must be starved.  Chinese alright?”

“Perfect,” he said.  “This was
a date, right?”

“Don’t start,” she said, marching
down Madison.

“Come on, admit it, a nice cozy
dinner, a nice stroll in Seattle’s finest sewer, a bit of Vampire annihilation,
now home for a quick bite, it was a date.”

“OK, if it will make you shut up,
it can be a date.”

“Our first date, how romantic.”

This part of the Underground was
alive with lights and shops, as unlike his previous forays to the Underground
as the City dump was to Pacific Place, thought Jesse.  So far, Vampires
were horrible creatures from the depths, rat eaters, except of course Arabella,
who was perfect. 

He tried not to gawk like a
tourist, but the fashionably dressed Vampires promenading down sidewalks in
front of expensive shops was so startling that it was all he could do to keep
up with Arabella as she strode down the middle of the street.  The crowds
parted in front of her, some with marked deference, greeting her warmly;
others, Jesse noticed, turned away, whether from fear or dislike he could not
tell.  She seemed impervious to the shock her appearance caused when she
stepped out of the dark tunnel onto the homey brick street. 

At their approach, guards
materialized from boxes challenging their passage, shrinking back to the shadows
when they recognized Arabella.  One was so startled he tripped getting out
of her way as she neither wavered in her course nor acknowledged his presence.
Following her, Jesse felt like a merchant vessel escorted by a man-o-war,
completely protected and mostly irrelevant.

They’d entered the Underground
through the Blue Anchor, nodding to Mr. Finkelstein as they went by.  If
the skid row drinkers thought it strange that a fashionably dressed lady and
Jesse went through the tavern and down the basement steps, they kept it to
themselves. 

This time when they entered the
Underground Arabella openly walked down the sidewalks with no effort at
discretion.  Again, Jesse tried to navigate and thought they were heading
toward University but he couldn’t be sure.  Asked what street they were
under brought a cryptic, “The Underground has its own geography.”

“How could that be?” he demanded,
hurrying to keep up with her as she turned into a passage he couldn’t see in
the darkness.

“In the rebuilding after the fire,
streets down here were rearranged,” she said.  

“What the hell does that mean?” he
blurted out, but she ignored the question with a curt “try to keep up” as she
floated down the passage, her impossibly pointy heels barely touching the rough
ground.

“Hold on,” he shouted at her back
and when she stopped and turned a frustrated face, he asked, “explain the
streets please, in case we get separated, partner.”

“It was thought that a maze would
present better defensive options than a mirror of above, so …changes were
made.”

“I don’t suppose there is a map,”
he asked.

“No, no map,” definitively. 
“Any Vampire may carve out space down here so that no one, except maybe Ratman,
knows the full extent of the Underground.”

“Oh,” replied Jesse.

“Partner,” replied Arabella
sweetly.

“Yes.”

“Keep up.”

The left side of the street was
lined with men’s and women’s clothing shops.  He recognized brand names
and followed Arabella as she veered over to inspect a ziggurat of Blahniks
arranged in the main window of Drop Dead Chic. 

As soon as she stopped the
proprietor, a cadaverous Vampire holding a Pomeranian in the crook of his arm,
swooped out and did kiss kiss with Arabella, saying, “It’s been too long, too
long.”  He looked at Jesse’s jeans and grey long sleeve t-shirt and turned
away with a, “God spare me, what can you possibly be doing with him,” look on
his face.  Jesse wanted to punch him in his bony, pointy face but Arabella
had drilled him not to do anything, no matter what, and not to respond to any
perceived provocation, period, or he could just stay home.  She promised
the shopkeeper she would stop in on her way out, as he had something that he’d
been saving especially for her.

Past the clothing shops was the
Olympia, an Italian Renaissance five star hotel, slavishly copied from the
original located upside at 4th and University.  The scene was eerily
reminiscent of downtown Seattle, except for the total lack of automobiles and
buses.  In their place was the incongruous sight of Humans harnessed to
rickshaws pulling well-dressed Vampires, many carrying shopping bags, others
obviously inebriated about the Underground.

On the other side of the street
were nightclubs, restaurants and casinos known throughout the Vampire world for
their hospitality and pleasures.  The worldwide Vampire economy was based
on the availability and acquisition of sustenance.  When she explained the
economics of Vampire society, Arabella put it in basic terms.  “Blood;
Clans control supply, Vampires live in demand.”

With the enactment of the Concord
the availability of blood became restricted.  Without free hunting,
individual survival became about securing a constant and reliable supply of
blood.  Blood banks, hospitals and donation centers are controlled by the
Clans, leaving Vamps to enroll Humans voluntarily if they can.  While
legal, the practice was dangerous because, once exposed to the Underground, it
wasn’t feasible to allow a Human to return to their prior life, leaving death
or conversion as solutions. 

For political reasons the queen rigidly
controlled and limited conversion, leaving death as the only alternative. 
Fortunately for Humans, the Queen frowned upon her Vampires taking Humans and
keeping them as blood servants, not for Humanitarian reasons but because
inevitably problems arose.  Vampires fell in love with the Humans; Humans
fell in love with Vampires; Humans grew lonely; Humans became ill requiring
specialized medical care not available Underground.  Humans were problem
pets.

Tiring of the constant problems,
the Queen banned private ownership of Humans, granting licenses to select
Vampires allowing them to recruit and maintain Humans.  From this decision
developed the fantastic Seattle Underground, for there was no place else in the
world that provided the variety and quality of the blood purveyed.  The
bars, nightclubs, private dining clubs and casinos lining the right side of the
street catered to every taste and pocketbook. And everyone on every transaction
paid a tax to the Queen. 

Arabella walked diagonally from
Drop Dead across the street and to the end where a small polished brass plate
was embedded in the brick wall next to a lacquered crimson door.  The
brass plate said “Blood Simple,” and standing next to it was an impossibly
giant Tongan dressed in tuxedo trousers, patent leather shoes, a starched wing
collar shirt with a white tie, all surrounded by a magnificent tail coat. 

He snapped to attention as Arabella
reached the door and offered his arm, saying, “How nice to see you this
evening, Miss Arabella.”  She eyed him from head to toe without saying
anything, and he stood there without moving, apparently used to being inspected
like the largest bull at the county fair.  Jesse had the wild thought that
she would pry his mouth open so she could inspect his teeth.

“Ismaeli,” she said, “You’ve gotten
bigger since last we met.”

“That is true,” the giant rumbled,
“no one causes trouble, no one makes the challenge anymore, I grow fat
waiting.”  His large round face was sad from the boredom of his life but
broke into a wide grin showing his affection for Arabella.

“So instead, you eat,” she replied
giving him a hard poke in his ample stomach.  “Tonight you may get some
work, so pay attention.”

“Oh, Miss Arabella,” rolled over
his large full lips, “You here to cause Ismaeli problems?” He bent over level
to her face and carefully looked at her.  “That would be a great sorrow.”

“Tell him I’m here,” she ordered,
all business now that the chit chat pleasantries were over.  “If there is
a problem it will be him and not me that causes it.”

Ismaeli turned and spoke into a
phone sticking out of his lapel like a boutonnière on a prom boy. “He says go
right in,” said Ismaeli, sweeping the door open and bowing her in. “Your table
is ready; I certainly hope you have a pleasant evening, Miss Arabella.”

Nodding to him, she swept by and
into the club vestibule where she rebuffed a comely young Vampire in a short
black cocktail dress who attempted to take her jacket.  Jesse, annoyed at
being invisible, caught up with Arabella saying, “If we have to fight our way
out of here, I don’t like having that sumo guy behind us.”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s an
adorable sweetie,” she absently responded, “all the trouble is in front of us
and here it comes.”

From the dining room a hatchet
faced Vampire glided toward them.  Olive skin with thick black hair combed
straight back, he was dressed in a shawl collar tuxedo that actually looked
comfortable.  Off to the side, Jesse saw two more with the handsome,
well-dressed Italian thug look that seemed to be the theme among the club
staff. Jesse was beginning to wish he’d taken a little more care in his
wardrobe, since he was clearly the worst dressed person under Pioneer Square
and, come to think of it, probably upside too.

Hatchet face stopped just out of
punching range, drew himself up and said, “Your table is ready,” with a slight
bow he stepped back so Arabella could precede him into the room and then moved
forward to block Jesse from entering the club.

Arabella turned, saying, “He is my
guest.”

“Surely you remember this is a
Vampire establishment; Humans are not allowed,” replied hatchet face, not
budging.  “Besides, he is carrying a gun which, as you know, is strictly
forbidden.”

“Hey, don’t think I’m giving up my
gun,” grunted Jesse.

“I am going into the club with my
guest and his gun,” said Arabella, speaking so softly they all leaned in to
hear.  “If you impede my progress or abuse my guest in any manner, I will
take your actions as a personal insult.”

Jesse decided to shoot the two
Vampires standing off to the side first and then go for the Tongan. 
Arabella stood still, as nonchalant as could be, and then demanded in her best
bossy tone, “Get my table now, what is going on with the service in this
place.” Immediately, the trance was broken and hatchet face became the
obsequious maître d’hôtel, bustling them off to their table, all transgressions
forgiven if not forgotten.

“That was close,” said Jesse after
they’d been seated at the table.

“Why don’t you shout it out to the
whole room,” she said, “Everyone can hear you.”

“I was whispering,” he mumbled, “no
one heard me.”

At the next table an elegant older
gentleman with silver hair dining with a ravishing young woman in a deep
décolletage red dress leaned over tapping his ear and said, “Hearing like dogs,
you know.”  The room burst into laughter at Jesse’s obvious
discomfort.     

“Remember, I told you not to say
anything,” she hissed, visibly annoyed with him.

“Well, you could have explained it
a little better, and you just can’t tell me to shut up,” Jesse retorted.

“I would never say ‘shut up’; that
would be rude,” she snapped.  “My exact words were, ‘don’t say
anything.’  Why can’t you remember and, if you can remember, why can’t you
do it?”

“I can assure you that Arabella is
never rude; other things she may be but rude, no, never, even when she is
angry,” said the most extraordinary person Jesse had ever seen.

“Jason,” said Arabella, “I hoped
you would be here.”  The albino bent gracefully and kissed Arabella’s
cheek, commenting on her appearance and generally being the smoothest S.O.B.
that Jesse had ever seen in action.  If he felt uncomfortable being under
dressed for the occasion, he now felt like the country clod who stumbled into
the opera by mistake. 

She introduce Jason to him and he
did his best not to look into his eyes, but when the Vampire took his hand and
said how happy he was to meet a friend of Arabella’s, rolling her name out so
it sounded French like it just got out of bed from a night of lovemaking, Jesse
hated him as only a jealous lover can, and looked him in the face and found
himself paralyzed in his pale blue eyes.

“Jason,” Arabella warned. 
Jason blinked his eyes and, released, Jesse fell out of his eyes and back into
his chair.

“Jason,” said Arabella conversationally,
“as you said, I cannot tolerate rudeness; once more and Blood Simple will need
a new owner, understood?”

“Of course,” Jason replied. 
“I apologize, Mr. Jesse Ortega.”  He sounded sincere, he acted sincere and
Jesse knew he was lying and Jesse knew Jason knew he knew he was lying, and
Arabella knew, too, but that was the end of it, for now.

After a moment, implied threat
lingering, Arabella said loud enough to be heard across the dining room now
occupied with watching the spectacle, “I have a message from her majesty the
Queen for you.”

“Perhaps we should go somewhere
more private,” said Jason, indicating the dining room where everyone was
staring at them.  “I think we’ve provided enough free entertainment for
the evening.”

The gentleman at the next table
took a sip of what Jesse was sure was blood from his crystal goblet and toasted
them, saying, “If you are going to kill the gorgeous Jason, at least do it here
where we can all enjoy it with you.”  As they stood to follow Jason from the
room the patrons began clapping, whether from animosity to Jason or the thought
of free entertainment, Jesse couldn’t tell.

Following Jason they entered a bar,
which was totally unlike any drinking spot Jesse had ever seen.  Where the
formal dining room had ceilings to accommodate crystal chandeliers, silk
covered walls, plush carpets and linens with crystal and silver, the bar was
modern, screaming form is function.  The juxtaposition was unsettling at
first until Jesse took a moment to look around, then he felt that the room was
somehow perfect, that everything in it served its purpose in harmony with every
other object.  After another moment he thought it might be the most
perfect space he’d ever been in.