Underground Vampire (25 page)

Ascending the stairs, Arabella felt
her stomach tighten at the thought of meeting the Queen.  The summons had
been curt, delivered by one of the house Vampires she’d never spoken to
before.  “You must come to the mansion,” was all he said when she’d opened
her front door.

“When?”

 “Now,” was all he said.

Entering the mansion she was struck
by the preparations in progress, the calm quiet sepulcher of the interior gave
way to the practiced professional bustle of an army barracks gearing up for
deployment.  No one said anything to her and she asked no questions as she
ascended the stairway.  She paused in the hall outside the drawing room
and knocked lightly on the door, fully expecting Petru to open the door and
usher her to her audience.  Instead, the Queen herself called for her to
enter and she opened the door to the gloomy room, looking about in her
customary fashion to locate Petru before she stood before the Queen.

Inside the Queen stood holding the
vase, her eyes fixed on Arabella’s face hissing, “Do you know what this is?”

“No,” Arabella said, “I do not.”

“Look no more,” replied the Queen
cradling the vase in her hands.  “Petru is dead, these are his ashes,
Oliver mailed them to me.”  Arabella would have been touched by the
gesture had not the Queen’s face contorted into a hideous grimace.

“I would like to go to the
Underground,” she said.  “Perhaps we can locate Oliver and his friends.”

“Of course,” replied Arabella, “I
understand,” although she really didn’t understand what they were going to do.

“You will sweep the way of any
unpleasant surprises lurking in my way.”  If Arabella was surprised to be
pressed into service as point for the incursion, she showed no sign, saying
only, “I’ll assemble my team.”

“Choose whomever you deem
acceptable,” the Queen replied.  “And while you are at it, get your
friend, Ratman, and his pets to act as sentries.”  This time Arabella’s
face twitched, betraying her emotions.  Flashing to within an inch of her
face the Queen whispered, “You didn’t think I knew you were using the Ratman.”

Carefully, Arabella whispered, “I
tried to keep him confidential so that he would not be at risk.”

“It’s worse than I thought; even
you think I am out of touch.”

“I only serve,” said Arabella,
queasy at the unexpected turn.  She had never become comfortable about the
Queen; it was always a step away from disaster talking to her.  “I did not
mean to keep a secret from you.”

Walking off down the corridor, the
Queen casually asked, “How is the little vermin, still moaning about the fire?”

“Yes, he still speaks of it as if
it were yesterday.”

“He was poking his nose out of a
hole in the wall when the glue pot started burning; never got over all his
children dying in the fire.”

“He is useful.”

Turning to face Arabella, “Remind
him to stay that way,” she said, “Everyone needs to be useful or I really don’t
need them, do I?”

There really was no need for an
answer.  As Arabella was sure that no one wished to be perceived as
superfluous, she dipped her head, indicating complete assent.

“Be sure to bring your Human and
the Indian, I want everyone present.”

“Of course,” she replied, wondering
what the Queen had in mind.  “Do we take prisoners?”

“What do I need with prisoners,”
the Queen snapped, “Incapacitate them.”

Arabella didn’t need to ask what
incapacitate meant.  She didn’t want to sweep ahead of the Queen killing
every Vampire she met; the fallout would insure that her presence in Seattle
would be unwelcome.  “Surely not your supporters,” she said, seeking
clarification.

“Of course not, why would I want my
own soldiers killed?” she peevishly replied.  “Use your discretion but
remember, anyone you leave behind is your responsibility.”

Roughly translated from
Queen-speak, Arabella knew that meant go ahead and kill them all if you want,
but if you decide to leave anyone alive and they annoy me, I might decide to
kill you.  The Queen’s attitude indicated a sea change in her
strategy.  Arabella guessed there were going to be a lot of ashes blowing
through the Underground and that Vampires who had been sitting this one out
would either get in on the Queen’s side or they might find themselves looking
at a wooden stake sticking from their chest.

“Of course,” Arabella said. 
“When do we leave?”

“Now, we leave now.  Have we
become so bloated that we cannot even get out the door?” she raged.

 Arabella cast her thoughts
into the darkness seeking contact with life in any of its forms.  Her long
years hunting alone in the world honed her perceptions so when she focused, she
could detect a butterfly leaving a leaf.  And now, she was focused. 

Behind her, Jesse and the Indian’s
presence floated along each side of the tunnel.   The Indian’s heart
beat as loud as one of his ceremonial drums, steady and confident, the pulse in
his neck a metronome to their progress.  Jesse’s familiar heart comforted
her in the dark, a lover’s metronome fluttering a bit at side passages but
quickly settling down.  Thinking about him was exactly why she didn’t want
him along, and she snapped her mind back casting it into the dark. 
Briefly, she hoped he wasn’t thinking of her, that he was paying attention to
his duties, although that wasn’t quite true.

Confident that nothing threatened
down the side passages she pushed forward, anxious to reach a safe haven. 
Jesse had proven adept as a Vampire hunter but would always be at the Human
speed disadvantage.  Any squeamishness had long since disappeared in the
constant combat, and she could count on him to put the heavy .45 rounds into
marauding Vampires, allowing her the time to finish them off.  The Indian
was born and bred to hunt, a welcome addition and another set of eyes.  It
took some getting used to, but she could get happy with having these two at her
back protecting her without the complications of Clan obligations.

Ragnar, one of the Queen’s
messenger boys, tailed behind, ostensibly the rear guard.  He was one of
the Scandinavians from the Ballard district who were all the rage among
Vampires years ago.  Tall, blond and Nordic, Vampire women collected them like
purse dogs until the Queen put a stop to it, limiting the number that could be
harvested and kept as pets.  Arabella doubted that his name was Ragnar; no
one wanted one named Jim or Bill, so they were renamed when changed.  Now,
you couldn’t go out for a quiet drink without Thor or Odin wanting to chat you
up; maybe, she thought, she should whack them all for the general improvement
of her nightlife. 

Most of all, she relied upon the
horde slithering unseen, unheard, unnoticed through the cracks and crevices,
watching and monitoring.  Their scritchy, scratchy feet beneath, above and
beside her let her know the Ratman had done his job.   When she told
him he was working for the Queen and to mobilize the hordes he balked,
blathering on about the fire, “I can never forgive her; she killed a million of
my brothers and sisters.”  It was true that the Great Fire had killed no
Humans but that a million rats perished in the conflagration.  While the
City fathers saw the carnage as the only bright spot of the Fire, it had
seriously unhinged Ratman, who seemed never able to let go the screaming
memories of his roasting protégés. Tedious and tiresome.

Occasionally a Human, when brought
to the turning point, would not actually metamorphose to a Vampire. 
Usually, the Human did not survive the experience and expired, a failure. 
No loss, most Vampires felt, as there was an unlimited supply of Humans. 
Of the ones who did not turn, a very few lived.  Most were destroyed by
their putative parent as soon as it was evident they would not completely
turn.  Ratman was the exception. 

Arabella listened to him off to the
side squeaking orders to the horde.  No longer quite Human, never to be a
Vampire, he had permanently moved Underground, living among the rats of the
City, eventually rising to rule them.  The Clan allowed him life because
it was almost impossible to locate him in the warren of pipes and tunnels he
inhabited, protected by the millions of rat eyes, and the Queen found his
particular abilities useful.  Useful, Arabella thought, being the key
word, for the Queen could easily decide his potential liabilities outweighed
his usefulness, a decision which would inevitably lead to a wooden stake in the
heart.

Glancing back, she spotted beady
eyes peering from beneath a tumbled down wall and knew that if the rats were
present they were probably safe.  Ragnar, the pompous fop, was sauntering
down the corridor like he was vamping on the Champs Elysees.  She wanted
to scream at him to pay attention, but there was little she could do to
convince him of the potential for danger.  She picked him because he
appeared to be the least indolent of the boys congregating in the
mansion. 

They appeared to be a mixture of,
to her eye, foppish fashion, fad haircuts and bad attitude.  Kept as pets
by the wealthy and powerful, they were more lap dog than Vampire.  None as
far as she could tell had ever fought, let alone hunted, and they had no
appreciation of the danger they were walking into.  Perhaps the Queen was
right, if you aren’t useful why do we need you.  Perhaps Oliver had a
point, and it was necessary to cull the herd, restore the Night People to their
strength. 

Ragnar was examining his black
tipped fingernails.  Earlier he had complained that his Gucci loafers
would be soiled in the wretched conditions, but she had silenced him, hissing
that more than his shoes would be damaged if he didn’t pay attention. 
Besides, she positively abhorred branding and secretly hoped his silly slip-ons
would be destroyed in the muck.

The boys, as they were known, were
pressed into action as the insurgency ground on.  Her ranks depleted, the
Queen used the basement boys as messengers and “first in,” sacrificing them as
canaries to save her combat troops.

The route Arabella chose was
circuitous, avoiding the main passageways.  There was less chance to run
into anyone but, and it was a risky but, anyone they did happen upon was
probably a rebel or at the very least a sympathizer.   She assumed
that anyone they met along here was a problem and could be dealt with
expeditiously if they didn’t have a quick and believable explanation. 
Otherwise, it was stake in the heart time. 

For old times’ sake, the Queen
wanted to enter at Madison and First Street to commemorate the Great Fire,
which had laid the foundation for the Underground, and sweep majestically up
the Central corridor.  Too much traffic, too many eyes, too many unknowns
to suit Arabella’s paranoia, and she had successfully lobbied for a more
anonymous approach, one that offered less pomp but significantly more
protection.  

Bored, Ragnar started singing to
himself, which, to Arabella’s heightened senses, resonated like a ringing a
bell.  He was rapping to Arabella’s favorite, Thrift Shop. She had hoped
to come unaware upon any Vampires using these corridors but that opportunity
was lost.  Actually, she ruefully acknowledged, lost long ago as Ragnar
was the noisiest Vampire she’d ever known, constantly sniffling about the damp
underground, groaning at the fetid smells wafting from ancient cesspools and
scuffling his feet through the trash on the floor.  Even Jesse, she noted
with admiration, had learned to be quiet, almost Vampire quiet and the Indian,
a forest hunter, possessed skills so stealthy she was a bit envious. 

Reviewing the attack later she had
to thank, albeit posthumously, Ragnar.  His constant complaining had
spared her, Jesse and the Indian from the initial onslaught.  The ambush
let the three of them slip past, apparently distracted by Ragnar who was, at
the moment, actually loudly whining about how far they’d walked.  As she
passed, she noticed the absence of the rats.  It wasn’t much, just enough
to jerk her attention from the interminable whining to the part of her
whispering, “Someone wants to kill you.”  As soon as she felt it, she
flashed left then right, a zigzag avoiding anything coming at her and getting
her turned around to face the attack. 

The first thing she saw was
Ragnar’s head arcing through the air, blood spurting from the stump of his
neck, his headless corpse disintegrating.  She nodded approvingly as Jesse
went directly to target acquisition, his .45 pointed down the corridor. 
Vampires dressed like an old fashioned barrio gang with chinos hanging off
their hips, work boots and pressed white shirts with only the top button closed
over wife beaters stood laughing as Ragnar’s head arced through the air
spurting blood, while his body ashed out like a pillar of salt before crumbling
to the floor. 

The make believe cholo gang was
armed with stakes and one was swinging a Napoleonic era sword in the air,
celebrating the decapitation.  She was in their midst before they
appreciated their problem.  Sword boy was the first to go; Arabella didn’t
want him waving the thing around and accidentally cutting Jesse.  He gaped
a silly smile as she raked her nails across his throat severing trachea,
carotid artery, muscle and tissue to the spinal column so that his head fell
backward as he continued forward, the skull bouncing off his back as he slowly
disintegrated. 

Pulling her katana, she continued
the fluid motion, slicing through the two to her left with a side cut then
continuing around, attacking the next with the classic kesa giri, cutting him
between shoulder and neck so that he split open to his heart.  To make
sure, Arabella took the moment to sever the heart so there would be no
recovery.  Stepping through, she raised her katana to attack position and
counted off the remaining opponents.  

The remaining five stood, then
flashed each to the side as a gunshot reverberated.  She felt the bullet
go past her as she slashed the one to her left, forcing him back; he began a
disruptive jitter bugging back and forth, which she timed, and when he went
left it was into her side cut, which neatly severed him. His legs kept going
and the bottom half ran on, leaving the top half to plop to the floor. 

Gunshots from Jesse’s .45 sounded
as he came down the corridor blasting away at the remaining Vampires.  Hit
twice in his freshly laundered white shirt, a make believe East LA chollo faltered
from the impact, turning from Jesse to Arabella.  Jesse ejected the spent
clip, jammed in another and shot the Vamp in the face, continuing until his
head exploded and he began to ash out.

“Got ‘em,” was all Jesse said.

“Nice shot,” she replied, turning
to face the rest.  Vampire battles involve a quantum aspect as flashing
Vamps appear and disappear, sometimes so fast they seem to be in two places at
once.  Hampered at the moment by the need to protect Jesse from a Vamp
materializing behind him, she stood her ground slashing at the air trying to
time an appearance. 

Standing stationary with Jesse
behind her, she attracted the attention of the gang.  It would be a coup
for them to destroy her and they pressed in, each hoping for the kill and
permanent notoriety in Vampire lore.  Approaching on quiet feet with the
bowie knife he carried for these special moments, Big Indian decapitated one
before plunging the knife to the hilt into another.  Arabella pressed
forward, cutting down two more while Jesse stepped up, emptying the Colt into
the remaining Vamp.

“That was scary,” he panted. 
“I’ll never get used to the way they pop in and out.”

“Always try to get your back
against a wall,” she reminded him while giving him a quick hug.  “Never be
in a spot where one can get behind you.”

Gliding up, the Indian took in the
very public display of affection demanding, “Hey, how about me, I got two,
where’s my hug?

“Yes, you did a good job too,” she
laughed giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Better benefits than my last job.”

Drawn by the gunfire, advance
members of the Queen’s Guard flashed to the scene. Unable to return the
messenger boy, Arabella decided to wait for the Queen to catch up.  She
sincerely hoped Ragnar wasn’t one of the Queen’s favorites, as she had enough
on her mind and didn’t want to be blamed for getting the Court’s prize pet
killed.  The group headed by Prunella drew up and fanned out into the side
alleys, scouting for threats.  Prunella, all business, merely asked, “How
many?” and nodded her head at Arabella’s answer.  Next, she asked,
“Ragnar?”  In answer Arabella pointed to a cone of ash.  “At least he
was good for something,” sniffed Prunella, turning to size up Jesse.  “Is
he the Human I’ve been hearing about?” she demanded, standing closer to Jesse
than he felt comfortable. 

He stood still, not wanting to
appear unsettled by her attentions.  Prunella leaned in and took a deep
breath, actually smelling him in a gesture obvious to all.  “Is he yours?”
she inquired, discussing him like he wasn’t there.  “Yes,” said Arabella,
“mine.”

“And him,” said Prunella, said
pointing at the Indian, “I suppose he’s yours too.”

“Not me,” the Indian replied, “I’m
no one’s.”

Turning away, Prunella said,
“Pity.  When you’re finished with him, I’d appreciate it if you’d pass him
along.  And as for you,” she said, pointing at the Indian, “don’t be too
sure.  We all belong to someone.”

Wheeling about she went down the
corridor, back to business, “I’ll tell the Queen it’s safe.”

Arabella glared after her, angry at
Prunella’s bold rudeness.  She turned to resume her mission, only to have
Jesse’s grinning face in hers.  “Don’t get any ideas,” she barked louder
than she meant.

“I don’t remember you owning me,”
he said, “Is that some Vampire thing?  Maybe we should talk.”

“If that’s the way it is, you can
have me too,” said the Indian

Walking by them she held up her
hand, “Not now, dammit.”

“I just think you should have told
me that I belong to you,” said Jesse, primly falling in behind her.

“Pay attention,” she said through
tightly clenched jaws, “there may be more.  I think we stumbled into a
training exercise.”

Following close behind he observed,
as if a guest on a morning talk show, “I mean, communication is the key to a
solid relationship, don’t you think?”

Doing her best to ignore him, she
waved him off to the left while she covered the right side of the corridor,
“Look for signs of entry; they might be fortifying a position.”