Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires (47 page)

The edges of my vision began to blur. It happens sometimes when I get really angry. The werewolf tried to say something despite his mangled tongue, but I couldn't quite make it out. It was too late for talk; I was too far gone to rein the anger in.

The next thing I knew, I was knee-deep in werewolf, shoving bloody twenty-dollar bills into my jeans. His chest had been cracked open like an oyster and gutted. I was standing where his organs ought to have been, but they were scattered about the alley like mismatched socks. I never remember what happens when I'm really mad. I black out.

I couldn't decide whether the scene would be more or less disturbing when the sun rose high enough to fill that portion of the alley and his corpse turned human. A dead werewolf reverts to human form in the light of day. Too bad it doesn't do the same to live lycanthropes. Part of his stomach was under my left shoe, the bile already staining it beyond recognition. At least the blood had washed some of the garbage off. Lillian, her face contorted in disgust, climbed out of the van, opened the back, and threw me a towel.

Sometimes being a vampire is truly fucked up. If you don't believe me, ask the poor vamp I'd killed in the alley earlier. I couldn't remember why the hell I'd killed him, much less why we'd been arguing. For all I knew, it was about football. Definitely fucked up.

DEMON HEART

M
y strip club, the Demon Heart, is in downtown Void City in a district lovingly referred to as East Side. I couldn't tell you why, because it's actually on the south side of town. The club sits on the corner of Thirteenth Street and Eighth Avenue, across from the old Pollux Theater. The Pollux is a beautiful art nouveau popcorn palace that dates back to the days when there was a cartoon and a sing-along before the movie and a nosebleed section for the folks white people didn't want to see.

I bought both buildings cheap since hardly anybody gives a damn about East Side anymore. Roger says Sable Oaks is where all the high society vamps want to build. If you ask me, it's too far from Void City. I'm not commuting an hour into town to hunt.

The Demon Heart kept me close to people nobody would miss and the Pollux gave me a place to be by myself. Besides, I hate society vamps. We have a nonaggression pact. If I don't see them and they don't see me, then there's no need for aggression.

I considered buying a pizza parlor once, but I decided I would go crazy from the smell. I love pizza. If I smell pizza, I have to stop and take a good whiff; I have to look at it, see what kind it is, and watch a lucky bastard take a few bites. Chicago pizza, Italian pizza, brick-oven pizza, anchovies, pepperoni, olives, mushrooms, peppers, kiwi, it doesn't matter to me, so long as it's pizza. I think I miss pizza more than I miss the sun.

I smelled pizza the instant Lillian smuggled my lightly toasted, stinking, quilt-covered ass in through the back entrance of the Demon Heart. The tangy Sicilian aroma made my mouth water, by which I mean blood filled my mouth, a poor imitation of saliva. It's Mother Nature's way of reminding me that I'm a walking corpse that hasn't fallen down yet. Thanks, Mom. Shower forgotten, I followed the smell of the pizza down the hall to the girls' dressing room behind the stage.

I opened the door and found Candice eating a slice of pepperoni. She was mostly naked, and when she saw me, she began ostentatiously licking the side of the pizza to remove the excess cheese. My fangs came out and a certain lower portion of my anatomy paid attention, too. If she had been wearing her glasses or her contacts I think she would've had a harder time keeping up the act. Even so, when the smell hit her, the revulsion was hard for her to mask. “Good Lord, Eric. What have you been doing?”

“Eat your pizza,” I snapped. It was all I could do not to jump on her, so I left the room and headed for my shower. Maybe I'd been rude to Candice, but it was better that way. If she was smart, she'd quit in a huff and go start a normal life somewhere the hell away from me. In the end, a friendship between a vampire and a human is like a friendship between a dog and a chicken nugget. Sooner or later, the nugget is going to get eaten; the only real question is how many bites it will take.

On my way down the hallway, I caught Tabitha's scent. Fresh out of the shower, she smelled like fizzy citrus-scented soap. She opened the door of our bedroom wearing nothing but a bathrobe. I don't know if she was on her way across the hall to borrow some lotion or to see if she could score a slice of pizza, but it didn't matter since she wasn't going to do either.

I kissed her, filled with the need for sex and blood. She didn't even mention the smell, answering the urgency of my kisses with her own, pushing me out into the hall, pressing my back against the wall. When we kissed, her heat washed over me all at once. Her robe came open, revealing the smooth surface of her sex. She'd just waxed.

“Are you okay, baby?” She asked the question between kisses, but I didn't answer. She didn't ask again, didn't complain or wrinkle her nose as I left trails of blood and grime along her breasts. I would have had sex with her right there, but I was afraid the gunk from the Dumpster might make her sick. I carried her into the bathroom, the tile still slick with moisture, mirror still cloudy, and got into the shower.

Tabitha was the only kind of girlfriend I let myself have anymore. She had a great body, a bad attitude, and extremely low self-esteem. She wasn't dumb, but she wasn't smart, and she thought that she wanted to be a vampire when she grew up. I knew she had a sister named Rachel whose photo she carried in her billfold, and I guessed she had parents, but they never seemed to be around. In short, if I broke her by accident I wouldn't feel too bad about it and no one would really miss her. It's cruel, I know, but I am a vampire, remember?

I meant to have sex, but that's not what happened. We made love instead. It was passionate, tender. It was a mistake. When we got out of the shower, Tabitha wore that stupid look she gets when she thinks she's being sly. I turned away and rolled my eyes; my memory, for once, clear as crystal.

It was like a formula with her. Before she even opened her mouth I knew the basic ploy. She would compliment me on the act, even though I'd know she was faking it for my benefit. Even when she wasn't, she always put on a big show. I guess the whole preternatural senses thing hadn't clued her in to the fact that I could tell. I didn't blame her for faking it a little; unless blood turns you on, having it stand in for all the normal bodily fluids can get a little nasty, especially during sex.

After the compliments, I predicted she'd snuggle for a minute and then ask me how old I am. I'd answer and she'd pretend like she'd forgotten. She'd tell me how cool it is to be immortal, how wonderful it must be to know that no matter what happens to the rest of the world, you will go on, forever. I'd attempt to disabuse her of the notion. She would tell me that she heard one of any number of a recycled little list of activities is much better when it's between two vampires. She'd insist it would make us feel so much closer, claim we'd be able to read each other's minds. I'd disagree.

She'd say it would be different with us because we're in love. I'd point out that I don't love her and then I'd wait to see if she cried or started yelling. If she cried, I'd leave. If she yelled, I'd leave. So predictable.

“You are so good at that, you know,” she started up. I sighed. She walked across the room still damp from the shower and I thought about taking her again to see if she would take another shower and leave me alone when we were done. I let her rub up against me.

Tabitha was an extremely attractive woman; she was big where she was supposed to be big and narrow where narrow is good. Her long and luxurious hair was the same dark black I dyed mine, only hers wasn't a dye job. Cutting it would have been a crime. She had the sexiest green eyes I'd ever seen, though she claimed she wished they were blue like mine. Tabitha's smiles took complete advantage of her full red lips. Other girls had to use makeup to achieve the qualities she already possessed.

Tabitha would go to great lengths to vary her soaps and perfumes, to wear just enough that I would notice, but little enough that it rarely annoyed me. She even got a tattoo at the base of her spine where I once mentioned one might look sexy. I designed it for her: a multicolored butterfly. She'd be a great woman if she didn't act so dumb.

“…and I mean my legs were so totally shaking.” Oops, I missed part of it. It sounded like we were still in the “what a sex god” section, though. She hugged me from behind and I felt her breasts against my back. Her warmth overwhelmed me again. Vampires don't generate any body heat so we're always cold unless we've just fed. Even then, humans feel warm by comparison.

Despite her flaws, she was so
alive
. Maybe it was that I could still smell pizza in the distance, or maybe it was her perfume, but I began to feel a knot of panic in my chest.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“I'm not even a hundred, Tabitha,” I told her halfheartedly. “You know that.”

She kissed my neck tenderly. It wasn't a sexual kiss, more a touch of possessiveness. Oh, shit.

“I always forget. You seem so much older. God, it must be so cool to be immortal. Time wears down mountains and changes the flow of mighty rivers, but not you. To be changeless, forever…”

I felt caught, trapped. It was like a snare closing in around me. What the fuck was wrong with me? This crap didn't work on me. I'd heard it a thousand times. It was all bullshit. I didn't believe a damn word of it. I knew she didn't believe it either. Then I realized that this morning had been different. I could hear her breath, her heartbeat. She'd meant it all, and it was too late to do a damn thing about it.

“Maybe,” I said finally. There is nothing more terrifying than the heartbeat of a woman in love. It complicates everything.

I could hear the muscles in her face draw her lips into a smile. Her heartbeat sped up and I felt it as if it were pounding in my own chest. Her breath was a little faster, too. She knew something was different. Was it the way she helped clean me up after the fight?

She hadn't looked disgusted once. Not when I'd walked in covered with blood and filth, not when I'd pulled her close before we'd even made it to the shower and not when the act was complete and my blood swirled down the drain. She was into it. It hadn't been fake this time. If it wasn't love, it was a close cousin. I was so fucked.

“I want us to be together, Eric. I've heard that—”

She was so alive, so warm, and I was so dead, so cold.

“Shut up,” I said softly.

“What?” I felt her heart skip a beat.

It won't be what you're expecting, I wanted to say. If I make you a vampire, you won't be warm anymore; you won't smell like you anymore. Before long, you won't even act like you. Just looking at you will be a painful reminder of what I am and what you used to be. And then you'll have to leave.

Instead, even more softly, I said, “I'll do it.”

When women truly fall in love with me, I can't say no. It's like a sickness.

She hugged me so tightly her entire body seemed pressed against mine, squealing as she did so. I smelled her excitement for almost the last time. I was so stupid. I was dumber than she was. I knew better. I'd seen what happens. The transformation changes people. Even when they turn out just the way you want, there are problems. Like with Greta…

“Can we do it right here, in the bed?” she asked.

“Hell, no.” I scowled. “I don't want your crap all over everything.” I shook free of her and picked her up in my arms like a damned newlywed, as though the act could make murdering someone romantic rather than monstrous. “We do it in the bathroom, on the pot, so there's less to clean up.”

My inner voice told me exactly what I needed to hear. I didn't love this woman. I only cared about her because she was a moist warm tightness with the appropriate attachments. She wouldn't be the same. She'd be a dead thing like me, a walking would-be body bag occupant.

I wouldn't be able to live vicariously through her. I wouldn't be able to feel and smell the sun's heat on her skin when she came in from outdoors. No more making her eat the food I craved just so I could watch her eat it. I wouldn't even be able to listen to her breathe while she slept because she wouldn't breathe autonomously anymore. I tried to think of everything she'd be giving up, all the things I'd miss, and none of it mattered because she loved me. How twisted is that?

I should have just broken her neck and found a new girlfriend, but I didn't have the balls to do it. Somebody should have put a stake in me, or better yet, gotten a good strong muzzle…one of those masks like Hannibal Lecter wore in the movies. It was all wrong, but that morning I no longer cared enough not to do it, or perhaps I cared too much, wanted both of us to live her crazy fantasy, though I knew damn well giving her undeath wouldn't just shatter those illusions, it would grind them into the dirt.

EVENING AFTER

I
usually wake early. In fact, as far as I can tell, I barely sleep more than an hour or two each day. Even then it's easy to wake me. I rolled over and was momentarily surprised to find Tabitha beside me. I was even more surprised to see the time display on my alarm clock—18:43…after six o'clock. I never sleep until six. I knew why I'd overslept today, though. The reason was still lying next to me.

She was pale, a little thinner than she'd been, but not unattractively so. The sudden additional slenderness made her breasts look bigger than they actually were and the skin and muscle all over her body had tightened a bit as the transformation took hold. She looked better than she ever had in life. I could picture how pleased she would be when she woke up. I smelled a strong odor from the bathroom and rolled out of bed. There was blood caked to my lips, trailing down my face, across my neck, and down my chest. It had dried there during the day.

I opened the bathroom and retched at the stink. The transformation flushes the body clean. That's twenty-five feet of intestines with five to ten pounds of solid waste. The process isn't pleasant or comfortable, either; I had a vague memory of Tabitha screaming. The toilet clogged when I flushed. Hastily grabbing the plunger, I took care of it before the putrid brown water poured out onto the floor.

A narrow trail of fluids led from the toilet to the sink, but I left it alone for the moment and opened the shower door. My clothes from earlier were already piled in there. I must have rinsed them out before I went to bed. I didn't remember doing it, but I was glad that I had. Most of them looked recoverable.

When I'm in top form, I can usually shapeshift into an animal, and then use a little of the residual transformation mojo to fix my clothes when I change back, but it can be very draining. The worse the damage is to the clothes, the greater the drain. This morning it had been worth the possible loss of the clothes to save that energy, to make sure I only woke up hungry, not starving. I had no desire to go on a feeding frenzy after the blood-and-energy-intensive cost of turning Tabitha.

I turned the shower on hot and washed myself, scratching at the dried blood with my fingernails to get it all off, and as the water turned scalding, I started to feel better.

I got out of the shower and squared away the rest of the room using the cleaning supplies Marilyn kept under the sink. Marilyn and I had been lovers before…when I'd been alive. We'd come within three weeks of getting married.

My wallet sat on the edge of the sink; I checked it quickly to make sure it hadn't gotten wet. When I opened it, Marilyn's picture smiled up at me. She wore a leather biker's jacket and sat with casual disdain on Roger's motorcycle, a 1964 Harley-Davidson Duo-Glide. In shades of sepia, the photo didn't show her red hair, but it captured her look, smoldering like Cyd Charisse, a Marlboro at the corner of her lips.

Forty-three years doesn't seem like a long time for a vampire, until you look at one of your living contemporaries. My Marilyn was more like my nanny now.

I laughed, imagining Marilyn's reaction to the whole Tabitha thing. At least it would get a rise out of her, and that was always fun.

I wasn't looking forward to telling the others, though. Candice's feelings would probably be hurt and Talbot wouldn't say a word; he'd just glare at me. Roger, on the other hand…Roger would probably never let me hear the end of it. He still gave me shit about turning Irene some twenty years ago.

Greta would probably take it all in stride, if she ever found out about it. Greta's my daughter. There was a picture of her in my wallet, too, but I kept it behind Marilyn's. Once I'd decided to make my own little vampire children: a girl and a boy. Greta and Kyle. It hadn't worked out. Greta took to vampirism just fine, I guess because I'd raised her, more or less, from the time she was nine, but I'd only known Kyle for a year or two when I'd turned them both. After the change Kyle wasn't the same anymore: the jaunty step he'd had in life disappeared, leaving him a shadow of his former self, a Drone, so hard to look at that I eventually sent them both away. Thinking of Greta and wondering how she was doing, I looked at the bathroom mirror and wiped off the condensation with a towel.

Nope, still no reflection.

A longing in the back of my throat told me I was hungry. It was followed quickly by a fiery pain in my gut. Turning someone takes a lot out of you even if they don't drink very much. The wound you feed them with can grow dark and inflamed; sometimes they even scar.

It takes a lot out of me to make a vampire. In the movies, it's simple: you just drain a human and then have her drink your blood. If it really worked that way, I had no doubt that Tabitha would have saved up some of my blood, slit her wrists, and turned herself a long time ago. For starters, draining the human is just common sense, not a requirement. Drinking their blood first gives you more blood to spare, but the change, making the human become a vampire, requires an act of will. It doesn't happen by accident.

I left Sleeping Beauty on the bed and walked out into the hallway before I realized I was naked. Back in my room I pulled on jeans and one of my favorite T-shirts. A few years back the Void City Music Festival swapped suppliers; instead of
Welcome to the Void City Music Festival
all ten thousand T-shirts said
Welcome to the Void
in white letters on black material. The misprint was so popular they claimed it was intentional and kept right on printing them that way every year. I have dozens of them.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I tugged on a pair of dark socks and my work boots. My favorite belt was still lying in the shower so I went without one even though it irks me. It's a hang-up I have. Maybe I got pantsed once too often as a child. I don't know. After a little searching, I found my watch under my nightstand and slipped it on my wrist.

I checked the backstage dressing room on my way down the hall. Sheena and Desiree both gave me polite smiles. Sheena was dressed for work, ready to go onstage in a perky cheerleader uniform complete with pom-poms. Desiree, having finished her set, was slipping into a slinky French maid's outfit to wear while selling drinks and lap dances. I gave them a half smile in return and walked back out into the hall, then out into the club itself. Often the sounds and lights make me feel better. Even though the music usually hurts my ears, it excites everyone else and the more alive they feel the more I can leech off of their excitement.

I didn't see Marilyn, which only vaguely concerned me. Maybe she was at another doctor's visit. Old people get sick a lot, and Marilyn had grown old. We'd known each other since we were kids. We'd been friends, lovers, fiancées. I've been told that when I rose as a vampire, she was there, standing over my grave crying. I don't remember any of it, but it must be true, ‘cause she's been with me ever since.

She's the one woman I've ever really wanted to turn, but she's always said no. Something about her immortal soul, which is odd, since she claims to be an atheist. The real reason is probably a secret. All Marilyn's secrets are safe from me. I can't even make her tell me what she's getting me for Christmas. When she dies, I'm pretty sure I'll go crazy, but only time will tell.

I looked around the room, soaking up the atmosphere. Sarah was doing an uninspired bit of stripping while Kelly and Lillian worked the tables. Talbot stood off to the right of the stage. There were a lot of people in the club for a Wednesday. I glanced at my watch and realized it was Saturday. Damn. My sense of time was getting worse. I think that's why Marilyn bought me a watch that displayed the time, date, and day of the week. Talbot headed my way and I headed back the way I'd come, straight toward the nearest exit. Talbot was big, black, bald, and too well dressed to be a bouncer in a place like mine.

The Demon Heart was no dump, but it didn't pretend to be anything it wasn't. Clean but faded, it was the kind of club that looks better in dim light. The outside still looked like a department store, which is what it had been, I guess, back when the Pollux was open across the street. I'd had the interior redone in red, black, and chrome. It reminded me of a 1950s burger joint gone wrong.

Talbot sped up to catch me and I let him. It would look a little silly to run away from my own employee, wouldn't it? Even if that was exactly what I wanted to do? I was ashamed of what I'd let happen and I didn't want to face it yet, not until I'd eaten, maybe not even then.

He reached me just as I started down the hall toward the back door. “Tabitha didn't come up to help open the club,” he said abruptly.

I turned to look at him and couldn't say it. “Hire someone else,” I snapped, instead. “Get one of the other girls to fill in for now.”

He waited for an explanation and I just stared at him. Figure it out, damn it! Talbot has been with me for close to twenty years. By now, I expected him to know when the boss has fucked up. Then I saw it in his eyes. The bastard knew exactly what had happened. He just wanted to make me say it, to watch me be uncomfortable, the bastard.

“I fucking turned her last night, okay? And I'm too hungry to snack on anyone here. I'd drain them down too far and I don't want to have to deal with a dead body in the club tonight, so get back there and keep an eye on her for me. If she wakes up before I get back, you can damn well feed her yourself!”

His brown eyes turned green for a moment and his pupils narrowed into slits. Cats' eyes. He took a couple of breaths and his eyes turned back to normal. I usually knew not to goad him like that, but I was fucking up so consistently that I didn't want to interrupt my streak.

“I can do that, sir,” he rumbled. Then he smiled, regaining his composure. “I was just talking to Roger about a rumor he heard…supposedly a vampire killed a werewolf three blocks from here…around dawn…down at Thirteenth and Eleventh Avenue.”

“Good for him,” I growled.

“He said that was where Lillian picked you up last night. Is that so?” Talbot asked.

I didn't remember. It sounded right. “Maybe.” I sighed.

“Rumor also has it that the dead wolf was important to his pack,” Talbot added.

I looked away for a moment and rubbed my eyes. I could feel the beginnings of a nice happy migraine coming on. “How important?”

He pursed his lips and made a whistling noise. “Pretty darn.”

“Yeah, well, that's just wonderful! With my luck, it was the fucking Alpha.”

He laughed. “Actually, it was William's eldest son.”

“William's the Alpha?”

He nodded.

“Shit.”

Enjoying my dismay, Talbot continued, “The van cleaned up well, but the Hummer will be in the shop for a while.”

“Sell it for scrap,” I said harshly. “I don't even know why I let Roger talk me into buying it.”

Talbot has one of those infectious laughs that can make anyone laugh in return. It didn't work this time, maybe because I felt he was laughing at me, at the mess I'd made. When I didn't share in his amusement, Talbot grimaced. “What else are you not telling me, Eric?”

I waved him off and walked out the door. My Mustang was waiting for me. Even though Ford didn't make a distinction between the 1965 and the 1964
1
/2, I could tell. I'd bought it new in late April 1964, and had it loaded with options. I don't know if it was the first vehicle with a power convertible top, but for fifty-four dollars and ten cents, I'd said hell, yes. That Mustang was the first car I ever owned that had an air conditioner.

I ran my hand along the long blunt hood and grinned from ear to ear, picturing the 271 horsepower V-8 engine underneath. I understood why Roger wanted me to get used to a new car. The Mustang couldn't last forever, but I wouldn't let it go yet. Marilyn's first time was in that car. They don't make cars like that anymore.

“Hey, asshole,” Roger shouted from the club's rear door. That I hadn't sensed him only slightly surprised me. The first and second tier of vampires can sense each other when they come into range. Roger's second tier, a Master. I'm a Vlad and a Vlad trumps a Master. My not sensing him meant that he'd been within my range before I woke up. Technically, I must have sensed him in my sleep, but since it was Roger, it hadn't woken me.

He was dressed better than me, as usual, but he looked harried, every hair out of place. “I just heard that guy who owns the Demon Heart turned another one of his girlfriends last night….”

“What a prick,” I said dryly. If Roger was trying to cheer me up, he was going about it the wrong way.

“Tell me about it.” He walked over to the car, thoroughly enjoying pissing in my Cheerios. “I hear he crashed his new Humvee, too.”

“Sounds like a real fuckup. What do you want, Roger? I'm hungry.”

“I hear he's eating out tonight.”

“I figure I'm on a roll…”

“…so why not let it ride?” he said, finishing my sentence. The last time I could remember Roger being all buddy-buddy like this was in Vegas. We'd hit it big, or I had, and I'd taken care of his losses, paid for the whole damn trip, actually. Roger's always happier when he's spending someone else's money.

“You want to come with?” I asked.

He shook his head no, the prospect unthinkable. “Look, buddy, I know it's not my place to say—”

“But you're going to anyway.” That drew a smile, but not the friendly one for which I'd hoped.

“Why don't you go ahead and end Tabitha? Spare yourself a little heartache and get it over with, huh? She's not worth it.” It was Roger's same old song and dance. He was right, of course, but that didn't mean I wanted to hear it.

“Speaking of girlfriends,” I said, “are you still fucking Froggy?” It was nasty and I shouldn't have said it, but I wanted him to go away. If he didn't want to be teased about having a girlfriend vamp who could only turn into a frog, he should know better than to start poking at me and mine.