by C. T. Phipps
Media had perhaps exaggerated the romantic and sexual power of vampires. Well, at least for me. Sure, there were plenty of vampires who did have an irresistible lure toward the opposite sex (and the same, now that I thought about it), but that didn’t do much for a long-term romance. The Bite could give orgasmic sexual bliss to any human or vampire it touched, but that was only one common problem it solved. Hell, it created its own since you had to give it to a bunch of people to stay fed.
Opening the bathroom door and heading on in, I was immediately overwhelmed with a catastrophic sight and series of smells that looked far and beyond anything something a normal human being could do. Looking around for the janitor’s bucket, I almost quit then and there when I noticed the lock on the door automatically close.
Ah hell.
The sight of poop on every nook and cranny of the bathroom disappeared along with the smell even as I saw someone had drawn a “Silence” ward on the bathroom mirror in spray-paint. It was cheap arcane magic. You could buy a stencil in New Detroit for fifteen bucks from a novelty shop. The illusion was slightly more impressive as it not only had created an image and smell good enough to fool a werewolf (albeit one who composed a good 1% of the state’s drug problem) but also had concealed the thick coat-wearing, bald, pallid demonkin in the room with me. He had unnaturally elongated ears, sharpened teeth, and predatory yellow eyes. His hands, too, had been altered with long steel claws where his fingernails should be. Worse, I saw his fingers were covered in a dozen magical rings ($200-$5000 depending on what jewelry store you got them from) and there was an inverted anti-vampire ankh amulet around his neck.
“Man, the things people waste their money on,” I muttered. At least I wasn’t going to have to clean up crap.
Demonkin were a kind of a joke among vampires because they were the children of possessed mortals. Ever since the supernatural had “come out of the coffin” (thank you, Sookie Stackhouse), there were no end of numbnuts who wanted to summon demons to grant their wishes. Having had more than a few encounters with said creatures, this inevitably resulted in the humans being ridden hard and left for dead with usually a few damned abominations left in their wake. Some were unnaturally beautiful, most weren’t, like this asshole. He looked like he was wearing a Halloween costume and not a particularly good one at that. In fact, there were signs his deformities weren’t natural like the extra fingers or third eyes that came with most demonkin. They looked fake, or at least the result of bad plastic surgery. Was I being Punked? Was Ashton Kutcher hiding out in one of the stalls? Was that show still on, even in reruns?
“Foolish, Stone,” the demonkin hissed with a mouth full of saliva. “You should have taken better care to hide your nighttime resting place!”
Okay, now I wished I was being Punked. I moved my hand in front of my face to guard it against spittle. That was what you got when you talked with fangs. Every vampire knew this, and wannabe here had apparently gotten himself expensive dental work without knowing it (or caring). “Okay, first, dumbass, you’re supposed to look for my daytime resting place. That’s when vampires are vulnerable. Second, it’s not a secret, I’m in the damn phone book and on Google. I’ve been looking for a second job where I can work from home since I developed the ability to be up during the day. Third, please tell me you were born that way and didn’t actually alter yourself to look like an orc from the Lord of the Rings.”
The demonkin looked defensive. “Body-modification is a perfectly valid practice for sorcerers.”
Jesus Christ. I had fought an actual honest-to-Devil thousand-year-old vampire knight once and this guy thought he had my number?
I wanted to shake the guy then and there. “You’re a fucking demon’s descendant! That comes with supernatural beauty and the ability to make women (or men) swoon! Why would you give that up?”
This clearly wasn’t how the demonkin, if he was a demonkin, had expected our meeting to go. “I’ll have you know many women enjoy the look of one of Tolkien’s orcs. Freaky chicks. Ones with lots of piercings who didn’t like the white bread suburbanite look I was cursed with. It doesn’t matter, though, because you’re going to die now. I will feast upon your blood and channel that power to make me the most powerful sorcerer in Detroit.”
I raised a hand. “Uh, why?”
“I thought I just explained that.”
“No, I mean, why do you want to be the most powerful sorcerer in Detroit. I mean, do you intend to use it to get rich, get laid, become immortal, what? Also, why me?”
“Well, all of the above, obviously,” the demonkin said. “As for you, you’re the most powerful Youngblood vampire in the world and thus the easiest to kill. It’s nothing personal.”
“I hate that saying,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Killing me is personal.”
“To me, it’s not personal,” the demonkin said. “Also, I may like this whole snark-versus-snark portion of the conversation, but I can cause people to throw up their own eyes. So, go ahead and try resisting, it’s not going to work. I’m fully warded against any and all vampiric powers you may use.”
“Right,” I said. “Just checking.”
The demonkin began casting a spell. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten the most basic rule of Dungeons and Dragons: don’t be a squishy wizard unless you’ve got some NFL linebacker looking backup. I pulled out a Desert Eagle .50 from the back of my pants hidden under my hoodie and shot him in the throat. I then leapt at the wound as my natural bloodlust overcame my aversion to the ward around his neck (which he clearly hadn’t paid enough for) and I slurped out the gushing juice from his throat.
Yeah, well, if this was a prank then at least I got a free meal out of it.
Chapter Two
Blood. Drinking it. Tasting it. Exalting in it. The sexual act of feeding was one of the sickest parts of my existence. I was straight as an arrow, but it felt more intimate killing this man than it had when I’d lost my virginity in a thoroughly humiliating encounter with Gina Gentle at age sixteen.
Okay, bad example.
I’d starved myself of human blood for almost two years, trying to atone for a fucked-up moment when a monstrous vampire named Theodore Eaton had starved me then unleashed me on a little girl named Sarah. I’d fed on animals, corpses, and blood bags in hopes of never having something like that happen again but broke my rule in my battle with Renaud. Now I fed from humans exclusively.
Friends, prostitutes, foes, and the occasional traveler who reacted to the “ten” rule. Which is, if you ask ten people whether you can bite them, chances are one person would say yes. It was, according to David’s brother Bill, how he got laid all the time despite being a dumpy geek with a comb-over. God this guy tasted so good.
I could “read” the blood as it passed through my mouth, one of the abilities I’d picked up with my unexpected power boost last year. I learned the demonkin’s real name was Alexander, that he wasn’t even demonkin, that he was a dhampyr wizard, and that he’d gained his power by selling his soul to a possessed mortal. He’d been sent here by his master, who I couldn’t make out for whatever reason, and almost certainly had been expected to die. I needed more information.
I tried to pull back when the demonkin’s heart stopped pumping, signaling the moment of death. I failed and continued to suck every little bit of the wound I’d greeted, chewing on the artery for every little drop I could get. It seemed my hunger had grown with my strengthening as a vampire, which was usually the opposite of how vampirism worked. The more I drank, the more I wanted.
Fuck. I needed to drive away the hunger before I hurt someone else. I forced myself to pull back and said, aloud, “Think unvampy thoughts. Think unvampy thoughts. Think unvampy thoughts.”
Grandma. Garbage. Pollution. Roadkill. Murder. That last one just triggered a cavalcade of images even as I experienced a brief memory flash of all the dozens of people I’d killed in Iraq. Then I thought of all the people I’d killed as a vampire. I wanted to feel revulsion for the memories,
but I couldn’t. Vampires were predators, and the rebirth eliminated whatever part of our brains that felt disgust at violence or killing. We could make ourselves feel guilty, force ourselves to hate what we were, but looking at the wide-eyed corpse on the ground, I couldn’t deny what I was.
I heard a knocking on the door, followed by David’s voice. “Hey, how bad is it in there?”
“You heard the gunshot I take it?” I asked, sighing.
“What? No. I meant the shit. What gunshot?”
“Uh, no gunshot!” Right, smooth Peter. Real smooth. I’d forgotten about the silence ward on the door.
“Do I need to call the cops?” David asked.
“Yes, because they have ever been a help in my life,” I muttered. “No, David, don’t call the cops.”
I closed the eyes of the corpse in front of me before climbing to my feet. There was blood on my black sweatshirt, but it just looked like any other stain. There was also blood on the sides of my lips and chin that I did my best to clean up. I could feel the magic in the words and spells around me start to disintegrate. Magic, after all, came from the spellcaster rather than the object. Still, I’d fired the gun before killing him, so that meant no one had heard us.
“Uh, are you alone out there, David?” I asked.
“Well, there’s a guy out here really ticked off we don’t have a clean men’s room for him and discussing how we should be running the place, but I told him he could just go across the street to Wendy’s. He’s decided to wait instead because—”
I walked up to the door, opened it, pulled him in by the shirt collar and slammed it behind me before locking it again.
“Huh, the place looks better than I expected. Did you clean this with vampire super speed?” David asked before looking down at the corpse on the ground. “Huh. I didn’t know orcs were real. That is awesome!”
“They’re not and it’s not. I need your help to get rid of this,” I said, trying not to look at my handiwork.
“Isn’t that your job as vampire sheriff?” David asked, nonplussed.
I glared at him. “You actually think I cover up murders as part of my job?”
“Don’t you?” David leaned down and started stealing the man’s jewelry, cellphone, and wallet.
In fact, the rich vampires of the city had an entire service for cleaning up after the murders they deliberately or accidentally committed during their nightly feedings. Appropriately enough, called the Cleaners (with a capital C). They were soulless European dudes led by a little old lady with glasses. They bleached everything, mesmerized or intimidated witnesses, and made sure every corpse was disposed of by ghouls. My second job rarely brought me in touch with them, but I hated whenever it did. I didn’t want them involved in this. I also didn’t have their number and couldn’t afford their rates if I did.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, so we’re drawing the line at robbery but not murder?” David asked.
“Yes! I mean, no! I mean, I did it in self-defense,” I said, looking at him in disgust. “He was here to kill me.”
“Why?” David asked. “You’re kind of unimportant as a vampire. Sheriff or not, you’re really low on the totem pole.”
“I get that David.”
“Like the Oddjob of their SPECTRE. Except you don’t even have a hat to throw.”
“I know that, David.”
“So, why target you?”
“Why does anyone try to kill me lately? Because I’m on their radar,” I said, sighing. A purely symbolic gesture but one that many vampires indulged in. You know, because we didn’t breathe. “You’d think all of the supernaturals in the world coming to this area would make it easier for us to co-exist.”
“Yeah, can’t we all just get along?” David joked.
I stared at him. “Not cool, dude. Not cool at all.”
“Sorry.” David lifted the corpse by its arms. He then started dragging it to the janitor’s closet. “We’ll give this to Steve’s pack to dispose of in their usual way. It’ll cost two hundred bucks, though.”
“Two hundred bucks to cover up a murder, huh,” I said, thinking that was much more reasonable than the Cleaners’ rates. I briefly thought about recommending them to my friends before I realized that was horrifying, disgusting, and wrong.
“In this town, it’s really a bulk business,” David said. “So this guy isn’t an orc?”
“No, he did that to himself,” I said. “I’m pretty sure orcs don’t exist.”
“How about elves?” David asked.
“They do exist,” I said. “But they’re all vain homicidal psychopaths. Don’t ask how I know some.”
David looked at me with the intensity only a lifelong fantasy fan could have when asking about pointy-eared sonsofbitches. “So, they do or do not get along well with vampires? I need to know if I can bone one.”
“You’re a zombie now so no.”
David threw his hands and face up into the air to curse God and the universe. “Khaaaaan!”
“Thank you for helping me with this,” I said, shaking my head.
“I thought you’d be used to this by now. This guy at least had it coming, right?”
“I really hope there’s no day I ever become completely comfortable with killing and disposing of bodies,” I said, shaking my head. “I had enough of it in Iraq.”
I’d gone from fighting terrorists to fighting things that went bump in the night in my hometown, only for even less pay and respect. The Middle East had gotten worse since the Reveal. It turned out proof of the supernatural and God’s wrath didn’t cause men to become more peaceful, only increased the arguments over who deserved to get blown up more. A shame because I’d met some solid people overseas. I felt bad the USA had abandoned them in the wake of the supernaturals showing themselves. Mind you, I didn’t get any benefits as a technically dead but also technically alive citizen. Thank you, Uncle Sam.
“Is having enough of violence why you carry a gun now?” David chided, putting up the body in the storage closet and locking it with his spare key. “You didn’t used to be this cagey. We went years without killing people. Now you’re coming home with spilled blood, which I know you never do while feeding, three times a week.”
“Listen, the gun came in handy tonight. That’s all that needs to be said.” I wasn’t about to argue with him about what was necessary violence. Being the bellidix was my way back into vampire society. The work was meaningful, if not exactly moral. I’d have quit the Qwik and Shop to become bellidix full time if the latter paid anything. Maybe I needed to start shaking people down. Why should I be the only non-corrupt vampire in New Detroit?
That was when a fat middle-aged white man popped his head in through the door. Apparently, the lock needed replacing again. “Is the bathroom clean yet? Some of us need to go, and I don’t want to walk across the street.”
I raised up my hands and stared into his eyes. I tried to influence his mind and draw on the power of mesmerism. Unfortunately, I hadn’t developed that power but kept hoping it would appear any day now. “You can go fuck yourself.”
The man stared at me. “That’s just rude man.”
He then shut the door in my face.
“How would that have even worked?” David said, glancing over at me.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I dunno. I guess he would go and masturbate? I never really gave any thought to it.”
“So, no hypnotism yet?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Not yet.”
“Anything else cool?”
“I can shapeshift now.”
“What, really? Can you become a bat?”
“No. Listen, shape-changing is overrated. It’s painful as fuck, destroys your clothes, and leaves you surrounded by strange new senses as well as instincts to do crap you don’t want to do.”
“Like what?” David’s eyes were as wide as dish plates. Like all Bloodslaves, he’d wanted to become a vampire. Despite claiming he was okay with
it, I was of the mind he was less than satisfied being a zombie.
“Like chase cars, smell people’s crotches, and other crap I didn’t want to talk about.”
“Wait, you become a dog?” David said.
“Yes,” I said, through gritted teeth.
“It’s at least a big black dog, right?”
“Yes, it’s a big black dog.” Under no circumstances was I going to tell David I became an adorable black and white corgi. I’d have to kill him.
“That’s cool, right?” David suggested, picking up on my not-so-subtle hint that my new powers were not all they were cracked up to be. “I mean, you’re growing stronger. Less Buffy the Vampire Slayer vampire and more Bram Stoker’s Dracula.”
I wasn’t so sure. It seemed like every time I developed a new power, it always came with some significant strings attached or was downright useless in everyday life. I could talk to the animals like Doctor Doolittle, grow claws, turn into a dog, and kick a little more ass than in life but it wasn’t anywhere near what I’d hoped to get when I was made. Really, my most powerful ability was time-manipulation, and that meant I could fast forward and rewind my perceptions. Great for slowing down people trying to kick my ass and looking at things in the past but my control over it was shit.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” I said, right before my cell phone rang. Which was strange because, as I’d checked earlier, it was dead. That meant it was some magic B.S. and whenever magic B.S. was involved, my creator was not far behind. So, I picked it up, “Hello, Dave’s House of Taxidermy. We do animals, fish, and shifters. Oh wait, no, we’re not supposed to mention the last one.”
David looked at me strangely. “What the?”
I covered the phone receiver and said, “No one ever calls me who I actually want to talk to!”
“I know it’s you, Peter,” Thoth’s voice said on the other end of the cellphone. Proving my instincts about it being magic B.S. were correct. The fact he’d renamed himself after the Egyptian god of knowledge said just about everything you needed to know about him. Well, that and if you added he had his own honest-to-God sex cult and a half-a-billion dollars.
