Drawn

by David Alan Jones

  “We can accept gracious hospitality when it’s offered.” He met her gaze with resolve, unflinching; the consummate team lead uninterested in having his orders countermanded. “We’re in no position to argue.”

  “But—”

  “No, Carver.” Matt withdrew his hand from hers, his voice low, meant for her ears alone. “Open your eyes. We’re unarmed and outnumbered. Leslie’s dead. We can’t do anything for her. Not yet. And I refuse to risk any more lives for a moral point. We don’t have that luxury.”

  Rose ground her teeth but said nothing. Part of her could see Matt’s point. Rubio had all the leverage. But that realization did nothing to slake her rage. The mere thought of leaving Leslie’s desecrated body lying on the bell tower floor rent her soul in two. She would see her friend given a proper burial, and woe to anyone—human, succubus, or vampire—who stood in her way.

  Rose dipped her chin in the barest of a nod.

  Matt turned back to the mayor. “Gracias,” he said. “When do we meet your husband?”

  It took three uncomfortable, silent hours to reach the small city of Guerrero near Mexico’s northern border with Texas. Rubio drove the van with Mayor Rodriguez riding shotgun. Though he appeared nearly catatonic, just as he had in Guadalupe’s cobbled square, the vampire handled the vehicle with inhuman precision, minding every stop sign, using his signals for every turn, every lane change. It was creepy.

  Matt, Rose, and Satterfield sat on the second seat with six more ops filling the back two rows. Behind their van, rounding out their little convoy, came four of the Order’s Suburbans loaded down with the remaining ops and Rubio’s wights.

  How much control did Rubio have over the creatures? They seemed to obey his thoughts, and were perfectly willing to climb into the cars at his behest, but would they launch into a feeding frenzy if he got too far away from them? Rose shuddered at the thought.

  The van shook as they tooled along a gravel drive surrounded by forest. The sky above the trees glowed the way it might above an outdoor arena, the clouds limed in soft white brilliance. A ten-foot stone wall crowned with razor wire appeared on their left, spooling out behind them.

  Rubio slowed the van as he approached a gate where steel doors on reinforced hinges split the wall. Eight armed guards dressed in military fatigues stood before the gate. They bore a mix of weapons, mostly AK-47 rifles on straps, .45s at their hips, and an assortment of grenades, knives, and machetes attached to their body armor.

  Rubio rolled down his window. A guard took one look at him and started yelling over his shoulder in Spanish. The fortified doors swung open, and they drove inside.

  The hacienda sat atop a hill surrounded by manicured gardens, spreading oaks, and armed men. Rose was no historian, but the place looked old. She could imagine Jesuit priests tending the gardens as parishioners milled up and down the mansion’s stone steps, seeking forgiveness and enlightenment. Except now those parishioners had been replaced by militiamen watching the convoy with wary eyes.

  Arc sodium lights—the kind used to brighten high school football games—spilled white radiance upon the hacienda’s walls and front drive. Rubio pulled the van up to an expansive porch, socked it into park, and hopped out. He rounded the vehicle and opened the mayor’s door faster than Rose could have managed on her best day.

  With a few rapid-fire orders, he had the Dog Ears out of the cars and surrounded by guards and half-naked wights.

  “I am taking you inside now,” Rubio said. “You will be guests in my father’s house. I expect you to act accordingly. If one of you makes trouble, your leader dies.” Rubio pointed a long, minatory finger at Matt. Then he spun on his heels to open the hacienda’s double doors.

  He led them into a darkened hall, his snakeskin boots clicking on the burnished wood. Expensive works of hand-made art in pewter and brass lined the walls illuminated by strategically placed lights. Though the place appeared meticulously clean, the air smelled musty and close, likely owing to the house’s lack of windows. Discolored arches in the stucco evidenced their past existence.

  Rubio flung open a second set of double doors at the far end of the house, revealing an elaborately decorated room. It reminded Rose of pictures she had seen of Buckingham Palace, with its gold-on-red carpets and lavishly decorated walls. A dining table large enough to seat twenty dominated the center of the room. A dozen vampires, their pale faces set aglow by wavering candlelight, gathered around it. Heaps of untouched bloody steak dished up on fine china lay before each of them. As if choreographed, they turned in unison from their interrupted meal to stare at the newcomers.

  “Padre,” Rubio called, facing a fat vampire who sat at the head of the long table.

  When the one Rubio called Padre spoke, only his mouth moved, reminding Rose absurdly of an animatronic bear. “Que pasa, hijo?”

  Mayor Rodriguez stepped forward. “Hola, mi amor.”

  The fat vampire’s face came suddenly alive. His eyes brightened, opening wide. He smiled, revealing a set of perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. They seemed normal enough to Rose—no fangs.

  “Glenda?” Rising with incredible speed for his bulk, the fat vampire crossed the room in an eye blink. He put his arms around the mayor and hugged and kissed her several times before holding her at arm’s length, whispering to her, his eyes ranging about her face with hungry intent.

  Matt and Rose shared a look. He shrugged and shook his head. By his expression, Rose knew he had never seen a vampire-succubus relationship like this.

  Rodriguez launched into a torrent of Spanish. When she had finished, she turned to Matt and the others and said, “This is Clemente. He is my husband.”

  For a long moment, no one said a word. The dozen vampires at the table sat like statues watching the succubi. Clemente and Rubio did likewise while the Order ops shifted uncomfortably under their combined gazes. Then Matt cleared his throat as if remembering where and who he was. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  The fat vampire tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Is it, incubus?”

  Despite the room’s elegant décor, Clemente wore an inexpensive collared t-shirt, gray and black in alternating stripes, which stretched considerably over his ample belly. This he paired with ordinary chinos and black New Balance running shoes. He did not look like a threat, but something in his eyes spoke of pure menace backed by a titanic capacity for destruction.

  Without warning, the vampires at the table rose to their feet in utter silence.

  The Dog Ears stirred. Rose drew strength, speed, and stamina, dexterity, vision, and discernment. She adjusted her feet, readying for a fight. Around her, the others did likewise.

  Mayor Rodriguez put a restraining hand on Clemente’s belly. Though Rose doubted the mayor could physically stop her husband should he decide to act, the vampire froze.

  “They saved my life,” she said in English. “The entire village. They are not Sociedad Americana.”

  “No? Then what are they?”

  “Rebels.” Matt was breathing hard. A bead of sweat coursed down his forehead. “We fight against Society.”

  Clemente pointed at Rose. “My wife says that one moves like a seasoned vampire—like the secret policia you Americans are sending into our country. They are doing something—something to increase their power, yes? You doing that too, chica?”

  Rose glanced at Matt. He nodded.

  “I have more votaries than most, but I didn’t get them the way they did, the policia as you call them.”

  “Then how?”

  “That’s complicated. I mean, it’s because some friends of mine put me in a comic book. I know that sounds stupid, but I’m serious. I—”

  Clemente held up a hand, forestalling Rose’s stammered reply. He tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Rose Carver?”

  19

  The Collection

  “And this—this is my pride and joy,” Clemente said, grinning so wide he might have been speaking of a favorite c
hild. He lifted a plastic guard on the wall that housed a keypad, punched in a code with lightning efficiency, and stood back as a steel door swung outward to the sound of rushing air.

  Rose stood next to Matt, taking comfort from his presence. Once Clemente realized Rose’s identity, he had insisted she follow him alone into the bowels of his mansion, dismissing the rest of the Dog Ears into the care of Rubio. A tense moment had passed when Rose refused to go alone, until Matt convinced the vampire to let him accompany her.

  Mayor Rodriguez had come along. She stood next to Clemente, a beatific smile on her face. Was she somehow under the creature’s charm? If so, Clemente hid it well.

  Lights flickered on inside the room, and Clemente stepped inside.

  Rose glanced at Matt. Did he feel as nervous as she about following a vampire into this space with its bank vault door?

  For her part, Rose couldn’t seem to make her hands stop shaking. She tried drawing calm, but it was no use. She felt like a kid walking through her first haunted house at the fairgrounds.

  “It’s shock,” Matt whispered. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “It’ll pass.”

  She nodded. Probably he was right. But though she could see that, understand it even, she could do nothing to lessen it. Leslie was dead, and Melody had killed her. Those facts kept exploding in Rose’s mind as sharp and painful as the instant she discovered them.

  “Come!” called the vampire from within the brightly lit room.

  Rodriguez smiled at her fellow succubi. “It’s okay. I promise you’re safe. My husband won’t harm you.”

  Matt released Rose’s hand to precede her into the room. Rose followed, drawing speed in preparation for an ambush. If the vampire wanted them dead, jumping them as they came through the door would be an excellent way to go about it.

  Rose was prepared for just about any contingency except the one she found.

  She stood inside the largest comic book collection she had ever seen. It was the size of a small grocery store. Racks of colorful magazines, graphic novels, and, yes, regular comics, divided the room into ten aisles. Glossy plastic covers enshrined most of the issues, though several hundred lined what looked like moisture-controlled display cases along one wall.

  Rose didn’t know much about comic books. But she had picked up a bit of the culture having spent time with the twins. She knew enough to at least recognize the most highly prized items in the comic universe. Brendan and Luke had pointed out a fair share in the ludicrously well-stocked dealers’ room at MegaCon.

  “You have a Batman number one,” she whispered, peering into a glass case.

  “I even have Detective Comics number twenty-seven.” The vampire pointed farther down the row. “But that is not what I brought you here for, Rose Carver. I have something special to show you. Follow.”

  On the far wall, under a bank of track lights, stood a silver display rack festooned with comics. By the looks of them, this set was newer than those at the front of the collection but no less cherished. In fact, extra copies of the same issues ran up the wall outside the rack, many in different languages. Rose could see French, German, Spanish, and even what looked like Japanese versions.

  “They’re all by the Pruett twins,” Rose said.

  “Si!” Clemente beamed like a little boy, his former reserve suddenly forgotten. “I have everything the brothers ever created. But this,” he pulled a thick book from the rack to lay it reverently on the display case, “this is their best work to date.”

  Rose’s breath caught. “That’s one of the twin’s proof copies.”

  “It is! If you look closely, you’ll see it’s not yet sealed. One of them even smeared the charcoal on page six.”

  The cover, which looked more like a photograph than a hand-drawn portrait, depicted Rose’s harrowing leap the night she had tried to escape Camp Den. Luke and Brendan had captured her desperation, her fear, her longing to win free, condensing them into an expression of agonized yearning on her face.

  “This is weeks ahead of even the online issues. How’d you get it?” Rose stared at the thing in awe.

  “Top Kickstarter reward.” Clemente managed to look smug without changing his expression. “A mere twenty-five thousand for the proof copy. I count that a bargain. It came with the ten-thousand-dollar reward, dinner with the twins, but I had to give that up when your government closed the border.”

  Matt whistled at the figures. Rose couldn’t imagine spending that kind of money for a comic book, especially one based on her life. The very idea made reason stare.

  “It’s all true, isn’t it?” Clemente asked.

  Rose looked to Matt, uncertain what she should reveal.

  He nodded.

  “Most of it,” she said.

  A broad grin spread across the vampire’s lips. Unlike in the movies and novels, he had no fangs, just very white, very straight teeth. “I knew it. I told Glenda, we know succubi are real, and we know something is wrong with your American Society. I can’t believe none of them have noticed Drawn.” He gestured at the comic.

  “Maybe they have.” Matt hadn’t left Rose’s side. He stood shoulder to shoulder with her, not the least bit distracted by the comics, his eyes fixed on Clemente, though now and again he spared a look for Rodriguez. “But what can Society do about it? Arrest the twins? For what? And how would it look if the FBI put Rose Carver, superhero, on its most wanted list?”

  “Clever,” Clemente said. “Genius. But I’ve always said that about the twins, haven’t I, Glenda?”

  “Si,” said the mayor.

  Clemente turned his grin on Rose. “So, that is why you came here, Rose Carver? You are running ahead of your American Society, trying to save the succubi of Mexico, yes?”

  “Exactly.”

  The vampire fell still, watching her. He tilted his head to one side so slowly it was hard to catch the movement.

  Rose glanced at Glenda, who shrugged. “You haven’t been around vampires much?”

  “Never,” Rose said.

  “They stand still when they think deep. It’s how they hunt. But that don’t mean they forget you.”

  “How many are in the Order?” Clemente asked, moving only his mouth.

  Matt said nothing.

  “Too few to take on American Society, I think,” Clemente chuckled. “No, that much I learned from reading Drawn. You are few, and most of you are weak as well. Monodraws. Rose is the strongest among you.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read,” Matt said.

  “Now that I’ve met you, given your people a place of refuge from your enemies, I’m going to be in the novel, si?”

  Rose shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t write it.”

  “And if I do you a good turn, I will be a hero,” the vampire continued, ignoring her.

  “Yes,” Matt said, suddenly eager. “You will.”

  Rose started to argue, but Matt waved her off.

  Clemente took the copy of Drawn from Rose and stood staring at it for a long, silent minute.

  These frozen moments of vampire time sent shivers of unease parading up and down Rose’s back. She sidled closer to Matt and took his hand. Though he obviously wanted them free in case something happened, he entwined his fingers with hers without protest.

  Matt turned to Rodriguez. “Can I speak to him when he’s like that?”

  “Si, he hears us just fine.”

  “May I call you Clemente?” Matt asked.

  The vampire nodded once, slowly.

  “Clemente, Rose needs your help. We all do. You know this attack on Mexico by the U.S. is not over drugs or oil or any other lie the politicians can gin up, right?”

  “Si. And I know it’s not all about succubi either.”

  “No. It’s about power. Society wants to rule this hemisphere—probably the world. And they’re willing to kill a lot of innocent people to do it.”

  “They cannot defeat the coven kingdoms.” Clemente met Matt’s eyes.

  “Are
you so certain? You know about the succubi with immense votaries. Your wife saw some of them tonight.”

  “It’s true,” Rodriguez said. “I saw two. They were fast as Rubio. And strong, Clemente. Strong as you, I think. If Rubio hadn’t had the wights with him, we might have been in trouble.”

  “So,” Clemente said, “this means the fear factory is real, no? The one in Drawn.”

  “Yes,” Rose said.

  “And your parents? They are trapped inside it?”

  Rose nodded, unable to speak.

  “Clemente,” Rodriguez clucked her tongue at the vampire. “What a thing to ask? You hurt her feelings.”

  “Lo siento, senorita.” An expression of sincere regret creased Clemente’s face.

  “We need your help to destroy the fear factory,” Matt said.

  Clemente regarded him. He didn’t seem surprised at the request. “You’ve found it then?”

  Matt shook his head. “No, but we have some leads. If we could free the people inside, break Society’s hold on them, we could weaken our enemies into ineffectiveness.”

  “And I could be in Drawn, no?”

  “Of course,” Matt said.

  Stillness crept back into the vampire’s limbs. He stood frozen far longer this time than before, the copy of Drawn balanced in his pale hands.

  Rose drew strength and dexterity without thinking. Every time Clemente did that, she got the feeling he was about to pounce.

  At last, he became animated, his eyes gleaming as he spoke. “I will do it.”

  “Excellent. Thank you.” Matt visibly relaxed, some of the rigidness fleeing his otherwise stiff back.

  “But,” Clemente held up one finger, “I cannot make this type of decision on my own. Just as you succubi have your Society, I must answer to my coven. Sometimes they are slow about such things. You will stay with me here in the hacienda until they answer, si?”

  Rose wanted to say no, but Matt spoke first. “We would be honored.”

  Rose gave his hand a hard squeeze. He ignored her.

  “Excelente!” said the vampire. “I’ll make some calls. If the old ones are too slow for you, maybe some of my younger contacts can help. In the meantime, I’ll have Rubio put you in the finest rooms we have. Oh, and Rose?”