Bloodliner

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  With everyone else off the board, Jonah knew he had to get his act together in a hurry. He had to improvise, no matter how scared he was. Forget about his chickenshit past.

  And don't think about what this vampire can do to me.

  Jonah drew a deep breath and released it. Then, he started talking. "Is this any way to treat customers, Conrad?"

  "Customers? Who know my name?" Conrad's lips curled back in a sneer. "You've come to the wrong place then. Nothing for sale here."

  "Sure there is," said Jonah. "We came all the way from Blutgeliebter, New Mexico to buy from you. Mother Nothing sent us."

  The pressure of the boot on Jonah's chest let up a little. Conrad fixed him in a penetrating stare.

  Jonah clenched his teeth and stared back with equal intensity. A long moment passed, during which he realized he couldn't hear a sound from Mavis, Stanza, or Arthur. No more muffled cries.

  That's not a good sign.

  Suddenly, Conrad swung his boot off Jonah. "All right then."

  Jonah sat up and looked around. Down the hall, he saw three motionless blood-shrouded bodies on the floor—Stanza, Arthur, and Mavis.

  "Deal's off," said Jonah.

  "Why?" Conrad's voice trailed into a growl.

  "Well, for one thing," said Jonah, "you killed my partners."

  "You're full of scheiss," said Conrad. "Blood magic won't kill blood-suckers."

  When Jonah heard that, his gaze went right to the largest shrouded body on the floor.

  Arthur is a bloodsucker.

  Jonah's view was soon blocked, however, by a rippling red form that stepped in front of him. When he looked up, the featureless face of a hemoform gazed back down at him.

  So much for being creative.

  Jonah turned, only to find more hemoforms sliding into place. In seconds, he was surrounded; the only space free of the blood-men was blocked by the bald vampire.

  "Let's try this again from the top." Conrad hissed and grabbed a fistful of Jonah's Jethro Tull t-shirt. "Who sent you?"

  Suddenly, something shoved Jonah forward, cracking his skull against Conrad's. As Conrad fell back, Jonah was tossed aside, right through the hemoforms.

  As Jonah's butt hit the floor, he saw who was responsible: Arthur had broken free of his hemoform shell and was knocking the hell out of Conrad, bouncing him off the wall like a rattlesnake pulled from a baby's crib.

  The longer the beating went on, the more the hemoforms melted away. Finally, after Arthur pumped one especially brutal hammer-punch into Conrad's face, all the hemoforms collapsed into puddles of blood. At the same instant, the bloody shrouds poured off Stanza and Mavis. Jonah leaped to his feet and ran straight for Stanza.

  She looked dead. As soon as he touched her throat to search for a pulse, though, her eyes shot open.

  "Jonah?" Her voice was shaky and hoarse.

  Without a word, Jonah ran to where Mavis was curled up in a ball on the floor, drenched in blood. Unlike Stanza, Mavis didn't move a muscle when he felt for her pulse.

  Nothing.

  "Oh, God," said Jonah. "She's dead!"

  "No she's not." Arthur dropped Conrad and stomped over. "I could hear her heart all the way over there."

  Arthur pushed Jonah aside and fell to his knees alongside Mavis. Sliding his sword from its sheath at his waist, he laid the gleaming blade diagonally across Mavis' torso. Then, he leaned down and kissed Mavis on the lips.

  Seconds later, Mavis' eyes flickered open. Smiling at Arthur, she reached up to run a fingertip along his jaw.

  Arthur kissed her hand. "We meet again, milady."

  *****

  Chapter 43

  "Give me some blood," said Conrad. "Just a few drops, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

  As Conrad leaned forward on his chair and pointed an index finger at Jonah's face, Jonah felt a pulling sensation in his cheek. He took a step back, but the feeling remained.

  At least until Arthur smacked Conrad's hand away. "Didn't I say you're not feeding on him?"

  "But I have every right to," said Conrad. "After all, I'm his great-great-great-great grandfather!"

  Jonah rubbed his cheek and sighed. "Was anyone in my family ever normal?"

  "I think of myself as an artist," said Conrad. "Could normal people conjure demons from blood and dispatch them to do his bidding?"

  "You're nothing but a cheap pimp," said Stanza. "We know what kind of bidding your demons do."

  "Holy rites of passion!" Conrad lunged forward, hissing, and Arthur held him fast to the chair. "Don't you dare equate the sacraments with common lust."

  "What sacraments?" said Mavis.

  "Vampire religion," said Stanza. "Blood worship. Extreme sects can include erotic rituals with hemoform avatars like the ones that attacked us here."

  "My hemoforms are the finest in all of Germany," said Conrad, "or the world. I am a very prominent artist, in fact, so you should think twice about killing me. My absence will be missed."

  "We're not here to kill you," said Stanza. "We just need some information."

  "Forget it." Conrad folded his arms over his chest. "You're not the first people to try to steal the secrets of my hemomancy. You won't have any more luck than any of the others."

  "We don't care about that," said Stanza. "We need information on your family. Jonah and Mavis' ancestors."

  "I see." A twinkle appeared in Conrad's eye. "And what is that information worth to you, I wonder?"

  "The question you should be asking," said Arthur, "is what is it worth to you not to have your head lopped off and a stake rammed through your feratu."

  "I don't respond to threats." With that, Conrad closed his eyes and hummed a tune. He smiled and swayed as if he didn't have a worry in the world...though his thumb did flicker over the feratu's nest, the place in his chest where a human heart should have been.

  A long moment passed. Finally, Stanza broke the silence. "Hey, Arthur. Can a vampire survive having his head lopped off?"

  "Sure," said Arthur, "but those erotic rites of passion with hemoform avatars would never be the same."

  "All right, all right." Conrad stopped humming and opened his eyes. "What do you want to know?"

  Stanza winked at Jonah, then pulled up a chair and sat down across from Conrad. "Tell us about your parents. What were their names?"

  "Wilhelm and Edwina." Conrad grinned at Jonah. "Your great-great-great-great-great grandparents."

  Jonah felt the tugging in the blood vessels of his cheek and took a step back from his ancestor.

  "What were their last names?" said Stanza.

  "Wilhelm was a Kirkellan, of course," said Conrad. "German through and through."

  "And he was a vampire?" said Stanza.

  "Strangely enough, no," said Conrad. "But my mother was a different story. She gave our family its bite."

  Stanza leaned forward with interest. "Her last name was...?"

  "Borgia," said Conrad. "She was Italian."

  "We have Italian blood?" said Mavis.

  "Not just any." Conrad smirked and nodded. "The Borgias are famous. Surely, you've heard of Lucretia."

  "Wait a minute," said Jonah. "You're not trying to tell us..."

  "Ja," said Conrad. "The three of us..." He gestured at Jonah, Mavis, and himself. "...are all descendants of Lucretia Borgia herself!"

  "If Edwina was a Borgia," said Stanza, "who was her father?"

  "Nicolo Borgia," said Conrad. "And Nicolo is a direct descendant of Lucretia's brother, Cesare."

  "Was he a vampire?" said Jonah.

  "Very much so," said Conrad. "And you should be asking if he is a vampire, because he is still alive."

  "And how do you know this?" said Stanza.

  Conrad chuckled. "Because Grampa Nicolo just called me the other day. On the phone."

  "Oh, really?" said Stanza. "Did you two have a nice chat?"

  "Very nice," said Conrad. "He's on the trail of something big."

  "And what might that be?" s
aid Arthur.

  Conrad grinned. "You already know, don't you? Isn't that why you're here? You don't need me to tell you."

  Jonah caught Stanza's gaze, but she didn't flinch. He hoped she might finally give him a clue to the mysterious objective of their quest...and of course she didn't. "Where did he call you from?" she asked Conrad.

  "A café." Conrad fluttered his fingers. "Someplace out of the way."

  "Be more specific," said Stanza.

  Conrad sneered. "He was sitting at a table for two. I can't be more specific than that."

  Stanza looked at Arthur and bobbed her head in Conrad's direction. "Lop it off," she said.

  In one smooth movement, Arthur unsheathed Excalibur and slid around behind Conrad, swinging the edge of the blade up to press against his pale throat. "No need to answer, Conrad. We shall find the information we seek by digging it directly from your rotting brain."

  "China." Conrad looked resigned. "He called me from Shanghai."

  Arthur bent down and inhaled deeply. "He's lying."

  "Lop away." Stanza drew an index finger across her throat.

  "All right, all right." Conrad rolled his eyes. "He called me from his apartment in Rome. Of course, that was two days ago, so who knows where he is now."

  "We need his address," said Stanza.

  "What do I look like? His personal secretary?" said Conrad.

  "You look more like a headless moron to me," said Stanza.

  Conrad gasped as Arthur twisted the blade against his neck. "He lives in the Testaccio district. Via Polidori, number 819. Above the butcher shop."

  "Good news, Jonah," said Stanza. "Looks like you're going to meet your great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather after all."

  Mavis laughed. "Six 'greats?' Now that's just getting ridiculous. How about if we just call him 'really great?'"

  "Let him go, Arthur." Stanza nodded, and Arthur pulled Excalibur away from Conrad's throat. "I'm done asking him questions."

  "Speak for yourself." Jonah turned to Conrad. "You said we already knew what Nicolo was on the trail of. Well, I don't. Tell me what's he's looking for."

  Conrad rubbed his throat and coughed. "You mean she won't tell you?" He sneered at Stanza. "Well, great-great-great-great Grampa Conrad will!"

  "What?" said Jonah. "What is it?"

  Conrad lunged at Jonah and grabbed hold of his wrist. "Heaven," he said. "Paradise. The only thing vampires crave more than blood."

  Jonah tried to pull away, but Conrad held him fast. The next thing he knew, Conrad was springing out of his chair, leaping for his neck with mouth wide and fangs glistening.

  Conrad's teeth were centimeters away from making contact—maybe millimeters—when he stopped with a sudden jolt. His grip tightened around Jonah's wrist, cinching so hard it made Jonah howl.

  Squinting through tears of pain, Jonah saw what had stopped Conrad: a sword through his head. The gleaming blade had pierced him from ear to ear, opening up streams of inky bodily fluid that gushed down both sides of his neck.

  Conrad's eyes bulged in their sockets, and his tongue twitched in his mouth. He quivered once, then again, harder...then stopped. Jonah thought he was dead, but then his mouth moved again.

  "Empyrea," he said, and then he was done. That last word rasped out of him on a final draft of rancid breath, and then he sagged. His grip on Jonah's wrist released.

  Jonah stumbled back away from him, bumping into Mavis, almost knocking her over.

  She grabbed him by the shoulders and steadied him. "Are you all right?"

  "Okay, everybody out." Stanza waved them toward the stairwell. "Arthur and I have some cleanup to do."

  "Just because he's dead doesn't mean the feratu in his chest is dead." Arthur hauled Excalibur from Conrad's head with one swift yank, and Conrad's body crumpled to the floor.

  "The two of you don't need to be here for this." Stanza kept herding Jonah and Mavis toward the door. "Besides, it's too dangerous."

  "It's a task even I don't relish." Arthur kicked over Conrad's body and pointed Excalibur at his chest. "It hits a little too close to home. Reminds me what's living inside of me."

  Stanza threw open the door, and Mavis started down the stairs. Jonah paused in the doorway, locking eyes with Stanza.

  "What's 'Empyrea?'" he said. "What does it mean?"

  Stanza's gaze was cold. "You'll find out soon enough."

  "Just tell me," said Jonah. "Help me understand what this is all about!"

  "Maybe you'll get your answers in Rome." Stanza started pushing the door shut. "Now go downstairs and wait for Arthur and me."

  "We'll find this 'Empyrea' in Rome?" said Stanza.

  "You'll have to ask your 'really great' grandfather, Nicolo, when we find him," said Stanza. "That is, if he doesn't kill you first."

  With that, she slammed the door shut in Jonah's face.

  *****

  Chapter 44

  "Put down the milkman," said Shakespeare. "We're going to Italy."

  Genghis ignored him and kept guzzling blood from the throat of the milkman he'd captured. Thomas tried to push in for a taste himself, but Genghis swatted him away.

  Perching on the edge of the rooftop, Shakespeare watched Jonah and Mavis in front of the building across the street. His acute vampire hearing picked up their words as they talked about the latest developments in their quest. "Another player has entered the game," said Shakespeare. "Nicolo Borgia."

  That got Genghis' attention. He looked up for a moment, blood dripping from his lips and chin. "Borgia? You're joking."

  "Aye." Shakespeare walked back from the ledge. "And he's a step ahead of us."

  Genghis dropped the milkman. "The Scarlet Council's errand boy? Working behind our backs?"

  "Exactly," said Shakespeare. "You and I may represent two great orders within Cruentus Estus, but apparently not everyone within the church trusts us to accomplish our tasks."

  "Bastards!" Genghis threw his head back and roared. "The damn Council wants to steal Empyrea out from under us!"

  "Nevertheless, there is yet hope," said Shakespeare. "The fact they're but a step ahead tells us they know not the final destination."

  "If they did, they'd be there already," said Thomas.

  Shakespeare nodded. "Exactly." Either the boy's really making progress, or his deceit is more convincing than ever.

  "Even one step ahead is too many!" said Genghis. "We will fail, and it's all your fault, Shakespeare!"

  "Our failure is anything but assured," said Shakespeare. "And if it does come to pass, we'll find equal blame to lay upon many heads."

  "You and your words," snarled Genghis. "I knew this truce was doomed with a weakling hack like you involved."

  "Have a care in how you choose your words," said Shakespeare. "Else you may doom your own wretched hide in ways you have not foreseen. No truce shall save you once certain lines are crossed."

  "You're a loser, Shakespeare." Genghis howled with laughter. "From so-called world's greatest playwright to sniveling gimp gargling rat's blood like a common mongrel beast."

  Thomas laughed at that. "Way to go, Suckspeare."

  Shakespeare wasn't bothered by their laughter, never had been...but he felt a strange reaction when he caught a glimpse of James.

  Is he smiling? Does he think it's funny?

  In my quest to free one twin, have I let the other slip away?

  Shakespeare felt the feratu stir in his chest. "At least I still remember my humanity, monster. I at least have not devolved to a thing capable only of murder and debasement."

  Genghis turned to James and grinned. "He's so full of shit. If I were you, I would've killed his ass a long time ago."

  It's time. Truce or no, to let that stand is suicide.

  The feratu pumped fire through Shakespeare's veins. Genghis was still grinning at James when Shakespeare leaped across the rooftop and grabbed him.

  Surprise.

  Instantly, Genghis tried to shapeshift into his red hawk fo
rm...but before he got more than a few feathers to sprout, Shakespeare had broken his right arm.

  Genghis howled in pain and dropped. His cries became the shrieks of a hawk as he continued to shift, but his arm was no less broken when it changed into a wing.

  Shakespeare hauled back a leg and kicked the half-bird hard in the beak. Genghis spun on his back, slashing talons at his attacker, but Shakespeare dodged...then grabbed him by the ankles and threw him across the rooftop.

  Genghis smashed against a stairwell, then quickly recovered and tried to struggle to his feet. Before he could make it, Shakespeare slammed him against the metal door and pumped a fist into his face.

  As Genghis finally went limp, Shakespeare dusted off his hands and turned to the boys. "Shall we see about a proper breakfast, James?" He gestured at the dying milkman. "Something a little less innocent, perhaps?"

  James nodded and straightened. The corners of his mouth curled upward in a proud smile.

  "We'll find an evildoer, master," he said.

  "You're welcome to tag along, Thomas." Shakespeare changed to his bat-thing form as he stepped to the ledge.

  "I'd better tend to him." Thomas glanced back at Genghis. When he saw no movement from his master, he leaned forward and sneered. "That took some balls, Shakespeare."

  Shakespeare smiled. It was the first time Thomas had called him by his rightful name.

  Genghis will heal fast. That wing will be ready to fly in an hour or two, and I know this isn't settled between us.

  But the message reached the ones for whom it was intended, and for now, I'll savor the moment.

  "We'll try to bring you something back," said Shakespeare.

  Then, he spread his leathery wings and leaped.

  *****

  Part Four: Italy

  Chapter 45

  Jonah was asleep in his seat on the train from Berlin to Rome when someone tapped him on the shoulder and woke him. Though he was facing the window, he saw her as soon as he opened his eyes—Stanza, reflected in the glass against the darkness outside the car.