Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires

by Adrian Phoenix

  “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.

  3

  ERIC:

  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 ofWelcome to the Void City Music Festival all ten thousand T-shirts saidWelcome 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 a
nother 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 19641/2, 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.

  Besides, I needed to eat. No vampire is hungry and nice. Nice and hungry, sure, but…

  “Look, just hunt away from the club tonight, okay?” he said.

  “I was planning to.”

  “Oh, you were planning?” Roger smirked. “Where were you planning on going then, if I might ask?” He emphasizedplanning like it had air quotes around it. Still, I’d asked for it, by mentioning Froggy.

  “North Side,” I blurted.

  “Any particular spot?”

  “I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

  “Right, �
��cause you’re so good at winging it. Why don’t you come inside and drink some blood from the fridge, just to take the edge off? The way you look, you might go all Black Out Boy any minute and—”

  “‘Bye,” I said brusquely. I slid into my Mustang and started her up, gunning the V-8 before peeling out toward North Side. I don’t normally hunt over there, but I craved a change of pace and it was the first place that had come to mind when Roger asked.

  A vampire can get tired of eating the same old people. Tonight I wanted to eat someone upscale who worked out every day and smelled like expensive perfume. By the time I reached the tony neighborhood, my head had cleared a little. I parked my car on the street and began prowling the specialty coffee shops.

  I passed up two college students and a cop before I started to get desperate. I had to pick a victim soon or I might not have much of a choice—sheer need would make me grab whoever was closest. Just then a woman in a Jag pulled up and parked in front of the hydrant across from Starbucks, then got out of the car. Her perfume smelled like heaven, and her skin looked soft and supple. Finally. The street was empty for a moment and I dashed out from my spot in the shadows.

  Everything dropped into slow motion. I was glad now that I’d decided to hunt away from my normal territory. Basically all vampires are monsters and I’m no exception. I’m not proud of it, and I try to keep myself well fed so that most of the time my prey are spared the worst of it, but bad nights do happen. Feeding was going to be bad tonight and I knew it. Roger might have known it, too. Maybe he’d been trying to help in his own weird passive-aggressive way. I was too hungry to hunt carefully.

  She barely knew what hit her. I had her back in the alley and on the ground in the twinkling of an eye. The perfume was expensive stuff: delicate, but arousing. She’d even dabbed a little down below, on the nape of her neck, and between her breasts. Someone called a woman’s name, so I leapt to the fire escape, dragging her up to the roof in spite of her struggles. She bit me, which always pisses me off (I’m the biter, not the bitee), so I slapped her. I didn’t want to, but it happened. The worse the hunger is, the less time there is for thinking, and the more primal those few thoughts become. The slap dazed her, but she still tried to scream when she saw my fangs. Fingernails clawed at my face, hard and lacquered. I threw her down on the roof and unwrapped her like a Christmas present, shreds of fabric scattering as I ripped and tore.