Grave New World

by HP Mallory

  “Cement shoes are always a unique and efficient form of dispatch,” he prattled on, again ignoring me. “Your dear, ol’ vampire friend clued me in on this one.” Then his eyebrows rose in unison, as if an idea just crossed his mind. “Hmm, maybe this is one I should try out on him? Talk about poetic justice!”

  “What kind of punishment was that?” the were asked. Apparently, Jax’s history lesson wasn’t being presented entirely for me.

  “Cement shoes were first introduced by the Mafia,” Jax explained. “It was the usual way they dealt with traitors and spies. They positioned the feet of the offender inside a cinder block which they then filled up with wet cement. Once the cement dried, the victim was thrown, still alive, into a deep river or the ocean or a lake and left to drown.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” I protested.

  “Oh, have you really, princess?” Jax asked, sounding suddenly more than annoyed. He unexpectedly walked right up to me and pushed the were out of the way. Then, he pulled his arm back and cold-cocked me right across the cheek. My head flew back with the force of his sucker punch, and for a second or so, all I could see were stars. I nearly fell over the goblin, but he stood up and caught me in time. At Jax’s command, however, the goblin released me. Jax grabbed me by my upper arm and pulled me unceremoniously into the center of the room. What remained of my bra fell onto the ground. He ripped the ribbons of my shirt off me too.

  “What about the saw?” he exclaimed, his eyes growing wider and looking more furious than ever.

  Even though my magic wasn’t there to protect me, I refused to go down without a fight to the end. I stood with my feet as wide as my shoulders, a stance that prepared me to do whatever was necessary to protect myself. A losing proposition to be sure, but there was no way I would allow the likes of Jax to take another cheap shot without inflicting some damage of my own.

  “Are you serious?” Jax asked as he eyed me and shook his head with a cruel smile. “You really think you can defend yourself against me? Even though you’re half my size?”

  “I’m going to try my hardest,” I answered, my lips tightening into a straight line with determination.

  He feigned a punch toward my face, but when I ducked out of the way, he was instantly on me. Grasping me around my throat with one hand, he began lifting me into the air while I spluttered and choked. I repeatedly tried to pry his fingers away from my neck, but it was virtually impossible. “To use a saw for torture, the victim had to first be hung upside-down,” he said as he looked up at me with a sadistic expression. His voice sounded so nonchalant, like it was no big strain on him to continue holding me above his head, my throat nearly crushed by only one of his hands.

  “The blood would naturally rush to their heads which would keep them fully conscious,” he said. Meanwhile, I struggled to inhale some air but couldn’t. “Placing a saw between the victim’s legs, the torturer would saw his way through the victim’s body until the poor asshole was completely sawed in half.”

  Jax suddenly released me, letting go of my throat and bringing his hand back to his side. I dropped to the floor, landing on my stomach in an undignified heap. I couldn’t move, so I lay there, fighting to catch my breath. My throat still burned like a son of a bitch, and my vision was intermittent and clouding with the onset of dizziness. I heard the sound of Jax’s footsteps before I saw him approach me.

  “How would you like to be hanged, drawn and quartered?” he asked as he glared down at me with hatred shining in his cold eyes. It was all I could do to turn my head and not look back at him.

  “Please,” I whispered. My throat hurt too much to even attempt to speak.

  “The common penalty for treason in England was to be hanged by the neck until nearly dead,” he told me as I watched him pulling his booted foot back.

  “Jax, please don’t,” I begged, trying to crawl out of his way.

  “Once the condemned person was hanged within an inch of his or her life,” he smoothly replied as he released his foot. It landed right in my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. Instinctively, I collapsed, folding in on myself as I cradled my injured stomach with both of my hands. I failed to see what Jax was doing before he recoiled and thrust his boot into my stomach again. I could hear the sound of my fingers breaking with the second impact. The pain in my stomach, however, was all encompassing. I couldn’t feel anything else.

  “You would subsequently be disemboweled and have your entrails burned to ashes right in front of you. Then, if you were still awake,” he said, reaching down and gripping a handful of my hair and pulling me back up into a standing position. Despite how inordinately difficult it was for me to stand, since I couldn’t breathe or even feel my body’s lower half, I didn’t want him to rip my hair right out of my head. I tried my best to get back onto my feet.

  With a good grasp on my hair, Jax pulled his other arm back and slammed his fist into my face. The vertebrae in my neck made a cracking sound as my head was thrown to the side. I could feel the sticky, viscous blood as it sprayed out of my nose and mouth. “The victim was lopped and divided into four separate parts before being decapitated,” he finished. When he released me, I crumpled onto the floor.

  “Cut her,” Jax told the were as he stepped away from me. The were simply nodded as I lay there, totally unable to defend myself any longer. When the were’s fingernails slashed across my back, I screamed at the sudden, stinging agony.

  “I think that’s enough of a history lesson for today,” Jax announced as he leaned over and gripped me around my waist. Hoisting me up onto his hip, he carried my ravaged body to the door with one arm. “Remember when you asked me what had become of your old friend, Bram?” he asked as he smiled down at me. The eye that was closest to him was swollen shut so I could barely see him any longer. “Let’s go find out!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bram

  Chicago, 1922

  Dragon’s blood. Whatever it was, it managed to do one hell of a job. Fully incapacitated, I winced as the white hot tendrils of pain continued radiating outward from where the bullet entered my thigh. The wound surprised and dismayed me, as it was not healing itself. Ordinarily, my body would have begun the curative process of restoring my health as soon as I received any injury. In a matter of seconds, any damage or infliction would have been completely healed and no more than a fading memory.

  I inspected the open wound and noticed bright red lines that appeared to be forking outward from the bullet hole. They resembled arteries or veins in their branched appearance. Whatever toxin was inside this dragon’s blood, it was spreading. Quickly. Gripping the hem of my shirt, I ripped it off effortlessly before shredding it. I began wrapping the fabric around my thigh, just slightly above the bullet hole. I secured the tattered piece of clothing with a knot as tightly as I could, hoping to cut off the poison and prevent it from accessing the remainder of my body. The dismal thought that I might possibly lose my leg altogether crossed my mind, but I decided I could “live” with one leg. Death was not a thought that caused me anything other than panic. But, I had to reason with myself that it was quite possible that the dragon’s blood was already polluting my body. Perhaps my life would be over in a matter of moments.

  I was not in the least excited by the prospect of what I had to do next. Clenching my teeth with determination, I felt the tips of my fangs as they descended into my lower lip. Without further hesitation, I shoved my fingers into the open gash, palpating it to search for the lethal bullet. The agony was excruciating and contorted my face with its unrelenting pain, but I had to find the bullet, despite the urges to abandon my pursuit. No, I did not and I would not let up on the wound until I located the blasted thing. To do so would surely mean my subsequent death. It was true that I had no experience or knowledge of dragon’s blood before now, but I had to believe that O’Banion was being honest in his comment that the bullet would eventually kill me. But, I was still “alive” at the moment … and I fully intended to stay that way.
r />   As my fingers delved deeper into the gash, the overwhelming pain affected my entire body. I tried to separate myself from the sensation and found it a most difficult task, though not insurmountable. Although I was still somewhat frightened at the prospect of my demise, there were two other emotions now rising from inside me.

  Surprise. As well as disappointment.

  I was surprised at how brilliantly Meg and O’Banion had managed to dupe me. My disappointment centered on my own complacency and former sense of bravado. I had practically marched into O’Banion’s as if I were expecting to attend a tea party.

  I will never be made to look like a fool again! I swore to myself. From this moment forward, I vow to remain one step ahead of my enemies and those who would call themselves my friends.

  Yes, I would never be caught unawares ever again. I was ashamed of myself, and I did not relish the feeling.

  At last, the jagged edge of the bullet grazed my fingers. Steadying myself as best I could, I carefully wrapped my index finger and thumb around it and yanked with all my might. Happily, it came free. I could not stifle the loud yell that escaped me as the agony in doing so was indescribable. Regardless, though, the bullet was no longer inside me. I held it closer to my eyes in order to inspect it. To my amazement, it was nothing more than a clear cylinder. An empty, clear cylinder. Just as I feared, the dragon’s blood was now circulating inside of me … and rapidly spreading.

  I tightened the tourniquet around my thigh, pulling it as taut as possible. I noticed that the branching red capillaries were no longer quite as red as they had been. Some of them were blanching to a bright pink even as I studied them. That was a good sign, I supposed, but it was obviously not good enough. The only thing I could think of doing was to drain and extract as much of the toxin as possible. I grasped both sides of my thigh firmly and bent forward, stretching my back as far as I could, and leaned over. Luckily, we vampires are not encumbered by many human ailments, such as muscle torpor, and we do not suffer from a limited range of motion. I was just as limber as a newly sprung sapling.

  Sinking my fangs into the wound, I began sucking my own blood, drawing it out with a fierceness that only possessed me when I waited too long to feed and was well beyond hungry. However, hunger was not propelling me now, but the intense desire to survive. As soon as my mouth filled up with my blood, I spat it out, doing my best to ensure I did not swallow any of it. Then I planted my lips back onto the wound and sucked out another mouthful of blood from the hole, only to spit it out again. After the fourth mouthful, I rechecked the color of my veins that were spreading on the northern side of the tourniquet. The color was very much reduced now, to a dull pink. My efforts were working.

  I returned to the task again, filling my mouth up with blood before spitting it out eight more times. Eventually, I noticed the branching veins were no longer pink at all and had become barely visible. Satisfied at my accomplishment, I concluded I had done all I could for the time being. I gripped the top of a chair beside me with my fingers and pulled myself up. I was still very weak and nearly collapsed as soon as I tried to stand up. I was not certain whether the frailty I was experiencing was owing to the blood I lost or because of the toxic strength of the poison that managed to take quite a toll on my body. Perhaps it was a little of both.

  Limping so as not to put any weight on my injured leg, I hopped to the door that led out of O’Banion’s bedroom. As soon as I reached it, I took a quick glance down at my leg. I was beyond elated to see the color of my flesh above the wound had returned to normal! When I rechecked the injury, it appeared to be mending itself after all. Granted, the restorative process did not occur with lightning speed, as I was always accustomed, but I could see my flesh suturing itself together. And the branching red capillaries were now nowhere to be seen.

  Thinking that perhaps my wound could benefit from increased blood flow, I nervously untied the tourniquet. I was more than aware that this small move could have proven a fatal mistake. I virtually reopened the pathway for the poison’s residue and whatever was left to infiltrate my body again. Once I untied my thigh and removed the tourniquet, I waited anxiously for a few seconds. But almost immediately, I began to feel a tingling, and the previous sensation of numbness evaporated. This feeling was familiar. It characterized my body’s ability to heal itself and overwhelmed me with relief. After another few seconds, the wound healed itself entirely.

  Stepping forward, I gingerly placed my weight on my newly healed leg and found it good as new. Since time was of the essence, I could not rely on my legs to deliver me from O’Banion’s home. Instead, I chose to dematerialize and travel through the air, arriving safely outside. There was no sign of O’Banion, nor any of his minions. They obviously fled from the place just as I anticipated. In general, it is not good practice to be caught anywhere near the scene of a crime, especially when you, yourself, are the perpetrator. No matter. I would deal with O’Banion soon enough. For now, my thoughts centered only on Meg.

  I continued to materialize and dematerialize, thereby covering the many miles that separated me from Anonymous. In perhaps only a minute, I reached my destination, whereas any vehicle, even the fastest, would have taken ten. When I arrived, the place was reduced to rubble. I spotted some embers still burning beneath the mounds of what was once a lucrative business. The fire must have been put out fairly recently as clouds of smoke still remained.

  “Outta the way!” a man’s voice ordered from behind me. I wheeled around to see two firemen heading toward what was left of the former structure.

  “Did everyone get out safely?” I called after them.

  “As far as we can tell!” one of them responded, not bothering to look over his shoulder at me.

  A group of gawkers were gathering along the sidewalk. They watched the firemen as they put out any remaining hot spots. Little by little, the crowd began to disperse, their interest rapidly waning as the minutes ticked by. In no time, all that remained of Anonymous were a few smoldering embers. What once must have raged like an inferno was now no longer a threat.

  For perhaps two hours, I stood on the sidelines, watching the firemen putting out and eliminating any potential smoldering patches. Meanwhile, the police department arrived. They began to cordon off the premises with yellow barricade tape. They refused to allow me entrance into the building; and although I could have glamoured them into doing whatever I desired, I chose not to. I was not certain I was quite prepared for whatever I might find. Perhaps all that remained of Meg were her bones, and I was not certain what my reaction to the sight of that might be. I was in no rush to find out.

  I watched the investigators talking to the firemen regarding various hypotheses about who could possibly be held responsible for the enormous conflagration. Of course, one word from me could have enlightened them, but I was not in any mood for conversation. Not at all. I quietly watched them, losing myself in my thoughts. A multitude of conflicting emotions was currently plaguing me—anger that Meg set me up, regret that our relationship could have come to this, and sorrow at the prospect of her untimely demise.

  After everyone else had vacated the scene, the only people who remained were two firemen. They stayed behind to maintain the safety and integrity of what was now a crime scene. That was when I made my move. I crossed the street and approached them. Seeing me coming, they immediately banded together, blocking my path before I could even enter the building. I did not waste words by saying anything. I relied on my vampiric powers. As soon as I made eye contact with both of them, they simply stepped aside and graciously allowed me to pass.

  I did not tarry long as there was not much to see. Anonymous was a relatively small speakeasy, and the relentless flames took no time at all to consume and destroy it. I uncovered a few mounds of rubble, searching for any signs of Meg, but I found nothing. When I approached what once would have been the rear of the establishment, and the place where Meg and I set up our “office,” I noticed one of the walls was completely collapsed.
I could see directly into the dark alley. I stepped over a large pile of burnt wood and ashes and started down the shadowed alley, a volley of battling emotions wreaking havoc with my heart.

  As I progressed down the filthy street, I was glad to move away from the firemen and the scene of the crime. I tried to decide what my next step should be. Certainly I intended to assassinate O’Banion, and Torrio too, for that matter. But other than that, I had no other plan. I did not know what more I could do, nor where I could go. I supposed I could just move away from Chicago altogether—and perhaps return to the sophistication and familiarity of Europe.

  My speculative thoughts were interrupted when I heard a sound on my right side. I glanced over and noticed a few crates were piled beside the rear entrance of a grocery store. In front of the crates were overfilled bags of trash that were now being investigated by a swarm of rodents and a stray dog. I continued past the dog until I heard the strange sound again. It was almost as if someone were coughing. Turning around, I approached the messy crates as the dog instantly retreated, carrying what appeared to be a rib bone in his mouth.

  “Bram?” I heard Meg’s voice in my head and it sounded hoarse and very slight. Hearing her voice in my thoughts was no surprise since we regularly communicated telepathically. Mental telepathy was one of the primary links between a vampire and his maker.

  Even though Meg’s voice sounded as if it were coming from behind the crates, I could see nothing in the darkness. Taking a few steps nearer the crates, I glanced down, but could only see black shadows.

  “Meg?” I said out loud as I crouched down onto my knees. Only then could I manage to make out the whites of her eyes against the darkness that concealed her. “My God,” I exclaimed as soon as my vision adjusted and I could see her more clearly.

  She seemed like nothing more than charred remains. She was completely black, without any skin or hair remaining on her person. Her lips, nose and ears had been completely burned away, but her eyes were still intact, although the eyelids were missing. Her eyes appeared like white, glowing orbs. As I examined the length of her body, I could not help shuddering with shock and horror. A jolt of my former humanity raced down my spine. She was missing her right arm altogether, and her left arm was scorched to nothing more than a humerus bone. Both of her legs were also missing, and only the upper half of her pelvis remained. She reminded me of a gory, amputated Hallow’s Eve prop.