Deal with the Devil

by Kevin Lee Swaim

  Callie inspected the building and frowned. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

  I chewed on my lip. “Henry knows what he’s doing.”

  As I spoke, Henry approached the truck and tapped on the window. “This is it.”

  I didn’t roll down the window. “So you say.”

  “You’ll be safe,” Henry assured us. “Both of you.”

  “How do you know?” Callie asked.

  Henry leaned closer to the window and scowled. “Because I’ll kill them all if you aren’t.”

  Callie swallowed nervously but nodded.

  I got out and opened the tailgate, grabbing Callie’s shotgun from the tool chest in the back. It was barely past noon, but the streets were deserted.

  “It’s damned eerie,” I muttered.

  Callie had gotten out and joined me in the back. “I don’t like this.”

  I agreed with her. In the back of my head, a voice was screaming that I was in mortal danger. The oily blackness against my soul had increased. Standing next to Henry was bad enough, but there was even more of the dark sensation than normal.

  There are vampires in that building, and we’re going inside. Aren’t we the fools.

  I handed Callie the shotgun, who took it from me as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and then removed my Kimber and Galco shoulder holster from the tool chest and strapped it on.

  Henry inspected us and nodded approvingly.

  “Are you going to tell us it’s not necessary?” I asked.

  “Someone has most likely killed a lot of young men,” Henry said. “From this point on, I’d say it’s damned necessary.”

  “Who is this vampire we’re going to see?” I asked.

  “Her name is Lottie Graham,” Henry said. “She’s the Vampire Queen of Chicago. Just follow me and don’t speak until I tell you to.”

  Callie brushed past me and withdrew a cloth bandolier full of shotgun shells, slung it across her shoulder, and racked the shotgun, chambering a shell before removing another one from the bandolier and putting it in the magazine. She patted nervously at the heavy silver crucifix that dangled between her bosom. “I’m ready.”

  We followed Henry across the dirt lot and up a set of worn concrete steps to an old steel door. The sound of the city was muted, but a rumble of nearby machinery vibrated inside my chest. “What is that?”

  “Refrigerators.”

  “Refrigerators?”

  “This is cold-storage for the meat-packing industry,” Henry said. “That’s the sound of industrial refrigeration units.”

  Callie blinked. “I really don’t like this.”

  “I’m with her,” I said. “Do we have to go in?”

  Henry sighed. “Could you honestly look into the eyes of the fathers and mothers of those missing young men and tell them that something killed their boys and you did nothing to stop it?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “No. I guess I couldn’t.”

  “Then we do this,” Henry said. He knocked on the rusty steel door, and there was a booming from within as the heavy steel reverberated.

  Several minutes passed, and then an older black man with graying hair and steel-rimmed glasses opened the door. He wore a charcoal double-breasted suit that hadn’t been fashionable since the turn of the nineteenth century, and his shoes were polished black leather. The man stared at us with a mild sense of interest and asked in a low voice, “May I help you?”

  “Cornelius,” Henry said. There was a hardness in his voice that I could practically feel. “Remember me?”

  The man’s eyes widened, and his face went unnaturally still. “Yes,” he drawled. “I believe I do. What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

  “We need to speak to the queen.”

  The man glanced from Henry to us, and his eyes narrowed. “These … folks are not vampires. They’re—”

  “Yes,” Henry said. “They are.”

  “You want to speak with Lottie? I’m afraid that’s … inconvenient. She’s not receiving visitors.”

  “Oh?” Henry asked. “I’m here in an official capacity. Tell her I wish to speak with the Queen of Chicago.”

  Hurried footsteps echoed from within, and a black woman in her mid twenties came around the corner and stopped dead in her tracks. “What—”

  “Minerva,” Cornelius said. “The sheriff would like to speak with the queen. Official business.”

  The woman was startlingly beautiful, with short-cropped hair that practically glistened in the reflected light and teeth that gleamed like they were lit from within. Her skin under her floral sundress was a luscious shade of chocolate.

  Before she became a vampire, she must have turned heads wherever she went.

  She stared at us with barely veiled contempt. “The sheriff? You brought humans? They had better be a meat treat—”

  “Minerva,” Cornelius hissed. “You forget yourself. The sheriff is to be treated with the utmost respect.”

  “I don’t have to do nothing,” Minerva said. “He ain’t—”

  Henry growled, and the hind part of my brain screamed at me to run.

  I resisted the sudden urge to pee my pants.

  The effect on Minerva was instant. She bowed her head and took a quick step back like a whipped dog. “Sorry, Sheriff. Corny is right. I forgot my place. Why are you in Chicago?”

  “Where are the rest of your clutch?”

  “They’re occupied,” Cornelius said, a tad too quickly.

  “I’m here to see Lottie. Will you take me to your queen?”

  Minerva raised her head, and her tongue flicked across her lips. “The queen ain’t receiving. She ain’t seen visitors since—”

  “The queen isn’t fit to see you,” Cornelius said carefully.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Minerva glanced my way. “He’s a … hunter,” she said to Cornelius. “I can smell it on him. Don’t tell him anything.”

  “Sam is with me in an official capacity,” Henry said. “The Sister, too.”

  “You brought a hunter and a nun to see the queen?” Cornelius asked. “Surely you jest.”

  “I believe a large number of young men have been murdered,” Henry said. “It makes the Ancients nervous. You will take me to the queen, and you will treat my guests as if they were also representatives of the Ancients.”

  Cornelius swallowed hard. “I remember your last visit, Sheriff. We have not harmed a human since that day. I can assure you that our needs are met without violence. Meeting with the queen isn’t necessary.”

  “What are you hiding?” I asked. “I may not be a vampire, but even I can tell something is up.”

  Cornelius regarded us calmly. “The queen doesn’t … concern herself with the city. Not anymore.”

  “I will see her,” Henry said. There was no malice in his voice, but it carried a weight to it that went beyond human. My skin crawled and it felt like a heavy hand pressing me to the ground.

  There was a flash of light from Callie’s chest, and the exposed part of her crucifix glowed with a white radiance stronger than the sun. Callie’s hand went to her chest and covered the crucifix, but the light spilling between her fingers caused the two vampires to shrink back.

  Henry turned to Callie. He didn’t back down, but he did avert his eyes and grimace. “Sorry, Sister. I didn’t mean for that to be so … powerful.”

  Callie was staring at the vampires. “Whatever business we have here, Sheriff…”

  Henry nodded and turned back to the two vampires and spoke in a guttural voice, “Cornelius Byron. Minerva Higby. Will you grant us safe passage, or will you deny the will of the Ancients?”

  “We—we grant you safe passage,” Cornelius said quickly, shielding his face with the back of his hand. “On our queen’s honor.”

  “Thank you,” Henry said. His voice regained his slight Southern twang. “I’d rather not have to kill you
all. Makes for an unpleasant afternoon.”

  * * *

  We followed the vampires deep into the building. The halls were dirty, and the dusty smell stung the back of my nose. Underneath it all was the coppery scent of blood. As disgusted as it made me, a tiny part of me thought it actually smelled … sweet.

  Dear God. What have I become?

  Callie walked next to me. The light from her crucifix had gone dark, but she carried her shotgun like she was ready to use it.

  When we reached the center of the building, Cornelius opened a giant door, exposing the room within.

  Sofas in various gaudy patterns were strewn throughout the large space, and blood-red drapes covered the windowless walls. The carpet was a red shag that would have looked right at home during Woodstock. A flat-panel television, easily one of the biggest I had seen, hung from the wall to our right. A young woman with skin the color of creamed coffee reclined on a couch to our left. Her head was shaved nearly bald, and she wore black sweatpants and a white cotton t-shirt.

  I would say that the woman was watching the television, but that doesn’t do it justice. She was … enraptured. On the screen, a sleazy-looking man argued with a beautiful blonde, and it took me a moment before I realized it was a soap opera.

  Cornelius cleared his throat. “My Queen? You have visitors.”

  The woman on the couch didn’t move.

  It’s like we aren’t even here.

  “My Queen?” Minerva said in a hushed tone.

  The woman turned to us, and her eyes stared vacantly. “Hmm. What you say?”

  “You have visitors,” Cornelius said firmly. “The sheriff is here. He brought guests.”

  Lottie Graham, the vampire queen of Chicago, shrugged and turned back to the television, picked up the remote control and turned up the volume. “Ain’t no reason to bother me,” Lottie said, her voice high-pitched and childlike. “Tell ’em to come back later.”

  “My Queen,” Henry said firmly. “I’m here on Ancient business.”

  Lottie acted as if she hadn’t heard, but she finally hit the mute button on the remote and growled, “You’re interrupting General Hospital.”

  “Forgive me,” Henry said, “but I’m here on order of the Ancients.”

  Lottie turned to us and raised an eyebrow. “Why they send you here?”

  “Many young men have disappeared,” Henry said. “The Ancients suspect—”

  “The Ancients think we been murdering them,” Lottie said. Her eyes drifted from Henry to Callie and finally settled on me. “You brought a holy woman and a hunter to kill me? I ain’t broke none of your rules.”

  “I didn’t say you killed the men,” Henry said. “And I didn’t bring Sam and Callie to kill you.”

  “What you bring them for, then? You told me to stop making children. You told me to quit killing. I did what you said.” She turned to Cornelius. “When was that, Corny?”

  The older vampire shifted uncomfortably. “I believe it was 1972, my Queen.”

  “See, Sheriff? We ain’t broke no rules.”

  Callie pointed her finger at Minerva. “That woman asked if we were meat treats no more than ten minutes ago. You expect us to believe you haven’t taken a life in over forty years?”

  The vampire queen turned to inspect Callie, her eyes flickering over the Sister from head to toe. “I ain’t got the thirst no more,” Lottie said. “Who do you think you are? You come in my home, calling me a liar. You think your God gonna keep you safe?”

  Behind the vampire queen, Minerva Higby cleared her throat. “They’re guests, my Queen. I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I meant exactly that,” Callie insisted. “Let me be clear. You are vampires. Unholy and unclean. Killing is what you do.”

  Instead of anger, Cornelius and Minerva looked almost … ashamed.

  I said, “I think what the sister means—”

  “Do not forget,” Henry said in a rumbling voice, “I know about the insatiable hunger. You think you control it, that you master it, but the hunger never wanes. It eats away inside your belly, clawing to get out. It’s the first thing you think about when you open your eyes and the last thing you think about when you lay your head to rest. The other emotions eventually fall away, but the hunger never does.”

  “I said we ain’t killed nobody,” Lottie shouted. “We’ve been living on stolen blood! I told you, we got no reason to kill no more—”

  “Do not lie to me,” Henry thundered. “No amount of scavenged blood replaces a proper feeding! That blood at the back of your throat as you steal away the last of their life force is the only way to truly feel satisfied. It is the only true thing we have in this wretched existence!”

  There was something more than anger in Henry’s voice. It drove Minerva and Cornelius to their knees. Even Lottie appeared shaken. She hung her head low, like a dog being punished by its master, much as Minerva had.

  I glanced over and saw Callie’s eyes widen, her lips drawn back between a gasp and a snarl. The crucifix between her breasts blazed to life; just the exposed top half peeking above her shirt was enough to bathe the room with an unearthly light.

  As those thoughts raced through my mind, my legs turned to rubber, and I sank to the floor under the weight of Henry’s words.

  No, no, no!

  A part in the back of my mind whispered that I should submit to Henry’s will, but a gravelly voice as old as the hills and full of grit, a voice that sounded remarkably like Jack’s, told me to stand up. Resist. Fight back.

  By the time I realized there wasn’t really a voice, the Kimber had appeared in my hand, and I was pointing it at the back of Henry’s head. “Whatever you’re doing, Henry…”

  He swiveled to face me, and the full weight of his eyes bored into mine. “I will discover the truth,” Henry barked as he withdrew the massive sword from the sheath slung over his back, “or I shall cleave these vampire’s heads from their bodies and conclude the Ancients’ business.”

  Chapter Five

  I kept my Kimber trained on Henry’s skull. “What are you doing, Henry?” The air thickened around us, and my lungs screamed for air. “Stop.”

  Callie raised her shotgun and pointed it at the back of Henry’s chest. “Stop, Sheriff, or I’ll pull this trigger. Not even you are fast enough to keep the silver from punching through you like tissue paper.”

  Henry stared at me and with eyes as cold and unforgiving as a winter storm. “They will answer, or they will suffer the Ancients’ wrath.”

  I started to speak, but before I could, Henry winked at me. His expression never softened, but I felt a slackening of the power radiating from him.

  The other vampires, apparently, didn’t feel any respite.

  “We ain’t done nothing,” Lottie cried. “Nothing!”

  “It’s true,” Minerva squeaked out. “The queen hasn’t left this building in twenty years. She’s done nothing but watch that damned television since Desmond—”

  “Minerva,” Cornelius said. “Hold your tongue, woman.”

  Henry spun to face them, and the feeling of overwhelming power evaporated. “Is this true, Queen of Chicago? You have neither killed nor given the gift? You have entombed yourself in this place?”

  “Yes,” Lottie said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I ain’t hunted, or killed, and I ain’t given no one the gift. I … don’t care ’bout such stuff no more. I just want to watch my shows.” She waved her hand at Cornelius and Minerva. “They bring me blood from the blood bank—”

  “You suffer from ennui,” Henry said. “It’s to be expected at your age.”

  Lottie blinked. “Huh?”

  “Can it be true?” Henry asked. “You really don’t know about the missing men?”

  “Desmond might know,” Minerva said quickly.

  Cornelius glared at her. “Minerva! Curse you!”

  Lottie spun on her heel, her body trembling, and to
ok a step closer to Minerva. “I done told you. Don’t you never mention his name!”

  “Desmond,” Henry mused. “Tell me what happened between you.”

  Lottie spun back to Henry. “It ain’t your business, Sheriff. I told you, we ain’t done nothing wrong. Just … take your mad dogs and go.”

  It took a few seconds, but I realized she was speaking about us. I nodded at Callie and holstered my Kimber.

  Callie lowered her shotgun and asked, “Don’t you care about your people? Young men are missing. Probably murdered. Don’t you care?”

  Lottie gave Callie a long, sad look. “Why should I? They ain’t ‘my people.’ I was born into slavery. Sold like an animal. They beat us, but not as bad as my own kind. Lincoln freed us, and I thought things was gonna change, but there wasn’t no change. There was war. I was worked harder. I was beaten harder. Then I got the gift. I killed my owners, and I killed the slaves that beat me. I went north, killing anyone who got in my way. By the time I got to Chicago, the war was over. I lived on the streets and watched the people. White folk. Black folk. They robbed and stole. They weren’t no better than what I left. It wasn’t until I gave Desmond the gift—”

  “Yes,” Henry said. “You had quite an attachment to Mr. Jackson. How did you part ways?”

  “Desmond was full of life,” Cornelius said. “He loved his club more than he loved his queen.”

  Lottie’s jaw trembled, but she said nothing.

  “He left you for his club?” Henry asked.

  “He took Elijah and Asa,” Lottie muttered. “He even took my sweet Greta.”

  The names meant nothing to me, but they clearly meant something to Henry. “This isn’t what I expected,” he said. “I am sorry, Lottie. I know how difficult your second century can be.”

  Lottie shook her head. “It gets better?”

  “Nothing lasts forever. Not love, nor hope, nor boredom, nor even us. We’ll take our leave now, Queen of Chicago. I bid you farewell.” He turned and shooed us from the room, but he stopped before we reached the threshold. “Think about what I said, Lottie.”

  The Vampire Queen of Chicago turned back to the television and pressed play, then collapsed into the worn sofa, her face going slack.