Stephen flew over the I-95 highway, beyond the off ramp and out of the starry sky, his wings cutting through the warm night. The motel loomed larger as he approached out of the night, with the repeating red doors side-by-side as he headed for number twenty. A stray bulldog retreated from the area as it sensed trouble, barking once with fear in its voice and then another big dog barked from somewhere north of him. As he entered the motel he changed from bat form to the shape of a human and landed with a thud for effect that made Thelma jump. He was a solid black man built like a football player, with brown eyes and perfect teeth. He had a wide nose but was otherwise good looking. He could have landed with the lightness of a feather but that would not have had the desired effect. He studied the scene and noticed the seedy condition of the place. Stephen shook his head at the smell of it.
“So?” Stephen was anxious for the information. His eyes touched on all of them.
“She’s too freaking high; we can’t access her mind properly.”
“You can’t MIND her?”
“Nope,” Joshua stated. “All you get in there is unbalanced conditions with erratic thoughts. Apparently she’s a big U2 fan and likes to eat chalk.”
“And it’s the correct Thelma Gordon.”
Joshua sat on the bed and she moved away from him. He nodded with his pleasant enough face. Several seconds of silence gave way. “She admits to dating Zacharia.”
She was indeed the one he had been searching for, but her condition might be a detriment. There hadn’t been any others even willing to admit that they knew Zacharia. Stephen considered what to do next. Not being able to enter her mind and poke around in there was a definite liability. In there he could search for the knowledge and verify it with distant memories and scenes containing Zacharia. But without being able to achieve the brain thing he needed other leverage. He might not be able to tell a lie from the truth, and at this time she was the only viable lead. His blue eyes shifted from one side to the other. He scratched his head as the room remained silent. “She’s going to need a fix soon. What is she on?”
“None of your damn business,” she said with attitude. “I’m on the bed, that’s what I’m on.”
“We found several empty plastic baggies with heroin residue in the washroom. At least I think it’s heroin.” Matt also sat on the old mattress but then quickly stood up. “Bedbugs. This place is so gross.”
“Thelma, we’re going to keep you here until you tell us. If I were you I’d spill it now before the shaking and the vomiting starts. Will heroin withdrawal produce shaking and vomiting? I really don’t know much about heroin. Keep her here until I get back.” Stephen opened and blurred out the door, and forty minutes elapsed before he returned.
Stephen took a baggie containing white powder out of his right suit pocket and shook it at her.
“Who the hell are you guys to judge me? You bastards drink blood for a living.” Thelma’s eyes lit up as much as they were able to in her current state. She longed for the bag as a sober wino would an unopened bottle of wine. Resistance was becoming more futile though the thought of giving in was distasteful. She reached under the pillow and took out her Nine and Company Abbey mini red handbag, and out of it she took pen and paper. Thelma paused and was again captured by the white in the baggie, but hesitated for only a few seconds. Zacharia had once been an exceptional part of her life, and the only pleasant thoughts that she could now pull out of that exhausted brain. She was giving up someone that she had once loved, but now it was only drugs that she cherished. She ripped out a page and wrote Zacharia’s last known address and flung it on the bed. “He’ll probably kill all of you bastards. He knows Dracula. I saw your Master once you know; he’s sooooooo sexy.”
Joshua picked up the paper and studied it. Her handwriting was atrocious but he did manage to decipher the address. He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “He’s in Spain.” He gave the paper to Stephen.
Stephen examined the paper. “I know this location. I have business in Charlotte and then we’ll head out tomorrow night. Thelma, if this information is incorrect we’ll be back because we know your stench.”
He threw the baggie on the bed and she grabbed it with such enthusiasm, and brought it to her cheek like a mother being reunited with her baby. Her hands shook as she opened the small bag and verified it. What was to come was already appreciated in that white powder. Heroin had her by the neck and was in the process of choking the life out of her, and not so slowly anymore.
They collectively blurred out of the hotel with such velocity that Thelma’s hair was blown by the air current, with the door remaining open to the night air. A lost American bulldog peered into the room sheepishly, and was not at all appreciative of the odor within. The dog continued off into the night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PIERS ANTHONY SPENT two days down the forest path across from the old Mill on the Mill Road. Time was different for biters as it appeared to slow down dramatically. It had a different flow to it than the mortal world. The author remained in a period of adjustment, and felt at times as if he continued to have one foot in the mortal world, trapped in deep mud. His dreams were now too real and too colorful; sleep was no longer as satisfying as it once was. His nightmare of feeding on a mountain of raw steaks was particularly disturbing, especially when the meat commenced to talk to him about different plot lines.
Down the forest path Piers had watched bikers and walkers and runners go by as he formulated new plots for several future books. He also considered different ways to reach Dracula, perhaps the most complex being on the planet. Getting to know the Master was like getting to know the ocean. He had finally made his way back to the bench that was cemented into the ground, located not far from Martin Street, and watched the mallard ducks approach him in the muddy water looking for bread, but they soon tired of waiting and wandered off. Sitting and staring at nothing as the hours passed.
It was evening and an indecisive rain had commenced, off and on. Piers decided to walk up the small hill, and head across the street and have another go at Dracula. It could be dangerous but too many people were perishing at the hands of the vamps, and even though the Master had proclaimed it to be illegal to travel in gangs, more and more cliques were being created. One such biker gang had originated out of Cape Coral, Florida, and in less than six months had become legendary killers. Witnesses that had survived seeing the killers had reported that they all drove Harley-Davidson bikes, and wore blood-red vests with a fangs logo on their backs with dripping blood. Two red sheriffs had tracked them down to a farm in Virginia, but discovered that their bikes had been abandoned as they had probably fled only a half hour prior to their arrival. They also found the slaughtered owners and their family members and workers strewn about. They destroyed the bikes and set them aflame, but the act didn’t give them much satisfaction.
The author had fond memories of Cape Coral, and remembered that the city had more miles of canals than any other city on the planet. He remembered the scenic drive across the Midpoint Bridge that crossed the Caloosahatchee River which connected the cities of Cape Coral and Fort Myers, and how the day had been so hot that it gave the air conditioner almost more than it could handle. His thoughts jumped around from one thing to another, always ending up on another approach to Dracula that could indeed be hazardous to his health. The idea of getting his head knocked off was worrisome, but Piers appeared to be one of the few that he tolerated these days. He considered it to be a compliment in a peculiar sort of way, but thought that perhaps it also brought a degree of responsibility.
The author soon found himself in front of the Master’s residence, staring up at the second story window. The old Victorian dwelling had been given a facelift less than a month after Dracula moved in, and now the place looked more modern with its brown aluminum siding. Piers was anxious about going in but knew that he would have to swallow his fear. Simply being in Dracula’s presence could be debilitating. He stared at the house for several minutes, going over i
n his head what would be the best thing to say, but all he could manage was to dismiss one thing after another. Suddenly alert to the fact that Dracula was aware of his presence, and could in fact see him in his mind’s eye standing out there. Piers actually felt him poking around in his mind as if going through the bathroom cabinet in search of telling things. It was disconcerting. He was not yet accustomed to his vampire vehicle, and like a new car he wasn’t sure what the hell it could do. A crow looked down upon him from the roof and cawed.
Piers shook his head at the bird. “Everyone’s a critic.”
Piers Anthony found Dracula prone with his ankles crossed on his Jaquenetta white leather sectional sofa with chaise as he stared off at nothing in particular. He was wearing black silk pajamas and black socks. It was eerie how he didn’t even blink as he ignored the writer staring down at him. He had such a look that he may as well have been an inanimate replica of the human form; his mind appeared to have paused. There was that blank expression that showed the emptiness of his existence, and as much movement in the Talaat Harb statue in downtown Cairo where Dracula used to like to hang.
“Dracula, come out and have a drink with me.”
“Go away. Did you happen to notice that I put emphasis on those words?”
“You can tell me about some of your past adventures.”
“No.”
He stared at Dracula and pondered on what to say next. It might actually be necessary to annoy him a little. Best course of action might be to just turn around and flee. One thing was for certain, doing the wrong thing might be the last thing he ever did. That unwelcoming face was disturbing. “I’ve come all the way from Florida at considerable time and expense, and believe me when I say that it wasn’t easy to track you down, having to pay a seer a wad of cash to zero in on you. And that’s all you have to say?”
“Go away now.”
“Nice.”
Dracula sat up and blinked; he sat up so rapidly that it could have easily been construed as a threat. “Only if you can get me a bottle of Tequila Ley .925. I’ll imbibe and you can diatribe.”
Piers smiled a knowing grin that didn’t go unnoticed. “Okay.”
“No, you did not.”
“I had a bottle of it shipped from your cellar in California to a nearby bar. A private bar on Main Street.”
Dracula stood up and sighed. Perhaps it would simply be best to humor him and get it over with. “You do realize that bottle cost me over two hundred thousand dollars. What if they accidentally drop and break it?”
Piers nodded and nodded. “Then I postulate that I’ll be fleeing the area. Far and fast shall I travel. I shall displace the wind as something that displaces wind. That didn’t come out properly. In any case, that’s why it’s under guard at the bar. I didn’t want to risk dropping it. I think that it might be best that you drink it before it does get dropped.”
“The Platinum and White Gold bottle?”
“Good guess.”
“I didn’t know you cared.”
“Someone has to care.”
Dracula raised an eyebrow and somehow even that was menacing. “I would imagine that all humans are commencing to believe that all vampires have hearts of stone.”
“Another good guess.”
CHAPTER NINE
SOUTHWESTERN EUROPE ON THE IBERIAN PENINSULA night had fallen after a hard rain. Mother Nature had completely saturated the area though now the sky was relatively empty, but more precipitation was on the way. The five had flown east across the Atlantic Ocean from Charlotte North Carolina in bat form, and had settled into the cobbled streets of Toledo Spain. A city plush in history, with swords having been manufactured there in Roman times. They walked five abreast with the confidence of the mafia out to intimidate, all wearing charcoal suits with navy blue ties. They permitted their footsteps to echo off the walls of the nearby buildings instead of being surreptitious. The crescent moon reflected out of the large pork chop shaped puddle and into their luminescent eyes.
A club stake was cooking somewhere, and its scent wafted lightly on the air.
Stephen, Matt, Joshua, Noah and Luke were sandwiched between two buildings. Their John Lobb shoes continued to clop on the cobblestone path. It was a bit of a tradition for vampires to drop their surnames once turned into the undead as they considered themselves a new and improved species, and almost always tossed their prior history like so much junk. When the reality of a vampire was attained, their essence changed depending on their true hearts. Nasty humans tended to transform into true monsters that needed to be put down.
“Do you hear that?” Joshua asked.
“We all hear it,” said Matt.
They could all perceive the storm that was approaching from over fifty miles away; rumbles of distant thunder and far off wind gusts. Their hearing was supernatural and it had been a challenge to control when they were first turned into biters. The amplified sounds were quite unsettling for some vampires. It was one of the first things a new vampire had to accomplish an adjusting of one’s hearing. On rare occasions it drove them insane.
“In the days when I was first turned,” said Matt. “Almost drove me crazy. The sound of distant thunder under a clear sky was maddening. And this guy on the next street was playing a war game, and I was running around like a fool dodging bullets. He tasted pretty good though and then I finished the game.”
They all stopped in unison, their heads turned up and to the left as a small poodle was scented up on a barred balcony relaxing and enjoying the night air. A door behind the animal revealed an illuminated living room where his master was taking a nap on the sofa, out of sight because of the elevation. The dog’s black nose twitched as it scented the gang below, and it didn’t like what it smelled. It lifted its head cautiously observing the gang of vampires. The dog’s nose was assaulted by their odor, its head jerked from the distaste of it. It allowed itself a low growl as it looked down from above.
Stephen, the leader of the five, nodded and smiled. “Watch this, gonna make a doggie pancake.”
“Can I do it?” asked Luke.
“No.”
“Make it jump,” said Joshua. He adjusted his tie and watched with interest as another rumble of thunder was heard in the distance.
Stephen whispered into the night air and the white dog immediately stood tall and at attention, as if his master was beckoning him with the sweetest voice. The dog could see a non-existent trail of light dancing into the night. It then realized that something was amiss and it wanted to back up and escape but discovered that it couldn’t move unless commanded to do so. The animal approached the edge and its eyes connected with the vampire down below. A slight movement of his right hand he commanded it to jump. The poodle managed to get itself onto a nearby wicker chair and launched itself over the five-story balcony, with its legs flailing all the way down. It tumbled like a misshapen snowball. It hit the cobblestones with a squeak as the life and air was forced out of it, and it was quite amusing to the biters. Its blood flowed into a nearby puddle.
“And that’s how you make a doggie pancake.” Stephen was proud of himself.
They five had spent part of the day at the Alcazar of Toledo and the medieval Alcazar of Segovia near the Guadarrama mountains, a beautiful stone fortification, with part of the impressive castle resembling the bow of a ship. The castle was out on a rocky bluff above the convergence of the rivers Eresma and Clamores. They were impressed with the Hall of Ajimeces and its works of art. Dracula had considered it one of the great structures of the world at one point, but presently the Master didn’t consider much of anything. Stephen had grown up there as a boy and had been transformed into a vampire three weeks after his twenty-first birthday. Although he was going home, he was so wrapped up in the glory that was to come that he couldn’t enjoy it. It was a time of restless anticipation.
“Why the hell are we making so much noise? Why don’t we just sneak up on this guy and attack him?” Luke was also anxious to get things going. He
was the last one that had been turned, and normally would have been the low biter, but he was second only to the leader because of his ability. Without his talent it would be impossible to track Dracula.
Stephen looked at him with cold eyes as he had explained it all before. “We don’t want to sneak up on this guy. He’s too powerful. We’ll attempt to show him some respect, initially.”
“And you’re sure he knows the location?” Noah asked.
“He has the information but getting it is something else. He’s an experienced fighter and that worries me. It’s not gonna do us any good if we all get killed here.”
“Where is he now?” Stephen asked Luke.
“Who?”
“Who the hell do you think?”
“Oh, give me a second.” Luke stopped and cocked his head as a dog would and concentrated. His eyelashes fluttered as he went into himself. A small part of his soul traveled up into the dark sky. “He’s still in Canada. Still in Moncton. As a matter of fact, he appears to be in the same location that he was two months ago. I don’t even think he goes outside. Seems a bit strange.”
Matt snapped his fingers and pointed at Luke. “That is so cool. What’s it like? How do you do it? I can’t do it. I’ve tried to do it but I get nothing.”
“It’s like being able to control a dream, and for the few of us that do have the ability it’s not easy. I had to study maps, terrain. Geography can be a bitch when it’s a necessary thing. It doesn’t help to look down on a city that you don’t recognise. I can place my sight almost as high as a satellite looking down, or go as low as ten feet off the ground. Why my vision always searches out the master I don’t know. He appears as a red beacon from a distance, a small oval blob. ”
“If some of us bite the big one in there, we have to make sure that it’s not Luke, otherwise if Dracula decides to move we’re screwed.”
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