Ancient Blood: A Novel of the Hegemony

by Brian McKinley

  HEGEMONY OF BLOOD

  A Novel of The Order Saga

  Brian Patrick McKinley

  Copyright 2016 by Brian Patrick McKinley

  This is a work of fiction. All persons, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  DEDICATION

  To my mother, for everything

  PART ONE

  The vampire is mankind’s oldest monster, a mirror of our feelings about ourselves and our mortality. It exists in the folklore of almost every country in history. For me, however, the vampire is a symbol of life, possibility, power, mystery, sexuality and control over my own destiny. Born into the generation people call X (as if to cross it out or deny it completely), I grew up in an age without direction, the age without heroes, the age of the beautiful vampire.

  - Avery Doyle, “What Vampires Mean to Me,” Pathway to Darkness Online, 1999.

  February, 2006

  This isn’t the vampire novel I intended to write.

  This isn’t a novel, of course but I’m writing it that way. It’s a technique I was taught by Dr. Hanson after my suicide attempt when I was fourteen. The irony is that I’ve been trying to write a new “landmark of vampire fiction” for about fifteen of my thirty years now and all I’ve got to show for it are some lame short stories, two very rough first drafts and an unsold screenplay.

  I never thought my life would become the story but that’s what happened when I met Caroline.

  It was a Sunday night in early August and I was working at Oracle Books in Princeton, one of those cluttered little New Age bookstores just off Nassau Street. I’ve always said that I’m a romantic who doesn’t believe in love at first sight but Caroline interested and attracted me from the moment she walked through the door ten minutes before closing.

  There was something in her graceful plainness that drew me. She reminded me of the women from Nineteenth Century literature, like Mina Harker or a Bronte heroine brought forward to the modern day. Her lack of body fat makes her look waifish and flat-chested but I don’t mind because I’m not a breast man. Her fair skin has become baby-pale from her years out of the sun and yet there’s nothing sickly or frail about her.

  Michelle and I had broken up for the fourth and final time about three years before and I hadn’t gotten laid since, so it shouldn’t surprise you that I gave romantic consideration to almost every woman under forty I came in contact with. Unfortunately, at the time I weighed about two-hundred and fifty pounds and had recently been told I resembled the fat Hobbit from Lord of the Rings. So, consideration is about as far as I ever got until that night.

  After a minute or two of watching her wander past the shelves of scented ceremonial candles and shake her head in bemusement at some of the titles in Self Empowerment, I worried that she was about to turn around and walk out. After straightening my clothes a little, I tried to sound professional as I asked, “Is there anything I can help you find?”

  She glided around the racks to my little display-case register area. “Yes, thank you. I’d appreciate that very much.”

  She smiled at me and the smile changed her entire face. The cheeks and forehead that seemed too prominent came into balance, the mouth that was too small expanded into a focal point that rivaled her brilliant green eyes and the pale skin flushed with radiant health. The subtle beauty hidden within the seeming awkwardness of her features emerged in its glory with that smile. And it was all for me.

  “I’m looking for a guide or primer on … well, I suppose you’d call it metaphysics—but I’m looking for a serious work. Not one of those silly paperbacks of pithy sayings.” She laughed—an honest, down-to-earth laugh rather than the polite chuckle I would have expected—and it was a sound I knew I wanted to hear more of. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a pest. I realize you’re getting ready to close.”

  She didn’t fidget or sway, just stood with her hands clasped in front of her and waited. Her fingers bore no rings of any kind.

  “Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” I hurried to reassure her, coming out from behind my little glass island. “We’ve actually got a lot of serious texts in our Philosophical Science section.”

  “Philosophical Science?” Her eyebrows arched with a touch of irony.

  I smiled. “Yeah, Jan finds the usual labels restrictive or judgmental or just plain inaccurate. It’s a thing of hers. So, are you looking for a basic overview of metaphysical thought or something specific that you’re not sure what to call?”

  “Hmmm, I guess I’d have to say the latter. I hate to be so vague but I’m not familiar enough with these categories to know how to refer to specific subjects. I suppose something like Eastern philosophy or medicine would be close but…”

  Standing so close to her, I noticed she was taller than she seemed at first. Her emerald eyes were almost level with mine.

  “Well,” I said. “Maybe if you tell me what you need the book for, I can point you toward the best one for the job. Also, anything we don’t have in stock, I can probably special order.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I don’t live around here. Still, if we’re going to get into such personal territory, I’d feel more comfortable knowing each other’s names, at least.” She held out her hand. “Kimberly.”

  Inspired by her playful gravity, I took her fingers and kissed the back of her hand. I’d done this enough in vampire clubs to be almost natural about it. Her skin was even smoother and softer than I’d imagined, with a faint scent of peaches from some kind of lotion. “Delighted to make your acquaintance,” I said in my most charismatic vampire tone, deciding to go for the whole effect. “I’m Avery.”

  “Avery,” she repeated, as if tasting it. “That’s an uncommon name. It’s Old English and derives from the term for an elf king.”

  “Right. Unfortunately, all my royal subjects deserted me for a better benefits package with Santa. So, do you study names in general or just the ones relating to elf kings?”

  Caroline (Kimberly) laughed again. “Well, mythology and folklore have always been a passion of mine.”

  “Really? Me too but you were gonna explain what you’re looking for…”

  “Right. Well, you have to promise not to laugh.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She smiled and for the first time, showed physical signs of awkwardness. I braced myself, thinking it must be something really outrageous to be worth all this embarrassment.

  “All right, then, Avery. How much do you know about vampires? Chinese vampires, to be—”

  I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. The more I tried to stop, the funnier the situation became. “I’m … I’m sorry…”

  Caroline looked annoyed at first but then she broke into giggles. “Well, now I know what your promises are worth.”

  “I’m not laughing at you, I swear. It’s just that you don’t know how ironic it is that you happened to come to me with that question. I’m something of an expert on vampires: historical, literary, cinematic, folkloric … you name it.”

  Instead of being relieved or laughing more, Caroline got an odd look on her face and glanced away. “Really? Well … I suppose that is an interesting coincidence.”

  “So, you said Chinese vampires?”

  She nodded and I went over to Ancient Cultures and Mysteries, grabbed a copy of Willoughby-Mead’s Chinese Ghouls and Goblins and Religious System of China by deRoot. Both were from the early Twentieth Century but were still the most detailed recordings of Chinese vampires I’d found. Believe me, I’ve looked.

  “These two are your best bet for starters,” I told her upon my return. “The Shen, or Guaiwu as
it’s sometimes pronounced, is the best known and most documented of the Chinese vampires. It’s your standard demon-animated corpse, traditionally thought to be caused by moonlight shining onto an unburied body and infusing the ‘lower soul’ with enough positive energy to make it possible for a blood-drinking demon to take up residence. They’re described as covered in white mossy fur with huge fangs, red eyes—”

  “Wait. I’m sorry, I let myself get sidetracked and wasn’t very clear,” Caroline said, touching my hands instead of taking the books from me. Her odd reaction was gone and she was once again my mildly embarrassed Bronte heroine. “I’m very familiar with the traditional folklore—in fact I think I may have read one of those books you’re holding. Let me explain. I’m a novelist and I’ve been commissioned to write a novel featuring a Shen but I have to work within scientific boundaries. So, what I’m really trying to do is not only understand how the Shen operate in traditional folklore but also figure out how something like that could exist and function in the real world. Do you understand what I mean?”

  Cute, intelligent and a fellow vampire writer? I couldn’t be more excited.

  “That is a tough one. Unless,” I added with a sudden inspiration, “your editor isn’t rigidly conservative in their view of the real world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I saw an opportunity and, for once, didn’t let my fear of rejection keep me from taking it. I set the Chinese folklore books down for later re-shelving. “Tell you what, I gotta close up the store now but I’ll grab some books that are in the area of what you’re looking for. Then, you let me buy you dinner at The Alchemist—or maybe that sushi place—and we’ll discuss the information you need in more detail. When we’re done, I’ll sell you whichever books you think you’ll need and return the rest. How’s that?”

  She was smiling, so I expected either a bemused agreement or a gentle retreat. I never expected her to one-up me. “That sounds fine, except I just ate. So, why don’t we just go to your place? Do you live nearby?”

  “Yeah, uh, I’m … in Trenton.”

  “That’s fine, as long as I can get to a bus or train station.”

  Of course, I was still Zombie Boy at that point but I think I managed something clever like: “Uh, sure. I’ve got some books there that we don’t have in stock.”

  Cary Grant’s got nothing on me.

  * * * * *

  When we got to my place—the second floor of a row house I’d originally rented with Michelle—I got some cold pizza out of the fridge and we talked long into the night.

  It felt like I’d found the other half of myself.

  I did my best to explain the results of all the research I’d done a few years ago for my own story about an Asian vampire, as well as all the basics of magical theory I’d picked up over the years. Our debates were respectful, passionate and invigorating. Caroline really put me to the test, asking very insightful questions and refusing to settle for answers that didn’t meet her standards of plausibility. She also amazed me with her own depth of knowledge on subjects as varied as psychology, history, politics, biology, physics, philosophy and mythology. After hours of poring over the books and talking through scenarios, we’d managed to work out a reasonable theory of how something like a Shen could exist, given certain hypothetical variables. As someone who really loves long, intelligent conversations, I was in heaven.

  I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to make a pass at her that night but I’d committed myself to being a gentleman and trying for a second “date” instead. So, around three or four, I was about to offer her a ride home and try to ask for her phone number when she slid over and put me in a serious lip-lock.

  Still, being insecure enough to worry about losing this wonderful girl I’d found because in the light of day, she might decide that I’d pushed her further than she’d wanted to go, I did pause a few times in the make-out process to give her a chance to call a halt. However, after that first kiss, she was decidedly passive.

  Caroline and I never made it out of my living room that night, though I managed to lay the futon out flat. Caroline will probably kill me for writing about this but it was one of the things that really made me fall in love with her. As the clothes came off, I began moving my kisses in a steadily southward direction. Being not particularly well-hung, good-looking, or wealthy (not to mention impotent when nervous or under stress), I’ve come to appreciate the benefits of having a good oral sex technique in addition to the more standard skills. So, just as I got into position and started, she jumped and asked me what I was doing. She sounded scared.

  I managed to reassure her and continue but between that and her surprised reactions to the pleasure itself, I realized that she’d never had this done before! There’s something so touching about being able to give someone pleasure in a way she has never experienced before—not that Caroline was a virgin but I got the feeling that any previous lovers had been more concerned with satisfying themselves and she’d become resigned to that. So, I took my time, drew the experience out and tried to make it as wonderful for her as I could.

  I’m happy to report that my little trip south of the border also boosted my confidence enough that I had no problems of an erectile nature when we made love but no, I’m sorry to say that it wasn’t “safe,” since the last rubbers I’d bought had expired about a year before. A lesson for the kiddies: I didn’t use protection during sex and now I’m a vampire. No, I’m kidding.

  Anyway, I won’t say that it was perfect—your first time together is never your best—but I will say that the joy of discovery and depth of feeling I’d built for her in such a short time more than made up for the awkward moments. Caroline cried during our climax. Not full-out weeping, just silent tears in her eyes right there at the end. If I hadn’t been crazy about her by then, I think that would have done it for me.

  * * * * *

  When I woke up, hours later, she was gone.

  The little air conditioner in the window kicking on was what woke me. The sun had risen and the temperature was already starting to climb. I was light-headed and groggy but realized that her stuff was gone. She’d also taken the books I’d picked out for her and left a hundred dollar bill to cover them (a lot more than I’d paid). There was a Band-Aid on my arm, just above my inner elbow.

  On the pad next to the phone, she’d left a note:

  Avery,

  I’m sorry to have to leave you like this but I can’t stay or explain myself further. I accidentally cut your arm with my nail while moving it and I hope the bandage was sufficient. Thank you for the books and for a truly wonderful evening! Again, I’m sorry.

  She’d started to sign below that but scribbled it out and wrote “Kimberly” instead. No number, no nothing. I remember the note very well because I must have reread it a hundred times in the week that followed, imagining a wide variety of tones it could have been written in. I called off both my jobs that day, went back to bed in my bedroom and slept until the next morning.

  The next week or so was hell. I did my best to forget her and move on but the memories haunted me. I tried to write but I couldn’t, so I just read when I could get up the interest. At work I was listless and irritable, snacking and going out for meals more often than I could afford. Jan, my boss at Oracle, was sympathetic when I told her about my “date” and offered to have her coven pray for the Goddess to help me love myself. I told her I’d been doing that without help since I was thirteen. On nights when I wasn’t working, I sat around at home and watched my Buffy DVDs and stuffed my face.

  About a week later, I cleaned out the little trash basket in the living room and found a cotton ball with blood on it. I couldn’t think of how it’d gotten there until I remembered my arm. The cut was deep and still hadn’t completely healed. Sniffing the cotton ball, I recognized the medicinal smell of an over-the-counter topical anesthetic. The same kind Michelle had used on me when we exchanged blood as part of our lovemaking, before I started to enjoy the pain of th
e cut.

  I realized my new girl was also a vampire.

  I had to find her again!

  * * * * *

  Being a member of the vampire subculture for years, I’d hung with psychic vampires, people who role-played as vampires, people who just liked a little blood sharing with their sex and people who really believed they were creatures of the night (complete with coffins and dentally-bonded fangs). That night, I took the train up to New York and hit The Sanguinarian, one of the biggest vamp clubs in the city. I got no results from describing her, so I paid an artist I know to do a sketch.

  The next night, I told the Captain at my security job that I’d had an emergency in my family and needed to take all my vacation days. Since I hadn’t requested the time two weeks in advance, he said I would have to quit if I wanted more than a day or two. I said fine and asked him to mail my last check. I kept the day job at Oracle, since I figured “Kimberly” for a night person. I wasn’t sure how I’d be paying all my bills come September but I didn’t care.

  I hit every vampire and Goth club in New York with the sketch and came up empty. I wondered why somebody with a need for blood that compelled her to drink from one night stands wouldn’t frequent clubs full of willing donors. I tried the clubs in Philly. Ditto.

  I figured Kimberly was probably an alias, so I kept my eyes open in Princeton in case she’d also lied about not living nearby. The more I thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that she’d just happened to come into Oracle that night, looking for books about vampires. She’d come to my apartment that night fully prepared to take blood and she’d done it with a skill that only came from practice. Perhaps she was a nurse but I was certain she was no amateur. She chose me. Her timing, her approach and possibly even her appearance had been specifically designed for me.