by Alex Bledsoe
She said nothing. Mark ordered wearily, “Answer him.”
She struggled against the urge to blurt the truth; again she lost. “I’m looking for a new kind of drug.”
Leo chuckled. “One more rich honky chick thinking she can get high with the niggers,” he said darkly. “Or maybe you are a narc.” He looked at Mark. “Ask her.”
Mark met her eyes. She could deny him nothing. “Are you with the police?”
She shook her head.
“What are you?”
She tried with all her will not to speak, to lie, to do anything but tell the truth. “I’m a doctor,” she said.
“Bullshit,” Olive said. She patted Danielle’s behind. “She ain’t old enough to be a doctor, she’s just a baby.”
Mark sighed. This just got better and better. He rubbed his temples. “Are you really a doctor?”
“Yes.” Now please touch me, she wanted to scream. “I’m thirty-one.”
“Are you married? Boyfriend, family?”
She shook her head.
“Hell, with knockers like that?” Leo said. “She’s bluffing. Somebody’ll be looking for them. I mean, for her.” He grinned.
“Either way, that’s one more reason to get off the street,” Mark said. “Come on, Doc.”
They moved so quickly through the dark that if Mark hadn’t taken her hand, Danielle would’ve never been able to keep up. As it was, she had to run, and she was too out of shape to do so easily. By the time they reached another gap in the fence and slipped through it she was drenched with sweat and her chest was on fire. If she survived this, she’d never smoke again.
They emerged onto Neptune Street, less populated than Decatur had been. The pools of darkness between streetlamps were larger, and the traffic considerably lighter. Danielle wanted to scream for help, but she couldn’t do it. Holding on to Mark’s hand was now her whole reason for living.
Olive sang nonsense to herself as she bounded up the sidewalk ahead of them. Leonardo dropped into step beside Mark and said, “Makes you wonder what she was like before she got turned, don’t it?”
“No,” Mark said.
“You really think somebody deliberately killed Toddy?”
“I know what’s supposed to happen to us when we die. It didn’t happen to Toddy.”
“That don’t mean he was murdered, does it? We’re kind of hard to kill, you know.”
Praline’s screams echoed in his memory. “Not if you know how.”
They went behind an antiques shop, where a battered pickup with a camper shell was parked. Olive reached it first, opened the window above the tailgate, and peered inside. “Are you still quiet as a mouse, my darling?”
In the truck bed lay a very handsome Hispanic teenager. He looked up at Olive with anguished hunger, as if he needed her permission to move or speak. She climbed onto the bumper, leaned over the tailgate, and touched his lips with her fingertips. “Soon, my doll baby, soon as we can. This’ll be all over.”
Mark scanned the shadowy spaces between the buildings for Fauvette. They’d planned to meet in town, just like the old days before things got so unpredictable. She’d left early, saying she wanted to get some new clothes; what the hell had happened to her? Was she sprawled in some dark corner like Toddy, to be revealed by the sunrise?
Olive closed the window and hopped down. She’d been a virgin when she died, so not only did she lack sexual experience, she had virtually no sexual feelings. Conversely, her nosferatic ability to inspire them in others was incredibly powerful, which is why she could hold this boy immobile in the truck while she amused herself with Billy in the cemetery. She maliciously loved to mimic flirtatious, teasing behavior, but had no concept of the agony she made her victims feel.
Now Olive circled Danielle and lightly ran her fingers around the bare skin at Danielle’s waist. The icy tips made Danielle shiver. She brushed the hair from the back of Danielle’s neck and nipped it playfully. Danielle, eyes locked on Mark, yelped in response. She wanted to scream, to run, but he’d told her not to . . .
“Leave her alone, Olive,” Mark snapped. To Danielle he said, “Get in the back, sit down, and stay quiet.”
She scurried to obey. The inside of the camper smelled of sweat, decayed meat, and the unmistakable odor of blood. She sat in the corner against the tailgate, knees drawn under her chin. She watched Mark ravenously through the stained, scratched window. The Hispanic boy beside her was breathing heavily, his erection obvious inside his tight jeans.
Leonardo put a hand on Mark’s shoulder as they got into the truck. “Hey, seriously, man, relax. Fauvette’s a big girl, she be okay.”
“Like Toddy?” Mark snapped back.
Leonardo shrugged and scooted into the middle of the seat. Olive packed in next to him, still humming. Mark took one last look around. He envisioned Fauvette drifting from the shadows as she had when he first met her, lithe and unbelievably attractive, a mixture of scared little girl and sensual exotic danger. She would be irresistible to mortal men; she almost was to him. But she did not appear.
In the back of the truck, Danielle managed to tear her gaze from Mark. She met the eyes of the immobile Mexican and saw more terror and longing in them than she’d ever imagined eyes could express. We’re going to die, his eyes seemed to say, and they’re going to make us want it.
Silently, because it was the only way she could express herself, Danielle began to cry. Who were these people? What had they done to her, and how? And what would happen to her?
She tried to think it through scientifically, logically. The girl Olive seemed to have bitten Billy in the throat, and swallowed some of his blood. Was this some gang that behaved like movie vampires? And yet, if they were just kids playing games, why was she filled with desire not just to have sex with the boy driving the truck, but to grant his every wish? She’d crawl naked through broken glass without hesitation if he asked her to.
The certainty of that, coupled with the intense sexual arousal, made her wonder if the marijuana she’d smoked had been the new drug she sought; certainly something that could do this would be incredibly popular. Yet they’d all smoked it, and only she and Billy seemed to be affected. Had the tall boy somehow hypnotized her? Or was he truly so handsome, so charismatic, that her long-denied body finally overruled her common sense?
She wiped her eyes. If she died tonight, she’d never water her plants again, wash the dishes inherited from her mother, or wear those incredibly comfortable sweats she’d kept since college. No more lying in bed on Sunday with the paper and a cup of coffee. Never again would she use the cutters on a rib cage, or weigh the contents of a stomach. She wished she had taken more time to appreciate those things before.
But like a tightened watch spring, fury curled under her fear and lust, awaiting the chance to snap. If the thing they’d done to her slipped or lessened enough for her free will to function, then these monsters would learn just what a pissed-off coroner could do.
CHAPTER 13
FAUVETTE AWOKE.
Fuzzily she realized how odd that was. The way she became aware of herself each sundown was nothing like the waking she remembered from her long-ago mortality. She tried to move, and something burned and sizzled in her head. Pain. That was also odd. She hadn’t hurt anywhere other than between her legs for half a century.
Suddenly she remembered, and understood what happened. Someone had knocked her out.
She sat up. Her body would mend after a night’s dormancy, but now she was terrified. Where was she? How long was it until sunrise? Who was strong enough to cold-cock a vampire?
She had left the warehouse alone, intending to take her time before joining the others in the cemetery. The effects of the gray powder had subsided even more, and she wanted to experience the night with some of the old wonder. She had gone along Second Street past the car dealerships, flirting with lone men perusing the latest vehicles. None had appealed to her, and so she moved into the darkness toward the cemetery and . . .
then nothing.
Now she lay on a wide, hard bed. A single candle burned on the nightstand, next to a telephone, a clock radio, and a Gideon Bible. That brought a grim smile; did her attacker expect the Bible to keep her from using the phone? A red light flashed intermittently on the curtains from outside the window.
She picked up the handset and almost yelped at the loudness of the dial tone. She dialed the first number to the warehouse phone, the second—
“Before you summon rescue, I’d prefer we spoke first,” a new voice said.
At the foot of the bed now stood a man she’d never seen before. He radiated the kind of aristocratic air she imagined exclusive to royalty or the truly wealthy. His wavy black hair shone in the candlelight, and a neat beard and mustache bordered his mouth. His eyes were dark and inscrutable. He wore a black silk shirt buttoned all the way up and new denim jeans. Although he was not tall, he exuded power. She instantly knew he was a vampire, and that she was in big trouble.
She carefully put the handset back on the cradle.
“Thank you,” he said. His voice rippled with the slightest accent, something European. “I am Rudolfo Vladimir Zginski. I have a family title, but in this world it seems extraneous. I have brought you here to acquire some information, and if you give it to me freely, there will be no need for further difficulty.”
Fauvette scooted back against the headboard and drew the sheets up to her chin. She still wore the tank top and baggy bell-bottoms she’d stolen earlier, although the platform sneakers were gone. She stared, eyes big, and made no attempt to answer. She had not been afraid in so long, the feeling was actually rather intoxicating.
“And you are?” he prompted after a moment.
“Don’t you know? You just whack a girl upside her head without even knowing her name?” When it was obvious he could wait her out for a real reply, she said simply, “Fauvette.”
“Lovely,” he acknowledged. “La Petite Fauvette is a wonderful composition, for piccolo, I believe.”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know a piccolo from a pepper plant.”
“You have no family name?”
She said nothing.
“Your silence merely prolongs your discomfort. Is your family name such a valuable secret?”
“My mama wasn’t sure who my real father was. Said if you run through the briars, you can’t tell which thorn scratched you. She put ‘Gilliland’ down in the family Bible.”
“A bastard,” he said, and his lips curled in the most minimal smile.
“Bastard’s a boy. Ain’t no word for a girl, except maybe ‘love child,’ and that sure didn’t apply.”
“In our world, the circumstances of birth carry little significance. Don’t you agree?”
She nodded. He moved around the bed, almost gliding. The candle’s flame twinkled in his dark eyes as he loomed over her, and she sank back into the pillows.
“I apologize for my rudeness,” he said gently. “The ambush, the attack . . . not the conduct of a gentleman. I am in your debt after taking such liberties.”
“Are you going to hurt me?” she asked in a small voice. She had not uttered those words since the night she died.
“No, I have no plans to do so, if you cooperate.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
He paused thoughtfully, composing his words. “I have been . . . away . . . for a very long time. Half a century. Now I wish to regain my prior station, but to do so I must comprehend the way this new world works for our kind.” He nodded at the bed beside her. “May I?”
Again she slowly nodded. He sat on the edge of the mattress. “I will not harm you, Fauvette,” he said gently. “I wish you to teach me about our place in this time, about the changes in the world. I assure you, I learn very quickly, and you will seldom need to repeat things. Will you do this?”
She licked her dry lips. “Do I have a choice?”
“No,” he said calmly. “Help me, or I will destroy you.”
“Like you did Toddy?”
He frowned. “Who?”
“My friend. You killed him because he wouldn’t help you, didn’t you?” If this super-vampire had been able to sneak up on her, surprising the always-distracted Toddy would’ve been easy. All the recent events now made sense.
“I give you my word, I have killed no man since I awoke in this time,” Zginski said.
She bit her lip thoughtfully. Maybe he hadn’t. And if he had, he didn’t seem the type to just dump the body where it would be found and attract attention. “Then I reckon I have no choice. I’ll help you.”
He nodded acknowledgment. “And in return, I will grant you any favor you wish that is within my power.”
That drew a wry, humorless smile. “There’s nothing I want.”
He tried to delicately brush a strand of hair from her face, but it was so heavy with accumulated grime that he had to pick it up and tuck it behind her ear. When his fingertips touched her bare skin, she trembled. “My dear, not even one such as you can have everything you want. If that were true, you would not seem so sad.”
“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, unable to hold his gaze. “I ain’t your ‘dear.’ I’m nobody’s dear.”
“I stand corrected. Well . . . sit corrected.”
She glanced up, saw his smile, and risked one of her own. “Just call me Fauvette, okay? Not ‘my dear,’ and not ever ‘Miss Gilliland.’ Just Fauvette.”
They both looked up as a key turned in the door. Lee Ann entered, carrying two brown paper shopping bags. She stopped when she saw Zginski on the bed with Fauvette, and for a moment jealous anger flashed across her face. Then she met Zginski’s gaze and seemed to have trouble catching her breath for a moment. The ever-present glow of the sign bathed her in red, alternating with the yellow glow of the porch light.
She closed the door with her foot and walked over to the small table. “Y’all got it dark enough in here, don’t you?” she muttered without looking at them. She put down the two paper bags. “These ought to fit your friend. They ain’t the most stylish stuff, but at this time of night, it’s hard to be picky.”
“Excellent,” Zginski said approvingly. Lee Ann blushed from the compliment. “Fauvette, this is Lee Ann.”
Lee Ann nodded. “Hello.”
Fauvette said nothing.
“Lee Ann has brought you fresh clothing,” Zginski said. “No offense intended, but if you’re to be seen with me . . .” He touched the tank top’s shoulder strap where it was ripped halfway through. “Changes must be made. I’m sure you understand. Lee Ann will attend to you, and help you with your ablutions.”
Both women looked at him oddly. “What the hell is an ‘ablution’?” Lee Ann asked.
“I wouldn’t mind knowing, either, if I have to have one,” Fauvette said.
Zginski hid his exasperation. Peasants, he told himself, remember they’re peasants. “Bathing. Cleaning your hair. Helping you dress.”
Fauvette’s eyes opened wide. “She’s going to bathe me?”
Zginski answered, but his eyes were on Lee Ann. “Yes, because I wish it. She will cater to your every need.”
Fauvette saw Lee Ann’s expression go in an instant from outrage through defiance, submission, and resignation. “Sure,” Lee Ann said. “Do you want a bath or a shower?”
“A bath,” Zginski said before Fauvette could answer. “I suspect she will need to soak.”
“Fine. I’ll get it started.” She opened the bathroom door and turned on the light. It cast a bright slash across the foot of the bed.
When she heard the water running Fauvette turned to Zginski. “Who is she?”
“She is my . . . I believe the closest English word is ‘victim.’ You may share her tonight, if you wish.”
“Victim? You use the same victim more than once?”
Zginski frowned, then recalled the way he’d witnessed her feed on the boy in the bed of the truck. “Yes. It is not necessary to kill a victim each time you feed.”
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“But . . . if you don’t, they’ll tell people.”
He smiled paternally. “I see there are things I may teach you as well. Your first lesson will begin tonight: you may feed on Lee Ann, but only enough to sustain your existence. I will be very upset if she is permanently harmed.”
Before Fauvette could reply, Lee Ann emerged from the bathroom. She leaned wearily on the doorjamb. “The water’s ready. I have lots of soap and shampoo.”
Fauvette scooted across the bed and went quietly into the bathroom. Zginski scowled at the imprint of grease, dirt, and insects left on the bed. Lee Ann looked at Zginski for a long moment, but said nothing. Then she followed Fauvette.
Lee Ann closed the bathroom door. It was tight in the little space, and the smell from Fauvette quickly filled it. Lee Ann turned on the vent fan, which whined like an electrocuted cricket. “Okay, first thing is to get you out of those clothes.”
Fauvette removed the jeans, then the tank top, and placed them in a plastic garbage bag Lee Ann held. She wore no underthings. Lee Ann tied the bag, opened the door, and tossed it outside. Then she gestured at the tub. “Climb in.”
Fauvette tentatively stepped into the water, which came up to her ankles. Then she lowered herself all the way. A sheen of oil quickly covered the surface as it sluiced off her skin along with other debris, some of it still living. Lee Ann wrinkled her nose. “Christ, when’s the last time you had a bath?”
Fauvette drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Cleanliness is next to godliness, so what’s the point?” When she looked up again, Lee Ann had pulled off her blouse and was stepping out of her jeans. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t want to get whatever’s in that water all over my clothes,” Lee Ann almost sneered. In bra and panties, she knelt on a folded towel beside the tub, soaped up a washrag, and began running it roughly over Fauvette’s back.
“I’m not another of his victims, you know,” Fauvette said after the fifth hard scrape of the cloth across her spine. “I’m not your competition.”
“Save it,” Lee Ann said. “I don’t know whether I’m feeling something, or he’s making me. Maybe he wants me to be jealous, I don’t know.” She squeezed out the rag and applied more soap. “Man, this time yesterday I never would’ve believed any of this. Now look at me. Boy, was my mom right.”
