I sought out Lucius and said, “We can’t stay here. The old witch knows our scent and Loupgarin’s too. I’m sure of it.” He stepped closer with Isabella at his side. Together, we peered into what was left of the night.
He nodded with a grimace. “Make arrangements for us to leave.” His gaze moved over the land. “Too bad, I had hoped for an expedition. The Mayans, the Aztecs, the Incas. So many legends to stray amongst.”
The owner of the inn stepped over to Isabella, handing her blankets, freshly cleaned. “Aquí
…here, señora.”
She focused on the man. “We need guides and guards. Men you trust, they’ll be well paid as will you.
We have a skin condition requiring us to avoid the sun, so we must travel by night. No questions, understand? ¿Entiendes?” she asked, boring deep into his gaze. “And, a guard for our room, if you please.”
It didn’t hurt to put a little suggestion behind the words, to insure trustworthiness. Isabella was younger than Luc or I, but the vampire influence should never be doubted.
“Sí, señora, I understand. No worries for your pretty head. My son will guard your rooms today.”
Isabella dimpled at the man, and he blushed. “Gracias.”
“De nada.” He hurried away with promises to recruit the most reliable men.
We claimed the small inn as refuge, our rooms without windows, not the most luxurious accommodations but, as the owner promised, clean and guarded. As a group, we watched as the old woman crept toward the inn, lifting her nose to the air, inhaling the lingering odor we thought only detectable by those of our nature.
“Devils be cursed! Diablo …” she swore again, shaking her fist, spitting on the sunbaked ground.
“Today, we stay behind our locked doors when the vampiric sleep can no longer be denied.” Luc watched as the old witch scraped the sign of the cross in the dirt. “Make sure the inn’s owner and his family are gone before we leave tomorrow. I don’t care how, buy the inn if necessary.”
Isabella nodded.
“The old witch will be back. She wants to see our demise, and any who have aided us. She won’t rest.”
*
On the next evening, more joined the old witch woman. All of them, bitten with the same sickness, crazy and wild. The inn’s owner happily accepted our proffered payment, and with the slightest bit of influence, he and his were family long gone, to visit faraway relatives before the coming of nightfall.
We kept vigil from the safety of the surrounding forest, with our newly hired scouts and sentries. The old shaman flitted about, croaking out curses and chants, encouraging the others to set the small inn ablaze, hounding and battering, until bloodlust maddened them. Whoops and hollers tore from their throats, and the building burned to the ground.
The gentle night filled with the haze of smoke, death, and destruction. The Vampire Hierarchy sent us to this wilderness, and I now understood they’d made a miscalculation. The old witch knew us, and more.
“Señors, señora,” Macuto, the hired captain of our guide called. “The fire, it grows. Ignore the crazy old witch. We need to leave.” He pressed us toward the trees, hurrying us to their shadows.
Traveling at night was a trying thing for our human companions. Our tents made of the heaviest, sun-blocking material befitting our natures, pack horses, and extra men employed. All well paid with no questions about our abhorrence of sunlight. The small inn’s owner true to his word.
We trekked through the dense foliage for three days, the old witch dogging our steps. We sensed her on the edge of our awareness. No matter our speed, she found us. I worried it was our scent that drew her.
On the fourth evening, a foulness penetrated the surroundings, and we were instantly alert. Another odor had joined that of our witch, antiquated and known. We stopped our journey as we waited, making a permanent camp on the pretense of needing rest, but it was near dawn’s breaking when a scream rented the air. We rushed to the sound, finding one of our highly paid sentries with his throat ripped out.
“Señor Draco,” Macuto said as I bent over the body. “Some wild animal—jaguar probably—has killed him.” There were long gouge marks from shoulder to shoulder, head nearly cleaved from the guard’s body.
Luc and I exchanged glances. It was a wild beast who stalked the jungle with us. Loupgarin.
The cackles of the mad shaman greeted our ears, too far away for our guards to hear. “El viene, el viene! He comes, he comes!” In the far distance, she jumped about, arms raised. “Juico! Judgment! Y tu muerte! And your death!”
We could do little, surrounded by the humans, but wait.
On each of the next three nights, we guarded our protectors, but on each occasion, the devious bastard breached our defenses, decimating our crew, soon to leave us without our daytime sentries. On the fourth night, we went on the attack, silent as panthers, hunting the hunter. Two more screams, two more deaths. The three of us separated, encircling the campsite, patience stretched to its end.
The darkness shifted, and in front of me stood our tormentor, robe ragged and stare tortured. Loupgarin. I’d never seen the bastard before and hoped I’d be spared this time. It was not to be.
“Are you ready to meet true death,” he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.
We rounded each other, and I tried to gage him. His years, centuries, greater than mine, making him quicker, faster, deadlier. I had to be ready, but for what? Insanity boiled in his eyes, glowing red with an unmet blood hunger, and he planned to slake his need with me.
Luc! Isabella! But they had ventured deep into the jungle.
He charged and I bounded out of reach. “Come on old man, you can do better than that,” I jeered, throwing out my taloned fingers, shredding his moldering mantle.
Loupgarin laughed, it came out as a snarl. “Young one,” he rasped, “tonight your head will be mine as well as your blood!” He flung out his clawed hand, almost taking my arm. Black blood beaded before the wound knitted itself.
Without waiting another second, he slashed again, this time across my cheek, and it would have been my neck if I hadn’t twisted to the side at the last moment. I felt my flesh peel, only to pull back with a tightness.
He had no desire to quench his blood craving, this was about revenge. But why? For all those centuries ago? For Luc’s escape? I didn’t know.
“Why? What crime have we committed?” I asked the demented ancient.
Luc! Isabella! I reached out with my senses.
Ben! I felt them racing back to me.
Loupgarin’s eyes glossed over, red and berserk. “For the agony!” He spun around and around, and I tracked him. He growled, pounding his forehead with a tattered fist. “For the …” Whatever he’d been about to say was lost to his madness, and he screamed, swinging out at me.
His face contorted to something beyond the human he once might have been. I heard Luc’s call and Isabella’s cry as they sped in my direction, but they wouldn’t be quick enough.
My thoughts distracted me, and the old vampire wormed his way inside my defenses.
He sprang forward, suddenly thrusting with vampiric swiftness, slicing through my chest and within inches of my heart, and his fingers groped for the vessel. A murderous wound, at least for the humans with us. My legs gave away as I tumbled to the leafy-carpeting of the rainforest.
As fast as he lashed out, he disappeared, too rapid even for my vampire vision to see. A blur of motion, to where, I had no idea. The world receded into a haze of agonizing pain. I hoped to survive, but as I’ve said before, vampires are not immortal, the true death waits for us all. Was Loupgarin right? Was this my time? Again, I found myself eager for more life.
Lucius sped to my side, squeezing my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ben, you’ll be fine.” He pricked his wrist, and a few drops of blood spilled between my lips.
A fresh pink scar sealed the laceration then faded, only a raw twinge persisted, and soon it would be only a memory. One I wouldn
’t forget. Luc offered his wrist again, and I shook my head.
What I needed now was to hunt, preferably for Loupgarin’s head, but I’d settle for blood. My beast demanded its freedom. I knew before the night was over, I’d have to feed.
To our vampire ears came a whisper, “Next time, young one, next time.”
Macuto met Luc’s gaze. “Qué fue eso … What was that … that … that monstruo … monster? His face, his hands …” Terror encompassed him, he’d just discovered el espantajo, the boogeyman, was real. His horror grew as he gazed at us. He recoiled from our presence. “What are you?” He backed up. “The old witch was right. Diablo … Devil.” He crossed himself.
Luc’s glare bore into Macuto’s eyes, the man’s expression going slack. “My son was attack by a massive jaguar, but he escaped, uninjured.” He tugged me to my feet, his piercing stare never leaving the man’s. “See? No harm has come to him.” And Luc blinked.
The man shook his head and swayed for a moment. “De los dioses … By the gods.” His hand trembled for a moment as he brushed his forehead, as if chasing away a bothersome fly. He looked over at me and barked out a laugh. “I’ve never seen such a beast in all of my days.” He clapped my shoulder, regaining his composure. “Señor, you are a lucky bastard.”
I nodded. “This time, anyway.”
Luc and I glanced at each other. The man didn’t know the half of it, luck was his this day. If he’d resisted Lucius’s attempt to change the facts, we’d’ve lost another of our guard. Our secret took precedence over everything else.
The old witch bellowed at us from her supposed safety. She’d have to be dealt with before we broke camp, no more taunts and threats, making targets of us. Maybe Loupgarin had stolen her sanity? She refused to ignore us, attracting unwanted attention. Others might start to listen to her, begin to track the monsters, and this we could not have. As our sentries slept, Luc visited the old woman, replacing her memories with something far more pleasant than murdering vampires.
Loupgarin seemed to evaporate into the forest, like fog over water. But for how long? When would he attack? Once in a while, an odd lone-wolf howl sounded, but nothing more. Loupgarin stubbornly continued to hide, and we had to wonder why? He had the advantage, why not strike again? We prepared for battle and desired some kind of peace.
We gathered our belongings and what was left of our guides, heading for the closest village. Some of our guard had deserted us with the impending doom of a gruesome death, and we’d have to hire more. We neared the bordering country and hoped for sanctuary. We turned our sights toward the north, to the United States of America, our true destination the whole time.
Part Two
New Orleans was a feast for the vampire. The shows, the clubs, the birthplace of Jazz. The glitz and the glitter, all fabricated, but in the most wondrous way. We were able to lose ourselves, making contact with others of our kind.
The family of Le Sanguis Frais greeted us, welcoming us into their arms with an undertone of contempt and mystery. We were soon to find not all vampires operated within the Hierarchy’s guidance.
That could be both lethal and freeing … and leading to a clash. One that might end with headless bodies and war.
Chapter Nine
America, the land of the free and home of the brave, or so the song goes. Intangible streets lined in golden squares turned to the dusty plains of Texas with muted desert tones of gold, brown, and blue. It almost made us forget our troubling adventures. This was where our travels led us, Lucius, Isabella, and I. The vampire is an adaptable creature, and in a country of immigrants, we went unnoticed. We assimilated readily to become one of our neighbors.
The Southwest’s sun baked the sands to a golden brown, tantalizing and at the same time, impossible to bear. The Vampire Hierarchy seemed to have deserted us after dragging our family thousands of miles from home and dumping us into the American wilderness. Any trace of Loupgarin vanished and that concerned Lucius, though there was little to be done. We’d sent word to the Council, but they would do as they wished. We’d learned a few hard lessons, and unless the threat was against the Council itself, we were on our own. We’d have to stay on our guard
We wandered through the marvels of California, the magic of movies and the silver screen. We took apartments, making contact with those who shared our natures, safety in numbers, while acquainting ourselves with this new environment. We relaxed and settled into this new existence.
Moving pictures fascinated me with images of the Great Depression and its terrible grief, the comedic genius of Charlie Chaplin, and the pretended swashbuckling pirate of Douglas Fairbanks. I knew this to be a fantasy, for I had already experienced true pirates, and they were neither heroic nor clean.
There were few places like Californian with her majestic mountains, beaches, wide caverns, and endless deserts. I came to love it, even with the temperature extremes. Northern California brought an ease to the warmth, and we continued through Washington, Oregon, and east to the Dakotas before returning to the beauty of the Pacific Ocean, always traveling with the night.
Eventually, we’d have to leave California, journeying across the south, Arizona, New Mexico, and then Oklahoma. The Council directing from afar without any idea of where we’d stop. We roamed as if nomads, unable to find a home, and we could not. It seemed if we found solace with our kind, we were moved as if chess pieces in a contest of concentration. The Hierarchy withheld their plans from us, and more than once, I wondered at their game.
My beast grew weary of its cage and began to claw my insides, begging for release. I hunted when and where I could, seeking to quiet the animal within me, the hunger that drove me. Injustice called me to Texarkana and I found myself drawn like a magnet to the madness of a crazed mind.
The papers had given him the moniker of the Phantom and the local citizenry were terrified to leave their homes, never knowing if the lunatic would strike or any reasoning behind it. Visions of death touched my thoughts, imagery disturbing even to the vampire. They were of dismemberment, blood, and gore … if this creature hadn’t already, these were pictures of his future. Another madman lost to the bloodlust, a murderer tried and true, biding the time until his demise.
I stalked the nights, waiting for him to strike. He managed to kill four times before I caught a whiff of his sickness. I approached him in the home of his next victim. Once inside, I watched him as he exited one room, heading to another, seeking more prey. The distinct odor I knew well clung to him, exciting my beast. Blood.
The murderer appeared respectable, dressed as a gentleman from his black Fedora to his gloved hands. I had discovered in my previous life that courtly attire and good manners provided easy access to the quarry. But now, the man’s hands betrayed his beastly nature, speckled with dark drops of blood glowing against the white of the gloves.
When I spoke from the dark, he jumped, expecting to find himself alone with his unfortunates. “Why?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.
“Because I need,” came his snarling reply.
Not a hint of empathy in his twisted soul, pure evilness existed there. Reason enough for him to cease to exist.
He sensed my fury and broke into a run, hoping to take flight by the rear exit. His attempted escape only made my honed skills react faster. I let the rope play out a bit, my beast’s containment had been far too long, the hunger too strong, and who knew when another opportunity would arise for it to have its way? He ran until he panted, standing next to a well, deep and wide. A picturesque bucket hung above its entrance, ready for use if not for the worn rope, too brittle to support the weight of a pail of water. A pump stood alongside it, rusty from disuse. It had outlived its purpose, just like my prey.
He asked the same question I had, “Why?”
“Because I can.” My reply nearly echoed his.
He dropped his head and laughter came to my ears. He raised a small, silver gun gripped in his fist.
It was my turn to laugh
, and in the next blink of his eyes, my hand twisted his, and the pistol fell to the ground. His neck followed his hand, baring its long length. My beast took over and my fangs extended and plunged into the healthy, throbbing vein, depleting the reserve of blood held within his body. As he sagged, whistling out his last breath, I sealed the wound. Only death waited to welcome him now.
But, what to do with the body? I couldn’t leave him, not with the evidence of him, bled dry, and at a murder scene.
My gaze swept over the well, where he had stopped to catch his breath, never knowing it would be his last. I hadn’t imagined to ever use such a place, but why not repurpose the well?
With the strength of the vampire, I hoisted the body to the brick foundation. I peered over the bricked wall, hoping not to see the reflection of the moonlight. Hundreds of feet below, a tiny glimmer could be seen. Good enough. I shoved the corpse over the edge, listening for the telltale splash. It echoed dimly, the water further away than the shimmer led me to believe. If ever found, a broken neck would be the presumed cause of death; an unfortunate stumble to his demise.
The Phantom became my victim, he would take no more. He finally fit his purported name, the Phantom that hunted and paralyzed the community matched the true spirit in mortality. The papers didn’t report his expiration, clueless to his extinction or how. He simply vanished from existence, the murders stopped, and society heaved a relieved sigh.
There would be many more tormentors in our society, I was but one avenger. And I could not be everywhere. I’d known vampire cruelty, but at times, our human counterparts paled my experience.
*
The years became decades as we awaited the Council’s orders. I spent two decadent days at a place called Woodstock, dancing, feasting, simply living. I learned another odd thing about these Americans we’d become, these people who craved openness and love of country. There were various levels of freedom depending on your color, sex, what you worshipped, or who shared your bed. The vampire discovered years ago the container didn’t matter, open veins all bled the same crimson color.
Hunger Page 6
