by Ben Stevens
“Delighted,” Sofia retorted.
Maya ignored the tone and smiled as she sat down in the chair she was offered.
“Thank you, Don Luis.” Then she added, “Sofia” with a polite nod.
“Care for a drink?” Sofia inquired and played her extraordinarily long nails around the rim of her wine glass. Maya’s eyes were drawn to the vessel and now, being much closer, she was able to see and then realize with certainty that it was not wine they were drinking. She swallowed involuntarily, her nerves beginning to rattle. It was also then that she realized that she had forgotten to put her radio necklace back on after the bath.
Oh dear. And Lucy is not here either. She knew that things were not going as planned, that she had possibly bitten off more than she could chew. There was nothing to do now but continue the charade and hope that something good would come from all this, hopefully with no one near and dear to her getting hurt in the process—including herself.
“Water, please,” she squeaked out.
Then Don Luis reached his hand up and snapped his fingers.
“Of course, Señorita.” A female figure, until now unseen in the shadows of the dining hall’s arches, came forward with a decorated vase. The servant girl filled the empty glass at Maya’s setting, and Maya noticed the same plastic square embedded in her arm as the girls who had bathed and dressed her.
Maya realized that her eyes were lingering too long. She snapped her gaze back up straight into the curious and watchful eyes of Don Luis, who had resumed his seat. She knew she had been caught, and her cheeks burned. Her host looked to his goblet and picked it back up, taking a sip from it. He placed it back down, licking his lips, and then let out a satisfied sigh.
“Something tells me you are aware of what we are. And yet, you came, not only to our city, but to this table, willingly.” Don Luis studied Maya for a tell. Behind her, the servant girl returned with a plate of delicacies—fruit, cheese, and the like—for Maya to dine on.
“I am familiar with your kind. I encountered several out in the desert on my way here.” Maya steadied herself against the faintness she was feeling, as well as against her heart, which was pounding in her chest, threatening to cause her hands to shake.
“Are you now? Did you now?” Don Luis seemed cruelly amused. “And just what is my ‘kind’?” He sipped again from his goblet. Sofia scoffed and rolled her heavily made-up eyes.
“I know that’s not wine in your cups, Señor Fernando,” Maya said coyly and plucked a ripe strawberry from her plate.
“I told you, call me Don Luis.” He smiled at Maya’s boldness. “But you must understand, Señorita Sapphire, we are not monsters. We are not like the wild dogs that you say you encountered.”
“Since when do we explain ourselves to our food, lover?” Sofia interrupted.
Don Luis shot a look at his wife. Maya saw his eyes flash red.
“As I was saying.” He turned back to Maya. “Here in my city, we have established a true civilization. An equilibrium.”
“I admit I haven’t seen any sign of the savagery I witnessed in the desert,” Maya conceded. “Except for the obvious dichotomy between the upper and lower classes.” Another strawberry and a small wedge of cheese disappeared from Maya’s plate.
“I see.” Don Luis’s demeanor showed a sudden gentleness.
He raised his right hand and shrugged. “What can I say? One’s material worth is a reflection of one’s value and one’s contribution to one’s society. The humans are lazy, wretched, and simple-minded and care not to improve their lot. Without us to guide and protect them, they surely would degenerate to the level of dogs, eating what scraps they can find, copulating in the street, and licking their own asses.”
Maya heard Sofia chortle quietly in her cup of blood.
“My most gracious host.” Maya raised her head, looking as regal as she could. “Have you forgotten that I am one of the lazy, wretched, simple-minded ones you speak of?”
“I sure as fuck haven’t,” Sofia mumbled.
Don Luis bolted up onto his feet and slammed his palms on the table. The dishes and candelabras rattled, and the flowers in their vases swayed as if in a gentle breeze, but no soft wind came from the enraged Don.
“Must I banish you to your chamber as if you were no more than a disobedient bitch that sneaks meat from its master’s table?” His eyes glowed bright red, and he attempted in no way to hide his anger. Maya thought that, in his mind, he must be an imposing sight, but to her, he looked no different than any other bully she had ever seen. A Latin vampiric Warbak, and nothing more.
Sofia slowly opened her mouth, the light from the room’s hundred candles gleaming off her golden teeth. She hissed so quietly, Maya could barely hear it. After a moment, Sofia closed her mouth and lowered her eyes and slowly stood up.
“Sit back down,” Don Luis ordered. Sofia, still looking down, hesitated.
“Must I stay and suffer insult while you treat this meat as our equal?” Sofia asked, the trembling edge of hate clear in her voice.
Don Luis seemed to consider his options, rapping his fingers on the surface of the table. Then, when the silence was beginning to make Maya feel like a little worm on a big hook, he spoke.
“No, go ahead and leave, Sofia. Your insulting behavior to our guest disgusts and embarrasses me. Leave now, while you still can.” His voice had returned to a normal volume, but the cruelty in it no longer rang with amusement, but instead dripped with ice, giving Maya the chills.
Sofia did as bidden, but not without first locking eyes with Maya. There was a promise in those red eyes, heavy with makeup and framed by the sharp swoops of drawn eyebrows—a promise of pain to come. Maya played it off coolly, doing her best to channel Lucy.
Don Luis watched his wife walk away and visibly calmed himself as he once again tried to pour on the faux charm.
“I apologize for that outburst. I simply cannot abide by Sofia’s behavior. Her blatant racism would make us out no better than the wild ones you say you met on the way here. I prefer a higher standard of conduct. We have a good relationship with the humans here.” He paused as he sat back down, seeming to suddenly have a thought that derailed his current train of thought.
“I must ask—and I beg your pardon—but you say you witnessed savagery in the desert from the wild ones?” He rested his left hand on his chin and looked at Maya. “It is my understanding that the wild ones never willingly pass up the chance to eat. How exactly did a traveling musician and her tiny troupe come to avoid this grim fate while still being in close enough proximity to know the savages for what they were?”
Maya instantly regretted having said anything, and shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she slowly chewed on a grape, using the food to buy her a little time to fabricate a response.
“We were fortunate to have come across them mere moments before dawn. They left us before they could overtake us in fear of the sun’s rays. We put a good distance between us during the day. The four-wheeled machine and the hoverboard can go fairly fast when they need to.” Maya looked into Don Luis’s eyes—which had stopped glowing—as she spoke.
Believe it. Believe it.
“Fortunate indeed.” Don Luis smiled and sipped from his goblet once more, tipping it back and finishing it.
“Have you eaten enough, Señorita? I would take the air with you, if it pleases you.” He offered his hand as he rose.
“Yes, I am satisfied, and I would be delighted to join you.” Relieved that her deception remained intact, Maya decided to play interested, to use Don Luis’s arrogance to her advantage. She had learned some about the nature of this city, but she needed to learn more. It was already becoming clear that she might not be able to simply procure supplies and move on after her performance, and furthermore, if there were humans suffering here, she felt driven to do something about it.
Apparently pleased with her response, Don Luis took her hand in his and held it up in the air at a comfortable height for her, escorting he
r out of the banquet hall through a door opposite from the one she had entered. It was not lost on Maya that Lucy would not know she was leaving with Don Luis, but it was too late to do anything about that.
They left the banquet hall and entered an antechamber with passages leading both upstairs and downstairs, as well as outside. Maya looked at the stone stairs that disappeared into the reaches of the palace and wondered where Sofia had gotten to but knew better than to bring her up. They continued and stepped out onto a balcony. The night air was musky and thick with the dried dung fires warming the houses in the human districts, though the homes of the resident vampires didn’t require such fetters.
Don Luis, still supporting Maya’s hand, guided her to the railing of the balcony. She could see that the nightlife of the city took on a different character from the tedium of the daily human life-sustaining activities. Those who enjoyed life at the top of the social pyramid, as well as the food chain, were out in the streets playing. Maya could see roving packs of vampires—their red eyes gave them away—making their way to and fro, from impromptu outdoor discotheques to what looked to Maya like Elena’s bar back in the Shanty.
What she didn’t see, though, was what surprised her. There was no murder. No chasing. No hunting.
Perhaps he doesn’t tell all lies…
“You say you have a higher standard, a rule of law, an equilibrium.” Maya turned from the rail and gazed upon Don Luis’s face. She smiled and arched one eyebrow. “Please, good sir, do elaborate.”
“Very well, with pleasure.” Don Luis turned out toward the city, scanning for something. When he found it, he pointed his finger. “Do you see there, that farm?”
“Yes, I think so.” Maya squinted into the black. Her eyesight was not as good in the dark as his. It appeared to be a small industrial farm; even in the dark, Maya could make out the pen that framed the lot adjacent to the building and what appeared to be sleeping cows dotting the muddy yard.
“It’s one of New Puebla’s dairy farms,” Don Luis said. “Do you see that adobe house next to it?”
“Yes.”
“That is where the man who manages the farm lives. Do you see any difference between his house and the cows’ dwellings?”
Maya, believing he had made his point, frowned with disappointment.
Maya turned on him. “So you do feel the same way about humans as your wife?”
“Relax, pussycat. I mean no insult. Yes, I cannot deny that my kind is superior, but please allow me to continue to explain.”
“Very well, go on.”
“While the farmer is clearly superior in nature to the cow, he needs the cows to survive, no? But unlike the coyote of the desert, he does not slaughter the cows in a savage manner. No, he shelters them, feeds them, heals them when they are sick, presuming that the cow can still produce milk. He protects them from themselves by erecting the fence to keep them from wandering off and encountering danger that they are too stupid even to recognize, let alone avoid or deal with. The wild ones you met on your way here, they are like the coyote, while I,” he paused for dramatic effect, “am like the farmer. No human here dies before his time. Only the incurably sick, the old, those who no longer impart anything of value to the greater good. I saw you notice the tax connection on the serving girl’s arm a minute ago at dinner. That is how we collect our tax; that is how we withdraw our sustenance from our herd. There is no slaughter in the streets, no savagery; we are not barbaric brigands, my dear.”
He paused again, looking at Maya with a zealot’s passion in his eyes. Her eyelids fluttered, like a grounded butterfly taking to the sky. She forced a smile and nodded her understanding.
“When a human is born, the child is registered, and the intravenous port is installed; they get a new one every year, with care, so as not to infect the host. The same goes for those wishing to immigrate to our fair city and take respite from the howling madness of the world at large and whatever else the Drops might bring.”
Maya remained as calm as she could, setting her lips into a hard line and doing her best to soothe her reflexively flaring nostrils.
“Everyone benefits, Lily—can I call you Lily?”
She nodded.
“They get everything they need, while I and my kind get everything we need. It’s the perfect arrangement. The tax is fair and monitored, and we never bleed anyone dry. Why would we? Were we to do that, we would soon find ourselves starving like the wild ones. We collect only enough to sustain us, and they, the humans, heal and regenerate what we take. It’s an ideal tax-farm. It doesn’t even hurt them. My people are happy here. By submitting to the social contract, by paying their blood-tax and letting the true sovereign class make the ruling decisions for them, they have more leisure time to pursue their interests in life. Where else can they go to find shelter and protection in this hellish world? If they were to strike out on their own, they would struggle daily and surely die before long. The world outside these walls of protection is savage and brutal, as I’m sure you well know.”
“And the neck tattoos?” Maya asked.
“What rancher doesn’t brand his herd?” Don Luis asked with sick amusement. When he saw Maya wince a little, he hurriedly added, “It’s for their own good, Lily. When they receive the brand, what we prefer to call the Citizen Stamp, they have proof of identification. Each one receives a unique number, and my captains, lieutenants, and their men can use this number to make sure that each citizen gets their allotment of foodstuffs and necessary items from us in exchange for their blood tax, which is also kept well track of. Not only that, but the mark, which is near the source of the easiest blood flow, a source that the wild ones go for nine times out of ten, the mark is seen by their would-be attacker. This saves their lives, you see? It is a message, a message that they as citizens of New Puebla are under my protection. If harm comes to them, then their attackers have to answer to me.”
“It all sounds very civilized,” Maya lied. “And I suppose that allowing me into your city, wanting me to perform, has nothing to do with the bread-and-circus tactics of keeping your cattle distracted from the tedium of daily life?” Maya smiled at Don Luis in a way that let him know she was playing.
Don Luis smiled back. “You are too smart, Señorita. And your beauty surpasses your intelligence. You belong here with me, by my side.”
“And I suppose I could if I only consent to receive my Citizen Stamp and pay my ‘taxes’?” Maya smirked.
“While for most, those are the terms of our social contract, for you, it would be different.”
“Different?”
“Come, walk with me. I will show you the future,” Don Luis said dramatically. Inside, Maya was simultaneously amused at both how ridiculous he sounded and just how much he believed in his own bullshit. She played along exceptionally well, a true Lily Sapphire performance, gazing into his eyes and allowing her breathing to intensify, causing her lace-wreathed chest to rise and fall theatrically. She took his hand in hers and allowed herself to be carried away into the city night. They strolled along the parapets and ramparts of the palace’s outer perimeter, taking in the sights. It was the time of the vampire. They saw many of them down below in the streets, and Maya’s escort asked her if she would like to go down to the street level and join them before he showed her his surprise. She smiled and nodded her consent.
They went a short way farther and came to a low-grade ramp that switchbacked down the side of the palace. Large square planting beds decorated the intersections, with several electric light lamp posts illuminating the way down.
Despite having only minutes earlier likened her race to cattle, Don Luis was very gentlemanly as he guided her down the ramps, pausing only momentarily to pluck a rose from one of the square beds. He handed her the rose, yellow in color, by its thorned stem and she squinted her eyes in a smile as she took it. She made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a squeak, and flinched as she took the rose from him.
Having feigned carelessness perfect
ly, Maya pricked her fingertip on a thorn when she wrapped her delicate fingers around its stem.
A teardrop of bright blood began to trickle down her hand. Don Luis quickened at the sight of it, and he opened his mouth to let escape a quiet moan. She pulled her hand away from the rose, leaving Don Luis to hold it, and she held her bleeding hand in her other, hovering close to and in front of her chest. She studied his eyes and saw that they were locked on to her hand. She knew what to do.
Maya stepped close into Don Luis and turned her hand, with its small trickle of blood running down and around the curve of her palm, its path now having reached her wrist, up toward his mouth.
“Go ahead; I want you to taste me,” she said in a paradoxically shy and confident voice. He dropped the rose like a thing forgotten and cradled her slender tan arm in his hands. Another slight moan escaped his lips. He brought her hand close, and, beginning at her fingertip, closed his lips around her digit and began sucking the blood flow only slightly. He pulled away slightly and kissed his way down her finger, palm, and wrist, cleaning the trail of drying blood as he went. Both the puncture on her finger-tip and the trail itself were just enough to give him a taste, the tiniest little tease. He was becoming drunk on the urge, though—Maya could see it—like growing arousal, sexual and primal. You could put a tiger in a dress suit and teach it to walk upright, but it would remain a tiger. He pulled his lips away from her wrist, and Maya watched in horrific apprehension as his canine teeth stretched, elongated, and formed into points as fine as the rose’s thorns.
Don Luis’s eyes now glowed red, and his face wore an expression of animalistic ecstasy, the quintessence of need, desire, and lust. With sudden and surprising strength, she yanked her arm away from him. In a flash, the beginnings of rage played across his face, and Maya saw there in him the genesis of rape and murder. She acted immediately, determined to shut off and stem the flow of whatever storm might be brewing in the most primitive parts of his brain.
