"Pretty nasty, isn't it?" Deb tucked the daisies carefully into a high pocket, then turned up her collar and pulled her sleeves down and over her hands to keep them warm. "Nothing like yesterday."
”Here we are," Alex said cheerfully. "The landmark building of Carson Pine Scott and Company. Let’s get out of this wind."
"I don't know." Deb rubbed a spot on the dusty window with the side of her hand but she still couldn't see much. “You seem to like taking me into dark department stores."
"It's not as dark as it looks," he promised as he pulled open one of the doors and stepped inside. "I've been in here before. It just seems that way because it's lighter out here than inside. Besides, we should get going. With these clouds, it’s going to get dark earlier than normal. Let's grab what you need and go home."
Deb had been about to follow him into the foyer, but that stopped her. "Home?" she asked mildly.
Alex flushed a sudden deep red. "I didn't mean it like that," he stammered. "I would never assume—"
Deb couldn't stop a mischievous grin as she gave him a playful shove. "You sure embarrass easily for a guy who used to have a harem."
~ * ~
"It's late," Alex finally said. They were seated once again on the stone bench in the plaza of the Daley Center. "There's probably only an hour of light left." Huddled next to him, Deb could see him watching her out of the corner of his eye. Time, it seemed, her time, was passing much too quickly. They were facing west and Deb tilted her face into the breeze, enjoying it despite the temperature. Somewhere beyond the buildings, obscured by thick clouds, the sun was settling slowly toward the horizon, leeching away the rest of the day's warmth.
"It's very cold," Deb said. Inside her pocket she could feel the delicate petals of the flowers and she wondered if life still moved within the slender plants. At her feet was a shopping bag with a clay pot and a small bag of potting soil. Would these simple things combine to protect and keep life in the daisies? Deb's thoughts took a sudden black turn and her stomach twisted in sympathetic pain.
And what will it take to keep life in me?
Oh, God.
Her eyes followed the sleek lines of the Daley Center. Behind its black steel and darkly tinted windows, if she wanted, was temporary safety and warmth, and other things, too, long-forgotten feelings—physical and emotional—that a short time ago she had thought she might never feel again.
For just one night.
I will treasure this memory, she thought. For as long as I can.
She smiled and stood, then held a hand out to Alex and tugged him to his feet. He looked at her quizzically and she was glad they were almost the same height; it made it that much easier to press her lips against his. For a moment she felt his surprise as she squeezed his hand, a startled tremor that blurred beneath the warmth and pleasure the kiss reawakened. The muted agony in her belly faded, then winked away like a snuffed candle.
The city around them darkened visibly as its myriad shadows gathered and lengthened to become more inviting to those things of the night she particularly wanted to avoid. She wasn't feeling very brave this evening.
"Stay with me?" Alex whispered against her cheek. "We don't have to—"
"Shhh." She put a finger gently across his mouth. His eyes were wide pools of raw emotion in the fading light. "Let's go."
Hands entwined, warm flesh against warm flesh, she followed Alex across Daley Plaza.
I will treasure this, she thought again.
And I will have no regrets.
The Hunters
7
REVELATION 21:8
And the abominable . . . shall have their part in
the second death.
~ * ~
"You seem very pleased with yourself tonight, Howard. Things went well today, yes?" Anyelet's eyes, so deep and black, glittered across the candlelit expanse of the main lobby.
Howard started and realized that they were all watching him—the Mistress, Rita, Vic, even that creepy little Gregory. Now there was a type, all right, just like those finicky little bastards at his old job. They were jealous, he knew—after all, he had the best of both light and dark worlds, and they were forever trapped in darkness. Well, you make your choices.
"Yes." He smiled at Anyelet and nodded his pudgy head for emphasis. "They did." He could feel Vic's gaze boring into him, trying to read his thoughts, and Howard was careful not to meet the former bodybuilder's eyes or even look in his direction. They could read minds; he realized that now though in the past he'd never been quite sure. But after what he'd seen Anyelet do to the old man last night—he'd been hiding just around the corner—Howard finally believed.
"How many women did you beat and rape today, Howard?" Rita jeered. Coming from her, his name seemed like a dirty word and Howard flinched.
"I didn't beat anyone," he responded smoothly, raising his voice to be sure that Vic could hear him clearly. “I had . . . relations with three of them." Not bad for someone of his immense weight and as out of shape, too. Did vampires have sex? He didn't think so—the act would be impossible for a male since they had no blood to maintain an erection. Howard barely kept his snigger to himself. Good ol’ American Red: he had it, they didn't. Besides, he'd heard about bodybuilders and steroids and what that shit did to a man’s sex drive and performance. That meant Vic had two strikes against him—no wonder the big vampire hated him. Howard almost felt sorry for the guy.
But not quite.
Howard had been saving his next statement for a few days, treasuring it like a special piece of candy. "I think," he said, unable to mask the pride he felt, "that another woman might be pregnant. One of the younger ones." Howard thought he heard a growl come from deep in Vic's chest and his head jerked toward the larger man in alarm. The odd sound was drowned out by Rita’s harsh voice.
"It's easier when they're babies, isn't it?" Rita spat. "What a pig you are, Howard!"
"What difference does it make to you?" he challenged. "You only need them for food."
Rita opened her mouth but Anyelet cut her off. "That will be enough." There was a dangerous hint of impatience in her tone. "Howard is serving a useful purpose. Aren’t you?" She looked his way.
Rita stared at the Mistress in disbelief. "But just last night you said . . ." The tall vampire lapsed into silence at Anyelet's warning glance and Howard's eyes narrowed. "Last night was a different time," Anyelet murmured. She raised her voice and spoke to Howard. "You say another child will be born? When?"
"It's too early to tell," Howard admitted. "But I'm positive the girl has missed her cycle for at least two months."
"It's probably just stress," suggested Gregory. "I understand that happens sometimes."
"It is not!" Howard protested hotly. "She's as healthy as any of them, and she hasn't been giving me any trouble."
"Which is another way of saying you haven't found an excuse to slap her around," muttered Rita.
“But you're sure she's pregnant?" Anyelet interrupted.
Howard nodded, straining to conceal the sudden nervous flutter in his stomach. He hated putting himself on the line like this—what if that stupid, nerdy Gregory was right? What if the girl was only screwed up, some kind of mysterious female infection or something? Jesus. Rita's words flashed painfully into his mind, like sticking your face onto the glass of a Xerox machine and pressing the COPY button with your eyes still open.
"Good job, then," Anyelet continued. "The ideal situation would be to have all the females impregnated as much as possible and feed only from the males."
"The ideal situation would be if there was food for the taking everywhere, like there used to be," Rita said sullenly.
Howard considered offering his own opinion about the future, then wisely decided to wait when Gregory spoke. "True," the boyish vampire agreed, "but impossible. We would inevitably end up in the same position—"
"I know that, you idiot!" Rita hissed.
Gregory threw her an irritated glance. "Well, you see
m to need reminding." The onetime accountant's smile was smug, and Howard imagined computer drives churning in the icy recesses of Gregory's brain. "The ones like you ruined it for all of us, you know."
Anyelet's eyebrows raised. "Oh?"
"Not you," the thin vampire amended quickly. "That's not what I meant at all." He shrugged and brushed at his sweatshirt fussily. "I mean the . . . I suppose a good word would be gluttons." He nodded at Rita, who wore an expression of incredulous rage. "The ones like her who took more than they needed and hunted just for fun, depleting everything. That's why we're in such poor shape."
"Who the fuck appointed you judge?" Rita shrieked, leaping to her feet. "You annoying little cockroach! I could stomp you into the floor right now—"
"Vic," Anyelet said so softly that only she, Vic, and Howard heard the world. Howard cautiously edged away.
Gregory laughed, unperturbed by Rita's threats. “Hardly, dear. You're more mouth than muscle." The air between the two crackled. Go on! Howard cheered silently. If Gregory tore the bitch's head off, the dweeby CPA would solve Howard's worst problem!
Rita sprang like a deadly jungle cat, black and sleek and twice as fast as the feeling of scalding water on bare skin. Gregory rose to meet her, either in response or anticipation, his own movement rivaling the astounding killing strikes of the rattlesnakes on the old PBS nature broadcasts. Howard's stunned gaze couldn't even follow the blur as the two bodies hurtled toward each other.
Incredibly, Vic was there, stepping between them before flesh met flesh and collided to a point of no return. One immense forearm wrapped around Rita's shoulders and simply plucked her from midair; when Gregory would have attacked the imprisoned woman, Vic's fist connected solidly with his chest and knocked the smaller vampire back a good twenty feet. Howard's sweat-slimed fingers clenched in disappointment inside his pockets when Vic made no move to further punish the combatants, and he shivered and turned away; it was colder tonight than yesterday and he found it disconcerting to watch these horrific creatures battle without the slightest puff of steamy breath. They never seemed to notice the temperature. "I think I'll go check on the prisoners," he said to no one in particular. There was nothing more to see here anyway.
"Yeah," Rita said nastily. "Keep them warm." She made an angry strangling sound as Vic tightened his hold.
Anyelet finally spoke from the shadows. "Yes, Howard," she said in a liquid voice. Her quiet rage made him tremble. "That's a very good idea. I have things to which I must . . . attend."
Rita and Gregory looked suddenly sick, and Howard barely hid a grin as he left the lobby and plodded up to the third floor. Let the Mistress give that vicious bitch something to think about other than antagonizing him. In the meantime, he'd spent a good part of today cautiously searching for Rita's and Vic's sleeping places, and he planned to continue his hunt tomorrow.
Upstairs it was cellar-dark and the oil lamps he'd lit at dusk were nearly empty. It was cold, too, miserably so, and if he didn't drag out more blankets, most of these shit-for-brains would end up with hypothermia. If that happened, they'd probably die and all his progress would be undone; above all he had to look out for the woman and the teenager—he hoped—who were pregnant. Already he could hear moans and teeth chattering—a sound that pissed him off no end—from several of the lightless doorways.
Evening chores irritated him, though he realized tonight was his own fault for ignoring his charges most of the afternoon. He'd planned to be in his sleeping bag by now, warm, full, and in dreamland. All that good—good, hell, he'd been great!—sex today had exhausted him and he'd been too worried last night to sleep well. His eyes had opened at dawn, and with the sun slowly brightening the room he'd had the first inkling that had sent him looking for the hidden rooms where his two enemies spent their daytime hours in helpless slumber.
If he found them, it would be an easy task to kill them both.
8
REVELATION 18:4
Come out of her that ye be not partakers of her sins,
and that ye receive not of her plagues.
~ * ~
"Stephen."
"Go away," he said. He tried to say it with conviction, with command. Please, God, he begged silently and squeezed his eyes shut. Save me from this female Satan. If he prayed fast and hard enough, if he was truly, truly despondent, would she be gone when he opened them?
"Stephen, look at me."
He groaned. An hour ago he'd thought he couldn’t feel any colder or more miserable; now Stephen realized how wrong he'd been. She had come back to seduce him again and take his soul—if he still had one—a few more miles down damnation road. "Jesus!" he cried suddenly. "Why have You abandoned me?"
"Stop that!" Anyelet said sharply. Stephens eyes widened. Had the Savior's name hurt her? Burned her, or stabbed her right in her evil, hellish heart? He desperately hoped so, but cowardice made him hang his head. How many saints had died for the Lord? And here he skulked, too terrified to even say God's name aloud.
Anyelet moved inside the doorway, her scarlet dressing gown rippling, and Stephen cursed his quickening pulse. He wondered if she wore anything underneath, then damned himself again and smacked his closed fist against his forehead, hoping that the pain would cut through his already building desire.
"Darling," Anyelet said, "what's the matter? Are you cold?" Her voice eased around him like oil, swelling above the damp, frigid air, making his heart race and stealing his breath.
"Get away," he said hoarsely. "I don’t want—"
"Oh, but you do want, don't you?" She smiled and stepped in front of him. "I think you want very much."
He closed his eyes again, this time in surrender. She smelled so sweet, like his mother's perfume—what had it been called? Shalimar. The memory brought back a dozen others: his parents laughing in the family room as they pieced together a jigsaw puzzle; countless meals in the kitchen; the smell of the bathroom after his mom had patted the final touch of perfume behind her ears. Like now.
Anyelet's mouth was on his neck and he breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of her as his hands, eager traitors that they were, moved to caress her shoulders. Just before her teeth sank sweetly into his flesh, Stephen thought he smelled something else.
Something like . . . rot.
~ * ~
Once again Anyelet had stopped just short of him becoming unconscious, just short of . . . what? Now he felt high, like he'd smoked a little of the weed that had circulated at a party he'd attended in high school, or had maybe drank too much beer. Why couldn't she kill him and be done with it?
He shuddered. Could she read his mind? He knew Anyelet had that ability, but would he know if she was doing it? He let himself think longingly of Jesus, His serene and compassionate face, the agonizing Fourteen Stations of the Cross, and of a salvation forever lost. Lying beside him within the folds of her own clean blanket, Anyelet didn't stir. That was good; he loathed himself enough without the chance that she knew how close he was to begging her to change him, to stop this nightly torture and give him her elusive hell.
Stephen stared up at the myriad cracks in the thick paint of the old ceiling. Do I really want that? he wondered. Do I actually want to be like her, to feed on people? He ground his teeth at the thought of some man or woman or—God forbid—child, cowering as he approached to fill his unholy appetite. Another question, disgusting and more than morbid, bloomed at the same instant he felt something black and sinister touch his mind: What would it taste like?
"Shall I show you, Stephen?"
He gasped as Anyelet leaned forward and hoisted his limp form beside her with effortless strength, then smiled and held out one white wrist. As he watched in blank horror, she slashed deeply across its tangle of bluish veins with a razor-sharp fingernail; blood welled, thick and reddish-black, glistening like a strange and exotic dish.
"Drink!" she commanded.
Stephen shook his head, though try as he might he couldn't wrench his eyes from her tempting offeri
ng. Anyelet's cold hand slid sensually up the skin along his spine, then cupped the back of his skull. His vampire lover began forcing his face toward the wound in her skin.
"No!" Stephen choked and tried to squirm away, as much from Anyelet as to escape the diabolic thirst that exploded within him. But her brutal hold was impossible to fight; liquid, cooling and not at all the hot wetness he had expected, smeared his nostrils as she covered his face with her arm. Instinct made Stephen open his mouth to breathe, and the taste of copper and salt filled his mouth and made him gag, then swallow reflexively. Dark hunger filled him and suddenly he couldn't stop himself from clutching her wrist and sucking, his lips and tongue probing the moist gash in an obscene parody of a kiss.
He barely heard Anyelet's amused laugh. "Why, Stephen . . . you're drinking your own blood!"
9
REVELATION 3:17
And knowest not that thou art wretched, and miserable,
and poor, and blind, and naked.
~ * ~
"Good morning!" the old man said cheerfully. “A fine and lovely day, don't you think? I'd like a nice, hot cup of coffee, I think. And a danish."
Hugh straightened his tie and sat military straight on his stool in the Pedway Cafeteria beneath Marshall Field's. The tie, a nice red-and-black-dotted bow-thing he'd found while rummaging through Karroll's Men's Shop last night, was more tangled than knotted, but he was positive it looked just right, though he couldn't be sure because none of the mirrors worked anymore. Or maybe he was ill—every time he checked his reflection, like now, using the mirror behind the refrigerated pie case, he got dizzy. High blood pressure? He'd have that checked at his physical next month. Anyway, someone should tell the manager that the case wasn't working and all the food in it was black and covered with colored, fuzzy mold. He remembered that same case being broken some time ago, when the weather was still warm, and hadn't there been a whole slew of disgusting bugs swarming inside it? He'd never liked insects and his mind shied away from the thought. "Excuse me," he said loudly. "Can I get some service?" He shook his head in irritation; he didn't know why he kept coming back here. The service had been bad for months, ever since . . .
AfterAge Page 15
