Midnight Reign

by Chris Marie Green

  Through the windshield, Someone could see that the victim already had car keys in hand, the other hand hidden.

  Someone slipped in the set of fake fangs purchased from a Goth store on the Internet with a borrowed credit card, then made sure they were secured tightly.

  Open the car door. Quietly, so quiet. Eyes always on the prize, wig off and head scrubbed so as not to leave fibers; clothing black and common enough to deflect any attention.

  Tonight, even the Lee Tomlinson would be a fan because he’d never reached these heights. The Master had told Someone that the Lee had wanted to be a vampire so badly he’d killed for it.

  Feeling superior, Someone crept toward the victim on stealthy feet, masked in the dark. Around the empty parking lot, Servants watched to make sure everything went smoothly. This kill was that important.

  The Lee would never talk down to Someone again because he’d have no right to. Fuck him. Fuck him for fucking—

  Brutal images slashed through Someone: Lee wrenching Someone’s arm up between shoulder blades, whispering, “I’m stronger and smarter than you’ll ever be. I’m the Lee Tomlinson, and you’re nobody.” Someone had bit their pillow the whole time, mouth full of linen, spit, and bleach, belly scraping the mattress during each thrust—

  Someone shook their head to dislodge the flashes, then got closer to Victim Number Three.

  It was only at the scent of jasmine that the killer lost step, recalling the Master’s warnings about other forces at work. But the hesitation didn’t last long, because an “Elite” who’d been summoned just in case of this scenario ripped the ghost away, captivating it.

  Then Someone struck quickly.

  But the victim whirled around first, whisking a gun out from under a jacket.

  Someone was ready, ducking, firing the Taser.

  As the victim flopped to the ground, convulsing, Someone stopped being a no one.

  And started to feel like the true, glamorous vampire star the Lee Tomlinson would never be.

  TWENTY-TWO

  BELOW, ACT FOUR

  THE seductive music video on the Master’s television screen was not only bothering Sorin, it was clearly not adding to Eva Claremont’s mood, as well.

  “I’m going to kill Paul Aspen,” she said, standing up from the divan. “Sorin—I’m going to kill you!”

  “Eva,” the Master said, wearing his inhuman form—dark, nebulous, and outlined with the energetic red neon that spoke of good cheer. “Let’s hear him out.”

  The head vampire guided his favorite Elite back to the pillows, unable to take his gaze from her. He stroked her hair, clearly in awe of the blond waves.

  Sorin stood his ground in front of them, hands folded behind his back. They were in the Master’s private quarters, where he was preparing to gift the actress with her first monthly infusion since her release. Though they received only enough blood to possess a fraction of the Master’s own powers, it was enough. Without it, they would become what they feared worst: ugly, old, average.

  Not that Eva Claremont was entirely focused on that matter. Unlike many Elites, who priced human attachments below fame, she had family concerns. And the Master had preyed upon those fears, utilizing Underground recruiters—Servant agents and managers—to win over the mortal actress he worshipped from afar.

  Sorin somewhat respected her love for family. He had always retained an inkling of memory for his own, as well.

  Eva was still glaring at him, her Allure getting away from her and causing her gaze to break apart into multihued shards. “You asked Paul Aspen to wipe my daughter’s memory! And he bit her. Bit her, Sorin! He had no right—”

  “I regret that.” Sorin’s tone remained even. “I did not anticipate his foolishness.”

  She turned to the Master. “You promised I could ease her into this life, Benedikte. If I’d known what would happen when I left Dawn alone at the party, I wouldn’t have brought her. I thought it was safe.”

  “You’re upset. I understand.” The Master kept smoothing back her hair. “Don’t be angry.”

  Sorin’s posture stiffened as he witnessed the Elite slowly wrapping the older vampire around her tiny finger once again. She was the Master’s weakness.

  Thank the day Sorin had carried his streak of human logic with him into this world. From years of observance, he believed many other vampires clung to a semblance of mortal emotion, unable to desert it. Sorin was admittedly guilty of that, but it had faded with time, embedding itself deeply, where it was not simply accessed.

  Eva had not calmed down. She was kneeling next to the Master, holding one of his darkly hazy hands. “I know Paul facilitated my return to Hollywood by getting me this big new role. He’s a mentor, but I didn’t realize he’d take Dawn in exchange for his efforts.”

  “Eva, I’ll handle this.”

  Although Sorin could not clearly see the Master’s face, he knew how the old vampire would be longing for her. It was an eternal heartbreak that Sorin did not comprehend.

  The Master turned to Sorin. “Didn’t you think of how this would affect Eva?”

  From the sharpness of tone, Sorin knew that his maker was sickened by what had happened to Dawn, as well.

  Sorin anticipated this. “I gambled and failed. Yet I still believe the risk would have been worth the reward, had I succeeded. Dawn Madison is an untapped resource, and we have waited too long to fully mine her.” He paused. “And it is not as if Eva would ever extract the information we need from—”

  “She’s my daughter!” There was fire in Eva’s eyes now. “You’ve both gone far enough in using her as a toy of war.”

  “At this point, we are all toys.”

  “Enough.” The Master’s aura throbbed. “Sorin, you know extracting information from Dawn has not been Eva’s job.”

  “Yes, Master, I am sorry.” His maker was clearly upset by Sorin’s analysis. Yet what choice was there but to press onward? The spirit who had accompanied Dawn to Paul’s party had yielded no information under strenuous examination, and Sorin doubted that more captivity would provoke her into revealing anything about why she was with Dawn or who her boss really was. Most unfortunately, Sorin was not even so certain that this most recent plan of the Master’s—the so-called Vampire Killer scheme—would produce results tonight, even if their murderer was already carrying out the plan.

  The Master assuaged Eva by petting her throat, laying her back on the pillows, and beginning the infusion process. She was trembling, most likely from residual anger and the craving for blood that built up in Elites over the course of a month.

  “Maybe you’re not thinking straight when it comes to Dawn,” the Master said softly. “Even you admit that you revealed yourself too early.”

  “I had to.” Eva rubbed a hand over her brow.

  “Taking her captive is going to set off some fireworks. If we weren’t making a move to bring Limpet out of the shadows tonight, I’d be very upset with you.”

  “We could’ve fooled everyone Above for at least a few days. Dawn’s identity could’ve been assumed by y—”

  “It wasn’t your choice to force any vampire’s hand, Eva.”

  She absently ran her other hand over the divan, no doubt knowing the Master followed her every move.

  Wrapping the Master around her finger, Sorin thought again.

  “Dawn was much too close to the truth,” she added.

  Sorin raised his chin, wishing he had Awareness with his sibling, just as maker and higher children—or even the original blood brothers—did. Alas, he was not so fortunate.

  He had come to suspect that perhaps Dawn had somehow stumbled upon a secret that had forced Eva’s hand. Perhaps Frank, her husband? Had Eva been lying to them all along about his whereabouts? Sorin did not want to believe she would do such a dangerous, selfish thing. She had sacrificed so much to be in the Underground so…why?

  The Master’s Awareness intruded. Stop dwelling on it. She didn’t take Frank. Her mind would show it, and
Julia would tell us.

  Sorin shut off his own Awareness as he thought, If Eva allowed you fully into her mind, you might know. And perhaps Julia worships Eva more than the Underground. You would understand such a thing.

  But Sorin did not share his feelings about how his father tended to fool himself when it came to matters he did not wish to face.

  Sorin turned their communication back on. I only wish to know why she would endanger our home.

  My guess is love. The elder vampire slipped a vaporlike arm under the small of Eva’s back, arching her up as he nuzzled her neck. She tightened her hand over her brow.

  Love, Sorin thought to himself. A concept, really. He applied it to his missing vampire daughters, turned it this way and that. Then he realized that his affection for them was now more memory than feeling.

  As the Master used what looked to be a nail to slice open a wound on his chest, he scooped Eva’s head into a palm and tenderly led her mouth to him.

  Not yet dismissed, Sorin watched, thinking how Eva sucked more than just blood out of his father.

  “Everything is going to be beautiful soon,” said the head vampire. “We’ll be together, you, me, and Dawn.”

  Intent on feeding, Eva splayed her hands against the Master’s chest, sucking languidly, greedily. He leaned back his head, his other hand stroking her back, urging her against him.

  “After tonight,” he continued, “everything will be easier.”

  As she drew harder from him, Sorin fisted his hands. She had drunk enough; she needed to cease.

  Yet the Master did not seem to care.

  “I’m going to…take away your troubles tonight…Eva—”

  He convulsed, and she rose up, pressing herself to him, stronger than usual. She laved in even more blood, moaning.

  Just as Sorin stepped forward to drag her away, the Master glowed anew, then forcefully pulled her off himself. He was breathing heavily, erratically, his outline beating.

  For a moment, Eva and he merely stared at each other, her skin flushed. Then, gently, he reached out and wiped a streak of blood off her lips, inserting a dark thumb between them.

  Clearly embarrassed at the intimacy, Eva disengaged, squirming out from under the Master.

  “What do you mean, Benedikte?” She smoothed the skirt of her dress. “What’s happening tonight?”

  With great pride in his strategic planning, the Master told her of the Vampire Killer scheme as well as her own part in it. When he finished, Eva’s hand was at her throat, as if startled.

  “You want me to show Dawn this murder…?” she choked.

  Inferior creature, Sorin thought. Elites had never killed for their sustenance, so they were soft.

  “You won’t have any blood on your hands,” the Master said. “The new Vampire Killer is going to do it for us because fame is the big reward. The crowds will love this kind of violent exhibition, and our murderer knows it. All you have to do, Eva, is show a little bit of the killer’s transmission to your daughter. When she sees it, she’ll turn away from the life she’s currently leading and leave us with one less fighter to worry about.” The Master’s glow dimmed. “She really does need to change a lot of things about that life of hers.”

  “I don’t like this,” Eva said. “It’s not right.”

  “She’ll never know we’re a part of what’s going on. In fact, this is a perfect opportunity to win her over. I’m making it easy for you. Who will she turn to in her grief over tonight’s murder? Her mother, of course.”

  Eva was quiet.

  Sorin tensed, suspicious of her reaction. “Perhaps you can persuade us of your loyalty once again with your aid in this?”

  At the challenge, Eva stiffened.

  The Master held up a hand, silencing Sorin. “Eva, I thought you would be happier.” He sounded stung. “Dawn’s grief is going to help you as much as it will the Underground.”

  “And you would help the Underground, yes?” Sorin asked the Elite.

  “Of course. I’d do about anything. But…”

  “This is just another step in persuading Dawn to come down here with me,” the Master added. “Think of it that way.”

  Eva seemed to draw back from him, though Sorin did not detect a change in physical distance.

  “You talk like she belongs to you,” she whispered.

  “She will, Eva. Just like you do.”

  The Elite stared straight ahead. “Benedikte, sometimes I think you’ve transferred your affection for me to her, and it…concerns me.”

  The Master’s glow ebbed again. Awareness did not reveal to Sorin whether it was because Eva had shut him out or if it was because she doubted his professed love of Dawn.

  Within seconds, the old vampire began to grow agitated; sparks lined the edges of his shadowed form. “You’re testing me, just like you did at the beginning, when you constantly moped around for your family. Back then, I tried to make you happier by accepting Robby’s petition to come Underground—”

  “You accepted his dad’s petition,” Eva said. “Nathan Pennybaker wanted Robby to go through the change, not the other way around.”

  “Nevertheless, I was willing to overlook my doubts about turning such a young boy because he was your friend. I thought he would be like a little brother for you and ease the pain of leaving your other family behind.”

  But there was more to the Master’s story than he was telling, Sorin thought. The old vampire had lavished young Robby with attention, hoping Eva would adore him for it. Yet the Elite had not seemed to notice, instead taking the boy under her own wing and calming his terror at what had been forced upon him. Naturally, her mentorship had echoed their mortal relationship: when Robby had misbehaved with Eva, she had reportedly always adjusted his behavior.

  Yet that had only produced trouble, because, when Eva was released, Robby had lost his only stabilizing influence Underground. He had attempted escape, although he had never visited Eva because of the risk that she would turn him in.

  It had always been an ugly situation, and years had passed before the Master had even performed another procedure.

  “I only want to make you happy,” the Master repeated.

  Slowly, Eva stood, strong on her feet now that she had been reinfused with the Master’s lifeblood. “If this plan backfires, I have everything to lose.”

  The Master reached for her hand. “You’ll have Dawn.”

  “And Frank someday,” Eva said. “Frank, too.”

  The Master’s night-shaded form contained quick strikes of lightning, an upheaval. “Frank?”

  A rumble shook the room, and Sorin darted forward, wanting to stop the inevitable, but powerless to do so. “Master, you must prepare for tonight’s work—”

  With a rock-blasting crash, the old vampire burst into his most terrible visage: a looming demon-fanged materialization of personal fear, not so much seen as felt by any individual unfortunate enough to see their own nightmares come alive.

  The hate of a mother, the alienation of being stranded…all of it attacked Sorin with unclean fervor.

  Screeching pierced the room, forcing Eva and Sorin to cover their ears and sink to the floor. Neither changed into their own angel-silvered forms—even in full greatness, they were nothing next to the Master: only a rainfall compared to a howling storm.

  “You need my blood, Eva,” the maker keened, his voice like the scrape of claws over the downward slope from heaven to earth. “You need me.”

  And he had always needed someone like her, Sorin thought, arms cradling his head. The reflection of innocence in a chain of women, the echo of a wife dead and gone. Useless love.

  The Master turned on Sorin and, although he would not look, the thought of what loomed before him made him quake: a horrifying variation of Elite beauty, distorted by rage.

  Can’t she see I’m making things so much easier for her tonight? he asked his son. So much easier for all of us?

  No, Master. Sorin shook his head. She does not see.
<
br />   He bowed lower, wishing the monster away.

  She will never see….

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE UNDERGROUND OF HOLLYWOOD, 1984

  LONG live the new Robby Pennybaker,” the Elite vampires said in chorus, lifting their flutes of warm blood.

  As they toasted their newest member, their robes shimmered, the colors and textures reminding Benedikte of far harbors and exotic markets. Behind the Elites, in the emporium’s background, Groupies applauded, strewn around the steamy room like cats, resting on and rubbing up against each other.

  These newer creatures didn’t have the Elites’ “class,” Benedikte thought. Instead, the Groupies were trendy beings, dressed in netlike material, their hair streaked with neon colors and gelled into odd styles. They’d been created by Geneva and Ginny before the equally frivolous twin vampires had adventured to the Old World years ago.

  Yes, Benedikte ruled over them all, resting on a cushioned seat on a dais. He’d wanted to be here for this celebration, so he’d shifted into Sorin’s shape, as he often did anyway. His real son was hidden in the private rooms so that none of the Groupies would be aware of the body doubling. However, since “Dr. Eternity” had been the one to turn every Elite into a vampire, the stars all knew when Benedikte was with them. They’d vowed never to reveal his presence—a security precaution.

  He scanned all of his dear family, keeping his eye on one in particular: Eva.

  His veins sang at the sight of her. It felt like his heart was cracking open and humming at the same time.

  She was amidst the toasting Elites, holding Robby as the child vampire clung to her dress. When her gaze connected with Benedikte, he motioned her to him.

  While she moved through her brethren—oh, how she moved—she brought Robby with her. The twelve-year-old was shrinking away from his sibling Elites as they reached out to congratulate him. But all he wanted was Eva.

  A spear of…jealousy?…dug into Benedikte at the sight of her taking care of the boy. She did it so easily. Why couldn’t she show Benedikte the same kind of simple affection?