by Trisha Telep
Tim didn’t waste any time. Maybe it hadn’t been enough to kill him, because he bit at Danvers’ neck, again and again, until it fell away from the shoulders, stake still sticking from the socket.
We were both covered with blood when Tim took me in his arms again. “God, I’d forgotten how good you are.” There was a smile in that voice and I couldn’t help but smile in return, pressed against his bare body happily. “That’s exactly the kind of help I need.”
“My name . . . or your name is Sylvia Beck.” I stared into the camera lens, while Tim watched nervously off to one side. I opened my arms to show my full blue uniform, utility belt and all. “You’re a police officer, badge 51476, and have spent the last five years keeping the citizens of this city safe from the scum of the earth. You’re honest, trustworthy and kind. Oh, and–” I reached out my hand, wiggling my fingers for Tim to step into the frame. He did so, squeezing my hand, but looking nervous. “This is your sire, Officer Tim Myres. He’s the man I love and I trust him with everything I am.” I smiled at him then and looked back to the camera, red light blinking to show it was recording. “That’s why I’ve decided to let him bring me over to become you. You’re a vampire, but you’re still a cop. Remember that. Remember me.”
“Are you sure about this, Syl. You could help me just as easily by staying human.”
I shook my head. “Danvers was nearly too strong. It was just his own stupidity that made him vulnerable. Next time I might not be so lucky.” I touched his face and hoped the camera would show what I was feeling inside. “I won’t lose you again. And even if that means I have to die and fight to remember you, it’s worth it. I love you, Tim Myers. And after all, we have a city to protect, and a vampire police force to begin.” I pointed at the camera. “So don’t you dare give Tim any less than your best. I’ll be watching you always, nagging at your brain to do the right thing. Remember that.”
Then I nodded at Tim and squeezed his hands tight. “Let’s do this.” I didn’t know if we could pull it off. Keep me disappeared until I recovered my memory and still retain my job. But I worked the night shift, so it could work. My career was important enough to try. I had to try. The city was counting on me . . . on us. It seems a little funny that my career choice suddenly included dying – but there you go.
Tim’s skin paled again and the fangs came into view. His eyes were both frightening in their intensity and heart-warming in the tears that filled them. I let loose one hand and pulled down the stiff, starched collar with the pretty gold bar. “Kill me, Tim. Make me a vampire and keep me with you forever.”
He was on me in a flash, throwing me to the floor so hard I hit my head – playing it up for the camera so I . . . so she, would understand what we’d become. He hissed at the camera and then drove fangs into me. The pain was intense, nothing like it had been in bed and I was suddenly afraid, wondering if I’d made the right choice.
But as my struggling grew weaker, his hands so tight on me that my fingers went numb, I heard his voice across my mind and it made everything better. I love you, Syl. I’ll keep you safe until you come back.
Then there was darkness, so deep and rich that it ate away everything that was light, that was me, and I fell into a well that seemed to go forever.
Anger now. Pain and anger. The man holding me ties me to a chair, yells at me to listen and watch. But it hurts to open my eyes. He forces them to open and I see myself and him. Dressed in blue, his long hair half-covering his face. Hate and fear. I can’t break loose. I scream and fight, but finally give up and snarl, my teeth gnashing, slicing through my lips as I watch the shiny glass. Then a picture appears and it looks like the face in the other glass. I raise my eyebrows and tip my head and so does the figure in the glass. Is that me? I bare fangs and so does she. Fingers wiggle under the rope and so do hers. Then the woman starts to talk.
“My name . . . or your name is Sylvia Beck. You’re a police officer, badge 51476, and have spent the last five years keeping the citizens of this city safe from the scum of the earth. You’re honest, trustworthy and kind.”
Blink and the woman in the glass blinks, and so does the woman on the screen. Sylvia. It sounds right, resonates in my head. The man who tied me up is sitting patiently in a chair on the other side of the room. “Sylvia?” My voice is the same as the woman in the picture.
The man nodded. “You’re Sylvia, Sylvia Beck.”
Then the same man appeared on the screen and a flash came to my head, so sharp and intense it made me yelp. Like a dream, it all came back to me – Tim’s death, then Danvers and then . . . my own. I watched Tim touch my hand on the television with the same worried look he had across the room. I felt tears come to my eyes as I ran a tongue along the sharp points of teeth. Sylvia Beck. Peace officer . . . vampire. “Tim. I . . . remember. I remember you. And I remember me.”
He smiled, and it was a wonderful thing. “Did it help? Did the tape ease the rage?”
I nodded, because it had. There were still gaps, such as I didn’t know where I was exactly, didn’t know how long had passed since that night, or recall the room or the names of some of the things I saw. But I recognized my uniform, and remembered Tim. It was enough, because the rest would come. “It eased the rage. But before we start a police force, come over here and kiss me, Tim. Help me remember everything.”
That warm smile again, showing fangs like me, and more things flooded back . . . memories that might not be real, but felt real. He walked over and leaned down to kiss my lips, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. “I love you, Syl. And you’ll see – we’ll make it through this. Together we’re going to be the greatest pair of vamps this city has ever seen, and we’ll be the first of those who remember, who keep their humanity and make the world a better place.”
I nodded and offered him my lips again, tucking my fangs safely against the roof of my mouth. “And we’ll love, Tim. After all, that’s the essence of all humanity.”
Dancing with the Star
Susan Sizemore
There are plenty of people who come into the Alhambra Club for the things we regulars can offer. It’s a nice place, not flashy on the inside, hard to spot from the outside. You have to want to find the place and search for it through friends of friends of friends. If you’re a mortal, that is. The rest of us have used it as a hangout for the better part of a century.
There’s a television set over the bar, a big, flat-panel model, always playing with the sound off. I wasn’t paying attention to it because I was engaged in seducing a handsome young man with far too many body piercings for my usual taste. I mean, if you want piercings, I’m perfectly capable of providing them for you. But, he had nice eyes and a lovely voice, and the place wasn’t all that full of human patrons this evening. A girl goes with what she can sometimes. I wasn’t all that hungry, so I wasn’t trying too hard. I wasn’t paying attention to the TV, but my friend Tiana was. I was surprised when she came up and put her cold hand on my shoulder, because she isn’t normally rude enough to interrupt me when I’m working a fresh feed.
“Did you hear? There’s been a twelve=car pile up on Mulholland.”
This isn’t the sort of thing that would normally interest me, but her excitement got my attention. I shifted my gaze to the television. It showed a scene of fire and carnage spotlighted in beams of white light shooting down from circling helicopters. A crawl on the bottom of the screen was showing statistics about the dead and injured and the amount of emergency rescue equipment called to the scene. A blonde windblown gorl reporter was excitedly talking about the same things.
Beside me, Tiana was starting to breathe heavily. I wasn’t sure who was getting off on the disaster more, my friend or the reporter.
I looked back at Tiana. “So?”
Her eyes were glowing, not quite the death-eating electric blue she gets when she’s feeding, but her pupils held pinprick sparks of anticipation. “You want to go have a look, Serephena?” she asked.
Normally I wouldn’t
have been interested, but the pleading in her voice got to me. Tiana’s been my best friend for a very long time. If you know what we are you wouldn’t think she and I would have that much in common. I’m a vampire and she’d – well, all right – she’s my ghoul friend. I feed on the living, she feeds on the energy of the dying. But we both like to shop.
“Maybe there’s a dying movie star out there I can latch on to.” She said. She rubbed her hands together. “A producer would be even better.”
I know what that sounds like, but it really had more to do with psychic power levels than celebrity stalking. There are a lot of high-energy types in show business, a lot of people who are psychic and don’t even know it.
I got up and telepathically told the pierced boy that we’d never met. “Sure,” I said to Tiana. “It’s been a slow night. Let’s go have a look.”
It was gruesome up on Mulholland Drive. Tiana ate it up – literally soaking the energy of fear and pain in through her pores. It was the scent of blood that got to me, but not in a good way. There’s no fun in spilled blood. I need to take blood from the living, breathing source, to taste it fresh and hot, with the heartbeat still pulsing through it. And preferably from a volunteer, because we live in modern, humane times. Unlike some of my notorious forebears I do not get off on pain. The blood on the crash victims gave off a sick scent that rolled my stomach, but I did find hiding in the shadows and watching the emergency crews work exciting. Hey, I’m as interested in all that forensics and rescue stuff as anyone else who watches the geek-TV channels, but this was ‘live and direct’ like Max Headroom used to say on the television show nobody but me probably remembers.
It was interesting, but after a while I glanced at the sky and sighed. The night was getting on. “Had enough yet?” I asked. “You’ll outgrow your size-two clothes if you feed much longer. Besides, it’s an hour to sunrise.”
Tiana came out of her happy trance and turned glowing blue eyes on me. “Oh, sorry, I lost track of the time.”
“No problem,” I said, and took her arm to help her walk away, knowing from experience that she was drunk and dizzy from feeding.
Help me! Where are you?
Here! I shouted to the voice in my head. Where –
“Seraphina!”
I looked up into pinpoints of blue light. Tiana. I was on my knees and she was standing over me. The fierce pain in my head blocked out most thought, but I knew our positions were all wrong. I was supposed to be helping her.
I wanted to run into the wreckage behind us. But when I stood my legs were too shaky. I glanced back. “I –”
Tiana shook my shoulders. “We have to go. Sunrise,” she said.
That was one word I understood in all of its myriad implications of pain, suffering, death. I had to go. Now. Whatever had just happened I had to get home. I took Tiana’s hand and we ran together.
I have a nice studio apartment, where I sleep on a daybed in the huge windowless bathroom. The bathroom door is reinforced and has a strong lock, panic-room style, and the building, which I own and rent mostly to my sort of people, has state-of-the-art security. So normally I have no reason not to sleep very well. Normally I don’t dream, either. I go to sleep. I wake up. It all happens so quickly . . . normally . . .
The path was made of brick, laid out in a chevron pattern It was lined with rose bushes and night-blooming jasmine. The air was so fragrant I could taste it. The stars overhead formed a thick blanket of light brighter than I’d seen them for a very long time.
“I need to get out of the city more,” I said, and continued walking towards the music in the distance.
I was wearing a dress, the skirt long and floaty and pale blue, sprinkled with a pattern of glittering crystals that mirrored the sky. This was not the slinky, black sort of garment I favoured, but it felt right, feminine, beautiful.
I was wearing, honest to God, glass slippers. Cinderella? Me? Well, it was a dream.
And my feet – my whole body – wanted nothing more than to dance.
When the gazebo came into sight, as pretty as a white confection on top of a wedding cake, I ran towards it. Something more than wonderful waited for me there.
“You!” I said, skidding to a halt at the entrance as I spied the man leaning with his arms crossed against a pillar.
“Me,” he replied, a stranger with a familiar voice.
“But – you’re a movie star!”
It was an accusation. I didn’t expect my very rare dreams to go off on such grandiose tangents.
“And I worked very hard to become a genuine movie star,” he answered, totally unashamed for showing up in my fantasy. “Would you prefer meeting a celebrity?” His gesture took in the small building. “Here? In our space?”
Our space? Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?
I turned around, my skirts belling out around my legs. I could see my reflection in the highly polished, white marble floor. And his reflection came to join me. He moved with the grace of Fred Astaire. (I’ve been around long enough to have seen Fred and his sister Adele dance on the stage. I know what I’m talking about).
His hand touched me, one at my waist, one gently gripping my fingers. His warmth against my coolness. The next thing I knew we were circling the room, caught up in the music.
“We’re waltzing,” I said. “I don’t know how to waltz.”
“I learned it when I auditioned for Mr Darcy. Didn’t get the role, though.”
“But you learned how to dance.”
“Silver linings,” he said.
I studied his face. There was a sweep of dark hair across his crow, high-arching eyebrows over penetrating green eyes, severe high cheekbones softened by a lush, full mouth. “You would have made a great Darcy,” I told him.
Of course he had the body of a god – or at least a man who spent a fortune working long hours with a personal trainer – and now that body was pressed to mine. I liked it. The longer we danced the more I liked it.
My skin wasn’t cool any more.
“This is – nice,” he said.
“In a strange way,” I answered.
“You’ve noticed that, have you?”
I nodded. His green eyes twinkled at me. We danced around in circles for a long, long time, caught up in the music and the flow of energy between us. That’s what it was all about for me – flow and energy, give and take. For once I knew that I was giving as much as I was taking, and it felt good.
“What are you – we – doing here?” I asked.
“Dreaming about dancing,” he answered. His smile devastated me. “I’m as surprised by this as you are. One moment I was floating in grey clouds – I think I was screaming, but there was no one to hear me, not even me – and the next I was here with you.”
“I was in blackness,” I said “That’s normal for me.”
“The grey was terrifying,” he said. He whirled me around faster, until we both laughed. “This is much better,” he said. He pulled on me closer. We weren’t dancing any more, but the music played on and the world continued to spin.
“No one should be in darkness,” he said. “Grey or black or any other kind, especially not alone.”
I started to say that I didn’t mind being alone, but being with him made me realize that I did mind. “I’ve been lonely and didn’t know it.” Though I was looking into his eyes, I was talking more to myself.
Neither of us spoke for an unknowable time after that but we continued to look into each other’s eyes and shared – what? Our emotions, our souls, the essences of our beings? All of the above, I guess.
“This is such bullshit,” I finally said.
“But you like it.”
My gaze flicked away from his, but I couldn’t stand the loss of contact for long. “If I could blush, I’d be blushing,” I told him when our gazes locked again.
“We live in a time and place that’s cynical about love.”
“Darlin’, I come from New York. People in LA are amateurs about cynicism.”
He shook his head. “I used to live in New York,” he said. “I tended bar while I went to drama school. I saw plenty of broken hearts there.”
“Broke a few, too, I bet.”
“Too bad I didn’t meet you there.”
I laughed. “I left long before you were born.”
“Really? When were you there? How did you get to be –” He looked puzzled for a moment, then said it. “ – a vampire.”
Those in the know generally don’t ask. Maybe they think it’s rude, or that mystery is part of my mystique, or they are afraid of getting their throats ripped out. I hadn’t told this story for a long time. “I worked at the Plaza back in the 1930s.”
“The hotel?”
I nodded. “I was a telephone operator. There was a Mob boss that lived there.”
“Lucky Luciano?”
“You’ve heard of him?”
“I’ve been doing research to play him in a film.”
“To bad. I hate seeing that bastard glamorized.”
“He did bad things to you,” he guessed.
“He had me killed. He wrongfully thought I’d overheard some conversation and might testify about them in court. A hit man was sent after me. It turned out that the killer was a hungry vampire. He drained me and left me for dead.”
“But –”
“But the vampire didn’t realize I was one of his bloodline.”
“You were already a vampire?”
“No! My family came from Wallachia. There’s some sort of genetic mutation that kicks in when a vampire bites us. Old Vlad the Impaler really is Dracula, and the king of us all.”
“That’s amazing. I’m part Hungarian. Could I be a vampire?”
“Depends if your grandmas got raped by the right sort of invaders, I guess. Do you want to be a vampire?”
He shrugged. “I want to hear more about you.”
“Nice answer. The gist of it is I woke up dead and had to start over from there.”
“Did you go after the one who turned you?”
“You’ve been watching vampire movies.”
