“What if she goes back to her room, honey?” my mom said. “Shouldn’t someone be there to catch her?”
“There’s an officer waiting in the hall, Ma.” I turned to Matty, who’d just grabbed the last piece of garlic bread off the table. “He’s part of the security detail you hired, so he’ll stay there all night if he has to.”
“Fine with me. I’ll pay him all the overtime he wants. God damn, I’m tellin’ ya, I couldn’t buy this kinda publicity. Not for nothin’, Ms. O, but we’re gonna do a helluva lot more business tomorrow than we ever expected. If that woman weren’t a psycho killer, I’d kiss her. After I made sure she couldn’t do you no more harm, if you know what I mean.”
Ovsanna laughed. “I appreciate your concern, Matty. And if we’re going to be as busy as you say we are, I’d better say good night. Would you mind walking Angela to her room?”
“Oh, I’ll do her one better than that. Whaddaya say, Angie, how about a nightcap? You can tell me about that Zaphod Beeblebrox silicone head you’re sellin’. You really think some fan of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is gonna pay $1700.00 for that thing? They gotta be as crazy as that Buffy woman.”
They left. Ovsanna poured me a glass of wine and I downed a couple of cold grilled oysters, which were pretty much all that was left of the feast she’d served. Monk got rid of the leftovers and put the dishes and silverware into a cardboard box for the caterer to pick up. He wanted to stand guard in the hallway. Ovsanna insisted he go back to his room instead and get a good night’s sleep.
Which is pretty much what she says to me every night we’re together. It’s the one disadvantage to sleeping with a vampyre. The sleeping part. We don’t. Sleep together, that is. Ovsanna explained early on that her kind have to sleep alone. She can’t take the chance that the Change could come over her while she’s sleeping. She could latch onto me before she was awake enough to control herself. And that would be the end of that.
Of me, she means. That would be the end of me.
So… we don’t sleep together.
So far, it’s been a small price to pay.
I wanted to prowl around the hotel a little longer, anyway. Angel Detroit couldn’t have gone too far away without her wallet; maybe she was hiding in plain sight. I kissed Ovsanna good night, waited until I heard her lock the door and put the safety chain on, and headed for the elevators.
By the looks of the crowd in the hall, the convention was still in full swing. We were on the 7th floor, but I could hear the band playing in the banquet room six floors below. The half dozen guests waiting for the elevator were still in costume; four of them had Big Gulp size beers in hand.
When it finally arrived, the elevator looked like the Tokyo subway at rush hour. One woman squeezed her way out, beer sloshing everywhere, but without help from a white gloved Asian man in a blue suit and conductor’s hat, none of us was going to be able to force our way in. I headed for the stairs.
I was at the fifth floor landing when I heard the slightest sound behind me. Not footsteps. An intake of breath. I turned just in time to see the words Sunnydale High on a hoodie, and then the woman in the Buffy costume slammed me to the ground. My head connected with the cement floor and my vision blurred. She followed me down, straddling me, trying to get her hands around my neck, but I got to her first and pressed my thumbs against her windpipe. I was fighting to stay conscious. She was fighting to unloose my hands. It was all I could do to keep her at arms’ length above me. Damn, she was strong. Or I wasn’t. I couldn’t even roll her off of me.
I felt myself losing consciousness just as the exit door opened. Three huge linebackers in Ferengi costumes and make-up, drunk out of their minds, stumbled in and fell over us. They knocked the woman against the wall. All I could think before I blacked out was, “Please let these guys be as misogynistic as real Ferengis.”
I couldn’t have been out more than ten seconds, but when I came to, Buffy was gone. The three guys were still on the floor, laughing and apologizing. The first one’s Ferengi ears had fallen down around his neck. “Oh, man,” he said, “our bad, man. She really looked like she was gettin’ into it, too. Hey, have you got her room number?”
“Nah, forget it, Jake,” said the guy with the biggest ears still in place. “She took off like a bat outta hell. I’ll bet she’s married and her old man is around somewhere.”
I got to my feet, fighting down some nausea. Either the oysters or a concussion. Ferengi Number Three put his hand on my shoulder to steady me. “Hey, buddy,” he said, “you don’t wanna go chasin’ after that. Come on, let us buy you a beer.”
I started to protest, but shaking my head made the walls spin. The Ferengis didn’t notice; they were already heading down the stairs.
“Yeah,” Jake called over his shoulder. “Let us buy you a bunch of beers. It’s the least we can do for fuckin’ up your fuckin.’”
10. OVSANNA
I’d slept my usual five hours, not really missing Peter’s body next to me. I’d never slept through the night with anyone, ever. I knew Peter didn’t like it that way, but he would have hated the alternative more. Imagine waking up to a pair of fangs slicing into your jugular, with the woman you’d just made love to so totally out of control that she didn’t recognize you. And even if she did, she wouldn’t stop the bloodletting.
I was dressed and reading the trades, waiting for Monk to arrive to walk me to the convention hall for the day’s signings. The knock on the door surprised me. I hadn’t heard Monk in the hall. I hadn’t smelled him either. I wasn’t expecting him for another hour.
The woman standing in the doorway surprised me even more. It took me a moment to connect the black lace-up boots, vinyl mini-skirt, and metal-studded top to the woman I’d never seen wearing anything but Dolce & Gabbana.
“Maral. What are you doing here?” I hadn’t seen her in six months. I didn’t want to see her now.
“I need your help, Ovsanna. I’m desperate. Please, please, can I come in?” She was still wearing her Buddy Holly glasses, but I knew she no longer needed them. Not from the day I turned her. Not with our vampyre vision. Her eyes, behind the black-framed lenses, were as desperate as they’d been on the day I’d last seen her— the day I’d sent her away from me for good.
That was the day I almost killed her. She’d so enraged me that I’d drained her to within an ounce of death. Then, coming out of my fugue, I’d saved her life. I had to turn her to do it. Nursed her through the violently painful transformation to make her one of my own.
And then immediately, I’d sent her away— just in time to keep Peter from arresting her for attempted murder. She was a newly-born. She needed to learn our vampyre ways. I sent her to New York to live with Theda Bara and Charles Brabin. Let them teach her.
Well, that would explain her outfit, at least. Theda and Charles own a string of Goth clothing boutiques; they’d been employing her in their store in Soho. I wondered if she’d tried to pierce herself to complete the look. Not easy to do when the hole heals up before you can get the rings in place.
I didn’t want her anywhere near me, especially with the chance that Peter might show up instead of Monk. But I didn’t want her standing in the hall making a scene, either. I stepped to the side so she could enter, and then closed the door and put on the security chain. At least I’d have some warning if either man tried to come in.
“What are you talking about, Maral?” I said, unkindly. “What could I possibly help you with that Theda and Charles cannot?”
“Theda and Charles are only vampyres, Ovsanna. All they know— all they taught me— is how to live as a vampyre. How to get through a fancy meal in a restaurant without anyone realizing I haven’t cleaned my plate. How to make sure, when I do get hungry, I pick someone no one’s going to miss. How to make sure the bodies I leave don’t raise any questions for the coroner. And how to not leave a body at all. Oh, I’m real good at getting rid of my leftovers, they taught me that okay. They taught me how to survive as wh
at I am now, but that’s not what I need. That’s not what I’m desperate for. I need your help, Ovsanna. You turned me. You’re responsible for me. That’s how it works, isn’t it? Please, please, I need your help!”
11. MARAL
“Maral, is dat you, chère? Can you hear me?”
I was prowling the East Village when I got the call. Stalking a homeless man, an Asian. Trying to get close enough to be sure he wasn’t Ch’Iang Shih. Humans give off a peculiar smell that we don’t, but this guy was so filthy I couldn’t differentiate. For sure, I didn’t want to go up against another fucking vampyre, not when I’d barely learned how to make a clean kill on a human. And especially not one of the Chinese clan that controlled New York.
“Can you hear me, chère?” My mamère still doesn’t trust a phone that works without a wire attached to it.
“I can hear you, Maw-Maw. I can hear you just fine. Why you calling?” It was the first time I’d talked to her in a coon’s age. I don’t have much to say to my family since… well, since they stopped being my family. Mais, I sort of miss them, but it’s not the same. Days go by without me thinking about them. Especially when the Thirst is on me, then I barely remember they exist. For true, they don’t know that, and that’s just as well. Even if Maw-Maw saw something about me in the cards, she wouldn’t understand it. And for sure, she wouldn’t believe it.
After all… we don’t exist, do we? There’s no such thing as vampyres.
“It’s your momma, chère. I think her time here is done, real soon now. You gotta come home.”
God damn it.
I didn’t want to go home. Not to the bayou. Even before the change, I didn’t like going back. My daddy was dead. His coffin was floating half out of the water that was reclaiming the land and his bones were getting fished up with the speckled trout, but I didn’t like being anywhere near there. His evil still reeked in the walls of Momma’s house. No rising waters could wash that away. And now that I’m vampyre, I’d smell it even more.
But Maw-Maw had never asked me for anything before. Not even when Momma was having trouble with Jamie and that drug dealing podnuh of his. All Maw-Maw’s ever done, all my life, is take care of me. She’s the one who warned me to keep Peter King away from Ovsanna. Well, I tried, Maw-Maw, I tried, that’s for true. That fils de putain. He’s the reason I’m here, looking for Chinese food. Pissed off that my momma’s dying is ruining my plans for dinner.
I was pissed, but I still care enough about my family to pretend that I care as much as I used to. “I’ll be dere, Maw-Maw. I’ll be dere soon, me.”
Listen to me, I hadn’t even hung up the phone and already I was talking like I was back in de baya.
* * *
The front door was open, just like it always was. I walked in, silent like I can do now, and went right to Momma’s room. I heard Maw-Maw in the kitchen and Jamie out back. They didn’t hear me come in.
Momma was laid out on her bed. Dressed in yellow pedal pushers and the white blouse she’d been sewing when I came home to visit last December. Last December, when Ovsanna spent Christmas Eve with Peter King, while I was here trying to get my brother clean.
Momma hadn’t waited for me to get here to pass. She’d died in the middle of the night. Maw-Maw wouldn’t let them take the body ’til I saw her. She’d brought the statue of the Madonna in from the garden— the one Jamie paints new eyes on every summer— and it was standing guard on the side of Momma’s bed.
I wish they’d taken the body. Maw-Maw wasn’t doing me any favors, for true. I didn’t care so much about seeing it. At least I didn’t want to chew on it. The last time I’d seen Momma she was wasting away. I was so worried about her then, I could barely stand it. I loved her so much. I for sure didn’t want to lose her.
That was before Ovsanna did her number on me. Now, Momma was just skin and bones. And she was gone. And I wasn’t feeling much of anything, except dread at dealing with Maw-Maw and Jamie. I was standing there staring at Momma’s dead shell, and all I could think was, “Is this how it’s gonna be from now on? Maw-Maw’s gonna die, Jamie’s gonna die, everyone I know is gonna die, and I’m still gonna be here? Well, fuck that!”
Maw-Maw came to the bedroom door. “Oh, Maral,” she said and then turned to call Jamie. She turned back and started toward me with her arms outstretched. She must have sensed something off about me, because she stopped short, and then Jamie was slamming the back screen door and running to throw his arms around me. I could smell the bouie pourrie on his shoes— the ‘rotten mud’ creeping up to the back porch. The baya’s sinking so fast that the only good thing about Momma dying is knowing she won’t be around to see her house go under.
I let Jamie hang on as long as I could stand it and then pushed him away. If he noticed, he was too ramped up to say anything. Jamie’s slow in his head and he usually blurts out everything he’s thinking and feeling right at the moment.
“Sissy! You came too late! Why didn’t you get here sooner? Momma died! She died and you weren’t here. Dat’s not right, Sissy. Tell her, Maw-Maw! She shoulda been here.”
“Now hush, Jamie,” Maw-Maw said. He’s a foot taller than she, almost 16 years old, but he minds her like a little boy. He calmed down a bit. “Maral got here as quick as she could. Your momma just didn’t want to wait. You heard what she tole de traiteur: she didn’t want no more healin’. She was ready to be wit’ Jesus. She knew you and me could take care of each udder, and Sissy would come and take care of us bot’. Won’t you, chère?” She looked at me.
There was a question in her eyes. Not the question she’d asked about my taking care of them. A different question. I knew she was seeing something in me she didn’t recognize. Maw-Maw is psychic; she’s been throwing the Tarot for me since I was old enough to talk, and she’s never been wrong. I walked over to Momma’s body to avoid Maw-Maw’s stare.
“She’s cold, huh, Sissy? Dat’s what happens when you’re dead.” Jamie sat on the bed next to her and watched me. “You can touch her if you want. I did. Maw-Maw said it’s okay. Me, I gave her a kiss. How come you’re not cryin’, Maral? Maw-Maw said it’s okay to cry, even t’ough I’m de man in de house. So you can cry. Don’t you wanna cry?”
Jesus fucking Christ! No, I didn’t want to cry. I couldn’t cry even if I wanted to. Vampyres don’t cry. All those movie scenes Ovsanna did where her characters had to cry? A make-up artist with a menthol blower. She’s a great actress and the emotion is always there, but you’re not going to see real tears drip down her cheeks, ever.
And Jamie wasn’t going to see any coming out of me, either. Only I’m not as good an actress as Ovsanna, so he wasn’t even going to see me feeling sad that my momma was dead. I’m not sad. I’m not— anything.
Except pissed. I’m standing here, staring at my dead momma and my grieving brother and my grieving mamère— both of them en d’oeuille— and I’m not mourning at all. I’m not feeling anything, except annoyance that I’m not. And that Jamie picked the wrong color blue to paint the Madonna’s eyes this year.
“Did ya bring your suitcase, Sissy?” Jamie asked. “You’re gonna stay, aren’t ya? Mais, now dat Momma’s gone, ya gotta stay. Ya gotta take care of us.”
12. OVSANNA
Maral had always been needy when she was Warm, but showing up here didn’t make sense at all. Not since I’d turned her. My species isn’t needy. “What are you talking about, Maral? You’re one of my kind now. You’re a vampyre, for God’s sake. There’s nothing I can do for you that you can’t do for yourself. What could you possibly need my help for?”
“I can’t kill myself, can I? But you can. That’s what I need, Ovsanna. I need to be dead, me. I need you to kill me.”
I’d been afraid something like this would happen. It’s the reason, in the ten years we were together, I never turned her. She was unstable from the day I met her. The day I’d saved her from a murder charge.
“Oh, Maral. What is going on with you?” I couldn’t bring myself to put m
y arms around her, but I walked her over to the sofa and sat her down. “What’s happened?”
“What’s happened, Ovsanna, is that you turned me. You made me like you, and I can’t stand it. I hate it. All those years you talked about not needing anybody and not feeling love like humans do, and you made it sound like it was great to be that way because you could never get hurt by anyone, but it’s not great. It’s shit! It’s nothing! It’s empty. I’m empty. You saved my life when you turned me, but you might has well have let me die, because I don’t exist anymore. I’m just a shell. There’s nothing inside me.”
“Maral, you’re a beautiful young woman who is never going to age, never going to grow old. If I hadn’t turned you, you would have missed so much of life. You’re newly-made, that’s all. You haven’t learned to adapt, to revel in what you’ve become.”
“What I’ve become? What I’ve become is nothing more than a reptile— hunting and killing and eating. One of SuzieQ’s pets. No, this is worse than being a reptile, because a reptile doesn’t have a memory, and I do. A reptile doesn’t suffer with remembering what it was like to feel something. My momma just passed and I couldn’t even cry for her. My baby brother asked me to stay and take care of him and all I could think was if the Thirst comes on me and Jamie’s the only one around, it’s not going to matter if he’s my brother, it’s not going to matter if he’s not right in the head and needs me even more now that Momma’s gone. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him and feed on him just like a reptile!”
Make Me Dead: A Vampyres of Hollywood Mystery Page 5
