The Fertile Vampire

by Ranney, Karen

“Nothing,” he said.

  “You’re not a Pranic, then?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “By that, I take it you’re not. Do you get your blood in bottles or from willing slaves?”

  He came toward me. I didn’t move, determined to show him how strong and brave I could be. Me, vampiress. You, hunk.

  “I have no slaves. I do know some willing women.”

  “I’ll bet,” I said, taking a step to the side. “Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “Have a girlfriend?” The label was absurd for someone who would be with Il Duce.

  “I have a female friend who is very special to me.”

  A mistress, in other words.

  “Why did you never marry?” he asked, his voice steeped in an Italian accent.

  I bet he practiced that voice, varying the octave.

  “I rebelled,” I said. “My mother married three times. I thought it was enough to live together.”

  “And it did not work out?”

  He raised one eyebrow as if mildly amused. I suspected, however, he was slightly offended. He was a Master, five hundred something years old and probably traditional in his thinking.

  “It didn’t work out.”

  Three years and a whole bunch of soul searching later, I realized I’d made a mistake. Bill wasn’t a life partner. Bill wasn’t a partner, period.

  I didn’t tell him about the two miscarriages. Some things weren’t any of Il Duce’s business.

  Before Bill I’d only had one serious relationship and after him, there was only Doug. That was depressing.

  “Why do vampires marry?” I asked, thinking of Paul. “Why do they marry - humans, mortals?”

  “The living?” he asked, smiling gently. “Why not? For companionship, love, affection. There have been many times when the living have been persuaded to marry one of the Kindred.”

  I could imagine why. Sex with Doug had been amazing; it was probably an inducement for more than one woman to fall into bed with a vampire. But marriage? I couldn’t accept my mother’s marriage to Paul. Nor could I accept I might one day be married to one of the living.

  Move over, will you, Marcie, your feet are like ice!

  You’re going to have to be more careful when we kiss, Marcie. My lip keeps bleeding.

  No, the dynamics didn’t work for me.

  “I am sorry this has been so disconcerting for you. If I could have made it easier, I would have.”

  He reached out and, before I could move away, touched my cheek. His fingertip was warm. I flinched before I could control it.

  Don’t touch me.

  His face changed, a mask sliding down over his smile, freezing it. He dropped his hand and stepped back, giving me a courtly bow.

  I watched as he walked out of the living room, heard my door open then close.

  He hadn’t said goodbye. I’d probably insulted him by flinching.

  I locked the door and went upstairs, reviewing my interesting night. I’d witnessed a murder. I learned way more than I ever knew about vampires. I discovered I was an oddity among them.

  There were werewolves and lions and bears, oh my. I was too tired to worry about that at the moment. This night was over. It had to be over. Too many things had happened for me to process it easily. There had been too many revelations for me to take it all in.

  As I fell into an alcohol sotted sleep, I realized my life had gotten a lot more complicated after I died.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Seek not to know for whom the blood drops

  The next night I attended Ophelia’s cremation. My outfit was black in deference to the occasion, consisting of a black suit jacket and a pencil, calf length, skirt. I wore two inch heels, silver earrings my grandmother had given me and a pendant I’d inherited from my great-grandmother. The emblem was Celtic, the knot signifying eternity.

  The Vampire Council of the Western United States was housed in a complex off 1604, not far from Sea World. Three sixteen story buildings sat like a plinth course around a triangle of concrete and grass. The triangle was a park of sorts, with Latin inscriptions, benches and a water feature periodically spouting geysers into the air.

  When any vampire within the Western United States died - what I was beginning to think of as the Second Death - they were brought here.

  Behind the Council offices, tucked away in the acres they owned, was a manicured circle. In the middle of the circle was a catafalque constructed of steel peers.

  Four pallbearers, all tall young men attired in black suits with snowy white shirts, carried Opie’s body solemnly out into the circle, the only illumination the full moon.

  Ophelia’s shroud was a thin wisp of gauze through which her horrific injuries were visible. I know I wasn’t the only person who looked away.

  I heard a dog howl and wondered if it was a werewolf, instead. How many howling dogs through my life had been people transforming into four legged beasts?

  What about my neighbors, the Van Heusens? They had a Doberman by the name of Arno. The dog was an annoyance, barking at me whenever I went into my postage size yard. I called him Arno Von Hitler. Now him I could imagine as a werewolf. The only trouble was he had four legs for the full month, at least that I knew about.

  All in all, I had it better than werewolves and other shapeshifters, if there were those as well. Even as strange as I was becoming, I was humanoid and didn’t run around on all fours.

  Do werewolves get fleas? Did they chase cats?

  I didn’t see Meng or Felipe. Kenisha, however, attired in her dress blue police uniform, was standing across the circle glaring at me.

  The pallbearers halted, then attached ropes to the four corners of the stretcher. Slowly, a fifth man rotated the handle of a winch. The stretcher rose to the top of the catafalque and gently settled on the bier.

  In the morning, when the sun lit the earth, Opie would be allowed to turn to dust. Her immolation wouldn’t be witnessed by her fellow vampires, only those human attendants employed by the Council. They would collect her ashes which would then be distributed in the place she’d chosen.

  The disposition of my earthly remains had been one of those innumerable papers I had to sign at the VRC. Strange, I hadn’t thought much of it, listing the Hill Country as my ultimate destination.

  I’d believed I would be immortal, never realizing how fragile I would be, even as a vampire. I hadn’t known I could be carried away by a virus. Nor had I suspected someone would try to make sure I was truly dead.

  But for the grace of God - or my own gluttony - I would be the one on the catafalque.

  Earlier tonight I’d spent some time in my office, writing down everything I’d learned or been told in the last week. I scanned the five pages Miss Renfrew had given me, wondering as I did so what had been in Ophelia’s packet. It didn’t matter; she no longer needed the information.

  I wrote down the names of anyone who might have wished to harm me. It would be nice to say I wracked my brain and no one came to mind. Or that I was considered Glenda the Good Witch and everyone who met me had gone away charmed by my pure and effervescent nature.

  Nope. I hadn’t had any trouble coming up with a few names.

  I put the file on Dropbox, carefully encrypted.

  Orientation had been canceled until next week, for which I was grateful. I didn’t feel like putting on my “Hi, I’m a new vampire” sticker on my chest and pretending nothing had happened.

  Someone sobbed as the pallbearers stepped away. From the Council building came the skirling of pipes, the sound startling me. Above the sound of them came a woman’s soprano, the song one I’d heard all my life.

  Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;

  The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;

  When other helpers fail and comforts flee,

  Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.

  I blinked away my tears, wishing I didn’t feel so guilty. I hadn’t killed Ophelia. Nor was I respo
nsible for her death.

  Kenisha, however, evidently thought I was. If looks could kill, I’d be right there with Ophelia.

  Finally, the song done, the pallbearers slowly walked away. The circle of onlookers disbanded, people drifting away in twos and threes, the low hum of conversation dissipating.

  Two women, part of Opie’s family I thought, were finally convinced to move back into the Council building. Three other people trailed them, glancing back more than once at the shrouded figure.

  Would any of my relatives have come if it had been me up there?

  “They killed the wrong person," Kenisha said, her voice rumbling behind me.

  I turned to face her.

  “No flies on you,” I said.

  "It should be you up there," she said, pointing her chin toward the bier.

  “Who knows, maybe it will be,” I said.

  “I can’t wait.”

  Why should I even try to be nice? All I got was more snark from her. What was there about becoming a vampire that made certain people get all bitchy?

  “I’m sorry she died,” I said. “More than you know. I’m even sorrier someone thought it was me.”

  She didn’t say anything, but her eyes flattened. Why was she so surprised? I’d have to be dumb as dirt not to figure out someone had thought it was me in the gray sweater.

  “Do you work Homicide?” I asked.

  For a moment she didn’t answer.

  “Vice,” she finally said.

  “But you can find out if there’s anything new on the case, right?”

  Another pause while she stared at me.

  “Will you let me know if you find out anything?”

  I had, after all, a vested interest in the outcome of the case. I’d already made a choice about life or death. I’d like to keep living - if that’s what you called it - for a little while longer. At least until I figured out exactly what I was.

  She nodded once. Without another word, she strode past me and back to the Council building.

  I’d only been inside once, about thirty minutes ago when I’d arrived for Opie’s funeral. Instead of a chapel, we’d met in this room, a place they called the Great Hall, a cavernous space painted a pleasant shade of brown and lined with arches exposing windows open to the moonlit night. I couldn’t help but wonder if werewolves and other creatures were there in the surrounding forest, watching us.

  The ceiling was decorated a la the Sistine Chapel, bright primary colored figures depicting the history of the world. I caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure among the clouds if I turned my head a certain way.

  A vampiric angel?

  I was getting tired of all these questions and no answers.

  Three massive chandeliers illuminated both the ceiling and the shiny wooden floor while sconces on the walls lit up the corners. One thing about the Kindred, they didn’t skimp on wattage. The night was as bright as a South Texas summer day.

  Despite the solemnity of the occasion, there were plenty of smiles and even a chuckle or two originating in the crowd surrounding me. More than one man glanced at me, some with fangs discretely tucked away, some with more than a little fang showing on their bottom lip. One vampire winked at me and pulled his lip back to reveal very long teeth.

  Evidently, a glimpse of tooth was an expression of vampiric foreplay. Unfortunately, it didn’t do a thing for me. Every time someone showed me their enamel, I remembered I didn’t need blood.

  If I accepted Il Duce’s word for what vampires were - the learned among mankind − then all of the people surrounding me were smarter than most of the mortals I knew. They were all contributing, somehow, to the human race. That idea was dented a little when I noticed more than one politician in the group.

  I watched my fellow mourners, if that’s what they could be called. I think the crowd was due more to the ceremony of the occasion than to any real grief for Opie. I’m not sure how many of these people actually knew her. Or how many came because one of their own was lost.

  What would my funeral be like?

  Oh, now, that was a thought I didn’t want to have.

  I leaned back against the pillar, adjusted my purse on my shoulder and looked for Il Duce. I was sure he’d be here, since he was the one who informed me of the ceremony tonight.

  Someone in the crowd might have tried to kill me, another thought I wasn’t anxious to have. Someone might have learned I was different and thought I posed some threat to them. The question was simple - who?

  Another answer I didn’t have.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Fangs for the memories

  I'd been standing by my pillar for fifteen minutes, at least. Since not one person or vampire had come up to talk to me, I was feeling like a pariah.

  I might as well have a flashing sign in red neon over my head: weirdo.

  I wondered if Doug was here. I could envision his bad boy grin, remember his ability to kiss me until my brain was numb. How much of it had been real? How much had been his ability to mesmerize me? Or did he even have the ability?

  I would have to ask him the next time I saw him.

  “Hello, Marcie.”

  My turned my head to find Doug standing there. He wasn’t smiling at me. In fact, he was standing about five feet away and he wasn’t making any effort to get closer.

  I hadn’t seen him since my trial, but even then he’d tried to cuddle. Now he was eyeing me like I was a snake that had bitten him.

  I wondered if having Il Duce for a mentor had something to do with his odd behavior. Or, could it be he’d learned someone had tried to kill me? Either one would do it.

  “You’re looking well,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Any other time I could have easily returned the compliment. But tonight Doug’s face was too pale, his eyes were jittery and he was biting his bottom lip. His hands were clasped behind him and he stood feet slightly apart, rocking back and forth on his heels.

  I had the oddest thought Doug was afraid of me.

  “Did you know Ophelia?”

  “We’d met,” he said.

  They'd probably made mad passionate love all over his house. Doug wasn’t the type to meet a beautiful woman and simply go on his way.

  Vampire see; vampire do.

  "Did you get into trouble?” I asked. “For turning me?”

  He looked away, down at the polished stone floor, then up at the chandelier.

  I waited, more certain than ever I made him nervous. Or maybe he didn’t see me as Marcie but merely his mistake.

  I wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. Most of the time I couldn’t remember to be angry at someone. Or I was too lazy to keep up a vendetta. Besides, it always seemed a waste of time to be focused on the past. Being angry at Doug wasn’t going to change my death and resurrection as a vampire.

  What was done was done.

  “I’m on probation,” he finally said. “I have to report to the Council every week.”

  I lifted one eyebrow. He must hate that.

  “They have to approve my lovers before…” Here he was being uncharacteristically modest.

  “You have sex with them?” I finished.

  He nodded. “Can you talk to him?”

  I blinked at Doug. “Who?” I asked, but I already knew.

  “The Master,” he said. “He’s the only one who has sway over the Council. They’ll change their ruling if he says so.”

  “What makes you think I have any pull?”

  “He’s taken you on as a cause,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Everyone knows it, Marcie.”

  He had turned me against my will and now he wanted a favor? Maybe I was capable of holding a grudge.

  “A little truth in exchange,” I said.

  He nodded slowly.

  “Did you mesmerize me?”

  For a fleeting second, I thought he was going to smile. But then he looked to my left and straightened almost to attention. His eyes flattened.

  “I d
o it without thinking,” he said. “It wasn’t personal.”

  I was flummoxed. Dumbfounded. Speechless. Sex wasn’t personal? Well, it was damn personal to me.

  “Perhaps you should go and fascinate another female.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to find Il Duce standing there. His brown eyes positively glowed as he looked at Doug.

  My ex-boyfriend, sex-partner, facilitator - at this point, I didn’t know what to call him - didn’t return the stare. Instead, the floor had suddenly become fascinating to him.

  When Doug abruptly turned on his heel and left us, I looked at Il Duce.

  “I don’t need a chaperone,” I said. “Or a protector.”

  “Do you not think so?”

  His gaze speared me, or would have if I hadn’t looked away. In his glance was a reminder of why we were here, of what had happened.

  “I didn’t call you,” I said.

  “I felt your anxiety,” he said, moving closer.

  “I wasn’t anxious. I was angry.”

  “A strong emotion, nonetheless.” His gaze followed Doug winding through the crowd.

  “Can any of them eat?” I asked. “Are any of them Pranic or whatever?”

  He moved even closer, lowering his head until I could feel his breath on my temple.

  “Caution, Marcie. Do not mention the Pranic aloud. Who you are will only inspire jealousy and envy in others. Or do you not think they yearn to be as they once were? To taste the bite of cheese, the delicate tang of wine on the tongue? If you announce yourself, you might as well paint a target on your forehead.”

  In other words, I now had a larger pool of would-be assassins.

  He wasn’t looking at me but was staring out at the crowd. He stood slightly in front of me, his body turned a little. A protective stance which told me more than I wanted to know. I was in danger from my own kind. I disliked thinking of myself as a vampire, but I didn’t like feeling like I was on a desert island surrounded by ravenous sharks, either.

  My boring, normal, existence as an insurance adjuster was looking better and better. Oh, sure, I had problems with my mother and rolled my eyes about her more often than not. I thought my boss was the Peter Principle in action (everyone can be elevated to the level of his own incompetency). I was sometimes lonely and had thought, more than once, that I was a failure at relationships.