by Amy Cross
“What about me?”
“Where are you getting blood from?”
“I'm not,” she replies. “I had a dealer a while back, but he's not around anymore.”
“So then -”
“You can learn to live with the pain.”
“But you said it was agony. You said it couldn't be resisted.”
“It takes time,” she continues, “and the cramps are unbearable, but eventually it's possible to just accept that the pain is there and to push on through. Come on, we have to get going.”
She slips past, and I follow her to the door. “Wait, Abby, are you saying that for all the time I've known you, you've been in constant agony?”
“There are worse things,” she replies, turning to me. “I have to find Jonathan. I need to get both of us out of New York by sunrise, and right now he's drawing way too much attention to himself.”
Jonathan
I can see you. You keep glancing over your shoulder as you make your way along the alley, but you think you're safe. All those warnings about the shadows, about bad people, you think they're just for other people. You've been on the streets for long enough to feel invincible.
You think you're special.
You think someone's protecting you. God maybe.
You're very wrong.
Staying completely still, I watch you tottering past the garbage cans. Finally you stop and lean back, taking some kind of pouch from your bag. I can smell the bleach-like odor from here, I know you're using some kind of narcotic, but I don't care. Sure, I might pick up traces when I drink your blood, but that's no big deal. It's not like I'm some kind of connoisseur. The most important thing is that your heart is racing as you snort that stuff up your nose, and that I can sense all the hot blood being pumped around your body.
That's all you are to me right now.
A bag of blood and meat.
I know I shouldn't do this. I know it's wrong, I know it's murder, and believe me, I've spent hours agonizing over your fate. You didn't realize that, did you? The truth is, I've been following you since the sun went down this evening, and I've been quietly listening to your thoughts. You're not very interesting, Sharon McAllen. Your thoughts bore me, although that's not a crime. Most people in this city are dull and boring: hell, I was pretty uninteresting until recent events brought me kicking and screaming out of my old life. I want to say that every living being is sacred, that no-one should suffer in this wretched world, but the pain in my gut is too extreme and I barely even feel like myself anymore.
I need blood.
I need to make the pain go away.
You're so busy with that powder, Sharon, and you still haven't noticed me. Slipping down from the top of the wall, I can't help noticing my vast superiority. These past few days, I've begun to truly understand just how dumb and weak humans are as a species. Even now, as I make my way toward you, you're completely engrossed in your little drug habit. All you care about is snorting as much of that garbage up your nose as possible. I hope you enjoy it, Sharon, and that you get at least a mild buzz. No matter how good it makes you feel, however, it'll be nothing compared to the pleasure I'm about to get from drinking your blood.
***
“Hold up!” she shouts, turning suddenly when she finally hears me approach. “Hey! I've got a gun!”
I watch as she reaches into her bag, fumbling through her meager possession before finally she pulls out a handgun and aims it at my face. Her hand's trembling, and she's scowling as if she thinks she can scare me off.
“It's loaded!” she says firmly, sniffing almost constantly. “If you're smart, you'll just head back off to wherever you came from. I don't want trouble!”
“What have you got there?” I ask, as she shoves her little bag of powder back into her bag. “Good stuff, I hope?” Stepping forward, I can't help smiling as I see the gun in her hand. She's trembling more than ever.
“I'll do it,” she continues. “I don't wanna, but I will!”
“I have no doubt.”
“Jesus,” she sighs, “you're really not gonna be smart and walk away, are you? You're gonna cause trouble.”
“I need -” Feeling a burst of pain in my gut, I let out a faint gasp.
“What do you need?” she asks, sighing again. “I can get it for you, honey, whatever it is. Weed, coke, something stronger, even stuff you've never heard of. Even stuff that most people'd think is pretty sick, if you catch my drift. You'll have to pay, though. There ain't nothing going free, if you catch my meaning, but I can take you to some pretty interesting places if you've got a wad of cash on you.”
“There's no need to go anywhere,” I tell her, stumbling closer. “You have everything I need already.”
“I do?” She frowns, before her face lights up with a moment of realization. “Oh, right! Why didn't you just come right out and say it at the start? You want blood, don't you?”
Stopping, I stare at her for a moment.
“You're one of them, right?” she continues. “I should've realized the moment I set eyes on you. I hope you're not offended that I mistook you for a human.”
“Mistook me?” I stammer. “I... I...”
“Listen,” she adds, interrupting me, “there's no need to go cruising the streets at night, trying to get your fix in dark alleys. Provided you can pay, I know a couple of real good suppliers who'll get you all the blood you can drink. All different types, too. Obviously the good stuff costs more, and prices have gone up over the past few years since people like Gorrell and Ragoth left the scene, but vampires are supposed to be classy creatures, right?”
“I...” Stunned by her openness, I lean against the wall as I feel more pain in my gut.
“Let me take you to the big guy,” she says, stepping closer and reaching toward me, taking my hand in hers. She's no longer trembling with fear. “Seriously, you can't stay all alone like this. There's someone who can help you, and he'll set you up with a regular supply.” Slipping her gun away, she steps past me and pulls me along with her. “It's not foo far, either,” she explains. “Jesus Christ, how long have you been skulking around the city streets like this, trying to make do on your own? Haven't you got anyone to look after you?”
“I have a...” Gasping, I force myself to keep pace with her. “I have a sister, but she... She doesn't understand.”
“Sisters never do,” she laughs. “Been there, done that, worn the t-shirt. You know what I say? Screw 'em. Just 'cause they're family, you haven't got this obligation to put up with all their crap. Break loose, dude, I know I did!”
I try to reply, but the pain is getting worse and I'm struggling to keep from killing her. I keep telling myself that I need to let her take me to this dealer, but every step along the alley is agony and I almost trip several times. I've never been in so much pain before.
“Just a little further,” she explains. “Don't worry, it's worth it. If you think boring old human blood is good, wait 'til you try some of the stuff my friend has on offer. Ever taken Golv blood into your veins? Or Grandapam? I've heard that Ril blood is the absolute best, but don't take my word for that, I'm not an expert. Okay, here are the steps, you're lucky we're so close. Watch yourself, don't stumble.”
I have to grab hold of the railing as we make our way up toward the door. I swear, my stomach feels like a nest of razor blades, and finally, as Sharon knocks on the door, I drop to my knees and let out a faint gasp.
“Just a little further,” she whispers, leaning down and kissing the top of my head, “and I promise, you'll be in vampire heaven.”
I try getting to my feet, but the pain is too intense and for a moment I feel as I must just wait it out. After a few seconds, however, I feel Sharon reaching down to take my hand in hers, and somehow this brief moment of kindness helps me get to my feet just as the door swings open to reveal a bright hallway.
“And to think,” Sharon says, leading me inside, “if you'd had it your way, you'd have drained me by now.”
&
nbsp; “Who's this?” a male voice asks, sounding distinctly unimpressed.
“He's with me,” she snaps.
“I asked who he is, not -”
“Take it up with Grimmholm if you don't like it,” she continues, leading me along the corridor. “Don't worry about the security around here,” she mutters, “they're just hired idiots. Independent thought isn't really their thing, although I'm told they're useful if things get physical. It's not always easy running a place like this. Addicts can be great customers, but they can also get violent when they're desperate.”
“When can I...” I try to whisper, but I barely have the strength to remember my own name. The pain in my gut is grinding up through my chest now, and I feel as if I'll die if I don't get blood soon. After a couple more paces, however, I realize I can sense something up ahead, something that fills my soul with hope. I stumble forward, trying to make sense of my thoughts, but somehow I feel as if I can sense vast quantities of blood on the other side of the wall. As we get to a closed door, I reach out and try the handle, only for Sharon to take my hand and pull it away.
“Etiquette,” she says with a laugh. “Almost there, honey, I promise.” She leans closer and whispers into my ear: “Don't act too desperate. It's unbecoming.”
I try to reply, but the pain is making my throat too tense.
She knocks, and I immediately hear footsteps approaching from the door's other side.
“What do you want?” an angry male voice asks as soon as the door is pulled open.
“Tell Grimmholm I've got a very interesting customer for him,” she replies.
“Grimmholm isn't taking new customers right now,” he sneers. “In fact, last I heard, Grimmholm wasn't keen on having you on his property.”
“Oh, that was just a little misunderstanding,” she says, leading me into the next room, where the smell of blood is much stronger. “Grimmholm just gets a little antsy sometimes, that's all. Honestly, a kiss on the cheek and he'll -”
“Careful what you say,” mutters another voice suddenly, from the other side of the room. “Sometimes people try to predict what I'll do, and I don't like that at all.”
“Grimmholm!” Sharon calls out, letting go of my hand. As she hurries over to the other man, I stumble forward and drop to my knees, and a moment later I turn as I hear the door being shut behind us and a heavy metal bolt being slid across. I know I should be worried, and that I'm putting myself into a vulnerable position, but I need blood. Nothing else matters right now.
“Is this him?” the older male voice asks.
“Poor thing,” she continues. “He can't have fed for twenty-four hours or more, he's falling apart.”
Lacking even the strength to raise my head, I listen to footsteps coming closer.
“Do you want this?” the old man asks.
I take a deep breath, before looking up and seeing that an elderly, smiling guy is holding a pouch of blood out toward me. I instinctively reach out to snatch it away, but he steps back.
“You really do want it, don't you?” he continues with a smile. “Such a pitiful creature, really. I know everyone goes on and on about vampires being this proud race, but it doesn't take much to bring you down to your knees, does it?” He steps around me, and a moment later I feel the boot of his heel pressing against my back. “I don't suppose it'd take much to get you begging, would it?”
“Please,” I whisper, “I need -”
Before I can finish, the pain returns to my gut and I drop down against the floor.
“Pathetic,” the man sneers. “We've been tracking you for days, you know. We could've tried to haul you in sooner, but frankly there was no real hurry. It was obvious you wouldn't be going anywhere, and I thought it'd be far more amusing to watch you sink lower and lower.”
“Now what do we do with him?” Sharon asks.
“What do you think? Call our friends at the palace, let them know we've got what they want. And while we wait for a reply, you might as well play with him a little. Keep him alive, but by all means cause him a little more pain. I know how much you enjoy that sort of thing. Just remember to get into his head and find some useful images.”
“What...” I gasp, trying desperately to get to my feet as Sharon comes and leans down toward me. “What are you?”
“Just good, honest folk trying to make a living,” she replies, grinning as she leans even closer. “Don't worry about us, honey. Worry about the people who hired us to find you. From what I've been told, they're positively demonic!”
Mark Gregory
“You're worried about him,” I point out finally, as we make our way up the stairwell at the police building. “You've barely said a word since we left my place.”
“How long before they realize I'm here?”
“Why would they -”
“Don't they have facial recognition tech in those surveillance cameras?”
“The servers aren't exactly state-of-the-art,” I reply. “You're right, though, they'll be onto us eventually. Twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes, and then all hell's gonna break loose.”
Stopping at the top of the stairs, she turns back to face me. “They'll see us together,” she points out. “Mark, they'll have you down as an accessory.”
“Let me worry about that,” I tell her. “Which terminal do you -”
Before I can finish, I hear the sound of breaking glass from along the next corridor.
“She'll do,” Abby says with a faint smile, turning and hurrying toward her old laboratory. “She's still working as a lab tech, right? She'll have access to all the necessary files via the medical database.”
“Sure,” I reply, “but that doesn't mean she'll just give them to you.”
Pushing the door open at the far end of the corridor, Abby steps into the laboratory. I follow close behind, just in time to see Katie Chambers kneeling on the floor, gathering broken vials that she must have dropped just a moment ago. This isn't the first time I've seen her cleaning up a mess; I swear to God, she must be the clumsiest person I've ever met.
“Sorry,” she stammers, glancing up at us, “I had a -”
She freezes as soon as she sees Abby.
“Hey,” Abby says with a smile. “Sorry, no time to catch up on things. I need you to access the files on a series of recent murders. Prostitutes, vagrants, anyone who was found drained of blood.”
“Of course,” Katie replies, getting to her feet and heading over to her laptop. “Just give me a moment.”
“That was surprisingly easy,” I whisper as Abby and I watch her entering her access codes. “She doesn't even seem shocked to see you.”
“She was very shocked,” she says, “for about one tenth of a second. Then I was able to reach into her mind and persuade her to put her concerns aside while she does exactly what I ask. Once we're gone, she won't be able to explain her actions, but for now...” She smiles as the printer starts up, and it's clear that Katie is getting us a hard copy of the main files. “I should feel bad about this, but right now all I care about is my brother.”
“I had no idea you could persuade people to do things so easily,” I tell her.
“New skill,” she replies. “I'm still a little rusty.”
“But you're not doing it to me, are you?” I ask.
“Of course not.”
“I'd be able to tell, right?”
“No.”
“Okay.” I pause for a moment, as the printer continues to spew out page after page of secure documentation. “But just to be clear, you're not in my mind, are you?”
“No.”
“Would I know if you were lying to me?”
“No.”
“So how do I know that you're not in here? How do I know that my thoughts are my own?”
“They'd be more interesting if I was in there,” she replies. “Relax, I'm joking. I wouldn't alter your thoughts, because then I wouldn't know whether you actually -”
She catches herself just in time.
“Whether I actually what?” I ask with a frown.
“Nothing,” she mutters, almost blushing, “it's just... When you alter a river at one point, even just slightly, the rest of the river's course is affected, increasingly so the further it flows. I guess I always figured that maybe -”
“Done!” Katie says with a smile, grabbing the printouts and bringing them over to us. “It's great to see you again, Dr. Hart,” she tells Abby. “I feel like...” She frowns. “How long has it been since you were last here?”
“A while,” Abby replies, turning and heading back out into the corridor. “Sorry for any complications, Katie.”
“Complications?” Katie turns to me. “What did she mean by that, Detective Gregory?”
“I'll explain another time,” I tell her, before hurrying after Abby and catching up to her at the top of the stairwell. “Is that enough?” I ask as we head back down toward the lobby. “If you need more -”
“He has a hunting ground,” she replies, leafing through the papers so quickly that it's hard to believe she's taking anything in. “He's predictable and scared, he's keeping to the area where he used to live before his life went to hell. By which I mean, before I showed up. I guess I should have known he'd want to go home once we came back from Jagadoon and Gothos.”
“Where and where?” I ask.
“It's a long story,” she replies, “and I don't have time to explain. Someone's going to notice I'm here any minute, and then things are going to get tricky.” When we reach the bottom of the stairwell, she turns to me. “I'll knock you unconscious right here.”
With that, she pulls back and then swings for me, but I step out of the way just in time to avoid getting punched in the face.
“Hey!” I stammer. “What the hell's that for?”
“So you can claim you were acting under duress,” she replies, as if it's the most natural idea in the world. “Now hold still.”
She swings at me again, but again I duck aside.
“I could do this in a variety of other ways,” she tells me with a sigh. “Mark, please, I don't have time to debate this with you. I have to go and find Jonathan, so can you please just let me punch you so that I can -”
