Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series)

by Virgil Allen Moore

  Del began to leave, he wasn't going to waste time in a losing hunting ground. He took a single step away from the bar when he bumped into the shoulder of a very tall thin man. He was six foot five, with short dirty blond hair, a broad jaw line, and strong features. Del noticed the man's eyes were purple. He was wearing a red and white fox pelt around his neck and shoulders with the head towards his left side. The odd man's skin was lightly tanned and he had several deep scars covering his face. He wore a leather vest, and no shirt. It was mid-winter, but he didn't appear cold. His pants were made of the same tight leather. Among the very shorter crowd, he stood out completely. The man scuffed at Del as he checked his clothing.

  “Fancy suit for a dive.” The tall man spoke fairly good English.

  Del wasn't expecting to hear words he'd understand. It had been three weeks of gibberish to his ears. All he had to do was smile and flirt. The action stunned him. He said nothing at first.

  “Are you attending a funeral?” The blond Russian continued.

  Del was slightly bewildered. This man was starting a genuine conversation with him. He wasn't hitting on him and he wasn't acting aggressive towards him. This was a social situation and Del felt intrigued and obligated to proceed.

  “Did you lose your shirt?” Del replied.

  “So you have some wit. That will do good.” The tall man said to Del as he leaned back against the bar.

  “For what? I don't attend my own work.” Del's feelings got the better of him. This man's light comment enticed a bold answer. Del's playful side was emerging. “I enjoy conducting the symphony with a personal touch.”

  The tall man's expression changed from lighthearted to alarmed. He stepped forward, positioning his lips adjacent to Del's left ear. “What do you love most about them?”

  Del's thoughts swam in the possibilities of the moment. Del smiled and spoke into the man's ear. “The sound of the blood.”

  “A young vampire, your blood wreaks of adolescent perception. I request a display.” The man's voice softened as he turned his back to the bar again. “Tread swiftly for you have merely hours to kill the bartender behind me.”

  Del's pulse quickened. He was disturbed by the man's desire. At the same time there was a part of him that wanted to respond to the challenge. Del would have to feed soon. The bartender was a likely enough candidate. The murder of a total stranger was no more unusual to him if they were a target to someone for another reason. Del had decided to go through with it. He wanted a friend. Someone that knew the language and show him around. This was Del's opportunity to show off.

  The bartender did not appear to be a friendly looking fellow. He had a partially bald head and a single large facial scar on the right side of his face. It hinted towards a hard life. His muscles hinted that he had the tools to survive it. A full black mustache told the last remaining tale of a once thick scalp. His eyes were a dark blue and squinted, as if constantly scanning for trouble throughout the bar. He cleaned and prepared glasses at the counter and always surveyed the patrons. He was the man in the know in his place of business. Unfortunately, Del would be murdering him in the next three minutes.

  The bar was still very crowded. A local band was playing very loud early rock covers from the Beatles. Del hadn't given the tall man an answer yet. Though Del had already begun to act on the path before him. With no thought about why he should do it, Del found himself taking action.

  The bartender noticed Del staring at him with intention. He had realized that something was about to happen. The bartender had no idea that he was the incident about to happen.

  The tall man shifted to the other side of Del and found a good vantage point to watch from.

  “Hey! You!” The bartender shouted out.

  Del met his shouts with a smile.

  “What problem?” The bald man had a very thick Russian accent to his English words.

  Del leaned forward over the bar with ease, farther than a normal person in a full suit should have been able to. “A market.” Del grinned fiendishly at the bald man.

  The tall man next to Del chuckled. He knew that Del was attempting to provoke the bartender into doing something physical to throw him out of the bar. Something that would incite the owner to do the honors himself.

  The bartender was irritated. “Go the hell away! This not market you fuck.” He shouted something in Russian that Del didn't understand.

  The tall man did. He burst out laughing.

  Del took the cue and moved on it. He was becoming intuitive about such matters. “You say something funny 'ya bastard?” Del remembered a few words from the old fisherman and threw them together best he could in the moment.

  A north eastern American accent in a Russian bar was completely out of place, but it obviously did the job. The bartender reached over and took a hold of Del's collar, looked him in the eye, and punched Del square in the face.

  “Bastard? You call me bastard!? You're dead!” The bartender shoved Del onto his back. He climbed over the bar and walked to Del as he lay on the ground.

  Two bouncers immediately picked Del up and lead him to the back alley behind the club. They were big, burly men. Both over six feet. And both wider than the average man. Del thought that they would provide more of a meal than the actual target of the fiasco. All Del had to do was kill the bartender, not drink his blood. The bouncers wouldn't be found for a few days, and the bite marks on their necks wouldn't matter if the bodies were burned in a building fire. Del's mind was flushed with all the instant outcomes of the fight before him. Either way, all three men had to die.

  The bouncers propped Del up against a wet, dirty alleyway wall. The cold air was pleasant to Del's lungs. It added an excitement to the enjoyment about to ensue. It was snowing, heavy, as large flakes were falling, and melting on contact with the three men. The bartender stood in front of Del. He watched Del's face as the snow accumulated on his hair and shoulders. It wasn't melting at all.

  “Now you pay for your words.” The bartender swung his right arm in an attempt to slug Del in the stomach.

  He failed.

  The snow shifted off of Del as the two bouncers fell to their knees. He had broken the arms of both the bouncers by the time the bartender even reached him. There was no contact. Del blocked the bald man's arm at the elbow with his left hand. From Del's eyes, they were standing still, a frozen scene to be manipulated at will. His speed was absolute against them. Del slide his hand up the bartender's arm and watched his eyes as the shoulder separated from the joint. Blood flowed, as the nerves inside fired. The man had no chance to scream, and no chance to defend himself. Del took hold of the severed arm with his right hand. Swinging it at the once proud bartender with his own appendage. Del ended the man's life with the very arm he tore off. Breaking the bartender's neck with the impact and lacerating the area from the strike of the shattered arm bone. Del whipped the limb around to deliver the final blow to each bouncer in the back of the head. In an instant, all three men were dead. Blood was everywhere, violently spilled in mass. There was no one in the alleyway and no one to see the horror of what had transpired.

  This event was over, the kill had been taken, and Del was hungry. He looked around to see an abandoned construction site nearby. He picked up the bouncers' bodies, careful to watch for anyone that might come along accidentally in the street. Once there, he drank the remaining blood in them. Del purposely left the bartender in the alley for someone to find. A message to the tall man at the bar.

  Thirty minutes later, Del returned to the club as sirens rang down the streets in the opposite direction. There was a fire somewhere close. A few dozen people ran out of the club to see where. Del walked back in and spotted the English speaking Russian at a table in the corner of the room. He nonchalantly walked over and sat down. Knowing his deeds were well chronicled by the tall Russian in front of him.

  The tall man was saturnine. He almost didn't believe he had done it that quickly. “Did you feast well?”

  “A lig
ht snack, they were mostly fat.” Del was showboating. The bouncers were an uncommon fill that he had not found in several weeks.

  “Sit down young vampire, What is your name?” The Russian man was drinking vodka on the rocks.

  “It's Del, Del Marin.” Del looked at the man closely. If this tall Russian was a real vampire, he didn't fully look the part. His teeth were sharp, but retracted. He was very skinny and looked almost malnourished. He had no glow about him, no lure of power or fascination that the vampire Del encountered had possessed. There was no measure of the suave grace even Del had obtained over the decades of being a monster of the night. The blood inside Del had changed and he was well aware of it. Something in this man was either newer or older than Del. The man was not the same type of vampire Del knew himself to be.

  “Well, Del Marin. You have a fun little name there. What did you used to do?” The tall man reclined back in the chair. He put his left boot under the edge of the table, anchoring himself from falling. The boots were a foreign material, something Del had never seen before, they were shinny.

  “I used to be a lawyer. I was a tax lawyer in America.” Del's voice dropped.

  “You seem depressed at the mention. I'm not talking about that life.” The man's fox pelt shifted, leaning off his shoulder, about to fall. “No, I don't want to know what you made of yourself with your gift. I want to know what you did when you were still a human being.” The Russian man lifted his other leg to cross over the first. He was now balancing on the back two legs of his chair.

  “Why do you care?” Del hadn't thought about Demy for many years. He didn't want to think about his past. Del wanted to make something of himself apart from his aspiration to be with her. The man's comment had set Del into a fit of anger. “What does it matter who I was, or what I once wanted?” Del stood up. “Who the hell are you to pry?”

  “Sit down.” The man said calmly reaching for his drink off the table.

  Still standing Del replied. “What did you say? Why?”

  “I can't protect you if you get us thrown out of the bar by causing a scene. Now sit down before they notice the bartender is missing.” The man began to sip the vodka in his glass.

  Del noticed several people in the bar paying extra special attention to him and the man at the table. He had made an unwelcome spectacle of himself without knowing it. Del didn't think, which was exactly what he was good at. This was his one persistent advantage and constant flaw. Every action he took was in the moment, no premeditation involved. Del needed to learn how to be careful and retain the qualities that made him such an unsuspecting criminal. He had to find a way to escape from the sight of these new people.

  “What do you want from me?” Del wanted to hear what the man had to say. He stared down, trying to avoid eye contact.

  “My name is Yugo Sokolov. You have passed my test. You're young, but that only means I can teach you whatever the hell I want and you'll listen.” Yugo sipped more of his vodka. “Moreover you'll accept it and learn faster than my other students.” Yugo let his legs down off the table and finished his drink in one final gulp.

  Del was interested. It was a path and he didn't have many to choose from at the moment. “What do you teach? What do you have to offer me?” Del wanted to blindly accept Yugo. This was the most generosity Del had been shown since he was shot nearly a month ago.

  “What you did to that bartender was swiftly and beautifully executed. You have an innate talent that few are able to obtain.” Yugo chuckled for a brief second to his own amusement. “I can teach you to conduct the notes you instinctively strike, to ring into existence the sounds of joy into your everyday world. I can teach you how to fully use your vampire gift.”

  In the years since he was made a vampire, Del had never come across the concept of a vampiric gift. His thought was that his condition was a curse, given to him by the vampire that nearly killed him. To Del, it was a virus to infect the fated or the damned. Those chosen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He saw himself as a victim, by not having a hidden talent or ability given to him by anything tangible. Del had accepted the fact that he had lost everything he once loved. The loss of his simple little life. Yugo was telling Del something very different.

  “What gift?” Del was curious.

  “The gift of focus that you undoubtedly have.” Yugo peered around the room, keeping an eye on anyone that was still tracking their presence in the room or considered them threatening in the least. “Will you sit?”

  Del nodded and sat down.

  Yugo explained. “Focus is a very common gift to have, it manifests in each person uniquely, molding the gift to suit them individually.”

  “Then what do you have?” Del was being bold. Yugo was being frank with him. Del knew he should be polite and respectful, not rash. Del's nature directed him to do it.

  Yugo leaned towards Del. “Hold out your arm.” Del obliged him.

  Yugo took a hold of Del's left hand in his. There was no change at first. Del felt a slight tingle in his chest, but nothing harmful. Nothing worth noting. Del was beginning to think Yugo was delusional.

  Yugo stared into Del's eyes and spoke. “Now try breathing.”

  Del attempted a breath, there was no air to take in. Del had a second of terror over take him. There were no words Del could say and no way to warn anyone else in the bar that Yugo had done something to him. From that small instant he placed his hand on Del's chest the panic was setting in. Del needed to breath. His red eyes bulged, staring at Yugo for help.

  “Try exhaling.” Yugo instructed.

  Del exhaled. A small thrush of water poured out from his mouth and nose. It wasn't vomit, the water was from Del's lungs.

  The rest of the bar patrons saw the water that flowed onto the ground as a good sign for a night gone bad for Del. That he wasn't able to handle his vodka and nothing more.

  Yugo patted Del on the back to help him cough up the remaining fluid. Yugo whispered into Del's left ear. “I can change the physiology of any living thing I touch. Most of the time without the target ever knowing.” Yugo continued to pat Del on the back, the last of the water came up. “The water won't kill you, but it made my point well enough. There are some vampire gifts that are quite potent if used creatively. Yours is one of those gifts.”

  “What can I do that you can't?” Del cleared his throat. “You can kill with a touch.” Del coughed.

  “So can you.” Yugo leaned back into his chair.

  Del had a puzzled expression.

  “Your gift is an oxymoronic commonality among vampires. There are others that share certain traits. Though no two are exactly the same, they can be grouped into categories.” Yugo explained. “The gift of focus can be used to build on the user's personality. Most focus vampires become writers or artisans. There are psychic vampires that use windows to see into other's minds. Useful a few hundred years ago if you were a king that wanted to know the strength of an opposing army. Finally, there are alteration vampires. Talents that shift molecules and bend physics to their will. These are the most dangerous vampires out there, but they are not invincible.”

  Del listened quietly.

  “How can I defend myself against someone that knows what I'm about to do?” Yugo was opening up a world that Del was bewildered by. He was powerful compared to the strongest man. Yugo was telling him there were true beasts in the world that had obtained far greater strength than he could fathom.

  “Then you have a weakness?” Del proposed.

  “Psychic vampires can only see the thoughts and actions of people. If you don't think it, they can't see it. I've seen how you move, you never think, you act on pure impulse. You are their bane. Those of us that have alteration gifts have great power over you, but can be easily trumped by the power of psychic vampires. There is a form of balance, as strange as it is.” Yugo tilted his feet onto the table again.

  The fire down the block had drawn the attention of everyone in the area. The club was mostly empty. No on
e was staring at Del or Yugo anymore.

  “Then what do you want to do with me? If you can kill on a whim, what good am I to you?” Del was nervous with his words. He didn't want Yugo to lose interest in him, or to have a repeat of the last few minutes. Drowning was not a welcome experience to him.

  “Relax Del. I want to teach you. To mold you as my new prodigy. I want to give you the mentoring I had to forage for. With a focus vampire at my side, a psychic gift would have no hold over me. Maybe after thirty or forty years you'll no longer be my student and we will be able to take on a psychic vampire to complete the set. Who knows, if you're a good student, the future will be good for both of us.”

  Del accepted wholeheartedly.

  Ten years passed as Yugo instructed Del in the most efficient ways to kill a person, a vampire, or a vampeal. It was 1980. Del had learned precision, to be reserved in his actions until he struck out. His assassinations had become perfunctory. In their time together, Yugo taught Del proper etiquette, and vampire etiquette. The certain ways to address a situation that contained vampires. The ways he should conduct himself. All of the necessary things that would keep him alive as a vampire when meeting other vampires older than him. Yugo formed Del as a skilled assassin. In time, Del was fulfilling contracts. He was making a wealthy living. Yugo had enough money to have other vampires hunt for him. Del never had to fish for victims as he used to. Del shuttered to think about telling Yugo that he once fed on livestock. In time Yugo viewed Del's progress overall as astounding. He was less than a hundred, and he was as precise as an elder. Everything from Del's manners to his executions, each action was beautiful in its own way. One day, Yugo had an idea to teach something new to Del.

  Yugo's loft in downtown Moscow was a small mansion in itself. Inside were decorations with tapestries, paintings, and antique art from the last few centuries. Hard wood floors, dark reds and warm browns filled the color of the room. Yugo and Del spent almost all their time inside, aside from contracts, they were shut-ins. The main living room held three long, ornate couches, rimmed with gold lace. With a red and gold pattern on the cushions, they were far more pleasant to the eye than to the ass. They were centered around a black coffee table. Yugo had a collection of different eggs, each in a separate glass case mounted in a cabinet against the far left wall. Paintings of the Romanov family were abundant across the rest of the loft.