X-Rated Bloodsuckers

by Mario Acevedo

  I used my paws to trip his front legs. He fell on his side and scrambled to regain his footing. I kept my jaws fastened on his neck.

  My teeth worked through the fur and found his windpipe. I bit hard. Blood spurt onto my tongue.

  It tasted wrong. I let go and stepped back. I hacked to get rid of the taste in my mouth.

  The wolf’s legs and head trembled. His wounds and my attack weren’t enough to cause this.

  His aura flickered.

  He wasn’t going anywhere soon, and if he died, so what? I stepped around him and proceeded into Cragnow’s home. No one seemed to hear the noise of the fight. Why?

  I followed the scent of spilled blood. I padded across the downy soft ground of a corridor until it opened into a large human cave.

  Niphe lay on the ground, facedown, his feet toward me. No aura flickered around him. A glass rested in the middle of a wet spot on the ground. The spot smelled of almonds. What was this?

  Someone rustled farther back in the home.

  A vampire and Niphe had brought Lara here. Niphe was dead and the vampire was close to it. Who remained? Lara? Cragnow? What about the shooter?

  I advanced cautiously, peeking around the corners of the cave.

  Cragnow sat in a chair with his back to a large window filled with night stars. His aura pulsed in agony. Blood wept from two holes in his chest. His broken eyeglasses rested by his feet.

  His eyes rolled toward me, and a wave of hatred surged through his aura. He struggled to get up. But he couldn’t. His wounds weren’t fatal to a vampire, but for now they immobilized him with pain.

  I sat on my haunches and ignored his suffering. I listened and sniffed. We were alone.

  Good. I needed to question him.

  I closed my eyes and began the transformation back into a vampire. Agony wracked me as bones twisted and stretched again. My skin burned where fur withdrew into flesh. Pain engulfed my head as my skull grew round and teeth retracted into the shrinking jaws.

  Thoughts collided like spilled marbles. The smells in my nose became pale and the sounds in my ears muted.

  I pushed off the carpet, my chest heaving, pain dissolving into memory. I stood naked before Cragnow.

  “Greetings,” I said. “Hope I’m dressed for the occasion.”

  His eyes brimmed with malice. “You denied it before, but you’re from the Araneum, aren’t you?”

  “Guilty. But it seems someone else has done the heavy lifting for me. Who?”

  “That bitch Lara poisoned us with cyanide. She mixed it with Amaretto to disguise the smell.” An empty highball glass sat on an end table beside him.

  Cyanide? That’s what the wolf’s blood had tasted of. I wiped spit from my mouth. Amaretto would mask the almond scent of the poison.

  Cragnow coughed. Blood pumped out the holes in his chest. “Then she shot me.”

  Poisoned and shot? Not enough to kill a vampire like Cragnow but enough to keep him uncomfortable for a long time.

  “Why did Lara do this?”

  “To kill me. She wants to stop us from taking over Journey’s church. And revenge. Lara blamed me for leading Roxy into the life.”

  “Which you did.”

  Cragnow gave his head a weak shake. “You couldn’t lead Roxy anywhere. She did as she pleased.”

  “And you let Lara walk in and do this to you?”

  “Who would’ve suspected that little mouse? She offered to work for me if I backed off Journey and came tonight to give me a preview. Imagine that. What a coup. Little sister steps into big sister’s high heels and bends over for me. The reverend’s girlfriend.” Cragnow pressed one hand over his chest to keep the blood from leaking. “But I was careless and didn’t read her aura. It was my mistake for underestimating the treachery of humans.”

  “Where did Lara go?”

  “To kill Petale Venin.”

  “And you’ve warned Venin?” I asked.

  “Why should I? My other mistake was getting involved with Venin. Let them finish each other off.”

  “Why was Venin a mistake?”

  “Because once she understood the potential of my new society, she pulled the other vampires under her control. She knew what to tell them. Who to trust. Who to destroy. What to do next. To get what I wanted, I found myself following her orders as well.”

  “This was the new society you planned? As flunkie to a human? What made it worth compromising the great secret and defying the Araneum?” I grabbed a nearby chair and broke it apart. I held a leg and raked my talons over one end to sharpen a point.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You know why I’m here.” I fashioned the leg into a dreaded wooden stake. “Where is Petale Venin?”

  “Her office in Westwood.”

  “At this time of night?” I asked.

  “She likes to keep busy.”

  Cragnow stared at the stake. His aura crackled with fear. “Listen to me, Felix. Imagine, no more makeup. No more contacts. No more hiding. No more living in fear at being discovered and hunted. Maybe the Araneum has it wrong.”

  “That we can’t trust the humans? Look around you. This was one human, acting alone.”

  He clutched the armrest and tried to stand. His aura glowed with frustration and he relented, sinking back into the chair. “There has to be another way. Maybe we can teach them. Don’t you see?”

  “I see that you’ve murdered humans and vampires. You tried to get me. Forgive my cynicism.”

  Pain creased through his aura. He closed his eyes for a moment and gulped. “Tell me that a human yearning no longer burns inside you. We are damned to wander this earth forever, always with a hunger that blood alone can’t satisfy.”

  I let the stake dangle in my hand. I knew that yearning. I knew that hunger. As a vampire I could exist for a thousand human lifetimes and never have what I wanted. Veronica. Maybe there could be another way.

  “Think about it, Felix. You and I, we can start this over. We can take Journey’s church and put vampires in control. That new society can begin with us.”

  “You or the Araneum?” I readied the stake. “Not much of a choice. The Araneum has never tried to kill me.”

  I seized Cragnow’s shoulder and held him firm against the chair. His aura lit with panic. He tried to resist, and I thumped his skull with the stake.

  I plunged the stake into his sternum, cracking bone. A fountain of blood gushed past my hand.

  Cragnow clutched the stake. Blood gurgled from his mouth. His jaw tightened and he fought to speak these words. “Before she left, Lara asked where she could find you.” Blood stained his fangs. “After she knocks off Venin, you’re next.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.” I pounded the stake with the heel of my hand until fabric ripped from the back of the chair.

  Cragnow’s hands fell to his sides and his body clung to the stake pinning him to the chair. His aura withdrew into a faint glow and faded away.

  Cragnow’s skin withered into a cracked shell. Ancient vampires didn’t need sunlight to disintegrate after being staked. His head sagged into his shoulders and his flesh broke apart in chunks that tumbled from his skeleton as the long centuries of being undead caught up with him.

  CHAPTER 52

  Lara had gone to kill Petale Venin. And add that Lara had me on her to-do list, which grew shorter by the hour.

  I stood in Cragnow’s den, his body now just a pile of dust. I had to get to my clothes and motorcycle. I didn’t relish the anguish of transforming back to a wolf and then again to the form of a vampire. That would be four times tonight of making the supernatural switcheroo, and each time was as painful as exfoliating with a bench grinder. But I couldn’t risk running naked through the chaparral and bramble with my “stuff” hanging out.

  I got on my hands and knees, took a deep breath, and summoned the transformation. Back as a wolf, I returned at a gallop to where I had left my clothes.

  Minutes later I was on my Yamaha, zooming south to Westwood.
I roared between rows of cars on the roads and risked getting clipped by a mirror or someone jumping a lane.

  I arrived at Venin’s office complex. A white limousine and dark sedans were parked out front. Niphe’s BMW sat in a handicapped parking spot at the end of the block.

  I left my motorcycle in the alley. I walked close to the building, put my hands and feet against the wall, and climbed like a gecko to the third floor.

  I crept along a narrow ledge to a darkened room. With a talon I scratched a circle the diameter of a melon on the window. I tapped the glass and caught the piece. I inserted my arm through the hole and groped for the window latch. I slipped into the room packed with boxes of files and palmed my pistol.

  There was only one door out. Heavy breathing and a steady thumping came from the other side. No light shone under the door. Two guesses what kind of civic debate was going on in there.

  I eased the door open.

  A man in a suit, with his pants and boxers around his shins, faced a desk. A pair of high heels and stockinged ankles rocked on his shoulders. His naked buttocks pounded rhythmically against a woman lying on the desk. Their red auras rebounded from each other like two balloons slapping.

  I tapped his arm. He jerked around. I zapped him, then her. I didn’t have time for mischief so I left them in flagrante delicto.

  I drew my pistol and walked toward Venin’s office.

  A figure with an orange aura staggered from her door. The vampire steadied himself against the wall and retched. His bile smelled of almonds. Lara had been here.

  The vampire saw me. His aura radiated confusion and pain. He raised a Glock pistol and aimed at me.

  I dropped him with two shots.

  I crept close to Venin’s door and listened for anything suspicious. Someone gasped inside, as if struggling to breathe.

  With my pistol at the ready, I entered the office.

  Venin convulsed in her chair. Blood from a bullet hole stained her blouse. Her spectacles rested askew on her nose. Her eyes circled in opposite directions. Bottles of vodka, Amaretto, and seltzer sat on her desk.

  So where was Lara?

  An alarm sounded. The overhead sprinklers clicked and water dribbled out. What had happened to the water pressure?

  Venin gave a weak gasp and fell silent. Her aura dimmed and went out. The feared matriarch of the vampire–human collusion was dead.

  Smoke poured from the air conditioner vents. This place was about to burst into flames. In another minute I’d be a briquet.

  Smoke filled the hallway and curled toward me. My eyes stung. I had to get out now.

  The last time I was here, Venin had escaped out the door on the other side of the room. I didn’t have time to be cautious. I ran for the door, put one shoulder forward, and knocked the door off its hinges. I kept running across the empty room and dove for the window.

  The glass shattered and I sailed for a willow tree. I grasped the branches to stop my fall and levitated to the ground.

  Smoke and sparks circled the builings. Red flames licked from the windows. Fire alarms screamed. People bolted from the exits like frightened rabbits.

  I found my motorcycle where I had left it. I raced up the block and passed the spot where Niphe’s car had been.

  Lara had gotten away.

  CHAPTER 53

  I drove to Culver City and stopped in a sports bar. I needed time—and a drink—to plan my next moves.

  All the televisions except one were tuned to baseball. That one television showed the burning office complex. A newsman appeared on the screen, positioning himself in front of fire trucks and the burning building. He had the pronounced jawline and thick, groomed hair that advertised him as a personality you could trust. He clutched a microphone and cupped his other hand over an ear. He nodded excitedly at the camera.

  I could barely hear the newsman over the patrons roaring in delight at a rerun of the day’s game highlights.

  “Arson…sabotaged the suppression system…fire burning out of control.” The newsman turned his body, pointed to the building to emphasize the obvious, and faced the camera again.

  The newsman continued. “Gunfire…a government official not yet been accounted for.”

  I could account for her.

  The waitress dropped off a Manhattan I’d ordered.

  Venin, Cragnow, Niphe…all dead. Who was left for Lara to kill?

  Julius Paxton.

  And me.

  CHAPTER 54

  With Venin and Cragnow dead I doubted Paxton would stay put for long. He lived in Granada Hills, on the northwest side of the San Fernando Valley. I’d start looking for him there.

  At one o’clock in the morning, Paxton’s neighborhood looked as saccharine as a Thomas Kinkade painting. I rounded the corner at low speed to mute the rumble of my V-Max. A Lincoln Navigator pulled out from Paxton’s driveway and jerked to a stop in the middle of the street. The Lincoln’s big front tires twisted and ground against the asphalt. Orange and red auras told me that a vampire drove and a human occupied the front passenger’s seat.

  The orange aura belonged to Paxton. The red, a chalice for sure.

  The Lincoln accelerated away from me and took the corner at such speed it seemed about ready to tip over. I hung back one block and followed.

  At the next corner, during a left turn that brought the Lincoln broadside to me, Paxton’s aura flared with alarm. The Lincoln picked up speed and zoomed through a stop sign.

  He must have seen me through his side window. I gunned the engine, and the Yamaha leapt forward like a hungry cheetah.

  Paxton raced past traffic lights, oblivious of the cars swerving and braking to avoid him. He shot onto the access ramp for I-405 heading south.

  Paxton’s aura gave him away like an orange signal marker. He drove fast, the big Lincoln muscling through traffic like it owned the interstate.

  We traveled east and south. Where was Paxton going?

  Palm Springs? Orange County? San Diego? Didn’t think so.

  How about Mexico? That I’d bet on.

  He would cross the border and disappear. Except he wouldn’t get to Mexico. I’d stop him.

  We passed the interchange of the San Diego and Long Beach freeways. Paxton accelerated to a hundred plus.

  I opened the throttle to intercept speed, and the rumble of the Yamaha’s four cylinders turned into a scream. The wind became an icy hand slapping my face. My clothes whipped against my limbs.

  I brought the V-Max directly behind Paxton and closed the gap to within ten feet.

  His brake lights illuminated in a panic stop, and the rear end of the Lincoln came at me like an enormous metal boxing glove. I let go of the handlebars and tucked my head against my chin.

  The front tire of the Yamaha crashed against the rear bumper. The motorcycle flipped forward, catapulting me helmet-first through the rear window.

  Glass exploded around me. I flew into the Lincoln like a spinning cannonball, lost for a moment in a maelstrom of confusion, motion, and pain. Color and light swirled around me. I slammed into a hard surface and fell sideways on something soft and yielding. A seat.

  A woman screamed. The Lincoln jerked to the left and right. I fumbled for leverage, grasped a door handle, and sat upright. Boxes and stacks of suitcase crowded around me.

  The Lincoln swerved across the lanes. Paxton’s aura flamed with surprise and fear. A young woman, with hair and a face like a Barbie doll, beat at his arms and shrieked.

  “He’s inside, Julius. Shoot him. Shoot him.”

  I climbed into the middle seat, grabbed the chalice by her long tresses, and pulled her face toward mine. “Shut up.” I gave her a glare that could knock out a squad of firemen.

  Her aura puffed out and shrank to a muted glow. She sat paralyzed with hypnosis.

  I pulled my Colt pistol and jabbed it against the nape of Paxton’s neck. “Slow down.”

  The speedometer dropped below one hundred, then ninety, eighty, and held steady at seventy.
A green highway sign announced the next exit as Avalon Boulevard.

  “Get off the freeway here.” I removed my helmet. “Go north.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To have a chat. I need to complete a report to the Araneum, and since you’re the only one in your merry band who’s still walking and talking, well, I guess you’re it.”

  The tendrils of his aura writhed like snakes caught in a trap. Paxton didn’t question what I had said about him being the only one remaining from his “merry band.”

  “We can work a deal.”

  “Paxton, you got nothing I want except information.”

  The Lincoln circled down the off ramp to Avalon Boulevard. I directed him into a parking lot. Raccoons scattered in front of us, their auras crimson jewels rolling across the asphalt.

  “Stop here,” I ordered.

  We halted in the middle of the lot.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” Paxton said. “Then let me walk. No one has to know.”

  The Araneum already considered him more ash. “Afraid not. It would cost me my reputation.”

  “I got money. I got a harem of chalices.”

  “And I got you by the balls.” I screwed the muzzle of the pistol deeper into his skin. “Who put the bomb in Coyote’s truck?”

  Paxton’s aura brightened like a lamp.

  I jabbed the pistol against his neck. “Who?”

  “My vampire cops. On Venin’s orders.”

  I gritted my teeth in rage. I pistol-whipped Paxton’s head. “Who was in charge of the investigation into Roxy’s murder?”

  “What’s that got to do with this?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I was,” Paxton replied.

  “Cragnow didn’t kill Roxy. Venin didn’t. And you wouldn’t wipe your nose unless they told you, so you didn’t kill her either. Then who did?”

  “I don’t know,” Paxton answered.

  “Then why the cover-up?”

  “Because we didn’t want to know. Roxy was dead, and whoever murdered her did us all a big favor.”