Night Blood

by James M. Thompson

  Hillary James stamped her foot in anger and splashed muddy water all over her legs. “Shit!”

  She whirled and started back to her car. “Let’s shut down, guys. There’s nothing for us here,” she called to her crew, “and I’m going to kill that son of a bitch for sending me on this wild-goose chase.”

  Eleven

  I somehow made it back to the Nightrunner after my feed on the housewife in spite of the pain and shock to my system from the gunshot wound. I had to be careful again not to be stopped by the police, as my bloody clothes and weakened condition would have been hard to explain.

  I hadn’t been shot in over fifty years, and in fact barely felt the pain until after my feeding frenzy had waned and the Hunger had been appeased.

  Along with the pain and weakness as my body repaired itself, came unrelenting remorse over what I’d done. The baby had been a complete surprise since it wasn’t mentioned on my computer printout about the woman. My fight with the other hunter had not only caused me to miss my original prey, it’d made me take two innocent lives and in all probability ruin the life of yet another.

  Once in my stateroom, I began to strip off my stained and smelly clothing while images of the couple I’d slaughtered kept running through my mind. The list of people whose lives had been cut short or devastated by the Hunger kept growing, as did my disgust at not being able to control it any longer.

  As I leaned over the sink, consumed with self-hatred, a voice suddenly came from out of the darkness of the main salon, catching me completely by surprise. I had sensed no other presence on my arrival.

  “Good evening, Doctor.”

  I whirled, crouching and growling, already beginning to transform in readiness for fight or flight. A figure emerged from the shadows and stood there with his hands in his pockets, seemingly unconcerned by my physical changes.

  “You may relax, Doctor. You’re in no danger from me,” said the young man, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. He turned and walked nonchalantly back to his seat, crossed his legs, and watched me through glittering eyes.

  I attempted to probe with my mind but found only a wall of carefully blocked emotions. I expanded my mental powers and quickly probed the remainder of the ship for any evidence of further intrusion. Finding none, I turned my attention back to the stranger and his puzzling ability to shut me out of his mind.

  The man, if such he was, appeared to be in his early forties with hair just beginning to turn gray. His features were regular, although his eyes had a slightly oriental cast to them, and he spoke with a slight accent, whose origin I couldn’t place.

  “Doctor, please sit and calm yourself. We have much to talk about.”

  I straightened from my crouch, and, without taking my eyes off the intruder, sat on the edge of a couch facing him. Though my muscles were tense and I was ready to spring upon the stranger if given cause, I forced my voice to remain calm and betray none of my inner tension. “I hate to be trite, but who are you and what do you want?”

  An enigmatic smile creased my visitor’s face into tiny wrinkles. “My current name is Robert Quan, and I have been sent to deliver a message to you.” He leaned back in his chair and reached into his coat pocket. My body trembled in anticipation, but the man only brought out a card. With a flick of his wrist, he sailed it across the room into my lap.

  Printed on the card in elaborate calligraphy was the message, Jacqueline De La Fontaine requests the honor of your presence at the Warwick Hotel at ten o’lock in the evening.

  “What is the meaning of this?” I asked.

  The interloper stood and began to saunter toward the doorway. He spoke without looking back. “Doctor, I would respectfully suggest that you keep the appointment and find out.”

  Before I could decide what to do, Quan had vanished into the night. I sat back, puzzled, and forced my muscles to relax. I thought for a few moments, considering my options, and finally decided that Quan was right. There was only one way to find out who, or what, had summoned me.

  * * *

  As I raised my hand to knock on the door to the penthouse suite, it was opened by a smiling Robert Quan. I clamped down on my mind, shielding it to the extent of my ability, and followed the insolent Quan into the sitting room. I was surprised to find several people there. A black man and a pale woman were standing by the fireplace, drinks in hand, chatting as if at a cocktail party. Seated on the sofa, flanked by two young men, was an exotic-looking female. She appeared to be in her sixties or early seventies and had graying hair piled high on her head and held in place with a diamond tiara. Her dress appeared to be an Oscar de la Renta original, and a diamond Rolex adorned her wrist. Her eyes were obsidian, black as midnight, and surrounded by a network of tiny wrinkles, as if she had spent many years staring into bright sunlight.

  I took in the scene at a glance, and, sensing no immediate danger, bowed my head slightly. “Ms. De La Fontaine, I presume.”

  “Robert, do get the good doctor a drink.” Her voice was mellifluous. “Come sit across from me so we can talk.” She gestured to the sofa facing hers. “What would you like us to call you?”

  “Elijah was my Christian name, before you and your kind took from me all that I was or ever hoped to be,” I said bitterly.

  “But,” she protested lightly, “I just love your current choice of a name. It is so apropos, is it not?”

  Without answering, I spoke over my shoulder to Quan. “Evian, with a twist of lime,” I ordered, not bothering to hide the contempt in my voice. I strolled to the sofa and took a seat, apparently unconcerned about the danger and tension that hung in the air like mountain mist.

  De La Fontaine waved an ebony cigarette holder. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  My nostrils flared at the thought, but I shook my head, letting the corners of my lips curl in a small sneer.

  She smiled at my reaction, allowing the man on her right to light the cigarette. “I know . . . so many of our kind have that overdeveloped sense of smell. It must make living in this polluted world a chore.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her use of the phrase “our kind” but kept my mouth shut.

  “You do realize that all of us here are of the Vampyri?” she said.

  I looked around at the others, nodding. “It is the only explanation for the fact that I couldn’t penetrate Quan’s mind. However, one thing does puzzle me. I have always assumed ours to be a solitary race, shunning all contact with others of our kind other than our mates.”

  “I’m afraid that particular idiosyncracy is rather common, but by no means absolute. In fact, there are those of us who absolutely thrive on companionship with our own kind.” She patted the thigh of the young man next to her and gave him a wink.

  I accepted the drink from an unsmiling Quan. “Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but what does all this have to do with me?”

  She took a delicate sip of her drink, attempting to let me know who was in control by making me wait for her answer. Finally, she said, “Elijah, let me be frank. There are many things you do not know about the Vampyri, in spite of your research trips to the homeland.”

  I was shaken by her knowledge of my annual trips, but attempted to keep my face a noncommittal mask and my thoughts buttoned up tight. “Please, Jacqueline, feel free to enlighten me.” I didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in my tone.

  She frowned, both at the familiarity and the sarcasm. “In your egotism, a trait of ours that seems to grow with increasing years of survival, you assume that all of the Vampyri mirror your traits and way of looking at the world.” She paused to puff on her cigarette and glanced at the other members of the group to make sure they were listening.

  Satisfied that she had everyone’s complete attention, she continued. “That is simply not so. Aside from the obvious differences in life span, intelligence, and degree of psychic abilities, the Vampyri are like other races in many aspects. That is, there is a great deal of individual variation among us in all things. We have great minds and t
owering intellects, as well as those who are merely average in their abilities and all grades in between. We have introverts and solitary figures such as yourself as well as gregarious and social creatures like me.”

  She leaned forward and stubbed out the cigarette, never taking her eyes off me. “In short, Elijah, it is the height of egocentric arrogance for you to assume that your way is the only way, or even the best way to handle our uniqueness.”

  Intrigued, I realized she was correct. I had always assumed that the other Vampyri were as I was, disgusted with their needs and therefore contemptuous of others of their race. I steepled my fingers in front of my face and considered for a moment what to say. “Tell me, Jacqueline, is there some sort of official organization among the Vampyri, or do you all just hang out together for social reasons?”

  She considered my question as she fitted another cigarette into her holder and held it out to be lit. She took a deep drag, letting the smoke trickle out of her nostrils. “Elijah, it is a shame you are so ignorant of your brothers and sisters. No, there is no official organization, but I am considered leader among those of us who have the welfare of our race at heart.”

  “Why you, Jacqueline? Why have you out of all the Vampyri been chosen as leader?”

  She glared at me for a moment before answering, the blackness of her eyes seeming to shift and grow even deeper. “Elijah, ours is an ancient race. Our origins are buried in antiquity, even though I understand that you have made a concerted effort to unravel the secrets of our past, to try to explain us in terms of modern-day science.” She put her cigarette holder in the ashtray and leaned forward until her face was only inches from mine.

  “Look into my eyes, Elijah. Look deep and I will show you the answers you seek.”

  Unable to resist the chance to learn so much, I bent forward, as if unconsciously drawn by the magnetism of her stare. I looked into her eyes and the world narrowed to encompass only her twin orbs of darkness.

  Suddenly, my mind exploded with visions of dark, towering mountains under glowering clouds of blackness. The land was a mixture of lush, green grass and shrubs fighting for survival among numerous outcroppings of harsh, cold stone. I had an impression of constant, never-ending cold and damp that pierced flesh and stabbed deep to the bone. My body shivered in the warm hotel room while my mind followed where Jacqueline led.

  I saw a small huddle of primitive huts, gathered underneath the overhang of a mountain ledge. Wood fires were burning in futile attempts to keep the cold at bay, while near-naked children huddled nearby, clinging together as if afraid of what awaited them outside the glow of the fires.

  One of the village elders, better clothed than most, was chanting in a strange, harsh, guttural language and waving tokens at the roiling clouds, as if praying for relief from some burden.

  The men of the village all carried sharp pointed sticks or stone-headed clubs and seemed to be wary of the others, never letting anyone get behind them.

  Suddenly, a child’s scream rang out, bloodcurdling in its anguish. It continued for a moment, reaching heights of scale and intensity almost impossible for a human voice. The adults of the village rushed out of their huts and gathered their children from in front of the fires and quickly disappeared back into their homes. All except one woman, who picked up a spear and, with a look of terror and loathing on her face, rushed toward the sound.

  The vision wavered, reappearing as the woman approached a figure kneeling over a bundle of dirty furs in a field. She screamed and raised the spear to attack. The figure turned and snarled, blood and tissue dripping from its fangs, one clawlike hand still holding the child underneath it by the throat. It easily deflected the spear thrust and grabbed the woman by the throat with its other claw.

  With a growl of satisfaction, it discarded the ravaged child and turned its attention to the woman. My stomach churned as I watched a scene I had enacted myself many times unfold from the perspective of an outsider. The woman finally quit screaming and turned her head to stare blankly at the remains of her dead child, while the monster continued to thrust and probe her body with his swollen organ, pawing her breasts until they bled.

  When he was through, he picked up the battered, bleeding woman as if she weighed nothing and carried her into the nearby forest, leaving the child’s body for the other scavengers of the woods.

  Twelve

  I shook my head as the hotel room and its occupants came back into view.

  “Do you begin to understand, Elijah? I am the leader because I am the oldest of the Vampyri. There, in my memory, is the Carpathian village you are so fond of reading about, and there is the beginning of my own Transformation.”

  I used my sleeve to wipe pink-tinged sweat off my forehead, then picked up my glass and drained it in one long convulsive swallow. I looked up at Jacqueline. “How old are you?”

  She smiled a dangerous smile. “I don’t really know. For many, many years I lived in the mountains, and there were no calendars or any other means to tell the passing of the years. In those days, the passage of time was measured by aging and death, neither of which I was subject to. If I had to guess, it would be between five hundred and a thousand years.”

  My mind raced as I contemplated the changes this creature had seen over the course of a thousand years. “What about the one who transformed you? What happened to him?”

  Jacqueline De La Fontaine held out her hand, examining the nails as if looking for chips in her polish. “Once I became strong enough, I killed him,” she said simply, as if describing the swatting of a fly. Her eyes rose and fixed on me. “I never forget, and I never forgive. It will be best if you remember that, Elijah.”

  I was stunned. I glanced at the others. “How about them?” I asked her. “Are they as ancient as you?”

  “My dear, I have yet to encounter anyone as . . . how did you put it . . . as ancient as I am. No, I’m afraid they vary in age from three or four hundred years for Akeem”—at the mention of his name, the black man at the mantel inclined his head and held his drink up in a mock toast—“to less than a hundred for Michael and Jonathan.” She smiled to either side of her and the men there nodded at me.

  I started as Quan reached over my shoulder and handed me another glass, beaded with moisture. I took it, drank, and said, “This is all very enlightening, but you still haven’t indicated why you have been keeping track of me, or why you summoned me here tonight.”

  Jacqueline motioned at Quan. “Robert, why don’t you tell Elijah why we finally decided to contact him.”

  I shifted in my seat so that I could better watch Quan as he talked. “Doctor, first let me explain that you haven’t been singled out for any special treatment. There are well over a hundred thousand Vampyri worldwide, and not all of them belong to our . . . organization. We are a rather loose-knit group that has as its goal the preservation of the race. . . .”

  “What do you mean ‘the preservation of the race’? How can a race that is virtually immortal be in danger of extinction?”

  Quan grimaced at the interruption. “For someone of your age and training you are very naive, Doctor. Our existence is threatened on almost every front, at least in part because of our immortality.”

  He stood and began to walk around as he talked and was obviously enthusiastic to the point of fanaticism about his subject. “If the mortals ever begin to suspect that we exist, that the old legends about us are partially accurate, they will hunt us down and destroy us.”

  He looked off into space, introspective for a moment. “In fact, that almost happened in the nineteenth century.” He walked over to the bar and poured himself a straight whiskey, speaking without turning around. “Due to some unfortunate publicity brought on by books by Bram Stoker and others, people became aware of our existence and many Vampyri were killed.”

  He turned to stare into my eyes, warming to his subject. “If communication had been better, they might have succeeded in causing our complete extermination. As it was, we were lucky. Th
ose not killed went underground and waited until the old stories were either forgotten or regarded as no more than legends and superstitions.”

  He pointed an accusing finger at me. “Even you yourself live in disgust at what you . . . at what we, are.” He approached and stood directly in front of me, shaking his finger in my face, his voice rising in anger. “Instead, you should be proud to be a member of the Vampyri, one of the hunters instead of the hunted, a true immortal instead of one of the mayflies we feed upon!”

  I slapped Quan’s hand away from my face, causing him to snarl and the others to gasp in surprise. “Don’t tell me what I should think and feel.” I stood so Quan would lose the psychological advantage of towering over me. “I didn’t ask to become one of the Vampyri, and I suspect that none of you did either.” I stepped away from Quan and turned, surveying the others. I could feel the fear building within me, threatening to overwhelm me and erode my ability to think and to reason with the Vampyri just when I needed it the most.

  “Jacqueline”—I inclined my head in a slight bow—“I appreciate the history lesson, but Robert still hasn’t made it clear just what it is you want of me.”

  From behind me, I heard Quan snarl, “You arrogant bastard.” A clawed hand grabbed me by the shoulder and attempted to turn me around. I braced myself and gritted my teeth against the pain as the claws broke skin and scraped bone. After a moment, I slowly reached up and wrapped my hand around Quan’s wrist and, without taking my eyes off Jacqueline’s, began to squeeze.

  For a moment, nothing happened. As blood began to well up around my fingers and I felt bones give way, I heard a sharp intake of breath from Quan and his hand was jerked away.

  Jacqueline’s eyes left mine as she watched Quan cradle his hand against his chest and moan in pain. I resisted the urge to reach up and try to soothe the aching muscles of my shoulder.

  She sneered at Quan and waved him away with a flick of her wrist. When her eyes once again sought mine, there was a new measure of respect, and possibly fear, in them. “Elijah, we need to talk. Please”—she gestured toward my chair with her hand—“sit down and let me tell you why we approached you after all these years.”