Dark Blood

by James M. Thompson

  He entered the hotel and went straight to the bar area. He knew there were always tourists staying at the popular hotel and thought maybe he’d have some luck with some who hadn’t gone out for the night yet.

  He took a seat at the end of the bar where the light was dim and the bartender wouldn’t be able to get a good look at him. Ordering a double Jack Daniel’s and Coke, he turned on his bar stool and surveyed the room.

  Sure enough, there were three couples sitting at a large table in the rear of the room. Any of the three females would do; each of them was young, pretty, and full of life.

  Jacques felt his heart begin to pound. He hoped his Hunger could be held off long enough for him to make his move safely.

  Just as he was finishing his drink, the girl on the end, with long, blond hair, got up from the table and walked toward the rest rooms at the other end of the bar.

  Jacques threw a ten-dollar bill on the counter and followed her, hoping his luck would hold and there’d be no one else back there. He knew there was a back door near the rest rooms that opened onto an alleyway. Only seconds would be needed if the area was clear.

  He waited outside the ladies’ room, pretending to use the pay phone. Five minutes later, the blonde came out of the room, looking down as she replaced a compact and comb in her purse.

  Jacques glanced over his shoulder and saw that they were alone.

  “Pardon me, miss,” he said in his most agreeable tone as he moved toward her.

  She looked up, an expression of mild surprise on her face. “Yes?”

  Jacques pointed over his shoulder. “Your friends asked me to tell you they’d meet you outside . . . right through that door.”

  “What?” she asked, puzzled.

  “They said they’d explain when you got there.” He stepped past her and opened the door, standing to the side so she could step through.

  “That’s funny,” she said slowly as she moved by him. “They didn’t say anything about leaving.”

  He followed her out and shut the door behind him.

  She turned. “I don’t see . . . ,” she started to say.

  He made a fist and hit her square in the jaw, knocking her unconscious and catching her in his arms as she fell. As quick as a wink, he threw her over his shoulder and ran at a lope, deeper into the alleyway. He made two turns, moving ever farther from the busy streets near the door.

  He came to a Dumpster and set her down on the ground next to it. As she moaned and shook her head, he stripped off his clothes and stood over her, letting his body change as she came awake.

  “What—what happened?” she moaned, holding her jaw and trying to get to her feet. When she looked up and saw him standing naked before her, his face a horrible monster mask and his fangs drooling red liquid, she put her hands up and started to scream.

  Jacques stepped forward and clamped his left claw over her mouth while he ripped her clothes off with his right.

  She struggled and fought, laying the flesh of his cheek open with her fingernails as she tried to escape his grasp.

  He grinned, exposing his mouthful of fangs, and flicked his long, pointed tongue out at her. “Oh, you’re a feisty one,” he growled, his breath smelling like a charnel house to her.

  “I like that,” he said, moving up against her and pinning her to the brick wall behind her. He put his mouth on hers and fondled her breasts as he ground his penis against her groin.

  Slowly, his mind forced her to relax and stop fighting him. Her eyes became glazed and she moaned with pleasure as he grabbed her thighs and spread them. He lifted her in the air and pulled her down onto him, kissing her deeply as he slid inside her.

  She groaned and put her hands on his back and pulled him deeper into her as his lust was transmitted to her mind.

  “Oh, God,” she almost screamed as he began to pump against her, his claws digging into her breasts as he pinched and pulled her nipples.

  “Don’t stop,” she gasped, beginning to climax.

  In the background, Jacques could hear a male voice calling, “Sally . . . Sally, are you there?”

  He leaned his head back and stared into her sightless eyes. “I’m afraid I must, my dear,” he said in a voice husky with lust and desire. “All good things must end,” he added, opening his mouth wide and bending to her neck.

  She bucked against him, still in the throes of her orgasm, as he ripped her throat out and drank her life.

  Minutes later, as he rounded a corner fifty yards from Sally’s body, he heard her boyfriend scream, “Oh, God . . . No-o-o!” when he found her ravished and torn remains.

  Twenty-six

  Once all of the members of Carmilla de la Fontaine’s Council were present and had been served the drinks of their choice, Michael Morpheus called out, “I really must protest your calling another meeting so soon after the last, Carmilla.” He glanced around the table as if to judge how much support he had among the other members. “After all, some of us do have lives separate and apart from belonging to this group.”

  Carmilla gave a mild smile. “You’re welcome to leave at any time, Michael, or for that matter, not to attend at all,” she said pointedly. “I’m quite sure we can come to any decisions we need to without your input, if that is what you desire.”

  Michael waved a languid hand as he yawned to show he gave very little importance to whatever she might have to say. “Oh, do go on, Carmilla. You’re wasting time.”

  Carmilla cleared her throat and began to tell them of her discovery of and meeting with TJ the previous day.

  “And is this woman absolutely sure that Roger Niemann is in town?” asked Peter Vardalack.

  “No,” Carmilla answered, “but she and her friends were sure enough to leave their jobs and travel here in hopes of contacting him.”

  “The more important question,” began Adeline Ducayne, “is are you convinced she was somehow able to cause her Transformation to regress.”

  Carmilla inclined her head. “Yes, though the effects were only temporary. She is definitely in the very early stages of Transformation, though the actual ceremony took place almost a year ago.”

  “That’s unheard of,” Louis Frene said. “I myself have never seen the complete Transformation take more than several weeks, and it is usually much shorter than that.”

  Michael spoke up again. “Are you sure this is not just wishful thinking on your part, Carmilla? After all, we all know how you long to return to being one of the Normals again, though I cannot imagine why.”

  “Of course I’m sure, Michael. Otherwise, I would not have called this meeting of the Council. And, for your information, I’m not the only one here who would be interested in a process that would make us normal humans again.”

  Theo Thantos spoke for the first time. “But, Carmilla, as you yourself said, the reversal of the Transformation was only temporary. Of what possible use is that?”

  “TJ and her friends are certain that Roger Niemann has information that will enable them to make the reversal permanent.”

  “Carmilla, if this Roger Niemann is here as this woman says, and if he is in fact the Ripper, aren’t we obligated to eliminate him?”

  Carmilla inclined her head, her face set and grim. “If Roger is here, whether he is the Ripper or not, I will terminate him. I owe that to my friends and relatives he murdered in Houston.” She held up her hand. “But if he has information that is useful to us, there is nothing to prevent us from gaining that information and then taking him out.”

  “I’m still not sure why you called us here today,” Gerald Enyo said. “What would you have us do about all this?”

  Carmilla looked around the table at the members of the Council. “We need to find Roger Niemann, and we need to be involved with this woman in her search for the ability to reverse the Transformation.”

  When Michael opened his mouth to speak, she interrupted him. “Yes, Michael, even those of you who are perfectly happy to remain as you are need to be involved in this. Whateve
r research Niemann has done has vital importance for all of us, even if we elect not to use it. So what I’m asking is for each of us to open our minds more than ever before as we go about the city. We must find Roger if he is here, and we must determine if he is the Ripper or not. If he is not, then we can also use our search to find whoever is the Ripper.”

  As the members began to talk among themselves, Carmilla saw Michael passing strange looks with Christina Alario, Jean Horla, and Sarah Kenyon. She wondered just what was going on between them, but put it out of her mind for the present.

  “Does anyone have any objections to my proposal?”

  No one spoke up, so she called the meeting to an end. “If any of you come up with anything, please call me immediately,” she said as she showed them out the door.

  After she closed the door, she peeked out the blinds and saw Michael and the three other members standing in a small group talking. Something was definitely strange about the furtive way they glanced over their shoulders as they talked. She decided she’d better do some sleuthing so she wouldn’t be caught unaware by whatever they were planning.

  * * *

  Shooter got back to the hotel just after five in the afternoon after spending most of the day searching for Roger Niemann’s ship.

  He went to his room and woke TJ up from her nap and they went to Matt and Sam’s room.

  “Did you find it?” Matt asked as he showed them into the room.

  Shooter raised his eyebrows and grunted. “Do you have any idea just how many places there are to dock ships in the New Orleans area?”

  “No, but I have a feeling you’re gonna tell us,” Sam replied with a laugh.

  Matt fixed them all drinks from a makeshift bar he’d made on the dresser. Shooter and TJ sat on the couch while he and Sam pulled up easy chairs across the coffee table from them.

  “Over twenty,” Shooter said, “but there were only four or five places a ship as large as Niemann’s could be berthed.” He took a long swig of his drink. “And, of course, I finally found it at the last place on my list.”

  “Are you sure it’s the same ship?” TJ asked.

  “Yep. The name’s been changed to Moon Chaser, but it’s definitely the same ship we boarded the night of the attack.”

  “Where is it?” Sam asked.

  “It’s berthed at the docks on Lake Ponchartrain, and let me tell you, it’s not a place I’d want to be alone after dark. There’s nothing around the area but a row of bars frequented by sailors and longshoremen. Definitely not listed on tourist attractions.”

  “Do you think he might be living on it?” Matt asked.

  Shooter shook his head. “I don’t think so. The gangplank had a fence across it and it looked like it might be wired to an alarm, so I didn’t try to get aboard.”

  “So our next step will be to try and put Sam’s plan into action,” TJ said, her eyes worried as she sipped her drink.

  Shooter put his hand on her arm. “Are you sure you want to try this, babe?”

  She looked up at him. “I don’t see any other way.”

  “Let’s go over it one more time,” Sam said. “We’re going to leave a note attached to the gangplank asking Roger to meet you at some very public place, with lots of people around.”

  TJ nodded. “I’ve been doing some experimenting with this mind-reading stuff. It appears to work about the same way conversation does. If I’m more than a few feet away, I don’t get anything.”

  “That means if we’re in the immediate area but not too close, and there is a crowd of people around, he won’t be able to pick up on our thoughts, right?” Matt said.

  Before TJ could answer, Shooter looked closely at her. “Does this mean when we’re close, you’re able to read my mind?” he asked.

  TJ grinned and patted his leg. “Believe me, Shooter, honey, you don’t have to be a mind reader to know what you’re thinking about. Ninety percent of the time, it’s one thing.”

  Shooter blushed crimson red as Matt and Sam and TJ all joined in laughter.

  “I know what you mean,” Sam agreed, glancing at Matt. “It seems all men are the same.”

  “I resemble that remark,” Matt said, grinning. “I occasionally think of things other than sex.”

  “Only when you’re hungry,” Sam said, “and even then, it’s not far in the back of your mind.”

  Shooter laughed, glad to see TJ so relaxed before they tried such a dangerous maneuver. His face sobered and he asked, “OK, so you guys will take up positions in some crowded club and I’ll hang out near the ship. When I see Roger get the message, I’ll hightail it back to join you and let you know he’s on the way.”

  “Remember, stay far enough away so he can’t pick up on your emotions or thoughts,” TJ reminded him. “His abilities may be stronger than mine, so I don’t know just how far out he can ‘hear’ things.”

  “Well, all that’s left now is for us to pick a spot to meet him at. We want one that’s crowded, but not too noisy. You two have got to be able to talk.”

  “It should be relatively dark, too,” Shooter added. “Otherwise, Roger may see us and recognize us in the crowd.”

  “That won’t matter once he’s taken his seat,” Sam said. “Because as soon as he’s seated, we’re all going to join the party.”

  “What if he gets rough?” Matt asked.

  “I don’t see that happening,” Shooter said. “For one, I’ll let him know I’m armed, but I think he truly cared for TJ and I doubt he’d try anything too violent with her present.”

  “Especially if we let him know right away we’re not there to threaten him, but to ask for his help,” Sam said.

  “And remember, Roger’s been working on reversing his sickness for many years. Once he finds out we may have a way, I think he’ll be more than happy to cooperate,” TJ said.

  Shooter got to his feet and picked up a tourist magazine from the dresser. “Now, I guess it’s time to pick our spot and then I’ll go take up station near the ship.”

  After thumbing through several pages of the magazine, Sam said, “There!”

  On the page was an ad for Top of the Sheraton. “That’s perfect,” she said. “See, it’s a piano bar and it’s on the top floor of a hotel. It’s bound to be crowded, but since it’s a piano bar, the conversation will be low and not boisterous.”

  “Another good thing is it’s accessible only by elevator,” Shooter said. “That way, if he sees us, he won’t be able to get away very quickly ’cause he’ll have to wait for the elevator to come.”

  Matt held up his glass. “A toast to our venture,” he said. As they all clinked their glasses together, he said, “To success in our quest for a cure for TJ.”

  “And for all the other poor souls like Roger who want to become human again,” TJ added solemnly.

  Twenty-seven

  Michael Morpheus opened the door to his home in Mettarie, a suburb of New Orleans, and invited his supporters from the Vampyre Council in. They’d arranged this private meeting following Carmilla’s announcements at the last Council meeting.

  Jean, Sarah, and Christina walked into his house and took seats in Michael’s living room. On the coffee table, he’d arranged glasses and a bottle of vintage wine for them to drink while they discussed their strategy.

  While Jean poured the wine, Michael paced in front of the group, too excited to sit. “I’ve asked you all to meet here to decide what we should do about the information Carmilla disclosed yesterday.”

  Sarah swirled the wine in her glass, staring into the sparkling red liquid before taking a sip. She smacked her lips in appreciation of the taste, and then she looked up at Michael. “I take it you don’t agree with Carmilla’s desire to assist the group of doctors in finding a cure for our disease?” she asked.

  Michael glared at her. “Of course not!” he exclaimed. “Personally, I think it is the most dire threat to our existence since the pogrom against our kind in the Middle Ages.”

  “How so?” she asked
.

  “Think of what it would mean if we did find a way to reverse the changes of the Transformation,” he said, waving his arms. “Soon we’d have ex-Vampyres appearing on talk shows like Oprah’s, telling the world how they used to be monsters who sucked the life’s blood out of innocent victims, but now they’re cured. We’d have best-selling books detailing the lives we’ve led, and there’d be articles in the Enquirer like ‘I Was a Teenage Vampyre.’ Soon any of us who chose not to revert back to being a Normal would be treated as pariahs, hunted down and killed for our refusal to rejoin the human race.”

  Christina waved her glass in the air. “Oh, Michael, I think you’re exaggerating.”

  “Am I?” he asked, turning to her. “I think not. In any event, it would soon turn those of our race who want to revert against those of us who believe, as we do, that we are the superior race. It would at the very least cause a civil war in our ranks that would sooner or later destroy us all and end our way of life forever.” He stared at them through a zealot’s eyes. “We would no longer be able to feed upon the Normals in secrecy. Every vicious murder committed would be blamed on us, whether we did it or not.”

  Jean emptied his glass and refilled it from the bottle on the table. “There may be something in what you say, Michael.” He took another drink. “And I must say that I have much enjoyed the little meetings we’ve been having out at your place on the bayou.” He grinned savagely. “I’d almost forgotten what a pleasure it is to hunt and feed like we did in the old days.”

  Michael took a seat in an easy chair across from the others and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I, too, have enjoyed our little gatherings,” he said. “How about you, Sarah? And you, Christina?”

  Both of the women looked at each other and nodded. “Yes,” Sarah said. “I, for one, would hate to give them up and go back to Carmilla’s way of nonlethal feedings.”

  Christina licked a drop of scarlet wine from her lips. “I have not felt so alive in years,” she said.

  Michael leaned back and spread his arms. “Then our course is clear. We must do whatever it takes to prevent these interlopers from destroying our way of life.”