The overheads flickered on, highlighting horrible green wallpaper, peeling around the baseboards. Sebastian crossed in front of him and sat on the end of the couch, leaning back with a half-smile on his face. Lenny had sort of begun to expect that if Sebastian smiled again, it would be an unspeakably creepy expression, but it was not. Sebastian had a nice smile. It was even a little bit apologetic.
“So,” Sebastian whispered eagerly. Lenny almost could not hear him under the boom box. “So, what’s it like?”
The complete about-face threw Lenny off. He probably would not have made it far, but it did look like he had an opportunity to get the hell out of there. There was one window, taped over with aluminum foil to keep out the Texas heat. He had never been good at moving quickly, but he could probably have gone out that way. It would hurt, but it was a way out, and he would heal, and even crazy murderers do not necessarily want to go flying into the street in the middle of the night. Lenny was not fast, but he could probably drag himself to a convenience store or something by the time Sebastian made it down the stairs.
But he did not throw himself out the window. He could not be sure whether that was his decision or Sebastian’s.
He fidgeted instead. “What’s what like?”
Sebastian sat forward with his elbows on his knees, dislodging a paperback from the table. “Being both. I’ve never even heard of that. Didn’t know it was possible.”
“It’s p-possible. It’s just not a very g-g-good idea.”
Sebastian’s laugh filled the apartment. He had a good laugh, just like he had a good smile. It was hard not to laugh with him, but Lenny still remembered those words: no one to miss you. The window beckoned, but he did not try to leave. It was hard to be sure, with everything happening so fast, and that laugh ringing in his head, and those eyes drilling into him, but he was beginning to suspect that he had been kidnapped.
“So,” Sebastian repeated. “What’s it like? Not a good idea, sure, but you seem to be doing okay for yourself.”
“Easier to b-blend in, I g-guess.” Maybe Sebastian was just curious. One thing about immortality is that it often leads to mind-crushing boredom. Hobbies are a good way to fight that, but hobbies can easily turn into obsessions. Maybe his was learning. No matter how old you get, there is always something new to learn. If Lenny told him what he wanted to know, maybe he would leave him alone.
Sebastian tilted his head, politely expectant.
Lenny went on.
“Can’t k-kill. But I’ve never felt the need to, so it’s all g-good. I think it messed up some stuff when I changed. My hearing’s okay, but it’s not real g-good. I’ve got b-b-bad balance. Some other stuff, too. I g-guess it was like drugs interacting. Neither thing really works the way it’s supposed t-to, any more.”
“Is it true that mediums can control dead things? Including the undead?”
“Media. It’s media, not mediums. And ‘c-control’ is too strong. More like influence, and only in ways that help.”
He stopped, not sure why he had said that. Most people do not like hearing that someone has any kind of influence over them, even if that someone would never use it and could never do any damage even if he did. Lenny did not want to come across as any kind of threat, partly because he did not consider himself a threat, and partly because he did not feel like being pummeled for being perceived as one. But on the other hand, Sebastian had his own brand of influence going on, the kind that could pull information out of people like scarves out of a magician’s sleeve. Lenny swallowed hard.
“Heh. I’d like to see you try. I heard you can’t change a medium. Obviously wrong, but...”
“Not against their will.”
He grinned, and this time, the expression was ugly. “I guess it follows that you wanted it, then.”
Lenny nodded. He was not about to talk about Kate. He was not about to explain. Sebastian would not like his reasons, and he would not like her reasons, and Lenny did not like the line of thought that always brought him back to wondering whether he or Kate had ever had any choice, those years ago.
Something moved behind Sebastian, the shape of a man almost too faint even for Lenny to see. He was not a proper spirit, just an echo, and the echo had been fading for a long time. It was one of Sebastian’s ghosts, someone whose memory had been imprinted into the building by a violent death at the same time the rest of him went Wherever he was ultimately going to end up. Lenny managed to tear his eyes away from Sebastian for a fraction of a second, trying to get a better look at the memory standing behind him. It was harder than it should have been. He half expected some kind of dramatic warning, even though it had never worked that way, but the memory just stood there, his legs disappearing into the middle of the couch. He watched Lenny over the top of Sebastian’s head.
When Lenny looked back down again, Sebastian’s mahogany eyes were narrowed with speculation, the same sort of look someone might give a dime in a mud puddle, not quite sure whether it is worth the effort of picking it up, even if he needs an extra ten cents. He glanced back toward the ghost, squinted through it, and looked back at Lenny. He was wondering whether he could use him.
It was wrong. Everything was wrong, and there were more ghosts filling Lenny’s peripheral vision, other memories and a few real spirits. One of them whispered I’m sorry like a mantra, over and over just beneath the buzz of the electric lights. They knew something Lenny did not.
“Listen, I’m g-g-gonna have t-to g-g-go p-pack. I have a b-bus to c-c-c-...”
“Have a drink, before you go.”
“What?”
“Just one. Look, I...” The apologetic smile returned. It was tragic. “If I gave you my phone number, would you... sometime... Do you think you might...?”
“Oh. Uh, sure.” Lenny nodded, trying very hard not to look relieved. It was hard not to feel bad for Sebastian, whatever his problems might have been. “Look, I’m d-down this way, sometimes. Not much, but sometimes. I c-c-could come see you. Some weekend, maybe?”
He probably would, too, even though he did not want to. Sebastian needed help, and that is what media are for.
Sebastian smiled again, hopeful, that moment of ugliness gone, and got up to go to the kitchen. Lenny did not watch him; he was too busy feeling like he had dodged a serious bullet. There was the pop and hiss of two bottles of beer opening, a pause, and one of them found its way into Lenny’s hand. Sweat beaded on the glass and dripped down onto his khakis.
“You’re scared,” Sebastian said as he sat back down. “I’m sorry about that. I just...”
He did not have any words to explain, just shrugged. Lenny got the picture. He had no social skills, and his method for making friends was mildly terrifying. At least his taste in beer was good. Lenny sipped reluctantly. He had already had enough, but turning down a peace offering might be dangerous.
“It’s okay. No hard feelings. I’m mostly just c-confused.”
Sebastian’s expression did not change, but the smile became fixed, expectant. The ghosts in the corners of the room began to disperse, as though the show was already over. “I just can’t figure out your angle,” he continued. “You’re on my turf, in my bar, playing like you want to be my friend. Pretty subtle, I’ll grant you. You actually had me going, for a while. Come back on weekends, my ass. And here you are, sticking around like you hadn’t even thought about running. I honestly can’t tell whether you’re for real or not.”
Lenny wanted to point out that Sebastian was the one who threatened him, brought him there by force and was poking around in his head where he absolutely did not belong. He wanted to point out that, even though Sebastian scared the crap out of him, he could make himself overlook all that, because that is what a medium does. He did not get the chance.
Lenny did not even see him move. Sebastian must have had centuries on him to go so fast. One second, Lenny was trying to excuse himself, watching the ghosts to see whether they could give him a hint; the next, Sebastian was standing in front
of him with his hand closed over Lenny’s jaw, not so tight it hurt, but too tight for him to move without breaking himself.
Lenny scrambled. His hand shot up reflexively to grasp Sebastian’s wrist, and Sebastian squeezed. Something in Lenny’s face cracked loudly, making him gag. Sebastian hissed like an animal and spit something at him in Spanish too fast and too old for Lenny to understand. His crazy eyes were wide and eager.
Sebastian pulled Lenny up close to his face, still talking. Most of Lenny’s brain was taken up with figuring how to get the hell away, but part of him realized that Sebastian was not talking to him; he was talking to himself, low and fast. Lenny could hear the power in his voice, even if he could not understand the words. Sebastian was convincing himself of something, weaving back the same spell he had used on Lenny. Something in his eyes changed when he made up his mind, went a little crazier, if that was possible.
Sebastian dropped his victim. Lenny stepped back, tripped over the chair, and fell hard. His face throbbed, and he could taste stale, dead blood. His blood. He got one arm underneath himself and began to push himself up when something like a fighter jet whistled overhead and came down on the back of his neck, flattening him again. Something pounded steadily inside his head, vaguely reminiscent of a heartbeat. It took him a moment to realize that someone was at the door.
Sebastian dragged him upright and bent to whisper in his ear.
“Relax,” he said, and Lenny did.
Sebastian threw Lenny over his shoulder like a rag doll, carried him through the apartment and dumped him on the floor in the bedroom. Lenny could not see anything but the awful, green wallpaper. He heard a door open, felt a vicious impact against his ribs, and was enfolded in darkness.
The closet smelled better than the rest of the building. It smelled like cedar chips, like Sebastian. Lenny heard his footsteps, the front door, a woman’s voice. Sebastian sounded happy to see her, which most likely meant that, even if Lenny called for help, she would not be one to give it. He tried anyway. He tried to scream, to reach the doorknob. But his voice did not work, and neither did his arms. Every muscle stayed slack.
He concentrated on the pounding in his jaw and in his side, because there was nothing else he could do. But after a minute, that began to fade, too. It diminished to an ache, then to a twinge, then to a tingle. He could not feel his hands, and his head felt like a balloon, and there was a bitter taste on the back of his tongue, underneath the tang of blood and beer. He tried to be angry, and he tried to be afraid, but it was too much effort. The voices in the other room lengthened like rubber bands, and the floor was soft, and he sank down into it.
* * *
THERE WAS A voice, and he wanted it to be Mara. He was home, and she had invaded his half of the duplex again. He could almost smell the coffee. It would still be dark out, and they would talk as they both got ready for work. She would make fun of his sweater while she pulled her hair back. He would find her keys, because she was always losing them, and he would wait until after school to tell her all the things he had planned to say. He could smell the coffee. Her toothpaste. That weird shampoo she used that smelled like cough syrup and men’s cologne. He would tell her everything, so that if she kissed him again, she would know what she was getting herself into.
And she would know him inside and out, the way it should have been since the first time he realized how much he liked to hold her. She would know the truth of him, know all of him, know him the way the Bible means it, if she wanted to. He would tell her how he didn’t get a damn thing out of that conference, because he spent the whole time thinking of her.
They would sit in the dark with a bottle of cheap wine and laugh about his crappy weekend.
But it was not dark out. There was a tiny bead of light shining through his eyelid, agonizing before he had even opened his eyes. He turned his face away from it. There was carpet under his cheek. It smelled faintly, but he could not tell what it smelled like and did not care to spend energy trying to figure it out. Breathing made his entire body burn, so he stopped. Considering that revelation, he decided that trying to move would be a bad idea, too, so he stayed still. His throat burned, and he felt weak, and he knew what that meant, even though it was something he had not let himself feel for a very long time. He could not feel much, though. Everything was a bit numb, apart from the acute sensation of hangover. There were knives in his skull and something big trying to climb up his esophagus. He swallowed to keep it down, but it was having none of that, and he heaved at the musty carpet. His back screamed in protest. Nothing came up, but the nausea did not go away, so he kept heaving until the muscles would not contract again. It took him a few goes to figure out that his mouth would not open, either. Duct tape.
It had been too hard to be afraid, before, but now it was impossibly easy. The worst part was the realization that Sebastian had not killed him, which could only mean there was more coming. He could not even hazard a guess why Sebastian could possibly want him. Lenny was not the standard model, but he had no illusions that he was anything special, either. As a vampire, he had always been a miserable failure. As a medium, he had some skills, but nothing that could give someone else an edge. Besides, if Sebastian wanted a medium, he could just look one up in the phone book. He would have to filter through some charlatans, but media were anything but rare. Lenny could only assume that Sebastian was planning to make someone suffer one way or another, and Lenny happened to be the one in his way.
He heard the voice again, but only the one. Sebastian was on the phone. It sounded as though he was making an appointment. There was the click of the receiver hitting the cradle, then footsteps.
Finally, Lenny opened his eyes, pretty sure that he should make some kind of effort to defend himself, or at least get up. He was lying on his face halfway under a bed. The bead of light had come from a small window opposite the door, taped over with foil like the one in the other room. Two or three tiny holes let in thin rays of sun, and even that was enough to make his eyes ache. From underneath the bed, on the other side of the room, he could see the closet door. A shiver started at the base of his spine and worked its way through the rest of him.
He tried. He did try, but his arms would not move, and they were too numb for him to be able to tell why. His legs moved, but not well. It did not feel the same as before, when it was drugs and trance keeping him still. This felt like something tangible. More duct tape, maybe.
There was nothing else he could do, so he waited, counting the steps.
Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Behind him, where he could not see no matter how much he twisted, a door opened. Light spilled into the room, and he had to close his eyes.
Nine. Ten. Eleven.
A huge hand closed over his shoulder, rolling him onto his side, and then two bulky arms worked their way underneath him, lifting him up. A short drop onto the bed, and he figured out where his arms were – pulled back behind him as far as they could possibly go, bound together from elbow to wrist. His shoulder popped quietly. He would have screamed, but his mouth was taped shut, and he was pretty sure his jaw was broken, and he could not get a decent breath in, anyway.
The bed creaked and tilted slightly as Sebastian sat on the edge.
Lenny opened one eye to see Sebastian looking at him. The light was behind him, and Lenny’s vision was weak, so he could not see his expression, but he could still see his eyes.
“Are you for real?”
Sebastian wanted him to be for real. He wanted a friend, so Lenny nodded, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and in his head, even though at that moment he wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else.
And Sebastian saw that, saw him lying, and reached down to grab his throat. He could not strangle a vampire, but it hurt all the same. It stung, like he had grabbed an open wound. Lenny felt the skin around his eyes tighten until they could get no wider. Sebastian pulled him up close to his face.
“Do you know what contagious magic is?”
“There are three forms of external magic. There’s symbolic – spells and words and circles and crap. Then there’s sympathetic – using a representation of something, like a doll or something that looks like what you want to mess with. Then there’s contagious. Contagious is controlling the whole thing by controlling part of the thing. Do you understand?”
Hard as he tried to think, Lenny had no idea what Sebastian was getting at. He shook his head as much as he was able, and fortunately, that seemed to be an acceptable answer. Sebastian did not hurt him, just dropped him back down onto the bed, which hurt enough when it wrenched his arms.
“Contagious magic is part of what goes into turning a human into a vampire. I assume you’re familiar with the process.”
He looked down and grinned to show that was a joke. Lenny quivered.
“Mutual exchange. They take your blood, you take theirs. It forms a link. That’s intrinsic, by the way, not external. Anyway, once they’ve got yours, they assimilate it, see? Your blood they’ve got turns into theirs. And that goes back through that link and touches all the rest, touches the source, and all of your blood turns into theirs. Instant vampire. You understand?”
Lenny knew all of that but still did not see how it was relevant. It had to be relevant somehow, and he twisted his brain to try to find the meaning, desperately hoping to do something right, but found nothing. If Sebastian’s plan was to keep him as a captive audience for magic lessons, it could have been much, much worse.
Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More Page 388
