Sins of the Blood: A Vampire Novel

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  "What's it to you?" Ben asked, more to banish the image than to get rid of the man.

  "I just got off the ferry too. Somebody took my wallet."

  That made Ben stop. He did check his back pocket, and felt the familiar lump of the wallet there. The man hurried to catch up to him.

  "I wouldn'ta bothered you if I knew what else to do."

  "Report it to the police," Ben said.

  The man's eyes were bloodshot. He had two days growth of beard, and most of it was coming in gray. "Look. I ain't got nothing. No ID, no cash. Can you give me some change just so I can make a phone call."

  "The operator will let you call the police for free," Ben said, and walked away.

  "Hey!" The man put his hand on Ben's arm. Ben pushed him against the gray wall of the government building, holding the man a few feet off the ground.

  "Look, I didn't mean nothing." The man was squirming, his arms and legs flailing. Ben held him in place. "Look, you don't have to give me nothing. I just wanted to buy a drink, you know? What's wrong with that? Wanting a drink?"

  The man started to cry. Ben dropped him. The man landed in a heap at Ben's feet. Ben had held him and it had taken no strength at all. His mouth was dry. Another change. He had never been that strong before.

  He opened his wallet and pulled out a five, tossing it on the man. "Here," Ben said. "You might want to buy a cup of soup with that too."

  The man's dirty hand slid out under his pea coat, and snatched the money. "Thanks," he said, not looking up. "I'll get that soup. I will."

  Ben turned around and walked away. The crawling feeling had gotten so bad that he was shaking. He wanted to go back to the wino, grab him, twist his neck to one side as he had done with Candyce and suck…

  God, what was wrong with him? He stopped on the corner of the tree-lined boulevard and leaned against an iron bench. Maybe he needed food. It had been four days since he had eaten anything, and even water had begun to taste bad.

  He had to eat. But he didn't want to. Nothing had tasted good since he had been with Candyce a week ago. He had spent the last few days telling himself that his lack of appetite was an emotional response, but what if it wasn't? What if something else was going on?

  He walked to the bookstore he remembered from an earlier visit, made years ago, with his parents. In the basement, they had a cafe. He went inside, followed the signs to the stairs, and walked down.

  The book-lined walls soothed him. The crawly feeling had diminished. In the cafe, students read books on oak tables. Patrons sat with a pile of books around them, browsing through each as if they had discovered a feast. Some tables had two people, leaning forward in intense conversation. It reminded him of movies he had seen about Paris in the '50s[C&F12] . A great intellectual gathering place. A place where revolution was being born.

  He grabbed a tray and got in line. The list of sandwiches sounded good in theory, but when he actually thought of putting one in his mouth, his stomach turned. He toyed with getting the chili, but stopped when he saw someone else take the borscht. His mouth watered. He had never liked beet soup before, but it looked good now. He ordered some, along with some bread and a glass of red wine.

  He took a seat beneath a large wooden beam. The soup didn't smell as good as it looked. He sipped the wine. Finally, something that eased him. He gulped the rest down, not caring what it did to him. His stomach rumbled for the first time in days.

  Then he picked up his spoon and tasted the soup. It tasted as if it had spoiled. He grabbed his napkin and spit the mouthful into it. The young man who had ordered the soup before him was shoveling it into his mouth one table over. Ben could smell him, the fresh clean tang of his aftershave mingling with the salty musk of his skin. Beneath it, he could hear the rustle of the blood moving through the man's veins—

  Ben stood so fast that he nearly knocked the table over. The borscht splashed out of the bowl and spilled onto the tray. The redness intrigued him. He almost dipped his finger in it before he remembered how it tasted.

  Remember, Steve had said as Ben was leaving. I have a nice little cow. She's bleeding. You like them when they're bleeding, don't you?

  Ben swung past the tables, past the perfumes and the tang of good honest sweat. He ran up the stairs and out the front door, not stopping until he had taken a breath of fresh air.

  Steve had been trying to tell him something all that night. You're different now, Ben. Running away won't help you. It won't change who you are.

  His stomach still rumbled, but real food tasted no good. He patted the address in his pocket. Time to stop running. Steve's friends would help him. Steve had made that clear.

  Ben would walk. He would avoid people he saw on the street, and he wouldn't get close to a cab driver. He didn't want to smell the freshness of their skin or hear the whisper of blood flowing through their veins.

  It would bring the crawly feeling back.

  Or it would make him crazy.

  Chapter Three

  i

  Cammie had never returned to the site of an eradication before. She had been warned in training that she might have to return to a site, but she had never experienced it. It took the entire bus ride from Eliason's office to the Center, where she had parked her car, to remember the correct procedures.

  As she drove down University, her hands shook. She had shifted into the wrong gear twice at separate stoplights, and the car had lurched forward. The Mazda was ten years old and not tolerant of this kind of mistreatment. It had been belching blue smoke since she turned on Gammon Road.

  This time, she had to look at the houses as they passed. She had lived in Madison all her life; she could remember when this road was nothing but a few houses pushed back on fertile fields. During the late '70s and '80s[C&F13] developers had bought the farmland and built shopping centers, apartments, and condominium developments. The area now had a cheap, ready-made feel that looked as if the next tornado would blow it all over.

  Beneath the buildings, she could still see those fields, remember[C&F14] driving by on snowy mornings, seeing the brown dirt etched in ice.

  She hadn't realized how many blue mock-colonial condos existed in this neighborhood until she had to search for one. It was as if the developers thought the buyers would not notice that other condos with the same design existed a few blocks away. She was no longer certain that the condos she had admired when they were being built were the same ones she had performed the eradication in.

  She hoped they weren't.

  She turned on the side street and into the development's parking lot. The sun was still high—it was only two in the afternoon—and none of the nine-to-fivers had arrived home yet. Good. She didn't want to see anyone or answer questions on her own.

  Cammie parked in the same spot they had used earlier. She sat for a moment, taking deep breaths, trying to collect herself. Because she and Whitney hadn't gone back to the Center and made an official report, the secondary team hadn't arrived yet. The vampire's body was still inside.

  She wiped her palms on her jeans, then she opened the door and got out. The scent of mown grass had faded, leaving only the faint odor of lilacs. Someday she would like to have lilacs near her house.

  They had left the front door slightly ajar. Careless of them. They had been so preoccupied with the little girl. With Janie. Cammie was glad the secondary team hadn't shown. A note about the open door would have made it onto Anita's desk.

  With her right hand, Cammie pushed the door open and waited for the rotted flesh smell to assault her. The nausea rose at the thought. This time, as she went in, she flicked on the interior light.

  A lamp went on beside the couch. A doll rested on one of the cushions and a child-sized blanket was crumpled on the center cushion. An empty wine glass sat on the end table beside the loveseat, next to a large remote. The oversized television dominated the room, and on top of it were Disney movies: Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, Cinderella, Dumbo and Fantasia. Hardcover books fille
d the bookshelf, except for the bottom two rows which had thin, battered —no, well loved—children's books. The living room opened into a formal dining room complete with chandelier. A glass-enclosed china hutch revealed dusty dishes and clean crystal goblets. An expensive stereo system, complete with laser disk player, and twelve-disk CD changer covered the far wall.

  Where had he gotten this kind of money? Vampires set for this kind of eradication no longer had real-world jobs. They had no contact with society at all. They wouldn't be missed. Vampires with jobs faced a different eradication program, one employers were required by law to cooperate with.

  Cammie took a large garbage bag out of the kitchen pantry and put the doll and blanket inside. The kitchen was spotless. The stove looked like it had never been used. A child-size bowl sat next to the sink, a bit of milk in the bottom. Cammie opened the dishwasher. Cold water dripped down the sides. More child-sized dishes filled its interior, along with cheaper wine glasses. He must have turned it on before he went to sleep.

  She slammed the door with a metallic bang. The Center had dishes. She had come for child things. Clothes and toys and books.

  With a sigh, she went back into the living room. The garbage bag wouldn't do. She would have to make a number of trips. She stacked the books and videos near the door, then took a deep breath and faced the hall.

  The light was still on. Some blood stained the wall at knee level. As she got closer, she saw that the print was child-sized. The little girl had put her hands in the vampire's stolen blood.

  The nausea returned,[C&F15] and with it a deep ache that ran from Cammie's heart across her chest. For a moment, she had trouble drawing a breath. Children didn't belong with vampires. Didn't anyone see that? Why were Eliason and Whitney acting like it was normal?

  She gripped the bag and headed to the only room with light coming in under the doorway. The door was made of a cheap wood and the latch didn't work properly. She pushed it open and stepped back in surprise.

  The shades were up, revealing a lilac bush and a shrub-filled back yard. Sunlight flooded across a pink-canopied[C&F16] bed. Stuffed animals lined the floors and walls. A record player sat in the middle of the floor, the turntable still revolving. No wonder she hadn't heard them come. She had been playing records. The thin reedy sound Cammie had thought came from the neighbors. If she had known about children, she would have looked.

  She would have prevented the little girl from witnessing her father's death.

  The rancid, bloody smell filled her nostrils. She had to have fresh air. She crossed the room in two strides and yanked the window open.

  Cool spring air caressed her face. She had to stick her upper torso out before the blood odor faded. Lilacs and fresh green grass replaced it. Spring. How she loved it. Springtime meant lots of light. It meant the ability to stay outside until late. It meant freedom.

  She blinked. She was an adult. She had the freedom to do anything she wanted.

  When she wasn't working. And she had a job to finish. The quicker she packed the little girl's things, the better.

  Cammie closed the window, grabbed a suitcase out of the closet,[C&F17] and stuffed it with ruffly little girl dresses, sweatshirts, and blue jeans. She poured the contents of the underwear and sock drawers on top, then added two winter coats for warmth. Janie had been well tended, physically.

  She took the suitcase and an armload of stuffed animals to the front door and set them beside her earlier pile. If everything had not been covered in that rancid odor, if she hadn't seen the vampire's room first, she would have thought Janie well loved. She had everything a little girl could want. Pretty dresses, a nice room, toys.

  Everything but parents.

  A shudder ran down Cammie's back. She went back into the room, picked up the toy box, and carried it out. Then she packed the remaining toys in the garbage bag. When she came to the record player, she stopped.

  The record player was an old model, the cheap kind that parents gave children thirty years ago. The record was a thick thirty-three with an orange label. In black ink printed in a half moon around the hole were the words The Wizard of Oz. Cammie put the needle on the edge of the record

  The hiss-hiss before the music started had a familiarity that she had almost forgotten. She only listened to CDs now. The record player had a small sound box and it took her a moment to realize that the voices were supposed to sound that high and reedy. Munchkins. Celebrating the death of the witch.

  She yanked the needle off without scratching the record. A lump had formed in her throat. Why wasn't Janie celebrating? That man had been the bad witch. That vampire. She should have hated him.

  Cammie hit the off switch, then unplugged the player. She took the record off and placed it in its jacket. Then she stacked the records on top of the player, and stopped.

  Janie wouldn't want that toy. It would remind her of her father's death. Each time she put an album on the turntable and heard the scritch-scratch of a needle, she would see her father thrash as Cammie drove a stake in his heart.

  Cammie doubled over and wrapped her arms around her head, as if the action would squeeze the thoughts out. She hadn't meant to kill a child's father. She hadn't meant to kill a person at all. She was killing an animal, something that preyed on human beings and lived off the blood like a wild thing. She hadn't known….

  Slowly, ever so slowly, she stood up. The room looked bare except for the pink bed and the record player sitting on the carpet. What kind of terrors had happened in this place? How many sleepless nights did that little girl have, waiting for a man who reeked of blood to come through that door and —

  Cammie couldn't finish the thought. Her shoulders were so tense that even moving her arms made pains shoot into her neck. She glanced over to make sure she had closed the window. She had. Now all she had to do was carry the toys to the car.

  Just to be safe, as she entered the hall, she opened the remaining door. Two twin beds with satin comforters were separated by an end table. The window had blackout curtains. The room was dusty and unused. Good. No more children in hiding.

  She hurried down the hall, past the vampire's room. The stench seemed to have grown. She had to get back to the Center. The second team needed to get here before the neighbors. They wouldn't tolerate the smell.

  Cammie opened the front door. The stoop shaded the sunlight. She picked up the suitcase and the garbage bag and walked to her car.

  The air was cool and refreshing. Some of the tension leaked out of her back. Maybe once the child was over the shock, she would feel better about leaving. Cammie certainly did.

  She opened the back door of the Mazda, placed the suitcase on the upholstered seat, and the garbage bag on the floor. Only two more trips.

  Only two more trips,[C&F18] and she would be free of this place.

  ii

  When Cammie arrived at the Westrina Center, the parking lot was full. Whitney had parked the van near the children's entrance. The building was long and flat. Built in the late ’60s out of brick, additions branched off it like legs on a spider. Cammie wove through the circular driveway and parked beside the loading bay.

  She walked up the ramp and knocked on the metal door.

  "Yeah?" a man yelled from inside.

  "Cammie," she said. "I got stuff for a kid Whitney brought in. I'm leaving in half an hour. Think you can have it unloaded by then?"

  She didn't wait for an answer. Chances were when she returned, she would have to do the unloading herself. The dock crew spent most of their time sitting in the break room,[C&F19] drinking coffee and playing cards. They did some of the janitorial work and most of the heavy lifting, usually vampiric remains. Anita was reluctant to push them hard because she had trouble hiring people to fill the position.

  Cammie took the steps off the bay and walked to the concrete sidewalk leading to the front. Green shoots of grass had sprouted here, but most of the trees still had buds. The only lilac bush stood in the garden out back, and probably hadn't blo
omed yet. Odd how spring made its way slowly across the city.

  Large windows covered most of this wall. Many had thin blinds. Most of the rooms in this wing were offices. Administration had grown as the Center had grown.

  The Westrina Center had been the first to pioneer eradication as a means of dealing with vampires. The Center's lobbying group had passed several bills in the Wisconsin legislature defining states of undead, and establishing legal guidelines for eradication. So far, none of the laws had been tested in court. The American Civil Liberties Union, which had taken on all kinds of odd clients in the past, had been strangely silent on these laws. The Center expected the lobbying and legal wings to grow over the next few years, as more and more states adopted the same legislation.

  Cammie rounded the last bend in the sidewalk and found herself in [C&F20] front of the building. It had a ’50s[C&F21] feel, even though she knew it had been built ten years later. The pale brick and the wide glass double doors were taken from the remodeling plans from the first Westrina Center, located just off-campus, in a building long since abandoned.

  When she had first been hired, she had been proud to work with the Westrina Center. It was the first organization of its kind in the world. Europe had had vampire troubles throughout most of its history, and had dealt with them primarily through war—which, until the twentieth century, drove the vampires back underground. America didn't have a vampire problem at all until World War I veterans brought the infection back with them. Still, the infestation wasn't identified until a Milwaukee lab, specializing in blood diseases, traced the strange anemia veterans of W.W.I and W.W.II suffered to vampiric records. Those identified were treated, usually ineffectively, and asked to remain near the hospital. Slowly the disease spread across the Midwest, largely going undetected because a vampire in its first thirty years of existence rarely showed any overt physical signs of vampirism.

  Vampirism got labeled the hidden disease. Its practitioners functioned well enough in society; its victims rarely died of blood loss. Sometimes they were beaten to death. More often,[C&F22] they remained alive as codependents who helped the vampire survive by covering for it during the day and feeding it at night.