Sins of the Blood: A Vampire Novel

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  "In 1863?"

  "No, darling. I was born in 1863. This was 1882[C&F50] in Prussia. A woman alone was not tolerated well in those days, and I had to do what you would expect." She arched, and ran her free hand along her breast. He felt himself grow hard. He had never had a sexual response so soon after being hit in the groin. She noticed, and smiled. "I did quite well, and it worked delightfully. Humans get a sexual high from the right kind of blood loss. My brothel had the best clientele in the entire country."

  "I don't understand any of this," he said. If only he could think clearly. He would feel better if he could think.

  "Of course not." She took her hand off of him, and turned on the other light. "Get dressed. You overslept. It is nearly midnight."

  "Midnight!"

  "Your sleeping habits were bound to change. Why stay awake in the light if it bothers you? There are clothes in the closet. Something should fit you. I will be waiting in the kitchen, which is down the hall and to your right."

  He nodded. He was beginning to feel alive again. The throbbing in his head was gone, but he did want to brush his teeth.

  Vangelina let herself out of the room. He lay back for a moment, waiting for his erection to go away. He couldn't live like this. Ever since Candyce, his life had been hell. He had always controlled his body. He had controlled everything.

  Now his body was controlling him.

  He had to make it quit. Perhaps Van would help him.

  He got out of bed and pulled the covers back where they belonged. He slid open the closet doors. A long rack of men’s clothes faced him, hung according to size and formality. The suits were on one side, and older clothes on the other. Tie-dye, fringe, black turtlenecks, and dark jeans hung along the other wall. In the center were sweats, regular jeans, and sweaters. Unopened packets of underwear lined the closet walls like a display in a department store. He had never seen anything like this before.

  He opened a packet of briefs and put them on. Then he pulled out a pair of jeans and a gold sweater made of lamb's wool. They fit rather well. He found no socks and no shoes, so he padded barefoot across the room.

  When he opened the door, the scent of incense, cigarettes, and blood teased his nose. He glanced down the hall, recognizing the way to the entry room. A thrumming of a loud stereo came from in there. If he followed that trail, he would find more women. He could do what he wanted—

  —and Mikos might throw him out. Vangelina said that he could die at this stage. Mikos said Ben would have died had he remained on his own any longer.

  He followed Vangelina's instructions, finger combing his hair as he walked. The kitchen doors were open. The room was done in blue tile. The stove and refrigerator were spotless. Dusty pots hung from the rack above the oven. The clear glass cabinets were filled with goblets. Only a handful of dishes filled one of the shelves.

  Vangelina opened the refrigerator as he walked in and pulled out a wine bottle. She uncorked it, and poured into the two goblets she had placed on the counter. "Rule number one," she said. "You must drink constantly. It is the only way to maintain control." She handed him a glass. "Control is everything. Without it, as you will see, we will be killed."

  He took the glass. Blood. The rich scent of it made his mouth water. He started to drain it as he had before, but she grabbed his wrist.

  "Sip," she said. "Control is everything."

  Sip. Sipping felt impossible. He wanted to drink it all. But he made himself take just a taste. It was too cold. He liked it better hot and fresh. His hands were shaking as he set the goblet down.

  "Good," she said. She grabbed his glass and took it into the dining alcove. A glass table with a large vase of roses in the center dominated the room.

  She sat and put his glass down at the place across from her. She shoved the roses aside. "Lesson number one. Food."

  He took the glass and gulped. She yanked it away from him.

  "No more until you listen," she said. "This is your survival we are talking about."

  He clasped his hands on his lap, tightly so that he could hold them in place.

  "Since you have done your first feeding, your metabolism has started to change. You probably noticed that what humans call food now nauseates you."

  He remembered the borscht, its wonderful red color and its rotted taste.

  "You may eat human food—a small taste here and there as a decoy. Humans believe that we cannot eat. Swallowing their overcooked concoctions proves to them that you are human, even though you are not."

  Ben stared at his goblet. His mouth was watering. "I've eaten their food all my life."

  She rubbed the glass[C&F51] between her fingers. "Since you had fresh blood—during sex, no?—you have been unable to keep human food down."

  "But you say I'll be able to eat it."

  "Enough of it to convince them that you are human."

  He swallowed the excess saliva. "You make this sound so important."

  "It is your life we are discussing," she said. "Any mistakes, and they will put a stake through your heart."

  Her tone was calm. She hadn't moved as she spoke. Ben flinched. How had he gotten here? Had Steve done something to him?

  "Mikos says I'm a hereditary vampire."

  She nodded. "I am afraid so."

  "Why? How do you know that Steve didn't just—" he closed his eyes "—do something to me."

  "You are too strong," she said. "And you act like a virgin. From your own report,[C&F52] the change came over you quickly. When a human turns, it happens slowly and there is rarely a sexual response. But you, your desire to live activates your sexuality, and will do so during the few years that you are fertile. It is an evolutionary response. Your species tries to survive just like all the others."

  "My god." His species. He closed his eyes. His mother made roast beef on Sundays, and they all went to church. He was human. He had to be. "My parents eat real food."

  "Really?" she asked. "How do you know they are your parents?"

  — It's too loud! His breath was foul in Ben's face, his eyes bloodshot. With a single, quick movement, he pulled off his belt and it howled through the air before connecting on Ben's back. "You're supposed to be quiet when I sleep!"

  Ben winced and rolled. "Sorry," he said, but it did no good. The belt flew again—

  He pushed his chair back. She slid the goblet to him. He drank until the contents were gone. It soothed him, pushed the memory away. When he finished, he glanced at her. She was staring at him as if she understood what happened.

  "Control," she said. She took the glass from him and carried it to the refrigerator. The refrigerator hissed as she pulled it open and poured him another glass. "Let us finish with food. Do not touch anything with garlic. It will cast you into the same kind of stupor you found in those hosts and that will allow a human to overpower you. Even the scent of garlic, in strong amounts, will give you an instant high. It is very dangerous."

  He took the goblet from her. The sides were cold. He wasn't as hungry now. He had time to wait for it to warm up.

  "Water is poison. It will dehydrate you, and you will slowly starve to death."

  That explained the taste in his mouth when he woke up. The water he had had after—once he got into the bathroom.

  "Drink only blood," Van said. "The fresher the better. Human blood if you can get it. If you need to drink and there is no blood, red wine will do. It will not harm you, but it will not help you either. Is that clear?"

  He nodded.

  "Good," she said. "Now, we will move to behavior—"

  A thud resounded behind them. "What are you doing?" a male voice demanded.

  Ben turned. Mikos stood there. He wore a gray flannel suit, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail. He almost glowed with energy.

  Van stood and faced him. Although she was much smaller, she moved with an equal power. "I am training him."

  "He doesn't need training."

  Ben frowned. Van had told him that Mikos had asked h
er to train him. Had she lied?

  "You have never worked with an hereditary," she said. "They destruct in this modern world."

  "Ben won't destruct," Mikos said.

  "He has a hunger like none I have seen."

  Mikos smiled. "Excellent. We will need it tonight."

  Vangelina lifted her chin. "You will not take him anywhere until he is ready."

  "It is my decision, Van. We need a virgin's strength."

  Ben took a sip from his goblet, set it down, and resisted the urge to finish it. He couldn't deny what he was. Not when the blood tasted this good to him. "What do you want me to do?"

  "I want you to put on a suit and meet me in the front lobby."

  "Mikos, he has no control. He does not know what to say and how to use his body."

  Ben's heart was pounding. Vangelina made it sound as if they were going to do something terrible.

  "He knows how to use his body well enough." Mikos gestured with his thumb. "Go, Ben. Change clothes."

  Ben picked up the goblet and finished the contents. He wiped his mouth with his hand, then licked off the excess blood. Strength throbbed through him.

  Van put a hand on his arm and stopped him. "Mikos, this is wrong. He is not a dog for you to command."

  Ben shook her off. He didn't need anyone defending him. He stood and walked over to Mikos. They were almost the same height. "You still haven't told me what you need me for."

  "We need you to be yourself," Mikos said. "You are a predator. It is time you learn how to act like one."

  Chapter Seven

  i

  Stop him!

  Cammie knew the voice belonged to her dream, but she couldn't wake up. She could see the faded night-gray of her bedroom, and over it, the forbidden sun-filled room of her dream. The voice came from down the hall: a man's voice, deep and angry.

  Stop him!

  She was holding a child, a little boy, clutching him to her shoulder, pressing his face against her skin to stifle his tears. She was lying alone in the safety of her own bed, knowing that what she was feeling wasn't real.

  Stop him now!

  "Shush," she whispered in both worlds. "You don't want him to get up, do you? Please be quiet. Please."

  The little boy snuffled once and then was silent. In the night-gray of her bed, she clutched the sheets and willed the fear to go away. The pressure of a little-boy body eased and then faded into nothing. She was completely alone. No dreams. No phantoms. Just her.

  She got up and went into the kitchen. Without turning on a light, she made herself a cup of tea and sat at the table. The nights had grown longer. And each night, phantoms and dreams about vampires’ children. She had had Whitney check for a boy-child in Janie's family. There was none. The little boy was an addition from her subconscious, another child to protect, a child who was not herself. But she wanted to protect no one. She wanted to go back to her job, to go to work without seeing the face of a little girl whose father she had murdered, or the non-existent, frightened face of a dream boy who needed her strength.

  ii

  Reality. She woke up with the word at the front of her mind. When images, dreams, and fiction become more important than the here and now[C&F53] , a person needed a bit of reality. She had to break out of the dreams, and only one person could show her that she did not understand the life of a vampire's child.

  She dressed without showering, drank a cup of English Breakfast tea while standing in front of her sink, ate half a donut,[C&F54] and grabbed the car keys. The morning was cold for this late in the spring. A layer of frost covered the fresh new grass. She hoped the cold wouldn't kill the flowers.

  The car started sluggishly. It needed maintenance—another expense that she couldn't afford—and she kept putting it off. She stamped on the gas pedal until the engine rocked to life.

  She pulled out of her parking space and followed the drive by rote. On University Avenue, she realized she didn't remember how she got there. She vowed, at the stoplight leading to Westgate, that she would pay attention. The next thing she knew, she had pulled into the driveway at the Westrina Center.

  It was still early. Only a handful of cars were in the parking lot, Anita's and DeeDee's among them. Cammie drove around back and parked near the entrance to the Children's Wing.

  This wing had a different look from the rest of the building. Frost-covered flowers bloomed all around the windows. The gardening staff maintained the look so that the children had flowers from first thaw until the snow came. Even then, they had small evergreen bushes and pine trees to add a touch of green.

  The outside doors were done in glass and gold, with more flowers painted on the surface. Visiting hours were marked in small letters, along with the words Visitors must check in. Camera monitors will record any intruders. Unauthorized personnel will be subject to fines and trespassing charges. The Center wanted no interference with the children, from family, from friends, or from creatures of the night.

  Cammie pushed the door open. She was authorized. She had ID in her wallet to prove it.

  The Children's Wing was warmer than the rest of the building. The heat felt good. Her tennis shoes left tracks on the highly polished floor. No toys were out yet—it was probably too early to allow children to make noise on the floor.

  She walked up to the reception desk, rapped on it, and waved when Maria Applegate lifted her startled face from underneath the counter. Maria was a sturdy, well-built woman with a round warm face. The kind of woman who made children think of good meals and safe nights. She got to her feet, holding a handful of spilled papers.

  "Who signed your pass?"

  Cammie was already past the desk and making her way down the hall. "Whitney and I found that little girl from West Towne."

  Maria nodded. Teams often dumped extra supplies on the children they found, and would not always know who signed the executive orders. "Anita is in charge of that one. She's worried about her. Little girl's taking it hard. Anita's having us all watch her like…"

  The words faded behind Cammie as she walked down the hall. Most of the doors were closed. Little name labels had been stuck inside metal holders. Some bore only first names and ages, while others had full names and no ages at all. Still, the wings were grouped by sex and age. Janie's room would not be near anyone named Charles, who was eight.

  Cammie rounded the corner. A local artist had painted cuddly stuffed bunnies on the walls in this part of the wing. The young wails and cries told her what the walls did. Infant care. These children were the most fortunate. They were usually adopted away, while the older children went to orphanages or a series of foster homes.

  Finally, she found the right hallway. Some wag had made the walls light pink. Pink and blue beach balls followed a dotted line across the wall. On one panel, a small terrier jumped for the ball. On another,[C&F55] a little girl in a too-short dress and matching panties ran after it. All of the children in this wing had no last names. Janie's door was the third on the right.

  A light shone from under the door. Cammie knocked, then pushed the door open.

  Janie sat on the bed, staring at the window. Her toys covered the shelves, except for the stuffed animals. They were tucked under the blankets, with their heads on the pillow. The dog was in her arms and the larger toys surrounded the bed like an armed guard.

  Peppermint and child sweat gave the room a musty odor. Beneath it, Cammie thought she could still catch a faint whiff of rot.

  Cammie pulled up a standard-issue blond wood chair. Its legs scraped the tile floor, making a shrill sound not unlike the squeal of hands along a blackboard.

  Janie whirled. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Cammie. Janie bit her lower lip. Even with the pressure of her teeth, it was trembling.

  Cammie slid closer. This wouldn't be easy, but she had to try. "Hi," Cammie said. "I want to talk to you for a minute."

  Janie's teeth bit into her lip so hard that blood ran down her chin. She grabbed a button beside the bed and started push
ing it.

  "It's okay." Cammie stood up. Maybe if she touched the little girl, showed Janie that she meant no harm—

  Janie screamed. Her teeth freed her bottom lip, and blood sprayed Cammie and the bed. Janie grabbed all of her animals against her and screamed again, louder this time.

  Cammie backed away. She could hear the sound of running feet in the hallway. "It's okay," she repeated.

  Janie's screams echoed in the wide hall. Anita, Maria, and two orderlies appeared at the door. "What are you doing?" Anita snapped.

  Cammie said nothing. Her body felt heavy.

  "She didn't show me a pass when she came in. I thought something was odd," Maria said. "I didn't think that she'd do anything, though."

  "You were right to call," Anita said, stepping into the room. "She wasn't authorized."

  Cammie glanced at Janie. The little girl had stopped screaming. Blood had coated her chin red. Her small arms gathered the animals tighter. She was protecting the last thing of value in her world.

  "I'm sorry," Cammie whispered, and ran past Anita.

  The halls seemed longer than they had as she walked there. Her shoes made squishing sounds against the tile. A little boy opened his door as she ran past. His hair stuck up in clumps and he had two long scratches tracing one cheek. "Mommy?"

  Cammie couldn't look at him. She didn't stop. More doors were open, with children standing behind them, watching with wide-eyed fascination.

  She turned the last corner and stopped at the empty reception desk in front. Her breath was coming in huge gasps. All she had wanted to do was talk to the child, apologize, and perhaps gain a little understanding. The understanding she had gained—but she hadn't expected the cost.

  She buried her head in her arms. No need to run any farther. They had seen her. Anita would fire her now.

  She listened as another pair of rubber-soled shoes squeaked their way down the hall.