You Suck

by Christopher Moore

  So I opened the door, and I go, “Lord Flood, there’s a stinky dead guy with a huge cat on your landing.” Thinking that I would get total loyal-servant brownies.

  Then I saw her, the ancient vampyre mistress—her skin like alabaster, or you know, no zits at all, and she seemed to glow with inner power. I could see why even a powerful vampyre like Flood might be helpless under her awesome strengths, gathered over the ages by sucking the lifeblood of thousands of helpless victims, probably kids. And she was like, drinking a cup of coffee out of a Garfield mug, as if flaunting her immortality in the face of us petty, insignificant mortals. She had on only a bathrobe, which was partly open in front, so you could see that she had like great cleavage, ancient total skank that she was.

  So I’m like, “Hi.”

  And she’s like, “So, Wednesday, you know Buffy’s not a real person, right?”

  Bitch.

  What do you mean, dead?” Tommy said. He ran to the door and flung it open. “He’s not here.” He bolted down the steps in his bare feet, leaving Jody standing across the breakfast bar from Abby. “I’m going to look for him,” Tommy called. The downstairs door closed, the lock clicked.

  Jody pulled her robe closed when she saw Abby Normal staring. She could hear the girl’s heart pounding, could see her pulse beating in her neck, could smell nervous sweat, clove cigarettes, and some kind of cheese snack.

  They stared at each other.

  “I found you an apartment, Mistress,” Abby said. She dug into the pocket of her hoodie and came out with a rent receipt.

  “Call me Jody,” Jody said.

  Abby nodded conspiratorially, like she was acknowledging it was only a code name. She was a cute kid, in a scary, will-probably-poison-the-dog-and-then-molest-him kind of way. Jody had never really had a problem with younger women as competition. After all, she was only twenty-six, and with the extreme antiaging treatment she’d gained from her vampirism, right down to her baby toes straightening out and every freckle she’d ever had disappearing, she felt superior, even a tad maternal toward Abby, who was a little knock-kneed in her red plastic skirt and green sneakers.

  “I’m Abby,” Abby said, and she curtsied.

  Jody choked, sprayed coffee out her nose, and turned quickly so as not to laugh in Abby’s face.

  “Are you okay, Mistress—I mean, Jody?”

  “No, I’m fine.” It was strange just how sensitive the vampire sinus is to hot liquids. Jody was sure that she might never smell anything but bloody French roast again, and her eyes were watering, or so she thought, but when she turned back around, Abby jumped back six feet and yelped.

  “Holy shit!” Abby had backed against the futon frame and was about to tumble over backwards.

  Jody was around the breakfast bar, steadying the girl in less than a tenth of a second—which caused Abby to jump straight into the air about three feet.

  Jody could tell the girl was going to fall. Abby was going to come down with one foot on the back of the futon frame, one in midair, and she was going to tumble over and land on her shoulder and head on the hardwood floor. Jody saw this coming, could have caught Abby and set her gently on her feet, but instead, she felt that maternal instinct kick in—the realization that if the child didn’t take a knock or two, she’d never learn—so Jody stepped back into the kitchen, where she picked up her coffee and watched as the kid hit.

  “Ouch!” Said Abby, now a black-and-red heap on the floor.

  “Boy, that looked like it hurt,” Jody said.

  Abby was on her feet, limping and rubbing her head. “What the fuck, Countess? I thought you had my back.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Jody said. “Why the freak-out?”

  “There’s blood running down your face. I guess it startled me.”

  Jody dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, leaving little red spots on the white terry cloth. “Well, would you look at that?” She was trying to be casual, trying to act like someone four or five hundred years old might behave, but the blood tears were disturbing her more than a little.

  Change the subject. “So, this apartment you found, where is it?”

  “Don’t you want to wait for Flood?” Abby asked.

  “Flood? What Flood?”

  “Flood, the orange-colored vampire who just ran out the door.”

  “Oh, him,” Jody said. Tommy and his tanning lotion. He was out running around on the street with no shirt or shoes. Orange. “Was he orange?”

  Abby threw out her nearly non ex is tent hip. “Hello? You’re crying blood and your partner is orange and you didn’t notice? Do you guys get senile over the years or what?”

  Jody set her cup down on the counter, just to make sure that it didn’t shatter in her hand. She drew on her experience working in the claims department at Transamerica, where her immediate supervisor was a complete ass-bag, and it took everything she could do, every minute of the day, not to bang the woman’s skull repeatedly in a filing drawer. She liked to think of it as her professional face. So instead of snapping Abby’s pale little neck, she smiled, counting to ten as she did. At ten, she said, “Go get him. Bring him back.” Another smile. “Okay, sweetie?”

  “But why is he orange?”

  “The shedding is upon him,” Jody said. “Every hundred years or so, we shed our skin, and a few weeks prior we turn orange. It’s a very dangerous time for us. So please, go find him.”

  Abby nodded furiously and backed away toward the door. “Really?”

  “Really,” Jody said, nodding gravely. “Quick, away with you, the time of the shedding is upon him.” She waved toward the door the way she thought a five-hundred-year-old countess might. (Where did the countess thing come from, anyway?)

  “Right,” Abby said, and she took off out the loft door and down the steps after Tommy.

  Jody went to the bathroom and used a damp washcloth to wash the blood tears off her face. I may actually be evil, she thought. She knew it should bother her more, being evil and all, but after she put on a little mascara and some lipstick and poured herself another cup of blood-laced coffee, she found that she was okay with it.

  13

  Moving Day

  Jody sipped her coffee and sighed, satisfied, like she’d just had a gentle coffee orgasm, the sort of pleasurable release you only see people have in commercials for froufrou coffee and hemorrhoid cream. This blood-beverage phenomenon added a whole new twist to their lives. A glass of wine? A diet cola maybe—wait, screw diet—a sugary, teeth-rotting cola. What about solid food? Sure, being a godlike creature of the night was great, but what about a jelly donut? French fries? She was Irish, she felt a deep-seated need for potatoes.

  She was musing on the idea of heading up to McDonald’s on Market Street and spooging a syringe full of William’s blood all over a supersized box of deep-fried nirvana when the phone rang. The caller ID number was blocked, it just said mobile. It might be Tommy. He’d activated the disposable mobile phones they’d bought, but he probably hadn’t written down the numbers.

  “Hey, pumpkin,” Jody said.

  She heard a clattering at the other end of the line. “Sorry, I dropped the phone.”

  Oops. Not Tommy. “Who is this?”

  “Uh, it’s, uh, it’s Steve. I’m the med student who called you about your condition.”

  He’d found her when she’d gone to a Blood Drinkers Anonymous meeting in Japan Town, which turned out to be a bunch of nerds with problems distinguishing fantasy from reality. Had watched her from a distance and called her on a pay phone from blocks away, ready to jump in his car and bolt if she came near him. He knew what she was.

  He’d said that he had examined one of the bodies left by the old vampire. Elijah had snapped their necks so the bodies would be found, instead of turning to dust.

  “What do you want?”

  “Well, like I said, I’m a med student at Berkeley. Actually, I’m in research. Gene therapy.”

  “Yeah, next lie, please.” Jody’s mind wa
s going ninety miles and hour. Too many people knew about her. Maybe she and Tommy should have left town.

  “What lie?” Steve asked.

  “Berkeley doesn’t have a med school,” Jody said. “So what do you want?”

  “I don’t want anything. I’ve been trying to tell you, I’ve studied the blood of the victims. I think I may be able to reverse your condition. Turn you back. I just need some time in the lab with your blood.”

  “Bullshit, Steve. This isn’t biology.”

  “Yes it is. I told your boyfriend the night you turned him.”

  “How did you know…?”

  “I was on the phone with him when you told him you were going to be together for a very long time.”

  “Well, that was rude, just listening like that.”

  “Sorry. I’ve managed to get cloned cells from the throats of victims to revert to their natural human state.”

  “Which is dead,” Jody said.

  “No, living cells. I just need to meet with you.”

  He’d pressed this before, and Jody had been willing to meet with him, but unfortunately, while she was sleeping, Tommy had put her in the freezer for a few days and she’d missed the appointment. “No meeting, Steve. Forget you know anything about this. You’ll have to write your dissertation on something else.”

  “Well, take my number if you change your mind, okay?”

  He gave her the number and Jody wrote it down.

  “It’s a burner cell phone,” Steve said, “So you can’t find me through it.”

  “I don’t want to find you, Steve.”

  “I promise I won’t reveal your—your condition to anyone, so you don’t need to find me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jody said. “I don’t want to find you.” Get over yourself, she wanted to add.

  “What about the other one you warned me about?”

  Jody looked at the bronze statue that held Elijah Ben Sapir. “He won’t bother you either.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “Steve?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you tell anyone, I’ll find you, and I’ll slowly snap every bone in your body before I kill you.” Jody tried to make it sound cheerful, but the threat sort of cut through the bright, friendly lilt in her voice.

  “Okay then. Bye.”

  “Yeah,” Jody said. “You take care.”

  The shedding?” Tommy said as he came through the door. Jody stood at the counter in her new red leather jacket, boots, and mist-tight black jeans.

  Jody could hear Abby locking the downstairs door, so they had a few seconds alone.

  “Look, did you want me to tell her you were just a big orange doofus?”

  “I guess not. Hey—”

  “She calls you Flood?”

  “I couldn’t tell her ‘Tommy.’ I’m her dark lord. Your dark lord can’t be named Tommy. ‘Flood’ has an air of power.”

  “And dampness.”

  “Yeah, it’s got the dampness thing going for it, too.”

  Abby came in, breathing hard. She’d been sweating and her eyeliner was running in two black streaks down her cheeks. “We didn’t find him. I could have sworn he was dead. He smelled like it.”

  “You got something against dead people?” Jody said—tough-guy voice. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with dead people? Is that what you’re saying? Are you saying you’re too good for the dead, is that what you’re saying?”

  Abby stepped behind Tommy and peeked around. The kid was still out of breath from trying to keep up with Tommy, and now she was frightened, too. “No, Mistress, I think the nonliving are great. I’m all about dead people. I have a ‘I Fuck the Dead’ T-shirt even. I can wear it tomorrow if you want. I didn’t mean…”

  “It’s okay, Abby,” Jody said, waving it off. “Just fucking with you.”

  “Jody!” Tommy said, scolding. “Don’t scare the minion.”

  “Sorry,” Jody said, thinking, once again, that she might be evil. “What about the new apartment. Did you look at it?”

  “We went by it. It’s only a few doors down. We don’t even have to cross the street.”

  “You think that’s far enough? They won’t find us there?”

  “Well, at least they won’t find us here. I don’t think anyone’s going to think that we’d only move a few doors down. They’ll think we’ve at least left the City. What kind of idiot would only move a few doors away? It’s brilliant.”

  “Plus an easy move,” Jody said. “You guys can do it without a truck.”

  “You guys?”

  “Well, I’ve got to find William, and you can’t exactly run around until the shedding has subsided. Abby, do you have enough makeup to cover his face and hands?”

  “Tons,” Abby said. She held up her messenger bag. “But I can only help for a little while. I have to get home.”

  “Why?” Tommy asked. “We require your services.” He meant to sound sophisticated and European, but it came out sounding lecherous.

  “He means moving,” Jody said. “I’ve got his other services covered.”

  “I can’t,” Abby said. “My sister has lice.”

  So,” Abby said, “the countess is kind of a bitch.”

  “No, she’s just a dark creature of unspeakable evil,” Tommy said. He had the futon on his back and was making his way down the street as Abby followed him with a lamp in one hand and a blender in the other. “In a nice way,” he added—thinking that maybe he’d already made enough of an impression on Abby.

  Although it was early in the evening, and it was a little unusual to see a guy walking down the street carrying a futon, followed by a Goth girl carrying a lamp and a blender, it was just unusual enough that people would have felt stupid if they asked what was going on and someone pointed out it was modern dance, or performance art, or people robbing an apartment. San Francisco is a city of sophisticates, and except for a homeless guy who remarked on the tackiness of Tommy’s Pier 1 Imports decor, they had moved half of the furniture and clothing without comment.

  “Do you need to feed?” Abby asked when they got back to the old loft. They were standing in the living room, where there was little left except some bookcases and the three bronze statues.

  “Huh?” Tommy replied.

  “I’m guessing that you need to feed,” Abby said, pulling her hoodie aside and offering up her neck. “And I have to get going. I have to get to Walgreens and catch the bus home before the parental unit goes critical. Go ahead. I’m ready.”

  She closed her eyes and started breathing hard, as if bracing for the pain. “Take me, Flood. I’m ready.”

  “Really?” Tommy said.

  Abby opened one eye. “Well yeah.”

  “You’re sure?” Tommy hadn’t bitten another woman. He wasn’t sure if it might not be cheating. What if the whole sex thing went off the way it did with Jody? That kind of activity would kill a normal human woman, plus, he was pretty sure that Jody would not approve. “Maybe a little from the wrist,” Tommy said.

  Abby opened her eyes and pulled up her sleeve. “Of course, so you don’t leave the mark of nosferatu.” She said it with a hiss—nasss—sssss—fer-a-too—like she was speaking snake.

  “Oh, it won’t leave any marks,” Tommy said. “You’ll heal up like instantly.” He was starting to feel the hunger rise in him, he could feel his fangs pressing down from the roof of his mouth.

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah, Jody bit me almost every night before I changed over, and no one ever noticed down at the store.”

  “The store?”

  Oops. “The ye olde porridge and leeches store, where I worked, in the ye old days.”

  “I thought you were a lord?”

  “Well, yeah, I mean, I owned the store, and some serfs, and scullery maids—couldn’t get enough of the scullery maids—but I put in a shift now and then. You know, help to stir the porridge and inventory the leeches. Serfs will steal you blind if you don’t watch them. Well, enough
business, let’s get to that feeding.”

  He took her wrist and pulled it to his mouth, then stopped. She was looking at him, one eyebrow sort of cocked in the air, and there was a silver ring in it, so it felt more incredulous than a normal eyebrow.

  He dropped her arm.

  “You know, maybe you should get home before you get in trouble. I wouldn’t want my minion on restriction.”

  Abby looked hurt now. “But, Lord Flood, have I offended you? Am I not deserving?”

  “You were looking at me like you thought I was fucking with you,” Tommy said.

  “Weren’t you?”

  “Well no. This is a two-way street, Abby. I can’t ask for your loyalty if I don’t give you trust in return.” He couldn’t believe the bullshit that was coming out of his mouth.

  “Oh, okay then.”

  “Tomorrow night,” Tommy said. “I’ll bleed you within an inch of your life, I promise.” The things you never think you’ll hear yourself say.

  Abby rolled down her sleeve. “Okay then. Will you be able to get the rest by yourself?”

  “Sure. Vampire powers. Duh.” He laughed, waving at the heavy bronze statues like they were nothing.

  “You know,” Abby said, “the man and the turtle are cool, but that woman statue, you should get rid of that. She looks kind of skanky.”

  “You think?”

  Abby nodded. “Yeah. Maybe there’s some church or something that you could donate it to. Like, to show how you don’t want your daughter to grow up. Oh, sorry, Lord Flood, I didn’t mean to say church.”

  “No, I’m okay,” Tommy said. “I’ll walk you out.”