Vampire Miami

by Philip Tucker

  Karl responded. “Nothing, I assure you. But a gift, a gesture of respect. For you to enjoy, should you desire a bite of the forbidden fruit. For that is what her blood promises. A pleasure and taste of life such as you have not had since you became your august self, so many centuries ago.”

  The woman studied Selah. There was no trace of humanity in her eyes. She was a beast in human form, her face governed by an alien expression that lay partly between feral hunger, amusement, and boredom.

  “Very well,” said the woman. “Your gift is accepted. You may leave.”

  Karl opened his mouth, clearly not having expected dismissal. He caught himself. Bowed, stepped back, and was gone. Selah never thought she would miss him. The devil you know. She resisted the urge to close her eyes. To tremble. Thought of Mama B, thought of her father. She was their daughter. She was Selah Brown, and nothing they could do could ever change that. So she raised her chin, forced a scowl onto her features, and placed her hands on her hips.

  The woman watched, and then laughed, the sound akin to hearing a subterranean river of blood pouring over black stones.

  “Karl tells me that you will be such a drink as I have not tasted in centuries, little lamb.” Her voice was thick, almost clotted, with an Eastern European accent; it made goosebumps shiver up and down Selah’s skin. “I find that hard to believe.” The others stirred in interest. Selah ignored them. Stared above the woman’s head. “So let us delay my disappointment. On your knees.”

  Selah refused. She would not kneel before this monster. And yet. And yet. She found her legs buckling against her will. As if a great and ponderous weight had settled about her shoulders, forcing her down. Shuddering with the effort to resist, gritting her teeth, Selah fought to remain standing, but moments later she fell.

  A hiss of pleasure. “Good, I enjoy spirit. It makes the breaking so much more enjoyable. Let us find your limits. Let us test your boundaries. Crawl to me.”

  Tears filled Selah’s eyes. She placed her hands on the ground. Never had she felt such terror, such helpless rage, such humiliation. To the sound of titters and half-whispered suggestions, she began to crawl across the marble floor toward the woman.

  “Stop,” she said as Selah drew next to the hanging man. “Strip off your clothing.” Selah closed her eyes. She was powerless to resist. Slowly, she shrugged out of her dress, her shoes, her underclothes. The titters rose, and then became silent, as if they sensed what was to come.

  “Place your hands in the bowl, and wash yourself with Marco’s blood.” The voice was thick with arousal now, and the woman was leaning forward, one hand on the chaise longue, the other under her chin.

  Selah shook her head. No. No. She would not. She would. Not. Struggling, shaking, she turned toward the stone bowl. It was large, about four feet across, carved from rough granite and splattered with gore. Its depths smooth with a pool of blood. Not a whole body’s worth. Much of it was gone.

  Selah was sobbing now, she couldn’t help it. She slipped her hands into the blood. It was still warm. She cupped it, and brought it up to her chest, poured it over her skin. Felt it run over her breasts, down her stomach. Reached in for more. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Poured more over one shoulder, and then the other.

  “Enough,” said the woman. “Now crawl around the circle. Slowly.”

  Shuddering, Selah felt back to all fours, and began to crawl once more. The world was spinning, and she had difficulty discerning the difference between the shadows and the walls, the cushions and the eager-eyed vampires who watched her. She crawled over to the first cushion, and there the vampire, a lean child of about her age, leaned forward and ran his tongue down her shoulder, licking a long stream of blood from her skin.

  Selah lowered her head, choking on her sobs, and continued on. As she passed each vampire they leaned forward to lick the blood from her, tilting her head to one side or the other, running their rough, dry tongues down her chest, across her neck, over her belly. By the time she reached the female vampire, she was crisscrossed by their trails, the blood smeared thinly all over her.

  “Look at me, child,” said the woman. Selah raised her face, focused on her vulpine, heavenly features. The eyes were large with delirium and pleasure. A cold hand cupped her chin, a finger ran down her cheek and then probed past her lips, pushing a blood-smeared tip onto her tongue. The coppery taste was disgusting, and Selah gagged, but the woman held her tight by the chin, and then leaned down to kiss her.

  Her lips were full, her tongue muscular, and she tasted of ashes and death. Her hands were tight about Selah’s head. Selah closed her eyes, fought to not think, not feel. Had she thought she could do this? Had she thought she could attend something like this and leave with her mind? Her thoughts were leaves that had been shredded from the branches of a tree. Her sense of self spiraled ever down into a deep abyss, and she knew that the night was just beginning.

  The woman broke the kiss, and then ran her tongue down Selah’s cheek. “There,” she whispered. “Learn to enjoy this. What are you but flesh? What is the flesh but a means of experiencing the world? And what is this moment if not one of the most intense moments you shall ever live through?” She lifted Selah’s chin with two fingers, and licked a line from her collarbone to the hollow of her throat. “Relish it,” she said, breathing her stale, blood-rank words into Selah’s ear. “Learn from it, learn to love this, and you shall be free of the shackles that bind so many humans to ignorance and fear.”

  Let it end, was all Selah could think. Please, please, let it end. She tried to think of Mama B, her father, but nothing came. She tried to summon her pride, her strength, but it was gone. There was nothing now but revulsion and fear, numbness and terror.

  “Enough,” said a voice, cutting through the music and whispers and the beat of Selah’s heart. The hands about Selah’s arm and neck tightened painfully, and Selah felt more than saw her look up.

  “Enough, Jocasta,” said the voice again. “Give her to me. This is over.”

  “This is but begun,” said the woman, voice taut with sudden anger. “This is my haven, my home, and you are here by my invitation alone. Leave.”

  “No,” said the voice. Selah felt something within her stir. Jocasta. The name was familiar. She tried to turn her head, but she couldn’t.

  Jocasta stood with such violence that Selah was sent sprawling. “You stand alone, Theo, surrounded by my brood. You stand alone, and Sawiskera is far from here. Do you wish to court my wrath?”

  “I court nothing. I demand. Give her over. I shall not ask again.”

  Selah pushed herself upright. Trembling, she opened her gummed-up eyes and looked. Theo stared across the room at her. The other vampires had stood, arrayed in angular poses of tension about him, none too close, but clearly drawing comfort from each other. Theo ignored them. His gaze was locked on the woman’s.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered, furious.

  He did not respond. Instead, he began to walk forward, toward them, and Selah felt hope leap bright and pure within her heart.

  Faster than her eye could follow, faster than Selah could understand, Jocasta had her by the throat and lifted her into the air, her grip so strong, it nearly crushed her windpipe. Lifted her, and then her teeth were buried in Selah’s neck, buried deep, and her blood burst forth into the woman’s mouth. Theo roared something, but Selah could take no more. Darkness clouded her eyes, agony and release and fell ecstasy and the world spun away and was gone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pain. Euphoria. A cruel desire to resurface. Selah felt it all coursing through her like filthy oil, soiling her and energizing her all at once. She felt the need to move, to release this energy, this pressure building up within her, driving her crazy. She couldn’t contain it, couldn’t hold it in, felt as if she would burst. The only surcease was to let it free.

  She was high in the heavens, and then she was speeding down into that endless ocean. The stars were streaming down beside
her, a rainfall of bloodied meteors. Down she went, pushing for oblivion, for that impact, that collision with the dark waters. Pushing, eyes wide, and the tears that streamed from her were of blood.

  Selah collided with the ocean and snapped open her eyes. The sound of battle reached her, clear and distinct, each blow and cry as it took place. She turned her head, burning with fever, shivering still, her joints aching, sweat slicking her skin. Turned her face and stared into the eyes of the female vampire, who lay by her side. Who was smiling brokenly, tears running down her own perfect cheeks, her thick black hair lustrous and draped over her as if in a gesture of modesty. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and then Jocasta closed her own and curled onto her side, shaking her head as if seeking to deny something, an awful truth whose weight she could not bear.

  Selah sat up. Beyond the female vampire she saw Theo fighting a dozen vampires all at once. It was a virtuoso performance, and even as amped as Selah was, she had difficulty following his movements, tracing each side step, each punch, each rake of his nails. He was the center of the storm, and yet powerful as he was, he was being overwhelmed. Twelve vampires converged upon him, leaping back and forth, each also effortlessly fast and agile.

  Selah stood. She looked down at Jocasta who lay weeping with both joy and remorse, curled up like a nautilus shell. Selah felt no pity, no empathy, no care. All the anger and humiliation came roaring back to her, along with a desire to hurt, to find revenge. She remembered vividly this monster’s orders, each mocking laugh, how she’d made her crawl.

  Selah took her by the throat, lifted her so that she dangled from her hand, raised effortlessly in the air. Jocasta stared down at Selah, and most terribly didn’t seem to care. Blood streamed from her eyes, and she smiled tremulously before closing them. Selah stared at her, and wondered how many years this creature had walked the earth, how many decades, centuries. How many had she killed? Abused, tortured? She looked at where the sacrificial victim hung—Marco—and snarled and then tore out Jocasta’s throat.

  Blood, black and tarry, spattered forth, but not as much as she’d expected. Jocasta stiffened in pain but did not scream. Instead she gave a sigh of relief, and then her skin darkened, became pitted and coarse. In a matter of moments her hair fell from her scalp, her body disintegrated, and she fell to the ground, a collection of worn bones and ash as all her years caught up with her.

  Selah laughed. Laughed, feeling lost, vile, sickened and lazy with pleasure and delight. Turned, plunged into the melee taking place behind her. Reached out with both hands to take hold of a vampire by the back of the neck and his belt, hurling him with all her stolen vigor and strength into the wall with bone-snapping force.

  Another sensed her, spun into a crouch and leaped, but Selah leaned back all the way so that her hands touched the ground, causing the vampire to sail over her. She followed the motion through, kicking her legs up so that she went into a backflip and slammed both feet into the vampire’s chest as it turned to face her. It staggered back, off balance, and Selah rose to bury her fist in its face, crunching bone and dropping it mewling to the ground.

  Selah laughed, and with that laugh the last vestiges of her sense of self slipped away. She was mayhem; she was chaos incarnate. She skipped forward, and then leaped at another, an older woman who fell back, blocking her blows desperately, trying to keep up as Selah pummeled with ever greater and inhuman speed, a flurry so fast that her blows started to slip through and then that was enough: two, three blows and the vampire went down, still trying to block, not realizing that one of her ocular ridges had been crushed, her lower jaw torn off. Selah stepped on her neck, crushed it, and rejoined the fray.

  The whole of it lasted perhaps thirty seconds. Thirty seconds from beginning to finish, and then only Theo and Selah were standing, Selah panting but Theo composed, both staring at the strewn bodies, the yells and screams spreading through the room as panic set people fleeing for their lives.

  Selah inhaled in great, sensual heaves. She was drowning in anger. She felt so much fury. She was a bottomless well that knew only the desire to destroy. This was what it meant to have power. This was what it meant to be able to impose your will over another. She turned to regard Theo. He was staring at her.

  “Selah,” he said.

  Selah laughed. She didn’t know the meaning of the name. Maybe once she had. But here, now, streaked in blood, filled with alien might, without care, without concern, it meant less than nothing.

  “Selah,” said Theo again, and took a step back as she began to walk toward him, “stop.”

  “Why?” Her voice was strange to her, thick and sensual and delighted and taut with energy. “What for? So that I can suffer this again and again and again? Each and every night?” She smiled sweetly at him, at her supposed savior, at the Dragon. “I don’t think so.”

  His brows raised, and then lowered. “Don’t.”

  Her grin grew more manic. “People are always telling me what to do. I think I’m tired of that. Tired of behaving. I think for once I’m going to do what I want. Whatever I want.” She took another step forward. She should calm down, she should think, but there was no room for that. Not after tonight. Not with this much fevered blood coursing through her body, making her want to scream, to let the energy loose in a torrent of sound.

  All context was going. She knew he should mean something to her. But he was just another filthy vampire. Just another black-eyed parasite that lived off human misery and kept countless thousands shackled as slaves. He was worse than scum—he was the personification of all evil.

  He deserved to die.

  What was more, killing him would be fun.

  With a scream Selah threw herself forward, moving as fast as she could, seeking to destroy him, wipe the floor with his carcass. But he wasn’t there. She was almost quick enough. Almost fast enough. Each blow came within half an inch, sometimes even scoring a groove across his skin. He was a blur, ducking and swaying before her, always giving ground, causing her to howl in fury, in frustration. Screaming, she poured all her might into her next punch, swung it from her hips with all her strength, and caught him finally across the jaw. Felt his head snap to the side, felt him falter, saw him stumble.

  Sensing weakness, she was upon him, but the Dragon, it seemed, had had enough. He caught her next punch in the palm of his hand, and his grip was a vise that ground her bones against each other. Selah let forth another scream, and swung her other fist, but he caught that one too. She slammed her head forward, seeking to crush his nose, but he let go of her fists and stepped aside, letting her momentum carrying her past, falling forward. She saw him lace his hands into a hammer out of the corner of her eye, but never saw the actual blow fall.

  Instead, one moment she was fighting for balance, to turn on him, and the next there was oblivion.

  Selah awoke to find herself being washed by the tides. She was held in somebody’s arms, allowed to float in the calm waters of the ocean. No metaphorical ocean, this; she tasted salt in her mouth, felt the strength in the arms that cradled beneath her shoulders and knees. The ocean water was cool but not cold, and the night air as always was a balm on her fevered soul. She closed her eyes and allowed the gentle waves to rock her.

  After awhile, she opened her eyes. The moon had cleared the sky’s meridian and was now sloping down and away to the western horizon, a half moon, the heavens clear once more of clouds. Water droplets beaded her eyelashes, but she didn’t wipe them away. Instead, she studied Theo’s face. He was gazing past her, at the far horizon where the ocean bled into the night sky, the distant curvature of the earth that defied boundaries. He felt her gaze and looked down at her. For the first time, his black eyes didn’t elicit a frisson of horror. Alien, yes. Strange and unreadable, always. But not horrific.

  Selah allowed her mind to peer into memory. To slowly allow what had taken place to come creeping back into her thoughts. An image, a bowl of stone, blood congealing in its base. She shuddered, a visceral rejection
. The feel of tongues rasping over her body, as dry and rough as those of lizards. She shuddered again, felt her gorge rise, and slipped free of Theo’s arms and dove into the water.

  She closed her eyes and swam with powerful strokes, through the drag and pull of the ocean, not knowing in which direction she swam, nor caring. Allowed the water to purify her, wash her of both blood and sin. She’d always feared the ocean, feared its dark depths. Had always imagined a night dive to be the most terrifying thing possible. Now she knew better. So she swam until her lungs felt they might burst, until seized by fear that she did not know how deep she’d swum, and then turned and ascended, up until she broke the surface with a gasp.

  She hadn’t gone nearly as far as she’d thought. The swells were more powerful here, raising her up and then lowering her down into the troughs. Selah looked past the pale sands of the shore at South Beach itself, a wall of buildings, the famous art deco hotels of Ocean Drive, the high-rises at the very tip. The neon lights, the faint sound of music. To her left rose the Wind Tower, and she gazed at its summit, where who knew what madness now reigned.