Dead Girls Don't Cry

by Casey Wyatt

  Lemmy, our evening doorman, winced at Jonathan’s shrill statement. Lemmy gave me an apologetic look, then quietly shut the back door and returned to the alley outside, exiting the area, like any sensible person would do.

  Perhaps now was not a good time to mention my near encounter with true death. “Were you worried about me, Sire? I’m touched.” Jonathan’s sharp frown and narrowed eyes told me I had best shut up. “I didn’t think you cared.”

  Jonathan seized me by the back of the neck like a bad puppy and dragged me down to his office. The door slammed, rattling the frame so hard it threatened to pop the hinges. I really needed to keep my fool mouth shut.

  “Do not sass me, child.” Jonathan released me. Worry lines creased his brow. His fists were balled at his sides. His eyes glowed red, as though hellfire burned inside his skull.

  I bared my throat. “My blood is your blood.” A show of respect and deference. Something I almost never did. “I’m sorry, Sire.”

  His shoulders relaxed, the red light faded from his eyes, but his hands remained clenched. I wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  There was a long pause before he finally spoke. “I made you a promise a long time ago. I will always keep you safe. On my honor. ”

  “I remember.” How could I forget the absolute worst moment of my life? Even now, over a hundred years later, it still hurt. The loss of my human family.

  “Cherry?” Jonathan placed his hands on my shoulders. “Come. Take what you need from me.” He drew me close, my lips a hair’s breadth from his throat.

  His honey-scented skin comforted me, even though I wanted to shove him away. “Not the throat.” Too intimate. I didn’t want the safety of Jonathan’s embrace.

  “Fine,” he sighed. He bit the veins in his wrist then extended his arm toward me.

  Two drops of blood beaded around the punctures, beckoning me. I studied Jonathan’s face. His black hair was unbound and hung loosely on his shoulders. To a human, he wouldn’t look older than thirty-five. I knew for a fact he was twenty when he became a vampire. Life was a lot harsher back in his day.

  My stomach knotted. My fangs elongated at the sight of what my body craved. I resisted for a moment longer, then the heady fragrance of his blood reached my nostrils. I latched onto his wrist and sucked with hard, greedy pulls. The blood flowed so quickly, I nearly choked myself.

  “You always wait too long,” Jonathan grumbled.

  Every cell in my body sang with joy. In addition to quelling the hunger, his blood soothed, like a promise everything would be okay. Tears leaked from my eyes. I chided myself. False euphoria. Not real. Not to be trusted.

  When Jonathan reached over to pat my shoulder, I snarled at him and twisted away. Again, he sighed, disappointed this time. “Cherry, it’s time for you to stop—”

  I dropped his wrist. “No!” Tremors shook my hands. “Don’t tell me it’s time to move on. We both know what happened.”

  “You’re right,” he said. Darkness hung over his face. Our tangled past lingered in the air between us like a physical presence.

  “Stop. We are not doing this right now.” I escaped from the room before he could order me back.

  I didn’t go to my dressing room. Jonathan would search for me there first. Instead, I headed to the backstage storage room, where the band kept their equipment.

  My throat was tight as I circled around the small room. A single light bulb provided weak light, plenty for me to see and not knock into instruments. I used to love music once. Singing in particular. My father called me “God’s little angel” on account of my voice. He claimed I came out of the womb singing. I doubt that, but I do remember starting at a young age.

  My mother balked at first. She was more puritanical and felt it wasn’t proper for a lady of my station to sing at all, let alone publicly. My father compromised and allowed me to sing hymns at our private mass.

  When my parents weren’t around, I sang whatever I felt like. I learned new songs whenever and wherever I could. From the Irish housemaid, the African washerwoman and, later, when my parents became missionaries, songs from the countries we visited. I wasn’t alone in the singing conspiracy. I recruited my younger sisters and brother until we could have been a traveling show.

  Surprisingly, my parents never caught us. They were too busy promoting Christianity and raising money from their elite social circle for their next mission. We were basically seen and not heard.

  I blame my pride and my voice for what happened. My voice attracted the angel of death. Eventually guilt closed my throat for good. I haven’t been able to sing a note since. Not even “Happy Birthday” at parties. I can’t do it. When I try to sing my throat tightens and I can’t get the air.

  “Cherry!” Jay barged in, my costume billowing in his arms. “Get dressed. You’re on in five.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t ask why I was in the music room. He didn’t need to. Jay understood me better than anyone. I changed out of my street clothes as fast as I could. Jay didn’t help matters, wrestling the costume’s bodice onto my torso before I had fully unclothed. I batted him away.

  “Come on, hurry up.” He shifted from foot to foot.

  “Help me with this strap, it's twisted.” Once we untangled my costume, he yanked me by the hand and dragged me along. Stilettos were not meant for power walking, making it a bumpy trip.

  “Jay! What’s happening?” I pulled backward, but he continued the forward march.

  “Boss says we have an important visitor in the crowd. Be awesome.” He pushed me onto the stage.

  As the red velvet cloth started to rise I asked, “Who?”

  “Queen V.” He gave me two thumbs up and stepped back into the wings.

  Son of a biscuit.

  ~ * * * ~

  Jonathan deserved a kick in the nuts. He should have warned me. Blood pounded in my ears like the surf, making it hard to hear the orchestra.

  Queen Victoria was in the audience. The Vampire Queen.

  Why?

  I snuck glances into the crowd trying to figure out where she was. I even danced dangerously close to the edge of the stage attempting to see past the stage lights. After almost landing in Morton’s skeevy lap, I stopped trying. On my final promenade, I twisted, dropped my top and turned to face the crowd. A familiar blond head sat behind Morton.

  Ian McDevitt. Lovely. For a moment, a niggle of shame swept through me. Damn him. There was nothing wrong with what I did. I made good money and took care of Jay.

  I wiggled my ass at Ian.

  Morton leaned forward in his seat, right arm pumping back and forth, his hand hidden under a newspaper draped over his lap. The masturbating creep probably thought the display was for him. Anger colored the last few steps of my routine. I stomped my heels so hard, I worried they might break.

  The music reached a crescendo. The big finale approached. I slid into my final position, legs slightly crossed, one foot in front of the other, arms overhead in a V and my hips tilted to the side.

  The spotlight burned down on me. The crowd erupted in applause, then went stone silent. The audience, moving as a single body, bowed to a lone figure gliding down the left aisle.

  She could have easily been mistaken for a child. Her doll-like frame was small and delicate. Raven black curls outlined her heart-shaped face. Her ambient power buckled my knees. She had to be thousands of years old. There had never been another queen, as far as I knew, other than Victoria.

  The queen brought her dainty hands together and clapped. “Bravo, my dear!”

  I curtseyed deeply. When I rose, the queen was before me on the stage, her movements so swift even the air didn’t have time to move.

  Before I could bow again, her hand, cold as marble, grip hard as steel, clasped my wrist. “Once was sufficient, my dear.”

  I averted my eyes. She was the queen. Power thickened the air, weighing on me like a heavy blanket. Even in a sold out theatre, her presence commanded total silence. For all purposes, we were only the o
nly two people in the room.

  “I have a gift for you.”

  My lips parted in surprise. Before I could stop, words spilled out, “You do? Why?”

  Stupid fool mouth.

  The queen laughed, “Because I wish it.”

  Right. Because she said so. A slight movement over her shoulder caught my eye. Jonathan stepped into the light, his face a calm mask.

  “Your sire once granted me the gift of your song. You didn’t know it was me at the time. Perhaps, someday, your voice will return, my dear Nightingale.”

  Huh? I had no idea what she was talking about. I never sang as a vampire. I paused, my brain skittered to a stop. That wasn’t true.

  A quick glance at Jonathan confirmed it. For a brief moment, before he turned me, I sang freely in his presence. Out from under my parent’s restrictive thumbs, I could be myself. Before everything went to hell. Regret filled his eyes. His lips pulled into a tight line.

  Our shared guilt so thick, I was shocked Queen V didn’t feel it too.

  “Charity Belmont,” the queen addressed the crowd, holding my wrist as high as her short stature would allow, “I bequeath to you my cuff.” With a single swift motion, a smooth golden bracelet latched onto my left wrist.

  “Never give it away. Under any circumstance. Do you understand?” The queen’s voice compelled me to obey.

  “Yes, your Majesty.”

  A strangled cry erupted in the back. Someone clearly didn’t like the queen’s decision.

  The queen arched an eyebrow. “I knew she’d react like this.” In a loud clear voice, Victoria addressed the assembly. “This is my will. No one shall attempt to take this gift from my chosen recipient. To do so is an act of treason.”

  The words hung heavy in the air. The undead audience did what they did best: sat there like lifeless corpses. For about ten seconds. Then, a hundred different conversations popped the silence. The babble of noise hurt my ears. The crowd’s reaction was out of proportion with the gift.

  What was the big damn deal? It was a plain bangle. The bracelet’s surface was smooth, absent decoration. Unremarkable. Walmart had better costume jewelry.

  I fingered the cool metal band and snuck a glance at my sire. Jonathan’s stiff posture froze me in place. Whatever the queen had bestowed on me was probably about to make my life more complicated. Why would anyone think I would be useful? The most taxing thing I did each day, aside from performing, was scheduling acts and monitoring the club’s financial statements.

  The queen smiled as if reading my mind. “I have faith in you. All things come to an end in time. Carpe diem. Seize the day. Be sure to grab hold of what’s next.”

  Before I could say a word or even offer my thanks, the queen was gone. She was there one minute and halfway up the theatre aisle the next. A large retinue detached itself from various posts around the room and followed her out of the door.

  I took one last look at the audience. Ian, the only vampire not watching the queen’s departure, fixed his intense gaze solidly on me.

  The cuff warmed against my wrist. I stared at it. I tore my gaze off the bangle and searched for Jonathan, who, surprise, surprise, was nowhere in sight. Figures. When I want to speak to him, he’s not around.

  The stagehands dropped the curtain in my wake, nodding to me as I passed. I took a robe and tied it tightly around my waist.

  “You can’t keep that,” a female voice snarled from behind. God, if this was Pearl having one of her possessive fits, I was going to deck her.

  “Excuse me? Pearl, you can just,” I turned expecting to see the pintsized dancer, “kiss my –”

  The words died in my throat. I bowed my head at the angry vampire. “Princess Thalia. I’m so sorry.”

  “Give the cuff to me.” Thalia’s dark eyes gleamed in the dim light. Her angular face was a bit too long and sharp, containing none of her mother’s fair beauty. “She only gave it to you to punish me.” A pale pink tongue darted out and swept across the tight line of her lips. Tremors shook her fingers, while she fidgeted. Movements of a junkie looking for a fix. Or of a liar. She extended her trembling hand, “I don’t have all day.”

  Blunt and no manners. I bristled, angling my left arm behind my back. “The queen’s orders were very clear. The bracelet is mine.”

  “Petulant whore. Hand it over.” Thalia lunged forward.

  I easily evaded her. Unbidden, words escaped my lips. In Victoria’s voice, I said, “Treason, my daughter. Do not try my patience further. Return to me now.”

  Thalia’s eyes narrowed into slits, a cruel leer painted on her lips. She opened her mouth, then clamped it shut so hard her teeth clacked. Yowling, like a pissed off alley cat, she turned on one heel and marched away.

  I shivered. Goosebumps pimpled my skin. It was just a piece of jewelry. Right?

  A pathological pull twisted my gut, insisting I join the queen outside. I raced to the alley door. Others had the same compulsion and I had to push my way past the stage crew and my fellow performers before reaching the street.

  Long black limousines were parked along the street. Queen Victoria’s car sported foreign dignitary flags, each decorated with a lion and a unicorn behind a shield of red, blue, and gold.

  Flash bulbs popped. Their brightness punctuated the night sky as paparazzi jockeyed for a good shot of the sovereign and her party.

  Jonathan would be in his glory, the club guaranteed to sell out for months, possibly for the next few years. I couldn’t complain. It meant more money and security for the family.

  As she exited the club, the queen’s security detail surrounded her until her tiny frame disappeared in a sea of brawny bodies. With the amount of power she emitted, Victoria had to be nearly indestructible. The retinue moved to one of the middle limousines. The bodyguards parted long enough for me to catch a glimpse of her white hand waving as she approached the car.

  A whistle screeched above the din of the crowd.

  What the heck?

  An explosion shattered windows. Orange flames engulfed the crowd clustered around the limousine. Screams pierced the air as my hearing slowly came back on line. Bystanders scattered in every direction, pushing and shoving, desperate to get away.

  The queen’s limousine was a twisted, smoking hulk. The stench of burnt meat and gasoline gagged me.

  A few of the strippers stood behind me sniffling. One of them said, “What’ll we do? They’ll be war! Like in the old days!”

  Lemmy comforted her. “There, there Joy. It’ll work out. You’ll see.”

  A deep crater replaced the spot where the queen and her bodyguards had been. My eyes couldn’t make sense of the gore and scattered body parts littering the road. Smoke billowed from the hole, blackening the air. The wind reversed and a cloud masked the carnage.

  A familiar blond head moved through the crowd across the street. Ian McDevitt stood out like a sore thumb. The only bystander acting like nothing major had happened. Ian caught my gaze and our eyes met. He shook his head at me, then disappeared into the throng.

  He had advance warning. I wanted to puke.

  I didn’t have time to ponder the question. Morton appeared in the spot Ian had vacated. Cold hatred filled his eyes. All of it directed at me. What the hell? With a final long stare Morton turned away.

  Another noise caught my attention over the cries and moans. Camera clicks. The surviving paparazzi unashamedly photographed the crater and the remains. Vermin.

  “Mother!” One voice keened above the din. The paparazzi changed focus. Cameras swung in a new direction. Flashbulbs blazed even brighter than the small fires burning in the street.

  Princess Thalia erupted onto the scene. Unlike her reclusive mother, she was always in the vampire news. The classic spoiled princess: party all night, shop all day. She faced the cameras, tears on display. The perfect, mourning daughter.

  Too bad the media had missed her earlier, greedy bracelet grab.

  The crowd quieted as she advanced toward the crater.r />
  Thalia stood over the wreckage and then knelt down. The smoke blocked my view for a few moments. Thalia re-appeared and approached the crowd. Her fists were gloved in blood and gore. She raised her right hand, displaying a large ring.

  “The ring is mine by birthright. I claim the throne as the direct heir of Queen Victoria.” Compulsion pulsed through the gathering as if to further cement Thalia’s claim.

  The horde, grieving moments before, cheered. Vampires aren’t much different than humans. We craved law and order. As a species, we hated uncertainty. I think that’s why we lived in families, even in death.

  I’d seen enough. I turned away, ready to elbow my way back to the club, when I stumbled over some debris. A dainty hand disconnected from its arm. The fingernails, perfect half-moons, were not too long and nicely polished. Bile rose in my throat. God. It had to be Victoria’s.

  Repulsed, I started to back away. The fingers twitched and flexed. When the index finger curled into a come-hither gesture, my instincts screamed run. Instead, my feet brought me back to the spot and rooted me there, following the hand’s will.

  The cuff bracelet warmed around my left wrist. I twisted it, trying to remove it. The thing refused to budge. The hand on the ground twitched as if irritated and beckoned me once again. Even dead, Victoria’s power reached into my gut, summoning me. After a moment’s struggle, curiosity overrode my fear. The sooner I looked, the sooner I could leave.

  With trembling fingers, I knelt down and reached for the hand. Before I could touch it, the hand motioned for me to stop. The fingers pointed to the cuff, then did a dance. Soft glowing runes decorated the gold.

  “Okay, hand. I think I get it.” I glanced around. Everyone else was either preoccupied or in various states of shock. Emergency vehicle sirens howled in the distance. The whole street would be crawling with humans in a matter of moments.

  I sucked in a deep, fortifying breath then touched the bracelet.

  Keep it safe, whispered in my head. The runes darkened then vanished. The dismembered hand turned to ash. The residue drifted away on the light evening breeze.

  I ran into the club, and locked myself inside my dressing room. Black dots blotted my vision. I collapsed into the makeup chair. Vampires don’t faint. I put my head between my legs anyway. The spots faded. When the panic receded, I concentrated on the bracelet.