“That wasn’t the worst. You should have seen us. Jim was practically a basket case without you. Ed and I weren’t much better off. Nothing got done that week. I mean it. Nothing! So, no offense, but to hear you question yourself is a little silly.”
“Really?”
“Really,” I echoed, meaning every word of it. She threw a smile back at me that made me want to run through the hills singing The Sound of Music. I gave my head a quick shake so I wouldn’t get lost in the moment. Nothing more jarring than to be talking about work when suddenly the bozo across from you starts screaming, “GOD, I LOVE YOU!”
Instead, I continued with, “I’ve seen you work. You get things done where the rest of us wouldn’t have Clue One. They couldn’t replace you if they tried.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Thank you, Bill.”
“No thanks necessary. It’s the truth and deep down, I think you know it.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. In retrospect, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Future Bill picked that exact moment to appear from out of a time machine and beat the ever-living shit out of me. If I had any part in her decision to move on, it’s there that those seeds were sown.
Finally she answered, “Maybe you’re right. I guess I just needed to hear it from somebody else. I have all these ideas, all these things I want to do; however, sometimes it’s hard to believe in myself. When I lie awake at night, I have all these doubts about whether I really can do better.”
“My mother always says,” I continued, pushing her further down the path that was shortly going to lead her out of my life, “sometimes we’re afraid to believe in ourselves until somebody else does it first.” Well, OK, I don’t recall my mom ever saying that. At the time, though, I was trying to sound supportive. Sue me for making up shit on the spot.
I finished by saying, “Just for the record, I believe in you. I believe you can do better.”
“Seriously?” she asked, giving me a dubious eye just in case I was joking.
But, I wasn’t joking. Sure, I might be a little biased. Emotions can do that to a person. Hell, if she ever said, “Bill, your roommates annoy me. Can you please kill them?” I would probably gleefully walk home and go on a massacre.
Still, there was (love struck) sincerity in my voice when I answered, “You know what I see when I look at you? (Besides the most gorgeous creature to ever walk the face of this planet?) I see someone with the talent to do anything she puts her mind to. I have no doubt that you could move mountains if you decided to.”
Again, she looked thoughtful. Her eyes got a far away look for a few moments. Oh, if only she would get that look when she thought about me. For that, I’d gladly suffer an eternity of the minions of darkness using my nuts as croquet balls. Hell, I’d even tolerate Sally, my vampire partner in crime, being the one swinging the mallet. Fortunately, Sheila spoke again before that particular imagery could further solidify.
Her eyes regained their focus, and maybe it’s just me, but I could have sworn I saw a glimmer of determination in them that wasn’t there before. She nodded her head once and said, “Maybe your mom’s right. Either way you’ve given me a lot to think about.”
The rest of our little pseudo-date was spent talking about considerably less heavy topics, or at least I think they were. My brain had given its all just to get those thoughts out. I have no idea what I said or did, other than making puppy dog eyes at her until we went our separate ways. Sadly, I didn’t have a clue as to how separate they were about to become.
*sigh* It figures. I’ve survived a lot of brushes with death in the past several months, most of them at the hands of creatures far more lethal than I. Wouldn’t it figure that at the end of the day I would be my own worst enemy? God, I am such an asshole.
Late For My Own Funeral
The thing I love about programming is that it’s purely logical. While having a passion for the job helps, at times one can just shut down his emotions and type away, android-like, to get the job done. Pity I’m not very good at doing that. Fortunately for me, though, I have a few spare keyboards in my closet. I needed them.
The next few hours found me trying to do my job and mostly failing. I’d be typing away when suddenly something like, “FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!” would come screaming out of my mouth, followed by me turning my keyboard into a mashed pile of plastic. Oh, well, at least they’re cheaper than monitors.
Ed, for the most part, left me to my misery. He realized I needed a little “me time” to cool off. As late afternoon approached, my sharp vampire ears picked up his voice from out in the living room. I couldn’t hear both sides of the conversation; however, from what I could tell, he had phoned my other roommate, Tom, to let him know that it was probably not a good time to invite his girlfriend over. Ed doesn’t like to show it, but he can be a hell of a good guy when he wants to be.
Sadly, the truth was, there really wasn’t such a thing as a good time for Tom to bring Christy over. See, she’s a witch, a real one. That in of itself doesn’t bother me. It’s the fact that she wants me dead that puts a damper on our relationship. She and her mentor, Harry Decker - the aforementioned VP/wizard from my company - have this loony theory that I am the harbinger of doom for wizard-kind. They, along with all the vampires I know, refer to me as the “Freewill.” Apparently, I’m this rare breed of vampire that can do things the others can’t. As such, there are all sorts of bizarre myths and legends surrounding me. Harry and Christy believe in one that involves my existence somehow heralding the return of these other legendary creatures called “Icons.” Supposedly, these Icons will destroy all the magic users...yadda yadda yadda, and other assorted bullshit.
Personally, I could care less about any of that. All I know is that Christy is the fucking Wicked Witch of the East Coast. That girl has some scary mojo about her and she isn’t afraid to use it against me. Tom, my oldest and dearest friend, but also a fucking idiot, decided that the best way to handle this was to make Christy pinky-swear not to kill me in our apartment.
Needless to say, because of these little details, my relationship with Christy was a bit strained. Pity, because she was kind of cute. What? Sharks are deadly too. Doesn’t mean they’re not fun to look at in the aquarium.
Speaking of things that were both pretty and deadly, I was interrupted from eavesdropping by the ringing of my own cell phone. I didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know who it was. The specific ringtone, the theme from Halloween, gave it away.
I answered with a sigh. “Hello, Sally.” It was unusual for her to bother me in the middle of the week. Typically, Sally was happy to let me live my life (not that I had much of one). While I was gone, she was left in charge of the coven. Hell, even when I was there it was pretty obvious that she was calling most of the shots. She preferred the former, though, because without me around she was free to cause whatever mischief she pleased, with absolutely no checks to her power. For the most part, she was a competent (if scary) person to leave in charge. However, occasionally her psychotic side got the better of her and she would do something that made me want to shove her out into the sunlight. I really hoped that whatever she was calling me about wasn’t one of those situations.
“Aw, what’s the matter, Bill?” she answered with her typical snide tone, “You don’t sound like your normal chipper self.”
“I’m having a bit of a day, Sally,” I replied, using my free hand to rub my temple. Talking to Sally has a habit of bringing on a migraine.
“Well that’s good, because you’re going to have a bit of a night too.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that I think your ‘penance’ is about to be paid.”
Oh, crap. “How so?”
“Boston called. They said we should expect company.”
“Who?”
“They didn’t elaborate.”
Not good. Boston was the center of vampire related activity on the East Coast. T
hey didn’t often get involved in the day to day operations of the covens under their jurisdiction, but when they did, you could be sure shit was about to hit the fan. In my case, I was pretty sure I had a pile hanging over my head big enough to smother an elephant.
“Did they say...?” I started to ask.
“No, they didn’t. Colin sounded pretty agitated over the phone, though. I think you’d probably best get your dumpy ass over here as soon as sundown hits.”
Colin was the vampire currently in charge of the Northeast. It was a temporary position; however, since his boss, James, was missing, it was looking more and more likely that his would be a permanent promotion. Pity, as Colin was a little suck-up of a weasel. If he could have, Colin would have glued his lips to the asses of the elder vamps who made up the First Coven, the vampire ruling body more affectionately known as the “Draculas.”
Feeling a sheen of perspiration break out on my forehead, I answered in the only manner I knew how. “Oh, shit!”
“Said with your usual eloquence,” Sally quipped. “So are you coming?”
“Do I have a choice?” Silence on the other end. “Sorry, stupid question. Yeah, I guess so. They can only kill me once, after all.”
“Not really,” Sally replied, as usual doing her best to make me feel worse. “See you in a few.”
I hung up. This did not bode well for me. Three months ago, some serious shit had gone down. It had all started as a joke. Sally had shipped me to China; supposedly at James’s behest (I didn't say it was a funny joke). When Gan, a three-hundred-year-old spoiled vampire brat, decided she was in love with me, her father was displeased. Unfortunately for me, her father was the Khan, a member of the Draculas. Even less fortunate, his way of voicing displeasure was to send a trio of his best assassins to cut off my head. Not only had they failed, but the whole mission had turned out to be a fatal mistake on his part.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, he and his people were attacked while this debacle was going on. His forces depleted, the Khan’s coven was overrun with nary a sign of any survivors. The rest of the Draculas subsequently pinned the blame on me. Word had come down from them that I was expected to make things right. The only problem was they didn’t specify how. I had thus spent the last three months looking over my shoulder.
At last, it seemed I was finally going to get my answer. Oh, well, at least I would know and according to GI Joe, that’s half the battle right there. Pity the rest of it would probably be slightly less fun.
Anticipation is a Killer
Both of my roommates, bless their still-beating hearts, insisted on coming along after I filled them in on the news. Part of it was their friendship to me, of which I was grateful. As for the rest, well I’m not entirely stupid. I know morbid curiosity when I see it.
While I was in China, James had absentmindedly dropped the name Alma to describe their enemies. An internet search had revealed that Alma was the Mongolian name for Bigfoot. To say that my friends, Tom especially, were excited about the prospect of a vampire/Sasquatch showdown would be an understatement. Hell, if I weren’t the one in danger of becoming a casualty of this grudge match, the eternal geek in me would have been pretty darn stoked about it too.
Still, their willingness to stand by my side was welcome. Unfortunately, as I explained to them, I couldn’t bring them to my meeting with Sally. Normally vampires and humans mix about as well as people and nacho platters. As the leader of Village Coven (*sigh* It’s been almost a year and that name still sounds stupid!), I had decreed that my friends were off-limits. Even Sally had to agree with that one, as they had helped us both out on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, whoever was coming to see us wasn’t a part of my coven and thus weren’t beholden to my rules. If they were parched from their journey, then my roommates would make handy refreshments. I couldn’t let that happen.
Thus, to all our chagrin, I had to turn them down and take a solo trip on the N-train toward Manhattan. Well OK, I wasn’t entirely alone. I had thoughts of dozens of horrific demises to keep me company. Lots of fun, I tell you.
* * *
The center of my undead “empire” is a place we simply refer to as the office. My coven rents out a few floors in a building close to NYU. Truth be told, we have lots of places both in and under SoHo (sewers may stink, but they tend to be free of pesky things like sunlight). Albeit currently a lot of that space is empty. A while back, half of my coven wound up permanently dead thanks to a combo of the Khan’s assassins and this little spat we had with another coven from Queens. Since then, despite Sally’s constant nagging, I’ve been hemming and hawing my way out of replenishing our ranks.
I’m sorry, but I have a conscience about these things. For starters, I have no desire to refill my coven with the current types that dominate it. When I first “joined” the ranks of the undead, Village Coven was entirely populated by two types: uber-hot, but entirely vacuous, females, and pretty-boy douche bags. Sally was the lone exception. She’s as hot as they come, but she thinks circles around the rest. Hell, I’m not exactly an idiot myself, and I’d still think twice before going against her in a battle of wits.
As for recruiting people more like me, well that has its own problems. I have little doubt I’d be able to find a small army of comic book geeks who would gladly join the ranks of us night stalkers. But, does the city really need a population of dorks suddenly thinking they’re superheroes? Trust me, I’ve been there. Vampire powers or not, it doesn’t work out well.
I pushed all those thoughts out of my mind as I arrived at the office. It was time to focus. As much fun as it might be to imagine myself as the leader of a group of vampiric X-Men, now wasn’t the time for such distractions.
I took the stairs. I might not be much to look at, but being a vampire has its advantages for anyone, regardless of whether they look like they’re allergic to exercise equipment. As usual, the stairwell was empty so I was able to run up to our floor at a pace that would have left an Olympic sprinter wheezing. Just for the record, not all parts of being a vampire suck.
Also, as is typical, I felt a shudder of revulsion pass through me as I walked through the doors. The desks up front were manned and going full force. Rather than let the coven hunt for prey openly, Sally had instituted a half-assed suicide hotline to lure in victims. It kept the coven’s larders full while ensuring that most of the humans we harvested were those who wouldn’t be missed. Sorry, her words, not mine. Personally, I found the whole thing to be so evil that Satan himself would probably step back and say, “Whoa!”
At that moment, though, I had other things with which to occupy my mind. I strode past the rows of desks and went straight toward the back corner where Sally had an over-sized executive suite. She definitely didn’t believe in suffering for the cause.
Seated at a desk outside of Sally’s office, was Starlight. She was a strikingly beautiful African-American woman. Though in her forties, she was eternally stuck in the body of a twenty-one-year-old, but what a body it was. Unfortunately for her, Starlight was a genuine sweetheart, just not an overly bright one. Both of these traits meant she was easy prey for manipulation, and Sally was a grade-A manipulator. She had continually coerced Starlight into acting as her personal secretary...so much so, that I had given up trying to do anything about it. There were far worse fates.
“Hey, Bill,” she said, seeing me approach. “You can go right in, Sally’s expecting you.”
I smirked. Technically speaking, I was in charge. I could go wherever and whenever I pleased...at least as far as the rest of the coven were concerned. To them I was this fearsome predator, a beast of legend even amongst vampire-kind. They all afforded me respect that far outweighed what I deserved. Sally, however, knew the truth, and though she kept up appearances for the others, I had to tread more lightly around her.
“Thanks, Star,” I replied and walked in, shutting Sally’s door behind me.
I half expected the room to be full of hooded figures hissing at me to k
neel while they proceeded to dole out my punishment.
Instead, I found myself alone with Sally...and she was naked.
Well, OK, she was only naked in my mind. But then, she always is. She was actually seated behind her desk (fully clothed, sadly) where she dismissively motioned for me to sit while she continued chatting on the phone.
“Wednesday? Sorry, mornings don’t work for me,” she said casually into the receiver. “How about the evening? OK, fine. No, it doesn’t have to be here. We can do this over drinks. Great. I can’t wait to see the layout. You, too. Talk to you soon,” she finished in a chipper tone before hanging up.
She turned to me as I just sat there looking at her expectantly.
“Sorry about that,” she replied. “The Village Voice is running a story on the hotline and wanted to know if I was available for an interview.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I answered coldly.
“I know, isn’t it great?”
The Mourning Woods - 03 Page 2
