Corrupting Alicia

by Tsoukalas, Evan

  Can’t forget my own pearls of wisdom, now can I?

  That unnamed emotion swelled inside her, ballooning to a buoyancy that lifted her soul out of range of the other emotions that would bring it crumbling to the ground. She leaned in close, her lips at my ear, and as she spoke, I could feel the warm, wet heat of her sweet breath on my skin generating a sharp tug on every part of me that was male, and I could have let her whisper the US Tax Code into my ear all night.

  At that moment, I had my first feeling of being tremendously silly, but I pushed it aside without a second thought.

  “I’m sure you'd enjoy it, love, but I’d rather you helped me do it.” Her words were delivered in a whisper, but they reverberated throughout my head, two things rendering me utterly speechless. Her term of endearment was obviously the first and most stunning, but following a close second was the revelation of her very real, very potent desire to kill her tormentor. I was so confused, exhilarated and stunned that I wasn’t sure which to address first, and she sat in silence, her face and eyes glowing with a volatile mixture of anticipation, determination and adoration as she waited for me to respond.

  “Love?” I gasped after a time, finally able to find my voice. If I’d been a little less enamored with her, I would have realized that she couldn’t possibly love me yet; so much had been thrown at her all at once, and she’d overloaded before processing even half of it. If she loved anything, it was the power and opportunity that I represented to her, and at that point, even if I had seen it, it wouldn’t have made a dent in the fierce wall of denial that ego or self-delusion would summon for defense.

  Alicia laughed lightly, a sultry, moving sound that sent the BloodHunger deep into my brain like white-hot spikes. “Yes, my savior, my companion tonight and hopefully many more nights. And perhaps, someday...” Alicia paused and looked away, hesitance clear in her body posture. “...my lover,” she finished on the slightest of whispers, the dangerous implications in those two words taking all the power from her voice.

  Every word rocked me like a crowbar to the face until, mentally, I was staggering against the ropes, unable to explain what kept me on my feet. There it was, almost dangling in the air between us: what I really wanted from her. I’ve had enough revenant companions to last an eternity, but a mortal companion, and perhaps even a mortal lover, one who did not require lies, and perhaps even one who did not require secrets? Just the thought of it brought on a rush that could give crack a run for its money, the fear of it contributing as much as the pleasure.

  She saw the effect of her words on me, of that I was certain, but she wasn’t sure she fully believed in my response. More to the point, she believed I was reacting to the BloodHunger and nothing more. “No, Alicia,” I beseeched, keeping my voice low enough so that my Blood-powered vocal cords wouldn’t burst her eardrums from this distance. “This is not about blood!”

  Relief was visible on her face, as was the hope in my willingness to be a conspirator of sorts. “With your help, I can get him. I can get that motherfucker, and he’ll finally pay!” Her eyes were on fire, her face very dangerous as it assumed a granite-like appearance. “And the best part is that, by default, I get the business he prizes above everything.”

  I was so caught up in her fire, the flames licking at my skin in a deliciously masochistic manner, that I wasn’t sure I even heard her correctly. I traced back over her words in my mind, frowning. “Business?”

  Alicia was so deep in her mental scenario that she didn’t even hear my question. “Alicia,” I spoke again, this time using a tone that commanded attention. Her eyes focused on me quickly but continued to burn a bonfire of magnificent proportions within. “What business?”

  “He's a drug dealer,” she answered with a shrug, as if it were a normal, everyday job.

  “You want to be a drug lord?” I asked, stunned by this revelation. I wouldn’t have guessed that one in a million years.

  “No, but I want the power that goes with it, the control. All my life I’ve been beaten down; first my father, then my brothers, then Christian, the same old pattern repeating endlessly. You broke it when you saved me, and now, with your help, I know I can end it!” Her excitement was so profound that I thought she might start pacing the floor to work off some of the energy. At the mention of her father and brothers, I caught glimpses of hazy and distorted memory fragments that angered me further - which I definitely didn’t need - and almost in the same instant, I knew that I could never take her blood unless I wanted to take my place among the long line of men who’d taken things from her by force. I could never taste her blood without her full consent, and unable to fathom what exactly that meant until there was no turning back, she could never give it.

  Violently, I pushed that thought aside and filed it under “cross that bridge when we come to it,” knowing that we never would. I was going to be the first man in her life to give, to give her anything and everything her heart desired. It was within my power, and I'd wanted nothing so intensely in all my time on this planet.

  As I pondered the overwhelming nature of these things, she seemed distracted.

  “How do you live?” she asked, her incongruous question causing me to pause and cock my head to one side as I tried to catch up with what she was asking. She seemed to understand this, so she clarified. “Maybe the older ones have amassed fortunes, but what about you? Do you steal from your victims?”

  “I have, when they had something I wanted, but it’s rare now. I have more money than you could probably imagine.” That was not conceit, though I have almost as much of it as I do money; it was stated fact. My immortal mentor, Nekros, had left me his entire fortune, which is now managed by Jeffrey, the only mortal member of the Ekhaya.

  No, that’s not a typo. Believe me, I’m not exactly crazy about it, but there’s no changing it now.

  Back to Alicia, who accepted my statement of fortune without further questions, which was good because I had something to say about our previous line of conversation before we strayed too far from it.

  “Alicia, if you want power and control, I can give them to you. You don't need anything from him.” I think a few flecks of spittle flew out of my mouth from the emphasis on the last word, which was fitting because just saying it left a bad taste in my mouth. For a few obvious reasons, and several others a little vaguer, I wanted her to have no part of him, now or after I took him apart piece by piece.

  “You don’t understand, Jason. I know I don’t need anything from him, but I want to take everything from him! Does that make sense?” she asked, wondering aloud more than asking a direct question.

  I sighed; it made perfect sense from where she sat. “Yes,” I answered softly, suddenly weary. The look in her eyes set off all sorts of internal warning alarms, their piercing sirens echoing throughout the fabric of my mind. In retrospect, I wish I’d warned her that the road she was choosing wouldn't be nearly as fun or satisfying as she expected, but at that moment, I couldn't bring myself to take the wind from her sails: I didn't have the heart, and I wanted so badly to help her. I wanted to be near her, to remain close to her, and with the perfect opportunity lying within my reach, I ignored my reservations.

  Big mistake.

  Alicia’s phone rang, the shrill sound startling us both, and she glanced nervously from the phone to me and back to the phone again. It was now well past two am, and our thoughts were running parallel: only one person, or someone affiliated with that person, would be calling at this hour. Fixing my gaze on the phone, I had half a mind to answer it. She had the same thought, but instead, raised herself from the couch and walked gracefully but gingerly toward where it rested.

  It had rung half a dozen times by the time she picked it up, and the fear was plain on her face as she drew it to her ear. “Hello,” she said in a low voice, eyes beckoning, and I was at her side immediately. My supernatural hearing was able to make out every word from the voice on the other end.

  “Alicia?” the voice questioned before falling
away, and the fact that he had not expected her to answer gave her strength and comfort.

  “Didn’t expect me to be here, Chris?” she asked, her voice frosty, eyes narrowing. I marveled again at her inner strength, placing my hand at the nape of her neck for support and comfort, my thumb stroking gently.

  “No,” Chris answered at length, his voice a cold, flat and ugly sound that seemed to fill the room. I suppose I was a bit biased, but I hated him more with every passing second. “I was hoping that my men were there, collecting my things.” I could almost hear the murmur of his clothing as I pictured his nonchalant shrug.

  “No such luck, Chris. They're dead. All four of them.”

  Chris laughed and it sounded genuine. “You killed them?” She didn’t answer, but her face paled a bit. “That’s unexpected, but there are hundreds more looking to get into my good graces. You can't kill them all. It's only a matter of time.”

  Alicia’s lips compressed into a pale, thin line, her eyes flashing with determination. She was about to respond when I snatched the phone from her hand, placed it to my ear, and gestured for her to come closer so that she could hear, too. Without hesitation, she stepped closer, ducking her head slightly to place her ear next to mine. “Send more; send them all. They’ll join Marco and the rest of your rejects in hell, and after them... you,” I answered, carefully masking the rage in my voice so that my tone would come across as condescending and almost bored.

  It worked.

  “What the fuck?!” Chris snarled viciously. “Who the fuck is this?” Alicia was smiling, hand over her mouth to stifle laughter, but I indulged myself in the hearty, dismissing laughter of a superior being, and although I’m certain Chris had never heard such laughter from another person, I know he recognized it.

  “I am death, Christian. Your death.” It was his turn to laugh.

  “Not likely,” he replied, no trace of worry or fear in his voice – mostly because he was stupid, holding his illusions about himself like an ancient aspis coated in bronze.

  “I’m happy you think so,” I returned lightly, and Chris was silent for a moment. My response gave him pause because it was not a taunt, something he clearly expected at this juncture, something he was prepared for and knew how to handle. No, this was quiet and assured, and although he felt the ring of truth in my statement, something about it failed to sit right with him. He wouldn’t have recognized truth if it jumped out of the shadows to suck his blood, and it took only a few moments for his arrogance to regain control.

  “You’re real big over the phone, ass. Why don’t you come and say that to my face?” he hissed petulantly in a voice full of hatred and animosity, but the teenage inanity gave me insight into his head, allowing me to hear the uncertainty that he would never admit to feeling. Uncertainty was a good start, paving the way to fear, and fear likewise to panic. Panic to terror. Take it from me, terror is supremely sweet when you’re the one serving it, especially to someone who’s never really had a good taste of it.

  “Don’t worry, I will. When the time is right. If you were a real man, you'd know it’s your move, and you’d come here to face me, but,” - I paused carefully for theatrical effect - “I don’t expect you will. I know you aren’t a real man at all,” I finished, matching his adolescent quip with an equally juvenile comeback of my own. This is too much fun, I thought as I felt the outrage from the other end of the line, as if copper could conduct emotion as well as sound. Alicia’s eyes went wide, and she shook her head vigorously in disapproval, but I held up my hand, gesturing for her to wait.

  “Motherfucker,” Chris growled, and I laughed at him again. Because dismissing mortals is pretty much S.O.P. for revenants, it’s not usually this much fun, making it important to savor the exceptions whenever they come around.

  “Then again, Christian, by the time your next set of clowns shows up, we'll be long gone. Sleep tight. I'll come for you soon.” With this, I depressed the hook switch, still holding the phone to my ear.

  “What the fuck did you do that for?” Alicia asked angrily, her hand on my arm.

  “Relax,” I whispered softly, stroking the hand on my arm. “He would’ve sent someone anyway. The moment I killed Marco and Rubberband, this place became unsafe. You can’t stay here; I can’t protect you during the day, and you’ll be safer somewhere else until this is over.” I watched her anger slowly dissipate in the face of my logic, her eyes warming at my touch and apologizing for her outburst.

  “Where?” she asked absently, still assimilating the situation.

  “I’ll have someone make arrangements for a hotel room for now,” I stated, releasing the hook switch and dialing Jeffrey’s direct number. He answered after two rings, not a drop of fatigue in his voice. A hazard of growing up among revenants was that you adopted their sleeping habits.

  “Hello?” Jeffrey asked, his cultivated voice as familiar as my own.

  “Hello, my friend,” I said, not wanting to divulge his name to Alicia.

  “Jason!” he returned quickly, instantly recognizing my voice. “Gisele has been looking for you. Where are you?”

  “Never mind that,” I said, returning to the business at hand. I relayed my needs to Jeffrey, and he put me on hold to make the arrangements.

  “Anything else?” he asked when he returned.

  "Not at the moment, but I'd appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone you’ve spoken with me."

  "Spoken with whom?" Jeffrey replied smoothly. If anyone could understand that request, he was that person.

  "Thanks."

  "No problem," Jeffrey answered, hanging up. I depressed and released the hook switch again, drawing a new dial tone. I dialed a random number, let it ring twice, and then hung up. I assumed that Christian’s goons might be smart enough to try *69, and I had to be careful not to involve Jeffrey any further. If by some chance the toll-free number showed up on phone records, Christian would be dead before the new bill arrived anyway.

  Placing the phone in the cradle, I ripped the entire thing off the wall and flung it against the refrigerator, where it smashed into pieces and littered the immaculate floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia flinch with the sound, and I returned my full attention to her.

  "Alicia," I began softly, my voice empathetic and tender. She looked at me, but I knew that she didn't see me. Her face was dazed, lost in thought, and because my mind was enjoying the replay of my conversation with Christian, it didn’t occur to me to read her thoughts. "Alicia," I pressed slowly, squeezing her hand gently.

  "Wait," she whispered, her eyes still far away. "I'm making a list of things to pack." If my mouth had fallen to the floor, I wouldn't have been surprised. Her ability to take everything in stride was nothing short of amazing.

  "Okay," I answered in a whisper, not trusting my voice. I withdrew my hand and retreated a step, watching her closely. It was almost five minutes later when she looked at me and actually saw me. With a wry smile, she erupted into a flurry of motion. I watched her economical movements without interrupting.

  Twelve minutes later, two packed suitcases stood in the foyer, and Alicia approached. "Ready?" she asked quietly. I nodded, my hand reaching out to trace her face. She closed her eyes, her lips parting slightly, and I stroked her face for a moment, savoring the silky feel of her skin beneath my fingertips. Before I even realized it, my lips were pressed to hers, her mouth opening beneath mine, our tongues touching. Side by side, BloodHunger and desire flared brightly and almost brought me to my knees.

  When I pulled back, her eyes remained closed for a moment. When she opened them, she put her hand on the counter to steady herself. She was breathing faster, her face flushed. I looked at her, positively giddy over her reaction. "Well then," she whispered, "I guess we should be going."

  I was about to nod when, from beyond her door, I heard a small, metallic click. I was unfamiliar with that particular sound at the time, but the events that followed made it unforgettable and instantly recognizable even today: a shotgu
n safety disengaging. In a flood of sensation, I heard differing heartbeats, breathed in three new mortal scents, and cursed myself for being so caught up in Alicia that I failed to register them sooner.

  Pushing her onto the couch, I took off toward the door, hearing her gasp as I all but disappeared. I reached the door just as it blew inward off its hinges with the deafening roar of two shotguns and knocked me back a step. A third roar came moments after the door hit the floor, three pairs of eyes focusing on me from the decimated doorway.

  I had time to grit my teeth before nine lead balls crashed like molten wasps into my arms and chest, catapulting me backwards into the living room, both feet at least a foot off the ground. Have I mentioned that getting shot fucking sucks? Well, it does, which fanned the rage already fueled by my own stupidity.

  Alicia screamed, drawing the attention of the attackers, who no longer saw me as a threat. The lead man - the motherfucker who shot me - was very tall, half an inch closer to seven feet than six, and painfully skinny. He had stringy brown hair that fell to the small of his back, and he wore a faded Metallica T-shirt, ripped black jeans that were only baggy because he was almost anorexic, and a pair of scuffed, well-worn Doc Martens. In his hand was a Benelli M3 Super Combo, pump unlocked and forward. He was obviously the brains, if that word could be applied.

  The other two were your typical thug types, bald heads and black clothing, outrageous tattoos and piercings a lame attempt at originality. They also had Benelli shotguns, though in semiautomatic mode, they were less versatile in tight quarters, where every shot had to count and there was a lot that could get in the way.

  It was a good entry, solid, ruthless and miscalculated only because they didn’t know the adversary they faced. Generic Thug Two button-hooked into the entryway to the kitchen, Generic Thug One and Brains exploding down the hallway and into the living room. I was on my feet as soon as I hit the carpet, ribs and lungs screaming as if I were breathing fire. I felt like screaming so I did.