by Al K. Line
She stood there swaying, shaking her head occasionally, no doubt to clear the fog of booze, maybe the magic that surrounded me like thick glass. She kept on staring.
"Can I help you?" I asked casually, not wanting to freak her out or anything.
The woman fumbled with her blouse, undoing several buttons on the lightly stained white cotton, and she smiled a drunken, lascivious smile then licked her smeared lipstick. She carefully maneuvered up the curb then tried to walk with a sexy sashay, each leg crossing the other, but she was either new to heels or so far gone her limbs were already half asleep for the night.
"Hi," she said, standing just a couple of feet in front of me.
"Hi," I answered, at a bit of a loss.
"What ya doin'?"
"Waiting for a friend."
"Ooh. Boyfriend? Or maybe a girlfriend?" She fiddled with her buttons again, face flushed, chest heaving.
What was this all about? Why was she acting like this? How could she even keep me focused when she sure as hell couldn't even see the road? Maybe her inebriation made my veil less effective. Maybe my vampire nature was drawing her to me because of her vulnerable state.
"No, no girlfriend. I'm married. To a man."
"Oh, shame," she said, disappointed.
My arm rose, reaching out for her, and I had to force it down with a true act of will. How easy it would be to pull her close, to glamor her, just a touch, shift her auburn hair aside to sink my teeth into her neck and feel the hot juice spurt to the back of my mouth and swallow until I'd had my fill and she fell at my feet.
"You're weird," she said, what must have been minutes later as I came back to my senses and pushed dreams of feeding down and away.
"You got that right," I mumbled.
She tottered off down the road singing to herself and continually falling into the parked cars, scratching paint and breaking off wing mirrors.
Groans grew louder from the cemetery as the ghouls feasted. I grew hungry, and cold, and I wondered where the woman lived. And if she lived alone.
An Appearance
The groans and moans got louder, until it was as though the whole cemetery had been raised from the dead and were none too pleased with their eternal peace being disturbed. Maybe the ghosts were giving the ghouls grief for eating their fleshly remains, or maybe more ghouls had arrived.
With a sigh, and knowing only bad enforcers didn't go check out the freaky stuff, I turned away from the wobbling behind of the woman and wandered back into the grounds.
It soon became apparent that the ghouls weren't merely feasting, they were waiting, calling out for the Chemist. They mumbled his name, they looked to the sky, they clawed at the earth with shredded nails, or got in a few quiet bites and slurps before their new master arrived.
And then there he was, emerging from the darkness, walking through the icy grass where fog swirled around his feet and his fingers twitched like he was counting them. Seeing him from a distance like this made him extremely imposing. It was him, I was sure, but he looked so different in every regard that it was hard to imagine this was the person I'd invited into my home.
The ghouls dropped their meat. My sensitive hearing picked up every thud and squelch as human remains were discarded and all focus turned to this new Elder.
In the intervening hours, time had not been kind to the Chemist, or maybe it was his intent to look this way. After all, he'd passed through a metamorphosis that saw him become a truly beautiful man. He'd turned his back on that to become an Elder, or at least look like one, but now his transformation was complete. I'd have asked for my money back.
He had the strange, wrinkled reptilian skin of an Elder, a sign of impossible age that went beyond comprehension, and it was as though his whole body had reached maturity. The hair was longer, the arms thicker, sinewy muscle bunched and knotted with veins where it could be seen, or merely hinted at beneath the washed-out black cloth he wore like a mummy. He was wrapped in rags, a suitably long, billowy cloak hung like a pair of bat wings.
His fingers were more disfigured, the knuckles large bony protrusions, but the claws were what caught my eye. They'd hardened, lengthened, and grown much sharper, the keratin curling into vicious scythes that would slice you deep and long.
And his face, oh his poor ruined face. Back at the house it had been heartbreaking to see him change into an Elder, but in the meantime the process had continued. Although not like he used to be, it was not a pretty sight to behold. His nose was gone now, two slits like that of a skeleton, the rest of his face so gaunt it was like the malformed skull was covered in scaly hide stretched taut, pulling his obsidian eyes into angled wounds.
The mouth was a gash, little room for humor there, and long ears with protruding hairs stuck out almost comically. In fact, he looked just like the vampire from the Nosferatu silent movie. And when he opened his mouth to smile, or attempt it, the similarity struck deep. His teeth were long and filed into sharp points that could rip through not only necrotic flesh but fresh flesh and bone with ease. Maybe Elders had different tastes to their ghoulish offspring?
"Hello, Kate." The Chemist grinned, his mouth impossibly wide, then ignored me. He spread his arms out to welcome his kind. "My children, soon we shall be many. Yes, much more, and what a glorious future awaits us."
"Chemist, what is this? Why are they here? What did you do to yourself?"
"I'm sorry, I know you're angry with me." He bowed his head a little but when he raised it there was a glint in the dark eyes. "But it's gonna be great, trust me."
"What is? You can't do this, you know you can't. They can't be here, not like this. It's not right. Look what they've done." I waved a hand at the mess in the graveyard and the Chemist frowned.
"Hmm, got carried away, didn't they?" He paused to soothe the crowd of ghouls who kept their distance but craved his attention. Some crawled forward like cowed dogs after a beating, wanting nothing but his attention even if it was of the cruel kind. He patted them fondly on the head and they moved away, returned to feeding.
"Carried away! This is people's loved ones we're talking about. They come here to pay their respects. How do you think they'll feel when they see this? It's unacceptable."
The Chemist's upper lip twitched and shifted forward on legs that snapped into place as he walked, like the knees worked differently and he could bend his lower legs forward as well as backward. "Kate, I've always liked you, and I appreciate how you let me stay, but please don't insult my kind. They don't understand, you must know that. They are driven by the hunger and are little but mindless creatures. Soon that will change, there will be a new race of ghouls, and we will no longer be subjugated and looked down on because of our appearance. I'll show them, I'll show everyone."
"Show who? What new race?" This was getting worrying in the extreme. Had he completely lost his mind? Duh, of course he had. He'd spent a month making a potion to turn himself into this so he could do whatever he'd been planning for years.
"Can we talk, try to sort this out?" I asked.
"Sorry, but I'm a busy Elder, much to do. For now, I'll keep my kind away from you, so I don't cause you any more trouble. But don't interfere," he warned.
"Or what? You know this is my job."
"Or they'll stop you. I will see this through. Stay away," he warned again then turned with a flourish that made me envious. His ghouls trailed after him, leaving a slick trail of putrid human flesh behind.
"Bugger," I muttered.
Not Helping
The sound of asphalt groaning told me I was no longer alone. I turned, then did some groaning of my own, as Dancer's "help" arrived.
Like this was the way to handle it.
Two trolls and one very old, very short wizard with a name impossible to pronounce—for tax reasons apparently—marched along the main path then diverted to join me. The wizard lifted up his long robe—he was proper old skool—and poked about with his staff, scowling and muttering the whole time. The rock goons strode
forward, ignoring the lumps of flesh, squashing heads and making them pop liquid brain over the thankfully dark grass.
What the hell was Dancer thinking? This was no way to calm a situation down. But I was the noob, he was the Head, and if he thought this was how to deal with things then who was I to argue? The Chemist was my friend, kind of, and I felt responsible so maybe that was clouding my judgment.
At times like this, I remembered who Dancer really was. His past was not what he told people, most believing him to be the age he appeared, that he was an oddball necromancer who'd fallen into the role of Head and that was the end of the story. It was far from that, and his past had put all of us in danger, the skeletons coming out of the closet in a spectacular fashion.
But that story has been told, and wasn't what was important. What I was reminded of was that whatever your history, whoever you were, you didn't become, and remain, Head without being a cold, calculating son-of-a-bitch when you had to be. After what I'd told Dancer, and the terrible things going on at the cemetery, he would have chosen the most obvious path to deal with the problem. Send in the goons and obliterate the troublemakers.
"You're too late, they've gone," I said with a sigh, part of me unhappy, the other part relieved as I didn't want to see him end up as goop. Could we still catch them? No, their scent was gone, he'd taken them back to the other side. I'd seen it before, how the ghouls left, and it isn't pretty. They sort of sink into the ground like they're stuck in quicksand, lower and lower until only their heads remain, and then they're gone, back to an unknowable world of magic that by all accounts is a far from pleasant place to be regardless of whether you're a ghoul or not.
"Tree want to stomp. Head say stomp ghouls. Fill in holes."
"Me want stomp squishy things too," said Big Boulder, not to be confused with Boulder, Very Big Boulder, or Massive Boulder, as he takes offense.
"What about you?" I asked Mitingulsndfh. "You want to do some stomping too?"
"No. But I was gonna blast 'em good." The four foot wizard's eyes sparkled as he swished his staff around to make his point.
"Whatever." I turned from them and let my senses roam. Nothing remained of the Chemist and his posse but the stink of their unlawful excavations. "Right, I'm off, see if I can find the Chemist. Tell Dancer I'll handle it, and he won't need to order any more stomping."
"I like stomping," said Big Boulder, pounding the ground with a foot like an anvil.
Tree slapped his hands together, each finger as fat as my forearm, and said, "Me too. And crushing. I like sound when heads pop."
"You guys." I shook my head, not really cross. These were real goons, born to bash and squish back before humans knew how to make fires or what a wheel was, so you couldn't blame them for their nature. It was why trolls like these, one's who'd been sleeping under mountains when the quartz brains were activated and didn't get a full quota of sense, helped the Council and country run as it did.
"Hey, aren't you going to help?" asked the wax-faced wizard as he poked around in a ribcage that collapsed and splashed something gross onto his brown robes.
"Nope, sorry, things to do, ghouls to track down." I made a hasty retreat as the trolls began lobbing bits of body back into the open graves and shoveling in the soil. It wouldn't take them long, and with some finishing touches from the wizard nobody would be any the wiser come morning.
I had nowhere to go but anywhere was better than here, and my own stink was grossing me out, so I decided I'd go clean up somewhere and hope inspiration hit.
Odd Behaviour
Have you ever had the urge to do something you know you shouldn't? Not something horrible, just something naughty. Something that would make you feel embarrassed if others were watching? Do something crazy or mischievous for the sheer hell of it?
Me too.
So I did.
As I stood beside the fountain at the regenerated docks, I focused on my magic, let it spread through the ink and fatten the mesmerizing patterns. Instantly I felt its power, the way it helped magic flow and be used with more focus.
I willed myself to become part of the background thrum of the universe, to fade from the sight of mortal eyes entirely. As I did, I tingled all over like I was vibrating. These kind of things were new to me and I was still learning, but the veil worked well, if not perfectly.
Then I stripped off all my clothes right in the plaza as the fountain splashed and the water lulled me. Nobody could witness my behavior, but I could see if anyone came, and it was a strange, exhilarating experience. I turned to the large plume spouting from the top and focused, pointed at it as if in accusation. The flow increased, spluttered, spat out fat jets, then steadied as my will intensified.
I smiled, then stepped over the low ledge into the icy water. It steamed as my warm flesh hit, turning me blue. I brought the other foot in then walked in a circle splashing at the water, feeling the coins people had thrown in under my toes. Had any of their dreams come true? What had they wished for?
The fountain soaked me, my hair clung to my shoulders, sticking to the top of my breasts as pale moonlight and the orange glow of the lights highlighted the contours of my body. I was slimmer than I'd ever been, my waist tighter, my legs more shapely, my arms toned. Was it the ink keeping me like this, the vampire within that emerged a little more each day, or all the damn chasing about I'd been doing since I agreed to work for Dancer? Honestly, I didn't care. I'd take it whatever the reason.
I shivered, let the cold consume me, and washed. I was exposed yet insulated from prying eyes, but it still gave me a thrill. I'm not sure what that means, but not everything has an easy answer. And besides, it felt sexy.
I squatted down to splash water at my belly, then reached over, grabbed my dusty clothes, and dragged them in. Then I let my fingertips trace patterns through the water and as I did so I shunted forces simmering beneath the surface of my skin into the water. It grew warm, then hot, then scalding.
My skin turned red and blistered and I scrubbed at my clothes until the stink was gone. Each time the water replenished, I increased the temperature until I was almost a lobster. Finally I was done. I eased off with my magic and the water slowly turned icy once more. My blistered skin faded to milky white, the damage healing in minutes. Shivering, I stepped out and stood there, naked, water cascading down my body as the moon watched.
What a peculiar thing to do, I thought, to display myself like this, put myself through such punishment, freezing then boiling. Maybe it was a form of self-harm, because I felt bad about the Chemist, or maybe I was pushing myself, testing or training my body so it could cope with increasingly extreme environments, just in case. But I'd been through worse, much worse, so who knew.
I dressed, raised my body temperature so the clothes dried in minutes, but I couldn't shake the wildness that had made me act this way.
The veil dropped, I pulled back my hair, and was surprised to see the sun rise over the bay. Morning already? How long had I been standing there?
I had a sudden urge to pay someone a visit, so that's what I did next.
Feeling Bad
I hadn't seen Delilah in a long time, and I felt bad about it. She's a complex character, not even truly a woman in the Regular, or even Hidden sense, what with her being a dragon when she feels like it, but nobody's perfect.
She, rather foolishly some might say, set up shop right next door to Madge's, so that right there tells you she's either brave or stupid, and trust me she's no dunce. But going to her deli, as Madge calls it, although it's just a cafe that serves things other than heart attacks on chipped plates, is fraught with danger. Meaning, if Madge catches you going there you're banned for life, so, as you can guess, poor Delilah hardly did a roaring trade.
Or so I thought.
Feeling like a traitor, I parked half a mile away and did the vampire dash to the end of the row then hid so nobody would see me. Madge has a real temper and the last thing I wanted was for her to discover my treachery. I like her eggs too
much.
I checked the coast was clear, and as the door closed on Madge's and the scent of bacon and tea blew past on a gentle breeze, I hunched over and crept toward Delilah's. My heart hammered in my chest and my ears roared, but I was resolute. I would visit Delilah, and nobody could tell me otherwise, but I still wouldn't tell Madge. Yes, I'm a coward, but you haven't seen her the way I have. It's scary. A panini-selling dragon has nothing on the gray-haired purveyor of all things fried.
With no time to glance at the sparkling windows, the crisp lettering above the door, or the price list and opening and closing times stenciled neatly on the smart glass door—as opposed to Madge's where the windows dripped condensation and grease, there were no prices, menu, or opening times—I dashed inside and closed the door to the sound of a delightful bell tinkling above me.
Wondrous aromas hit. The scent of freshly baked bread, deep, rich coffee, butter and chocolate and everything a girl's hips despise. They all teased me and drew me forward like I didn't even have a choice—there's no magic stronger than cake.
I smiled and breathed in deep, and it felt strange to suck down delightful, light and fluffy air rather than air laden with fat molecules and bits of burned toast. The thought of a fry-up set my stomach to rumbling. Would Delilah's offerings suffice? It all seemed so… so petite. I was accustomed to greasy food when I ate out, stuff with character, often close to sentient if you used any of Madge's sauce, but this place had none of that.
The menu on the large board behind the gleaming counter laden with all manner of healthy and not so healthy options was written in crisp, clear lettering with prices that made the eyes water and my stomach rumble again, so it couldn't be all bad.
I edged across the sparkling black-and-white lino then suddenly became aware I wasn't alone. I'd expected a couple of tourists at most, none of the locals daring to risk Madge's wrath, but I was wrong. I checked out the room and saw many a familiar face, every one of whom refused to catch my eye and sat hunkered over their croissants and coffee with frothy stuff on top, trying to hide themselves and their purchases as though that would make everything all right.
