Eternal Bondage

by Vita Anne Hoffman

  He had flashed his long yellowed fangs, gurgled a laugh, and flew at me. I had known I was a goner, and at the hands of the most pathetic excuse for a vampire ever. But even as he had gripped me by the jacket's sturdy collar, jerking me to him for the fatal bite, my hands had flailed about for a weapon. Luck, or perhaps instinct, had guided me to the only object near at hand. My own ink pen, a high school graduation gift, which I had constantly kept tucked behind my ear, had shaken loose during the attack, clattering to the pavement. I had grabbed it up and had automatically, unerringly jammed it into his eye. The pen, I had realized with a surge of relief, had been silver plated, because it had bubbled and hissed and burned inside the vampire's eye socket. He had shrieked and cursed, finally tearing the pen from out of an empty, burned out hole. Then, weakened and blinded, he had staggered away into the night.

  And just where, exactly, had the aftermath of that attack left me? Without a scholarship! SCWV had, in a low-key, quiet fashion, aided authorities in the investigation, but the unprecedented assault had been sensational news, both local and national. So much so that the private, non-profit Congregation for Morality and Integrity in Education, the sponsoring organization for my college stipend, had re-evaluated the terms of my quarterly awarded fees and expenses. According to the goodly, upright Congregation, I had been deemed an unsuitable recipient for their scholarly largesse which was based on meeting and maintaining a 3.5 or better grade point average, financial need, and, this was the one that had gotten me, a morality clause. An attack by a vampire, a vile ungodly creature, had proved to the august Congregation that I must have had an inherent evil taint, or else why would a thing of darkness be drawn to me? Why, indeed? That remained a question that I rarely dared consider.

  As for losing my financial support, sadly, there had been little legal recourse since the funding had come from a private source not affiliated with the College. The Congregation for Morality and Integrity in Education had taken some flack in the press and on campus for their revocation of my scholarship, but, with my new aversion to vampires, I hadn't wanted to capitalize on that backlash. How could I have, in good conscience, pretended that I didn't on some level agree with, didn't, in fact, share, the Congregation's bigoted attitudes against vampires? Without the scholarship, my college career had ended. I had had too many responsibilities at home at the time to work and go to school and to take care of my failing, frail grandmother. And my attacker, well, he had vanished, while Detective Ian Traeger had remained, a pushy friend, associate, and father-figure.

  And so, De Facto Self Defense, which, to my mind meant you were responsible for your own security, by any means necessary, had been born. And born of necessity.

  And, now, the reanimate responsible for it all had resurfaced, looking as pathetic and two-bit as before.

  "I got a score to settle with you.” His voice rasped, like a lifelong chain smoker. The crater-like surface of his face added to his sinister aura. He didn't much resemble anyone who had ever been human.

  "So do I,” I snarled, remembering all that he had cost me, an education, the collegiate experience, peace of mind.

  He flew at me with the lightning speed of his kind. I barely had time to react. I sprayed mace into his face.

  "Here's some holy water to finish what I started!"

  The stupid jerk believed me. He pulled back, howling, covering his face.

  I ran for the car, which I kept locked. I didn't even get the key in the door before he was on top of me. Mace will only bluff a vampire so far, even a dimwitted one. But even as he tore my hands loose from the car door, something propelled him back from me.

  I whipped myself around. My heart thumped hard when I saw Josh Warner. He, too, had obviously been following me. Thank goodness.

  "Stay away from her, Snitch.” Josh slammed him so hard to the pavement that it cracked in a series of writhing, spoke-like splits.

  Snitch cowered there, slumping his head between his shoulders like a turtle. He still managed to lisp out a threat. “You'll be sorry when Rasputin hears about this."

  Josh kicked him, a humiliating foot right in the face, shoving Snitch further to the ground. “Go on. Get out of here. And don't let me catch you at this again."

  Snitch saw the flash of Josh's hazel eyes. He awkwardly bolted to his feet then skittered away, disappearing cockroach fast into the shadows of a nearby building.

  Josh immediately came to me, looking me up-and-down with his exceptional nocturnal vision. “Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine.” I managed a shaky smile then glanced in the direction of my assailant. “So, Snitch belongs to Rasputin. Why doesn't that surprise me?"

  "Snitch technically belongs to him, but he wasn't made by him. No other enclave would have such a weasel. Rasputin takes over families by killing the sire. Most are not powerful enough to deny his usurpation."

  "And Rasputin wants Constantine's family?"

  "It's extensive.” Josh's stoic face and terse words belied that this was an understatement. “He has strongholds all across Europe, a few in Canada, and even more in the States."

  "I see.” My mouth felt like cotton, making it exceedingly difficult to ask a touchy question. “Why, then, exactly, did Constantine come here? I love West Virginia. It's my home state, but it doesn't logically seem the best location for a progenitor to run an empire."

  "If you really want an answer to that, ask him."

  "I just might."

  Josh laughed. “Let's get you home."

  "Okay.” I tried to ignore how ironic it was for the owner of De Facto Self Defense to put her life and trust in the hands of a vampire. But I did, without so much as batting an eyelash. In fact, I let Josh drive me home. He parked my non-descript little blue car in the back alley, then escorted me between the bakery and De Facto Self Defense to the front entrance of the shop. Once arrived there, I went stark raving mad and invited him to my upstairs apartment. Me, Avna Marie Soulsmith, vampire hater, was asking him to come upstairs and look at my etchings? How surreal was that!

  Josh stood in the doorway of my paranormal business, framed by the large ‘Sorry, We're Closed’ sign, very handsome and chivalrous, as he declined the invitation. “I want to ... very much ... but I'd better not."

  Bummer. “Because Constantine wouldn't like it.” I struggled with the eerie, half-formed sensation that the progenitor had already staked a claim on me.

  "Constantine wouldn't like it,” Josh agreed. “But he wouldn't like this either.” And Josh leaned in to kiss me softly on the mouth, a gentle brushing of lips that seemed to last forever, until the gentleness roughened ever so slightly, urging a deeper, hungrier kiss. The open-mouthed kind.

  Surprise, surprise! It was more than enjoyable. It was incredible. I responded in kind, my hands clasping at his hips. But, then, his hands moved, rather innocuously, one to my waist, one to the side of my neck. It jolted me, revving up my carotid pulse, reminding of the dangers if his mouth should trail there, as well. I intellectually KNEW that a vampire didn't have to kill to feed, in fact, statistically, it was a rarity, and that it took three encounters, plus a final exchange of blood with a vampire, to create another vampire. But even one such kiss was an intimacy that exceeded all others, and the act did leave the mortal more vulnerable to vampiric suggestion. Josh's mouth slanted aggressively against mine. Memories of Neal Argent and Jennifer Caron bombarded me, and I suddenly grew afraid. I pulled away from him, self-preservation in the jerky movement.

  "Good night, Josh.” After that one intoxicating kiss, I was extremely glad he had refused to come up, else I could easily get further carried away and engage in some heavy duty necking. Pun intended.

  "Good night, Avna.” He definitely looked regretful of his own refusal.

  I shut and locked the door. The phone on my second-hand beat-up desk rang. I heard its shrill tones with foreboding, and I forced myself to answer. Good news never comes by phone at two o'clock in the morning. Especially when you have spent most of the ev
ening in the company of an ancient vampire progenitor.

  "Avna, here."

  It was Ginny. “I have bad news.” Had I expected anything less?

  I closed my eyes, mustering my courage. “Hit me with it."

  "Tanya's body has been stolen from the morgue."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Five

  The Consequences of Consorting With Their Kind

  I took another steadying breath, striving for clear-headed calm while an unruly herd of questions jostled for attention within my head. One stampeded to the fore. “If the body was stolen before it was identified, why are you so sure it was Tanya?” I hated to play devil's advocate, but, hey, somebody had to.

  Ginny paused. She didn't seem to want to answer. The gap of hesitation grew strained, obvious. Was the reason for her silence that bad? Ginny had a weak stomach, and so did I, actually having passed out once at a blood drive, and not necessarily from the loss of blood volume. No, I had made the mistake of glancing at the sloshing plastic bag full of warm dark liquid which had just been siphoned out of me. That was all it had taken for me to nearly collapse! If Traeger—or heaven forbid, if Constantine—ever heard about this particular phobia, I'd never be able to live it down. The reason I had donated was something I fought not to dwell on, although it was constantly in my subconscious. I had done so in memory of my own grievous losses, my mother, taken in a fatal hit and run, and my grandmother, eroded by strokes and cancer. Their passing had left me alone in the world.

  Ginny eventually overcame her squeamishness. “Aside from the physical description, right down to the clothes she was last seen in,” Ginny halted, audibly swallowed, then courageously, but hurriedly, forged ahead, “Max recognized her scent in the morgue drawer."

  "Ohhhhh, I see.” I mentally chalked one up for the vaunted senses of vampires, although the idea was dumbfounding.

  "I know exactly how you feel, Avna. But Gerard told me that although vampires have heightened senses to odors, they also have lowered sensibilities."

  I grimaced. “That's a fancy way of saying they don't get offended by bad smells, from live bodies to dead cadavers or anything in between."

  "Exactly.” Hanging unspoken between us was the strong suspicion that, most likely, to a vampire bodily odors could be a strong aphrodisiac, like pheromones in animals.

  "Okay, so, we know for a certainty that it was Tanya.” I verbally worked out this strange puzzle. “She was snatched, tortured, then dumped in the river. She was discovered, taken to the morgue, then snatched again.” My head pounded. Still cradling the phone between my head and shoulder, I rubbed my thumbs against my temples.

  "But why, Avna?"

  "Because Rasputin is taunting Constantine. Tanya was thrown into the Kanawha so that she would be found. By the time Constantine's people became aware of what had happened to her—but before they could recover her—she was swiped from the morgue.” I shivered. “And, if we don't get her back very soon, she'll have to be destroyed, because there's no way you could safely resurrect an insane vampire. She would be a killing machine."

  My tactless assessment earned another awkward silence from the other end of the line. When it occurred to my why, I squeezed my eyes shut tighter and asked the sixty four thousand dollar question. “Is Max standing nearby?"

  "Yes.” Ginny's voice trailed off.

  "Surely he couldn't over hear me?” But hadn't I already experienced, much to my regret, how exceptionally well vampires could hear? Hadn't Constantine caught and been offended by an insult that I had barely breathed out? Too late, I hushed my voice, and vainly prayed that Max hadn't heard my callous statement. He already disliked me, and dislike could become despise real easy. Since Max remained within hearing of Ginny's side of the call, if not necessarily of mine, I did not expect her to make any further reply. So I continued, “I don't want it to come to that, Ginny. I really don't.” Surprisingly, it was true.

  "None of us do. We'll just have to find her."

  Yeah, it was that simple—find her, save her, deal with the bad guys. Real simple, all right.

  Ginny ended the call. “I have to go, Avna. The time ... it's getting close to dawn. And Gerard...."

  "Needs to go beddy-bye. See you tomorrow.” I had a perverse, scary image of her crawling into bed, or the ubiquitous coffin, with him, with Gerard, with the lawyerly vampire. I hung up the phone and listlessly went to the rear of De Facto Self Defense where a circular staircase underneath a perpetually burning weak night light ascended to my second floor apartment. Several feet behind the stairs, in a dark nook beside the fire exit, was the store's rather neglected computer. Above stairs, there were three rather small rooms, kitchenette, bedroom/living room and bath. I tiredly dragged myself up the familiar wrought iron spiral. At the top landing of the stairs, I flipped the light switch of the main living area, my bedroom, painted in a calming rose, dominated by a king size bed.

  "Home sweet home.” I breathed out the truthful words, while acknowledging the sparse furnishings, a twenty inch television on a well worn metal stand, a recliner in one corner, a set of book shelves in another, a cheap particle-board bedside table cluttered with a reading lamp, telephone, alarm clock, and portable CD player. However, not one sentimental item adorned the place, particularly no family pictures. These were hidden away in albums, which were packed in totes, which were stored in the miniscule closet. I never brought them out or revisited the past. Loss was a strange thing. Some of us poor souls never recovered from it.

  The place was economical, no frills—I leased the building fairly cheaply from a slumlord—thus I lived comfortably enough. Except that it was cold in winter and hot in summer. Crossing the length of the living room cum bedroom, removing my ear rings and dropping them into a small jewelry box on the bedside table as I went, I aimed for the shower. I needed, desperately, to wash away all the grime and sweat, the tension and stress, from tonight's strangeness. My pores felt saturated, suffocated by all my recent proximity to vampires, particularly Constantine, who had left me feeling dirty, grimy, smutty, inside and out.

  After a refreshing shower, I took great care in hanging my newly purchased blue-and-silver (and IRS approved!) seductress outfit to the very back of the closet, along with everything else I had ever wanted to forget. I decided against my usual comfortable flannel jammies, because an early May heat wave had already several times earned a concession from my modesty. I had taken to sleeping in an oversize cotton t-shirt and, once or twice, in nothing but my bra and panties.

  I directed my cheap three-year-old box fan at my bed, selected high speed, and flopped onto the cool rose-colored comforter, not bothering to set the alarm clock since tomorrow was Saturday, and De Facto Self Defense was closed on the weekends. Actually, being the owner and only fulltime employee of the business, I kept shop hours that would make a banker envious, Monday through Friday, twelve to five, and, also, by appointment. Ginny constantly urged me to expand business hours, saying it would increase profitability. I always replied that I would keep it under consideration.

  With the fan circulating over me, I stretched out on my back and quieted my tumultuous thoughts. Strangely, I could sense the day dawning, although from across the room no daylight yet crept through the thin white drapes of my large French-style windows. I yawned hugely, drowsy from the moment my head hit the pillow. I didn't have any time to rehash that night's events, for sleep seemed to overtake me with a vengeance, descending over my mind like black velvet. Or like a shroud.

  * * * *

  Being a professed night owl, I never usually had trouble sleeping through the day. Nor did I often dream, or have restless sleep. This time I had both, except that I had no conscious recollection of the dreams. But something definitely nightmarish had woken me, my body thrashing, my heart pounding, and my mouth tasting coppery. Bleary eyed, I headed straight for the bathroom and the mouth wash. Being half awake, I hadn't noticed the time nor that it was dark outside.

  I gargle
d vigorously, trying to be rid of my strange road-kill aftertaste, then spat the stuff into the sink basin, suddenly thinking of Constantine. Yet, it was much, much more than simply thinking of him. I knew, I experienced, I shared, the exact instant that he had risen. I KNEW that he had awoke with total acuity and alertness, no befuddled blinded awakening for him, not for Constantine, The Great, vampire progenitor.

  This vivid meshing of us, of our consciousnesses, overwhelmed me. I staggered against the tiny porcelain sink. “What the hell?” I blinked into the mirror of the medicine cabinet. My hair was still sleep tousled but I was now wide awake, warring with the terror that such an unnatural connection naturally brought with it—principally a jumble of sights and sounds and feelings that weren't mine! I focused all my might on blocking out any further ‘awareness’ of Constantine. Heaven only knew what, or rather who, he might dine on to break his fast. And, through this disorienting assault of another being's heightened perceptions, I sensed that he was ravenous.

  Ick! That was too revolting to even think about. “That's all I need, my own psychic hotline to a master vampire.” I anchored myself to the cool porcelain sink bowl.

  I breathed slowly, steadily, deeply, in and out, once, twice, thrice. Each successive meditative exhalation peeled away another layer of Constantine from me. And upon the third and last deep breath I was positive that I had indeed disconnected from him. I idiotically grinned my satisfaction into the mirror. I was woozy, but free! And, since my efforts had been successful, I was spared, mostly, Constantine's reaction. He was furious, bellowing with rage, ripping a door from its hinges, cursing me in strange tongues, in languages unknown to mankind. I grimaced away the last residue of his long distance tantrum, glad that the psychic reverberations had ceased.