Eternal Bondage

by Vita Anne Hoffman

  On the positive side, if I could spot a vampire coming from a mile away, I should certainly be able to avoid him or her. Right?

  Ginny stood just to one side and behind Gerard, a very subservient pose, or so it seemed to emancipated me. Her shoulder-length coppery-red silky-smooth hair swung free at her shoulders. Very demure, and very unlike Ginny. Even more disturbing was her lovely over-large turquoise choker. I knew what she was trying to cover. Not just an ordinary hickey. But bite marks. I wanted to slam Gerard's head into the pavement. Damn blood sucker.

  Our eyes met in silent communication, and he did not flinch. I gave him points for that, because my furious gaze scalded worse than battery acid.

  Zellden, the obtuse moron, was still on a rant to implicate me. He all but got in my face and launched his accusations. “You, in point of fact, more than saw the murder. Didn't you, Soulsmith? And you're not simply an accessory. You not only saw it, you also likely participated. You are covered in Donovan's blood."

  I sighed, almost too exhausted to answer. I tried to be reasonable, rational, even though it was pointless. “Penton has my statement. I was in mortal peril so I used Donovan's radio. That's why I have his blood on my clothes. A progenitor killed him, Zellden. A master vampire called Rasputin did this in a matter of seconds. He's also responsible for the Jane Doe found in the river. We need to find him and eliminate him."

  Zellden scowled at me. His complexion in the muddy reddish flares went splotchy, a mottling of anger and spleen. He truly wanted to arrest me!

  Gerard, in a low-voiced and calm-toned manner, spoke to Officer Penton, not obviously using a vampire whammy on her, but using one nonetheless, as he had done earlier to cross into the police crime scene. “Officer, if you have your statement, then Miss Soulsmith is free to go. There is no further reason to detain her.” Gerard might not have his hunger one hundred percent under control, but his hypnotic suggestions were very, very good, and very, very subtle.

  Maxi Penton showed none of the usual tell-tale signs, no glassy eyed stare, no confused expression, nor, more importantly, loss of train of thought. Most weak minds under such control could not offer a coherent, independent thought. She glanced at her notepad, verifying its contents, then flapped it shut. “We have all the pertinent information. Most likely, we will need you down at the station tomorrow at your earliest convenience. Traeger will want an interview.” Her partner, even without Gerard's psychic assistance, agreed.

  Zellden seethed. His single eyebrow dropped so low it nearly blinded him. He began to berate the two officers. “Don't you think it more than coincidental that Ms. Soulsmith is found at the scene of a homicide where not more than twenty four hours earlier another vampire victim was recovered?"

  Zellden's words made apparent that the police still did not know Tanya's identify, or her status. She was a newly made, unregistered vampire, i.e. Max had committed a misdemeanor in her creation. A small part of me wanted to speak up, set the record straight. So how come I kept my mouth shut and let the opportunity pass? Beats me, but I did, or, rather, didn't.

  "Sir,” Cameron Styles answered patiently, speaking the obvious, “Miss Soulsmith was here because Traeger asked for her help with the first murder. She was just checking out the crime scene."

  Zellden, his facial splotches growing more prominent, about ready to foam at the mouth, was losing his chance to bust me. He jutted his square chin out, nearly snarling when he spoke. “The force cannot afford her kind of help.” He paused and looked to where Donovan's contorted body rested within an enormous black pool of blood. His voice sounded harsher than gravel. “Get out of here."

  I walked away, keeping a distance from both Gerard and Ginny. Zellden, of course, aimed and took a final shot at me. “Watch yourself, Soulsmith. ‘Cause you obviously have more trouble than you—or your so called De Facto Self Defense—can handle."

  Bulls eye. My shoulders slumped. Zellden's taunt echoed my own self doubts. For the past decade, I had been arming the public with garlic and crosses, holy water and silver and above all else advice. So how come armed with this same stuff, when my turn had come, I had felt more vulnerable than in my whole entire life? Even when being attacked lo those many years ago by Snitch?

  There was a simple, straightforward, one word answer—Rasputin. He was on a rampage. And he, for some unfathomable reason, wanted me.

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  Chapter Six

  Going Up!

  I walked somewhat apart from Ginny and Gerard, although I was very much in need of emotional and physical support. My insides were weak and shaky, but I managed to keep my feet, and my distance. Ginny was now most definitely in the enemy camp. As a loose trio, we threaded a roundabout course through the staggered line of police vehicles, skirted past the ambulance, and bypassed a growing mass of gawkers to finally reach Gerard's gold Cadillac, parked on the fringe of the activity.

  He opened the passenger side door, indicating I enter with a curt wave of his hand. I stood stock still, facing the pair, with no intention of getting into that car.

  To give myself some moral support, I clasped my arms to my middle, then spoke. “Don't take this the wrong way, I mean I appreciate your timely arrival, but exactly how did you know about Donovan's death? How did you manage to arrive just seconds behind the cops?"

  Ginny barely hid her exasperation. “It's not that sinister, Avna. We have people monitoring police radio frequencies, neither uncommon nor illegal."

  "Isn't it more accurate to say Constantine has people listening?” I left my real worry unspoken. What if their arrival was not due to something as mundane as a radio transmission, but more of Constantine's attempts to ‘link’ with me psychically? I didn't think so, because I sensed nothing of him, not one iota of his chauvinistic aura within me or around me. Truthfully, when I had stood on the Boulevard beside poor Donovan's beheaded body, menaced by a supernatural killer mere yards away, I would have welcomed a connection to such power. But not right now, not when that horrific crisis was over. And not ever, if I could help it.

  "Gerard was bringing me over to your place when we got word. It took less than five minutes to detour here."

  "Sorry.” I made a faint, embarrassed apology, but I was still suspicious. No matter how you cut it, Gerard was Constantine's A #1 gopher. Exhaustion, however, won out over suspicion. “If the offer's still open, I'll accept a lift home."

  At my words, Gerard's well-favored, patrician face hardened. He gave a tight, negative shake of his head, an imperious, uber vampire gesture, countermanding me. Gerard Lamphere, right-hand-man of a powerful progenitor, very obviously had orders that didn't include conducting me home.

  "I am to take you to the hotel. Constantine wants...."

  My words cut him off machine gun fast. “I don't care what Constantine wants. I have no intention of going near that bloodsucking son-of-bitch—and his Rendezvous Room—ever again.” Semantically speaking this was a truthful statement. I had determined not to go near Constantine again, but I had also resolved to go back to the Constantinople, specifically the business office of the Bete Noir Escort Service where Tanya had last been seen. However, I meant to go during the sunny safety of daylight. Call me crazy, but that just seemed like a good precaution.

  "He wants you nearby so he can protect you from Rasputin."

  I snorted. “Tell him, thanks but no thanks. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.” False bravado. I was terrified of both Constantine and Rasputin.

  My answer did not go over well with Gerard, not well at all. His calm, preppy façade deconstructed. He drew himself upward, seeming to expand, growing in that awful dimension-distorting way of strong vampires. Given time, Gerard would most likely be able to rival even Constantine. His greatest present flaw was simple inexperience. As his compulsion strengthened, his brown eyes began to glow, almost rimmed with red.

  "YOU WILL COME.” Gerard meant to lay hands on me.

  "Ginny,” I warned her to intervene, “cal
l him off!” A tremor of resistance coursed through my entire being, resisting his autocratic, vampiric demand. When I was able to reach down into my pocket, prepared to throw a vial of holy water into his face, if need be, I realized that I hadn't been swallowed whole into Gerard's mesmerism! Hooray for me!

  Ginny tried to defuse the volatile situation by throwing her petite frame between us, seeming more-so-than ever a porcelain doll in the dull reddish flares that accentuated her flawless, bloodless, coppery-headed complexion. She slanted her stance more towards Gerard, and she braced a hand against his chest. “Gerard, don't."

  He halted. His sharp, triangular chin tucked down in suppressed anger.

  I mocked. “Yeah, Gerard, don't.” A jealous, fearful urge made me want to provoke him. He was taking Ginny, my one and only true blue friend, away into a world of perpetual night, a world of the dead sustained by the lifeblood of the living, a world so abhorrent to me that I could never forgive her for joining it. Or, I fleetingly wondered, could I?

  I watched how easily Ginny restrained Gerard. She simply fanned her fingers against his breastbone. Her least touch had doused some of his monstrous ire. Those selfish, childish emotions continued to assail me, the sting of rejection, the fear of loss, the pain of abandonment. A vampire had come along to supplant me in her life. That fact, much more so than his status as an immortal, fueled my dislike of Gerard Lamphere.

  Ginny, seeing his rising anger, hoping to end our dangerous stalemate, reasoned with him. “Remember, you have to answer to Constantine. Avna doesn't."

  He nodded very slowly, and he clasped a hand around hers upon his chest. His tension evaporated and Gerard was no longer uber vampire. He had returned to an attractive, upper class, conservative man. Ha! I knew better. His change was superficial. The residual hyped up buzz in my molars told me so. But he was on his best behavior for Ginny's sake.

  I tried not to be so belligerent for her sake, too. I really tried. “On second thought, I'll walk.” I felt like an old dishrag, wrung out and falling apart. But nothing on earth would get me into that car. I backed away.

  "Let me come with you,” Ginny pleaded. She stepped away from Gerard, yet that sense of their bond, their connection, remained. If she were that close to him, how much room could be left for me? Tears gathered in my eyes.

  I nearly refused. I couldn't trust myself to speak so I shook my head up-and-down in the affirmative.

  She smiled with relief. Ginny knew me all right, knew that I had gone against character to accept her offer. We were still friends. But only, I silently, vindictively added, until she crossed over.

  She gave Gerard a quick peck on the cheek. “Don't worry about us. We'll be fine. Pick me up at Avna's place in a couple of hours."

  I bit back my own farewell remarks, something to the effect that he could run straight back to Constantine with his tail between his legs and repeat this message to his master: Avna Soulsmith was strictly off limits. So, stay away. Please...?

  Ginny moved next to me and wordlessly offered a shoulder to lean on. I took it.

  So, arm-in-arm, we escaped from the brutal murder scene and walked the empty streets of downtown Charleston. I tried not to weigh too heavily on her, nor dwell on the prospect of losing her friendship. But I failed at both. Not a single word passed between us until we reached my apartment, when Ginny pointedly asked me if she could come inside.

  "Of course.” I scowled. She stood in front of the unopened doorway of De Facto Self Defense, outlined by the ‘Sorry, We're Closed’ sign which seemed to get much more use than its cheerful reverse side of ‘Come In, We're Open'.

  "Just checking. You might not want my kind in your home."

  My heart nearly stopped. I tried to remember the last time I had seen Ginny in the daylight. It had been over a week ago. Surely she hadn't given herself ENTIRELY to Gerard? “Your kind?” I echoed stupidly.

  She fingered her turquoise necklace. “The kind that canoodles with vampires."

  "No, I don't approve of such intimacies.” Talk about an understatement! “You know my prejudices on the subject, irrational or not. They've never bothered you before. So, what else is there to say?” I could beg her to take it back, but how can a person unsay she's sleeping with a vampire? It's not like I didn't subconsciously know. I just did not consciously want to know. Kinda like a don't ask, don't tell policy.

  "For starters, Avna, say you understand. That you won't let go of our friendship. That you'll at least try to tolerate Gerard."

  "Fine. Screw him all you want. Just don't literally sleep with him. Don't become like him.” My tone was harsh, but there were unshed tears in my eyes.

  "I ... can't make any promises.” Again, her hand wandered to the choker at her lovely swan-like neck. It was a band-aid. Camouflage. But just how many bite marks was it covering up? I tried to console myself with the thought that he could nibble on her indefinitely, so long as he did not take enough blood to harm her health and so long as she did not reciprocate. Reputedly, if she did not taste of him, she was safe, at least as safe as a mortal sleeping with a vampire could be.

  "Let's go inside and have pizza?” I suggested as a peace offering. Now that was real sustenance.

  * * * *

  The next morning, being Monday, began another work week. Ginny had stayed for a few hours, and then gone home—with Gerard. That gave me a few hours of sleep before the shop needed to open. But, once again, I was sleeping the sleep of the dead, dreaming of some fantastic romantic interlude. Not even the shrill, continuous alarm could wake me. As a matter of fact, Ginny, returning to De Facto Self Defense in her professional capacity of business manager, had literally had to shake me awake.

  "Are you okay?” She stared at me closely. I was a notoriously light sleeper. Until recently.

  My groggy answer came out a croak. “I'm awake.” But I wasn't. Ginny had to lever me upright.

  I took a deep breath, rolled onto my feet, and blindly aimed for the bathroom. I couldn't seem to pry my eyes open. The mild light of day seemed to assault my eyeballs if I did. “I'm going to shower. Can you cover the shop today? I've got to meet with Traeger ... and run some errands."

  "Sure thing.” Her voice held no misgivings, no hesitation.

  "Thanks.” And, with my eyes more or less open, I showered, dressed, grabbed a pop tart, and headed for police headquarters, leaving De Facto Self Defense in Ginny's care.

  I drove to city hall, parking my little car by a cranky meter that didn't want to accept my quarter. I visualized it as Constantine and smashed the change into the slot. The violent action was very cathartic, but, unfortunately, still did not rid me of the impression that Constantine might have been in my dreams.

  I then trudged through the growing midday heat toward the squat limestone building. The air was furnace-like, the sun brilliant in a cloudless blue sky. I felt abnormally sensitive to the sunshine. My exposed skin prickled. My eyes smarted. In fact, I had fished an old pair of sunglasses from out of the glove compartment, an untrendy pair, square shaped and dull brown, which I reserved for the swimming pool, beach, or long road trips. None of which were on today's agenda. They topped off my ensemble to perfection. I wore a skin-tight pair of jeans, the kind that molded every curve, matched with a frilly white blouse. Simple, sleek, and a touch slutty, seeing as I intended later on that day to apply for a position with Charleston's premier Bete Noir Escort Service.

  As for jewelry, I wore a cheap pair of star fish earrings. By contrast, I also wore a very expensive cross, hung from a fine silver chain, and tucked inconspicuously into my ruffle-fronted blouse. The cross was one-of-a-kind, designed by me, hand crafted for sale at De Facto Self Defense. However, with a prohibitive selling price of twenty five hundred dollars I had never filled an order for any except the original, which I normally kept in a small box swathed in cotton. My design for the cross was very modern, almost a work of art, yet also utilitarian. It resembled nothing so much as two slender, three inch nails welded together at their T
-like intersection. However, it was deceptively heavy with lead at its core, overlaid with silver. Besides offering vampiric protection as a religious icon, it could also be grasped weapon-like to use as a skewer. Neat, huh? The tips were lethally pointy and sharp. But, because of the price tag, there had never been any takers. In view of all my recent unwanted vampire encounters, I had decided to get it out of mothballs and put it to the test.

  I was, after all, going to snoop around at the Constantinople after I met with Detective Traeger. However, since it was broad daylight, I would be perfectly safe there, with or without the cross.

  Once inside the familiar city hall building, I wound through several sterile corridors, exchanged a few on-the-go ‘hellos’ to various city personnel, and arrived at Traeger's office. The opaque leaded glass door was closed, but I could still hear voices from within. Zellden's strident tones badgered Traeger. With a grimace, I knocked and was ordered inside.

  "Been expecting you all morning, Soulsmith.” The heavy worry lines on Traeger's forehead visibly relaxed when I entered. “Last night was a brutal business. I'm glad you're all right.” Pater Traeger, my mentor and conscience, spoke from behind his mess of a desk. Zellden stood in a corner. I staked out neutral territory in the middle of the room close to the door for a hasty exit.