Once Bitten - Clare Willis

by Unknown

  I sat on a stool next to Steve and placed the bag on the floor under my feet.

  “A martini and a wine, Sam.” Steve waved at the bartender and he nodded curtly. Sam never greeted anyone by name, no matter how long they’d been coming in. We waited in silence until our drinks came, listening to the liquid breathing of the old alkie next to us. It sounded like he was slurping out of a straw.

  “So, what’s next?” Steve asked, after we’d each taken a big slug of booze. Oddly enough, alcohol was the only thing that still tasted good to me.

  “Can you do a Southern accent?” I asked.

  “Frankly, Scahlett, ah don’t give ah dahm!” Steve replied.

  “Hopefully the people in Thailand don’t know too many Southerners,” I said. “What’s the time difference over there?”

  “Eleven hours ahead. But what do you have in mind?”

  “So business hours in Thailand begin at,” I looked at my watch, “eleven P.M. My pen pal thinks there’s a connection between the Jad Paan Travel Agency and that shipment of girls. And Tangento generally, or maybe Barry Warner specifically. The way to find out is to call them, pretending to be Barry Warner. Try to arrange another shipment.”

  Chapter 21

  Steve threw up his hands. “Wait, wait, wait. When did we become the FBI?”

  “We’ve been looking into things, right? So now we’re just looking into them a little deeper.”

  “I don’t want any trouble, Angie.” Steve took another big swallow of martini.

  Steve had no idea what trouble was. Trouble was Eric and the knife in the wooden box. “They’re the ones committing the crimes. What’s the worst that can happen to us?”

  Steve pursed his lips as he considered my question. “We could definitely get fired.”

  “You’re right. That’s something I’m willing to risk.” I put my hand on his arm. “Steve, these are little girls. You have two sisters, think about it. Isn’t this more important than what we’ve been doing at HFB?”

  Steve gave a dramatic sigh and polished off his drink. “And what are you going to do while I’m running up huge long distance phone bills?”

  I pushed the balls of my feet down, feeling the wooden box beneath my shoe soles. “I just have a few loose ends to tie up.”

  The House of Usher looked just as it had last Wednesday night, before my life had been turned upside down and vigorously shaken until all my preconceptions fell out. I checked the back door and found it locked, so I went around the front. The same beefy guy in a bowler hat was checking IDs, the same line of nocturnal denizens was waiting to get inside and have their eardrums shattered. I was nervous, wondering whether the bouncer would search me. If he did, he would certainly find the knife. I had taken it out of its wooden box and wrapped it in paper towels in my purse. I held the bag carefully against my side, not wanting to bump into anyone. The crowd around me chatted about decidedly ungothic topics, like sky-high rents and where to get the best bagels in the city.

  When I arrived at the head of the line I froze. I had forgotten about the guest list.

  “Name?”

  “Angie McCaffrey.”

  “Not on the list.” Biggie was already looking at the next person in line.

  “You mean Suleiman and Moravia forgot to put me on the list?” I feigned indignation. “Look, I’m a good friend of theirs, and of Eric Taylor. I’m supposed to meet them here tonight. Are they here yet? I’m late.” At least it was worth a try.

  He squinted at me. “Yeah, they’re here. But they didn’t mention you. Hold on a minute.” He reached behind him and pulled out a phone receiver. He shouted a few words into it and hung up.

  “Stand over there, I’ll let you know if they okay it.” He went back to checking IDs and I stood behind him in the foyer. After a minute or two the phone rang. Biggie barked a few more words, then jerked his thumb to indicate I was to go. So much for the element of surprise, but at least I was in.

  Suleiman and Moravia were sitting at their usual table in the bar area. Someone else was with them, a woman, but she was sitting with her back to me. Moravia saw me and waved.

  When I got to the table I almost fell over. It was Lilith, looking none the worse for wear since her evening of playing sacrificial lamb. She was smoking a cigarette like it was oxygen and she was deep sea diving.

  “Lilith, you’re all right!”

  Moravia and Suleiman exchanged a look. Moravia pointed to the seat next to hers. When I sat down she gave me a sly, conspiratorial smile.

  “So, been sneaking around, have you, Angie?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, but the guilt crept into my voice.

  “The police came and talked to us after you gave them the tape, of course. They said you were all freaked out by your little experience. Luckily, they know nobody gets hurt, right, Lilith?”

  Lilith shrugged and sucked nicotine.

  “So who told you to do it?” Moravia continued. “Someone must have given you the password.”

  “Les Banks. He’s wanted by the police for Lucy’s murder, but he told me it wasn’t him, that it was a vampire. He wanted me to go and videotape the ritual. He said there would be enough evidence to exonerate him.”

  I waited for a moment, then added, “He also said that Lucy had a new boyfriend. Was she going out with anyone in your group?”

  “Not that I know of.” Moravia dipped her black nails into her martini and pulled out an olive.

  “I found some evidence that she and Eric knew each other. Is it possible Eric was the new boyfriend?” I almost choked on the question.

  Moravia looked over at Suleiman, who had been listening silently. He answered, “We told you that Lucy used to come to the club. Eric had met her, of course, several times. Whether he saw her outside of the club we don’t know.”

  “What was Lucy’s connection with the group?” The waitress walked up, but I waved her away.

  “Coven, Angie,” said Moravia. “You can call it a coven. When you say group you make us sound like insurance salesmen. Lucy had been a ‘donor.’ That’s what we call the people who give blood, like Lilith. All perfectly consensual, of course. Lucy swore us to secrecy. She didn’t want people at work to find out. That’s why you didn’t know anything about it, and why you hadn’t come to the club.”

  “But you invited Kimberley!”

  “No, she wormed her way in. I think she bribed the bouncer.”

  “Why did you tell Lucy not to come last week? Did Eric tell you to say that?”

  “No, of course not. I told you, it was canceled that night.”

  “So, if you weren’t trying to cut Lucy out of the group, why did you invite Kimberley and me the other night and tell us not to tell Lucy?”

  Moravia shrugged. “When we got to know you a little better at the meeting you seemed cool. We didn’t see why Lucy should dictate who we could or couldn’t invite. After all, we didn’t invite you to the ritual. You invited yourself to that.”

  “But what about Lucy’s death?” I asked, trying to sound just curious, not desperate. “Surely these rituals involve a certain amount of danger. Couldn’t someone have gone overboard, so to speak? Maybe not even here at the club, but at her house, in private?”

  Moravia leaned closer and put her lips to my ear. Her hair smelled like sandalwood, nice, but nothing like Eric’s odor. Even so, she was so gorgeous her proximity made me a little nervous.

  “Angie,” she whispered, “when you take another person’s blood you draw their power into you, their life force. It makes you feel invincible.”

  “And what does the donor get out of it?” My nervous whisper sounded like Marilyn Monroe on helium.

  Moravia touched my ear with her finger. “You don’t have to ask me that, now do you, Angie? The blood ritual is a fulfillment of the wishes of both donor and vampire. However it ends”—she paused to let me imagine Lucy—“that is also desire fulfilled. Who are we to question it? By the way, he’s in the back room.”

>   The Members Only Room was almost empty, just a few figures haunting the shadows. Eric glowed in the darkness like he was sitting in a shaft of moonlight. My heart leaped at the sight of him, despite the desperate resolution I’d made. I closed my eyes, praying for strength.

  Before I’d taken another step I felt his cool lips brush my cheek. The smell followed, flowing like incense from his skin and hair, enveloping me. I breathed deeply, and right away felt calmer. The scent was like a drug, not just because of the attraction it created toward Eric, but because it induced a sense of calm and well-being. I’d heard that spider venom had the same effect, right before it killed you.

  “Angela, please come and sit down. I had been hoping to see you tonight.” He led me to the couch, gently brushing my arms and shoulders with his fingertips.

  I tried to remember everything I’d learned about Eric and Lucy, tried to remember my fear of being next. But entering into Eric’s periphery was like walking into an opium den. All I wanted was a fix. I sat on the couch, but I pulled my purse containing the knife close to my thigh.

  Eric leaned over me, stroked my hair back from my forehead. The room seemed to pitch, like the couch had become a boat. I heard Eric’s voice in my mind, his tone low and caressing.

  I know what you have, Angela, don’t forget I can read your thoughts. I’m not angry, no, in fact I welcome it. I have been trying to throw myself off that cliff ever since Vincent dragged me into this cursed life.

  I felt him press the purse into my hands, the knife’s sharp edge digging into my fingers through the cloth.

  “Do it, Angela! I beg you!” Before I saw his hand move he had grabbed the purse and pulled the knife out. He wrapped my hands around the hilt and pressed it against the left side of his chest. “This is as close as anyone has ever come.”

  As I stared into Eric’s sea blue gaze I knew I couldn’t do it. It would be as impossible as killing my own child. I loved him, no matter where it led me, even into death. The realization made me angrier than I’d ever been in my life. I felt trapped, frenzied, like a wild animal who’s just been caged.

  “I can’t do it!” I choked on the words. “I wish I could!”

  We struggled. I tried to put down the knife but he held onto my hands, pushing the blade against his chest. I felt the immense strength of his hands. If he wanted to he could break my fingers like toothpicks as he forced the knife into his own heart, but he was restraining himself. He didn’t want to hurt me; he wanted it the other way around.

  “I—won’t—do—it,” I grunted.

  I put all my effort into pulling the blade away. Suddenly he let go. I would have fallen on the floor, but he caught me, pulling me into a tight embrace. His lips joined with mine, even as I felt the knife slice through the fabric of his shirt. Eric grunted with pain, and I smelled the pungent, strangely sweet odor of burning flesh.

  “No!”

  I slipped out of his embrace and threw the knife. I heard it clattering to the floor as I ripped the buttons off Eric’s shirt to see the wound. I cringed when I saw that the fabric was adhering to his burned flesh. Eric groaned as a patch of his skin lifted along with the shirt. For the first time I saw pain in his expression, pure human suffering. Nicolai had been correct. The knife worked, although in a way probably not even the vampire scholar could explain.

  “Eric, you’re hurt. What are we going to do?” I began to cry, feeling helpless and overwhelmed with guilt for bringing this weapon into Eric’s presence.

  Gently, almost absentmindedly, he patted me on the back. “Calm down, Angela, I’m fine.”

  “You mean it’s going to heal?”

  He smiled slightly, although his face was still clenched with pain. “I don’t believe so. I have read about these knives, but I had never seen one until now. They are quite efficacious, I believe. But the wound is not life-threatening, you were successful in that regard.”

  I put my hand on his chest, just above the wound, felt his calmly beating heart. I laid my face against his neck, clutching his left shoulder with one hand while I pounded his other shoulder with my fist.

  “I love you, I love you,” I sobbed, punching him as hard as I could.

  I love you too.

  I stopped struggling and just lay against him. Finally I asked the question, even while my heart begged to remain ignorant.

  “Did you kill Lucy?”

  Would you believe me if I said no? Does it matter? You fixate on Lucy because you knew her, but you are aware there were others, countless others, and there will be countless more. You know what I am, Angela. That’s why you brought the knife.

  I slowly untangled myself from him and stood up. Shaking, but feeling strangely calm, I picked up the knife and wiped it on the tablecloth before placing it back in my purse. He said nothing as I walked out of the club.

  There are times when a sound you hear at night is familiar, even comforting, like a partner rolling over in bed and sighing in their sleep. Sometimes a sound is annoying, such as your drunken neighbors arguing in the hallway. But the sound I’m talking about is the “someone in the house” sound. The sound that paralyzes your extremities while your heart races and your stomach acidifies. When you realize that it’s actually a branch scratching against your windowpane or your cat getting a late night snack, you laugh and think, “Well, if that really was someone, I’d be dead now, because I sure as hell wasn’t getting up to do anything about it.”

  Like a sleepwalker waking up in the middle of the street, I had no idea how I got home. The knife went into its wooden box, then back in the shopping bag. I showered, put on a big T-shirt of my dad’s, and then lay down on the bed and literally cried myself to sleep.

  Only to be awakened by a sound.

  It was coming from Kimberley’s room: first a muffled crash, like a lamp falling on a carpeted floor, then a bang against our common wall and a muffled, grunting shriek. My underarms and palms leaked sweat. Saliva filled my mouth, but I was so frozen I couldn’t swallow. My body was trying to press itself into the sheets, to disappear into the mattress. There was another muffled bang, the sound of something else hitting the floor.

  I would love to say I jumped up to save Kimberley, or that I at least picked up the phone and dialed 911, but if I said that I would be lying. Instead I lay there and fervently prayed that the intruder would leave without coming into my room. But my prayer was not to be answered. After a moment of silence, the footsteps appeared again in the hallway.

  “Please God, let him leave now,” I begged silently. My eyes, the only part of my body that could still move, were darting around the dark room. I could see perfectly, but nothing looked like a weapon. Then I remembered the knife. I was inching toward it when the door opened.

  Adrenaline flooded my body. I sat up and with all my body weight lunged at my bedside table, thrusting it forward with both arms. There was a great crash as phone, lamp, and books tumbled to the ground. Under the cover of the noise I leaped out of bed and tried to run for the door, hoping that somehow I would get past the intruder.

  Instead I ran right into him. An arm encased in leather circled my neck, while the other arm pulled something over my head. It was silky soft and smelled of roses, a pillowcase from Kimberley’s bed. I was shoved back and the entire weight of the man’s body came down on me. The man was actually kneeling on my chest. Only the softness of the mattress kept him from breaking every one of my ribs.

  The slice of the knife was too quick for me to feel cold steel. Instead I felt heat, a searing burn as my skin separated and rushing warmth as the blood started pumping out of my neck. I could feel it gush with each beat of my heart. Inside the pillowcase I could hear my blood, like holding a shell up to your ear and knowing that the sounds of the ocean are really the waves inside your own body.

  Then the man’s mouth was on my neck. What was he doing? His pathetic lapping was like a cat trying to lick up a gallon of milk dropped on the floor. I pictured him drowning in the waves of blood pulsing out
of my body.

  The intruder tried to get closer. As he did this he moved his knees. This was my chance. I pulled free and grabbed at his face, feeling for the soft eye sockets. Then I pushed with all the strength I had left.

  “Fuck!”

  He screamed and fell off the side of the bed, onto the pile of books. I sat up, fumbling for the pillowcase. But before I could get it off the knife came again, this time in my chest. Under the pillowcase, under my closed eyelids, I saw a floodtide of red. As my lungs filled with blood I felt like a hooked fish tossed onto the shore to slowly suffocate. The man fumbled around my room. Drawers opened and slammed shut. Then came the sound of footsteps in the hall.

  Suddenly all was quiet. I was listening to my body again, hearing the waves receding. It seemed my heart was slowing down. Slowly, I reached my hand up toward my neck. I found the wound and my fingers slipped inside my own flesh up to the first knuckle.

  “Uh-oh, that’s not good,” I thought.

  Oddly, I felt calm, even tranquil. Breathing came easily, or maybe I just wasn’t doing it anymore. The liquid red behind my eyes was giving way to inky blackness. In my mind I crawled into my mother’s lap and went to sleep.

  Chapter 22

  I awoke to a soft sound, a moan that was almost a sigh, coming from Kimberley’s room. I pulled the pillowcase off my head. It took both hands to push myself out of bed. My legs moved like crowbars across the hall. I heard little whimpers in a voice I didn’t recognize. They were coming out of my own mouth.