Vampires in America

by D. B. Reynolds

  “I hate these crowds,” Lucas muttered, chasing away a would-be solicitor with a glare that included just enough power to make sure the man took the warning seriously. It wasn’t necessary. Lucas was a big, powerful man even without the use of his power, but the boy did love frightening the humans.

  “These crowds provide cover for our existence,” Raphael reminded him in a mild voice. Lucas’s complaints didn’t bother him. He was accustomed to them by now, and, besides, it was only talk. When push came to shove, when true danger threatened, Lucas was as staunch a companion as any could hope for. And he took Raphael’s safety even more seriously than his own.

  The latter wasn’t necessary, but Lucas had begun his life with Raphael as a protector of sorts. He’d been Raphael’s daylight servant, the one who ran the many errands necessary for a vampire to have a decent life in human society. And what other society was there? Vampires might be stronger, but humans were far more numerous and always would be. And that was a good thing, since they provided the only food that could sustain a vampire.

  In any event, Lucas had protected and provided for Raphael and the few vampires he’d brought with him from Europe during the long ocean crossing and when they’d first arrived here. Raphael had turned him soon after. He was a powerful vampire now, soon to be lord over his own territory. But, if anything, the vampire/child bond only enhanced Lucas’s protective drive when it came to Raphael.

  “Yeah, they feed us, but there’s so damn many of them. And they can turn on a moment’s notice. We’ve both seen it happen.”

  “Not to us, fortunately,” Raphael murmured.

  “Fortune has nothing to do with it. It’s brains and good planning.”

  Raphael smiled, his attention sharpening when he caught the distinct voice of a carnival barker among the noise. He searched the crowd, a task made easier by his height, which was well above the average man’s, as was Lucas’s. “There,” he said, finding the barker on a street corner a block ahead.

  Lucas’s gaze moved over the crowd, finding the man easily enough. “Yep.”

  Raphael glanced at him. Lucas had taken easily to the slang of this new world, unlike Raphael, who hadn’t, and wasn’t inclined to try.

  They changed their heading to pass close by the barker, who was promoting a circus, which, according to the man’s shouts, included a freak show. The makeshift podium he stood behind was plastered with images of the usual clowns and captive animals, but the man’s persistent shouts listed a “fanged demon” among the offered freaks. And that was what had brought Raphael to San Francisco. Every vampire in his new territory was his. From the strong ones living on their own to the truly powerful who had to be challenged and defeated before they’d accept Raphael’s rule, or leave the territory. Most chose to remain. It was in the nature of most vampires to prefer the protection of a vampire lord, and Raphael was powerful enough to bring the comfort of that association to even the strongest among them.

  But it wasn’t the strong who worried him. It was the weak. Carnivals and circuses like this one preyed upon weak vampires, capturing them during the day, chaining them by night. Feeding them just enough blood to survive, but never enough to grow strong. These were Raphael’s people, just as much as the powerful vampires he had to defeat in order to claim them as his own. If anything, these weak ones needed his protection even more. He shared a small part of his enormous power with every vampire he claimed. It made the weaker ones stronger, strong enough to resist humans who would prey upon them, strong enough to live their lives without fear. Because they knew they could call on Raphael for protection and he’d always be there. It was comfort, but it was also strength.

  But first, he had to find them, and then rescue them.

  Raphael found the circus at the far, dark end of the wharf, in an area better known for warehouses than entertainment. It wasn’t the smallest circus he’d seen, but far from the largest, consisting of three rundown tents, with visible patches that had stitching on top of stitching, attesting to several layers of repair. Which was better than some so-called circuses, who didn’t bother to repair their tents at all. Still, these were worn and dirty, and didn’t say much for the financial success of their owner.

  The tents weren’t large, with each appearing to showcase no more than three exhibits. One contained animals, with the poor creatures trapped in too-small cages. There was a big cat, pacing back and forth, with a look in its eye that didn’t promise good things for the human gawkers if it ever managed to escape. Raphael was tempted. He felt a certain kinship with the great beast. But there were women and children in the crowd, too. They’d be the first to die. And the cat itself would die soon after. Most of the men were armed in this town, as well as some of the women.

  The second tent showcased a bearded woman and a man with a skin ailment, with a sign above him that read, “Alligator Man.” But it was the third tent that drew Raphael’s attention, and Lucas’s, too.

  “Sire,” Lucas said quietly. They both stared at a poster outside the third tent that showed a man with red eyes and fangs. They started toward the tent, but slowed when it became obvious that something was wrong with the tent. One half of the structure was all but collapsed, with the thick ropes and heavy canvas lying in great folds that dipped to the ground.

  Shouting drew them around the collapsed section to where a big man was shouting orders at workers they couldn’t yet see. He was sweating under the dim, yellow lights, despite the cool and wet night air, his skin and clothing as dirty as the canvas he was struggling with.

  Raphael started to turn away, thinking this might make his task tonight easier. If the vampire was being kept in his daytime resting place because of the tent collapse, then Raphael could rescue him there, away from the crowds and his captors both. But a pained bellow had him turning back at the last minute. It had sounded like a beast rather than a man, angry and hurt both. He’d never seen an elephant in a circus this small, but that’s what the bellow had reminded him of—a wild animal kept captive and mistreated.

  Curious, he touched Lucas’s arm to stop him from leaving. Walking carefully around the fallen section of the tent, avoiding the layers of heavy fabric, he stepped over the thick ropes that seemed to snake everywhere he walked. The human sighted him from the corner of his eye and turned.

  “This tent isn’t open yet. Go back to the midway. There’s nothing for you to see here.” He waved a thick arm back toward the two functioning tents.

  Raphael glanced at the man, but otherwise ignored him, continuing his circle around the tent until he came upon two huge men struggling to raise the tent with sheer, brute force. Their arms were looped with the thick ropes, their shoulders weighed down under the burden of a good third of the tent’s canvas. Adding to their burden were the iron collars around their necks, with heavy chains trailing down their backs, and more chains that shackled their feet, and linked their arms together, left to right, so that they couldn’t move except in concert with each other.

  The sharp crack of a whip jarred Raphael’s senses. The thin strip of leather landed on only the right half of the duo, but the two of them winced in concert, as if they’d both been struck. Their handler shouted a wordless demand that they get moving, but Raphael could hear the almost sexual satisfaction the man took in inflicting pain. No doubt it was made even more satisfying because his victims were so much larger than he was, the kind of men who could easily have dominated the handler had they been free.

  The situation struck a chord in Raphael. He hated slavery, hated to see any man brought so low. If the circus manager wanted to inflict pain, his victims should at least have a chance to fight back. He looked over at the two men, both Asian, but not Chinese as was typical of San Francisco. Japanese, maybe, Raphael thought. He had never visited that country, but he’d met quite a few of their warriors through his own pursuit of the martial arts. The two men were unif
ormly big and tall, their appearances so identical that they had to be twins. He couldn’t help but wonder how they’d fallen into the clutches of their current tormentor, who clearly wasn’t strong enough to have overpowered two such big men.

  As he contemplated the situation, he glanced over at the men and found one of them staring directly at him, judging him. The big man’s gaze was full of rage as he stared at Raphael, probably wondering if he was yet another weak human come to buy muscle to be used and abused. Raphael met his gaze evenly, letting enough of his power fill his eyes to make it clear who was the alpha between them. The slave’s eyes widened slightly, but he continued to stare. In challenge this time, as if to demand Raphael prove his claim.

  Raphael smiled slightly. “Be ready, Lucas,” he murmured.

  Lucas gave him a surprised look, immediately followed by a wide grin. He didn’t question Raphael’s intentions. Lucas was always up for a good fight, and he was endlessly adaptable in a brawl.

  “They look strong,” Raphael called out to the handler.

  The man gave him a distracted look, and said only, “You’re still here?”

  “How much?” Raphael persisted.

  The handler made a disgusted noise. He stopped harassing the two big men and turned his full attention on Raphael. “Look, I told you, this tent isn’t open yet. Go back—”

  “I don’t want to see your show,” Raphael said, letting disgust flavor his words. “I want to buy these two workers. How—”

  The man barked out an unpleasant laugh. “Workers? Is that what you call them. They’re little more than beasts, barely human. And they’re not for sale.”

  Raphael regarded the man, his eyes gone narrow with irritation. He hated to be interrupted, especially by the likes of this human. “Everything’s for sale, for the right price. So, what is it?”

  “Look, even if they were for sale—which they’re not—you don’t have the gold. I’d have to hire twenty men, ten for each, to do the work of these two. Sorry,” he added, in a tone which said plainly that he wasn’t sorry at all.

  Raphael gave that same small smile, then lifted his eyes to meet the big man’s. “I’ll be back,” he said clearly, knowing the man would understand his intent, if not the words. “Be ready.”

  The owner scowled heavily, looking between the two of them. “Don’t go making trouble,” he shouted. “Get out of here, or I’ll call the police.”

  It was a hollow threat. Circus people didn’t call upon the local police for anything short of murder, and maybe not even that, depending on the likely suspect. But Raphael gave the man a mocking bow and retraced his steps back to the dirt midway, standing to one side out of the general flow of the crowd.

  “Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn him,” Raphael commented, once Lucas had joined him.

  “What an asshole. What do you want those guys for anyway? They’re big and probably good to have around in a fight, but they’re both human.”

  “For now.”

  Lucas gave him a surprised look. “You’re going to turn them?”

  “Maybe. If I’m to establish my territory, I’m going to need an army.”

  “Well, okay, then. What’s the plan?”

  “Later. First, we locate the vampire. If we’re going to liberate him, as well as those two, we’re going to need a better strategy than usual.”

  “You mean the one where we break in, grab our guy, and kill anyone who gets in our way? That strategy?”

  Raphael grinned. “Yes, that one. Come on,” he said, gesturing to the line of box wagons behind the tents. Some were painted with the name of the circus, others with pictures depicting the inhabitant’s special performance skill, and still others were nothing but boards slapped together with a roof on top. But all had a door and a semblance of privacy. This was where everyone associated with the circus lived. “The vampire exhibit was scheduled for the fallen tent,” he reminded Lucas. “Their captive will be back here somewhere, wherever it is that they keep him in daylight. Look for a wagon with covered windows and a locked door.”

  “Do I have to?” Lucas was regarding the ramshackle wagons with distaste.

  “It’s only looking, Lucas. I’ll do the dirty work.”

  Lucas snorted his reaction. “As if I’d let you.” He studied the wagons from one end to the other, his eye taking in all the small details. Some who’d met Lucas dismissed him as a frivolous man. But they didn’t know him the way Raphael did. This oldest of his vampire children was completely serious when the occasion demanded it—a man of fierce concentration in a fight, and a deadly force on the battlefield. “That one,” Lucas said, pointing to a wagon about halfway left of the line’s midpoint. “Look at the construction. It’s a cage around a wooden box, with a heavy lock still on the door. Even weakened, they couldn’t count on the vampire not breaking himself out, so a wooden box would never do. But a cage wouldn’t protect him from sunlight. So, they did both. It took some effort, Sire. They’ve probably had him a long time.”

  Raphael nodded slowly. He could sense the vampire’s life force inside the manmade prison of its captivity. It was weak. So weak. But he didn’t know if that was from malnutrition, or something worse. “All the more reason for us to set him free. Let’s take a closer look.”

  They walked slowly along the circus wagon train. Raphael knew the moment the vampire became aware of his presence. Even shielding, as he was now, Raphael was a powerful force. The vampire would have sensed him long ago, but had been too afraid to reach out. Vampires were meant to live in groups, to gain protection and a kind of synergistic energy from each other. Even more importantly, weak vampires like this one needed to be bonded to a vampire lord like Raphael, a vampire strong enough to protect them, to give them the security they needed to live their lives without fear. This vampire didn’t seem to understand that. Had he lived alone his entire life? Had his Sire neglected to teach him even the most basic truths of being Vampire?

  When they reached the wagon, Raphael put his hand to the lock. He paused long enough to send a wave of reassurance to the trembling vampire within, and then he simply ripped off the locking mechanism and opened the door.

  The vampire recognized Raphael immediately as the powerful force he’d been sensing for the last hour or more. He cowered against the wagon wall, more terrified than comforted by Raphael’s presence. Thankfully, Lucas was shielding his own power, tamping it down to almost nothing, so that any vampire, like this one, who met him would assume he was ordinary, maybe one of Raphael’s warriors. Raphael was grateful for his Lucas’s foresight, because he didn’t think this terrified vampire would have survived the arrival of two powerful vampire lords at the same time.

  Sending out waves of reassurance and safety, Raphael stepped up into the wagon. This wasn’t the first such captive vampire he’d encountered. Not even the tenth. He and Lucas had freed many such prisoners over the last year, in circuses and elsewhere. The key to a successful rescue was always the same—get in, get out, get gone. But there were some necessary parts to the plan that couldn’t be rushed.

  Raphael needed to give the imprisoned vampire some of his blood, so that he’d have enough strength to participate in his rescue and to survive their escape. But before he did so, he needed to be sure the vampire was reliable, that he understood what was happening, and could control himself once he tasted the perfect ambrosia that was a powerful vampire lord’s blood. If not, if the vampire was insane or too damaged by either a long imprisonment or a cruel Sire, he could turn the energy of Raphael’s blood into the incredible strength of a madman. He could break free of his bonds only to wreak havoc among the humans, doing far more damage than good for the vampire community.

  Vampires lived very much in the shadows of this new world. Most had learned by now that there was no need to drink their victims dry, that they could take what they needed an
d leave the donor alive, with no memory of the encounter, other than a bruised neck, which would heal too rapidly for anyone to make much of it. To be sure, there were vampires who still killed to survive, especially in crowded cities like San Francisco. If the vampire chose his victims well—prostitutes or sailors in port for only a day or two—and didn’t hit any one part of the city too often, the police would never bother to investigate. But a vampire who went mad and started tearing a city apart, killing at random . . . that would draw entirely too much attention.

  Raphael was aware of the pressure they were under to grab the imprisoned vampire and escape quickly, but he still took the time to sit down and talk to him. He explained who he was, and told the captive of their plan to break him free, that they’d then leave town immediately, putting miles between them and San Francisco before the sun rose.

  But the vampire shook his head. “I can’t go. I can’t leave without her.”

  Raphael tilted his head, studying the vampire, easing into his thoughts so carefully that he never sensed the intrusion.

  This is bad, he thought to himself. A complication they definitely didn’t need, but one he absolutely could not ignore. “A female,” he said.

  The vampire, whose name, Raphael had discovered in his tour of the vampire’s thoughts, was Bennie, nodded his head. “She and I were turned by the same master, and then sold to Vernon. Our master told him how to keep me weak, and how to use Agnes for the sexual pleasure of a vampire’s bite.”

  Raphael swallowed a growl, not wanting to frighten the young vampire with the raw emotion of his reaction to this bit of news. When this was over, when Bennie and Agnes were both safe with the rest of his vampires, he was going to learn everything they knew about this master vampire who sired vampires only to sell them. And then, he’d find him and kill him slowly.