by P. T. Phronk
Morgan bit down on his fist to keep from crying out.
Fox pointed to the spiritual advisor. “Alejandro will continue the ritual.” He pointed to the midwife. “Shelley will handle the birth, then collect blood and other material.” He pointed to Jeffery. “Then Jeffery will remove the child’s heart. I will consume the heart. Then we will continue, distributing portions for Alejandro and Jeffery, in payment for their continuing service.
“Hillary, well, you’ll just need to push, honey.”
“Mmm hmm,” she squeaked.
Morgan had gouged tooth marks in his knuckles. As quickly and as quietly as he could, he stepped back up the stairs. Jesus Christ, what had he gotten himself into? What had he actively been a part of?
Carley was still out there waiting for him. She started nattering at him, but he put a finger to her lips. He took her hand, then, without a word, led her to his bedroom.
14. Anyways, And Then
DAMIEN FOX STANDS ON A white-sanded beach with the sunset behind him. His thick hair waves in the breeze like a field of grass. He wears a dress shirt and a tie, and has a suit coat slung casually over his shoulder.
Katherine Heigl stands beside him with a pen and a notebook in her hand. She wears thick-rimmed glasses and a blouse.
“Isn’t this beautiful?” says Fox, staring at the ocean.
“It really is,” says Heigl, staring at Fox’s stubbly face, her eyes literally sparkling. “Do you want me to write this down?”
“No.” Fox turns to face her. “Just enjoy it.” Their heads fall toward each other, then just before their lips touch, Fox’s head snaps up, startled.
Cut to another setting, sometime in the future. Heigl sits with a couple of her friends in a coffee shop, their attention on her as she regales them with the story. “Anyways,” she says, “and then.”
Stan groaned. He squirmed in the rigid theatre seat. “My God,” he whispered to Dalla. “This is trash. There’s Oscar buzz for this?”
“Shhh!” said the vampire.
On the screen, Fox tears off his shirt and tie as he runs down the beach to help a group of frail old women push a beached whale back into the water.
Stan distracted himself with another handful of stale popcorn. He chewed it into bits, then washed it down with a sip of Coke.
He couldn’t help himself: “This guy is an asshole,” he whispered. “As a boss he treats her like shit. He goes to kiss her anyway, and somehow he gets distracted every single time? And they never even talk about it! She only likes him because he’s a hollow caricature of a flawless, rich man. Oh, and for his abs.”
“Shhh!” Dalla repeated.
“Shhh!” said a woman behind them.
“Thank you, dear,” Dalla whispered to her.
Stan sat through the rest of the movie. At least things picked up in the third act, and when the characters started getting all weepy, the acting wasn’t terrible. He wouldn’t admit it to Dalla, but Damien Fox, he could act.
He watched Dalla’s face in the glow of the screen. During the tragic climax, her eyes filled with tears. How was that even possible? A creature who had caused real grief orders of magnitude worse than anything that could be portrayed on a screen, crying at a movie?
Still, his own sense of sympathy kicked in, and he felt the urge to hold her. He edged his incomplete hand onto the armrest, beside hers, and she took it, squeezing until it hurt.
When the curtains came up, she turned to him. “Thank you, Stanley,” she said, her eyes still puffy. “It has been a very long while since I’ve gone on a … since I’ve done anything like this.”
They walked out and ambled through the parking lot.
“Oh my gosh, wasn’t that just the niftiest movie? It was so neat how they got together in the end,” said the vampire.
“Of course they got together. They’re on the fucking poster together.”
“Stanley, I saw you tearing up a bit.”
“Sand,” he said. “You know, from the beach.”
She giggled.
After a pause he said, “you could do this, you know. Do stuff like this more. You could fit in with the rest of us; I’ve seen it in you. If you just stopped thinking of us as food and tried to live with us as people, you could do it.”
She let out her high-pitched giggle. “Honey, you are sweet, but that is never going to happen.”
Dalla went off to feed. Bloody lay beside Stan on the bed, receiving an epic belly rub. She’d been grumpy when Stan and Dalla arrived back at the hotel, laughing together when they entered the room. Jealousy, maybe. A belly rub always got her back into a good mood.
“This might be it, girl,” he said.
Bloody was still frowning, but her back left leg twitched uncontrollably.
“Listen, if I go first, promise me you’ll get away. Don’t let her use you like this anymore. Don’t let her get into your head and make you think you’re friends. Promise me you’ll never be her friend, okay girl?”
The dog let out a whine from the back of her throat.
Stan eased himself down and hugged his dog. He kissed her head. “You’re a good girl. You’ve been so brave through all of this. Who’s the best dog in the world?”
Bloody sighed.
“You’re the best dog in the world. I love you.”
The look in her eyes was almost human. Immediate happiness followed by a sheen of sadness as reality set in. Stan shook his head and reminded himself that his dog was only a dog.
She’d pointed out Fox’s exact location on a map after Dalla left. Just to confirm that, yes, Fox was still on Vancouver Island, just across the water. They could probably see it from the hotel room on a clear day.
They went for a walk, prancing around the hotel grounds, Bloody running between his legs and pouncing on piles of fallen leaves. They stopped at a McDonald’s, where Stan bought them a dozen cheeseburgers to share. They brought them back to the hotel, then pigged out until Stan fell asleep with Bloody in his arms.
They’d only been asleep for a few minutes when Dalla burst into the room. She was wearing makeup and whistling We’re Off to See the Wizard. The signed Damien Fox T-shirt flew from her hand to Stan’s.
“One last use in that doggy-compass. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be meeting the fantastic Mister Fox tonight.”
15. Two Become One
THEY LANDED ON AN EMPTY road in the middle of a forest south of Tofino. Black mountains rose on either side, the shadows of giants against moonlit clouds.
Stan was so cold it hurt. Frost had begun to form on his eyebrows during the flight over the water. He put Bloody down, then brushed a spear of ice off the tip of her nose.
“Where to?” asked Dalla.
Stan looked at Bloody. Her tail between her legs, she jabbed her nose at a dirt road leading off the highway.
“I get the same feeling. You know what, Stanley? I’m beginning to think that both of our targets are in the exact same place.”
“What are the chances, right?”
She grabbed his hand, ripped off the bandages, then jabbed her thumbnail into the stump of his finger. Pain shot up his arm in terrible waves.
“You knew it all along, didn’t you?”
He cried out. Bloody barked and nipped at her heels.
“Didn’t you?” She dug her nail deeper into the stump. It began to ooze.
“Yes! Yes, I knew. I had to lie. If you knew you didn’t need me, I’d already be dead.”
“Except I did know, and yet, here you are.”
He looked up at her through his foggy glasses. “Because you care about me.”
She laughed, a sound as chilling as the night air. “Because I needed a backup if Fox’s servant didn’t make it home.”
Stan squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the warm tears threatening to roll out. “I’m not going to beg for my life,” he said. “I promised myself I wouldn’t.”
She flicked his hand out of hers. He cradled it at his chest.
“Yo
u talk to me about acting human; you’ve been lying to me for days. How human is that?”
“Doing anything to survive, to live as long as I can, lying for it, I think that’s the most human fucking thing there is.”
He was lifted by the collar of his jacket until he was face to face with her. “You think I don’t fear death?” she asked, those eyes boring into his. “One splinter through the heart and I’m as dead as any human. I stop feeding, I’m as dead as any human. I get a look at this planet’s star, I’m as dead as any human. I fear death every single day of my life.”
He searched her eyes. There was no sarcasm, no smirk, no deception at all. Finally, she dropped him to the ground.
“Get on with it, then,” he said. “You know they’re both here. What do you need me for?”
She pulled him to his feet. Her eyes studied him for a moment. She licked her lipstick-covered lips. “I need you to watch,” she said. “Finally see the fruits of our labor.”
The driveway was made of polished stones. She floated along it, her feet only occasionally tapping the ground. Soon, lights came into view between the trees at the top of the hill they climbed.
“They’re ready for us,” she whispered to him. She ducked behind a large rock, then pointed at the roof of the mansion between the trees. “There is a guard on the roof with a crossbow. Doesn’t smell like our friend Jeffery, though.”
Stan pointed at a window below the guard. There was movement there: shadows against curtains. One of the larger shadows jerked, and he heard a muffled scream. He got out his camera, then used it to zoom in on the window.
“Awww, you brought your toy,” she said.
“If Fox and Miller really have a kid in there, I’m going to do my job and snap a photo. You’d be smart to keep the pictures after you eat me, but I really don’t give a shit either way.”
“Honey, I think a kid is going to be the least exciting thing in Damien Fox’s life after tonight,” she said, adjusting her dress around her little breasts.
He took a picture of the window, then stepped out from around the rock to shuffle closer, Bloody behind him. After a few more steps, he got a bad feeling about the place. He needed to get closer, but he was too nervous to take another step. Dalla came up beside him, then she, too, stopped.
“Let’s take another way around,” said Stan. Dalla nodded. He circled around, deeper into the woods and further from the driveway, then approached the house again. He couldn’t bring himself to go any closer. It wasn’t fear, nor paralysis, nor logic, that kept him from moving. He was simply missing the motivation to move another inch in that direction.
“Oh fiddlesticks,” said Dalla. “This complicates matters.”
“What the hell?” said Stan. He tried once more, then noticed, sparkling in the light from the house, powder forming a line on the ground. That same feeling of repulsion kept him from touching it.
“He’s extended the invitation territory,” she said. “In two ways. One, he made it bigger, and two, from the look on your face, I’m guessing he expanded the forbidden species list.”
“You mean we can’t go any further unless we get invited?”
Her eyes burned. Her mouth was a tight line. “Correct,” she said.
“Good luck getting an invitation from here.”
“Shut it. We wait until he leaves then.”
“Oh, yeah, he knows a vampire is out here, he put up magic spells to keep you away from him, and he’s going to leave during the night.”
The vampire exhaled through her nose. “You and your details,” she said.
Something rustled in the underbrush on the other side of the line of powder. Bloody growled quietly, then trotted over to check it out. An animal scurried away, squeaking. Bloody watched it leave, then turned to Stan and Dalla.
“Bloody, girl, you can get through?” asked Stan.
Dalla studied the line of powder in front of them, then Bloody. “That is … curious,” she said.
Bloody looked at Stan. She turned her head to one side, then she barked softly, and turned her butt to them and wagged her tail.
“Ask her to grab a guard’s attention. When the guard follows her here, we grab the dweeb and make him invi—”
Stan walked over the line.
“I’ll be jiggered,” she said.
The vampire’s mouth hung open. “That does not make sense,” she said. She tried walking forward, but stopped. “I know my barrier works on animals. And how does a dog offer an invitation?”
“She’s a smart girl. So now that I’m through, I could invite you in?” asked Stan.
“Yes. Yes, honey, just say the words.”
Stan laughed. “Don’t think so. I’m feeling pretty safe over on this side of the line. The monster that wants to eat me,” he pointed at Dalla, “can’t get over here, and there’s an armed guard ready to shoot it.”
She clutched her chest. “You hurt me, Stanley. Break my poor little heart into pieces. And do you really think they’ll protect you?”
“One thing you still need to learn about us humans, Dalla: we help others in need,” he said.
He gave her a single wave, then turned to walk toward the house. Bloody snorted at her smugly, then followed Stan.
The mansion was an elegant structure of wood that complimented the forest around it, accented by expansive glass windows that would offer a view of—or at this time of night, illuminate—the woods. The driveway split around a babbling fountain in front of a row of four garage doors. Stan walked into the light.
“Hey!” he shouted to the guard on the roof, over the bubbling of the fountain. “Hey, I need help down here!”
An arrow whistled past his head, then broke on the stones behind him.
“Hey! I’m not a fucking vampire!”
He moved just in time for another arrow, which would have hit him square in the chest, to only graze the arm of his coat. He ducked behind the fountain. More light flooded the driveway as the front door opened, and he saw long shadows reaching around each side of the fountain.
“Hide!” he hissed at Bloody. The dog sat on her butt. “Go, jackass! Stay in the circle. I’ll come back for you.” With a sigh, she turned tail and sprinted into the woods.
Two men approached, surrounding him. They wore sharp suits, held crossbows, and had wooden stakes in hilts at their hips. Stan put his hands in the air.
“I’m one of you, all right? Human?” he said. He opened his mouth and tilted his head back, showing them the roof of his mouth. “See? No fangs.”
“We got orders to shoot anyone we see tonight,” said the one to his left—a bald guy with a little soul patch on his chin. He aimed the crossbow at Stan’s chest.
The one to his right, a tall guy with thick eyebrows, spoke up: “Joe, stop. He’s unarmed. Let’s ask Mister Fox what to do.”
There was a scream from the room upstairs.
“He ain’t gonna like being disturbed,” said the bald one, grabbing one of Stan’s arms. The tall one grabbed the other.
He was dragged through a foyer with a minimalist glass-lined stairwell curving to an upper floor. He was led past the staircase to a room at the back of the house, where the bald one roughly tossed him into a black leather chair. Furniture in the room was arranged in a half circle facing the window that took up most of the eastern wall, which rose up two stories. The view would have been stunning during the day; an unobstructed view of the landscape from a room perched on the cliffs, it would have felt like flying. Tonight, it was just black ocean against black mountains against black sky.
“What were you doing out there?” asked the tall guard.
“I was brought here by—”
He inhaled. There were eyes staring at him from the blackness outside. Those ice blue eyes of the vampire, floating in the air a distance from the window.
“A trucker. I hitchhiked. I was trying to find Tofino, and I got lost, and I’m very cold and hungry.”
Why couldn’t he bring himself to t
ell them that Dalla was out there? That they could probably have a clear shot at her, right then and there, if they were smart about it.
The bald one grunted. “Go get Fox,” he said to the other one, who swaggered from the room.
The bald guard went to stand by the door. A minute later, Stan heard someone join him; he spoke in a deep, jovial voice.
“What’s going on?” asked the voice.
“Got ourselves an unwanted visitor,” said the bald guard. “Don’t worry about it. Get back in the kitchen.”
Stan turned around. The deep voice belonged to an overweight man in a chef’s uniform, perfect white.
“Something is going on, man. You wouldn’t believe what they asked me to prepare tonight. And I heard screaming upstairs.”
The bald guy frowned. “Just follow your damn orders, okay?”
The tall guy returned. Behind him, limping and with a bandage around his neck, was Jeffery Humber-Wilcox.
Jeffery entered the room and sized up Stan.
“That’s him. The vampire’s friend.”
“Vampire?” gasped the chef.
“No no no, you don’t understand,” said Stan.
“You think this is some sort of trick?” the bald guy asked Jeffery. Jeffery strode to Stan. He grabbed him by the chin to tilt his head up, then stuck a thumb in his mouth and felt his teeth. It tasted like copper. Then he gripped him around the wrist to feel his pulse.
“He hasn’t been turned,” said Jeffery. “A gun will do. Take it outside.”
“No,” said Stan.
“Let’s go,” muttered the bald guard as he grabbed Stan’s arm.
“Don’t do this. Come on, I’m not friends with a fucking vampire!”
“Vampire?” repeated the chef.
Stan turned to the giant window. “So much for humans helping humans,” he muttered to himself. Then: “Dalla! Come in!”
He’d barely finished saying it when the window shattered, glass showering into the room like rain. She moved so fast that she was nothing more than a peach-colored streak; Stan fell out of his chair as the bald guard was torn away from him, then smashed into the far wall halfway up. His head splattered against a wooden beam like an egg. His lifeless body fell toward the ground.
