Deamhan

by Isaiyan Morrison

  “I drink sometimes.”

  His expression turned serious. “I don’t drink as much as my friends.”

  Veronica shrugged. “Well, I’ve really gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

  “Okay, yeah. See ya.” He flipped his hand in a brief, childish wave and turned toward his apartment. He opened the door, glanced back with a silly grin, then stepped inside and closed the door.

  “I’m not the only one who’s as giddy as a schoolchild,” Veronica whispered, then shut her own door and collapsed against it in a fit of giggles.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was shortly after sunset when Veronica realized Sean wasn’t going to call.

  She hailed a taxi to Dark Sepulcher. The warm weather seemed to draw the inhabitants from their homes and out to the clubs and bars to enjoy the Minneapolis social night life. Before leaving her apartment, the weatherman predicted a slight chance of rain after midnight.

  Veronica didn’t let the meteorologist on the six o’clock news deter her invite. The short cab ride felt like hours to her, and she stared at the tiny dots of water collecting on the windows. In her head, she reviewed the different scenarios of what she was going to expect. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe Lambert personally wanted to kill her. Maybe the whole meeting was conjured up by Alexis and Remy to get her where they wanted her. She thought of what Sean said. Maybe going back wasn’t her best option.

  However, this opportunity gave her the chance to question her mother’s disappearance, and she accepted the risks. Veronica took a deep breath and exhaled gently. If things didn’t go as planned, she had a backup. She patted a small wooden stake concealed in the inside pocket of her brown jacket. She wasn’t going into Dark Sepulcher without it.

  She arrived at a line of club-goers waiting along the wall to get inside. She walked past them all, grabbing the attention of some and receiving a gallant stare from others. She approached the front door and showed the bouncers her invitation.

  “Right this way.” The bouncer handed the invitation back to her. She followed him through the front door, past the black curtain, and into Dark Sepulcher. They cut through crowds of drunken people dancing to the thumping music. The bouncer forcefully pushed people out of the way to create a clear path. They made their way near the coat check in the back corner, and he stopped in front of a black door that slowly swung open. Alexis stood in the doorway, her arms planted firmly on her hips and with her lips extended in a wide grin.

  “She’s expected,” the bouncer said to her. He walked away, and Alexis continued to stare at him until he disappeared in the crowd.

  “Feeling better?” Her eyes scanned Veronica from head to toe. She flicked her long, black ponytail to her back. Her short, black mini-skirt and a small T-shirt showed off her curvaceous figure. Small scars covered her upper chest and her arms. “We haven’t been formally introduced.” She held out her hand.

  “No, we haven’t,” Veronica replied. From Alexis’ clothing, she accepted Alexis had a taste for less fanciful clothing. She loved wigs, short skirts, and shirts that revealed her flat and toned mid-section. Maybe she preferred to look like a whore.

  Alexis paused, her handshake completely ignored. “I’m sorry about that.” Alexis shifted her arm to brush Veronica’s bangs from her forehead.

  Veronica stepped back.

  “You smell sweet.” Alexis sniffed around Veronica’s face. Her eyes fluttered in response.

  Veronica watched Alexis catch herself by stepping back.

  “Sorry. The urge to sink my teeth into your flesh is a little too strong to handle.”

  Discomposed, Veronica covered her neck. “I guess I’m nothing but just a meal with legs to you.”

  “Somewhat,” Alexis answered. “You’re little miss untouchable, for now.”

  Veronica adjusted her jacket and in a quick second, Alexis sighted a circular tip of a wooden object.

  “What’s this?” Her movement was quick and she reached for Veronica’s jacket, pulling out the wooden stake. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Alexis analyzed the sharp piece of wood before tossing it aside.

  Veronica kept note that her movements were quick, just like the Deamhan.

  “Well.” Alexis rubbed the corners of her mouth in an unhurried motion. “I wouldn’t mind seeing a little blood here and there.” Her eyes drifted to the darken balcony above. “He might, though.”

  She turned and began walking, disappearing into the dark hallway.

  Veronica wasn’t eager to follow her. She felt Alexis’ distaste for her, and it thickened the air around her. But she couldn’t ignore the moment and her need to take it.

  For Mom, Veronica thought as she stepped into the shadowed hallway.

  “This way, researcher.” Alexis turned and motioned for Veronica to follow.

  Veronica held her arms to the side, using the walls as her guide. The dark foyer gave off an odor of iron, possible dried blood. The smooth walls rubbed against her fingertips. The little information she obtained from The Brotherhood about vampires didn’t mention anything about what to expect when a researcher finds themselves in the presence of a vampire. She knew that Deamhan relished in torture chambers and blood baths. Maybe vampires did too.

  Her eyes slowed to focus, and she was able to distinguish the outline of Alexis’ body in front of her.

  Ahead, a loose hanging bulb from the low ceiling flickered. The path split into two flights of stairs; one headed up to a red lit hallway, and the other down into obscurity.

  “This way.” Alexis ascended the stairs. “Our private rooms are down those stairs.”

  “Private rooms or torture chambers?” Veronica asked as she followed.

  Alexis turned and snickered inauspiciously. “Private rooms.”

  Veronica reached the top step. A red incandescent light now brightened the hallway. A long red carpet covered the floor. Along the walls, painted pictures of landscapes and people hung in perfect symmetry. Veronica looked at small, circular red sofas positioned in the middle of the hallway. The faint thumping of music vibrated the walls. Again, Alexis motioned Veronica to follow her. The area had an elegant vibe compared to the chaos happening below. Apparently, Lambert was a sophisticated vamp.

  “Where are we going?” Now feeling undaunted, Veronica questioned their route.

  “Here.” Alexis approached a thick brown door decorated in carved circular etchings resembling ancient calligraphy. She knocked then turned the knob slowly. She pushed the door open and stood aside, allowing Veronica to enter.

  The flames of white candles stationed on wooden ledges throughout the room gave the space a disenchanted glow. The air smelled of Indian incense. An immense glass window towered over the dance floor with a thick red curtain draped over its edges. A glass bowl filled with grapes sat on a glass table arranged between two black leather couches covered in red and blue velvet pillows. A black curtain blocked the far wall of the room. Veronica awed at the room’s splendor. It was absolutely beautiful and not what she expected of a vampire.

  It was far from stereotypical. She expected to see filth and remains of dead or dying victims scattered throughout. She’d prepared herself for the smell of blood and decomposing flesh covered in pure orifices of human decadence. There was none of that. Unlike a Deamhan, Lambert valued luxury over secrecy. Veronica’s curiosity surrounding him grew.

  “Would you like a drink?” Alexis walked over to the bar near the black curtain.

  “No.”

  She grabbed a glass from the counter and pulled back on the tassel. The curtain drifted to the left, revealing an unsettling image.

  Veronica gasped, covering her mouth. Two wooden beams in the form of a cross held a woman who looked to be near death. Metal bracelets covered both her wrists and ankles, keeping her stationed on the cross with only a small, wooden platform for her bound feet. Totally naked, bite marks, welts, and other bruises peppered her skin. Bloodied thread sewn her lips shut. Her eyes remained closed with her h
ead tilted to the side.

  Veronica watched Alexis press a white button located on the wall. The woman’s body jerked. Her mouth opened slightly, and she let out a muted scream. The metal bracelets constricted and blood seeped from a tiny hole in them, dripping to another opening located on the bottom platform, beneath the woman’s feet. She pressed the button again and the woman wailed. The flow of blood continued, and Alexis placed her cup beneath the window near the floor, under a small spout where it emptied. She stopped pressing the button and gently sipped the blood from her cup.

  “Ah.” She snickered at Veronica’s horrified response. Underneath the bruises and dried blood, the woman looked oddly familiar to Veronica. She’d seen her before in Dark Sepulcher, but she couldn’t place where. Her ponytails were disheveled. It took only seconds to finally realize where she’d seen the woman before: in the bathroom with Alexis on her first night in Dark Sepulcher.

  The curtain whisked back into place, hiding the malicious view. Suddenly the environment didn’t seem as luxurious as Veronica believed it to be. It masked the dark side of Dark Sepulcher and it gave a fooled sense of contentment to its victims before they were devoured. Just like the victim behind the curtain, drained whenever Alexis wished it. This was the Dark Sepulcher Sean warned her about.

  Alexis walked past her and toward the door.

  “Is this what I came here for?” Veronica’s question did little in aggravating Alexis.

  “Who? Her?” There was no remorse in Alexis’ voice. Still grasping the cup in her hand, Alexis licked her lips. “She’s just another bipedal on the food chain. Like you.” She closed the door behind her.

  Veronica walked to the couch, slowing sliding into the cushioned seats. She buried her head in her hands to rid the image of the woman from her mind. She thought of the pain of sharp incisions on her wrists and ankles every time that button was pressed, her wounds kept open and being kept alive for as long as Alexis wished.

  Being a witness to another human’s suffering tampered with Veronica’s reason in accepting her invite. Feeling powerless to stop the woman’s pain and suffering—was this going to be the norm? Veronica mentally prepared herself for this. But why did the woman’s plight haunt her?

  “Focus, Veronica,” she whispered to herself.

  Her hands tottered slightly and she grabbed a grape from the glass bowl. The urge to run out of the room to the nearest police station flew from her thoughts. They wouldn’t believe her anyway.

  She popped the grape in her mouth and took another from the bowl. She placed her hands underneath her legs to control her shaking. Her eyes scanned the room’s decorations: a huge flat screen television, cordless phones, a DVD player, computers, printers, a microwave, massive stereo equipment—all overshadowed by artifacts littering the walls.

  An ancient double battle mace weapon, complete with two mace heads covered in long spikes laid next to a desktop computer. Near the flat screen television she saw a chain mail armor suspended above a long table covered in a red silk table cover. A warrior’s helmet sat in the middle, surrounded by small knives and miniature candle holders.

  Hanging above the computer, Veronica saw an old oil painting of a man in chain mail armor and a helmet. His deep, dark brown eyes beamed at her. His brown hair fell gracefully over his shoulders. He sat in a chair decorated in jewels and small carved statues of dragons.

  She stood up from the couch and slowly walked over to the glass window. Below, the club seemed alive with movement. The thick and insulated glass kept out the music, yet it thumped to every sound of bass.

  “Veronica Austin.” A voice called out behind her. She turned around facing the man behind the voice. He shifted his fingers through his thick brown hair. He wore a black turtleneck shirt with black pants. The candlelight tricked Veronica’s eyes, and she observed his irises changing from brown to hazel. His prominent jaw line and his pointed nose completed his smooth and seemingly ageless face. Her eyes shifted to the portrait, then back to him. It was him but from a different time period. The picture didn’t do his guise any justice.

  “It’s a one way mirror,” the male announced. “Don’t worry. No one can see you up here.”

  Veronica looked back at the mirror. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  “Depends,” the male replied. “I’m Lambert.” He bowed his head slightly. In his hand, he held a chalice similar to Alexis’. “That picture is of my other life. Not the best portrait of me, but I prize it nonetheless.” He walked over to the couch. “Are the grapes good?”

  “They’re good. Thanks.”

  “Well, I thought about getting more for my human guests.” He studied Veronica’s stiff and rigid posture. He lowered himself on the couch.

  “I still remember what good grapes tasted like.” Lambert sniffed the bowl. “Not that it’d do me any good anyway, right?”

  Veronica pulled out the invitation from her pocket. “Is this a trick?” She tossed it to him.

  “No.” He caught the note and placed it in his pocket. “I sent it to you for a reason.”

  “I’m here.” She walked over to the couch.

  His face crinkled, and a wide smile appeared. “That you are.”

  “So, you’re a vampire.”

  “Yes.” Lambert crossed his legs. “I thought you were aware of this.”

  “Alexis’ actions kinda reminded me.”

  “Ahh, Alexis.” Lambert tilted his head to the ceiling. “My little darling. My soul mate. You know, she was my minion before I turned her. You do know what a minion is?”

  She nodded, aware of the generic term. “Minions are human servants who are owned by a Deamhan. But you’re not a Deamhan, you’re a vampire.”

  “True, but I couldn’t pass up the need for a minion of my own.”

  What The Brotherhood knew of minions Sean passed onto Veronica. She knew them to be extremely dangerous but very useful to the Deamhan. Like servants, they did whatever their Deamhan owners wanted them to do. They ran errands, watched other minions, and kept tabs on researchers in the city. Some went as far as killing for their owners with the promise of being sired after years of loyal service. Their numbers increased in recent years due to the overwhelmingly popularization of the vampire in American culture. They jumped at the chance at becoming immortal, even if it meant killing other humans.

  “The Dictum prohibited human servants unless it was necessary for the survival of the Deamhan.” Veronica recanted one of the rules in The Edict.

  “I’m a vampire. I don’t care for their Dictum.” Lambert waved at her reply. “And apparently, they don’t either. Please sit.”

  Veronica hesitantly lowered herself on the couch across from him.

  “I love the term ‘minion.’ I wouldn’t call her that to her face; she’d stake me.” He smiled devilishly. “But enough about my darling; what about you, researcher?”

  “I’m not a researcher. I’ve attempted to make that clear.”

  “Not everyone thinks so. You successfully hid your thoughts from Remy. No human affiliated with The Brotherhood is able to do that. And you came here armed with a stake.”

  “It was for my own protection,” Veronica answered.

  “What if you miss the heart of a Deamhan? Do you trust your aim researcher?”

  “You know I don’t have to aim for their heart to incapacitate them,” Veronica replied. “But as for a vampire . . .”

  He stared at her and tilted his head slightly. “Something you learned from that obstructive organization you claim you aren’t a part of?” He pushed the bowl of grapes toward her. “Did they teach you how to lie as well?”

  “I’m not lying,” Veronica replied in a raised voice. He pushed her into a position that she didn’t want to be in. Instead of interviewing him, he was interrogating her.

  “Yet you know things that most humans don’t know.” He stood to his feet and walked over to the black curtain.

  Before he pulled the tassel back,
Veronica said in a shaky voice, “P-please. . .”

  He smiled innocently. “Please?”

  “Do you have to do that now?”

  “Do what?”

  “Eat.”

  He dropped the tassel. “No, I guess not.” He paced back to the couch. “I’m sorry about Alexis. Dealing with the Deamhan daily is making her cranky.” He gently sat on the couch. “As you know, they’re a rough bunch.”

  “Like vampires.”

  “Yes, like vampires.” Lambert huffed and smiled. “I own Dark Sepulcher. I cater to the Deamhan and vampires alike. It makes my venue more—how can I say—appreciated? I don’t discriminate. Everyone’s money is green to me, even yours.”

  Veronica gazed into his empty and soulless eyes. “But I didn’t come here for that.”

  “So why did you come here in the first place?”

  Veronica opened her mouth, but she found herself speechless. This is it, she thought. Now or never. She didn’t lose sight of him and she watched him rub his hands together, feeling his rugged stare while he waited for her explanation.

  “Curious about our kind?” he suggested.

  “No, not even close.”

  “You were probing my venue, Veronica,” he affirmed.

  “I wasn’t.” She paused. Yes, I was, she thought briefly, before relaxing her thoughts then suddenly realized there was no need to hide them. Vampires were incapable of reading minds, but they were good at deciphering body language.

  She continued. “This is the only place in Minneapolis that vampires and Deamhan socialize.”

  “And the only place in Minneapolis that has two for ones for only a dollar and fifty cents.” His gaze didn’t quiver. “Oh c’mon, researcher, you have to do better than that.”

  “Like I’ve said before, I’m not a researcher.”

  “Then why are you here?” His voice rose, and he leaned forward. “And who sent you here?” His voice shook her and she slightly jumped back.

  She gathered her wits. “I have a couple of questions to ask you, Lambert.”