by Garon Whited
“How long have you been awake, then?”
“Oh. Um.” I decided to lie. Explaining how I was from another universe—possibly two or three alternate universes—did not seem a kettle of fish worth boiling. I chose to interpret her question as asking how long I’d been here. “A few weeks, a couple of months, something like that. I’ve been learning to fit in, you know.”
“Do the elders know you’re up and about?”
“I doubt it, since I don’t know who you’re talking about. Unless you’ve told them, of course.”
She seemed uncomfortable about that.
“I… I reported what I saw to my progenitor, of course,” she stammered, not looking at me. “I couldn’t tell him much—only how I felt your presence. I don’t know what he did with the information.”
“Seems fair. And stop acting like I’m about to bite your head off. I’m not. I’m usually a pretty nice guy, for a monster.”
“I see that,” she agreed. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now, perhaps you might tell me what you’re doing here? At Powers’ place, I mean.”
“It’s a party. People know me around here. I’m beautiful. I get invitations to places.” I certainly couldn’t argue with that.
“Does Powers mean anything to you? Is he important to you in any way?”
“No… no, I wouldn’t say so. My professional capacity as a criminal doesn’t usually move me in the same circles. He’s someone I’ve run into a few times, that’s all. Socially, he’s another climber, trying to creep up to the upper crust by waving money around.”
“Interesting. Do you know a Mark Spotznitz?”
“I’ve heard the name, I think,” she admitted, slowly. She tapped her purple lipstick with a finger, thinking. “I think I have, at least. It rings a faint bell, but that’s all it does. I doubt we’ve been introduced. Why? I mean, may I ask why?”
“I’d like to buy him. And his kid, I suppose. Who would I talk to in this town about it?”
“I would be honored and delighted to be of service,” she offered. “I’ll ask around and find out whatever you want to know. All I need I need from you is where to send the information.”
Don’t trust her, Firebrand interjected. I held up a hand to forestall Mary’s conversation.
Why not?
She’s thinking you probably don’t know much about technology. She wants your daytime resting-place, or enough information to lead someone to it. She’ll be rewarded. That’s all I’ve got.
“I don’t think I’ll tell you that,” I mused. “But I would like to know who it is you think will reward you for finding my daytime lair, and why.”
Vampires can’t blush. We also can’t turn pale. I’m not sure which she was trying to do.
She’s frightened and considering running, Boss… but she also seems… it’s weird, but I think she likes being afraid of you. I gave Firebrand the equivalent of a mental nod. I could see a conflict inside her—a strong urge to stay, and an urge to flee. She seemed to be enjoying it. A thrill-seeking personality?
“Please don’t go,” I asked, gently. “I only want to have a civil conversation, if that’s at all possible.”
She hesitated, poised between flight and curiosity. I smiled my best charming smile and held out my empty hands, palms up.
“Please?” I repeated.
“I… all right,” she said, taking one of my hands. We continued to walk through the garden. “I apologize, dark lord, for… well…” she trailed off, lifting my hand to look at my fingertalons. Fingernails, I mean. Since I was planning on the whole outfit, I didn’t grind them down during my evening hygiene ritual.
“That’s quite all right,” I assured her. “I’m sure you have obligations. And, if you insist on being formal, that’s Dread lord. I’d rather you weren’t, though. Now, let’s have a basic primer on who you are, your relationship with your progenitor and tribe, and how they relate to the elders. I’m unfamiliar with how you do these things.”
Quick, describe an ancient and complex subculture of blood-sucking monsters in a thousand words or less.
All vampires sleep during the day and only get to go out at night. None of that native-soil-of-the-homeland stuff, but they do have an allergy to sunlight causing severe inflammation. They all have retractile fangs, mildly heightened senses, a level of enhanced physical prowess, and can see even in total darkness.
There are three main tribes of vampires: the Thessaloniki, the Constantines, and the Phrygians. Each tribe is a different subspecies of vampire, similar in gross, but with a few differentiating details.
Thessaloniki feed on what I think of as the living essence, the vitality of a human being, as well as any blood available. Their primary characteristic is their level of extra-sensory powers. They often have “feelings,” leading them to make lucky choices or avoid danger. As they get older and more powerful, their daytime dreams become oracular, even precognitive.
I think I might be a little jealous. Or is that envy? Whatever, Mary can see colors in the dark. I have no idea how that works, unless… maybe her psyche has some sort of active sensory function, emitting energy in such a way it can interpret the reflection as mundane color. On the other hand, maybe colors have a certain psychic resonance and she picks up on it. I wish I could do that. On yet another hand, if I didn’t have the monochrome vision, how would I tell if it’s bright, dark, or indifferent?
That feathery tendril-touch of hers is also impressive. With it, she can count the change in your pocket by feeling it. In fairness, I could feel out the coins and work out what they were, kind of like putting your hand in your pocket and picking out which coin is which. For her, it’s almost like seeing them. While I can count the ridges around the rim of a coin with my tendrils, it would be like running a fingernail along the rim and counting them. She puts a bit of her tendril’s feather-fluff in each ridge and spits out the answer.
Constantines are less spiritual, requiring blood, only the blood, and ravenously consuming blood. It can come from any source, though, which makes it possible to hide in human society. The Constantines possess extraordinary physical attributes—strength, speed, and general toughness. From the sound of them, they’re the sort of vampire you run over with your semi tractor-trailer and then drive away from quickly. They’ll get up in a minute or two, hungry and pissed off. And prepared to do something about both, possibly including running after the truck, jumping on it, and ripping their way through the cab to get to the driver.
Phrygians are the most subtle and supernatural of the three tribes. In terms of physical capabilities, they’re the closest thing to human. Oh, they regenerate like an undead and have a mild enhancement in other physical respects, but not much else on the physical front.
Fortunately for them, their powers are mostly the mystical sort: temporary mental domination, the infliction of forgetfulness, that sort of thing. Handy for sucking out a pint or two and leaving without anyone making a fuss about it. I’m told they’re disturbingly good at it, once they make eye contact or touch their victim.
Their big drawback, however, is the blood. They require human blood, drawn directly from the human. They consume the vitality, the spiritual essence of their victims as well, but they only do it by drinking blood directly from the flesh.
I don’t know if I can do any of the Phrygians’ tricks. I mean, I know I can target certain colors in someone’s spirit and drain the emotion that goes with it, I’m not so sure about erasing memories or forcing them to do my will. Maybe I don’t practice it enough. I also don’t feel any urge to start.
Each tribe is loosely organized under two or three tribal chieftains whose main purpose, as far as I can gather, is to interview new prospective members. The need for secrecy is well-understood and well-impressed on all the members of each tribe. Aside from ecological reasons—unrestricted vampire population growth leading to food shortages—they’re mostly concerned with the problems of human technolog
y. Flamethrowers and high explosives, of course, but the occasional wooden stake through the heart is still an issue.
Can’t say I blame them, really.
The elders, or, rather, the Elders, are the eldest of each tribe. They form an ultimate triumvirate that doesn’t rule, as such, but speaks on behalf of all the undead in the event something important comes to dark. They seldom encourage anyone to take part in a war, for example, but they could… and having a few hundred vampires show up to the war—even for one night—could drastically alter its course.
Mary, as a vampire, was about sixty years old. Basically, she was an established member of the community. Her progenitor, Horace, was over a century older. This was expected, given the rule about not creating a new vampire until you were older and more stable. She was his friend/lover/companion for about fifty years, then went off on her own. She claimed it was a typical pattern. Immortality means you can finally understand forever… and staying with someone forever starts to sound less and less like Heaven, more and more like Hell.
Having spotted me, she was initially concerned about someone visiting from out of town. It can be messy, not knowing where to get your breakfast, and she felt it important to be ready to cover for the new guy. She also immediately noticed I wasn’t like any other vampire she ever met. For one thing, I felt her touch. For another, she could feel, as she put it, “an immense depth and power” inside me. So she told Horace, and he, presumably, told Tony—the only three Thessaloniki in town.
Now, though, she thought telling the Elders might be a good idea, since I was obviously old, bordering on ancient. She had no idea what tribe I belonged in and that bothered her; it upset her worldview. Firebrand reported she was worried I might be old enough to be a pre-tribe vampire, which would make me the oldest thing in the world.
“Did you break out of a pyramid?” she asked, “or did someone trawl you up from Atlantis?”
I didn’t feel like disillusioning her. Besides, it might be useful to be the scariest vampire in town. I don’t know; I’ve never had to deal with vampire politics before. Keria doesn’t count.
“No. It’s a long story.” There’s an understatement. “On another subject, you have three total vampires in the region, right?”
“Three Thessaloniki,” she corrected. “I don’t know about the others. We tend to associate with our own bloodlines than to mingle. It’s mostly a matter of the type of people we pick to be our companions, really. The elders of the city will know, of course.”
“The Elders are in the city?”
“No, the elders of the city. The eldest of each tribe in a particular city or geographic region form a triumvirate over it. They’re the local authority, you might say. It keeps the real Elders from having to deal with everything on a night-to-night basis.”
“Fair enough. So, will one more well-behaved bloodsucker make a difference?”
“I… I would have to ask Tony. That is, Antonio. He’s the Thessaloniki elder here.”
“Okay. I don’t want to make any trouble. What I want is to live a quiet life, not bother anyone, and have my own little space all to myself. Do you think that will be a problem?”
“I wouldn’t think so, but I can’t give you a decision. If it was up to me, I’d say it was okay, but…”
“Right. So, how do we ask Tony?”
“I really can’t… that is, if I was to bring you to Tony, he’d be more than a little angry. There are polite protocols for this sort of thing. Bringing you with me would be like bringing a briefcase of plastique to a business meeting. It might be completely safe, but its mere presence would make Tony unhappy.”
“I suppose I can see that. Okay, I tell you what. How about you go talk to Tony? I’ll stay here and deal with Powers—he and I have some unfinished business. I’ll meet you somewhere. How long will this take?”
“I don’t know. A night or two.”
“All right. Is there somewhere we can meet?”
“Um. How about the Gold Dome? If I don’t have anything better to do, I like to hang out there.”
“Where is that?”
“You really aren’t from around here, are you?”
“You would not believe how far from home I am,” I told her. She cocked her head and almost asked, then visibly changed her mind.
“It’s at the corner of Northwest twenty-third and North Classen. I think it’s twenty-third. I know how to get there; I don’t pay much attention to the street numbers. It’s right around in there, anyway—you can’t miss it. No, really. You can’t. The cabs know it by name; it’s a landmark.”
“All right. I’ll stop by there some evening soon and look for you. Now, it’s getting late and I think I’m going to have to impress on Mister Powers the seriousness of my wishes.”
“May I ask?”
“Ask what?”
“This is about Mark… Spotnits?”
“Close enough. Yes.”
“You want him.”
“Yes.”
“As your personal property?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. I intend to let him live his life without interference. At present, someone seems to think firebombing his house is a way to protest Mark’s desire to change employment.”
“I don’t mean to intrude, but does this involve organized crime? It sounds like it, although I suppose it could be a gang thing.”
“I believe it’s at least somewhat organized. Powers is involved as middle or upper management, I think. Mark might be involved at a gang level. I’m not sure.”
“And you’re new to this era and area?”
“Yes,” I admitted. She bit her lip uncertainly and hesitated. She finally made a decision.
“May I offer some advice? I don’t want to presume,” she added, hastily. “I would like to help, if you’ll allow me.”
“I’m always eager to learn something new. What’s your advice?”
“Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘Go big or go home’?”
“I believe I have, or something much like it,” I admitted.
“Whenever I’ve had to deal with anyone in organized… hmm. No, let me start over. Do you play poker? Or some other betting game where you can bluff?”
“Yes.”
“You know how sometimes you raise the bet so steeply your opponent has to either concede what he’s already put in or risk everything to match you?”
“Yes.”
“Do that,” she advised. “It’s easy to let go a small stake, but it’s harder to give up a big investment. Losing a little bit also won’t cost as much face, and everything with these people is face,” she told me.
“Face?”
“Reputation? Public opinion? Street cred?” she tried. I nodded my understanding and she went on. “To force one of them to do what you want requires you either bow so deeply they graciously grant your request, thus preserving and enhancing their face, or… or you have to make it clear to everyone it’s a case of force majeure.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“If someone kicks in your door, it’ll cost you face,” she explained. “You have to do something about it; it’s an insult and you have to respond or others will think you’re weak. If a tornado tears down your house, it doesn’t cost you face. A tornado isn’t out to humiliate you or prove anything. All you can do is pick up the pieces afterward.”
I nodded, thoughtfully. That made a certain amount of sense.
“If I’m some guy being a pest, then the pest gets slapped. If I’m a guardian demon, there’s nothing to be done but hunker down and hope I pass by.”
“Yes… I think.” She cocked her head, puzzled behind her domino mask. “What’s a guardian demon? I’ve heard of a guardian angel, but a demon?”
“It’s sort of a joke. A guardian angel sits on your shoulder and guards you from harm, right?”
“Right. Or so I assume.”
“A guardian demon doesn’t guard you. It punishes whatever hurts you.”
&nb
sp; “Oh,” she said, in a small voice. I took it as my cue to depart in a moderately-theatrical way. I kicked up into overdrive and left at eye-blurring speeds. Thank goodness for the brick walk; I would never have managed it on grass without leaving huge gouges in the turf.
The instant I was around the curve of the path, I slowed down; I really need to work up an inertia-reducing spell before doing the high-speed thing. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a turn at the speed of dark? Especially when you weigh what I do? One false step and I could skid like a motorcycle racer who lost not only his brakes but his wheels. I corner like a fat kid on roller skates. Apologies to any fat kids currently roller-skating, but I’m sure you can picture it.
I made sure my aura of familiarity was still going and walked inside again. The party was starting to break up, which suited me. I explored a small music room while waiting for things to quiet down. Then, still doing my best to blend in—one late guest is nothing to go bananas over—I made my way upstairs.
Yep, Powers’ bedroom was upstairs. I suspect he wasn’t married; the lady in the bed struck me as too young for him, but what do I know? Technically, every woman outside a nursing home is too young for me. He seemed quite disturbed when I drained her of vitality and she went unconscious. Well, considering what she was doing at the time, I suppose he had reason.
Freed from her distracting influence, he noticed me. A stranger in the bedroom in such a situation is definitely beyond the limits of the spell. He made an outraged sound and rolled over on the bed, toward a nightstand.
I broke his forearm and held his wrist against the nightstand. I clamped my other hand over his mouth to stifle the scream. I was careful not to break anything but the arm.
“Now you listen to me,” I told him, forcefully. “I’ve changed my mind about moving along to the next guy up the ladder. You’re rude, supercilious, and smug. Now you are going to do a job for me. You’re going to make arrangements so Mark Spotznitz gets to walk away from whatever the problem is. It goes away or pieces of you go away. Do you understand me?” I let up on my grip over his mouth so he could answer. He glared at me, breathing heavily.
