Nightlord: Orb

by Garon Whited

  “If there are any survivors, please convey to them my sincerest apologies for everything after she hit me with her spell.” I paused for a moment. “Not for what happened before, though. That was entirely their own damn fault.”

  “I will. But, to get back to this cure… if, for example, someone had a vampire, such as a friend or family member who had been claimed by one of those things, would you be willing to cure them?”

  “Of course. I can’t do it, at least not yet, but if I succeed in making such a spell I won’t keep it a secret. I’ll give it to anyone who is willing to cure them instead of kill them out of hand. They’re not all bad people. Not even most of them. Quite a few feel they’re afflicted with a curse, and it affects certain realities of their existence.”

  Sebastian walked around the border of my chessboard, cane tapping, thinking. Francine came around the house and sat down next to me. The Four came around the house shortly after.

  “Hi, Mister Smith!” Edgar shouted, waving, as they approached. The others chorused it.

  “Afternoon, everyone. What’s on your mind?”

  “Do you have pieces for your checkerboard?” Gary asked.

  “No, I don’t. Do you want to make some?”

  “Could we?”

  “How?”

  “Out of what?”

  “Hold it,” I told them. “Yes, we can. We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I’m talking with my guest. Sir Sebastian, these are Patricia, Luke, Edgar, and Gary. Everyone, please say hello to Sir Sebastian Wilmont.”

  They chorused a greeting. Sir Sebastian nodded at them and smiled.

  “Are you a knight?” Gary asked. “’Cos only knights get to put ‘Sir’ in front of their name.”

  “I am.”

  “Where’s your armor?” Luke wanted to know.

  “And your sword?” Edgar asked.

  “Do you have a horse?” Patricia added.

  “Hold it,” I repeated. “Sir Sebastian and I are trying to talk. You guys go think about what to make giant checkers out of. I’ll be around when we’re done.”

  They went away, reluctantly.

  “Sorry. The neighborhood kids don’t see many knights.”

  “Think nothing of it. Are any of them yours?”

  “Nope. They just roam around the place.”

  “And you let them?”

  “Of course.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous?”

  “I know the parents. I don’t think I’m in danger of a lawsuit.”

  “I mean, for them.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “You have something on the property that is extremely dangerous.”

  “A magic circle?” I asked, sounding puzzled. I was being deliberately obtuse.

  “I mean your mis—your lady friend.”

  “She’s a perfectly reasonable and rational person. Even if they attacked her with stakes and mallets, she would simply run away from them. The worst she’d do is spank them.”

  Sebastian went back to pacing along the squares, thinking. I’m not sure he believed me about Mary. Then again, how many vampires has he met?

  “You say you would give this spell away?” he asked.

  “Assuming I ever get it to work. Or get something together that seems likely to work. I think it’s going to be a series of spells, rather than one big one. See, part of the problem is you’re dealing with a dead body, not a live one. If—”

  “Please,” he said, holding up a hand. “The details are not important at the moment. The fact you think you may someday accomplish your goal, on the other hand… And you say your power-gathering circle allows you to experiment and research spells much as the ancient magi once did?”

  “Either that, or my brain is wired that way. I’m sure the circle helps, though.”

  “I see. Yes, I think I need to have words with some of my fellows. All this is interesting, and, speaking solely as your agent, I think we could become very rich, indeed, if I can persuade you to limit the distribution of your restorative treatment. But, as you say, not today.”

  “Does that mean you’ll smooth things over with the Fries and Mendozas?”

  “I’ll try. They may not be open to reason.”

  “Wonderful,” I sarcasmed. He politely ignored it.

  “I should be going. It has been a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Likewise. I’m sorry I was so short with you, by the way. I wasn’t in the best of moods.”

  “I think I understand. I might have been a trifle terse, myself.” He smiled, slightly. “I sincerely hope we can make these matters smooth. Would it be unreasonable to ask if I might have updates on your progress? Your lines of inquiry and research?”

  “Not at all. I’ll see if I can come up with something legible. Right now, all my notes are in my head.”

  “Then I will bid you a good day, sir.”

  “And I to you, Sir Sebastian.”

  The checkers were surprisingly difficult. Making a circle between two and three feet across isn’t hard. Making it out of something light enough for a ten-year-old to handle is more of a challenge. They started with the idea of sheet metal, so I put one together for them and rolled the edges to avoid cuts. They decided it was too wobbly and heavy. We made a smaller one, but it looked silly in the giant squares.

  Patricia pointed out we also needed to be able to stack them to make kings. That gave everyone pause for thought. Edgar came up with the idea of fastening plastic pipes together, side-by-side, to make square checkers. Those could be stacked. Nobody else was sold on the idea of square checkers, but we tried it. It worked, but it “looked funny.”

  Still, we built a second one and I got some metal clips; when they stacked, they needed something to hold them together. They were still light enough move, even to jump, when they were two layers thick. But they still looked funny.

  I cut some pipe in different lengths for them and they assembled a rough circle. Shortest ones on the outer edge, longer ones in the middle, then shorter ones again to the other edge. It was at least close to a circle. They liked those much better.

  Gary finally called it quits.

  “I’ve gotta get back to my Dad,” he pleaded. “He needs me at home.”

  The other three didn’t seem to care much for that. They didn’t say anything at all.

  “I gotta go,” Gary muttered, and slouched off. I started picking up cut-off pipe ends. The Three slowly started to help.

  “Something wrong?” I asked. Nobody answered. “You don’t seem happy that Gary’s going home.”

  “His dad beats him,” Edgar stated. Patricia and Luke held still, waiting to hear what I’d say.

  “I know.” Everyone breathed again.

  “Can you make him stop?” Edgar persisted.

  “No. I know how, but I can’t do it.”

  “How?”

  “Mark gets worried about things. He’s afraid he’s going to lose the house, or not find a job, or he’ll never get better from his injuries. It makes him afraid, and the fear makes him angry. He does stupid things when he’s angry.” I shrugged. “Most people do. I don’t like it that one of the stupid things is hitting Gary, but I don’t like stupid in the first place. Keeping him from being stupid means helping him stop worrying. Helping Mark helps Gary. See how that works?”

  “Sort of. I guess. I’m not sure.”

  “I get it,” Patricia piped up. Luke nodded as though he did, too.

  “That’s why I can’t make him stop. I’ve done what I can do to help,” I added. “I should probably let Mark know I don’t expect him to pay for the lawn equipment; I’ll bet he’s worried about that, too. But he can’t mow his own yard, take out the trash, do laundry, or any of that stuff. I bet Gary can’t do it all, either, no matter how hard he tries.” I sighed. “He’s only one kid, after all.”

  The Three traded glances with each other and I didn’t need to be psychic to see what they were thinking. Gary isn’t one, he’s four. There isn’t on
ly a him, there’s an us.

  “We gotta go,” Luke told me.

  “It’s suppertime,” I noted. “See you later.”

  They went home—not, I noticed, to their own homes. I went ahead and ordered a lot of plastic pipe and paint. They wouldn’t have much time in the next few weeks, but they’d eventually get around to the checkers again.

  Mary woke up while I was still in the shower. She came out of the basement while I was putting on makeup.

  “So that’s how you always look so dashing,” she grinned, leaning on the doorjamb. “You get up extra early to put your face on.”

  “You should knock before walking in on the naked guy,” I observed.

  “That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”

  “I notice you’re up early, too. That’s a good sign. You also haven’t sprouted extra fangs, tentacles, or unusual eyeballs. Anything weird you’ve noticed?”

  “I still tingle, but I’m getting used to it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Want some help with that?”

  “I need the practice. Can you see yourself in the mirror?”

  She came in and examined her hair in the mirror.

  “Yes. I can’t see you, though.”

  “Alas. Neither can I.”

  “You’re missing out,” she assured me, smiling. “Are we eating, or is it another night in?”

  “I’m supposed to listen to you tell me all about your life, as well as all the gory details of being a modern vampire.”

  “Can we eat, too?”

  “Hungry?”

  “A little. I’d rather it didn’t become a lot.”

  “Compelling argument. We’ll go out.”

  I got dressed with some trouble; Mary kept swiping things as I was trying to put them on. I had to wrestle her for each item. Then we had to straighten up the room from the scuffle. I eventually managed to put on clothes despite her playfulness. We took a ride into the city while she told me about her mortal life—that was okay in a cab, since she left out names and places. That was fine with me; her criminal career didn’t concern me much.

  On the other hand, she really was a professional burglar. Houses were her preference, but she didn’t mind small businesses or car theft. When she was mortal, she hadn’t done it for the money. She did it for the fun. She enjoyed the nervous, tense feeling of sneaking around and stealing things without getting caught. The bigger the theft, the bigger the thrill.

  “Truthfully, though,” she admitted, “on those occasions when someone shouted, ‘Freeze!’ I was even more excited, because then I ran.” She grinned, almost gleefully. “When I couldn’t run, I fought. I try not to get into that situation, but I never really minded it, either. It usually means I don’t make the heist, though.” I heard the sadness in her voice. “There was one time in London where I had to hide in the sewers for a few days. I tell you, those Brits know how to conduct a manhunt. And they’re touchy.”

  “I don’t want to know what you were after.”

  Mary decided she was hungry, so we took the bus and debarked in a low-rent district. Once the bus pulled away, I took in the ambiance—the rusted fencing, old graffiti, and crumbling buildings.

  “I don’t think this is really prime hunting ground,” I pointed out. “Nobody with money comes here, so most of the muggers aren’t going to hang around.”

  “I had an idea,” she countered. “The city has plenty of homeless. Surely, some of them are dying. If we find one of those, then we… is it proper to say ‘killed two birds with one stone’ in this context?”

  “Proper,” I agreed, “but maybe not polite. Write a letter to Emily Postmortem.”

  “What do you think of the idea?” she pressed.

  “I think you’re darn clever,” I admitted. “Let’s go urban exploring and see if we can scare up any dying squatters.”

  We did. I practiced being quiet and stealthy; Mary was a pro and gave me some tips to work on. I was sneaky. She was a shadow. I was disgusted. We found a number of people using abandoned buildings for shelter. Most of them were in reasonably good health—at least, from our perspective. Sick with something survivable isn’t what we look for.

  Mary was confident in her judgment. Only a moment or two of feeling someone out and she dismissed him as prey. Her range seemed improved; I didn’t have to help her at all. Having a line of sight on the subjects helped, too.

  We did find someone, though. It was an elderly lady with a rickety shopping cart, several layers of cardboard for a hut, and braided rags for clothes. I took a quick look through the shopping cart and didn’t find anything in it worth keeping, not even food. Why she had it at all, I have no idea. I’ve seen a number of homeless pushing rusted shopping carts around, but I’ve never asked what they have in them. Now that I know, I wonder why they bother.

  Mary knelt next to the old lady, gently drew her out of her body, and then emptied the body of blood. I liked how she knew in what order to do those without having to be told. Afterward, we moved the body next to a storm drain and slit her bony old wrists to hide the holes left by fangs. Between the rain and the vermin, she should be ruled a suicide.

  Then, arm in arm again, we went walking back toward the more prosperous parts of town while Mary explained what she knew about her sort of vampire, now that she had a better idea about mine.

  Right off the bat, there were differences.

  When creating a new vampire, the process started with feeding a human some vampire blood. Not much; a mouthful or so. This caused some changes in the human—gradual increases in strength, a heightened ability to heal from damage, that sort of thing. Most vampires kept this up for a year or more. Some made it a policy to keep this going for several years, sometimes decades; the human wouldn’t age as long as he or she got a daily dose of vampire blood. Besides, having a human servant is extremely useful for people who become dangerously flammable corpses during daylight hours.

  There are some drawbacks. The human usually develops a sensitivity to light and requires sunglasses. Sometimes, they become somewhat short-tempered—mostly the Constantines, but potentially anyone. If they wind up in a hospital, their blood type registers as AB positive, usually, which can cause complications if it isn’t really their blood type and they need a transfusion.

  Eventually, when the vampire says it’s time, the human gets to die. One night, the vampire feeds the human much more blood—usually a quart or more—then bites the human and drains out all the mortal blood. The vampire blood takes over operations in the dying human and the human becomes a vampire. Normally, the new vampire then drinks from its progenitor; it’s hungry. Then the two of them go find something (or someone) to feed on, depending on the tribe and personal taste.

  If the human dies without the large infusion of vampire blood, they typically get embalmed or cremated, then buried. That solves the problem. If they don’t get embalmed, cremated, or buried, though, they get up three days later as a mindless killing machine. This creature then goes rampaging around, grabbing anyone it can find, ripping throats out, and gulping all the blood it can get.

  This is considered less than an ideal outcome. I agree completely.

  As for making an actual vampire, Mary didn’t know if any other process would work. This was the way it had always been done. I didn’t see a way to test it without turning someone into a vampire or a corpse. More trouble than it’s worth, really.

  The rest of the rules for the local vampire species were typical. The sun comes up, the vampire goes down. At night, the vampire is a corpse—no breathing, no heartbeat, that sort of thing. It was a serious disappointment to Mary that this also meant no sex. Oh, a female vampire can fake it, of course, but there’s no enjoyment in the act.

  “Of all the drawbacks I’ve encountered so far,” she told me, “that’s the worst. It used to be such fun. Now I’m reduced to flirting and teasing. It’s awful.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I replied, heavy on the sarcasm. “I can tell how much
you hate flirting and teasing.”

  “Okay, I do enjoy that. But I never get to follow through even if I want to! It doesn’t do any good. It’s just mechanics, not pleasure.”

  “That’s odd. My species has a heightened sensitivity in all the senses, especially at night.”

  “Aaaaand… now I hate you.”

  “Just saying. Mind you, men still have the typical problem with a lack of blood flow. You might say we’re a bit… dysfunctional? That way.”

  “Oh, funny. Whereas my species of vampire is non-functional.”

  “But ornamental.”

  “Not even that, necessarily,” she pointed out. “One of the reasons humans have such a long lead time before conversion is to get into shape. When you have your first death, you’re stuck in whatever shape you died in. Those last five pounds? Yeah, they’ll be with you for eternity. Your spare tire? Permanent. Scars? Injuries? Your tan lines? Your beard? Better have it all seen to and exactly the way you want it, because when you have your first death, it’s locked in place.”

  “Really? That’s different, too. My kind regenerates everything. I think it’s an overpowered healing factor, since we live during the day and die at night. It keeps trying to heal us into our physically ideal state. You lose scars, regrow limbs—which takes both time and blood—all that sort of thing.”

  “Do you remember how I said I hate you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think I meant it.”

  “Sorry.”

  For Mary’s type of vampire, every few days, it’s time to eat something, although it’s more frequent with exertion and injury. They get more powerful over time, gradually, and without regard to their diet. Aside from eating each other, of course. She’d never heard of anyone becoming ridiculously heavy in the process, though. Immensely strong, yes, but not more dense. Mirrors work for them, their shadows don’t do weird things, and they don’t turn into bats or mist. Their legends say the ancient elders did, but if so, the secret of how to do it—or the power—was lost with them. There are even rumors that older vampires can “wake up” during the day, and that the Elders might be able to withstand sunlight for brief periods—enough to take a walk on a cloudy day, for example.