The Glass Vampire

by David Page

  He turned right at the next intersection and made his way past the small yellow brick library. The Aurora Bridge loomed several hundred feet above the valley in which Fremont nestled and spanned the gap between Phinney Ridge and the top of Queen Anne Hill. At its highest point, directly over the canal that cut Fremont in two, it stood several hundred feet high and boasted more suicide attempts than any other place in the city. Richard had considered using it on more than one occasion, but death offered no chance at revenge or redemption and he vowed he would have both.

  He passed between the huge cement support pilings and stopped in the middle of the street that ran beneath the length of the bridge. Turning right, he looked down the hill towards the water. Like the pillars of a cathedral, the gargantuan columns of the bridge stretched high above, arching overhead and extending into the distance. Far below, the water glistened in the moonlight like stained glass. But there were no clerics here, no men of God, no Knights Templar.

  Turning, he looked up the hill towards the Troll.

  The huge cement creature hid under the bridge at its lowest point where the highway above rejoined the solid ground. Richard climbed the remaining distance slowly, never taking his eyes from the beast. He felt like a pilgrim coming to pay homage to a distant king.

  The Troll’s great torso seemed to erupt from the Earth. In one giant, sculpted hand, he gripped an actual full sized Volkswagen Beetle; his other hand reached forward, a giant claw ready tear its prey limb from limb. One of his great eyes was closed while the other one, made from the hubcap of the Beetle, glinted dully in the glow of the street lamp. A six-foot long nose protruded from its hideous visage, jutting out over the hapless auto.

  Giving the outstretched claw a wide berth, Richard stopped in front of the creature's face and bowed from the waist as he had once done to William the Conqueror.

  “Well, my friend, any sage advice on my current predicament? Any answers locked away in that cement brain of yours?”

  Never one for conversation, the Troll did not respond.

  Richard slapped his forehead. He was standing under a bridge in the rain talking to a giant cement sculpture. Turning to leave, he discovered that he was not alone. Three men stood in a semi-circle between the last two bridge supports. He gasped, immediately thinking that Frederick had decided to simply kill him, but these men were not agents.

  Despite the cold chill in the damp air, the man on the right wore a black tank top that barely contained his huge muscles. He folded his beefy arms in front of him, revealing a skull and crossbones tattoo on his right bicep. In the middle, an average sized man with greasy, dark hair wore a long black trench coat tied at the waist like a tunic. He carried a baseball bat. The last and tallest of the three wore a leather jacket and swung a crowbar. Richard silently cursed the fates for bringing him to the Troll at that exact moment. Perhaps, he thought, the universe was testing him.

  The man in the overcoat stepped forward, patting his left palm with the bat. “Don’t let us interrupt your little show.”

  “Yeah, show.” The tank-top man added, revealing at least two or three good teeth.

  The man with the crowbar simply glared.

  Richard swallowed and forced his fangs to remain sheathed. Old instincts died hard. The last thing he needed was more trouble. “Just come from a thrift store, did you?” "That supposed to be funny?" The leader grinned with absolutely no humor. He had all of his teeth.

  Richard took a step back, cursing himself for opening his mouth, but doubting that his silence would have deterred the men. "Of course not, my friends. I can see that you would like some time alone with the Troll. He is all yours.” He knew there were stairs behind him on either side of the bridge, but doubted he could make it to either of them. His lip curled into a sneer.

  “We don’t want the Troll.” The leader leered at him.

  Richard’s chest tightened. He was not going to get out of this without a fight, something that would probably end with him getting bashed to a bloody pulp. He had been trained in the knightly arts of war and combat, skills he had maintained throughout the centuries, but he had been unable and unwilling to use his skills for the past decade. Frederick’s plans had changed that. He might still be a glass vampire, as fragile as his little figurine, but now he was a glass vampire with nothing to lose. The wrath of a vengeful Department no longer kept him in check. He raised his hands in front of him and lifted his chin in defiance. “Gentlemen, and I use the term 'gentlemen' loosely, this is really not a good time.”

  The tank top man took a few steps towards him. “Bite me!"

  Richard laughed at the irony.

  The man hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. His face reddened slowly as he advanced. "Give us your money, you stupid bastard!”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, he’s a vamp.” The leader grabbed his friend, bringing him up short and pointed to Richard’s left wrist where the tracking bracelet had emerged from beneath his coat glinting from under Beth’s ‘magic’ wristband. “What’s he gonna have, two or three dollars?”

  “Useless vampire jerkoff! Let's kick his ass!" The third man gave the crowbar a twirl and ran forward.

  Richard's pulse raced and sweat beaded on his forehead. His inner voice told him to run, but something held him in place. Ten years of abuse from humans, ten years of running was at an end. He grinned and dropped into a crouch. His fangs sprouted and he shook as the man closed on him. As the bar came down, he stepped to the right, reached out, caught the man’s arm, and slammed an elbow into his face. As he connected with the man's head, a feeling of victory blossomed within his tainted soul.

  “The bastard broke my nose!” Blood spurted from the man’s face as he gasped and fell back.

  The sight of the blood caused Richard’s fangs to ache. It had been so long since he had had fresh blood, so long since he had tasted the life essence of a human, rolled it around his tongue and sucked it down. Adrenalin pounded through his veins and the edges of his vision took on a reddish tint that he had not seen in years.

  The other two men separated and circled as their companion staggered to the sidelines. It was all Richard could do to hold his building bloodlust at bay and watch the others from his peripheral vision. As he concentrated on staying focused, the tank-top man sprang at him, muscular arms outstretched as he sought to get him into a strangle hold.

  Richard bared his fangs and hissed as he kicked out, sweeping the big man’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground with a dull thud. Richard danced back as the leader moved in. This human pressed forward, swinging the bat with surprising speed. Richard threw himself aside, gasping as the man's weapon clipped his left shoulder. Shards of fiery pain shot through his side and knocked him off balance. He tripped on some loose gravel and fell against the Beetle.

  The leader stayed with him, bringing the weapon up for a second attack, but Richard did not give him time to wield it. Bellowing at the top of his lungs, he launched himself from the old car, planting his right shoulder into the man’s gut. The leader gasped as the wind was knocked out of him and the bat spun from his hand, landing beneath the Troll’s nose. Richard hit the ground, the loose gravel digging into his side. He rolled and came up on one knee, quickly taking in the scene around him.

  The tank top man was back on his feet and his friend with the crowbar had just turned his way. A stream of water splashed Richard in the face as it slipped through some crack in the bridge above. He wiped it away and stepped back slowly. Reaching down, he managed to retrieve the bat. As his hands closed around the handle, a heady feeling filled him. The weight was slightly off, but the grip felt right. He raised the weapon in front of him, letting the tip drop until it was horizontal and pointing directly at his foes.

  His opponents paused.

  They stood that way for what seemed like an hour, but Richard knew it was mere seconds. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, as only a vampire could, he brought his weapon to his face in a formal dueling salute.


  “Shall we?” Holding the ‘sword’ horizontally above his head, he dropped into a ready stance, barely able to hold his center against the anticipation of victory. For the first time in a decade he was fighting back and winning.

  “Kill him!” The leader screamed like a member of a barbarian horde.

  The tank-top man gritted his four teeth and charged.

  Richard swung the bat in a figure eight in front of him creating a barrier that brought the man up short. “You don’t want to do this. I’ve got nothing to lose!”

  “Me neither!” The tall man with the crowbar appeared from the right, lunging forward with the straight end of his weapon.

  Richard parried, breaking his barrier, but preventing the crowbar from piercing his side. Following the sword arch, he brought the pommel up into the man’s jaw with an audible crack.

  The tall man dropped the bar and staggered away and disappeared into Richard's peripheral vision.

  Taking this advantage, the leader and the tank top-man dove at him in tandem. Richard spun in a complete circle swinging the bat with perfect form, first hitting the leader in the shoulder, then connecting with the tank top man’s cheek and knocking out two of his remaining teeth. The tank-top man dropped to the ground clutching his face while the leader turned and ran.

  Richard stepped up to the tank top man and lowered his bat so that the end was at the man’s throat. “I suggest you leave. Now.”

  The big man looked up at him. Maybe it was the fangs, or the steely determination he saw in Richard's eyes, or perhaps it was the beating he had just taken, but he held up his hands in surrender, rolled away, sprang up and ran after the leader. Richard glared at the crowbar man who still clutched his jaw near the Troll’s outstretched hand. The man, his tears mixing with the blood trickling down his face, nodded and took off after the others.

  Richard shook, forcing himself to ignore the tangy smell of their blood. His heart pounded and for the first time in years, his body tingled with triumphant joy. He smiled up at the Troll. Somehow, he had turned the tables, fought back and been victorious on the field. There, under that bridge in front of the giant sculpture, his pride, deeply wounded by a decade of oppression, began to heal.

  He planted the top of the bat in the ground, knelt in front of the Troll and looked up at the bottom of the giant nose. “My liege, I declare this victory in your name.”

  10

  “Glad you could make it.” Beth brushed a strand of her dark hair from her face as she looked up at him.

  Of course you are, Richard thought, wryly. He stood by her side on the overlook platform at Gasworks Park. The smooth surface of Lake Union stretched before them, reflecting the glow of downtown Seattle beneath the overcast sky. With no apparent rhythm, the lights blinked like shimmering stars as gentle waves rolled across the waters. Richard’s people had once equated the stars to the heavens. With that same logic, his ancient self might have concluded that evil lake spirits were responsible. He wondered what Beth would make of such a statement, but dismissed it. They had other things to discuss, and his time was running out.

  “Richard?” She waved a hand in front of him.

  “My apologies, I was lost in thought.” He decided to keep his adventure at the Troll to himself, unsure if she would understand and afraid that she might not wish to associate with him. A vampire harming humans, even in self-defense, was forbidden and would certainly bring down the wrath of the Department upon him. That’s what she would conclude, in any event, not knowing that he was now the puppet of his dreaded nemesis. He was not sure he could conceal his victorious mood, however. He had proven to himself that he was not so breakable as he had thought.

  He glanced at her and the huge rusted metal tubes and towers of the abandoned gasworks caught his eye. They rose behind them, dark and ominous memorials to their own forgotten time. He gave them another few seconds of attention and then scrutinized Beth. Her drenched hair was matted against her head as she had apparently chosen to come without an umbrella. Still, her high cheekbones, perfect mouth, and large eyes were surprisingly beautiful in the cool twilight. Her nose-ring was absent, though she still wore her long black coat. The silver rings on her every finger, glittered dully. Richard eyed them warily, wondering if she had worn them as a precaution. That much of the accursed metal would act like burning brass knuckles against a vampire.

  She looked at him, lips pursed, but said nothing.

  "What is it?" He wondered if his hasty departure from the coffee shop had angered her.

  “Something is different about you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  She pulled at her silver cross absently. It glinted against the nearby sidewalk light….

  ***

  The woman in red dropped her veil onto the foot of the bed. Richard laid there, his legs under the covers while the rest of him sat propped up against the wall. He held a plate of dried fruits and jerked meat. Not much, but better than nothing. He assumed she had raided it from her lord's kitchen.

  On the single table next his bed, a large goblet of ale rested next to a glowing lantern. Behind the table, his sword and shield leaned against the wall atop his folded mail shirt. The woman in red had apparently found his shield since the last time he had seen her. Thoughtful of her, but he wondered how she had known which was his. He thought about the battle, about the bodies of his men, and his enemies, splayed out in the field and he winced. They had trusted him and because of that, they were all dead. His eyes grew moist as bitterness choked his throat.

  What is it, Sir Knight?” Her full lips turned down in a frown as she watched him. "Does your wound cause you pain?"

  "Not my wound, Milady." Richard struggled to a better sitting position.

  She had taken good care of him in the two days since the battle, but he still knew very little about her. Turning her back to him, she shrugged out of her cloak, revealing her alabaster shoulders. She was so pale, it seemed as if she were made from marble, yet he knew without doubt that she would feel like silk to the touch. He wished fervently that he could discover for sure, but a woman as beautiful as she had to have attachments that would make such a liaison impossible. The thought drew him away from the death and destruction he had left on the field.

  "Perhaps this will help." She hung her cloak on a peg near the door, then removed the wooden bar from the single window and opened the shutters wide.

  Moonlight streamed in, banishing the remaining shadows to the deepest recesses of the room and bathing the woman in angelic brilliance. He stared at her, unable and unwilling to look away from the light. She smoothed her skirts and straightened. Her perfect breasts strained against the low bodice of her dress.

  Richard held his breath.

  “What troubles you?" Her voice was rich and luxurious. She crossed to the bedside, the silver light from the window clinging to her hair.

  “It is nothing you need concern yourself with." Richard replied hastily. The disappointment written on her face made him regret his rash choice of words.

  She leaned over him, pulling away the covers at the same time. Richard felt the heat coming from her and caught a whiff of lilacs as several tresses of her beautiful hair fell in front of his face. “The bleeding has stopped. You will be ready to travel soon.”

  Richard felt the disappointment he heard in her voice. Although they had hardly talked, she had saved his life. At the very least, there was a debt he would have to repay, though he could not think of an honorable way to do so. Most of his comrades had died in the ambush leaving him with nothing but the shame of defeat to return to. To the other nobles, he would be an outcast.

  She pulled back slightly, locking her green eyes on him. His heart skipped several beats. There was a deep longing in her soul that matched his own. She wanted him; needed him… and in that instant, he needed her as well. She understood what he had gone through even though he had told her nothing. He rose, his lips parting as he drew near hers.

  “You have lost a lot of
blood.” She pressed one palm to his chest and studied him for a moment, a frown creasing her features. “You should rest.”

  Something in her eyes more than her words, gave him pause. It was as if she held him there with a look alone. Slowly, he sank back down onto the bed, his body still hot with desire. He could take her, as many knights would do in his place, but he took his honor seriously and would never force himself upon any woman.

  “I’m sorry, milady. I thought…”

  “That I wished you to kiss me?” Her pupils grew larger and she reached out to gently stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. Her touch sent fiery spasms through him.

  “Yes.” He grabbed the blanket with both hands and squeezed tightly. That single word was an effort.

  “You are right to think that.” She smiled and the room seemed brighter. “I do wish to… taste of your lips, but you lack the strength and we have not yet shared our painful secrets.”

  “If it means kissing you, I’ll find the strength of ten men.” Even with her body’s pull, he was not yet ready to tell her what had happened on the field.

  “That is very sweet,” She withdrew her hand, but continued to gaze into his eyes. But you have lost too much blood to give me what I need.” She waved one hand past his eyes.

  Richard’s desire cooled almost immediately and a mind-numbing fatigue swept over him. His eyes felt heavy and unfocused.

  “Rest now, Richard. I must go.” She straightened and took a step back. “You need sleep if you are to recover your strength.”

  “Wait. What is your name so that I may address you correctly in my dreams?”

  Her smile broadened. “Mmm…you’re quite honorable, aren’t you?” She tilted her head to the side and chewed her lower lip for a moment. Finally, she looked back at him. “You may call me Colette, Countess De Monteford.”