Ash was so proud of her.
She sensed the others before she heard the soft gasp and Ash couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears broke free as she slumped over her lost friend. A daughter really. She loved the girl so much. Still crying, she managed an even voice. “Desmond, I asked you to tend to him. You know I never ask of you anything.”
“Aye, true enough, but were no’ my decision then, was it?”
“Ash,” Tristan started, still amazed he was conscious and then turned his attention to Desmond. “Dammit, put me down.”
The big vamp smirked and dropped him to the ground like a bag of dirty laundry.
“Fucker,” Tristan hissed, clutching at his middle. Then he saw Ash and realized his pain was nothing compared to hers. From across the lawn, he only got a profile view, but it was enough. Haruka was dead and Ash was in mourning.
“I tried so hard,” Ash said softly, looking down at Haruka’s still form. “I did everything for her. I saved her from that monster, only to kill her myself. In the end… it all mattered for nothing. ”
“Oh Ash, I’m so sorry. Is there any—”
A snort from across the lawn drew Tristan’s and Desmond’s attention. Desmond knew the man was not dead, but Tristan hadn’t even noticed the other body, missing its legs, slumped against the fence. “Of course no thing you could do.” The vampire laughed again, though it sounded strained, forced. “Jap bitch is good dead.”
“You son of a—”
“That is enough,” Ash said in a firm but low voice. Gently, as if not to wake the lifeless tattered body, Ash slid Haruka from her lap. She stood and removed her robe, revealing a nightgown underneath that didn’t hide anything. She laid the stained and torn kimono over the body of her lost friend.
“Blyad,” the Russian vamp hissed at Ash.
She turned slowly to look at him, eyes half lidded and cynical. Tristan shrunk into himself. It was that Ash again, the one he didn’t know. The one that frightened him. This Ash was dangerous.
“You call me a whore?” She retrieved her sword from the ground where she had dropped it and started a slow, calculating stalk towards the halved vampire letting the tip engrave a line in the grass. “You are the whore here. Doing whatever he tells you without question.”
“It is our role as scion. If you have any pride as vampire, you follow Master too.”
“Only the weak follow. Only the weak take orders without question. Who are you to take the life of an innocent?”
“No person is innocent. Not you, not the Jap bitch who whines for mama. Mama, mama, ma—”
The last taunt was cut off by a hard fist to his jaw. Ash was on him and Tristan hadn’t even seen her move. The vampire grunted under the blow and toppled over. No sooner did his shoulder touch the ground and then he was airborne from a kick Ash delivered to his chest. Six-hundred pound motorcycle, two-hundred pound bag of Russian shit, didn’t matter, they all went flying.
“You, you…” The tears were flowing freely. She could not stop it. There was no shame in crying for those you loved. She went to stand over the unmoving vampire she’d kicked across the lawn. “Tell me where to find Malik.” There was no movement from the monster. “Now.”
Tristan sighed to himself. Apparently Yuki didn’t tell her anything last night. Big surprise. Then again, maybe the crazy old bat really didn’t know where Malik was. In a (very tiny) way that made Tristan feel better.
The Russian didn’t move. Ash didn’t hesitate to stomp down on the stump of leg Haruka left him with.
“Bitch!”
“Answer me you worthless piece of shit!” Ash screamed, flashing a lot of fang.
Desmond chuckled. “Now he done it. Only heard the wee lassie curse wance in the lest fifty years and that was when we… er, never yew mind.”
Tristan frowned. He didn’t like the idea that Desmond knew her more than as passing acquaintances. Then again, they used to sleep together, didn’t they?
Ash yanked the sword from its sheath. Red tears still streaming, panting with anger, she sat down hard on the vampire’s chest and shoved the sharp metal under his throat. He twisted and groaned under her weight, trying to get free, but Ash had him pinned. With no legs, there wasn’t far to run either.
A rustling, a low growl and scratching sounded from inside, behind Tristan. Something about the noise made all the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Seconds later, he realized why as a small dark shape crouched on all fours, shot out past him. The shape was familiar but his mind railed against the awful sight. No matter what shape it was in, the appearance was clear to him. A jikininki.
“Oh fuck!” He scrambled to stand, but Desmond grabbed him. “The fuck off!”
“Calm doon, mate. Yew’s go’n tae bleed out, thrashing like a fooking loon.”
“But—” Tristan stopped, watching as the creature went up to Ash and stopped. She smiled at it and gave it a pat on the head. Called it a “good girl.”
“What the…?” Tristan muttered bewildered.
“Aye. That be Pandora.”
“But how?” Tristan whispered and looked up to Desmond. The big vampire smirked at him like nothing weird was happening at all. Like Haruka wasn’t dead, like there wasn’t a vampire with no legs spewing Russian curses at Ash. Like Pandora wasn’t a jikininki.
Desmond shrugged, looking away. “Dinnae rightly ken, mate. Jist that it be true.”
“Yuri!” Ash snapped. “I do not have the time to deal with you. That man,” Ash said, motioning to Tristan, dying on her lawn, “is more important to me than a thousand of your pathetic lives.”
It took a few seconds for her statement to register in his blood starved brain. When he realized what she might have meant, he blinked at her stunned. What exactly was she saying... that she...?
Desmond snickered. “Bloody fools.”
“Shut up, fucking asshole.”
“Yew and me is going to have a crackin’ wee rammy when yur aw better.”
Tristan smiled. A wee rammy? Yeah, he’d like to ram his fist into Desmond’s face too. “Looking forward to it.”
Oblivious to the others, Ash continued her interrogation. “Very well. I tried to offer you the decent way out. The human way, but I will just have to do it the vampire way now.”
“Ot ebis'.”
“Do not worry, I shall inform Master of your failure when we send him to his own doom.”
Melodramatic, but good.
“Stand no chance and you know it, blyad.”
Ash sighed and dropped to her knees next to the vampire. He laughed. “Na kaleni, suka. Na kaleni, suka.” Another, wetter laugh. “Always on the knee.”
Ash’d had enough. She let out a guttural groan that gave Tristan the chills and bit down fast and hard across the front of the foulmouthed Russian’s neck. He screamed a ragged cry of pain, exciting Pandora so that she shot to her feet and barked. Tristan looked away, closing his eyes. He knew what she meant to do and had had enough violence for one night.
Instead of the vampire she bit falling to moans within seconds, his screaming doubled. Tristan cringed, sinking into himself. “Why’s he screaming like that? I thought it felt good to be bitten?”
“Aye,” Desmond said in a low voice, sounding somber. “We can make it a bloody nightmare too.”
Tristan shuddered and frowned. He wasn’t sure if he passed out or just got lost in a half-conscious daze. Next thing he was aware of was the delicious burst of want in his lower half as a vampire lifted him. But it wasn’t the vampire he wanted holding him.
He swallowed down a needy moan and groggily muttered, “Desmond, put me down.”
“No can dae. Asta aboot tae rip mah baws aff fur no’ fixing yew up yet. And I rather fancy me baws in a functionin’ state, mate.”
“Ash…”
“Shh,” her soft voice sounded in his ear. A hand touched his forehead and for once, she felt warmer than him. “You shall be fine.”
He couldn’t open his eyes and the rock
of Desmond’s gait was making it harder to keep conscious. “I’m sorry.”
“She is at peace now.”
There was so much heat in those little words that Tristan forced his eyes open. They were by the front door. Ash was putting on her shoes.
“Don’t,” Tristan said in a breathy voice. His lungs were on fire. Talking was almost impossible. “You can’t go. Ash, please don’t do this.”
“The boy es right, lassie. Yew can no think tae—”
“I did not ask you!” she snapped and the big guy sighed. “Take care of him, or I swear to the Goddess, Desmond.”
She was going to leave. She was going leave and get herself killed. “Desmond, you big fucking prick,” Tristan snapped with the last of his energy. “Put me down. Stop her.”
Desmond actually put him down without arguing and tried to reason with Ash. Tristan was left slumped against the wall watching the two vampires scream at each other. But there was no noise, like watching TV on mute. All he could hear was a hum in his ear, a white noise so loud that it even blocked out the screaming in his head. He wanted to yell too, to tell Ash to stay but his mouth stopped responding. And then his eyes surrendered, gave up the battle and fluttered shut. Ah, his new friend, the darkness. Yes, it was nice here, where it didn’t hurt anymore. Where he could slip into nothingness alone. In peace.
20: Forsaken
PAIN and pain.
My lungs burn. I can’t breathe. Maybe I’m drowning. That’s it, I’m drowning and about to die.
My stomach… Tingles and something—there’s a vampire. Oh. Vampires, plural. I can feel more than one. I guess I really am going to die now. Damn Malik and his fucking flunkies.
“I’m over it—”
Hell. Even singing in my head is off-key. Who the fuck cares? I’m about to die, I can sing if I want to. I’m going to sing into death.
“You see I’m falling in the vast abyss—”
I really like this song. But maybe Amazing Grace is more appropriate?
“Amazing Grace how sweet the sound that—shit.” Don’t know the words. Fuck it, I’m dying, I can sing what I want.
“Clouded by memories of the past—”
It would have been nice to be able to say goodbye to my friends from home. To Ash. I think I’ll miss her the most. Why do I feel so strongly about someone I don’t even know?
“I once was lost, but now am found—”
I killed that vampire, didn’t I? I killed that vampire in the kitchen and didn’t even think twice about it. It felt so damn good too, cutting into that monster. That man.
I killed a man.
“God, I’m the real monster.”
Did I… did I say that out loud?
“…Tristan?”
Someone calling me? Ash, is that you? Ah! My fingers. I can feel… my body. Nothing hurts. Why doesn’t it hurt? Oh. That’s right. I died. Well, had to happen sometime.
“At last, I see.”
DEEP laughter filled Tristan’s ears, washed down his body like scolding oil. The sound came from every direction, seeking him out.
“And tell me,” the owner of that deep laugh said, “what is it you finally see?” His voice was a rich, deep baritone, holding almost a creamy touchable quality as if you could reach out and push your fingers through it to find it warm and tingling across your skin. If you stuck your tongue out and licked it, it would taste of dark chocolate and Bailey’s.
Tristan’s eyes opened. The sky, it was so dark. The stars, so beautiful. Dirty hands. The stink of burnt plastic and heated metal.
“No,” he whispered. He couldn’t believe that if he died, this was where he was supposed to be. He may of have had a rough past year, did some things he wasn’t proud of, but he was still a good person. He didn’t deserve to spend the rest of eternity here. He couldn’t watch this forever.
“No,” he said again as if it would make it true. He sat up and looked around. “Oh my god, this isn’t. It can’t… Make it stop.”
He was sitting on the ground in the middle of a lonely street. A street he knew well. A street he’d never forget not matter how old and weary his memory grew with age. Night was fresh and the air warm. There was the crackle of a fire and he had to look. He had to turn towards the noise even though he knew what he’d find. The Audi lay on its side. Father on the ground. Mother inside, burning alive, mouth agape like in Munch’s famous “The Scream”. Just like the painting, there was no sound to go with the horrifying visage. Indeed, the only sound was that man with the deep voice laughing again.
Laughing at Tristan.
He looked up, past the burning car to the trees. There he was, The Laughing Man. The Shadow, the Wraith. But who was he? And why was he fucking laughing?
“Hey,” Tristan yelled, standing and then stopped, realizing he wasn’t hurt. He looked down. He was wearing the clothes he had on that night, the night his parents died. Just to be sure, Tristan reached inside his dress shirt and felt his stomach. Flat and smooth—well, no open wounds anyway. No broken leg.
He knew it, he really did die. And now he was stuck here. This was his hell.
Laughter again. “Oh, you are so very amusing.”
Tristan frowned, thinking he’d heard that from somewhere recently. Oh, right, that crazy old bat, Yuki.
“She is rather old and batty, isn’t she?” A man stepped forward, making two sharp clicks with the heels of his dandy looking shoes on the pavement. Then a third click. The man had an honest-to-God walking cane. Tristan wondered what time he was in as he looked over the tall, slender man before him. His triangular face was mature, mid-thirties, but the features were delicate. Thick, wavy white hair barely covered his ears. He was dressed like he stepped right out of a period movie wearing dark pants that tucked into knee-high tan riding boots. The shirt was white cotton; one of those old style shirts, like you’d see out of the eighteenth century, with billowing sleeves. The shirt tails were tucked in to leave no white showing between his pants and the tightly fitted, finely decorated vest of gold and dark reds that he wore over it. All the dude needed was a top hat, or more rightly, a riding hat.
Behind him, the shadow he emerged from moved. Not much, just enough to pull Tristan’s attention. But this shadow wasn’t vertical so much as a crouched mass of darkness. He wondered for a moment who else was hiding back there. Was that a glint of animal eyes?
“What’s going on here?”
The gentleman made a sweeping gesture with a gloved hand. Was he wearing those before? “Oh this? I thought it appropriate to meet on common grounds. You don’t like it?”
Tristan was nearly trembling with anger, eyes welled up from the pain of watching his family. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t watch his mother and father die again. “I—”
“Oh dear, don’t tell me you haven’t dreamshared with Asta yet? She is very skilled.” His smug smile slipped away, pale eyes went cold. “You haven’t touched her have you? I won’t abide by humans putting their disease ridden cocks in my precious Asta.”
“You, you’re Malik.”
The dapper looking “gentlemen” grinned big, flashing fang, crossed an arm across his chest and gave a deep bow. “A true pleasure.”
The crackle of flames took over the silence that hung between them, begging him to look their way, to watch the tragedy of death.
“You. You son of a… You killed Haruka.”
“Point in fact, Asta killed her. Bullet to the head. Saw the whole thing. Tragic, heartwarming, crushing, blah blah blah blah blah blah. Ah, that girl hasn’t changed once in over three-hundred years. Shame, really thought I could break her. Sadly, I was wrong. Ah, well, first time for everything, right?”
Tristan gritted his teeth. “You’re a monster.”
“You only just met me.”
Yeah, he’d been hearing that a lot lately. “I know enough. You are a monster.”
Malik laughed. “Guilty. But a beautiful one though, no?” He started to walk slowly towards Tristan and laug
hed when the American jumped back. He settled on making a slow, wide circle around him to assess him from every angle. “Though, I must say. I hadn’t a good look of you that night. Up close you are far, far more fetching. Perhaps even more than I?” He laughed, slapped his thigh with the hand not holding the cane. “Oh, I say some of the silliest things.”
“What are you talking about?” Tristan made sure to keep him in sight, turning to face the vampire as he made his circle. He felt like an elk being hunted by a lion. Wonder who ran faster. “I’ve never met you.”
“No, point in fact, we haven’t met. But I’ve seen you. Your dashingly handsome face filled with agony. The tears, oh I wanted to lick them up, devour you whole. And they weren’t tears for the pain your weak human body inflicted upon you. No, no, no. You barely noticed your leg was crushed after you saw your mother. You darling thing, crying so for your mommy and daddy.”
“What do you know?” he snapped only to keep from exploding. He wanted to pound the guy’s face in.
“Oh, plenty.” Malik stopped, clicking his heels sharply on the pavement. He tucked the cane under an arm and held out one hand, palm up. The other got a quick lick on the thumb and then he pretended to flip through his invisible book. “Tristan Daniel Blum. Male, single. Attended Johns Hopkins University for electrical engineering. Hmm, good grades. Mother, Julia Mary Elizabeth Blum. Father, Vincent “Spike”—” He made sure to make the air quotes with the fingers used to flip the invisible pages in his make-em-up book. “—Grant Blum. Birth mother, Masuyo Uruwashi, of the Uruwashi clan. Birth father—” Malik glanced up at Tristan’s sharp intake of air. “Unknown.” He snapped his little invisible book shut.
“You know, don’t you? You know who my father is?”
Malik looked away, putting a pinky to his chin. “I don’t recall. Gosh, the mind does weary so over the years. I can’t even remember how old I am. Six-hundred? No, that can’t possibly be right. Was it after the fall of the Byzantine Empire? Or the Ottomans? Ah, I must be getting senile.”
Beautiful Death Page 23
