by Sloan Archer
Robert had never been too fond of Marlena, anyway. He told me that he found her cold and prickly, words that carried a lot of weight when spouted from a vampire.
Suspicious of the contempt Robert felt for Marlena, I’d once asked him if he’d ever had romantic relations with her. He’d coughed out a laugh, declaring that he’d rather be burned at the stake than touch Marlena with a thousand-foot pole, which I took as his way of telling me no.
The funny thing was that there should have been oodles of men volunteering to touch Marlena without the aid of a pole. She was so stunning that it nearly made you weep. Her emerald green eyes and fiery copper hair were as dazzling as her alabaster skin and impeccable figure. But, as Robert had pointed out, her attitude could be off-putting to the opposite sex. Marlena was nowhere as dear to me as Liz, but I didn’t think she was as bad as Robert made her out to be. Robert said give it time.
Robert hid in the bedroom as I opened the door. I saw through the peephole that Marlena was holding a couple of boxes, the rectangular kind with lids on top that were typically used in offices.
“Took you long enough,” she commented sharply before I had the door all the way open.
I was sure Robert was listening and was now gloating. Marlena hadn’t been there more than thirty seconds and she was already starting in. Hey, I never said she was a saint. And I did owe the woman my life.
I invited her in. “Hello, Marlena.”
“Hi. Where should I put these?”
“Um, let’s go to the kitchen table. What’s all this?”
“These,” she said, setting the boxes down, “are all kinds of crazy.”
“Oh?”
“Michael’s stuff.”
“Oh.”
She pulled out a chair and sat down. “May I sit?” she asked as an afterthought.
“Of course.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? Can I offer you a glass of blood?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” she accepted crisply. It seemed she planned on staying a while. So much for Robert’s human vacation plans.
Robert kept his blood in a separate fridge than my human food, thankfully. Because gross, right? Undeniably, I didn’t find it so gross when he occasionally drank my blood during our trysts in the bedroom—back when he was vampire, that is. According to Robert, drinking a lover’s blood is the height of vampire intimacy. I had to agree with him on that one. It was kind of hot, a feeling no human man could offer.
I did a rapid summary of the labels on the carafes of blood. I’d lived with Robert long enough to know that this plasma had come from his preferred blood bank near Embarcadero.
Hundreds of clandestine blood banks across the city catered to the undead. Vampires had varying grades of blood much like humans had varying grades of food. They had their ultra high-end blood (Beluga caviar), gourmet blood (truffles), their everyday blood (wheat bread), and then their least desirable blood that was like human junk food (squeeze cheese in a can). How vampires gauged the “purity” of the blood had nothing to do with the gender, age, or race of the donor. It was based on lifestyle choices. Healthy humans—like athletes and raw food diet followers—fetched the highest sums for their blood. The cheapest blood came from donors who were less cautious about what they put in their bodies: smokers, heavy drinkers, and fast food consumers. I’d never sold my blood, but I imagined mine would be right around the midrange level. I was healthy in a drug free, four-days-a-week runner sort of way, but I still liked to indulge in the occasional slice of pizza and glass of wine. And I drank java like the world was running out of coffee beans.
From the fridge, I called to Marlena, “I’ve got a female vegan college student, a thirty-year-old male triathlete, or . . . Wow, this one says that the donor finished fifth in Tour de France.”
“I’ll go with the cyclist,” she replied. “That sounds good.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I’m curious what it’s like. I’ve never tasted it myself, obviously.” I joked, “I bet it has a leggy aftertaste.” Whatever that meant.
She laughed halfheartedly at my lame attempt at humor. “Doesn’t Robert tell you what the blood’s like?”
“Um, no. We don’t really discuss his taste in blood.” And we wouldn’t be for some time, either, with Robert’s newly acquired hankering for omelets.
“I suppose you wouldn’t, would you?” she commented.
I poured the blood into a crystal tumbler. I gave Marlena her drink and then took a seat at the table opposite her. “So . . . ? Are you going to tell me what your brought over?”
She started to remove the lid off one of the boxes and then stopped. She drummed her lacquered nails on the lid—glossy black today. Usually she sported red.
“Normally, Mercy, I wouldn’t dream of going to a human with something like this.” She said human in the same manner a human would say leper.
I didn’t take offense. Marlena had been a vampire so long that modern forms of politeness were lost on her. She was a tad old school—stuck in her ways—though I couldn’t name what “school” Marlena was actually from. Her age could be two hundred or two thousand for all I knew. I didn’t know her well enough to ask. Some vampires were testy when it came to revealing their age, just like humans. I was certain, however, that Marlena preferred the company of vampires to humans. That was her prerogative. There were plenty of other individuals I preferred being around than Marlena, which she also probably knew.
“You’re saying I should feel flattered?”
Marlena shook her head. “I’m saying that I came to you because this is a matter I do not wish to discuss with vampires . . . or anyone else.”
“Why tell me?” I asked.
“Look, Mercy, I know that you and I aren’t exactly BFF’s.” Her brow furrowed. “This is what women say now, BFF? The modern term for female friendship?”
I bit my lip to stop myself from grinning. “Some do, yes.”
“Whatever the case, you and I have established trust, right?”
“Yes. I hope you trust me, Marlena. I think I proved my trustworthiness to you during my employment at Dignitary.”
“And I you.” We both knew what she’d done for me, and she was far too classy to tack on “for saving your hide.”
“So . . . the boxes?” I prompted. “You said this was Michael’s stuff?”
“Here’s the thing,” she stalled. “Once I let you look . . . You cannot tell anyone what you’ve seen. The information inside these boxes would cause a vampire hysteria that I wouldn’t want to imagine.”
Oh no. I considered Michael’s visions. Could this stuff be related?
“Marlena,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Just let me see.”
She opened one of the boxes and pulled out a stack of journals. They were made of assorted materials: the oldest were worn and leather, the newest glossy and plastic.
“What the . . . ?”
“Wait. There’s more.” Marlena opened the second box. Instead of taking the time to pull out each individual journal, she flipped the whole thing over and dumped out the contents. More journals—piles of them.
I was speechless.
She asked, “Remember how I told you that I suspected Michael had been murdering humans for some time?”
I nodded.
I’d let Marlena believe that I was privy to Michael’s murdering only because she had told me about it. The truth was that I’d heard it straight from the horse’s mouth—Michael’s—but it was a detail I’d kept from Marlena since I did not wish to delve into Michael’s prophecies. Vampires were clever—Marlena especially. I feared that if she began prying into the source of my knowledge, she might unearth the not-so-small secret I was keeping about possibly endangering the entire vampire race. Marlena was under the impression that the motivation behind Michael’s murders was old-fashioned jealousy: that Michael had been killing off humans who were involved with vampires romantically because he’d been jilted by a vampire lover back when
he was human.
Marlena was so wrong.
So the less I said, the better.
“It appears Michael had been busier than I thought,” Marlena stated, regarding the journals.
“What do you mean?”
“Each journal represents one of Michael’s human targets. I knew some of these humans personally—like Raquel and Penelope, who, as you are aware, used to decoy for Dignitary. Others, I’ve never heard of. These journals date back many years.” She shook her head in disgust. “There is a lot of information; Michael certainly did his homework. He recorded the history of each human, their blood type—how or why he found that out is beyond me—and their daily schedules. He even drew sketches.”
I asked, “Sketches? Of what?”
“This is why I’m here.”
“Okay, so . . .” I looked over the journals. “Are you telling me that all of these people are dead? There must be two dozen journals here.”
“Twenty-seven,” she said. “But not all of these humans are dead.”
“Oh?”
Marlena plucked one of the newer journals off the table and placed it in my hands. It was large, decorated with red, black, and white stripes.
“This human is still alive. The only one.”
I gasped when I opened the journal. Written on the backside of its cover was a name.
“That’s right, Mercy,” she confirmed. “This is yours.”
Michael had indeed been thorough. I felt nauseous as I flipped through pages that were indicative of a stalker’s twisted scrapbook. He’d somehow obtained a copy of my Dewhurst degree, information on my blood type, and photos of some of my nightly activities: trips to the grocery store with Liz, dates with Robert . . . and, oh man, one of me sleeping, taken from the outside of my bedroom window.
“Flip to the last page,” Marlena said flatly.
I did as she commanded.
I nearly dropped the thing.
“There are similar sketches in all the journals, even the earlier ones that date back decades. You can appreciate, Mercy, why I cannot approach other vampires with this information. Since Michael could truly see visions of the future, I must assume that some part of these drawings are factual.”
I was too horrified to speak.
“I came to you because Michael felt you were important enough to keep tabs on, so I’m hoping you’ll have an idea about what some of it means. And because you’re the only one to have survived.”
I swallowed. “I, uh . . .”
The sketches were of an outdoor scene that featured a group of vampires. They were emerging from coffins, unharmed by the daylight, and staring up at the sun. Some of them were rejoicing while others were weeping. But they all had one thing in common: Every single one of them was holding a set of bloody fangs.
The other sketches were equally peculiar. Some were simply nuts, the ravings of a lunatic in bizarre picture form: splatters of blood, a pile of stakes scattered across dirt, balls of fire. It was impossible to decipher them since no context was given. There were also drawings of a large contemporary building. But what kind of building it was or where it was located was impossible to tell. The drawings did not include telltale details like neighboring structures, automobiles, or trees. For all I knew, the building could have been a dentist’s office in Cincinnati or a nightclub in Cairo. Whatever or wherever the structure was, it was important. I’d come across four separate drawings of the same building so far, and I still hadn’t gone through all the books. Even stranger, Michael had drawn two of the sketches long before buildings like this had been invented. The building depicted could be no older than ten, maybe twenty years old, but the journals I found the sketches in were dated decades earlier than that.
I stared at Marlena. It was strange for her to show up when she did, I realized, right after Robert had become human. Had I been more disposed to paranoia, I’d almost suspect that she had an ulterior motive.
“I may not be able to read minds, but I can plainly see that you know something, Mercy,” she said with sharpness. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Why did you come to me with this today?”
Her face was fixed with confusion. “I didn’t. It’s night.”
I slapped a hand against my thigh. “Semantics! That’s not what I meant. Day, night—that’s not the issue! What I mean is, why didn’t you come to me with these journals sooner?”
“Why are you asking?” She was suspicious.
“I just am.”
“I uncovered these boxes only yesterday. I was clearing out Michael’s office to make room for gym equipment. Some of the decoys have taken it upon themselves to become pudgy . . .” She straightened. “Anyway, I don’t see why my timing should matter.”
She was too annoyed and perplexed to be up to no good. Coincidence, then. In a world where vampires existed, stranger things could happen. Still . . .
“I need a minute to think, Marlena.”
Marlena nodded with a surreptitious peep at her wrist. I nearly burst out laughing. Impatient as Marlena was, it wouldn’t have surprised me if she set her watch to ensure that I didn’t go over my allotted sixty seconds. She picked up the copy of Vogue sitting at the end of the table and pretended to casually flip through it. She reached for her glass of blood and raised it to her mouth to take a drink.
She froze with it below her lips.
I peered at her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost—”
“Hello, Marlena.”
I wheeled around to find Robert standing behind me, his eyes fixed on the journals. He’d obviously heard our little exchange.
“Robert . . .” Marlena sputtered. “You’re—”
“Yes, I know,” he said calmly. “Human.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But . . . how?”
Robert shrugged. Marlena opened her mouth and then closed it again.
The three of us stared at each other in awkward silence.
Finally, I asked Robert, “You look flushed. Is your fever back?”
“It comes and goes. I feel okay now.”
Marlena gaped, “What in the hell is going on?”
More awkward silence.
Was I actually going to do it? Yes. Yes I was. “Uh, you guys . . . There’s . . . I’ve been kind of keeping a small secret about Michael’s visions.”
“A secret?” Robert and Marlena said in unison.
“It . . . I’m afraid it may put me in danger.” I studied my shoes. “It may also put you two in danger—for knowing it.”
Robert put his arm around my shoulders. “You can tell us. Isn’t that right, Marlena?”
Marlena nodded tersely. “Yes.”
“Mercy, uh, I’m no longer a vampire, remember,” Robert murmured in my ear.
“And?”
He tipped his head towards Marlena. “If something happens, I won’t be able to defend you . . .”
“For Pete’s sake!” Marlena huffed. She’d clearly heard, though Robert hadn’t tried all that hard to whisper. “You think I’m going to, what, attack Mercy?”
“Would you?” Robert asked.
Offended, Marlena snapped, “If you recall, I’m the one who saved her life!”
I said, “And you might be sorry that you did once I finishing telling you my secret.”
They looked at me expectantly.
“Aw, hell,” I muttered. “I need to make a quick call.”
“To?” Marlena demanded.
“Liz. I might as well let her in on it, too. No point in having to repeat myself.”
Liz came over in no time. She joined Robert and Marlena at the table, frowning at the journals. “What’s all this about?”
Marlena, who was Liz’s boss at Dignitary, shot her a suspicious glance. “These? These journals are you main concern? What about Robert? You can see him, can’t you?”
“Yes,” Liz answered. “Why?”
“And you don’t notice anything unusual about . . .” Marlena pursed her lips. “Yo
u knew, didn’t you, about Robert being human?”
“Afraid so,” Liz said. “Sorry, Marlena! It wasn’t my place to tell.”
“At least we know that we can trust Liz to keep quiet,” Marlena quipped frostily.
Liz ignored her. “I’ll ask again: What’s up with all the notebooks?”
Marlena filled Liz in about Michael’s nutty scrapbooking while I fetched Liz a glass of blood, courtesy of the vegan college student.
When I returned, Liz’s face was horror-struck. She chucked aside the journal she’d been flipping through and it hit the table with a hefty plunk. Whoever that human had been, they must have kept Michael very busy.
The owners of three pairs of very curious eyes observed me, their emotions varied: impatience (Marlena), curiosity (Liz), and confusion mixed with hurt (Robert). I was most concerned about Robert’s reaction, as I suspected he’d be upset after learning that I’d been keeping such an immense secret from him.
“Uh, shall I begin?” I asked.
The vampires nodded. So did Robert.
5
Carrying the secret around had weighed heavy on my conscience. I hadn’t realized just how much until I finally came clean. I felt about fifty pounds lighter.
“In a nutshell,” I concluded, “Michael was convinced that the human responsible for the downfall of the vampire race had been spawned from a special bloodline. He believed I was that human.”
Robert, Marlena, and Liz spoke simultaneously. They all basically wanted to know the same thing: What qualified as a special bloodline?
“Michael told me that humans from the special bloodline—Cataclysmics, he’d called us—smelled different to him. He also said that the human responsible for the devastation would be in love with a vampire.”
Marlena, business as usual, enquired, “Us?’”
“Yes. Us.” I lifted my chin towards the journals. “Take your pick. Michael started hunting Cataclysmics from pretty much the time he’d been changed over to a vampire. If you look through those journals, I’m positive you’ll find that every single one of those humans was in love with a vampire.”
