She glared at him. “Hold on, sailor. What do you mean, permanent sex partner? Permanent how?”
“Permanent, as in forever. Ah, here we are. Lair, sweet lair.”
Malveaux stopped the car, and Tempest finally noticed that they’d driven away from the lights of the city -- which she could see in the distance -- and were in a relatively deserted section of what appeared to be a ghost town. Of course, it probably wasn’t a real ghost town, just an abandoned area.
Thanks to the illumination of the full moon, Tempest saw the outline of a huge, dilapidated factory behind a broken chain-link fence. An old sign identified the building as an auto factory, which had apparently been a casualty of one of the country’s frequent economic downturns.
Tempest pointed at the empty building. “Is this where we’re going? You live in this rat-infested death trap? Holy shit, did I have the wrong idea about you. No wonder you didn’t want to go to your place to fuck.”
Malveaux laughed. “Well, I’ve certainly spent time in worse places, but the factory isn’t our destination tonight.” He pointed across the street from the factory. “Welcome to one of the oldest churches in the Midwest. Not only is it old, but it has an illustrious history. Some enterprising souls dug secret rooms and tunnels underneath. It’s vampire heaven, so to speak.”
Tempest stared at the large, boarded-up church. “Wait a minute. Haven’t you got your mythology all messed up? If you’re pretending to be a vampire, shouldn’t you be afraid of churches? Shouldn’t you burst into flames if you even stick a toe in one? And, for that matter, wouldn’t that box of crap back at the mobster’s office have sent you screaming? Holy water, crucifixes, garlic? Aren’t those usually the weapons of choice against you bloodsucking night crawlers?”
Malveaux smiled wide, the tips of his fangs waving hello. “This is so great. It never occurred to me that I’d find an offspring with a quick and clever mind, in addition to her other attributes. I can’t wait to seal our bond and have you with me forever. But to answer your questions, all that stuff is bullshit. I won’t go into specifics about how we can actually be killed -- the true death, as it’s called -- but I’ll say that it involves more than jewelry, water, and a bulbous plant. Religion became associated with vampires long ago for political reasons. We were, after all, such convenient scapegoats. Rest assured that if I feel myself about to combust, I’ll give you fair warning to get out of the way.” He laughed heartily, turned the steering wheel, and drove slowly along the side of the church. Reaching the rear, he angled the Jag into an old shed only a few feet wider than the car, and turned off the ignition.
Quicker than it should have been possible, Malveaux was out of the car and standing in the tiny bit of space left between the open passenger door and the wall of the shed. He extended a hand. “Your chamber awaits, m’lady. I’ll have you all warm and writhing in no time.”
He gently tugged her out of the car and scooped her up into his arms, tightly securing the blankets.
Tempest’s stomach clenched. He really was taking her into some abandoned church. Maybe he was going to do some bizarre satanic ritual, or something. She started to think she wasn’t going to make it out of this situation alive, and after she came to that realization, a strange calm settled over her. She hadn’t done most of the things she’d dreamed about in her short life, but she always suspected she wouldn’t make it much past thirty. Look at Jim Morrison, Jimmy Hendrix, or Janis Joplin. Some of her father’s idols. She guessed she was in good company. Although none of them got taken out by some vampire-wannabe psycho-freak. At least she didn’t think so.
But it wasn’t over until it was over. The fat lady hadn’t sung yet.
Malveaux held her easily with one hand while he closed the old wooden door to the shed with the other. As he moved quickly toward the back door of the church, Tempest spied the tire tracks in the otherwise pristine snow. The Jag had been the only car on the road for quite a while. Nothing like leaving a white map. She thought for a moment that maybe the cops would find the tracks, come investigate, and she’d be saved, but that wasn’t a likely scenario. She remembered the assholes who’d snatched her, and, although she didn’t buy for one minute pretty boy’s Dracula routine, she didn’t want to lead anymore sadistic perverts to her location, even if she was going to be a sacrificial lamb. Maybe she could befriend the lunatic.
“Hey, fuckwad. Way to advertise your lair. Don’t you have every family member in the inner city searching for your ass?”
Malveaux stopped and looked down at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Some badass vampire you are. Turn around. Walk back toward the front of the church.”
He turned, and even before taking more than a couple of steps, he saw the problem.
“Shit. I can’t believe how distracted I’ve been. You’re right. We don’t need any more uninvited company. Thanks. You’re a good offspring already.”
Back to the offspring stuff again. What a sick fuck. How could he possibly be walking around naked in this weather? That must be another sign of his mental illness: insensitivity to cold or heat.
“Yeah, that’s me. Offspring of the year. Suzie frickin’ Sunshine.”
“Are you freezing? Or can you stand being out here a few more minutes?”
“Why?”
He sighed. “I’ll assume you’ll be okay for a few minutes. It would take longer to explain than to just do it.”
He strode down the driveway out to the street, sucked in a big breath, and then blew so much air at the snow on the road and the driveway that he created a mini-blizzard. Drifts formed, covering the tire tracks. He’d created a wind storm with his own breath! He surveyed his work, then sucked in another big breath, and blew the shit out of even more of the street.
Stalking back up the driveway, he veered over to the back door, sucked in another large volume of air, and blew away the tracks and his footprints.
“That ought to be camouflage enough. Let’s go.”
No way. She didn’t just see him do that. Even mental cases couldn’t do stuff like that, could they? Could it be possible? Could he really be a…? No, absolutely not.
The church looked like it hadn’t been used for a long time. They entered the back door, immediately jagged to the right, and descended a long staircase. It was pitch black with not one pinprick of light anywhere. It was weird that the deviant could see to walk so fast. He’d probably counted the stairs, or something.
By the time they reached the bottom, they’d zigged and zagged, opened creaking doors, and gone deep enough into the Earth to assume the location had been an old mining operation or a stairway to Hell.
She felt Malveaux reach out to open the last door, and a faint light shone from the large room ahead.
They stepped into the dimly illuminated expanse, and he released Tempest, standing her in the center of the dormitory-like space.
“Welcome to Vampire Sanctuary, my lovely offspring. A hot shower, a hard cock, and immortality await you.”
Chapter Ten
“What is this place?” Tempest asked, eyeballing the shadowy room. “It looks like some kind of World War I barracks.”
“I think it’s older than that, actually. It does appear to have been used as a hideaway. There are tunnels leading to old railroad tracks and the river. I can tell you that it’s been well-used. I sense a torrent of human emotions lingering here. So much pain. Humans have so many ingenious ways to torture each other. We vampires are angels of mercy, comparatively speaking.”
Malveaux walked over to a huge fireplace roughly carved out of the main wall and struck a match. He knelt, touching the flame to a pile of kindling and logs, and watched the fire catch.
Tempest smirked. “So, now you’re a vampire and a ghost buster. Are you saying you’re psychic, or you’re one of those woo-woo ‘I talk to dead people’ guys?”
Malveaux stood and locked eyes with her. “You can’t fool me, you know. Your thoughts give you away. You’ve got t
he false bravado down pat, but it won’t save you. It won’t keep me from doing what I intend to do.” He inched toward her, the movement quietly malevolent.
Tempest clutched the blankets tighter around her body, a slight tremble in her hands. She cleared her throat. “Just exactly what do you intend to do?”
He edged closer, almost touching her. “I’ll make this very clear for you. I am a vampire. In fact, I’m a 200-year-old vampire. The one who made me -- my sire -- had some unique characteristics in addition to being a nightwalker. During his mortal years, he was obsessed with sex. I guess he’d be called a sex addict today. After he was turned against his will by one of his lovers, his carnal needs became entwined with his vampirism. When he brought me over, he transferred his sexual peculiarities to me along with everything else.”
He looked down at his relentless erection. “My continuous hard-on is due to the fact that it is my time to bind someone to me to serve my sexual needs, someone who will offer her blood and take mine. Someone I will birth into a new life…my offspring. You.”
He met her eyes again. “If I don’t, I’ll go mad, and I have no intention of going mad.”
Her breathing quickened as she backed up. “You selfish bastard. Are you saying you’re really going to turn me into a vampire?” Tempest’s voice cracked at the end of her question.
He nodded, advancing on her. “Yes. I’ve already begun the process. When we were so rudely interrupted at the hotel, you had just started to lick the blood from a cut I made in my skin. We’re already psychically connected. It’s good that you finally believe me. Your denial was becoming tedious.”
She raised her chin, challenging him. “I don’t remember licking any blood. You’re full of shit. This can’t be happening! There’s no such fucking thing as a vampire!”
Snake-quick, Malveaux’s hands grasped the sides of her head, holding tight while he caught her gaze. He transmitted memory pictures directly to her brain. He showed her their time together in the hotel, his encounter with the newborn vampires he’d extinguished in the alley, a particularly vivid blood ritual performed by a vampire coven, his first human kill, and the night he was transformed against his will.
In any other circumstances, he might have shared the memories slowly, giving the recipient time to integrate the flood of data. Most minds couldn’t take that much stimulation all at once, but Tempest had shown she possessed an unusual psyche. At least he hoped she did. Regardless, he’d simply wasted too much time already.
When he released her head and took a step back, she stared at him, mouth and eyes stretched wide. After a few seconds, she listed from side to side, then crashed to the floor like a harvested redwood.
“Shit!” Malveaux knelt down next to her, studying her glassy eyes. In the big picture, it really shouldn’t make much difference if he’d literally blown her mind with his mental film festival. She could still service his sexual needs. Her blood would still taste as sweet.
But for some reason he was upset by this turn of events. He’d grown accustomed to her clever repartee and her gutter mouth. He’d miss her sarcasm and witty disrespect. Never in a million years would he have expected to become fond of the gorgeous musician. Or of anyone.
Almost afraid of what he’d find, he tuned into Tempest’s mind, seeking hints of any cognitive activity. Instead of the dense silence he expected after having her circuits fried, her consciousness churned with chaotic images, like a movie on fast forward. He placed his hands on her temples and willed the frantic energy in her brain to slow. When he sensed that it had, he took his hands away and watched her face.
She blinked watery eyes and closed her mouth.
“Tempest? Are you in there?”
Her lips were so dry she had to run her tongue over them a couple of times before she could speak, her voice weak. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
Malveaux threw back his head and laughed. Relief and happiness washed through him. Damned if he wasn’t pleased.
“I shared some of my memories with you. I’m glad they didn’t blow your fuses.”
“Are you telling me that you actually lived the grotesque things you shoved into my head? You know those bloodsucking creatures? You were raped as well as turned into a vampire?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Those memories are only the tip of a bloody iceberg. I just wanted to convince you that there are such things as vampires, and I am one. And after tonight, you’ll be one, too.”
Tempest raised up on her elbows, chin quivering, vulnerability and sadness in her eyes. “But I don’t want to be a vampire. I don’t want to drink anybody’s blood. I don’t want to sleep in a coffin. I want to play music. I want a recording deal. I have plans for my life. You have no right to swoop in and take it all away.” One fat tear rolled down her cheek.
He stared at her, brushed his finger through the tear, and lifted the salty liquid to his mouth. Her reaction surprised him. She’d never expressed any emotional pain in front of him before. His memory slam must have upset her brain chemistry and deepened her exhaustion. Her sadness made his heart -- or what used to be his heart -- ache. He hadn’t experienced a feeling like that since he was turned. What the hell had happened to The Assassin to make him care about what some petty human thought? Were these feelings part of his impending madness? He’d better get his shit together and do what needed to be done.
Adding some extra gruffness to his voice, he said, “Well, whether I have a right or not, it’s going to happen.”
He stood and held out a hand. “Come on. We both still need a shower. This place has all the amenities, albeit minimal.” He pointed toward a doorway at the back of the large room. “The bathroom is in there. The last time I was here, the plumbing worked, and the water was sufficiently hot. Someone even put in some rudimentary wiring for electricity, so the lights are functional.”
Clearly, there was no benefit to sentimentality. He decided to use mind control on Tempest, at least as much as her strong will would allow, so that the bonding experience could be as pleasant as possible for her. Locking eyes, he sent a silent mental command for her to follow his instructions. Her eyes glazed, and her face went slack. He didn’t want to override her personality, just make sure she did what he wanted.
“Give me your hand, Tempest.” She did, and he pulled her up from the floor, leaving the blankets and her jacket in a pile. The blazing fire in the hearth had warmed the room to a comfortable level.
“Here.” He pointed to one of the narrow beds along the wall. “Sit down on the edge and let me take those boots off.” She sat, watching him with empty eyes.
He knelt, unzipped the cheap black leather, and pulled the boots from her feet. She gasped, deep frown lines creasing the skin between her eyebrows. His nostrils twitched as the smell of blood wafted from the open sores on her toes. The poor-fitting boots had rubbed against her skin, causing oozing blisters and bloody wounds. She must have been in pain, but hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t even given it a thought, or he’d have picked it up. What a courageous little soul she was.
“Tempest, why didn’t you say anything about the pain in your feet? You could have removed the boots long ago.”
She looked up at him, emotionless, her frown erased. “I had a lot more on my mind than footwear. In the face of impending death, sore feet didn’t seem very important. Who knew what kind of shit I’d have to walk through? And besides, they’d gone numb.”
He scooped her limp, unresisting form up into his arms and headed toward the bathroom. How odd it was that he worried about sores on the feisty human’s feet and whether the water in the shower would cause her more pain. He couldn’t remember ever caring about the welfare of others. His own human childhood had been so horrible, so inescapable, all his compassion had died. No one had ever spared a thought about his wellbeing. Even before he became a vampire, as a human assassin he’d killed scores of people without a qualm. Why was he suddenly having these unwanted feelings?
Entering the small ro
om, he looked for somewhere to put Tempest while he took care of the shower details. Since there was no lid on the toilet, he had to resort to leaning her against the wall. She stood silent, watching him.
He’d spent quite a lot of time in this particular lair and had planned ahead. Fully expecting he’d bring human company to visit at some point, he’d stocked up on supplies.
Reaching into a large box perched on top of a wobbly table in the corner, he pulled out a toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, shampoo, skin cream, and a couple of thick towels. Then remembering that his own toothbrush was in his car, he pulled out another one for himself. He didn’t know if all vampires paid attention to dental hygiene, but he couldn’t imagine going around with blood breath or questionable chunks stuck between his fangs.
But blood breath was the least of his concerns at the moment. He was still wearing the residue from his last meal at the mob boss’s headquarters, and the smell was so bad he could barely stand himself. His long hair fell in gummy clumps.
The shower consisted of one skinny, open stall with an ancient-looking, rusty nozzle. He turned on the water, shaking his head at the thin, pitiful steam that sprayed out. Recalling the water had been more forceful the last time he’d used it, he pounded the pipe a couple of times with his fist, releasing a small explosion of discolored liquid. After a few seconds, the water cleared, and he adjusted the temperature.
“Not exactly the luxurious accommodations I would have preferred for you, but at least you’ll be warm and clean.” Still worrying about the effect of the water on the sores on her feet, he said, “What do you think? Would you rather stick one foot in at a time and have the pain in smaller increments, or do you want to just step in and get it over with?”
Undead in the City Page 9
