Tempest jumped in her seat, French fries flying. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” she shouted. “You scared the shit outta me. Have you no respect for sick people? I’m recovering here!”
He stared straight ahead, scowling, and tried to remember the stone-cold killer he’d been only a couple of days ago. Before this human storm had upended his existence. Before she’d made him want things that were dangerous to want.
She rested her hand on his leg. “Hey, fuckwad. What’s going on? The temperature in here just took a nosedive. What are you pissed about?”
Startled by her touch, he swiveled his head toward her. “I was thinking about what Quade did to you and what I’m going to do to him. I’m annoyed that I have to wait until tonight.”
She pulled her hand away. “Yeah, well, we’ll definitely kick his ass as soon as I get my second wind. I’ve gotta tell ya, I feel like crap. Maybe there was something funky about that burger, and that’s why I ralphed.” She picked up a French fry from the floor, tentatively stuck it in her mouth, and nibbled slowly. She repeated the process a few more times then sat back, smiling. “That’s more like it. Those little suckers just slide right down.”
Her last words barely rolled off her tongue before she gagged, grabbed the empty food bag, and lost the fries.
She flopped back into the seat and groaned, clutching her stomach. “Shit. I’m sick. That’s just what I need on top of every-fucking-other thing that’s happened over the last couple of days. I’m just going to close my eyes for a little while. Maybe that’s it. I’m just wiped, and it’s all your fault.”
As soon as she closed her eyes, he gave a mental command for her to drop into a deep sleep. If his suspicions were correct, sleep was the only pain-free option for her, at least until she fed on something she could keep down. And having Tempest unconscious certainly would make things easier when they got to their new daytime resting place.
* * * * *
Tempest opened her eyes, or thought she did. Everything was black.
She reached up to feel if her eyelids were still closed, and her hand grazed something hard above her. She tried to sit up and smacked her head on that same surface. When she lay down and tried to rub the sore spot, her hand ran into the same barrier again.
“Holy fuck. What now?” she said out loud as she so often did when things got weird. The last thing she remembered was sitting in Malveaux’s car and saying she was going to sleep for a while. This didn’t feel like the inside of the Jag.
Using both hands, she tentatively pushed on whatever it was, which now that she noticed, was covered by some kind of soft material. It moved, but not much. It was heavy. She was just about to push harder when it occurred to her that she had company. Slanting her gaze to the side, she tried to make out the form lying next to her. There wasn’t much light, but she could see the profile of a face. A familiar face.
Tempest exerted more pressure against the hardness and light flooded her eyeballs. She’d pushed open the hinged top of a huge, red satin-lined coffin. She sat up and found herself in some vast warehouse-type building. It reminded her of those giant furniture stores where you had to ride little golf carts around to find the cheap entertainment center of your dreams.
What was she doing in a furniture store? No. Wait. There were no coffins in furniture stores. The strangely large, dirt nap box was fancy. Gold handles, shiny black surface, like the thing in that old Stanley Kubrick space movie.
A horrible idea hit her, and she gasped. “Shit!” She turned to Malveaux stretched out along side her and ran her fingers down his still, oddly blue face. His skin was frigid. She shook him, “Hey, fuckwad. Where are we? Wake up!” Nothing.
Truly panicked now, she stood. “Jesus Christ! I’m a frickin’ vampire! I’m dead! The son of a bitch did it after all!” She didn’t know if she wanted to kick the shit out of Malveaux, scream at the top of her lungs, or sob like a baby.
She let a good head of pissed-off steam build up, and then another thought occurred to her. She touched her own warm skin. “Wait a minute. If I was dead, I’d be cold like heat-and-serve pretty boy, but I’m not. Okay, maybe I’m not dead.” She looked down at Malveaux, creeped out by the idea that he actually did die during the day. An involuntary shudder wiggled down her body. She’d been locked in a casket with a dead guy.
Voices echoed in the distance, and she jumped out of the coffin, which was tucked back in a corner of the vast room, displayed on a fake tiger fur rug. She reached up and closed the coffin lid. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to find a corpse in one of the demo caskets. She crouched in the shadows.
The voices receded, and Tempest let out the breath she’d been holding. When the coast was clear, she crawled out from her hiding place and stood. Where the fuck was she? As if in silent answer, a neon sign directly across the room flickered to life:
%%Crazy Dave’s Death Emporium
Coffins ‘R’ Us
Cremations While You Wait@@
She had to shove part of her fist into her mouth to keep from laughing hysterically. She’d heard about this place. Some rich whacko with a death fetish.
Waking up in bizarre places was starting to feel normal. According to the digital clock hanging underneath a sign that read “How Much Time Do You Have Left?” it would be dark in about three hours. She’d be safe until then.
First order of business: take the Jag and drive to her apartment. Did Malveaux keep the keys in his pocket? Only one way to find out. She lifted the coffin lid, stared at his gorgeous yet lifeless face, then patted down his pockets, noticing he still managed to sport an impressive erection. She had a fleeting thought about that and then let it go. No keys. They must be in the car. “I guess this is goodbye, pretty boy. Thanks for the nightmare.”
She lowered the coffin lid and headed for the exit sign.
The door creaked open, and Tempest stepped out into a cold, gray day. She rubbed her hands together, grateful for the clothes Malveaux had provided. Her father’s jacket was warm but wouldn’t have protected her legs.
Snow-covered asphalt filled with semi trucks stretched as far as she could see. She guessed the rumors about Crazy Dave were true. The media darling had a clandestine life as an underworld figure, and all those trucks lining up to unload were filled with hot merchandise. No wonder this building was the size of an airport. She mentally filed the information away for future use. Life in the inner city had taught her to keep her eyes and ears open.
But she had more pressing matters to deal with. Where was the Jag?
She circled halfway around the building before spotting the silver car. Malveaux had parked it as far away from the activity as possible. When she got within a few feet of the vehicle, she suddenly felt afraid, paranoid, and terrified for no apparent reason. She trusted her intuition, so she squatted down behind an ungodly huge SUV and looked for trouble. No trouble presented itself. She started to question her sanity and then remembered Malveaux’s ability to surround the car with a dread vibe to keep potential thieves away. She stood, moved forward slowly, fighting a strong compulsion to run away, and pulled on the door handle. It opened. She peered inside and found the keys in the ignition and her guitar case and briefcase still in the back seat.
“Ha! Female intuition triumphs over vampire bullshit! Score one for the Motor City Mama!”
She slid into the seat, kicked over the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot.
Her drive from the edge of the city to its center took more time than she expected. Fucking snow slowed the traffic. Asshole drivers freaked out and drove like geezers in Florida.
When she reached her building, she had to circle the block to find a place to park. Luckily a rectangle of snow-free cement a half-block down became available when somebody dug his vehicle out of the white crap and drove away. She eased in. The Jag drove like a dream. She wondered if the “dread” thing was still active, or if Malveaux would come looking for her when his toy was appropriated by one of her lowlife neighbo
rs. She’d deal with that if it happened, and she’d lock the door the regular old human way.
She collected her belongings from the back seat, slammed the door, clicked the lock, and pocketed the keys.
The familiar curry smell in the hallway gagged her, and she bolted up the stairs. She knew she’d have to eat something that didn’t make her barf, but even the thought of food made her stomach churn.
It seemed like a week since she’d been home, and she was eager to take the world’s longest, hottest shower and drink a few hundred beers. A couple of feet away from the door she got a weird feeling, which was heightened by the fact that her door was cracked open a few inches.
She leaned her guitar case and briefcase against the wall, pushed the door with her finger and watched it swing open. Something smelled horrible.
She sucked in a breath and screamed.
Her apartment was filled with blood. It dripped down the walls, pooled on the old carpet, and oozed from the broken bodies lying in unnatural poses, scattered around the room: the bodies of her roommate Lauren and all the guys in the band.
Chapter Thirteen
Shocked, Tempest ran to Lauren and dropped to her knees on the bloody carpet. Her roommate’s limp body was draped backwards over the arm of the couch. From that angle, Tempest could see a pulse beating faintly in Lauren’s neck. She could also see several sets of double puncture wounds. Some of the blood appeared dark, as if it had been there a while.
“Fucking vampires! Quade!”
She ran to the telephone and dialed “911.” As soon as she heard someone answer, she started yelling, “Send an ambulance! They’re dying! Get over here now!” She didn’t even stop for air. She gave her address, threw the phone down, and leaped over to the nearest band member.
All four of the guys had weak heartbeats. Some of the wounds on their necks looked like the feeding frenzy of crazed animals. Stan’s sweet face was battered and bruised.
She knew she shouldn’t touch anything because the cops would give her shit for disturbing a crime scene, but she couldn’t stand to see her friends displayed in such a disrespectful and crude manner. “Fuck the cops,” she muttered as she moved from body to body, making slight adjustments in their positions. She crooned soothingly to them as she worked, telling them help was on the way, and they’d be okay. She was rewarded by the occasional flutter of an eyelid or the movement of a finger.
Footsteps clattering up the stairs alerted her to the arrival of the ambulance and the city’s finest. Living close to a cop precinct finally paid off.
She tried to keep it together while the cops took her statement. She couldn’t let on that she had any clue about the perpetrators. Nobody would believe her anyway. They asked the same questions over and over, and she repeated the same story. Cops had a way of looking as if they didn’t believe a word you were saying, so she wasn’t sure if they didn’t buy her story or they were just being cops.
They must have been satisfied for the time being because they left her alone, propped against a wall in the corner. She watched the EMTs examine her friends, and her knees almost gave out in relief when she overheard them tell each other that all the victims should recover fully. One of them said he’d never seen so much blood loss and wondered about the holes in their necks. He whispered something about it being a vampire attack and then laughed. If he only knew. She sagged forward, dropping to her knees, the adrenaline rush diminishing. Her heart slammed in her chest, and she could feel the blood racing through her veins. She’d never been as heartbroken as when she thought Lauren and the guys were dead.
As they carried the last of her friends out of the apartment, one of the cops came and stood over her. “Are you okay, miss? Is there anyone I can call for you?”
She raised her eyes to his, a little ashamed of her previous harsh judgments. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine. I appreciate you asking, though.”
He nodded and moved toward the door, “We might have more questions, so let us know if you change locations.”
After she watched him leave, she scanned the room. It finally sank in that her apartment had been trashed and her friends brutalized. Was she going to change locations? Shit, yeah! She had no idea where she’d go, but she obviously couldn’t stay here. True, her bedroom probably wasn’t disturbed, or the bathroom, either, but that was beside the point. How could she stay in the place where the cocksucking vampires had attacked her friends? She was going to get Quade for this. Somehow.
She stared at a puddle of blood a couple of feet away and found herself crawling toward it. Her body moved of its own volition. Something about the crimson substance called to her. Without thinking, she stuck a finger in the center of the pool -- into the part that hadn’t started to thicken and congeal -- and scooped up some of the cool liquid. Almost as if it had a mind of its own, the finger made its way to her mouth. She sucked the blood and groaned. It tasted so good.
She trailed her finger through the puddle again and gasped, suddenly realizing what she’d done. Stunned, she leaped up and backed away. But even as she distanced herself, the blood craving increased. Just the small taste had done something to her senses, heightened them. She felt as if she’d done a line of coke.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” she yelled. “What did those bloodsucking assholes do to me?”
“What bloodsucking assholes, dear?”
Tempest’s head jerked toward the high-pitched voice. Her elderly, gambling-addicted neighbor stood in the open doorway, gaping at the grisly sight. “Oh, my. Did you have another one of your wild parties? I thought I heard some carrying-on earlier. I’d just taken my medicine, though, so I couldn’t be sure it was actually happening. You’re going to have a helluva time getting all those stains out of the carpet. You can kiss your security deposit goodbye.” The old woman raised her nose, sniffing. “I hate to say it, dear, but your housekeeping skills leave a lot to be desired. It smells awful in here. Would you like me to go get my air freshener? It works wonders when my boyfriend Carl comes to visit and eats too much Mexican food.”
“No, thanks, Mrs. Nelson. I’ll hire a cleaning service or something.” Tempest stepped in front of the old lady, blocking her view. She pushed the door closed, forcing the neighbor to back up. “I’ll try to keep the noise down. Have a nice evening.”
Tempest could hear Mrs. Nelson’s voice ranting on in the hallway. It was a good thing the nosy woman hadn’t dropped by during the “party” to see what was happening, or she’d be on her way to the emergency room, too.
The apartment really did have a strong odor, but Tempest had to admit she found it appealing. She closed her eyes and sniffed, having the same pleasant reaction she’d had only a week ago to Lauren’s special lasagna. A sharp pain in her stomach doubled her over. What the hell? She’d gone without food for days before and never felt like this.
Forgetting about the state of the living room, she stumbled into the kitchen to forage for food. She had to get her shit together. Maybe she was pre-diabetic or something, and that was why she was so whacked out. The refrigerator was full of junk food, a sure sign that the band members had been there. She pulled a leg from a bucket of fried chicken and sank her teeth into the greasy flesh. Within seconds of finishing, a wave of nausea crashed over her, and she leaned into the sink and vomited. The chicken bone fell out of her hand with a thunk.
She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face. Out of habit, she cupped her hand and held it under the water, filling it. She slurped the cold liquid and then heaved again.
Fear radiated down her spine. She knew anger was her favorite way to deal with being scared, so she kicked the cabinet under the sink, splintering the wood. Shocked, she stood back and stared at the damage. “Fuck! I’ve kicked that cabinet lots of times, and it never broke. What else can go wrong today?”
Tempest knew better than to ask that question. There was always another pile of shit waiting to be stepped in. She glanced down at her bloodstained clothes and deci
ded she could deal with being in the apartment long enough to shower and change. On her way to her bedroom, she got distracted by a wide circle of blood on the coffee table. Quicker than her brain could react, she bent down and licked the blood from the table. All of it. Then, caught up in the mindless frenzy, she sought out another pool of red and drank.
What a rush. She’d never felt so alive, so powerful.
Excited and entranced, she discovered that using her nose to scent the blood was quicker than using her eyes, and she found several more pools of her friends’ blood. Part of her brain struggled to make her stop, to realize the obscenity of what she was doing, but some other wild part urged her on. Her new liquid diet obviously agreed with her, because her stomach settled and felt great.
After she found all the still-wet spots, she strode into the bedroom, licking her lips. The room had been tossed. She wasn’t Susie Homemaker, but she usually made her bed and straightened up, lining her acoustic guitar collection neatly in a row against the wall. She specifically remembered doing that before leaving for the last gig, because she had expected to get lucky. Yeah, she got something, but luck wasn’t involved.
All the covers had been pulled off the bed, and her guitars were everywhere. One of her band photos, a provocative, nearly-nude pose of her caressing her black Fender electric, was on her pillow, and a large stain decorated the center of the sheet. The scent was immediately recognizable. Out of habit, she bent down and sniffed. Guy cum. Somebody had jerked off on her bed. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure it had been Quade. The asshole had left his calling card.
With a new sense of urgency, she peeled off the soiled clothes and headed into her small bathroom. It didn’t look like the fiends had messed with anything there. Instead of the longest hot shower ever, she took the quickest. There was no window in the bathroom, and she didn’t know what time it was, but she definitely needed to be elsewhere by dark. Assuming, of course, that the fucking vampires couldn’t rise from the dead before then. She wrapped her hair in a towel, stood in front of the mirror and stared at herself, trying to figure out what looked different. Her skin was pale, but that could be due to the barfing thing. The bags under her eyes were big enough to pack all her furniture in, but she could write that off to lack of sleep. No. It was something about her mouth. She bared her teeth and was startled to see her canines extended down farther than usual.
Undead in the City Page 12
