I tried protesting some more, but I could tell my words were falling on deaf ears. Great! Now, not only do I get to die, I get to do it with my friends cheering me on.
Friends Don’t Let Friends Drink and Dissect
The first half of the weekend was surprisingly pleasant. I went over to the coven, as usual. However, Sally was nowhere to be seen. She was apparently still miffed at me. Oh, well, she’d come around. I knew deep down she would eventually see things my way. We were partners, after all ... perhaps for all of eternity. She’d never admit it of course, but when push came to shove, I had (almost) no doubt she’d be there backing me up.
Still, it was nice to spend some time looking at the eye candy of the coven without her harping in my ear about something or other. Being king is only good so long as you don’t have a bitchy prime minister continually spoiling your fun.
Sunday was game day. No, not that game. I had little interest in whoever was going to be kicking the Giants’ asses on that or any other weekend. I meant my weekly Dungeons & Dragons game. I left the coven while it was still dark to head toward scenic Newark, New Jersey. The game didn’t start until late morning, but heading over while the sun was shining wasn’t a particularly smart move for one such as I. Fortunately, I knew my game master, Dave, would already be up and waiting.
Dave was a third-year medical resident. He was also one of the few humans, outside of my roommates, who knew that I was a vampire. His plan was to go into pure research after he finished with his residency. It wasn’t for any altruistic reason, such as helping mankind. No, it was because he pretty much hated everyone he saw on a day to day basis. Probably a good call. It’s safe to say that most of us preferred to put our lives in the hands of people who didn’t openly despise us.
I had told Dave my secret because I needed his help to become a permanent telecommuter. In return, he had been almost giddy as a schoolgirl. He saw me as his ace in the hole. In return for his help, I agreed to give him tissue samples to use in his research. His plan was to eventually come up with some sort of miracle drug, based off of vampire DNA, that would set him up for life.
We had to keep things on the down low, of course. Letting humans in on the secret of our existence was generally frowned upon. It wasn’t too hard to assume that human experimentation on vampires was probably an even more massive no-no – one that, if discovered, would most likely result in me, Dave, and everyone we knew being wiped off the face of the Earth with extreme prejudice.
That concept in and of itself made me nervous enough. That Dave had begun to exhibit signs of turning into a mad scientist likewise started to worry me. I had little doubt he conducted his research while giggling maniacally to himself. Still, he was my friend, no matter how nutty he was becoming.
Little did I know he was preparing to ratchet up the crazy, although I should have suspected. Let’s face facts: when I stepped into a shit-storm, it rained down upon me with all the fury that Mother Nature had at her disposal.
I knocked on his door just as the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon. As expected, he was waiting for me.
“Come on in. I have a few new tests this morning.”
I just stood there looking back at him expectantly. “Hi, Dave.”
“Sorry. Hi, Bill. How are you this fine morning?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“Wonderful. Now get the fuck in here before I kill your character.”
Yep, that’s Dave, straight to the point and not afraid to use threats to get there.
During my short tenure as a vampire, I had been poked, prodded, lanced, and burned so many times, I almost didn’t notice it anymore ... almost being the operative word. That’s a bit of bullshit from Hollywood. You see, in most movies, Dracula will stand there, being pelted by bullets and laughing as his cold, dead flesh absorbs the damage.
Unfortunately, while real vampires may technically be just as dead, there’s nothing wrong with our nerve endings. Somehow, those work the exact same way as they always did. While I could definitely absorb a hail of gunfire, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t wind up huddled in a fetal ball, crying. Apparently when we got turned into vampires, our bodies didn’t get the memo to stop transmitting the ouchies to our brains.
Sadly, when asked if this was something he could look into during his research, Dave responded with, “Suck it up like a man.” Some days it was tempting to find new friends who were more human and less asshole.
I followed him in and shut the door behind me. Fortunately, his place was vampire safe during the day. The guy kept his apartment as dark as a cave. It was perfect for both gaming and not bursting aflame. Being that we still had a few hours before the rest of the party arrived, I followed him to the back room where he kept a makeshift lab.
“How’s the research going?”
“Same as usual,” he said with a bitter sigh. “Until I get some corporate backing, I’m stuck using whatever shit I can purloin from hospital storage.”
I laughed. “You’re like Dr. Evil ... if he shopped at Walmart.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve been working on this stuff for the better part of a year. Figured I’d have some breakthroughs by now.”
“Still nothing?”
“Almost. I mean I’ve isolated some bizarre protein strands in your blood, but I’m fucked if I know what they do. Originally I figured it was some sort of virus in your system...”
“Like in Blade?”
“Yeah, but no such luck.”
“Oh well, you tried,” I said, turning back toward his living room. I can’t say I would be too sorry to see this end. I couldn’t help but feel like a lab rat around Dave as of late.
“Not so fast.” Damn! “It doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I think it’s time to refocus my efforts.”
“Define ‘refocus.’”
“I need to take this back to square one, watch what happens during the vampire turning process.”
That caught my attention, and not in a good way either. Yeah, Dave was definitely starting to get a Dr. Frankenstein vibe to him.
“I really hope you’re not suggesting I bite someone just so you can watch them go from living to undead. That’d be kind of fucked up.”
He shot me a withering glare. He must have been taking lessons from Ed. “Do I look like I want to go to jail? Let’s be serious here for a second. I want a nice comfy research grant, not to wind up some convict’s bitch.”
“Then how...”
“Did you learn nothing in college? When science wants to test something, we turn to our four-legged friends.” With that, he pointed out a little tank sitting off in a corner of the room. Inside was a bunch of white mice.
“You want me to put mice in my mouth?”
Dave chuckled in response. “If I was going to do that, it would be to post the pictures to Facebook. No, while the thought of you chewing on rodents is amusing, I’d prefer to obtain a venom sample so I can test it under controlled conditions.”
“Venom?”
“For lack of a better word, yeah. Since I can’t seem to isolate a virus, it stands to reason there’s something else in a vampire bite that causes the change. It might be saliva, but I’d be willing to bet it has to do with those nasty canines you’re sporting.”
I rolled my eyes (guess Sally was starting to rub off on me). “Did you ever think that maybe it’s beyond knowing ... supernatural and all that crap? Maybe it’s just magic.”
Dave gave me a look that suggested his opinion of me was rapidly being downgraded. “In the Middle Ages, people thought the sun was magic. Hell, if you showed your cell phone to certain tribes in the Amazon today, they’d either worship you or burn you at the stake. Magic is just a bullshit term for stuff we haven’t figured out yet. I, for one, intend to figure it out.”
“Okay fine, I’ll humor you. So how are we going to do this?”
“The same way they milk snakes.”
“Dude, I know you work long hours and don’t h
ave much time for a social life, but no way are you milking me.”
“Would probably be the most action you’ve gotten in a while,” Dave replied with a chuckle. “But let’s not be stupid here.” He grabbed a cup from a shelf. The top was covered in a plastic membrane. “Here, bite this.”
To say I was somewhat less than impressed would be an understatement. “You do realize how batshit insane this is, right? I mean, outside of the stupidity of milking me for venom, you’re planning on using it to make vampire mice? Seriously, tell me that’s not a low-budget horror movie in the making.”
“I have it covered,” he insisted. “I have welders’ gloves for any handling that needs to be done. The tank is reinforced Plexiglas, and it’s sitting right next to the window. All I have to do is open the blinds.”
“And if one should escape?”
“I bought three dozen mousetraps and a pound of raw, bloody, chop meat.”
I blinked in surprise at that last one. “Well, okay that is pretty fucking clever.”
“Thank you. Now bite,” he commanded, handing me the glass.
I sighed. Oh, well, in for a penny. I extended my fangs then also blackened my eyes – hey, might as well make a show of it – and did as asked. About a minute later, he said that was good enough and took back the glass. I don’t know if it was venom or just my drool, but there was definitely something collected inside of it.
“Just one more thing.” He placed it to the side and began rummaging in a nearby desk.
“Let me guess, more blood samples,” I groused, starting to roll up my sleeve.
“Not quite.” He turned back to me holding a pair of garden shears. “Take off your shoe.”
“Why?”
“I need a more extensive tissue sample so I can continue testing your regenerative abilities.”
“More extensive?”
“I figure one of your little toes should work. I’d ask for a finger, but I know you do a lot of typing.”
I held up my hands and started backing away. “Whoa there, Hoss!”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby. It should grow back before you even leave here today. Didn’t you say that other vampire’s entire hand grew back?”
“Sally.”
“Whatever. It’s not like I’m asking to cut off your dick. It’s just a little toe. Evolution-wise, they’re not even necessary anymore.”
“I don’t care. I’m not letting you prune my digits, no matter how unnecessary they are.”
“Pity. I was planning on dropping a vorpal weapon into the game. Doesn’t Kelvin use a saber?” he asked, referring to my character.
“Not gonna work.” That lasted all of two seconds before I blurted out, “What kind of plusses are we talking about?” Damn my weakness for treasure.
“Four at the least.”
“I don’t know...”
“Oh, and did I mention that the lovely Princess Sheila was looking for a royal concubine? You did save her from those giants, after all.”
“That’s low, dude.”
“I’m not above bribery. So about that shoe...”
“No. No fucking way. Not going to happen. I don’t care if you throw in the armor of the elder gods, too. There is absolutely nothing you can say to convince me.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Ten minutes later, there was a knock on Dave’s door. It was the cops. Guess his neighbors got a little freaked out by all the screaming. What a surprise. It’s amazing just how many nerve endings are contained in one little toe.
Diplomatic Immunity
Outside of a citation for disturbing the peace, the rest of the game was fun ... especially my ill-gotten gains. I could tell the rest of the party were miffed that I seemed to be the golden boy this week, but oh well. I didn’t see them offering up any digits in the name of science.
Dave was right, too. By the time I got home and took off my shoe, stuffed full of blood-soaked bandages, my foot was whole again. One wouldn’t have known that just a few hours earlier, in a fit of apparent insanity, I had voluntarily let my so-called friend dismember me. Why did I have a feeling all of that was going to come back and bite me in the ass? Oh well, I’m sure that’s a horror to contend with for another day.
Little did I know that other horrors were now awaiting me ... and it was just the first day of the goddamn week.
♦ ♦ ♦
I was sitting on our living room couch, still marveling at the fact that I had ten toes again, when our front door opened. Tom walked in, but before I could voice a greeting, his girlfriend, Christy, entered as well. Wonderful. Just how I liked to end the weekend – in the company of my would-be murderer.
I started humming the refrain from Rob Zombie’s Dragula, specifically the part about burning through the witches. I found myself doing that a lot lately while in Christy’s presence. For some reason, it was soothing. Go figure.
Tom took her coat and put it in the closet. Great, that meant she would be staying for a while. I was just getting ready to stand, intent on retreating to the relative safety of my bedroom, when she walked over and sat down next to me. That was surprising. Christy and I had a bit of an unspoken agreement about not being in the same room together for extended periods of time.
Thus, I was caught even more off guard when she said, “Hey, Bill. How’s it going?”
I did nothing but blink for a few seconds, most likely looking like a moron. She and I had said maybe ten words to each other in the past few months, and most of them were inarticulate grunts of begrudging acknowledgement.
I opened my mouth, not really sure what would come out, although expecting something like, “Hey, yourself. Eaten either Hansel or Gretel lately?”
Before I could say anything, though, Tom jumped in. “Want a beer, Christy? How about you, Bill?” he asked, rummaging through our fridge.
“No thanks, hon,” she cheerfully called back.
“I’ll take one.” I had a nagging feeling I’d need it.
“So,” she started, “Tom told me about the peace conference.”
What? Christ, I really needed to stop telling him everything. The guy had a big fucking mouth, especially when it came to women. He’s one of those people for whom it did not take a lot of effort to fuck their brains out.
My eyes narrowed at Christy, but I answered pleasantly, “Excuse me for one second.” With that, I grabbed the TV remote, turned, and chucked it at Tom, hitting him square in the side.
“Ow!” he yelled while I turned back to Christy.
“Now, what was that?”
She replied as if I hadn’t just assaulted her boyfriend with a hunk of plastic. “Tom filled me in on the conference. I talked it over with my coven (the assholes stole the idea from us vampires) and they think we should go, too.”
I’m glad Tom hadn’t retrieved my beer yet because I would surely have choked on it at that moment. “What?”
“Well, at least Harry does,” she said. Harry Decker was the leader of Christy’s coven, the VP of marketing at my company, and a complete nutcase. He was a firm believer in some dumbass prophecy proclaiming my existence heralded the end of wizard and witch kind. Thus, through faulty circular logic, he concluded that if I were to die, then this magic apocalypse wouldn’t occur. He had come pretty close to making good on the threat, too.
The Mourning Woods (The Tome of Bill Book 3) Page 5
