Vampire Sire

by J. R. Rain

  “But that’s not what happened here,” I said. “Jeffdick—”

  “Jeffcock.”

  “Same thing, did not fake his death.”

  “No, Sam. He was killed. By the very same hunter who attacked you.”

  “And you know this, how?”

  She smiled warmly at me... and a little knowingly, too. Her lip quirked up and it hit me. I had seen that same expression on my daughter.

  “Yes, Sam. I am a telepath. A particularly strong one. No, not as strong as your daughter, but I, too, can dip into the minds of immortals.”

  “So, there are no secrets from you?”

  “No, not really.”

  “And you effectively block your own thoughts with the looping song.”

  “I do, Sam.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Then you know all about me.”

  “Not all, Sam. Unlike you or your daughter, I can only catch flashes of the strongest hits across the prefrontal cortex. I can’t dip further than that.”

  “But you are mortal.”

  “Yes. You are wondering how I developed such abilities.”

  “Lucky guess,” I said.

  “Not so lucky. Oh, I see you are joking. You could probably surmise how such abilities develop in humans.”

  I could, actually. My daughter’s own abilities were due to her close proximity to me, and, in particular, the power level of the entity possessing me. Turned out, Elizabeth was one helluva powerful bee-atch.

  “Yes, Sam. You are correct. Turns out, my boss is pretty damn powerful too. One of the most powerful of shifters. And yes, he is friends with Kingsley Fulcrum.”

  “Small world,” I said.

  “Indeed.”

  “Now get the fuck out of my head,” I said, and threw up the most powerful barrier I could, one that had been taught to me by my daughter herself, one that caused enough interference to sometimes give even her fits.

  “Very well, Sam,” she said, blinking. “Now, shall we get down to business?”

  I knew she was here for business. I also knew she was here because I had been included in someone’s will. What I hadn’t known was that certain someone just so happened to be the very same bastard who had attacked and turned me. Admittedly, a number of thoughts raced through my mind. Admittedly, they all took a backseat to one: curiosity.

  “Okay,” I said. “Fire away.”

  She nodded, reached into her briefcase somewhere by her feet but below my eyeline. She withdrew a few sheets of paper and laid them on the desk before me. “First off, Mr. Letholdus has left you a sizable inheritance.”

  “Sizable in what way?”

  “He left you his home in the Fullerton Hills, including everything within and everything below.”

  “Below?”

  “Mr. Letholdus had... exquisite tastes, you could say. He is leaving you his collection to do with as you wish.”

  “In his basement?”

  “Not quite a basement, but close.”

  “And you know what’s in this basement?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “And you won’t tell me?”

  “No.”

  “I have ways of making you tell me,” I said.

  “I know, Sam. I’m hoping none of this results in violence. I am, of course, outfitted in silver, and have on my person a number of weapons, including a silver-tinged spray that you wouldn’t like at all.”

  “Fair enough. But for the record, I was talking about tickling.”

  “Of course you were. Shall we continue?”

  “Please do.”

  “The home itself would be considered, by all accounts, a mansion. It occupies its own hillock on the outskirts of Fullerton. Its views are impressive, as is its construction and general layout. Truly, it is one of my favorite buildings in Orange County, and I am not shy about expressing some jealousy. Then again, if anyone is more deserving of the home, it would be you, one of his victims.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  She nodded. “Often, especially after your attack.”

  “He spoke of my attack?”

  “Not directly, but he hinted at it, and the firm was aware of it, based on the updates to his will.”

  I nodded, momentarily at a loss as to what to ask next.

  “Additionally, he mentioned that he was certain he was being hunted by a clever foe, someone who, up to that point, he was unable to pinpoint. He was careful to make sure his will was finalized, and he was careful to include you in it.”

  The hunter would have been Rand. And Jeffcock had a reason to be concerned. After all, Rand had finished the job, killing the old vampire... and then coming for me next. Last I checked, I hadn’t been killed, and had somehow made it through, thanks to a carefully timed turn of my shoulder, which still sometimes ached, even years later. Silver was a bitch to my kind.

  “What did he look like?”

  “Mr. Letholdus?”

  “Yes.”

  “For a vampire, he looked elderly.”

  “How many vampires have you seen?”

  “Dozens, Sam. But Jeffcock was one of the oldest-looking. Clearly, he had been turned later in life.”

  “And when would that have been?”

  “He let it be known that he’d been hanging around since the 1600s. We knew him to be one of the oldest vampires—and not just in physical appearance—in the world.”

  “How long had he been in Fullerton?”

  “Nearly two decades. Well, nineteen years.”

  I thought about that. By now, I, too, had been in Fullerton for almost two decades from the time when Danny and I had settled in, gotten jobs and started our family. Curiouser and curiouser.

  “He lived alone?”

  “I only knew of him during his last few years. But he lived with servants. Both of whom still maintain the property.”

  I snapped my fingers. A question that had been nagging at me sprang to the forefront of my thoughts. “Why now? It’s been, what, six years since his death?”

  She nodded at that. “Exactly six years. I think, perhaps, it’s better to show you why. We have a standardized agreement in all of our contracts with all of our clients.”

  She spun the paper around and pointed to a numbered clause, written in tiny print. Luckily, my eyes are perfect. In a nutshell, it stated that the inheritance would remain in probate until a period of six years had passed.

  I sat back, satisfied but still curious. “Why six years?”

  “It’s a standard clause for our... eternal clients.”

  “But why?”

  “My boss, the author of the clause, had learned over his very long career that immortals are wont to have a change of heart and/or mysteriously return from the grave. Six years seems to be the ideal buffer or grace period. It is safe to assume that, considering the circumstances of Mr. Letholdus’ death, he won’t be coming back any time soon.”

  “You know this how?”

  “I saw the body, Ms. Moon,” she said. “He had been thoroughly vanquished by both silver-tipped arrow and, shortly after, by fire.”

  “Any chance it wasn’t him?” I asked.

  “We had a DNA sample from him, a standard requirement. As you might have guessed, his murder was not reported to the authorities.”

  “Was he buried?”

  “No. He was burned further in the crematorium under his home.”

  A crematorium under his home? “Then why wait the requisite six years?”

  “Because our contracts are upheld to the letter... and with immortals, anything can happen. My employer claims he has seen it all. Six years seems to be a safe waiting period.”

  “To truly confirm the immortal is dead and gone?”

  “In blunt terms, yes.”

  “So, what now?” I asked.

  She reached into her briefcase again and pulled out two more pieces of paper. She pushed the first document toward me. “This is a transfer-on-death deed, Ms. Moon. As you can see, Mr. Letholdus took the time to make t
he process of transfer as seamless as possible.”

  I nodded dumbly as the reality of this situation began to set in. My mind was both empty and racing. Like a prop gun firing off blanks.

  “And here is the latest assessment of the house,” she said, pushing the second piece of paper at me.

  The house, I couldn’t help but notice, was valued at $5.7 million.

  “Is this really happening?” I asked.

  “Yes, Sam, it’s happening. You need only to sign the deed of transfer and the house is all yours.”

  “But I’m not entirely sure why this is happening.”

  “Mr. Letholdus predicated your confusion, which is why he left you a personal note. You’ll see that within the note, there are a series of instructions for you, personally, instructions that I cannot help you with, nor can anyone.”

  I opened my mouth to speak again, but nothing came out, although I might have hissed a little like a flat tire. Or a snake. I closed my mouth again.

  “Your confusion is understandable, which is why he left you the note. But I will add this: Mr. Letholdus wasn’t like the others of your kind.”

  “My kind?” I asked.

  “Do we need to dance around the subject, Ms. Moon? I have seen your memories. And I see your nails. I also noted you cast no reflection in the glass of the framed pictures hanging in your hallway. You are a vampire, through and through.”

  “Fine. Go on.”

  “Very well. As mentioned, I have come across many others of your kind, and I have seen inside the minds of all. Trust me when I say this, Ms. Moon, you would not believe what I have found inside the minds of other vampires. I have seen what they do to those they feed on, not all of whom they kill. I have seen the grotesque arrangements some vampires force upon their mortal victims. I have seen the lives stolen and the pain inflicted. Mercifully, my own telepathy is limited, and I cannot go deep enough, but I have seen enough to haunt me for the rest of my days.”

  “Yet, still you do your job.”

  She held up her hands. “I am afraid I am in this for life. Little did I know what I was signing on for when I first took the position. My own employer is not without his own sins.”

  “He feeds from you.”

  “But of course, Sam.” She paused, looked away, and the song inside her head faltered enough for me to see in her mind, see her holding her wrists out, while a very, very large man hovered next to her, hungrily feeding from them. I looked at the very same wrists and noted they were as smooth as can be. No sign of scarring, which was to be expected. The bite of an immortal always heals cleanly. Perhaps it is necessary to cover their attacks; after all, not all victims recall being attacked, and that is certainly for the best.

  “A werewolf who feeds on blood?” I asked.

  “He is... a half-breed, Sam. Ah, I see this is a new concept for you.”

  It was and it wasn’t. I’d heard about such half-breeds during my time in New Orleans and, well, all the way back to the Civil... but that was a story for another time and place.

  “My employer can be nourished by either flesh or blood.”

  “You want me to kick his ass?”

  She smiled sadly. “No, Sam. It is an arrangement I... enjoy.”

  I nodded, understanding the close bond between a vampire and a consenting feeder. “It makes you stronger.”

  “Yes, Sam. My own telepathy and fledgling telekinesis grows with each feeding. Telekinesis? I didn’t know I had it in me.”

  “You’re a big girl, so I won’t mention how dangerous this arrangement could be to your health.”

  “I understand the risks, Sam. And I welcome them.”

  “Very well. You were saying?”

  She nodded. “Mr. Letholdus was not like the others. Like you, he drank from animals.”

  “Unlike me, he kept slaves.”

  “Servants only, Sam. And they came with the house.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “You will soon come to realize that your attacker—the vampire who rendered you into what you are today—meant you no harm.”

  “Pshaw,” I said dismissively. “I beg to differ.”

  She pushed on. “You will note, Sam, that greater powers than he orchestrated your attack. I assure you, he was most displeased.”

  “Seemed happy enough.”

  “There is more to the story, Sam. But perhaps you should hear it from him. But just know that our client was not in the habit of turning other vampires. In fact, you were his first and only. He will explain the significance of that in his letter.”

  “Significance of what?” I asked.

  “His connection to you.”

  “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “Truthfully, Sam? I don’t either. But he will explain it more in his letter. From there, what happens next is up to you.”

  I waved her words away. “Fine. Whatever. The vampire who threw me a few dozen feet into a tree and virtually tore my throat out is a saint. What’s your point?”

  “There is more to the story, or so he hinted.”

  “You do not know the story?”

  “No, Sam. Just know that he was not like the others. He kept to himself, kept to his pursuits.”

  “What pursuits?”

  “You will learn soon enough. He was a quiet man, often disappearing for months at a time.”

  “Let me guess... his pursuits?”

  “I would imagine so, yes. His neighbors, undoubtedly, would never have guessed his true nature. He kept the monster within him in check. Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “You will see soon enough, Sam. Now, will you be signing the deed?”

  “What happens when I do?”

  “You will be the sole owner of his home and—”

  “And everything within.”

  “Yes, Sam.”

  I stared at the paper, and the little yellow arrow tabs that were pointed at the various lines where I needed to sign. The tabs looked... absurd. That vampires played by human rules suddenly seemed absurd, too. That the vampire who had attacked me had also left me his very home was, perhaps, the most absurd of all. On principle, I should have refused the inheritance. I should have torn up the document and ordered Ms. Alaine out. But I didn’t. After all, hadn’t Jeffcock left me with another kind of inheritance, too? Hadn’t I inherited, in a way, his own tainted blood? His vampiric legacy? Wasn’t giving me a house the least he could do?

  I took in some air, held it, and then forgot I was holding it. Finally, I said, “I can sell this house, no?”

  “You can do anything you want with it,” she said. “But might I offer a suggestion?”

  “Offer away.”

  “You might want to give it a thorough inspection.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  “Please do,” she said, and handed me her pen.

  I paused only briefly before accepting it and, with my head spinning and my hand (perhaps the first time in years) shaking, I signed my name to the deed.

  Chapter Three

  “You’re kidding?”

  “I’m not kidding.”

  “C’mon, Sam. This is a joke, right? A mansion?”

  “No joke and, yes, a mansion. I think.”

  “You haven’t seen it yet?”

  “No, Allison,” I said. “That’s why I’m calling you. Get your butt down here ASAP and help me check it out.”

  “Sam, I have clients.”

  “Ditch them.”

  “I can’t just ditch them.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No, I can’t, Sam. This is how I pay my bills.”

  “Ditch them and help me explore a creepy old mansion.”

  “How creepy?”

  “Put it this way... there are still two people working there.”

  “How long has he been dead?”

  “Six years, give or take a few months.”

  “Who pays them?”

  “No idea.”

 
“And your attacker’s name really is Jeffcock?”

  “It is.”

  “Sam, are you bull—”

  “I’m not bullshitting you. This is real. This is happening, and I need your ass out here.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, dammit.”

  “Sam...”

  “Look, I’m going in two hours, enough time to get your booty here.”

  “I really shouldn’t.”

  “You shouldn’t, but you will.”

  I heard the sound of fingernails drumming on her end of the line.

  “Fine, Sam. Fine. But I’ll probably lose this client.”

  “Isn’t he the middle-aged guy who’s always trying to look down your top?”

  “Yeah, how did you—”

  “Because all your middle-aged clients try to look down your top. Hell, I try to look down your top. Now get your butt over here and help me explore this damn freaky house. Oh, and bring me a vanilla latte from Starbucks.”

  “Anything else?”

  “A scone.”

  “Fine, see you soon.”

  “And Allison?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Love you.”

  “You’re incorrigible, Sam.”

  “I’m waiting...”

  “Fine. Love you, too.”

  I grinned, and clicked off.

  ***

  With Starbucks cup in hand, and the scone already devoured, I sat in the passenger seat while Allison navigated through the Fullerton Hills in her old Camry.

  “You could have at least driven, Sam.”

  “I could have.”

  “Sometimes, I think you take advantage of me.”

  “Just sometimes?”

  “Bitch.”

  I grinned. “Turn left here.”

  “Like it’s some great honor being your friend or something.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Well, you should be honored being my friend.”

  “I am,” I said.