The coldness of Kyle's thoughts frightened him. He considered himself a civilized vampire, a lover of culture and art, with refined tastes and habits. Yet he was thinking of regressing into the kind of vampire that he despised: the ruthless predator.
He went to Diallo. Hunger twisted his father's face. A face so much like his own.
Diallo's hand found his, squeezed tightly.
"Hunt for me, my son," Diallo whispered. "Save me ""
He had waited almost one hundred seventy years to find his father. Was a human's life worth that much? A human would never live to such an advanced age.
He could not deny his father.
He would not.
He would do anything to keep Diallo alive.
Kyle covered his father's hand with his own.
"I'll return soon," he said.
Kyle drove the Lexus sport utility into town.
Briefly when he had climbed in the vehicle, he'd thought about Mamu and how he typically drove Kyle everywhere that he needed to travel. Then he cleared memories of his friend out of his thoughts. He could not afford to think of any humans in kind, familiar terms, not while he was engaged on this mission. Nothing could distract him from his purpose.
He was a good but cautious driver. Mother had warned him about the pitfalls of automobiles. Humans are reckless, she had taught. It is far too easy for you to be ensnared in a collision; think of the furor you would cause if the humans witnessed you walking away from a head-on wreck, unscathed. Or what if you were to lose consciousness and they took you to one of their hospitals and discovered your unusual blood ... Kyle could not quiet her somber voice of wise advice.
As he motored down the steep road, the town unfolded before him, lights twinkling. It was fifteen minutes past eleven.
He hoped that most of the residents had taken to bed. He could not risk being seen.
He turned onto a residential street. Porch lights glimmered on many of the ranch-style homes.
He remembered the last time he had hunted. He had been one hundred and twenty-seven years old, living in Paris. He and his mother had gone to the theater one evening, and after the performance, they followed a young couple along the city streets. Mother led the hunt. She swept toward the couple and forced them into a dark alley with the power of an unstoppable gale. She fell upon the man; Kyle took the woman. He would always remember the terror that had shone in the woman's eyes as his hands grasped her shoulders in an iron grip ... the sigh of pleasure that escaped her when he sank his fangs into her warm, tender neck ... and the cloying scent of her perfume mingled with the coppery odor of fresh blood.
A delicious shiver coursed along his spine and rattled through his arms, making his hands tremble on the steering wheel. But nausea followed soon after. The thought of touching his lips to germ-ridden human flesh seemed so repulsive, so primitive.
But he could never forget the rapture of sucking blood directly from an artery and into his mouth.
He reached an intersection. He turned onto a road that appeared to be darker, with fewer homes.
He parked in front of an unlit house. A nearby elm tree concealed the Lexus in additional covers of darkness.
Still, the luxury sport utility was glaringly conspicuous in the humble town. He regretted that he had allowed Mamu to acquire the vehicle. However, he reminded himself that hunting amongst the townspeople had never been part of his original intent.
He climbed out of the truck. The thump of the closing door echoed down the desolate street.
He drew his leather gloves more tightly across his hands. Perspiration coated his palms.
He had never hunted alone. Mother had always accompanied him.
But her teachings returned to him: You are a prince of the night. Use darkness to your advantage, revel and cloak yourself in it. At night, the world belongs to us.
A breeze swirled around him, carrying the scent of flowers and the singing of crickets and other creatures.
The world belongs to us ...
His eyes slid shut.
Like a man submerging a net in a river in search of a fish, Kyle cast his mind into the atmosphere. He sought the warm pulse of a human life. Someone young, but not a child. An adolescent, yes, with ripe blood that would nourish his father.
Within seconds, he had found one.
His prey was a few blocks away. Not too far to travel by foot. A distance he could cover rapidly.
He stretched forward, and to a human eye, he would have appeared to vanish, like a flickering shadow. But he was moving, not relying on sight for direction, but trusting solely in the psychic signal that throbbed in his mind.
He arrived in the backyard of a small house. A wooden fence encircled the yard.
Crumbling concrete steps led to a white door. He tried to open the door. Locked.
He waved his hand across the lock, and it disengaged with a soft click.
In addition to tremendous strength and speed, each vampire possessed special gifts. He had the power of telekinesis: the talent to move physical objects by employing psychic force. He could lift an object that weighed several hundred pounds without exerting any physical effort. The ability came in handy. No door was ever closed to him.
He waited outside the doorway. Silence. No one shouted in alarm or came running. But he sensed a human in the room beyond the door, the individual he desired.
He paused.
Once he went inside the house, he could not turn back. His carefully cultivated image of himself as a sensitive, sophisticated creature would be ruined. He would become a predator.
Hunt for me, my son. Save me.
He had waited a lifetime for an opportunity to see his father. How could he turn away from doing what was needed to ensure his father's survival? If he had to become a predator ... so be it.
Quietly, he pushed through the door.
He was in a cramped, brightly lit kitchen. Chipped paint on the walls. Pieces of tile missing from the floor. A wobbly set of chairs surrounded a wooden table heaped with papers and cups.
A young black woman was at the counter, her back turned to him. She poured a bright red fluid from a pitcher into a glass.
For an absurd moment, Kyle thought he had wandered into the household of a vampire who was about to feed.
But it wasn't blood, of course. It was some sort of punch drink.
Beyond the doorway, Kyle heard children chattering excitedly.
He only wanted the girl.
She turned with the container in her hand, to return it to the refrigerator, and that was when she saw him. Her mouth spread into a startled "0." The pitcher fell out of her fingers and crashed against the floor, punch spreading like a bloodstain across the tile.
He struck her temple with the edge of his hand, knocking her unconscious. He caught her in his arms.
She was so vibrantly alive. Her head lolled to the side, exposing her smooth neck. Without touching her flesh, he felt her pulse throbbing; it was like a drumbeat echoing in his mind.
He covered her with his jacket. She was not for him. She was for his father.
He carried her out of the house and into the night.
Jahlil and the fellas cruised through town.
T-Bone drove, Poke rode shotgun, and Jahlil was sprawled in the backseat. Hip-hop banged from the speakers, loud enough to give an old man a heart attack.
The past week, no longer burdened by a stupid job, Jahlil spent his days and nights hanging with the crew. He usually rolled out of the bed at noon, played video games for a few hours, and then T-Bone would pick him up and they'd hit the basketball courts, or even better, the car wash, where they talked to all the females who came through. Come nightfall, they'd begin cruising the streets, stopping whenever they saw people they knew, or just driving and bumping music.
Dad hadn't said anything to him about getting a job-yet. Jahlil could tell his old man had another plan brewing. School-another pain in the ass started next week, too. He was going to enjoy his freedom whil
e it lasted.
They were driving aimlessly down a dark street, nodding to the slamming beat, when Jahlil caught a swift movement on the periphery of his vision. Like a large, passing shadow.
He looked through the rear windshield.
A tall man dressed in black was putting a large, covered package in the rear cargo area of a sport utility vehicle. Except the package had a pair of dangling legs.
"Stop the car!" Jahlil said. He lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of T-Bone's jersey. "Man, someone's putting a dead body in that truck!"
"What?" T-Bone lowered the volume of the music. "What the hell you talking 'bout?"
"The Lexus we just passed, man" Jahlil had both knees on the seat cushions and stared out the window. The man had put the body-Jahlil was sure it was a body-inside the truck and strolled to the driver's side door. "A dude was putting a body in the trunk!"
"You high as hell and hallucinatin' shit," Poke said. "You ain't seen nothing."
The taillights of the Lexus flared. The vehicle moved forward, away from them.
"He's getting away!" Jahlil said. "I'm not lying and I'm not seeing things. I saw him put something in the trunk that had legs like a person"
"Like a female's legs?" T -Bone said. "All nice and smooth?"
"Yeah, I think so," Jahlil said, amazed that T-Bone had seen it, too.
"Did she have long, silky hair?" T-Bone said. "Make you wanna run your fingers through it?"
"I don't know. I didn't see her hair."
"Did she have a face like Halle Berry?" T-Bone said.
Jahlil frowned. "Fellas, I'm serious."
T-Bone and Poke broke into wild laughter.
"That's the weed working on you, J," Poke said. "Chill out and enjoy the ride, man"
"Whatever," Jahlil said. The Lexus had rolled out of sight. He began to wonder if his boys were right. Maybe he hadn't seen a man putting a body in the trunk. Maybe he had been hallucinating. He was, after all, as high as a space satellite.
But if it was only an illusion, why was he so afraid?
Kyle presented the unconscious young woman to his father, like a gift.
Diallo sat up in the bed. He smiled. "Ah, my son. I am proud of you. You have saved me. As I lay here, I had felt my life slipping away."
"I will never let you go hungry." Kyle placed the woman on his father's lap. "Hurry, before she wakes"
Diallo savagely twisted the woman's head, lifted her neck to his mouth, and plunged his fangs into her jugular vein. Blood spurted. The woman sighed, a sensual sound. The coppery odor of fresh blood permeated the air.
A pleasant chill passed through Kyle as he watched his father feed. He marveled that he could enjoy watching a vampire feast on a human. The mere thought used to revolt him.
Something was happening to him, he realized. A profound change was occurring deep in his psyche, like tectonic plates shifting under the earth's surface.
He was certain that finding his father, finally, had triggered the transformation. He was metamorphosing into a mature vampire. More daring. More confident.
More in touch with his natural desires.
As he watched his father suck the human's blood, he licked his lips.
Suddenly, he was hungry. Famished. Although he had fed only a couple of hours ago on a packet of blood.
Perhaps his father would share the woman with him.
But Diallo did not offer. He drained the human's body, then carelessly flung the corpse off the bed.
Kyle's hunger vanished. He wasn't genuinely hungry. What was wrong with him?
He had to maintain control of himself. Hunting prey for his father was essential, but only until his father had adapted to packaged blood. He could not join his father in feeding on live prey. If he did, they would regress into predatory savages. The idea was madness.
But only yesterday, I had thought that murdering a human was madness, too, hadn't I?
"You are in turmoil, my son," Diallo said. He rested his hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Sit with me."
Kyle sat on the edge of the bed.
"What troubles you?" Diallo said.
"Mother has taught me a different way of life for a vampire," Kyle said. "A way that she feels is more civilized."
Diallo smiled. "Lisha is wise. But she is a female. You are a male. And I am your father. Only I can show you how a powerful male vampire ought to conduct himself."
His father's eyes were dark, absorbing.
I needed you to save me," Diallo said. "You need me to guide you. We need each other, my son."
"Yes, Father," Kyle said. Intense emotion swelled his lungs, making it hard to breathe.
He had never experienced such a heartfelt connection with anyone, vampire or human.
"We need a daylight watcher," Diallo said. "I understand that the man you had befriended served in such a capacity. But he is no more. I will show you a watcher that is better than a man"
"What do you mean?"
"Help me walk. Let us go outdoors"
Kyle assisted his father in getting off the bed. Across the basement, a short flight of steps ended at a solid set of storm doors. The doors were unlocked; Kyle had brought the woman into the cellar through this doorway.
They ascended the stairs and walked into the night.
It was cool and quiet. The sky was clear, sprinkled with stars and a pale half moon.
Diallo drew in a deep, deep breath. He laughed, like a giddy child.
"The night!" Diallo said. "I have missed the freedom of darkness. At night, all things are possible for us. Always remember that truth."
"All things?" Kyle said.
Instead of answering, Diallo dropped to his knees in the grass.
Alarmed, Kyle went to him, but Diallo waved him away.
His father ripped away the sleeves of his silk shirt, exposing his muscular arms. He spread his arms to their full length. He closed his eyes and raised his face heavenward. Moonlight seemed to shimmer around his head, like a halo.
What is he doing? Kyle wondered. His father's behavior did not follow anything Mother had taught him. What was this talk of finding a watcher that was better than a man?
Tension thickened the air as his father meditated, his body like an onyx statue.
The silence endured for several minutes ... and then Kyle heard, faintly, the gallop of approaching animals.
It sounded like dogs.
David and Nia were in the living room when the dog went berserk.
They had temporarily given up discussing the Bible, the ghost, and the other strange things that David had experienced lately. They just didn't have any solutions. Tomorrow, David would visit the psychic woman, Pearl, to get some answers.
They were watching a sappy romantic comedy movie that Nia had insisted he would like, when King went nuts. The dog had been lying on the floor, viewing the television as if engaged in the story. Abruptly, King jumped up and began to bark.
"What's wrong, boy?" David said. "What're you barking at?"
King ran out of the living room. He continued to bark.
Confused, David looked at Nia.
"He could be hungry," she said. "Or want to go outside."
"He doesn't normally act like that"
He found the dog in the hallway. King stood on his hind legs, scratching the front door, barking.
David looked outside the window. There was no one in sight.
King quit barking, and whined.
"What is it, boy?" David said.
The dog looked at him with yearning, as though frustrated by their inability to communicate directly.
"What's wrong?" David said.
King ran to a window. He scratched the glass. He whined.
"Do you want to go outside?" David said. "Wanna go outside?"
Whenever David made the suggestion in the past, if King wanted to take him up on it he wagged his tail. King's tail did not wag this time.
David grasped the doorknob. King growled.
The dog only gr
owled at him when they were play-fighting, and there was nothing playful about what was happening now.
Cold anxiety touched David's spine. He was not afraid of his dog. He was afraid of what his dog evidently sensed, a threat that he could not see on his own.
He went to a window and looked outdoors once more. He saw only the night silent, deep.
Stories that his father had faked his death. Ghostly visitations. Anonymous phone calls. Mysterious family Bibles. So much bizarre stuff. Add a freaked-out German shepherd to the list.
"Is everything okay in there?" Nia said.
"Why don't you answer her?" David said to King. "You seem to be the one here with the sixth sense"
King trotted past David and into the living room. The dog settled on the carpet beside the coffee table. He was his ordinary, lazy self again.
"One of these days," David said, "you're going to learn how to talk, or write, or something, and you're going to tell me what that show was all about, Mr. King"
King yawned.
Puzzled, but deciding to leave it alone, David returned to the living room.
Kyle watched his father as the approach of the dogs grew louder.
Diallo remained kneeling, arms spread, eyes closed, face tilted skyward. Like a worshipper of the moon.
A pack of a half-dozen dogs swept around the corner of the mansion. They looked like mutts that had been left to fend on their own and find their meals in garbage cans and handouts. None of the animals wore a collar. All of them were full-grown, and none of them weighed less than thirty pounds.
The hounds passed Kyle as though he did not exist. They gathered around Diallo.
Oddly, though the dogs were excited and panting, they did not bark. They were quiet, expectant.
Kyle had never witnessed a vampire using a canine for any purposes whatsoever, other than ordinary security. His father, he believed, was going to do something with these beasts that Kyle had never seen before.
Diallo uttered a soft cry. With his nails, which had grown into sharp claws, he slit a gash in each of his wrists. Thick blood streamed across his skin.
Kyle winced.
Diallo offered his bleeding wrists to the dogs.
The dogs padded closer to him. They lapped the blood, three of the hounds on each of his arms.
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