“Okay,” he sighed. “Tell you what; since you’ve been such a good customer over the years, I’m gonna help you out. But just this once, capisce? I don’t want it getting around I’m a soft touch.”
“Thanks, Mal! I owe you!”
“More than you realize. Okay, there’s this bar south of Market called the Shadow Box. Go there and wait for my operative. He should be there in an hour.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Don’t worry—you’ll know him when you see him.”
It was after midnight and things were just getting heated up at the Shadow Box. A deejay standing atop a neon-lit dais was busily mixing a thundering mixture of hip-hop, retro disco, and acid house. Lights hanging from the rafters threw starkly elongated shadows of the dancers onto the club’s walls, who moved in a highly stylized manner and seem more focused on their own shadows than their partners. It was times like these that she found herself embarrassed at ever having been human.
“Talk about dancing with yourself,” she muttered in disgust.
She wished Mal had picked a rendezvous site a little less crowded, but beggars don’t exactly get a choice in such matters. A gaggle of stylishly dressed future executives-on-the-make hurried by, jostling her in their rush to the dance floor. She briefly contemplated hamstringing one of them, only to push the thought aside. She couldn’t risk calling attention to herself just yet.
Bars and nightclubs always brought out the worst in her. She suspected it had something to do with the volatile emotions generated in such places, which often stimulated the Other and excited it to mayhem. Even now she could feel its ominous presence just below the surface of her ego, like a shark patrolling its territory.
The music got faster and louder, causing the silhouettes on the walls to jerk and prance like Burmese shadow-puppets. She consulted her watch. Mal’s contact would be arriving soon.
The hairs on the back of her neck bristled as a spiky, adrenaline-charged surge of anger and excitement, as cold and bracing as vodka straight from the freezer, surged through her system. However, the emotion wasn’t hers, but unintentionally broadcast by someone in the bar. Someone really pissed off.
Sonja turned to scan the interior of the club, but all she saw was a solid wall of young men and women, dancing, drinking and talking over the music blaring from the speakers. She shifted spectrums, searching for the telltale aureole that marked a Pretender, but there was nothing there but the comparatively weak flickering of human consciousness, augmented by drugs or hormones.
It was then that the second jolt of hatred struck her, causing her to gasp as if caught in the grip of an intense orgasm. The Other moaned in delight, forcing Sonja to bite her lip in hopes the pain and blood would sidetrack it. Emotions as dark and powerful as hate provided vampires with as much nourishment as a seven-course dinner and a high that made crack look like baby aspirin. She had to get out of here. Fuck Mal’s mojo-worker. She had to get away from this place, crammed full of empty-eyed food tubes, before she lost control and the Other rose in her place. She hadn’t fed since she took down that pickpocket in Chinatown, making her susceptible to the Other’s inner voice. She had to leave or something really bad was going to happen.
She pushed away from the bar and began shouldering her way to the exit. She bumped against a club-goer, sloshing beer on his fashionably distressed designer jeans.
“Hey, bitch! Watch it!” he snarled, grabbing her by the elbow.
Sonja flashed her shaded eyes in his direction and growled like a caged tiger. The startled club-goer let go as she resumed pushing her way through the mass of bodies. Suddenly another hand, this one far stronger, clamped itself onto her shoulder.
A third wave of hate flowed into, this time so strong it was like being slammed in the heart with a needle full of adrenaline.
As she turned around to face her attacker, she could not help but laugh at her own foolishness. “That devil-bastard set me up! I’d damn him to hell if it wasn’t redundant. Next time I see him, I’m gonna cut his stash with the bones of martyrs.”
Fell bared his fangs in ritual challenge. “I don’t know what you’re babbling about, whore, and I don’t care! I’m going up make you pay for killing Anise and our baby!”
“Do you always talk like a fucking cliché?” she sneered.
He moved fast, even by vampire standards. Sonja’s head rocked back, blood filling her mouth, before she realized he’d raised his fists. The crowd surrounding them was too densely packed for her to do more than stagger back two or three steps.
“Okay. I deserved that and I took it,” she said, wiping the blood from her chin. “But I didn’t kill Anise. I’m telling you the truth, no matter what your so-called ‘Father’ told you.”
This time she saw his punch coming and grabbed his fist, stopping it in mid-air. Fell grimaced and tried to pull free, but she refused to let him go.
“I’m trying to be nice, but you’re not making it easy,” she warned him. “I don’t want to hurt you, kid. But I will if I have to.”
Fell tried to hit her with his other hand, but she stopped that one the same way. “Let me go, murderer!” he snarled as he tried to wrest himself free of her grip.
The hate inside him flowed into Sonja like smoke into a bottle. The charge she received was so powerful the hair on her head lifted like the crest of a cockatoo. She laughed and blue-white sparks flew from the tip of her tongue. Her voice sounded like she’d gargled with ground glass and battery acid.
“Why should I?” the Other snarled. “I don’t know how Morgan thinks he’s going to create his own little super-race with a lap dog like you for a stud. Go ahead, lover boy! Keep hating! Hate me as hard as you can! It only makes me stronger! But if you wanna kill me, you gotta play hardball! Think you can handle that?”
A clutch of executive secretaries out for a night on the town screamed as Fell crash-landed onto their table, sending their drinks flying in every direction. He instantly righted himself like a cat and launched himself at his enemy, hurling aside surprised club-goers as if they were bowling pins. She calmly stood her ground as he rushed towards her, only to dodge his blows with the swiftness of a cobra at the very last second, chuckling in amusement as if he was nothing more than a clumsy schoolboy. The sound of the Other’s demonic laughter spurred him to even greater fury, delivering rapid-fire blows to her head and upper torso that would have killed a human but merely staggered her.
As they battled, those closest to them in the surrounding crowd desperately tried to escape the carnage, only to be pushed back by those eager to find out what was happening. It wasn’t until the switchblade came out, however, that the screams began in earnest. Fell snatched up one of the vacated chairs tables, wielding it like a lion tamer. As he lunged at her, she dropped down and swept his legs out from under him. Fell suddenly found himself pinned to the floor by his opponent, who grinned down at him as she squatted atop his chest, a dark fire seeming to burn behind the tint lenses that obscured her eyes.
But as the Other, blood streaming from her nose, raised the silver switchblade to plunge it into Fell’s heart, her face abruptly contorted, as if in pain. She shook her head, as if trying to clear it of an annoying voice, as her nemesis ascended once more from the pit and laid claim to the body they both shared.
Sonja, once more in control, snapped the switchblade shut and returned it to her jacket. She then grabbed Fell by his long yellow hair and yanked him to his feet. He tried to pull away, but she refused to let go. She pointed at the people on the dance floor, entranced by deafening rhythms and their own shadows.
“You see that?” she shouted. “That’s exactly what you’re doing! You’re fighting your own shadow, not your real enemy!”
“Liar!” Fell shrieked as he threw himself forward, leaving her holding a handful of scalp. “You turned Anise against me! You destroyed my life!” He then turned and grabbed a nearby club-goer, lifted him over his head and hurled him at his opponent. Sonja easily ducke
d as the screaming man crashed into the mirror behind the nearby bar.
The bartender yelled something and disappeared behind the counter. Sonja vaulted the bar just as he resurfaced with a shotgun. She snatched the weapon from his hands before he had time to snap the breach closed. “Thanks, buddy,” she growled. The bartender turned and fled, jumping over the injured man who had collided with the mirror sprawled on the bar mats.
Sonja quickly spun around, leveling the shotgun at Fell as he mounted the bar. The young vampire froze at the sight of the double-aught pointed inches from his chest.
“Even a Noble like Morgan would have problems surviving a blast from this distance, much less a pantywaist like you,” she warned. “Whattaya think, pretty boy? Wanna chance it?”
Fell did not answer but instead dropped back, keeping the bar between.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Sonja said with a humorless laugh. She hopped onto the counter top as easily as a cat climbing a fence, so she could get a better look at the crowded club. “But before we take care of business, it’s time I cleared the field of interference!”
She spotted two Renfields standing near the exit, one African-American, the other Japanese. They were the ones responsible for crowding the bar and cloaking Fell’s presence so he could approach without her recognizing him. Fell was nowhere near self-aware enough to be able to attempt such psychic sleight-of-hand. It also explained why so few of the club-goers seemed to react to the brawl. The Renfields were creating a veil, blinding the humans in the crowd as to what was going on. It was obvious they were setting up a killing floor—but for whom?
She opened fire on the African-America sensitive, spraying his brains across some yuppies. The second shot missed the Japanese psychic and struck the investment banker from Pacific Heights who was standing next to him, sending skull fragments flying like shrapnel. The Renfield shrieked and clapped his hands over his eyes. The veil lifted and suddenly people were screaming and shouting and knocking over tables and trampling each other in a wild scramble for the exit.
The crowd’s panic made her giddy as a hit of nitrous. She had only a moment to enjoy the rush before Fell was on her, his face contorted into a mask of animal rage. While he might not be advanced enough in evolution to tap into the negative emotions swirling about them, he definitely seemed to have a contact high. He pounced on her like a young lion bringing down its first kill, bearing Sonja to the floor. She snarled and brought her knee into his groin, forcing him to let go of her throat.
Sonja staggered to her feet and grabbed Fell by the back of his collar, throwing him against wall. He no longer the pretty boy she first saw at Ghost Trap. It was clear that his regenerative powers were far slower than hers, as his eyes were nearly obscured by swollen bruises, his nose was broken in at least three places, and his lower lip drooped like a mule’s.
“Just-just wait until our Father comes!” he gasped through bleeding lips.
“You dumb meat puppet!” she snapped. “You still don’t understand, do you? He set us both up! You don’t stand a snowball’s chance against me, and Morgan knows it! He sent you here to die, Fell! You’re nothing but a decoy, sent to distract me until his pet Renfields could work up a serious enough whammy to take me out.”
“You’re lying!” he sobbed angrily. “Father would never betray me like that!”
“What’s your name?” Sonja asked as she withdrew her switchblade.
He looked at her as if she had asked him who was buried in Grant’s tomb. “You know what my name is. It’s Fell.”
“Wrong answer,” she said, severing his left ear.
Fell screamed and grabbed at the side of his head, but was unable to escape her grip.
“Okay, I’m going to ask you again,” she said evenly. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Fell, damn it! What’s the fuck wrong with—yaaaah!” This time the switchblade sliced open his left nostril.
“No, no!” she admonished. “You’re not listening! I said what’s your name?”
“What do you expect me to say?” he sobbed. “It’s Fell! It’s always been Fell!”
“I’m only gonna ask you one more time, then it’s for keeps, understand?” she sighed, slicing away his right eyebrow. “What is your name?”
“I told you it’s—” Suddenly his eyes grew wide and his mouth slack, as if he’d just remembered something incredibly important. “Oh. My. God. It’s Tim. My name is Tim.”
Sonja heaved a sigh of relief and stepped aside, allowing him to slump to the floor, hiding his mutilated face in bloodstained hands. His shoulders shook as he tried to cry. She could hear sirens coming closer.
“I didn’t have the time to deprogram you properly,” she said apologetically. “So I had to take drastic measures. C’mon, kid.” Her voice softened as she offered him her hand. “C’mon, we gotta split. The cops will be here any second.”
“Where are we going?” he asked fearfully, shrinking from her touch.
“I’m taking you to your daughter.”
Chapter Eighteen
Palmer leaned against the headboard of the bed, cradling Lethe in the corner of his left arm while holding her bottle in his right. He was amazed something so tiny could possess such an appetite. He didn’t look up at the sound of the hotel room door being unlocked. His psychic ability was already developed enough that he already recognized Sonja’s presence half-way down the hall.
“You know, you were right about her, Sonja,” he admitted sheepishly. “She’s not like her twin at all. She’s beautiful, and she’s got such tiny fingers, with perfect little fingernails...”
“Is that her? Is that my daughter?”
Palmer looked up from the feeding baby, startled to see a young man standing next to Sonja. He had long, blond hair and one side of his face looked like someone had used it for batting practice. The young vampire shifted about uneasily, like a schoolboy standing before the principal.
“Palmer, this is Lethe’s father,” Sonja said. She turned to look at their guest. “By the way, what do you want use to call you? Tim or Fell?”
“I might as well stay Fell,” he replied with a shrug. “Being Tim didn’t work out that well.” He took a hesitant step forward. “Can I hold her?”
“I don’t see why not,” Sonja replied. “After all, she is your daughter.”
Grudgingly, Palmer surrendered Lethe to her father, who lifted her up so he could see her. Fell’s bruised lips pulled into a smile at the sight of his daughter’s face. “She looks so very much like Anise,” he whispered as he sank down onto the edge of the bed, “This is happening too fast. There’s too much to think, too much I’m starting to remember…”
Sonja knelt beside Fell, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Start from the beginning. Who were you before you met Morgan?”
“My name is—was?—Timothy Sorrell. I was a sophomore English Major at Berkeley. I’m from Indiana, originally. My parents and older sister were killed in a car crash when I was ten. I got passed around a lot amongst my relatives after that. They were good people, but they didn’t really know what to do with me, so they left me to my own devices most of the time. I was a pretty morbid kid, fascinated and terrified by death at the same time. I really got into stuff like vampires, ghouls, mummies—the whole undead thing. By the time I graduated high school, I was dressed in black all the time and spending my money on occult literature. You know, your typical Food Court Goth.
“My first few months at Berkeley were okay. I even met people who didn’t think I was weird for liking the kind of stuff I was into. But during my sophomore year I started having these... dreams.”
“What kind of dreams?”
“Bad ones. Full of blood and walking dead things. When I was younger I used to dream I was a vampire like Christopher Lee or Frank Langella, seducing nubile young women. But these new dreams were different. Sometimes I’d see myself and I looked like a rotting corpse, and my victims weren’t beautiful women but old bag ladies and skanky
-looking whores. Instead of surrendering to my hypnotic stare, they would scream and try to get away, so I hurt them even more for trying to escape. It wasn’t at all like in the movies. But what really scared me was the pleasure I got from watching them scream and die. I always knew I was a little, you know, eccentric, but this was the first time I was honestly worried about my own sanity. That’s when I decided to seek professional help...
“Dr. Caron came highly recommended.” Fell’s laugh was dry and brittle. “He seemed to understand what I was going through. Soon after I started seeing him the nightmares turned back to the wet dreams I was familiar with. He told me the reason for my nightmares was that I felt dissatisfied with my life and resented never having known a ‘real’ family. He then invited me to be a part of a special experimental therapy session at his private estate. I think you know the rest.”
Sonja nodded. “Morgan selected those who wouldn’t be readily missed and already displayed certain...tendencies he could work to his advantage. Of the ten he hand-picked, you and Anise were the only ones to survive, am I right?”
Fell nodded, looking down at his daughter, who was innocently playing with one of his blood-smeared fingers. “It was horrible—I can still hear their screams, even now. I remember thinking how beautiful Anise was back then, back when we both were human. To tell you the truth, I was kind of surprised she was even in the group. She seemed so together, you know? I knew I didn’t stand a chance with a woman like her. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for me to believe ‘Father’ when he told me I was Anise’s husband.
“I realize now that she never truly loved me, that she was merely doing Morgan’s bidding. But what I felt for her was completely real—Morgan never had to ‘make’ me love her. That’s why losing her hurt so much. It was real love I felt for her, not pretend. When ‘Father’ told me that you’d murdered both her and the baby, I went mad. I wanted to avenge myself and prove I was worthy to be called his son.” He gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. “So what do I do now?”
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