The Vampire Sextette

by Marvin Kaye

  ass. God, it was hot! I never felt that way before. The way he flecked my clitoris,

  the way he tickled my lips, teasing out every last flake of coagulating blood…

  —Your Honor, spare us this pornography! Objection, objection!

  —Your Honor, this evidence speaks directly to the nature of the defendant's

  mental illness… his delusional obsession with the, ah, sanguinary aspects of the

  human body.

  —Young lady, get it over with, and proceed to the question at hand.

  —Yes, Your Honor. Um… what were you going to ask me, sir?

  —Well, Natalie. You've just explained that Jody became unusually animated as

  a result of the smell of blood.

  —That's true, sir. As I say, usually he would just lay there while we rubbed up

  and down on him, but that day he was excited. He even came. I mean, he just

  spurted.

  —I don't think we need to know all that, but did the defendant then say

  anything about his grand vision?

  —Oh, yes.

  —What did he say?

  —Well, as we all lay there in the back of the van, there was this good, warm

  feeling, you know, us against the world and such, a little tiny piece of heaven. But

  then Jody begins to talk about the dark path we have to trod. I had my foot in the

  door, he said, and I was pushing my way in, and they sent me back out into the

  world. They didn't think I was good enough. But I'm gonna show them. I'm the

  king of the vampires. No dead dude in a coffin is gonna be badder than me.

  —Did this statement contradict previous statements of his to you and your

  group of followers?

  —Yes, sir. He always told us he was sent up here from the other world, that he

  had given up the world beyond so he could find disciples and teach all of them the

  dark path before he went back. Now he sounded bitter and angry, and we didn't

  know what to do.

  —What did he say next?

  —We're going to do something really big, he said. An orgasm of blood and

  pain. We're gonna kill, maim, disembowel, decapitate, swim in the lubricous life

  force that spews from the veins of the dying. The way he said it, you gotta believe,

  it sounded… poetic… beautiful… I could feel the blood rushing joyfully from my

  pussy to meet his eager tongue… I could think about nothing but all that blood,

  swirling over me, carrying me toward the final climax in waves of crimson passion,

  oh God, Jody made me feel that good, all of us, he made us want to kill and to die

  the way we wanted his arms around us, his cock inside us and such.

  —And how do you feel about Jody now?

  —I love him, sir.

  —Do you think he hears you, hiding as he does behind his wall of self imposed silence?

  —I don't know. Yeah. Maybe not. Maybe he doesn't hear any of us no more,

  maybe he's listening to a different music, the rushing of the river of death.

  —I want to spare the jury yet another description of the crimes themselves…

  the slashing, the torture… all the things you witnessed but did not participate in…

  because you… had a twinge of conscience.

  —I chickened out. I shoulda done them things. Like all the other girls did.

  —Then you would be in trouble, Natalie.

  —I don't care! Do you understand? I love him. I want to go with him! Into the

  ultimate kingdom. Into the dark country. Jody, listen to me, you motherfucker… I

  didn't mean to betray you… I'm here because I want them to know the truth…

  what you mean to me…

  —Your Honor, the witness isn't supposed to be talking to the defendant.

  —Sustained. Kindly confine your comments to the questions asked of you,

  Miss—

  —Your Honor! The coffin! It's busting open! The lid is sliding again!

  —Got a stake handy, Bailiff? You can use my gavel as a mallet, you

  superstitious nincompoop. You people are… screw it, let whoever it is come out.

  If the ladies and gentlemen of the jury would refrain from panicking —and just

  what the hell do you think you're doing in my courtroom, young lady, in the nude?

  Have you no sense of propriety at all? Bailiff, fetch the witness a damn cloak.

  —Jody.

  —Young lady, you're not on the stand yet. Go and sit down right this minute

  or I'll cite you for contempt.

  —Be silent!

  —How dare you!

  —In this human world, you may be a judge of men, Mr. Trepte, but there are

  darker courtrooms, and there are punishments more dire than death. I stand before

  you, a naked woman, whose flesh is colder than the grave. Touch me if you dare.

  —Madam, there is no higher authority present in this chamber than this jury

  and this judge. If you have anything to say, you will have to wait your turn.

  —So what do you plan to do, asshole, cite me for contempt?

  —Bailiff, cuff her!

  —Your Honor, she's just ripped off the bailiff's head!

  —Sobering isn't it, Mr. Kangaroo Court, to see your enforcing officer's torso

  twitching on the carpet. I'm sorry that I won't be paying the dry-cleaning bill.

  Where I come from, we don't have money… or credit cards, for that matter.

  —Uh—uh—

  —Speechless, at last, Your Honor! Give me a minute while I take a sip from

  this poor man's gushing jugular. Excuse me while I wipe my lips clean with his

  matted hair. Where shall I throw it? You have a basket? Thanks. Now… where

  was I? Oh yes. The defendant. The silent one. You who heard voices in the night,

  who were labeled a paranoid schizophrenic by Dr. Shimada over there… you who

  have been true to your deep dark self, all this time, you who have kept the faith…

  I've come for you. I ain't Cat Sperling, the town slut, no more… I've worked on

  my accent some… you learn a lot when you hang with the undead… plenty of

  sixty-four-dollar words in their vocabulary when they've been around a couple of

  centuries. Look at me, silent boy. I like that you kept silent after it was over. You

  betrayed no one. Oh! Bullets! My, my. They go right through me. I feel nothing.

  No feeling, you know, when you cross over the river. No mortal feelings,

  anyways. Look at me, silent boy. I'm still beautiful, ain't I? Beautiful as the day

  you saw me. My body is as firm as when you first touched it, but now it's cold as

  marble. It's a dead body, Jody, a corpse. But oh, a corpse that everyone in this

  room wants, man and woman, a corpse that exudes a sensuality that the living

  can't match, a corpse that breathes eternity, eternity… Oh, Jody, you don't know

  how long you were watched, how long you were groomed for that moment of

  sacrifice that your friend ruined for you. Oh, he meant well. But he's just an

  ignorant human being. And human beings are just cattle. They're here to serve us.

  Their lives are over in an instant. I watched over you … saw you grow up

  alienated… knew you were marked to become one of us. In this world a

  throwaway, one of the disenfranchised… in the world beyond… a prince. When

  you had your fantasies of death… when you dreamed of death and woke up with

  a stiffie in the night… one of us was watching… perhaps in the shape of a mist,

  coiling about the keyhole of your bedroom door… or a black rat, sniffing its way

  along the floorboards… smelling
the crimson of your dreams. Oh, Jody, it was all

  meant for you… my seduction of your dumb, sentimental friend… the party at the

  cemetery… partly real, partly a fabric of hypnotizing illusions. Do you understand

  that? Oh, your doctor noted it all down as a dementia—delusions of grandeur—

  megalomania—paranoia—when it was all nothing but the truth. You heard the

  music of the night when others heard only wind, rain, the rustling of leaves,

  frightened children murmuring in their sleep. Oh, we were disappointed when you

  didn't die the slow death that night! You have always been special to the dark

  ones. All your life you've heard that whispered in your ear, you've wondered if

  you were going mad. Those whispers were all true. You have been anointed from

  birth, Jody. I wasn't kidding when I called you a prince. That's exactly what you

  are. The Duke couldn't welcome you into the kingdom himself. His coffin has

  been taken faraway, for safekeeping. It's getting dangerous for us here, with all

  these movies and role-playing games. Lies, but flirting with the truth. He's sent me

  to fetch you, Jody. I told you we were all sad when you didn't come to us. Some

  of us wanted to fetch you by force. But the Duke said, in his wisdom, Leave him

  be. The darkness is strong in him. If he cannot find the true kingdom right away,

  he will strive to build his own kingdom… he will mirror our world in his own

  world… and he will make himself worthy… and when he is ready… we will bring

  him in. That's what I'm here for. To finish what we started. Look at me now. Look

  at me, translucent as alabaster, pale as moonlight; come to me. That's right. You

  don't need that ugly orange prison suit any more. Those cuffs are useless now.

  Come to me. I twist them off with a flick of my wrist. The undead have great

  strength. They draw their strength from the womb of Mother Earth herself. Oh,

  Jody, come, come. Unzip that uniform and stand before me naked. Touch me.

  Look at the horrified faces of the judge and jury. They are so unimportant now.

  Slide your finger against the bailiff's blood, congealing on my breasts. Lick them.

  Lick the blood from the areola. Slow now, slow. I kiss you now. My teeth meet

  soft flesh. I taste blood. Give me your blood. Warm my stone heart with your last

  life force. Oh, Jody, Jody, you are beautiful. Give me all of you. I bite your

  chest… your abdomen… my fangs tease at the sensitive tip of your penis… blood

  engorges it… blood stiffens it… blood that will soon run gushing down my

  throat… oh, Jody, Jody, this is the end for you, the end and the beginning… drink

  me now… as I drink you… the cold of death is absolute… the warmth of life is

  but a shadow… and now… come… come into my coffin… I don't want to sleep

  alone any more… come into the coffin… into the womb… into the tomb… oh,

  Jody, this is love… this is death.

  The transcript ends here. At least, the decipherable portion of the transcript.

  What follows on the tape is chaos. Screaming. Here and there a single word:

  blood, shit, fuck, no, no, no.

  There was also the fire. The courthouse razed to the ground, the judge, the

  superlawyers, many others hospitalized for third-degree burns. There was also the

  complete disappearance of the defendant. Not a charred husk of him… not a

  bone… not a tooth.

  There was also the silence. Not a word in the press. Not a picture in the paper.

  Not a clip in the news.

  But you know all that. You follow the media.

  Perhaps you even know about the transcript, which has been pronounced a

  hoax by almost every expert who has been given the privilege of examining it.

  Does it matter? As a certain Roman procurator once said to a certain rabbi, in

  a courtroom not unlike this courtroom, two thousand years ago… What is truth?

  It really doesn't matter to most of you. So stop reading now. Close the book.

  There's nothing to be gained from idle speculation about the nature of light and

  darkness… about the relationship between love and death… between desire and

  self-destruction. Get on with your lives. Go on. Do it.

  Unless, of course, you can hear the music of the night…

  CHELSEA QUINN YARBRO

  In the Face of Death

  Chelsea Quinn Yarbro,

  of Berkeley, California, is an award-

  winning fantasist perhaps best known for The Saint-Germain

  Chronicles and other vampire tales, one of which, "Advocates," was

  co-winner of the prestigious World Horror Award for Best Novelette.

  "In the Face of Death," tangentially linked to the Saint-Germain

  series, describes a plausible "period-piece" affair between a

  fascinating vampire and William Tecumseh Sherman (1820-1891), a

  West Coast banker who became one of the Civil War's most important

  Union generals, second only in importance to U. S. Grant. Sherman's

  military genius was surpassed by his hatred of war; his alleged

  penchant for bloodiness was a reputation reportedly engineered by

  his enemies in the South and North. According to Ms. Yarbro,

  Sherman's family was indeed absent from the scene during the period

  in which her story takes place.

  I know of no courage greater… than the courage to love in the face of death.

  —William Tecumseh Sherman to Queen Victoria

  FROM THE JOURNAL of Madelaine de Montalia

  San Francisco, 18 May, 1855

  At last! And only four days later than anticipated when we left the

  mountains. Had I been willing to travel on the riverfront Sacramento,

  we would have arrived on the date anticipated… My native earth

  should be in one of the warehouses, waiting for me, which is just as

  well, as I have got down to less than a single chest of it.

  My escorts brought me to a very proper boarding-house on

  Sacramento Street, and have gone on themselves to find suitable

  lodgings. A Mrs. Imogene Mullinton, a very respectable widow from

  Vermont, owns this place and takes only reputable single women. She

  has given me a suite of three rooms at the top of the house, her best,

  and for it I am to pay $75 a month, or any fraction of a month, a very

  high price for such accommodations, but I have discovered that

  everything in San Francisco is expensive. The suite will do until I can

  arrange to rent a house for three or four months…

  Tomorrow I will have to pay off my escorts, which will require a

  trip to the bank to establish my credit here, and to begin making my

  acquaintance with the city. Doubtless the excellent Mrs. Mullinton

  can direct me to Lucas and Turner; the documents from their Saint

  Louis offices should be sufficient bona fides to satisfy them.

  At the corner of Jackson and Montgomery, the new Lucas and Turner building

  was one of the most impressive in the burgeoning city; located near the shore of

  the bay and the many long wharves that bristled far out into the water, the bank

  was well situated to sense the thriving financial pulse of San Francisco.

  Madelaine, wearing the one good morning dress she had left from her long

  travels, stepped out of the hackney cab and made her way through the jostling

  crowds on the wooden sidewalk to the bank itself. As she stepped inside, she felt
/>   both relief and regret at once again being back in the world of commerce,

  progress, and good society. Holding her valise firmly, she avoided the tellers'

  cages and instead approached the nearest of the desks, saying, "Pardon me, but

  will you be kind enough to direct me to the senior officer of the bank?"

  The man at the desk looked up sharply. "Have you an appointment, ma'am?"

  he asked, noticing her French accent with faint disapproval, and showing a lack of

  interest that Madelaine disliked, though she concealed it well enough. He was

  hardly more than twenty-two or -three and sported a dashing mustache at variance

  with his sober garments.

  "No, I am just arrived in San Francisco," she said, and opened her valise,

  taking out a sheaf of documents, her manner determined; she did not want to deal

  with so officious an underling as this fellow. "I am Madelaine de Montalia. As you

  can see from this—" she offered him one of the folded sheets of paper "—I have

  a considerable sum on deposit with your Saint Louis bank and I require the

  attention of your senior officer at his earliest convenience."

  The secretary took the letter and read it, his manner turning from indulgent to

  impressed as he reviewed the figures; he frowned as he read through them a

  second time, as if he was not convinced of what he saw. Folding the letter with

  care, he rose and belatedly gave Madelaine a show of respect he had lacked

  earlier. "Good gracious, Madame de Montalia. It is an unexpected pleasure to

  welcome you to Lucas and Turner."

  "Thank you," said Madelaine with a fine aristocratic nod she had perfected in

  her childhood. "Now, if you will please show me to the senior officer? You may

  use those documents to introduce me, if that is necessary."

  "Of course, of course," he said, so mellifluously that Madelaine had an urge to

  box his ears for such obsequiousness. He opened the little gate that separated the

  desks from the rest of the floor, and stood aside for her as she went through, her

  head up, the deep-green taffeta of her morning dress rustling as she moved. "If

  you will allow me to go ahead and…" He made a gesture indicating a smoothing

  of the way.

  She sighed. "Is that necessary?"