Ghostland

by Jory Strong

  He slowed to a stop at the guard booth.

  “Authorization!” the guard barked.

  “Certainly.”

  Marcus pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to the guard, but not before Aisling saw the green of printed money held firmly to the back of the paper.

  The guard slid the bills into his sleeve as he held the paper underneath a scanner. When the scanner beeped, he returned the paper to Marcus.

  “Everything is in order. By law I must remind you that under the terms of the compact between Oakland and San Francisco, the bridge closes from dusk until dawn.”

  As soon as they pulled away from the booth, Aisling said, “Marcus, do you serve a vampire?”

  Thirteen

  “YES, miss, I serve a vampire. But unless you do something exceedingly foolish, which I can’t imagine you doing even on such short acquaintance, your physical safety is guaranteed.”

  Aisling rubbed icy palms against her pants. A hundred questions crowded her thoughts, raced through her mind with the pounding of her heart.

  In astral form she’d felt the presence of a vampire a couple of times, but she’d never seen one, never spoken to one, either in a corporeal form or a non-corporeal one. What she knew of them was gained from gossip and books, from exaggerated tales and the faded memories of the elderly people who visited with Geneva.

  “How long have you served him?” Aisling asked.

  Marcus glanced at her as they reached the mid-span of the bridge. “Several hundred years.”

  Aisling gaped. She studied his face, thinking maybe he had a subtle sense of humor.

  He caught her looking at him and asked, “Where did you live before Oakland?”

  “On a farm outside of Stockton.”

  “Ah, that explains it then. There are very few vampires in that area. It’s human-dominated, nontalented and heavily influenced by organized religion as I recall. I’ll hazard a guess and say you’ve never spent any time in the company of vampires.”

  “I’ve never met one,” she admitted.

  “Well then, if you don’t mind my offering a little advice, just treat the vampires you’ll meet tonight the way you’d treat any other client. Vampires understand business transactions, and for humans, it’s safer not to mix business affairs with social ones. Once that line is crossed, expectations change and things become a bit trickier to navigate.

  “They don’t tend to like idle conversation and they won’t appreciate any questions not pertaining to the task you’re to do for them. I can’t speak for vampires elsewhere, but the ones who claim San Francisco adhere to strict codes of privacy and silence. I’ll mention to the Master where you’ve come from. He’ll pass the word on discreetly, though it’s probably unnecessary. They won’t expect you to understand even the rudimentary rules of their society.”

  “Thank you, Marcus.”

  He reached over and gave her hand a pat. “You’ll do just fine, miss.”

  “Aisling.”

  He chuckled. “The Master would have my heart if I was so informal with you while I’m serving as guard and chauffer.”

  “Marcus, have you really served him for several centuries?”

  “Yes indeed.”

  “You’re not a vampire.”

  “No. I’m not sure I’d want to take that step even if the Master thought I’d earned the privilege of being offered a place in his family beyond servant.” He glanced at Aisling. “I’ll not say too much about it, but given your line of work, I think you can understand how tricky it is for a soul not to get caught up in moving on to what comes after dying. Sometimes the body restarts but it’s just a husk that has to be destroyed before something else takes up residence in it. Other times there’s no flicker of life after the heart stops the first time. The blood is just not strong enough to get it going again.

  “So many don’t make it through the change. But I imagine that’s the way it’s supposed to be. The world would be overrun with vampires if every person lived through it. And some family lines have a better rebirth rate than others.”

  Aisling looked out the window as the city approached. She could guess the nature of the service she would be required to perform but she didn’t want to examine it too closely. “Did you know the San Francisco shaman?”

  Marcus snorted. “A piece of work that one was. More ego than talent, but some ability is better than none. That’s what kept him alive, though as far as I know none of the most powerful families used him. Didn’t want him capitalizing on their name, I suspect.

  “I don’t know the ins and outs of it and I’m not asking you to elaborate, but even vampire servants talk. They whisper the Church brought you here and you survived whatever task they set you to—where their own shaman didn’t. You’ll do just fine with the vampires. Give them honest work and they won’t hold the outcome against you if it doesn’t turn out the way they hoped. Like I said earlier, they understand business.”

  “You gave the guard money so you could bring me to San Francisco without anyone knowing it,” Aisling guessed.

  Marcus chuckled. “Exactly right. The Master could easily have arranged authorization for you to cross the bridge, but he prefers to keep his affairs private.”

  The car left the bridge and entered the city. The silence settled around them like a comfortable blanket as Aisling took in her surroundings. Unlike Oakland, here she saw no burned-out buildings or charred vehicle remains. There were large gaps where buildings had once stood, but they were free of rubble. Residences and shops stood side by side on some streets but were completely separated on others.

  Marcus slowed and turned. “This is Telegraph Hill. The Master’s ancestors settled here in the eighteen hundreds, back when they were all fully human. They’ve kept a presence here ever since.”

  At the bottom of the hill the houses were small and packed together. As they climbed, there were fewer houses. And those were hidden behind stone walls or dense, high hedges.

  Near the crest of the hill Marcus turned into a driveway. The heavy gates swung open to reveal a huge house. As he drove around to the back, he said, “The Master’s old-fashioned. Servants and tradesmen have their own entrance. It’s the same way with the powerful families, only they’ve got an entrance set aside for petitioners, too.”

  Marcus braked to a stop. “Now, you stay put. It’s only fitting I open the door for you given your special talent.”

  Aisling caught herself smiling. Even after her experience in the library—trusting Cassandra only to realize later the librarian was probably spying for the police or guardsmen—when it came to Marcus, suspicion couldn’t gain any purchase. She liked and trusted him, which made entering a vampire’s lair an adventure rather than a nightmare.

  The furnishings were old-fashioned, the halls dim. Heavy drapes covered the windows in the rooms they passed.

  The hallway ended in a T. Marcus pointed to the left, where a doorway stood open at the end. “When you get hungry, that’s the kitchen. Cook knows to expect you. There’s an eating nook there or you can do like most of us do and eat at the counter if it suits you.”

  They turned to the right, then right again at the next hallway. Halfway down he paused in front of a door and opened it. “These are your quarters.”

  Marcus stepped aside, allowing Aisling to go in first. He followed and indicated a pull cord. “If you need something, tug on this and a maid will come.”

  Aisling barely heard him. Her attention was riveted to the television set. “Does it work?”

  “Yes indeed. We get local stations as well as the national news feeds. Cook will make you up a tray if you decide you want to stay in your room and watch television.”

  “I may just do that,” Aisling said, barely able to contain her excitement. She turned to Marcus and touched his arm. “Thank you for making this easy for me.”

  Marcus doffed his hat. His face reddened with a blush. “My pleasure, miss. I’ll be back to fetch you when the Master’s ready t
o see you. It looks like you’ll be content to stay put. It’d be best if you didn’t go exploring.”

  “I won’t go any farther than the kitchen.”

  “Good. I’ll leave you then.”

  Time passed in a whirl of changing scenes as Aisling watched TV. She hadn’t realized how starved she was for information until it was there for her to consume. At home the radio was often on as they went about their chores. And from time to time, Geneva traded for television parts and got the set in the living room running, but even so, the choice of programs seemed as limited as the life span of the TV.

  Dinnertime came and went without her noticing, until a knock on the door revealed a portly woman in a cook’s apron carrying a tray of food. “Marcus said I should bring this to you. The Master’s awake. He’s got to take his sustenance yet.” Cook’s eyes strayed to the bed. “And sometimes that leads to a bit of a delay if you get my meaning. But you best be eating dinner and getting ready to be summoned. Marcus will be around when the Master wants to see you.”

  Aisling thanked the cook and took the tray of food. After she ate, she put on the same long, modestly designed black dress she’d been given to wear the night Father Ursu brought her to Oakland.

  It didn’t look the same on her. When she’d worn it before, she’d felt lonely, diminished, helpless and frightened. But tonight, its stark simplicity seemed to emphasize her blond hair and the blue of her eyes.

  “Ready, miss?” Marcus asked from the doorway, making her blush at having been so absorbed in studying her image that she hadn’t heard him enter.

  The furnishings grew more elegant as they moved from the servants’ area to the one that housed the Master and his family. Aisling would have loved to ask Marcus questions, but she took her cue from him and remained silent.

  Finally he stopped and ushered her into a sitting room done in dark red velvet. It graced the walls, the sofa and chairs, hung in front of the windows in heavy folds.

  “Well, come closer, girl,” a cranky voice said, drawing her eye to a wrinkled old man sitting in deep shadow in an overstuffed chair. He motioned with his hand. “Come on, girl. I’m not going to bite you, not on first acquaintance anyway.”

  Aisling obeyed. Her heart pounded, more from uncertainty than fear. The vampire in front of her wasn’t anything like she’d imagined.

  He thumped his walking stick on the hardwood floor, and she grew apprehensive that he could read her mind when he said, “You think every vampire gets turned in the prime of life?”

  “I believe you’re the first she’s ever met, sir,” Marcus said from the doorway. “Until recently she’s lived in the Stockton area.”

  “Primitive, backwater place.” The Master rose from his chair with the aid of his stick. “They still unenlightened there, girl?”

  “They fear supernaturals and don’t welcome humans with otherworldly gifts.”

  The Master snorted. “Place has been an armpit for centuries.” His gaze traveled over her, taking in the dress before lifting to spear Aisling with shrewd eyes. “You’ll do nicely, I think.” He switched his attention to Marcus.

  Marcus said, “The car is ready, sir.”

  “Good, good.” The Master thumped his walking stick against the floor twice to punctuate his words. “Let’s get going then. Can’t keep Draven waiting.”

  The old man moved like a young man despite his frail appearance. He strode down the hall—the walking stick an accessory and not a necessity—and forced Aisling to hurry in order to catch up with him.

  A dozen questions came to mind, piling one on top of the other until she shook her head to still them before climbing into the back of a long, sleek, gray limousine and taking a seat across from the Master. Curiosity kept her fear at bay as Marcus drove them to an estate surrounded by walls. But it returned with a rush when she saw the emblem carved on the heavy metal gates. A serpent held an apple in its mouth. From a point behind its head to just before the tip of its tail, the three segments of its S-shaped body were impaled by an arrow.

  “You recognize the symbol?” the Master asked.

  “It belongs to the ruling vampire family in San Francisco.”

  “Quite so.” His eyes caught and held hers. He leaned forward abruptly and warned, “The Tassone aren’t a family to cross. Remember that.”

  She nodded because it seemed to be expected of her. Then the car was stopping and Marcus was there, opening the door.

  From the darkness two men appeared out of nowhere, their arrival so stealthy Aisling knew they were both vampires. Without a word they escorted Aisling and the Master into the house, one guard in front and one behind.

  Incredible wealth met Aisling wherever she looked. Artwork graced the walls. Figurines adorned the polished wood surfaces of antique furniture, while larger statues, many of then on pedestals, served as focal points. But it was the library they passed that made her breath catch and her steps slow for an instant.

  “Draven will see you now,” the vampire leading them said, stopping at an open doorway.

  The vampire seated behind the desk was everything Aisling imagined one would look like, and it was clear why once they’d been confused with incubi and succubi. He made her think of sex as his blue eyes mesmerized and held her in place until turning to the Master.

  “You both may have a seat,” Draven said, indicating two chairs placed in front of his desk.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Draven.” The Master’s voice was deferential.

  “You’re here with a petition.” The statement didn’t hold even the slightest hint of interest.

  The Master nodded. “Several of my business investments have paid off. I want to bring in more workers.”

  “How many more?”

  “One hundred head.”

  “Permanent?”

  “Yes.”

  “Single or with families?”

  “There’s usually less trouble if they have families to worry about.”

  “Your one hundred could easily swell to several hundred.” Draven steepled his fingers. “Which means you need housing for them.”

  “Yes. I’d like to put them on Tempe, Kenin and Grandin, and offer them protection as part of their incentive package.”

  “I can see your problem. All three of those streets border your territory and are controlled by the Tucci family. They’d consider your actions one step away from annexation of their property.”

  “That’s why I’ve come to you with my petition.”

  Draven’s gaze moved to Aisling and pinned her to the chair. “You must believe you’ve got something I’d consider very valuable. I’m skeptical. I don’t lack for female companionship, and I have little need to enter into potential alliances as a means of satisfying physical desire.”

  “The girl’s a shamaness. She owes me a shaman’s task.”

  Something flickered in Draven’s eyes. “You’re Aisling, the shamaness Bishop Routledge ordered brought to Oakland.”

  She shivered under the intensity of Draven’s stare and the knowledge that he knew who she was. “Yes.” It came out little more than a whisper.

  He continued to study her for long moments as her heart pounded furiously in her ears regardless of how hard she tried to quiet it. Finally he turned his attention back to Marcus’s master. “You offer me a fool’s bargain.”

  “Not at all. It’s me who stands to lose something of value and gain nothing in return. If she’s successful in whatever task you set her to, then I would expect to gain housing and protection rights on Tempe, Kenin and Grandin for my one hundred head plus any dependants they choose to bring with them. If she fails, I’m out what she owes me.”

  “Leave her. Have your man come for her before dawn. You’ll have your answer then.”

  The Master stood and left the room. Aisling wet her lips. Marcus’s conversation as they’d entered the city earlier kept her quiet in Draven’s presence.

  Without a word he rose from his chair and came aro
und the desk like a lithe, predatory cat. He wore black trousers, and combined with the white shirt and the long hair pulled back and secured by a jeweled clasp, his appearance made her think of a sea pirate.

  She stiffened when he cupped her chin. Shock bolted through her when he said, “Tell me your mother’s name.”

  The thunder of her heart became a buzz of anticipation. The skills she used in the spiritlands slid into place. An answer given freely was lost forever. “Do I remind you of someone?” she countered.

  Draven’s sensuous lips hinted at a smile. “Yes, you do, though I’ve only seen her a few times over the years. She doesn’t call this city home. You could be her twin . . . or her daughter. Give me a name and I’ll tell you if it’s familiar.”

  “I don’t know one. I was left on a doorstep as a newborn.”

  “Ah, it happens often, though not here in San Francisco.”

  “This woman I remind you of, was she a shamaness?”

  Draven rubbed his thumb over her cheek before he released her chin to lean against the edge of his desk. “I’ve heard rumors to that effect. If they’re to be believed, she was very gifted, perhaps too gifted. She chose a vampire’s long life over remaining human and one day returning permanently to the realm of souls.”

  For a moment old hurts threatened to overwhelm Aisling. She’d been abandoned at the edge of dark, when the predators began stirring, when the sunlight had faded enough—she imagined now—for a vampire to rise and move unseen to the doorstep, knowing there were humans in the barn who’d soon be rushing for the safety of the house.

  Your mother got away from him, or so they say. But that’s a story for another day.

  John’s taunt in the ghostlands coiled around Aisling with the chill of the spirit winds to remind her of what she suspected her father was—demon. Had her mother discovered it too late? Been so horrified by what she’d done that she preferred to risk everything? In all the times Aisling had traveled to the ghostlands, she’d never encountered a vampire’s soul.