If I was right about his approximate age, it meant he was probably a vampire before Alice was even turned. And given her reputation through the years, it was hard to imagine he wouldn’t know something.
The vampire groaned.
I slipped my stiletto back on my foot and examined his face. The vampire had a long scar down his right cheek. A wound, presumably, he’d endured at some point before he was turned.
His eyes remained shut. He’d open them, eventually. Once he realized he was back in the land of the living.
Usually when a vampire comes back from being staked, they spring back, ready to feed. The garlic I’d added to the chains made him more sluggish.
The vampire slowly opened his eyes.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I said.
The vampire winced.
“Oops,” I said. “My bad. I forgot that sunshine is a loaded word for you.”
“Who… What… Where am I?”
“The girl you tried to bite earlier. She was a friend of mine.”
“I didn’t mean… I just… I have to…”
“Yeah, yeah. You have to eat. You are what you are. I’ve heard the spiel before. No worries. She was just bait, anyway.”
“Bait?”
“And my heel was the hook.” I held my shoe and polished it in front of him. I hadn’t used Gina as bait at all, but I wanted him to think I’d manipulated everything. That I was in control, and had been, from the start. He’d be more inclined to cooperate if he thought I was more than an opportunistic hunter. I wanted him to believe I was a mastermind—and he’d fallen into a carefully set trap. “Normally I’d use a more conventional stake. But you know, every run-of-the-mill hunter uses stakes…”
“Well, you didn’t kill me. You could have cut out my heart if you wanted to…”
“You’re more useful to me alive, bloodsucker,” I said. “I’m looking for someone.”
The vampire shrugged, his hands tied behind his back. “What makes you think I’ll know the person you’re looking for?”
“Not a person,” I said. “A vampire.”
The vampire rolled his eyes. “Not likely. There are more of our kind these days than you know. And I prefer to work alone.”
I smiled at him. The loner vamp—another sign he was older. Younger vampires tend to horde up, form little vampire gangs. A foolish effort; I’m not the only hunter out there. And when vampires congregate and too many bodies start piling up, hunters will track them down.
Older vampires know better. Small enclaves of two or three vampires, generally. They spread their killings out—both in terms of space and time. Older vamps, in fact, don’t have to feed as often.
But older vampires also have histories. And back when Alice was turned, when vampires like this one roamed the continent, most of them knew each other. If he was as old as I suspected, he’d know who Alice was.
But I needed to hold my cards close to my chest. I couldn’t let him know what I suspected.
“First,” I said, trying to sound friendly and conversational, “why don’t you tell me your name?”
“What is it to you?”
“What is it to you what it is to me?” I asked, returning a question with a question. “I asked you your name, and seeing that your heart is still inside of your chest, obviously I don’t want you dead. But if you press me… well, I just polished my heels. I’d hate to have to use them again.”
“Staked by a shoe.” The vampire grunted. “Humiliating.”
“It’s a stiletto! Christian Louboutins,” I protested, my voice reaching another octave. “Do you know how much these beauties cost? Consider yourself privileged.”
“I don’t really care.”
“You will, if I stake you again and cut your heart out.” My words were threatening, but my tone remained conversational. A lot of interrogators, including other vampire hunters, make the mistake of raising their voice and cursing out their subjects. I’ve found that remaining calm and patient is more successful.
It isn’t just that people—if you could call vampires “people”—are more inclined to cooperate with someone they perceive as friendly, but a harsher tone communicates an impatience, an urgency, that would actually give my subject leverage in the interrogation. If the vampire thought I was desperate for information, he’d likely resist, knowing that in the end I couldn’t kill him.
A calm interrogator is more frightening. If he got the impression that if I killed him I could casually move on to my next lead, he’d be more rather than less likely to talk.
The vampire shook his head. “As long as I’ve lived, it would be a mercy to end my existence.”
“Or,” I said, “if you want to die, I could just leave you bound in garlic.”
“I could tolerate that.”
“Or, I could leave you bound in the sun. From what I understand, the sun doesn’t kill you. But it burns you… It’s like hell on earth, is it not?”
The vampire looked at me, his eyes meeting mine. I could see, from the way his red irises darted back and forth, that he was scared. It’s not every day that someone strikes fear into a vampire’s heart. “Why don’t you tell me your name?”
“You aren’t exactly in a position to negotiate.” I held my stiletto into a single beam of light shining in the window from the street. “And I asked first.”
“My name is Wolfgang.”
I cocked my head. “I think I’ve heard of you. Not a common name. German, isn’t it?”
“I was born in das Vaterland,” the vampire said. “I was turned shortly after we arrived in the new country.”
“The name’s better suited to a werewolf. I’ve met the original one, by the way.”
Wolfgang raised an eyebrow. “The original werewolf?”
I nodded. “I’m familiar with the original vampire, too.”
“Niccolo the Damned.” Wolfgang paused a moment. “He was my sire.”
“Not surprised. Haven’t seen him in a while, have you?”
Wolfgang shook his head. “He has seemingly disappeared.”
“You can blame me for that.” It was a lie; I didn’t know what happened to him. I hadn’t actually met him, personally. But one of his progeny, a female vampire named Mercy Brown, had befriended me when we were both locked up in the Vilokan Asylum for the Magically and Mentally Deranged. Last I’d heard from the other vampires I’d interrogated, she’d managed to take her sire’s place as the head of the Vampire Council. She was possibly the only vampire I’d tolerate.
Mercy, too, I once used as bait. I knew that Alice, the vampire who took my abilities, was hunting her. It’s why I originally went to New Orleans. But I’d only recently become human at the time, and eating humans was a habit I’d yet to shake. Come to find out, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans has something of a stranglehold on the supernatural community in her city.
My dietary choices got me locked up in her asylum where, as luck would have it, I happened to encounter Mercy. All I had to do was wait until Alice showed up. I knew the vampire couldn’t resist the chance to corner Mercy in a facility she couldn’t easily escape. But when Mercy and I ended up teaming up to take her down, well… Alice escaped.
I tracked her north, all the way to Kansas City. But then the trail went cold.
That was five years ago.
I never stopped looking.
Alice was a nightwalker. A vampire created by the Order of the Morning Dawn to eliminate other vampires. The Order hated vampires. They despised witches. The older the vampire or the witch, the more likely they were to be on the Order’s most-wanted list.
But the Order was also insanely hypocritical.
If it took making more vampires in order to eliminate vampire-kind, if it meant using witchcraft to kill witches… for the Order, the ends justified the means.
Probably why she was able to excuse attacking me and stealing my shapeshifting ability—because she could use it to get closer to Mercy. I was deemed an “acceptable” cost.
Besides, I wasn’t human. I was expendable.
The Order of the Morning Dawn… speciesist bastards.
I tracked the Order down. It was the first place I looked. But from what I could tell, Alice had defected. She’d never reported back after she escaped Mercy and me in New Orleans.
But this vampire… he was the best shot I’d had in a while.
Wolfgang rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt you staked Niccolo the Damned.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t say I staked him.”
“The only thing you’ve proven is that you know who my sire is,” Wolfgang said. “And that you realize he’s disappeared.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It isn’t information about Niccolo that I’m seeking.”
“Then what is it you want, hunter?”
“I’m looking for a vampire. A nightwalker created by the Order of the Morning Dawn.”
Wolfgang huffed. “You’re looking for Alice?”
I nodded.
“Try wonderland.”
“I’ve followed every rabbit hole I can find,” I said, “and none of them let me to her.”
“Why are you looking for Alice?” Wolfgang asked. “You aren’t a vampire. You aren’t a witch. There’s no reason why you should have a vendetta against… Unless… Wait…”
I cocked my head. “Spit it out, vampire.”
“You’re the shifter! I’d heard the rumors, that she’d suckered some elemental into giving her his abilities…”
“Her abilities,” I said. “I’m not a him.”
“Whatever,” Wolfgang said. “Most vampires want her dead, too. You’re barking up the wrong tree, shifter.”
“Then help me,” I said. “Help me find her and I’ll let you go.”
Wolfgang rolled his eyes. “You have no intention of freeing me.”
I nodded. “You’re right. I don’t. But if you can help me locate Alice, perhaps I could be persuaded to allow you to leave. Older vampires like you, after all, feed much less regularly than younglings. Your existence is more tolerable than theirs.”
“She stole your abilities,” Wolfgang said. “That’s why no one can find her. She doesn’t appear as herself. She’s a vampire, but she shifts into whatever form her victims most desire.”
I took a deep breath. “I know how my own powers work.”
“Then you realize that catching her is like looking for a needle in a haystack… if the needle looked exactly like a piece of straw.”
“I realize it must be difficult…”
“Not difficult. Impossible,” Wolfgang said. “Unless…”
I stood there staring at the vampire, waiting for him to finish his thought. But he didn’t. “Unless what?”
“Unless you were working with a nightwalker,” Wolfgang said. “A vampire formerly of the Order of the Morning Dawn. One who knew her habits, the places she’d likely hide, the victims she’d likely claim.”
“And you know where I could find a vampire like that?”
“I do,” Wolfgang said. “But if you’re going to kill me anyway…”
I sighed. “Tell me.”
The vampire smiled at me. “In my human life, I was known as Wolfgang Fabricius Capito. Before the Order of the Morning Dawn existed, there was Der Orden des Erzengels Michael.”
I bit my lip. As an elemental, I’d learned a number of languages. Not well. My vocabulary was generally limited to whatever I’d acquired in song. But I knew enough. “The Order of Michael the Archangel?”
Wolfgang nodded. “Only after we came to the new world, as a group of preachers, Christian protestant humanists, did we adapt our order to the religious community of the new world. Der Orden des Erzengels Michael became the Order of the Morning Dawn. That particular aspect of the Order wasn’t developed until after Alice was turned. But I came before her, bitten and drained by the original vampire, Niccolo the Damned. Healed by faith.”
“I thought Alice was the first nightwalker.” I’d chosen to ignore the whole idea of faith-healing. I mean, seriously? Aside from the dubious question about whether faith is even capable of healing, why would faith be used to cheat death, escape the grave, and make someone into something more devilish than godly? No matter which god one purports to place his faith in.
Wolfgang nodded. “She was. The nightwalkers were the result of a particular initiative by the Order’s chapter in Rhode Island. I only joined them later, but I was a part of an older line that predated the Order. Very few members of the Order knew I even existed. But I was sent to this world to ensure that the Americas didn’t become a haven for vampires or witches. Ironic, perhaps, since I was a vampire. But I was also zealous. Committed to the cause. And for the most part, I suppose, I was successful.”
“And you know Alice well enough to know how I could find her?”
“I used to be her partner. As the only vampire the Order had worked with, it was natural that she and I would be placed together after she was first turned. I was the only vampire they could trust. The only one who could help her contain her initial bloodlust. I suppose, if you think about it, I’m something of an adopted sire to her,” Wolfgang said. “If anyone can find her, it’s me.”
CHAPTER THREE
I left Wolfgang chained to his chair. He was seated at the Edge of Hell—not just the artificially haunted human attraction. Literally, if I wanted, I could dispatch him to vampire hell.
Certainly I was tempted to do just that…
But what if he was telling the truth? Was he really Alice’s former partner and, even more, did he have information that might help me track her down?
It was risky.
Trusting a vampire is about as advisable as cuddling a viper. For most people, anyway. I wasn’t sure how a snake’s venom might impact me. I’d never been bitten by anything before Alice…
Not even a mosquito. They generally only bite things that bleed. I’m made of water—that’s my element. Because, well… until about five years ago, I was a water elemental.
I only had one friend who knew the truth about me: my roommate, Donnie. She was a trans woman. Like me.
I didn’t know what I was before I met her. I just knew that after I couldn’t return to the water, venturing nude into the human world for the first time garnered a lot of unwelcome stares.
I’d walked into a clothing store completely naked. The owner assumed I’d been mugged. Beat up. Whatever. He told me to take my pick from the discount rack. Anything I wanted—it was on the house.
Nice guy, right?
Until I picked what appealed to me the most. A form-fitting red dress…
“So that’s why you got the shit beat out of you?” he asked.
I’d looked at him, puzzled. It didn’t make sense. He’d told me to pick what I liked—so I did. I didn’t pick a dress for any specific reason. I just liked it. And given the fact that I had a strange appendage dangling between my legs, it seemed appropriate. I mean, why in the world would I want to cram that thing into pants?
It wasn’t all logic; the dress just felt right. The moment I saw it, I knew it was me. So I wore it and, with the storeowner rolling his eyes, I left.
Sure, a lot of folks stared. A totally different response than I got when I was walking around in the buff. I mean, when I was naked, people tended to look away as if my appearance hurt their eyes. And they were praying when they did. Why else would so many of them say, “Oh God,” or, “Dear Lord” when they saw me? I mean, they were shielding their eyes as if they were encountering the Almighty.
Clearly, I presumed, my nude form was too majestic for human eyes.
But now I was clothed, rocking a red dress and heels, and people were doing double-takes. I figured it was because I was so damned good looking.
Whenever I assumed human form, I tended to be abnormally attractive. Shifting into whatever a victim might find the most alluring tends to result in me taking any number of beautiful forms.
I spent weeks on the streets lik
e that.
Eventually I started to put two and two together. Human males tended to dress one way, human females another way. I had the parts, the plumbing, that suggested I should conform to whatever a human male was supposed to do, but that didn’t feel right to me. I loved my dress. I watched women in heels—not because I desired them or was checking them out. It was because I envied their shoes…
I was confused. Why did I feel the way I did? Why was it that man and women had to act in certain ways, dress certain ways, if they wanted to blend in and go unnoticed?
I eventually secured my first set of heels. Nothing that I’d wear now. I’d pulled them out of a dumpster behind Goodwill. I still have the pair stashed away in my closest for nostalgia’s sake.
Then I learned more. Over time, I refined my tastes. I discovered designer shoes.
Christian Louboutin. Jimmy Choo. Guiseppe Zanotti. Sergio Rossi. All men responsible for some of the most luxurious designs in women’s footwear. Did people really expect these savants not to wear their own designs?
Bitch, please! How could they resist?
I didn’t feel like a man wearing women’s shoes. I felt like any other woman. The higher the heel, the better my ass looked in the mirror.
I was a natural. The way I glided down the sidewalk… like it was my own personal runway.
Let people stare.
I mean, all these humans had ever been to me before was dinner, anyway. Why should that change? I didn’t need their approval. I was doing me.
But then I encountered Donnie. I met her doing what I’ve since learned was one of our favorite activities—we were both shoe shopping.
She was like me.
She had a body that people told her made her a “boy” when she was born. But ever since she was a child, she’d gravitated to girls’ clothes. She preferred Barbies to action figures. She insisted that her parents let her grow her hair long, that she decorate it with barrettes. Not trimmed short or spiked like the boys.
Scared Shiftless: An Ex-Shifter turned Vampire Hunter Urban Fantasy (The Legend of Nyx Book 1) Page 2