Devil's Cry

by Shayne Silvers

  But according to Renfield, those had been the three most valuable vampires to acquire, even though he did complain about their general lack of progress any time I asked—which always happened to be within earshot of them. Whether the complaint was warranted or not, productivity always increased afterwards.

  The executive team, as Hugo referred to us, consisted of Renfield, myself, Hugo, Aristos and Valentine, and with the growing number of vampires I’d acquired from the homeless underground community, they had their work cut out for them. We were rapidly approaching one hundred vampires, but most of them were fledglings and needed direct supervision until they grew accustomed to their new and powerful bloodlust.

  An old war veteran named Gabriel had quickly risen to a position of authority over the underground vampires, organizing them into efficient military sub-units that reported to him, leaving Gabriel to report to Hugo. Gabriel had been the first man I had turned on my exploration of the underground, and I vehemently approved of having him in charge because he had managed and organized the vampires—without needing to be asked—exactly the same way I would have done in his place.

  I was very specific in my selection process regarding what type of man or woman I would permit to be turned into a vampire, and I had only just begun delegating the duty of evangelizing the underbelly of New York City to Gabriel.

  Benjamin, my werewolf friend, had called it evampirizing, switching out the root word angel for vampire. Apparently, people made up their own words these days, but the phrase had quickly caught on, instilling an inner sense of pride in my new family.

  My Kiss, as I had taken to calling them.

  I stared down at my phone, frowning impatiently. “What is taking her so long?”

  “If you value your life, I would recommend not repeating that question in her presence, Master Ambrogio,” Renfield said, not looking up.

  I grunted, agreeing with his warning. Some things would never change. Women would take as long as they pleased to get ready, and then they would nitpick every second that their man took to drive them to their planned destination until the man came to truly believe that it might actually be his fault that they were late to their appointment.

  “I might as well check in with Dr. Stein,” I said, my shoulders instinctively tensing. Renfield grew momentarily still as if a ghost had just tickled his neck. Then he resumed his work at twice the speed, as if fearing to even be within hearing distance of the good doctor. I scrolled through my phone’s history and placed a call. “The smart phones let you call people with verbal commands,” I complained testily.

  “Right, sir,” Renfield replied in a sympathetic tone, having heard me say as much at least a dozen times in the past few weeks.

  “She works for me, not the other way around,” I said, bolstering my courage as the phone rang in my ears. Renfield shot me a panicked look, his eyes briefly darting towards the door as if searching for an escape. “It’s about time she showed me the proper respect—”

  “What?!” Dr. Stein’s sharp voice snapped by way of answer.

  I flinched, my body instinctively reacting to the undeniable tone of command that seemed to ooze through the phone. I forced myself to relax, reminding myself that I was the person in charge.

  “H-hello, Dr. Stein,” I stammered, shifting in my seat. “I was j-just calling to see if you needed anything.”

  “Of course I don’t need anything, you fool! If I did, I would have called you to get it for me!”

  Renfield was as still as a statue, eyeing the door again. I narrowed my eyes at the coward. “Right. So…all is going according to plan?”

  She sighed impatiently. “Gabriel—now there’s a fine young boy who minds his betters,” she said, her tone softening to something that was somewhat akin to affection, “unlike some men who seem to think with the hair on their chests,” she added in an altogether different tone. “He brought your newest shipment over. I’ve got them all ready for Nero, if Renfield deigns to get off his lazy backside and bring the warlock over here. You probably have him doing some inane task that any dumb and blind idiot could accomplish in half the time.” The stack of postcards Renfield had been putting stamps on abruptly fell off the table as he flinched, obviously overhearing Dr. Stein’s comment thanks to his enhanced senses as a vampire.

  In fact, I realized that she had a point. Putting stamps on cards wasn’t difficult. Renfield hurriedly dropped to the floor and began scooping them up, returning them to the table as if the militant Dr. Stein stood over him with her tool of justice.

  Her wooden spoon.

  Benjamin had semi-jokingly called it testoster-spoon, swearing that he had never seen the weapon used on a woman. Dr. Stein had educated me long and hard on testosterone, informing me that it was something men had an overabundance of—the prime reason for our gross incompetence.

  In addition to testosterone poisoning our souls, we apparently had hair and biceps for brains. The only things we could be trusted at doing without supervision was showing off our muscles or moving heavy objects—and only in rare circumstances.

  The rest of our existence was better relegated to servitude and finding a woman who could properly manage us. I wasn’t entirely sure if she was being serious or mocking me. She was a doctor, after all, and I was not. And I hadn’t heard anyone object to her claim.

  “You tell that lousy waste of space Renfield to get Nero here in the next twenty minutes or I’ll have his skinny little hide,” she commanded. “I’ll paddle him so hard that he will sing!”

  Renfield jumped to his feet, nodding. “Of course, Dr. Stein.”

  I scowled at him, holding up a finger to silently counter Dr. Stein’s command. He winced but remained in place, shifting awkwardly from foot-to-foot, dry-washing his hands. “Have you had time to run the blood tests?” I asked, my eyes catching the picture of Nosh on the newspaper.

  She scoffed. “Time to run the blood tests!” she snapped, mocking my tone. “Not there, you ten-thumbed cretin!” she suddenly shouted at someone in the background, and I heard her wooden spoon strike something fleshy, immediately followed by a manly squeal and an effusive apology. “No, Master Ambrogio,” she said dryly, focusing back on my question, “because I am not your minion to be sent running around making coffee and cleaning up your messes. I already cleaned up the one at the police station for you. You’re welcome for that, by the way,” she added, sounding as if she was clenching her teeth.

  I stared at the newspaper, blinking rapidly. “That was you? The fire at the evidence lock-up?” I hissed incredulously. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Of course it was me. Who else keeps everything running smoothly around here so you can maintain the delusion that you’re in charge? If I wasted my time explaining to the men all the subtle ways I had saved their hides or fixed their asinine mistakes, I’d never get anything else done.”

  Renfield stared at me with his jaw hanging open, obviously not having known about her involvement in the evidence lock-up either.

  “They say you tore through the side of the building…” I said, under my breath, wondering how the tiny woman had done such a thing.

  “I used my spoon, you idiot,” she muttered sarcastically. “I sent another muscle-brained brute to do it since it involved destruction—about the only thing you lot are good at.” She swore under her breath and then shouted into the background again. “Not there either! Do I need to paint directions on the floor or are you truly that incompetent? It boggles the imagination to watch you work, as if you’re purposely trying to find the most inefficient way to move a godsdamned box! Here’s a grand idea—place it beside the other godsdamned boxes!” She was panting heavily into the phone, and I realized my palm was sweating, wondering which one of my vampires was about to die for incompetence. “If there was nothing else, Master Ambrogio…”

  “Um. Y-yes. The blood tests. I need them. I planned on bringing it up at dinner tonight with Nosh. We’re going on a double-date.”

  She
was utterly silent for a few seconds, but I could hear deep, measured breaths over the phone, letting me know she was attempting to force herself to calm down. “Sorin, that is the stupidest, most idiotic thing I have ever heard you say—and that’s a high standard to exceed.”

  I swallowed, wincing in shame. “Why?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Maybe because I haven’t independently verified the results yet! If Mina Harker was involved in the first analysis, you can bet your fuzzy little peaches she outsmarted everyone and manipulated the results. I won’t trust anything until I oversee every step of the process. Since you are determined to make a fool of yourself, I’ll run my own tests now. But Renfield and Nero better already be halfway here, or so help me God…”

  Renfield made a strange panicked sound and I nodded hurriedly into the phone. “Yes. Yes. He left a few minutes ago—”

  “Don’t you dare lie to me, boy,” she snarled, interrupting me. “Renfield just earned one spoon.”

  I winced guiltily and Renfield wiped his sleeve across his forehead, licking his lips. He was slowly sliding his feet towards the door without lifting them, as if hoping he could slip away before I noticed. “Sorry, Dr. Stein. I’ll send him right over. Please let me know the moment you get the results.”

  She sniffed primly. “I should have them within the hour. Now, if I hear you say one more word before Renfield arrives, I will march over there myself and rip his ear off with my bare hands,” she promised darkly.

  I nodded, seeing that Renfield was only a pace away from the door now, his hand already reaching for the handle. “Thanks—” Too late, I remembered her warning about saying one more word and, in a frantic thumb spasm, I promptly pushed the end call button. Then I realized I had just hung up on her and I froze still, unable to lower the phone from my ear as I shot Renfield a terrified look. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets.

  We shared that silent horror together for an eternal second.

  Then he lunged for the door. It opened up before he touched it, and he recoiled with a squeak, covering his ear and crouching in submission. “Not the ear! I’m sorry!”

  3

  Victoria Helsing frowned in confusion, staring down at him with a concerned look. “Your ear?” she asked, puzzled. “And what are you sorry for?”

  I realized that I still had the phone pressed to my ear and that Dr. Stein hadn’t actually somehow made good on her promise to rip off Renfield’s ear. I began speaking into the phone on reflex, hunting for a last sliver of my dignity, even if it was fraudulent. “Listen closely, Dr. Stein. You will get me those reports now.” Then I clicked the phone shut, setting it down on the desk.

  Renfield bolted out the door without answering her, leaving a very confused Victoria to look at me with a suspicious frown. Her pale blue eyes drifted to the phone. “Bullshit.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

  She folded her arms, a smile stretching across her face. “I saw the screen before you closed it,” she explained, struggling to bite down an obvious laugh. “Your burners stay illuminated when you’re on a call.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Has anyone told you that you look particularly ravishing in that dress, and that it’s not kind to kick a man when he’s down?” I asked, letting out a sigh as a smile of my own crept into place. I couldn’t help it—Victoria’s entire face seemed to light up when she smiled. It was contagious.

  She blushed at my compliment. “I haven’t been ravished yet, unfortunately. Someone has been too busy,” she said, casting me a smoldering look that made my pants tighten. She was right. But we both knew that my being busy wasn’t the entire reason. We were both concerned about the effects that her blood might have on me—our shared ties to Artemis. Allowing passion to run rampant between us could be profoundly pleasurable or catastrophically fatal.

  It was one of the other blood tests I had requested from Dr. Stein—to analyze our blood and look for unique markers when compared to blood samples from normal humans and various monsters, or supernaturals as they called them these days—to see what made us unique or similar to other beings. Dr. Stein already had extensive collections of human and supernatural blood, having made her own study of such matters. But she hadn’t ever tested my blood.

  Or Victoria. Or Nosh.

  “And for the record, I think it’s cute how you let Dr. Stein feel important. Very gentlemanly.”

  I realized that my mouth was hanging open and I let it shut with a click. “Yes,” I said stiffly. “It is how a gentleman is supposed to treat—”

  She burst out laughing, cutting me off. “You are such a liar!”

  I tried to scowl defensively, but I finally let out a sigh. “I wonder what a blood test would show about her?” I muttered. “She has to be something supernatural or godly.”

  Victoria nodded her agreement. “She absolutely terrifies me, too, but I think she really is just a human.”

  She sauntered closer, and with my pride in a shattered but honest ruin, I allowed myself to feast on her beauty with my eyes. Aristos and Valentine had taken me shopping—a torture I’d somehow managed to endure only due to my incredible fortitude as the world’s first vampire—so I was somewhat up-to-date on modern attire.

  Aristos and Valentine had also been adamant about showing me how much female undergarments had changed since my time, warning me that most of the upper tier lingerie styles and brands required informational manuals so one knew how the various clasps, zippers, and buckles fastened.

  So, I was now an aficionado of high-class lingerie that I would never wear—but might have reason to hastily remove. I was a particular fan of Agent Provocateur. Aristos had even proudly taken to calling me a lingerie snob.

  Victoria wore a black cocktail dress with white polka dots. A broad, ruby-red belt hugged her waist, matching the color of her high-heeled shoes. She carried a very small black purse, and a simple bracelet made of round, wooden beads. A golden chain as thin as a strand of spider’s silk somehow held a ruby pendant the size of my thumbnail against her chest, long enough to draw attention to her breasts yet maintain decency. She wore a white silk jacket that hugged her waist and flared out at her knees, a contrast to the black dress beneath. Her brown hair was done up in a complex bun with her signature silver chop-stakes—vampire killers disguised as jewelry.

  I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that she had other blades hidden about her person in easy to reach places. She wore bright red lipstick, but that seemed to be the extent of her make-up, which I much preferred to the layering of muds and powders and paints that most women in this time used to cover up every tiny blemish or mark they might have.

  She paused at my sudden attention, sensing the stark shift from polite words to something more primal and natural—a predator scoping his prey.

  To be fair, there were times when I wasn’t sure which of us was which.

  And that was a remarkably euphoric sensation.

  She glanced down at the cards on the table where Renfield had been working, and her eyes widened in disbelief as she scooped up a handful, rapidly flipping through them. “Really?” she giggled, looking both amused and mildly alarmed.

  I grinned. “It was Renfield’s idea,” I said honestly.

  She held up one of the cards, waving it at me. It was a light-painting printed on paper of me posing in front of the Museum of Natural History, beckoning towards the camera with my finger as I flashed a roguish grin. It had been taken during the day, timed so that I ran out from a nearby shadow to quickly pose while Natalie snapped the picture—before the sunlight gave me discomforting burns.

  Renfield had used a computer to add words in bright red letters to the bottom of the image, calling it a homemade postcard. “Wish you were here?” Victoria laughed, reading the card. She flipped it over and laughed even harder. “To the best deuce I ever took, love, Sorin.”

  I frowned. “I don’t really understand why Renfield thinks that one is so funny. He said deuce means two, and that it w
as making fun of Dracula having been my second-in-command since I took New York City from him. But the others laugh harder at that one than some of the others,” I mused, shrugging. “Is Renfield being petty since he’s my new deuce?”

  She pursed her lips, suspiciously averting her eyes back to the cards. “That must be it,” she murmured in an amused tone—just like everyone else had been doing. She flipped over another card, one of me standing in a fountain in the same pose. “Class of ‘42 Reunion?” she read aloud, shaking her head.

  “It doesn’t state which century,” I said, enunciating the last word.

  She rolled her eyes, flipping through a few more. “Happy Last Birthday.” She finally lowered the cards, tossing them back on the table with a grin. “And they’re all taken during the day—another jab at Dracula. I’m guessing he doesn’t share your tolerance for sunlight?” I shook my head, smirking. “Why do you have so many of them?”

  “Renfield has been building a stockpile of them. He thought it would save time preparing them in advance so he can get one of the fledglings to mail them out every day. He’s sent out twenty so far,” I said, grinning proudly.

  Victoria gasped. “You’re kidding me. Has Dracula responded?”

  I sighed, shaking my head. “Not yet.”

  “Renfield is surprisingly malicious,” she said in a complimentary tone. “It’s almost easy to forget that when you’re talking to him.”

  I nodded proudly. “It’s why I put him in charge of everyone. And why I didn’t kill him in the first place. He’s got a personal vendetta that is more important than anything else in the world—a vested interest in making sure I succeed.”