Slay: Stories of the Vampire Noire

by Slay (epub)

  “There’s no one around for miles. All of your fellow residents are observing their curfew. They’re asleep.”

  Careful not to look at his eyes, Gideon averted his gaze to the floating, chainmail armor wearing monster. “You’re an older one. Aren’t you?”

  “I inherited this protective coat from an older demon. An incubus you killed back in 1976.”

  Gideon noticed a Russian accent but decided not to reference it.

  “Those were wild years,” Gideon said. “I made a lot of money killing monsters in the seventies. So, forgive me, but I have to ask. I killed this master incubus and you waited this long to come see me?”

  “I was afraid of you. You were quite fearsome to us, always there with your daggers and your crossbows. You hunted and killed us while we slept and even as we preyed on the unsuspecting. You were one of the few who knew how to hunt us at night. A great assassin, you were. It was, very clever of you to buy a house on hallowed ground. Kept us from getting to you sooner.”

  “Yeah, there was a time I had it all figured out, I guess.” A wave of sadness hit Gideon. He had killed his first vampire when he was 26 years old and graduated to werewolves and demons two years after that. “Now, I’m just an old man alone in a room waiting for death.”

  “You’re not going put up fight?”

  Gideon shrugged. “What would be the point? I’m already dying. Pancreatic cancer. My family doesn’t know. They helped me pack so there was no sneaking any weapons into my stuff. And here is the thing; I saved countless lives and killed hundreds of demonic creatures. Granted, I did it all for money, but if there is an afterlife, as my encounters with your kind would confirm, my situation should be good. Plus, my family doesn’t want me around anymore, hence me being here in the first place.”

  They both fell quiet for a minute. The monster stared at Gideon, who stared at the creature’s talon-like feet floating in the mist.

  “It’s not enough to accept your death. You have to invite me in, hallowed ground or not.” The monster sounded a tad contrite.

  Gideon sighed. “Come on in. Please.”

  As the creature slid the window open, Gideon turned away and walked to the bed. By the time he sat down, the monster stood over him.

  “Does a man get a last request?” Gideon asked.

  “Of course, you do,” the gargoyle demon presented a gnarled, toothsome smile.

  “No one in my family gets hurt. You kill me and we both get what we want.”

  “I was considering killing your daughter,” the creature said. “Especially since we both know there is no other way you could have put her through that expensive college without your blood money. No pun intended. But fine, I will honor your request.”

  Gideon smiled. “How do you want to do th—

  Before he could finish the sentence, the gargoyle pushed him forward. He landed on his back across the bed.

  He already knew that demons of this particular type—ones that did not drain life essence through sexual intercourse—preferred to devour victims by their extremities first. With that in mind, he had braced himself to be bitten in the hand or somewhere on his arm. The gargoyle grabbed his foot and sank its teeth into his left foot.

  Several thousand nerves came alive as Gideon watched two of his toes disappear in the creature’s mouth. The pain was so intense it didn’t come all at once. There was an initial push and then it came in waves that swelled as blood gushed from his foot into the gargoyle’s mouth. Gideon’s mind flashed in and out like a bad circuit, as images from his youthful days as a monster killer taunted him. The tightening in his chest signaled the beginnings of cardiac arrest. He held his hands over his mouth as he let out an agonized scream. He didn’t want the night nurse to hear him and come running to the room before his trap was fully sprung.

  The gargoyle had barely swallowed the second mouthful of flesh and bone before he coughed. His body shook as if he’d been struck.

  The gargoyle dropped Gideon’s leg and fell to its knees. It coughed again, a ghastly noise that reverberated in its chest. Then the creature recoiled until its back was against the wall opposite Gideon. With all the pain and parts of his mouth starting to liquefy to bloody puss, the gargoyle could only say, “What…did…” before his jaw fell to the floor and dissolved into a black oily stain on the floor.

  “What did I do?” Gideon struggled to speak as he pushed up his torso with his elbows so as to see the gargoyle’s death. “Well, let’s go over the list. First of all, after being diagnosed and knowing I was not long for this world, I came to terms with my death. Not that you would know, but trust me, that’s not as easy as you might think.”

  The gargoyle’s abdomen opened as if swiped by an invisible machete, spilling a black oily substance and grey intestines over the spot where its jaw had previously fallen.

  “You’re dying because I have been drinking Holy Water for the last two years. No soda, no alcohol, no orange juice, no coffee. Just to play it safe I also didn’t have sex, or steal anything, which at my age wasn’t that hard. I even kept my thoughts as pure as humanly possible. As far as you’re concerned, I turned my blood into poison.”

  Gideon watched as the gargoyle gave out a final screech before dissolving into a puddle of viscous, obsidian-like muck. Satisfied with what he’d seen, he plopped back to the bed as the combination of massive blood loss and a seized heart sent him hurtling toward oblivion.

  The night nurse who was on duty heard the screams and would have been there sooner had she been able to remember where she put the room keys. She entered Gideon’s room just as things ended. She almost slipped in the gunk on the floor as she spotted Gideon with part of his foot torn away. In a few days, her inability to explain what happened would cost her the job and her sanity.

  Always one to keep her ear to the rail, Lancaster received word of Gideon’s passing just as the morgue hearse pulled up to Shady Meadows. She was sobbing by the time Gideon’s body was being wheeled toward the back exit.

  “Didn’t you just meet him last night?” a friend who had tagged along asked after Lancaster burst into tears.

  “I don’t know!” Lancaster cried. Later, she would take three Xanaxe and not leave her room for the rest of the day.

  A few minutes after Gideon had been pronounced dead, Mona got the call. Already wracked with guilt over sending her father to Shady Meadows, Mona cried like a wounded bear for most of the night.

  Simon, secretly relieved by the news, tried to console her as best he could.

  A week after the funeral, Mona was leaving the brownstone just as a mysterious man dressed in a black trench coat walked up the steps toward her. Each one seemed equally surprised by the timing of the encounter. It took a moment before either of them could find their voice.

  “I’m sorry. Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Forgive me if I startled you,” the man said. “You are Mona Hastings?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  The man drew closer and handed her a plain, white envelope, wished her a good day and walked away. After watching the man disappear into the hazy afternoon, she ripped the envelope open and found a check for one hundred thousand dollars and a note:

  Mona-

  The gentleman who delivered this envelope represents someone who I was able to do one last service for before I died. In an odd way, your sending me to Shady Meadows helped with that. Use the money wisely, take care of my house and whatever you do, don’t sell it.

  Just to warn you, the man will return. When he does, you need to let him take that black trunk I was keeping in the attic. The contents would be of no use to you. Just some old relics of a life I had hoped to leave behind.

  I know we had our problems and many of them stem from me not being present during so much of your childhood. But please believe me, I loved and cared for you with every part of my being. If there is such thing as an afterlife, that love and care will continue and will always be there for you to draw strength from. So please do
not despair and forget all of our past difficulties. Remember me as fondly as you possibly can and if at all possible, try my advice whenever you think it might apply. I know the expression of my thoughts was often ham-handed, but I always meant well. Hopefully, you will come to understand that someday.

  * * *

  My dearest daughter, I wish you a beautiful life.

  * * *

  Dad

  * * *

  P.S. I’m still standing by what I said. Simon’s rap music is atrocious. Make him stop. Make him get a real job.

  The Dance

  L. Marie Wood

  I stood in the doorway, watching her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her body, the way she moved. Her hair danced in the middle of her back as she swayed. Her hips rolled rhythmically to the beat of the music. Her gyrations were slow and hypnotic, at one with the bass. Her breasts rose and fell, almost still. I could look at her forever. She turned and saw me watching. Her lips parted in a sensual smile that confused me more than any of the feelings stirring within me had. Did she like me looking at her? Did she, with her engaging eyes and coy smile, want me to blanket her body with my eyes? To stare at her as I had been? My own lips parted with the thought, glistening with the moistness that was flooding my mouth. My eyes trained on her until there was nothing else. Some part of me, some distant civility was embarrassed by my behavior, my staring, my disregard for the manners I had been taught as a child. That same part of me turned its back as warmth crept its way up from my stomach to my chest and then to my lips, lips that longed to feel hers against them. My God! I shook my head against my feelings, against her, but she stared back at me still, her gaze unwavering. Could she know what I was thinking?

  Did she?

  I didn’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t know much of anything except the sensual curve of her hips as they pressed against her dress. I didn’t care to know anything else. With a smile that induced my tongue to flick out of my mouth and lick my pulsing lips, she broke her gaze with me and spun to the music. Her hair took flight and whirled about, seeming to float on the very air that whipped it. Her eyes were closed as she twirled, her mouth open in satisfaction. It seemed to me that the music had grown louder, sharper, the bass thumping into my soul now instead titillating my ears. I felt it. I felt her. As though she moved in my arms, grinding against me, pressing her bosom to mine, I felt her. A film of perspiration leapt onto my brow as I imagined touching her skin. I knew it wasn’t real, even as I traced the round of her breast beneath my sweaty palm, almost feeling the warmth from her body on my fingertips. The nagging question was why. Why was I thinking this way? Why did she, this woman I did not know, rouse such feelings in me?

  The woman stopped to face me once more, her hair settling on her shoulders. Wisps of light brown strands webbed her face, covering her eyes like a veil. She peered at me from between them, a knowing look standing in them. She knew me, knew the thoughts that were ruling me at that instant, my turmoil.

  And she liked it.

  She flipped her hair away from her face gently. Her copper skin looked like smooth cream in the dim light. I wanted to reach out and touch her hair, run my fingers through it. I wanted to run my hands down her spine, feel her moving against my skin as I had in the beautiful illusion that played in my head moments before.

  The increasingly familiar tingling sensation in my stomach burned as she resumed the dance. She had pulled a man from the wall, beckoning him with her eyes alone. He joined her, swaying to the music with her, pressing himself closer, deeper. My face and hands were hot, and my breath was quick. I watched as they moved seamless to an old reggae song, the music pouring over them like warm water. As the beat slowed down to a pulse, she pressed her body closer still, rolling her hips from side to side, backwards and forwards. I began to sweat more.

  He held her by the small of her back as she bent backwards to touch the floor with her outstretched hand. Her breasts perked toward the sky and I could almost see the supple flesh. She looked at me as she shifted with her partner, turning around to rub her buttocks against his genitals. I nervously met her stare. Her beautiful oval eyes engulfed me, took me on a journey to a place I had never thought I’d go. And I didn’t want to come back.

  She began to touch herself as she danced, pulling her hair away from her face and rubbing the moist skin on her neck. Her hands found their way to her breasts and she provocatively traced the shape of them. I watched her playing. I wanted to play too. Her partner’s arm tightened around her waist as the line of his jaw imprinted itself on his brown skin. She smiled at me conveying her pleasure as her partner enjoyed himself behind her. She turned towards him then, resuming the dance, and breaking eye contact with me. But still I watched.

  I sighed heavily watching them tease each other on the dance floor. She didn’t resume eye contact with me after that, preferring to dance with her partner for the rest of the song. My throat was unbelievably parched, and my breathing was erratic. She had gotten to me. I shivered unconsciously, feeling the air on my damp skin as I hadn’t before. I was coming out of her spell at last. I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  I walked over to the bar and ordered a drink. With my back to the club and my eyes on the glass in front of me, I tried to forget the woman’s face, her body, her eyes. I tried to forget the feelings that arose within me when I watched her move. I discounted them as the hallucinations of a drunk and an indication of when it was time to be cut off. I suppressed the fact that I had only had one drink, a mild one at that. I ignored it because I wasn’t ready to face the truth. The woman had awakened feelings in me that I didn’t know I had, didn’t know I was capable of having. It was frightening. It was incredible, unbelievable; it was all of those things. But the emotion that bothered me most, the one that I couldn’t seem to understand was how much I wanted it to be so. I wanted to look at her, to watch her body move. I wanted to touch her, to feel her, to taste her. My confusion was paralyzing.

  As I swirled the swizzle stick in my glass, I tried to push her out of my mind. The clank of the ice cubes hitting the sides became distant as she took over, commanding my thoughts. Her body moved seductively in my mind, swaying to and fro, calling to me. I had to see her one more time.

  When I turned back to the dance floor they were gone. Another reggae song, this one with an even slower beat than the first, began and people filled the dance floor, capitalizing on the opportunity to feel their partner’s bodies against their own. I scanned the room looking for her, wanting, needing to see her again. I saw the man she had been dancing with standing in the hallway talking to someone. I couldn’t see the person he was with. Slumping, I resigned myself to the fact he was talking to her and that he was getting her phone number. But why did that bother me?

  “Anything good mixed with that soda?”

  I turned to see her standing next to me. At 5’7”, I was more than two inches taller than her. Her head tilted a little to look at me. I liked that for some reason. Her hair was stuck to her damp forehead and she was slightly winded. She was breathtaking.

  “Just plain old soda,” I said, unsure of the timbre of my voice.

  “Oh,” she said as she watched the flush of blood rise in my face. She pretended not to see it, but I knew she had. A provocative smile curled the corners of her lips. I could almost taste the sweetness of it.

  “Can I buy you something with a little more kick?” she asked, her body swaying to the hypnotic beat.

  I smiled.

  “No. This is all I can handle right now. But thank you.”

  She smiled again. I envisioned my mouth on hers, kissing her passionately. The thought both frightened and intrigued me.

  “Do you like reggae music?” she asked, catching me off guard. She dabbed her head with a paper towel looking at me all the while, waiting for me to respond.

  “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I saw you looking at me while I danced.”

  I blushed. Was I that obvious? That pa
rt of me, the part that had admonished me before, laughed bitterly at my surprise.

  “I like the way you move.” I couldn’t believe I said it.

  “Thank you.” Her words carried the faintest of accents on them. The sound was bewitching.

  She looked at me knowing that I admired more than her dance steps. A man came over to order a beer from the bartender. To move out of his way, she stepped closer to me. I could feel the heat coming from her body as she pressed closer still, closer than I thought possible. I stood rigid, not knowing what to do.

  “Would you like to dance with me?” she asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

  I looked at her, amazed. Is she coming on to me?

  “To reggae music? I think people would look at us a little strangely, don’t you think?”

  “Why? I’ll teach you a few steps.”

  She was dangerously close.

  “I don’t know—.”

  “Well, if you don’t want to—.”

  She started to walk away. I felt panic rising within me.

  “I didn’t say that. I just don’t know about dancing… here.” What was I doing? My mind reeled as the sound of my last sentence echoed in my head. It went against everything I thought I knew about myself. Everything I thought I was. But the truth of my feelings was undeniable. Had I said it aloud? Had I tossed out the past ten years of my life for naught with the utterance of that one simple question? Was I coming on to her?

  She smiled at me and picked up a napkin. She took a pen from the bartender and wrote down her number.

  “Give me a call when you want to dance with me.”

  She put the napkin in my hand and walked out to the dance floor, never casting me a backwards glance. The sway of her hips tantalized me as she walked away. I felt my stomach drop as though I had been on a roller coaster at the top of a hill and ridden down to the bottom. She was merging into the crowd, moving her body to the reggae beat that filled the room.