Slay: Stories of the Vampire Noire

by Slay (epub)

  The giant vampire spun with frightening speed, evading the blow, then kicked Ojiji in the ribs.

  She sailed across the room, crashing into a table of assorted drugs. Brown and white powder and pills of different shapes and sizes flew into the air.

  Stokes reached down, grabbed the vampire who had greeted Ojiji by the collar, and pulled him to his feet.

  The vampire clutched his side. Blood poured from the wound.

  “You fool!” Stokes shouted. “Only vampires are allowed in this cave. You may have doomed us all!”

  “I… I didn’t know,” the vampire stammered. “I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s not your job to think, Willy,” Stokes said. “Just to follow my orders. Now, go kill that bitch!”

  Willy sprinted toward Ojiji.

  Tightening her grip on her karambits, Ojiji jumped, and the two collided in the air.

  They fell to the ground with a mighty crash.

  A moment later, only Ojiji rose to her feet.

  Willy rolled over onto his back. A karambit protruded from his chest.

  Ojiji extended her hand toward Willy.

  The karambit in his chest moved upward toward Ojiji. Willy’s body jerked upward with the weapon.

  The karambit in Willy’s chest moved again, this time sliding from the vampire’s chest. It flew into Ojiji’s hand. Ojiji closed her fist around it.

  Willy’s body dried up almost instantly then crumbled into a man-shaped pile of dust

  Stokes’ face twisted into a mask of rage.

  “Kill her!” he shouted.

  A dozen of the vampires hopped to their feet and began to encircle Ojiji.

  Stokes walked to the small mob that surrounded Ojiji. “The one who brings me this woman’s head gets 10 free feedings!” he shouted.

  The vampires exchanged glances then attacked.

  Ojiji whirled about, her karambits held out to the side at the height of her shoulders.

  She stopped spinning. Several vampires fell.

  The wounded vampires stayed down, grasping at the smoldering, bleeding wounds caused by the karambits.

  Ojiji charged the dozen vampires still standing and attacked furiously, each punch driving her karambits deep into the flesh of the Night Kin. Vampires fell, turning into gray dust.

  A thunderous din rent the musty air.

  Ojiji flew forward, her back arched. She fell onto a pile of vampire ash in the shape of a well-endowed woman.

  Stokes stood behind her, a smoking sawed-off shotgun in his hands.

  Ojiji staggered to her feet.

  A second blast shredded her pretty face into ribbons. She fell onto her back, unmoving.

  Stokes smiled. “Stokes ain’t going out like some Level 1 or Level 2, bitch.”

  The hulking vampire pulled out a cigar and lit it. He took a long drag then blew a cloud of smoke into the air. The cloud of cigar smoke widened, thickened, until the entire basement was suffocated by grayness.

  After a while, the smoke dissipated, slithering through vents in the walls and ceiling and through cracks in the bricks. All signs of the dead vampires were gone. So was Ojiji.

  Stokes smiled slyly. “Guess we’re all done here.

  “But we just started having fun.”

  Stokes whirled on his heels toward the source of the voice.

  Ojiji stood before him, her face now only badly bruised. Her pistol was aimed at Stokes’ face.

  She fired. The bullet tore through the cigar, turning it into confetti, then struck Stokes in the mouth.

  Stokes staggered backward, dropping the shotgun.

  Stokes collapsed onto his haunches, blood gurgling out of his mouth. He looked up at Ojiji, who now stood over him, her pistol held in one hand aimed at his forehead.

  “What the hell…?” Stokes croaked. Red tears ran down his cheeks.

  “Kokou feed, too. But not on blood… on violence. The more violence around me, the more violence against me, the bigger the meal.”

  “I never… I never heard of your kind.”

  “Because I’m the last of us. And you’re the last of this feeding ground.”

  She fired the pistol. A bullet punched a hole in Stokes’ forehead.

  Blood splattered the wall behind him.

  Ojiji holstered her pistol then drew a karambit from her jacket, which was now as healed as she was.

  She squatted and thrust the karambit into Stokes’ chest.

  His body turned to ash and rained down onto the floor.

  Ojiji stood then walked up the stairs and out of the funeral home.

  She hopped onto her motorcycle then sped off into the night.

  Ojiji rode up a long driveway toward a modern mansion that loomed in the distance. Her face was completely healed, and her clothes were whole again.

  She rode past the mansion and turned onto a side road. She continued until she reached a long brick garage with four sliding doors. A door lifted, and she cruised inside.

  She hopped off the motorcycle, and the door lowered behind her. She looked around, admiring the cream-colored Rolls Royce Phantom and the candy apple red Mercedes Sprinter parked nearby.

  She walked to a door in front of her then placed her palm on a panel beside it. A line of red light scanned up and down her palm. A soft click followed, then the door opened a crack.

  Ojiji walked through the door into a short hallway with a granite floor and powder blue walls and ceiling. She looked to her right—the kitchen was dark except for a single light over the stainless-steel oven. She then walked to her left until she reached a winding staircase. She ascended the stairs and walked down a hallway with a polished hardwood floor past seven closed mahogany doors until she reached the room at the end of the hallway.

  She opened the door. The room was dark, but she could clearly see a tall muscular man lying in a king-sized bed, covered in a thick white quilt. His eyes were closed, and he breathed deeply, slowly.

  She crept toward the bed, her clothing shifting, changing. By the time she reached the bed, she wore nothing except a pink camisole with lace side panels and matching shorts. She climbed into bed and kissed the man softly on the lips.

  The man blinked rapidly and opened his eyes. When he saw Ojiji sitting beside him he smiled. He scooted toward the headboard until he was sitting up.

  “Hey,” Ojiji said.

  “Hey, baby,” the man said. “How was the shoot?”

  “It was cool. Busy.”

  “Did you tell Idris me and the kids said ‘Hi’?”

  “Yeah. He actually wants to meet y’all. Maybe we’ll do dinner at Old Lady Gang once we wrap.”

  “Okay,” the man said. “The kids’ll love that.”

  “You, too,” Ojiji said smiling. “You know you’re a total fan-boy, Jamal.”

  Jamal chuckled. “I am. I am.”

  He pulled Ojiji to him and kissed her passionately. Then he looked into her eyes.

  “But don’t get too happy doing those love scenes with him, or I’ll go from fan-boy to jealous husband real quick.”

  Ojiji smiled. “Keep kissing me like that and you won’t have anything to worry about.”

  They kissed again and held each other tightly. Jamal missed the nictitating membranes in Ojiji’s eyes as they blinked vertically before she closed her eyes and enjoyed the kiss.

  ‘Til Death

  Lynette S. Hoag

  The Call

  Amondi Jekesai woke with a start. Light from the ever-burning candles in the sconce above her bed danced on the walls of the rectory she called home. Bella, her pitbull and Bram, her pomeranian, slept peacefully curled into each other at the foot of her bed. She could hear the grandfather clock’s methodical ticktock. The pendulum’s steady swing, the cadence of time. It was 10 p.m. Rain pelted the small high windows intermittently illuminated by lightning. Distant thunder clapped. Time to get up.

  Tonight, I have a client.

  In his voice mail message, the client sounded shook and
handsome. “Hi, my name is Talen Teasdale. I live in the Village of Hillrose. My wife, Marisol, is a vampire, I think. But you might know better. Please call me. Please. 212-900-0441.”

  Amondi was listed in the phone book and with 311 simply as “Vampire Assassin.” She got prank calls, mostly. But from time to time, a desperate, sincere soul would seek her services. Someone like Talen.

  Amondi rose, without disturbing the honey-colored ‘hellhounds’ at her feet and made her way to the bathroom, showered methodically, shampooing her natural hair, soaping and rinsing her dark mocha skin. She toweled off then moisturized her skin and hair, pulling a wide-tooth comb through the thick curls. She lined her eyes and tinted her lips. Just a touch of makeup to look professional. She affixed a small gold cross in each ear and hung the coordinating necklace around her neck. She pulled on a black catsuit with hidden pockets, hammer loops on each leg and black tactical military belt. To complete the outfit, a bright pink raincoat, matching rain hat and black running shoes.

  A dusty wooden box stood by the front door. Her personal vampire killing kit. The VKK. She placed it on the bed and went through its contents for good measure. Each item had its own space and was in its place. One large axe and three smaller ones, extra sharp, a pink Glock (safety on), extra bullets, a policeman’s flashlight, extra batteries, three vials of holy water, extra consecrated and a Bible.

  Thunder clapped and lighting flashed as she put her hand on the door. Bella and Bram, hearing the soft touch on the doorknob sprang off the bed, tails wagging and ran toward her. Bella knocked the VKK from Amondi’s grip and sent it flying, contents scattering. That’s a bad omen, she thought as knelt to gather the contents. She tried to shake off the feeling of disquiet that came over her. Bad omen.

  “Bella,” Amondi scolded. “Devil take it. Look what you’ve done.” Thank the stars the pink Glock had the safety on. Bella licked at her face and Amondi gently brushed her away until every piece of the VKK was back in its place and the box locked tight. “I can’t stay mad at you,” Amondi said when done. She scratched Bella behind her ears. “This little mishap must be a sign. Go get your leash, you too Bram. You’re coming with.”

  The VKK in one hand, leashed dogs in the other, Amondi opened the rectory door and stepped out into the storm.

  The Client

  A tall, white man in a trench stood outside her office as she approached hauling the VKK and trailing two eager dogs. Shit. He’s early.

  “Ms. Jekesai? Please let me help you.” He reached for the VKK. Bella gave a low warning growl and Bram yipped. “Maybe not.” He put his hands back in his pockets.

  “Talen Teasdale?” Amondi guessed. “Nice to meet you.” She unlocked the security gate then the door to her office, while wrangling the case and dogs. Once inside she flipped on the lights, stood the VKK by the door and let the dogs loose. “Come into my office where it’s dry and let’s talk.”

  Office was a loose term describing what was little more than a safe place to meet potential clients. It was located on the west side of the city, in a blighted and primarily African American part of town. The rent was dirt cheap and the landlord had a “don’t ask” policy with the tenants and the tenants a “don’t tell” policy with the landlord and each other. No one bothered to investigate what kind of business she ran, or why she only met clients at night dressed in a hot pink raincoat and black cat suit. The office was outfitted with a desk scattered with old files and gum wrappers, two chairs, an old couch, a bright overhead light and coat rack. It smelled of stale smoke and alcohol.

  Amondi hung her raincoat and hat on a rack by the door. She turned to Talen and took his trench and umbrella.

  Free from their coats, each took a quick measure of the other under the single overhead light. Talen was at least six feet tall, dark haired, green eyed. His dimples showed at the slightest upturn of his lush lips. He wore dark jeans that hugged runner’s thighs, a lavender button down and grey vest that enhanced his slim waist. His hand was soft against Amondi’s when she shook it. He smelled of expensive cologne. She guessed he was somewhere between 30 and 35 years old.

  Amondi caught him staring at the gold cross necklace resting above the curve of her breast. He stared at the two round scars slightly higher than her collarbone. Her hand went to her throat and she touched the scars, while Talen continued to stare.

  “I’m a survivor.” She motioned to a chair in front of her desk and Talen took a seat. Amondi sat in front of him on the edge of the desk and crossed her ankles.

  “You were bitten by a vampire and survived?”

  “Yes, just days after my eighteenth birthday.”

  “What happened?”

  “I chased down the evil blood sucker and killed him. That’s what happened.” Amondi laughed and somehow found a pack of gum on her disaster area desk. “Want a piece of Juicy Fruit?”

  “No thanks. I’m trying to cut down.”

  “Suit yourself. Did you complete the task we discussed on our phone call?”

  “Yes.” Talen reached into his pocket and took out a neatly folded square and handed it to Amondi. “I meticulously tracked her movements and wrote down everything she does every second for three nights. It never varied.”

  * * *

  Amondi took the neat square and turned it over in her hands before she opened it. “Do you know when she was bitten or who did it?”

  “I only know Marisol went to visit some friends and family in Pennsylvania a few weeks back. I noticed she had a strange cough when she called me but didn’t think anything of it. When Marisol got home, she had no appetite. Her skin was clammy to the touch. Her eyes sunken. She slept all day for days. I thought it was the flu. But when I found her floating above the bed, still as death, our bedroom black and cold as a tomb, I . . .” His voice caught in his throat and tears sprang to his eyes. “I found you.” He looked at Amondi, imploring. “I adore her. She’s my first love. You’re a vampire assassin, but do you have to kill her? Isn’t there another way?”

  Amondi studied the floor. A wave of compassion came over her as she watched Talen’s emotional struggle. Though she did not believe in love for herself, true love enhanced the world. True love was greater than any harbinger of evil. Including vampires. She didn’t want to tell this handsome stranger a lie. She hated lying. But she didn’t want to lead him on either. I'll just sugarcoat the truth; a little. “That all depends on what we learn when we find her.”

  “So, you’ll help me?” Talen rose from the chair, breathless and relieved.

  “My pleasure, so to speak.” Amondi extended her hand to seal the deal. Now, about my fee . . .”

  The Chase

  Amondi closed the desk drawer containing Talen’s payment with her hip, locked it and placed the key in one of the hidden pockets on her catsuit.

  “Aren’t you afraid someone will break in here and steal that money?” Talen asked.

  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take and a small one, considering my profession.”

  “I guess.” Talen shrugged his shoulders.

  “Do you want to come with me?” Amondi asked as she put on her pink raincoat and hat. The dogs immediately ran to her with their leashes wagging their tails in time. “Not you two hellhounds,” she laughed. “Talen.”

  “I planned on showing you where she was, then leaving.” Talen looked at his shoes. “In retrospect, that seems cowardly. I married her ‘til death, and if it comes to that, I should be there.”

  Seated in Amondi’s old blue Mustang in the driving rain, two dogs panting in the back seat, Talen immediately regretted his decision. Wet dog and stale cigarette smoke? I could be in my new Range Rover right now. Amondi sat behind the steering wheel examining Talen’s detailed list of Marisol’s movements with a flashlight. She bit her lower lip as she concentrated.

  “She sleeps in the garage in a makeshift casket every night. Her focus will be on getting to the casket before sunrise. It’s the best place for an ambush,” she said after what felt lik
e an eternity to Talen.

  “Ambush? You’re going to kill her without trying to save her?” Talen wailed.

  Amondi gave a long sigh, turned the key in the ignition, put the car in drive and pulled onto the street. Sugarcoat the truth. “I mean she won’t be expecting us. That’s all. Anyway, can you have a conversation with her? Does she talk?” Amondi asked, hoping to shift Talen’s focus away from the brutal looming death of his first love.

  “I haven’t tried since I saw her floating above the bed. But she spoke some before that.”

  “What was the conversation like?”

  “She responded to a few simple questions, then she asked to kiss me. But more like ‘kiss of death’ me.”

  “Hmm. . . I see. Well, maybe the love you share will overcome her loyalty to the head vampire and we can find out who bit her.”

  “Promise to try,” Talen begged. “Promise to try before you stake her or burn her or whatever awful thing you plan to do to kill her.”

  Amondi didn’t know which she hated more: lying or breaking a promise. The feeling of compassion for Talen’s situation returned. Destroying true love was like killing the last dodo bird, on purpose, in its cage.

  “I promise,” she said after a long hesitation.

  But in her heart, she knew circumstance would dictate the outcome. She reached down and pressed play on the cd player to calm her nerves. Seal’s clear baritone filled the car. “Kiss from a Rose” played over the sound of the tires on the pavement. Tires rolling their way to the Village of Hillrose and a young vampire wife’s uncertain fate.

  An hour or so later Amondi pulled onto the long driveway of Talen and Marisol’s massive white Tudor house. The driveway split the enormous lawn into two perfect halves. She stopped the car and turned off the engine in front of the house. Wow Talen. Niiice.