Vintage Soul

by David Niall Wilson

  “What have you done with the young ones?”

  His oily smile became a toothy grin.

  “Oh, they’re still around,” he said. “I have them very close by, in fact. You’d think I’d be angry with them after breaking in here unannounced and trying to disrupt my plans, but I’m a generous man. I have a surprise for them, a treat they wouldn’t get anywhere else. I’m going to share some of what I was just talking about with them.”

  Vanessa thought hard, trying to remember what he’d said.

  “The sunlight,” he said casually. “I’m going to give them the first sight of the morning sun they’ve had in quite some time. I can’t imagine when the last time you saw that was – what are you, three, four centuries old? But these others…they remember. It hasn’t been so long since all the pleasures of life were ripped away from them and dangled like carrots on a string, just out of reach. I haven’t spoken with them about it, but I would be willing to bet they remember what it’s like to greet the sunrise. I bet they even remember well enough to miss it. “

  “Where…” She couldn’t finish the question. She’d felt the touch of dawn once since her transformation. It had burned much hotter than any fire she recalled from life, and had nearly ended her existence. She remembered, and she hoped with sudden clarity that her memory, and her sudden flash of terror, wouldn’t transfer to Vein across their bond. Better that he not know what awaited.

  Her captor stepped close to her again, placed his hands on her cheeks and gazed into her eyes.

  “They will only get to see it once, of course,” he said softly. “I’m certain I’ll have to have a cleaning crew in for the elevator once it’s done.”

  Vanessa gritted her teeth and strained against her bonds in frustration. He stroked her cheeks, and then his hands slid down to the metal band around her throat. She tried to glance down at his hands, but she couldn’t see what he was doing.

  “Don’t worry, “he said, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “It won’t take long. I’m sure they’ll be brave and not cower in the back of that elevator. I’m sure they won’t try to cling to the ceiling like bats, clawing their way over one another to the back corners, out of the light. I’m sure they’ll stand and face the light like warriors.”

  Vanessa began to tremble, but she fought it. She didn’t want him to see her lose control, not in anger, and certainly not in fear.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I wondered when you’d get to that,” he replied. “This is a very special day for you. I put a lot of time and effort into this room, and into your restraints. This collar, for instance, is more than it appears to be.”

  He fumbled with something in the center of the metal band, but she still couldn’t see what he was doing. There was a soft click, like a button being depressed, or a spring releasing. He saw that she didn’t understand, so he leaned in again. This time he lowered his head so his lips were even with the metal band.

  Vanessa felt a cool breeze on the skin of her throat. It should not have been possible, circled as she was in steel, but she felt it all the same. Her eyes widened.

  He raised his head and met her gaze. She tried desperately in that second to reach out to him with her mind. She could do it, had done it a thousand times. She found some nerve; some cord buried deep in a man’s thoughts, twisted it, and used it to draw him to her. She reached out and, just for a second, as their eyes locked, she felt something. She concentrated her will, but he shook his head, as if to clear cobwebs, and stepped back.

  “Amazing,” he said. “I would have thought you were too weak for that, and that I was too well blocked. You are strong.”

  He returned to the bed and picked something up. Vanessa squirmed in her bonds and tried to see what it was, but he kept it blocked from her view with his body until he stood before her once more.

  “I’m going to enjoy this very much,” he told her. He held up a long, slender tube. It was made of metal, and apparently coated in silver. Vanessa shuddered and drew back. He paid no attention to her. Instead, he returned to the bed again, and this time he brought back a length of plastic tubing, and a flask. A final trip to the bed, and he was ready.

  He held up the silver tube again, and as she watched he slid the end of the plastic tubing over one end of the metal. Next he placed the other end in the neck of the large flask and placed this on the floor beneath Vanessa’s manacled feet. He straightened, slid his hand into his pocket, and retrieved a round, black piece of rubber. Vanessa didn’t know what it was, but the fear had built within her once more, and her mind thoughts dove inward, seeking some place deep, safe place to hide.

  He tapped a finger on the center of the tube.

  “It’s really a very simple device,” he said. “There’s a hole at both ends and a third opening here in the center. When I slide this pump over the center,” he poked the tube into one end of the black rubber circle and it slid through, protruding now from either end, “it forms a primitive siphon.”

  He squeezed the rubber ball. The plastic tube jumped as air, drawn through the tube, was forced down toward the flask below. It was then that she noticed the tip of the tube. It was hollow, like the end that had been inserted into the plastic tube, but it was also cut at a wicked, forty-five degree angle. It came to a sharp point at the tip, and then angled back.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “That isn’t important anymore,” he said softly. “Very soon all that you are will be a part of me. Very soon your blood – or should I say, the blood you have borrowed for so long – will be mine. All of it. You will cease to exist, and your worries over the “young ones” as you call them, and over old Johndrow, will be at an end. You will no longer hunger, and you will no longer lust. You will be mine in the truest sense those words have ever been spoken.”

  He slid the end of the tube into the hole in the center of the band of steel. Vanessa screamed then. She screamed and she spat, and she tried desperately to struggle, but it made no difference. The cold, hard silver tube slid through the collar neatly and pressed against the soft skin of her throat – then pierced her cleanly. Transfixed, she tried to catch his gaze and make him pull it out, but she could not. He stood very still, watching her as she hung there, back arched against the stone wall, eyes rolling back like those of a mad animal. Then, without another word, he began to very slowly squeeze the rubber ball.

  He didn’t hurry. At first the blood flowed erratically, but the even pumping motion of his hand squeezing that black rubber ball took on the mesmerizing rhythm of a heartbeat. She heard it as her thoughts grew fuzzy. She recognized it, though it had been more than three centuries since she’d felt such a pulse through her own veins. She tried to scream again. She fought up through the thickening darkness that engulfed her mind, but it was too hard. Her limbs were heavy and hung limp in their bonds. Her eyelids fluttered, drooped, snapped open, and then finally closed.

  She felt his fingers on her cheek again, stroking her. He played with her hair, and she thought he was whispering something. She tried to hear it, and to understand the words, but she couldn’t wrap her tired mind around the task. The words had the same rhythm as the pulse she felt, and that grew weaker each second. She felt cold as she had never felt. Ice seemed to coat her skin, which was suddenly very thin and brittle.

  She thought about Johndrow. For a moment, with her eyes closed, she imagined it was his touch on her cheek, though she knew it was not. She knew what was happening to her, but no longer had the strength to even think about it. The irony of it struck her, though. She knew how Preston Johndrow would have coveted a drop or two of the blood flowing so freely from her – something he could preserve in a bottle of Merlot, or perhaps a smooth cognac, to be shared at some point, far in the future.

  Then even these thoughts faded, and she grew very still.

  On the wall, across the room, a colored crystal glowed brightly, then faded, and then glowed again. Looking up from his work, Vanessa’s captor cau
ght the signal, and smiled. He watched the end of the plastic tube carefully. The flow had slowed to a very thin trickle. He gave a last squeeze, and then let the rubber expand in his hand. There was a last dribble, and he heard a soft hiss.

  He turned to the wall. What hung from the manacles and the collar was a husk. Dry, paper-thin skin coated brittle bones. Where Vanessa’s beautiful eyes had reached out to snare him, black pits gaped. A quick swipe of his hand would have reduced her remnant to a pile of ash, but there was no time.

  He quickly stoppered the bottle and stowed his equipment in the bag. The vial he wrapped carefully in two layers of satin before placing it in the bag, as well. Then he turned toward the doorway, and exited the room, leaving it open behind him.

  Once in the hall, he didn’t go far. He rounded the corner and pressed a button on the wall when he reached the end. The wall slid aside, and he stared into the elevator compartment. Vein and the others were crouched near him, staring at the far wall, where the glass window overlooked the city. The night was fading, and they must have sensed the approach of dawn. When they heard the panel slide open, they whirled. He watched them with detached curiosity.

  Vein stepped up to the window. He didn’t try to break through – it was pointless, and the silver mesh imbedded in the glass would have sliced him to ribbons if, by some impossible chance, he found a way to fracture the glass.

  “Where is Vanessa?” Vein asked. There was a tremble in his voice, not exactly fear, but close. “I felt…something. Where have you taken her?”

  Their captor didn’t answer them. He set the bag he carried on the ground at his feet. He opened it carefully and pulled out the satin-wrapped flask. Without a word he unwound the satin and held it up so that the blood glistened in the dim light of the hallway.

  Vein’s features melted through emotions, starting with shock and ending in rage. All pretenses at calm forgotten, he slammed into the glass. The elevator shook from the force, and he reared back, slamming into it again. The others gripped his arms, but he flung them aside, crashing into the barrier with more and more force. All the while his tormenter stood very still, holding the flask of blood in his hand reverently. Finally, with a supreme effort, Bruno and Shade managed to pin Vein’s arms, and Kali wrapped her arms around him from behind, holding him away from the glass. It was smeared with his blood, and though the cuts were healing fast, the gory remnant remained.

  Cradling the flask carefully, their tormentor laughed softly. “Very touching,” he said. “Such a moment we’re having. Say goodbye to her. I wish I could tell you she was going to a better place or that her spirit would rest, but I don’t know that for certain. I know where this is going,” he held up the blood, “but that won’t matter to you for very long. Can you feel it? The sun? It will rise in less than an hour, and it won’t be much longer after that when it reaches this side of the building.

  “You might find a way to break out the glass, but I doubt you can survive the fall, and even if you could, you’d be sliced up by the silver mesh. I think I’ve thought of just about everything, but if you find your way out and down somehow, please, by all means sneak back in and we’ll do this again.

  “One thing,” he wrapped the flask of blood carefully and stowed it back in the bag. “When you come back, I won’t be quite like I am now. I’ll even be a little bit more like you, I think, except for that whole undead thing. I’ll be as alive as I am now, and a thousand years from now, I’ll be able to say the same.”

  He turned, glanced over his shoulder, and added. “You know, I’m really going to miss you guys.”

  Vein saw the man press a button on the wall, and the panel slid back into place, hiding the interior of the building from view. He spun in his follower’s grasp and would have made a dive for the window on the far side, but they’d had a chance to adjust their grips, and they held him back.

  “No,” Kali whispered in his ear. “There may be a way, but that isn’t it.”

  Vein shook with anger. His sight had glazed with the red, killing bloodlust that threatened just below the surface of his mind, dormant by day and very close to the surface by night. He knew she was right, but he didn’t want to listen. He wanted to bash himself against that window, again and again, until it either shattered, or the force of his blows shook the entire elevator free of the building and sent it plummeting to the earth. They could survive that, if the glass held, and they didn’t slam through the silver mesh on impact.

  In the East, still far below the skyline, but rising, the sun began its slow transit. They all felt it, and they knew, even if they managed to calm Vein’s rage, that they would burn, caged like rats, unless they found a way to break out. Far below headlights began rolling down the streets. Lights flickered on, and horns blew. As they hung, awaiting death, San Valencez came to life, unaware of the drama playing out far above – oblivious to the world of night.

  SEVENTEEN

  Donovan remained pressed to the wall, out of sight. The footsteps drew closer, and then a furtive figure slipped from the alley, staring up at the huge building, as if studying it. He couldn’t help himself; he gasped.

  “Amethyst,” he said softly.

  She spun, saw him leaning against the wall but didn’t immediately recognize him, and drew something from her pocket. Instinct took over, and Donovan pushed off from the wall, diving and rolling to the side. At the same time, he prepared his defense, cursing himself under his breath. The first thing that came to his hand was the green crystal pendant – a gift from the woman he was preparing himself to defend against. Perfect.

  Amethyst drew back her arm, breathed something into the air, and was about to bat it toward him when she stopped. She let out a startled gasp of recognition and pulled back. The cloud spun lazily in the air, and Donovan saw what was about to happen.

  He drew the pendant, held it in his palm, breathed a short incantation over its surface, and then, with a flip of his wrist, he let it fly straight toward Amethyst’s face. She wasn’t watching him any longer. Once she’d realized who she was attacking, and stopped her charm, things had gone south for her very quickly. She stared at the hovering cloud, which seemed to be made up of flitting, buzzing insects. She spoke, too low for Donovan to hear, and the cloud wavered, but did not disperse. Instead it spun, coalescing into a solid point at one end and stretching back in a tornado-shaped funnel. The tip of that deadly whirling mass took aim on her face and dove.

  Donovan watched, frozen in place by a combination of fascination and horror. There was nothing more that he could do from where he stood, and probably nothing he could have done if he’d been closer on such short notice.

  Before the whirling plague could strike, the crystal he’d thrown whipped across the gap separating that whirling darkness from Amethyst’s face. The pendant was an emerald blur. The black gnat-cloud struck it, spread out, whirled together again as if it might burst through, and then – miraculously, dispersed. Amethyst had recovered her senses when the crystal spun into place, and she took control of it without hesitation. Using it as both shield and weapon, she shredded her own backfiring curse until nothing remained but the psychic echo of expended energy.

  It was very quiet on the street. Donovan stared at Amethyst, who stared right back. She held the crystal loosely in her hand and he wished, suddenly, that he’d taken the moment’s opportunity the short battle had presented him to reach for something else to defend himself with. He knew the thought was foolish, but he couldn’t understand why she was here, and there were still nagging doubts in his mind about the theft of her crystals.

  His mind raced. He had no idea what she might be doing here, but it occurred to him that he’d been very trusting. Over the past several years he’d grown to know her pretty well, but trust was another matter. He really had nothing concrete upon which to base that trust, just intuition, and intuition had failed him in the past.

  He thought about the crystals. All the security she’d claimed to have, and yet they’d been stolen ea
sily. No record that could be seen in her crystals. No indication of how the case had been opened or the crystals themselves removed. Was it possible, or had he just bought into her story and been duped? He didn’t have much time to consider all of this before she started walking toward him. The green crystal dangled from her hand, and he thought about how it had dispersed that cloud. He was pleased to know, at least, that when he’d chosen to defend himself with it, it would have worked, but that was small consolation. Amethyst hadn’t been any more aware of who she was attacking than he’d initially been aware of who he was defending against.

  “Kind of late for a lady to be out walking the streets,” he said, standing very still.

  She must have seen something in his stance. She drew nearer, and she slowed her steps. She didn’t smile. Donovan’s heart slammed in his chest. His thought whirled with incantations and wards, but none of them made it to his lips. She stood about a foot away from him, her head cocked, and her hand balled into a fist and pressed into one hip.

  Then she smiled, and she held out the crystal to him.

  “What’s the matter, Donovan,” she asked. “Trying to decide if I came here to make a deal with the devil?”

  He started to answer, then clapped his mouth shut guiltily and took the crystal pendant. He didn’t fully let down his guard, but he found he could breathe again, and it was a start.

  “It occurred to me,” he said.

  Amethyst glanced up at the Tefft Complex, soaring high above them into the low hanging clouds. She frowned.

  “I was a fool,” she said, turning back to him. “It’s Lance, my apprentice. Here I was thinking myself an amazing teacher, proud of his accomplishments and leaving him in charge of things I should never have relinquished control of for a moment. He was there under my nose all that time, even after the crystals were stolen, and I still didn’t see it.”

  “Lance?” Donovan said. He turned and followed her gaze up the outside of the huge skyscraper. “Lance Ezzel? Who is he? I mean…”