B007JBKHYW EBOK

by April Campbell Jones

  “We will…don’t worru!” from our affable host.

  The fat man tugged at the leash. “Come, beast!”

  I’ll never forget the look in Mitzi’s eyes as she was dragged away. “Ed? Back-up plan? I’m about to made into a brisket here! Back-up plan?”

  “I’ll think of something!” I promised her.

  “When?”

  But they were swallowed by the crowd.

  The Prince of Vampires took my hand, looked earnestly into my eyes. “I’ll be away in Baghdad for seven or eight days, Miss Smith. I do hope you’ll consider all we’ve discussed and seriously contemplate joining my little organization. I can promise you a lifetime of riches and beyond, for whatever you deem appropriate in return!”

  “That’s very gracious. I’d like to sleep on the idea.”

  He bowed, let go of my hand. “However long you wish. Now I must bid you adieu.”

  And he vanished into the maelstrom.

  …must bid you adieu… I thought, standing there alone for the first time all evening, who the hell talks like that anymore? The guy’s a walking affectation.

  “Yes,” from a just barely discernable Mitzi across the room, “the kind that reaches down your throat and hands you your own spleen!”

  “I’ll think of something!” I promised again. “I won’t let the caliph get you on that plane!”

  “Really?” even fainter now.

  “I just promised, didn’t I? Twice.”

  “I’ll try to keep an eye on Clancy!” she quavered nearly inaudible now.

  “I know you will.”

  “Unless…”

  “’Unless’ what, Mitzi? Mitzi! Are you there--?”

  “…unless she sits down to dinner one night in Baghdad over a steaming bowl of me…”

  I felt a flush of impotent panic. “Just hang in there, Mitz. We’ll get you out somehow!”

  “Eddie--?’

  “Yeah?”

  “If things shouldn’t, you know…work out. That Sylvie. She’s a nice kid. You should seriously consider a parallel future…”

  “Things will work out! You’re going to me fine! You’re MY dog, goddamnit! Do you hear me? MY dog! Mitzi? Can you hear me? Mitzi…?”

  * * *

  I couldn’t think in there—all those people, the bad artwork—and since I had no idea when or if Sylvie and the twins might show up for Ivan’s limo, I took a cab back to the apartment.

  It didn’t occur to me until I’d stepped off the elevator that I had no key.

  “Christ,” I mumbled to myself, “your mind is mush, Magee.”

  I stood before the apartment door in my pink evening gown numbly trying to decide what to do next, trying to form a plan in my hollowed-out skull. Call Sylvie? But I didn’t have her cell number--something else we should have thought through in advance.

  On a whim I rapped on the apartment door anyway.

  To my total surprise Sylvie opened it.

  “Sylvie! I really didn’t expect to—you’re back!”

  She didn’t look right. Not smiling for one thing.

  “Yeah, so? I live here.” She opened the door wider for me.

  “I know, but I thought…”

  “What? That I might be out all night with that guy you saw me leave the gallery with?”

  “Well…”

  She turned on her heel and gave me her back. She’d changed out of her evening clothes into a simple blouse and skirt. “Would you like some coffee, Ed?”

  “No thanks, little late for me. More than anything I’d like to get out of this drag queen outfit. I think I’m developing a uterus down there.”

  She didn’t laugh. Didn’t turn around, just marched toward her bedroom. “You know where the bathroom is.”

  * * *

  It took longer to peel off all of Binkie’s accoutrements than it did her make-up.

  I was finally obliged to take a long hot shower and engage in a lot of scrubbing.

  When I came out, slipped into my terrycloth robe, I found Sylvie in her bedroom, still with her back to me. She was bent over a suitcase.

  There was a distant chill in the air that almost distracted me from her bobbing bottom.

  “Going somewhere?”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment, didn’t turn around.

  Finally: “For a little while, yes.”

  I came around the side of the bed, looked down at the suitcase, still rubbing a towel through my hair. “That’s a lot of clothes for a little while…”

  She kept moving stiffly between bed and closet, dragging things off hangers, folding expertly, packing neatly. “A long while then. Maybe.”

  “Oh?” I watched her a moment. She didn’t look up. “Well…which?”

  Sylvie folded, packed, folded, packed.

  “Relatives?” I asked. “An old boyfriend, maybe?”

  She hesitated but only for a second, went pack to packing. “Ed…”

  “Right here.”

  “…I can’t do this anymore.”

  We both knew what ‘this’ meant so there was no point pursuing it.

  “Why now?” I asked gently.

  She contemplated a sweater a moment, smoothing it. “Tonight…after we got to his room, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Just stood there for over a minute staring at my reflection. I found two gray hairs, Ed. Two.”

  I scoffed. “I’ve got dozens.”

  “Then I took off my bra.”

  “Lucky mirror.”

  “And stood there staring for another minute.”

  “Who could blame you? They’re just about perf—“

  “Twenty, Ed. When I was twenty they were perfect. Heavy but perky, you know?”

  “You were blessed.”

  She folded the sweater, placed it atop a dress. “But next year they’ll be a little less perky, a little heavier. Along with a little more gray at the temples, little less narrow at the waist.”

  “Perfectly natural.”

  She nodded, closed the suitcase lid, snapped the tabs. “I don’t mind not being an ingénue anymore. I don’t mind the sagging or even the stretch marks. Don’t care if the whole damn figure goes to hell, as long as…”

  “As long as it serves its true purpose? Like having babies?”

  She stood straight a moment, finally turned to me. “That part’s perfectly natural too. Isn’t it?”

  “We wouldn’t be talking right now if it weren’t.”

  “I want a baby, Ed. While I still can. Before some stranger gives me something so I can’t.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course. I’ve thought about children of my own.”

  “But you’ve never tried.”

  “No.”

  “Then how about we try now?”

  I stared at her.

  She held my stare.

  “We, Sylvie--?”

  “Well, I don’t think that poodle’s going to bear you kids. Just one baby, Ed, that’s all I’m saying. One baby and no strings attached. I don’t want to…the idea of going to one of those sperm donor places...”

  She took a tentative step toward me. “I want to know what my baby will look like. And I’d very much like it to look like you.”

  “Sylvie—“

  “Clancy needn’t ever know. We’d just…do it. I’ve read up about timing, ovulation, all that--got it down pretty good.”

  I walked a little circle on the carpet. “And once we were sure?”

  “I’d go away somewhere and not trouble you again. Unless, of course, you wanted to see the child, in which case--”

  I nodded at the suitcase. “Looks like you’re already going away somewhere.”

  “Not far. Just some place to think. I’ll still help you get Clancy back! I will! Help in any way I can! You can depend on me, Ed, you know you can.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed, stared at the carpet. “But can you depend on me…?”

  “Will you at least
think about it, Ed?”

  I stared at the floor.

  The room was quiet a moment.

  Sylvie sighed. “Is the idea of making love to me so revolting?”

  I shot her a wry look. “I think we both know the answer to that. Quit fishing.”

  “Just think about it, that’s all I ask. No pressure.”

  “Not much.”

  “Ed?”

  I looked up at her.

  “Where’s Mitzi?”

  I felt a wave of fatigue so heavy it was like drowning. Explaining anything about the last few hours felt light years beyond my comprehension right then. I let myself flop back on the pillow.

  “Ed? Honey, what is it? Where’s Mitzi?”

  “With Clancy,” I sighed.

  “You saw Clancy then!”

  I nodded wanly. “For maybe the last time. Tomorrow night about now she’ll be winging her way to Iraq.”

  “Iraq!”

  “With my dog.”

  Sylvie came quickly around, sat beside me on the bed. She took my hand. “Tell me.”

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  “My cab won’t be here for a while.”

  I told her everything.

  I was still telling her when the lobby intercom buzzed and announced her cab.

  Sylvie gave me a spare key, her phone number and the address of the friend she was staying with across town. She told me not to worry about anything tonight, that she’d call me in the morning and we’d figure something out. I don’t think she really believed it herself but she kissed me like she did. I walked to the door with her, she kissed me again.

  And then I was alone in the apartment.

  Despite everything going on inside my tortured brain, it took only two drinks and that wonderfully hard living room couch to put me away.

  I slept deeply and without dreams.

  * * *

  I’m not one of those people who experiences déjà vu that often.

  But I experienced it that night.

  I became awake—wide awake—at just past 3:00 a.m.

  I was certain I’d heard a noise in the house.

  I remember the time exactly because I checked the radium faced dial of my watch on the end table beside me. Just like the first time this happened.

  I lay there staring into the darkness for a time—going over that first time in my mind: the bloody bodies of the twins, The Count’s little visit. I was still going over it when I heard the sound again: a kind of quick furtive noise, like the scurry of feet across the carpet.

  Just like the first time.

  “Shit,” I groaned softly, “--are we off to parallel universes again?”

  I sat up, amazed at my calm, and saw the slice of light spearing from the crack in the partly open front door, trailing across the dark carpet. Like last time.

  And again like before—just for a moment—I thought of the twins coming home late, of one of them accidently leaving the apartment door ajar…

  And like before, I didn’t believe it for a moment.

  I threw my legs over the edge of the couch and sat barefoot for a moment, listening intently for the sound again. Nothing.

  I cocked my head and listened a minute longer. Finally drew a deep breath and sang out. “Count?”

  No answer.

  I stood. Hesitated a moment to let all the sleep wash from my brain…stood quietly until I was convinced this was no dream. But then, the last time hadn’t been a dream either, had it? The last time had been a prophecy.

  “Count? Are you there? Is this another of your…parallel worlds things?”

  Silence.

  And then the furtive rustle again.

  Coming, I thought, from the hallway.

  Images of blood-spattered walls bloomed in my mind, fresh as yesterday.

  I should have gotten them out of here, I thought--I should have gotten all the girls out of this place no matter how outlandish my story seemed! The Count had warned me! Now it was too late!

  I dragged in a measured breath and padded toward the hall.

  Just before I came to the arched entrance, another consideration crossed my now heated brow. Sylvie! What if she’d changed her mind? Gotten to her girlfriend’s place, thought it over and taken another cab right back to The Towers? If she’d found me asleep, she might not have wanted to wake me, might have stolen quietly to her bedroom and retired.

  And left the front door ajar?

  I didn’t really buy it, but something made me turn left at the hallway entrance anyway and pad down softly to Sylvie’s bedroom.

  I slumped with relief when I saw her unmistakable form beneath the covers in the dim lamp glow, her dark hair above the sheets. I felt added seeing the rise of her breasts, hearing the sleepy, dream-born sigh pass her lips and saw her head turn lazily on the pillow.

  I held onto the knob a moment until my own breathing had settled, then came back up the hall noiselessly. I was almost back through the archway again when I hesitated. As long as I was up, why not double check on the twins? Maybe they were still out on one of their Ivan-approved dates, maybe not, but I’d sleep better knowing either way. Especially with that blood-dripping memory of what I’d seen in Mandy’s room last time…

  I turned back to the hallway, started down it quietly, pausing only when I thought I heard that furtive rat-like rustle again.

  I swiveled around. “Count? Are you there?”

  Apparently not.

  The hallway was empty.

  But not unlit.

  A wide swatch of light poured across the carpet from Mandy’s open bedroom door to form a glowing square on the wall opposite.

  I took it as a good sign; the girls were probably still up chatting, trading stories about tonight’s conquests, bitching about the fashion industry. If I was careful, I could peek around the bedroom corner at them without being detected, then creep back to my couch without anyone being the wiser. I didn’t see the red droplets staining the carpet doorway before I was on top of them.

  There was a lot more red inside the room.

  The majority of it oozed from the necks of the twin’s nude bodies, tossed carelessly across the sheets like discarded Barbies.

  My legs were pumping back down the dark hall before my mind caught up. Sylvie!

  But out loud I was crying, “Count! Count!” and praying, like Scrooge, this was only a grim glimpse of a future yet to come--that tomorrow I’d be thudding down State Street yelling Merry Christmas at every smiling passerby instead of screaming for the wizened vampire.

  I hit her wall switch the moment I dove through Sylvie’s door.

  She was still asleep, exactly as before, tossing in untold dreams as I vaulted toward the bed. “Sylvie!”

  I fell beside her on the mattress, grabbed her ivory shoulders and lifted her into the light.

  Then I screamed.

  Tried to pull away, but the Queen of Vampires had hold of me now.

  “Surprise, Mr. Magee!” Alicia hissed, fangs dripping. “Just looking for my little dog!”

  EIGHTEEN

  To this day I’m not sure how I broke free.

  Though I have my theories.

  I remember vividly planting my bare foot flatly in Alicia’s chest and shoving backward with everything I had. I managed to tear away, but not without a price: long scratch marks trailed the front of both my arms from T-shirt hem to knuckles.

  The inertia carried me backpedaling all the way to Sylvie’s bedroom wall where I hit hard enough to shake the whole room. I fully expected the Vampire Queen to be at my throat instantly (I had zero chance against her kind of speed, her kind of other-worldly strength) but she surprised me again by just sitting there a moment on the edge of the mattress, leering at me in ceiling light, coal-red eyes and glistening incisors glowing like latent images in a movie dissolve.

  She was dressed in her familiar black gown, dead white skin showing that same terrible undead translucence. With one marked difference. In valley of shadow bet
ween the generous globes of her breasts could not hide the ugly purple hole of rent flesh where the hotel’s spiked fence had impaled her, driven deep from her long fall off the roof.

  “You’re dead!” I whimpered stupidly, voice unrecognizably constricted in my throat.

  Alicia’s grin was Satanic. “You never really believed that, Mr. Magee…why cling to it now?”

  She rose slowly from the sheets, lips a blur of dried blood, pupils afire. “The twins were delicious, incidentally! Fine young necks! Though a bit skinny for my taste!”

  Again, a sea of guilt and hatred began diluting the fear alive in me. “You bitch…”

  “Flattery won’t save you, Magee. Now, before I rip your balls off and watch you eat them, where’s that fucking dog?”

  Maybe it was knowing that Mitzi, at least, was safe for the moment. I’d no idea how Alicia had found me, but at least she’d found us apart. I almost smiled as I picked up the chair, smashed it against the wall, and held up the broken length of leg. “I think we were discussing my balls…”

  And she was across the room and on me.

  To my amazement she missed. Or, mostly missed--again I was raked by those claws, this time across my right cheek, nowhere near my jugular—as I leapt aside and smashed the nightstand lamp to smithereens. Alicia’s momentum carried her thundering into the bedroom wall with enough force to make a concave impression of her outline in the drywall.

  We both whirled at the same instant, she with those flashing fangs, me with the splinter of chair leg. The pointed end drove through her wide-open mouth and out the back of her head in a black squirt of blood.

  For one ridiculous moment I imagined I’d won. Alicia just stood there a moment, the jagged length of wood poking out one side of her head, jutting upward like a fat cigar from her dripping mouth. Then she grinned, grabbed the end in the mouth and wrenched the stake free in a fine mist of crimson that settled over me softer than a lover’s kiss.

  “You’ll have to do better than that!” she laughed, and tossed the table leg aside.

  That’s when I realized the only real defense I had in this fight was her own arrogance.

  I ripped the blanket from the bed in one smooth motion, whipped it out like a matador’s cape and slapped it across the snarling queen. She stumbled and clawed in a confused rage for a moment but a moment was all I needed to get Sylvie’s nightstand drawer open. It was sheer luck—or sheer guess work—but living in the heart of downtown Chicago with only two other lovely models for protection, something told me Sylvie would have some kind of weapon hidden in the place. It turned out to be a Smith & Wesson O.45in Model 4500 with an eight round magazine…all eight rounds of which I emptied into the blanket and the viciously thrashing figure under it.