Evolve: Vampire Stories of the New Undead

by Unknown

  “I hear you messed up my sister, bitch.”

  “She got in the way of my elbow.”

  “That wasn’t nice.”

  Lucy turned and looked up at him. Her first urge was to blurt out, “So, what are you going to do about it?” Instead, she let a slow smile spread across her face. “It was an accident.” The voice didn’t sound like her. The pitch came out lower than expected and sort of left the words vibrating in the air. She trapped his eyes in her gaze.

  He looked confused.

  “Well … don’t do it again.”

  Lucy tilted her head. David Johansson had an interesting face. She had the feeling if she reached up and took him by the nose she could lead him down the hall.

  At the end of the hallway the group was making bets on whether he would just threaten her or slap her around right there. He had a reputation. She patted him gently on the cheek.

  “I promise to be good.”

  Amazing. She held him with her eyes and he was tongue-tied. Lucy studied David’s face as if it were a frog she might have to dissect for a school project. Her hand stroked his stubble, and then she ran her finger tips down along his neck and felt veins beneath throbbing faster and faster. She could smell his perspiration, actually hear the irregular beating of his heart. The whispering at the end of the corridor continued at an increased pace.

  “What does the slut think she’s doing?”

  “Why doesn’t he just bang her stupid head against the wall?”

  “I say we beat the crap out of her the next time we get her alone. Put the boots to her.”

  Lucy resisted the urge to stare down the hall and stick out her tongue. She gently pushed David back against the lockers.

  “Do you have a car?” That didn’t really sound like her. Did your voice change too when you had your period?

  “Yes.” Now he did sound like a frog.

  “There’s a movie on at the Multiplex I want to see. You want to see it too, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  She had an urge to tell him to speak up so the spectators could hear him, but decided against it.

  Lucy stood on tip-toes, whispered in his ear, left the damp imprint of her tongue. “Meet me at seven in the lobby tonight. You will, won’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “See you later, Davey-boy,” she said, gently shoving him away.

  He stumbled into the centre of the hall, looked as though he was going to turn and stare back at her, and then hurried off, pushing through the flock of chickens waiting by the exit.

  “Watch out ladies,” Lucy murmured under her breath, “the fox is loose in the henhouse. Or is vixen the proper term?”

  She walked out through the main doors and paused at the top of the school steps. Lucy could hear children talking in a playground a block away, smell the bread baking in the plaza down the road, taste the fear in the little dog passing on the sidewalk, knew that someone out back in the schoolyard playing football just split his lip — red blood oozed onto the grass. She turned and gazed down at the janitor lurking at the foot of the steps who had stopped gathering the litter and now leaned on his broom, gawking up at her. Her gaze changed to a glare; he quickly turned his head and shuffled away. Lucy watched him until he disappeared around the corner. Amazing; in that brief moment she had caught a glimpse of his most unsavoury thoughts. The sun burst through the clouds.

  Lucy surveyed the street. She was the queen of her jungle. Life would be very different at school now, and just maybe, at home. I doubt if Minnie will be any more difficult to handle than Davey, she thought. But Father… He would be a different matter.

  She tried to picture the scene, the first time she’d dare stand up against him. Would it be better to be subtle, try to persuade him, gently at first, that a private school was not for her? When Lucy thought of his stern face, sarcastic tone, and the burning eyes behind the contact lenses, she felt a sudden chill. But, then she shook her head and smiled.

  It wasn’t just the exiting feeling of strength flowing through her veins, or the blood pounding in her head. There seemed to be a dozen random thoughts trying to break out all at once. Lucy suddenly knew she would never again be seen as weak or confused like her Mother, but in that same moment she also felt a flash of pity for Minnie. Life with Father cannot be easy, she thought, especially if he’s anything like me, like I have become.

  Lucy started to giggle: Perhaps it was time to sit down with Father and have a long talk, about going to private schools, and other things. That would be a test of wills! There couldn’t be many fathers who had to face discussing certain unusual facts of life with their teenage daughter.

  She stretched out her arms and let the heat and light caress her, soaking her face, all of her skin with a radiant feeling of power. Her entire body tingled, as if a jolt of electricity was continuously passing through her, with not even a hint of pain. She took a deep breath. Suddenly, Lucy felt like a goddess, invincible.

  She started down the steps, wanting the whole world to know the truth: “Now, there is nothing I can’t do!”

  Mother of Miscreants

  by Jennifer Greylyn

  “Hello, Mother.”

  She was not surprised to hear those words emerge from the mouth of a man who looked too young to be her son. Standing in front of her polished wooden table, flanked by a stand displaying many copies of her book on one side and a glossy blown-up poster of its cover on the other, he was tall and lithe, with a handsomely proportioned face and elegantly tousled hair. He seemed the very embodiment of youth, but he was more likely to be taken for her brother, perhaps even her older brother. The truth was quite different.

  He’d joined the line after the initial crowd waiting for her had thinned. She’d noticed him right away even though he was dressed similarily to many other people. The goth tones of ebony and amethyst that he wore were popular among her fans, but few could afford the rich silk and lush velvet of his attire. Still, that wasn’t what made him stand out. A number of those in the bookstore were much more distinctive than him — the girl with piercings almost everywhere, the businessman in a tailored suit, the grey-haired couple in matching jogging outfits.

  She saw him because she was looking for him or, rather, those like him. It was the main reason she held all her signings at night, midnight to be precise. She’d told her publisher, Ishtar House, that it would be a good marketing strategy and they believed she badly needed one because she refused to promote her book in more traditional ways. She wouldn’t make TV appearances or let herself be filmed or photographed. She insisted on meeting people in person.

  Lionel, a wispy man hovering beside her table, had started out as her editor and then become her liaison with the publisher. She’d given him no choice but to back her strategy and he’d gone almost bald, constantly running his hands through his grey-blond hair as he fretted about all the money Ishtar House spent on TV, radio and newspaper ads. It had almost bankrupted them, but they’d been repaid a hundredfold. Just as she’d known would happen; her midnight signings had become a sensation and her book took off.

  “I need a little break,” she told Lionel, rising gracefully from her chair and glancing meaningfully at the young-seeming man who’d called her mother. Lionel nodded faithfully, accepting without truly understanding. She had him well-trained. He was used to her taking ‘breaks’ at her midnight signings. He had no idea the signings were just a cover for her real agenda.

  Discontent began to sizzle in the line as people realized she was leaving. She tasted it and silenced it before it could transform into angry whispers and jostling, exerting just a little of her will through a warm smile that made them all feel like they’d come inside from a cold winter day to sit next to a cozy fire. It left them calm and they all drowsily beamed back at her.

  This was why she shunned all forms of the media. It tempted people to come and see her for themselves. In person, enthralling them was easy and her reputation spread by word of mouth.

&n
bsp; The young-seeming man wasn’t among her fans, however. Instead, he was watching her with a faintly quizzical expression that disappeared the instant he sensed her gaze. Then his attractive face took on a less-than-attractive domineering look and she knew he wouldn’t be easy to influence. She wondered if he called himself master or king, as the mortals fantasized in their vampire fiction. She didn’t particularly care, but she didn’t want to embarrass one of her children either. She gave him a mild look in return.

  His brows pinched once more and she felt his confusion clearly, a cooler emotion than what mortals typically exuded. It suggested that he couldn’t sense her emotions at all and then she knew it for sure when, apparently reassured by her demure manner, he gallantly led her to the coffee shop that was attached to the bookstore. It was run by a mediocre chain she’d become quite familiar with and didn’t especially like, but she was trying to be polite and it offered the most privacy. Only a few of the tables were occupied. Everyone else was out in the store, either discussing her book or waiting in line to talk to her.

  Her self-proclaimed son continued to take charge, choosing a table for them in the furthest corner. It wasn’t a location she would have picked, but it suited her aim and so she said nothing. She did appreciate his manners in holding the chair for her and it gave her hope their meeting might be cordial.

  While he was busy seating himself, she frowned over his shoulder at the two other men who’d followed them into the coffee shop. They had the ever-shifting eyes of bodyguards and they were also her children, but she didn’t want to talk to them right now. She preferred her first conversation with any of her newly-found children to be one on one. They felt the warning heat of her gaze and froze.

  By then, her son had noticed their absence and glanced back to see them hesitating just outside the entrance to the coffee shop. The frown that crossed his face was disapproving, but then he motioned toward the other customers. To her, the bodyguards radiated relief at having to come no closer to her, an unknown quantity, and gladly took to their comparatively simple task of herding away the mortals. It seemed that her strong-minded son was taking no chance of the two of them being overheard.

  When he finally turned his attention back to her, in keeping with his earlier, if somewhat heavy-handed, gallantry, she was expecting an exchange of pleasantries or an offer to get her something to drink. Instead, he lifted the object he’d been carrying under his arm and demanded, “Mother, what is the meaning of this?”

  She sighed to herself in disappointment. So much for good manners. What he held up was a hardcover copy of her book, Mother of Vampires, by Lilith Adams. The publisher had insisted on her using a surname and it did give her a twinge of perverse pleasure to claim it even though her first husband had rejected her. The cover showed a silhouette of her against a purple sky, crowned by dark clouds. It was as close to a photo as she’d allow. There wasn’t one inside, not even a provocative bio, although she’d considered it. She wanted her work to stand on its own and, besides, the less people thought they knew about her, the more eagerly they turned out for her signings.

  A little of her hope trickled back when she saw the book in his hand wasn’t a copy he’d bought tonight. The cover was rather battered and the pages looked well-thumbed. It would seem he’d obtained an advance copy from somewhere and had simply wanted to meet her. It helped her to forgive his peremptory tone. A big part of why she’d wanted a book tour was to reconnect with her wayward children.

  “Would you like me to autograph it for you?”

  His response wasn’t a positive one. His eyes flashed like moon on ice, as if he thought she was mocking him. She told herself not to be offended and kept the fire out of her own gaze. It was hard, however, when he said, even more sternly, “No, I want you to explain it.”

  She sensed that he was genuinely upset. Although his expression was cool, almost remote, he was holding himself too still, so still that he’d stopped breathing. It wasn’t a good look for him because, unlike a mortal who’d go crimson in the face, it just accentuated his unhealthy pallor. But it did remind her why her book was so important.

  Before she launched it, she’d thought the legends surrounding her children were just stories they’d made up to take advantage of the gullibility of mortals or maybe were stories the mortals had made up to scare themselves. She hadn’t believed any of her kind could take the legends seriously. Since then, though, she’d met many who did. The man in front of her was plainly one of those unfortunates. She should be patient with him.

  “It’s quite self-explanatory. It tells my life story. How long ago I was born of wind and fire and then given in marriage to an ungrateful man who blamed me because I couldn’t conceive. He spurned me and told many lies about me to make himself look better. To get back at him and have a family of my own, ever since then I’ve been transforming his children into my children.”

  “How could you tell the world all those things?” His emotions had become an angry maelstrom hidden by his glacial exterior.

  “Are you worried about the risk to us? There is none. Vampire fiction, in fact paranormal fiction of all types, has never been more popular. That’s all the mortals think my book is. They’re very good at deluding themselves. But I know my children will know better. That’s why I wrote it. To set the record straight about my life and to expose all the misconceptions about our kind.”

  Disbelief made him even paler. “Misconceptions? Is that what you call them?”

  “Of course. They’re not true.” When he didn’t say anything, she patted his hand. It was cold. Hardly unexpected but another sign that he was an unfortunate one. “I know this is hard to understand. You’re not the only one who—”

  He jerked his hand away. “Hard to understand is putting it mildly, Mother.”

  There was no respect in how he addressed her now. The lack of it strained her patience. She knew she was partly to blame for not keeping a closer eye on her children. She considered them all that, even though most of them were the children of her children of her children. There were so many of them that she’d lost track. She’d hoped they’d come to her midnight signings and she could get to know them. She’d hoped they’d read her book and want to talk about it. But she’d never imagined so many encounters with them would be like this one.

  Struggling with her own temper, she didn’t notice the change in him right away. She only sensed it when he reached for her hand again, very unwilling but overcome with sudden wonder. “You’re warm. How’s that possible? I’ve been watching you for the past couple of hours and I know you haven’t fed.”

  “I’m feeding all the time, my son,” she murmured, keeping her voice low and unthreatening. She didn’t want to frighten him when they were just beginning to form a connection. Maybe this could be cordial after all. Maybe she could make him see just by talking to him. “I feed on emotion. The way our kind is meant to. It’s easy and the mortals can’t detect it. It’s also natural. Everyone feels, even you.”

  Disgust and alarm, warring with each other, cracked the frigid mask of his face and spilled out like black polluted water. He dropped her hand as if it tainted him and he looked like he wanted to get far away from her. “You mean … you’re feeding on me? You’re doing it even now?”

  “As you could feed on me, if you wished,” she confirmed, saddened by his reaction. “I can’t say I like the flavour of your emotions at this moment. I do have my preferences. But I’m not harming you. I’m simply making use of what you naturally produce.”

  Pride seemed to be the only thing keeping him in his chair. He was visibly fighting to control himself. “But it’s obscene … impossible…”

  Her own pride seethed at how he insulted her, her way of life, her sincerity, but she knew it was unintentional. She stuck to her soothing tone. “Many of your siblings have felt the same way. They—”

  He found strength in his anger and foolishly cut her off again. “I’ve heard from them. I couldn’t believe what they told m
e. But a number of them sent me copies of your book. This was just the first one I received.” He slapped the hardcover on the table. “I read it. I just don’t believe it. How can you say we’re meant to feed on emotion? How can you say the way we live is wrong?”

  “I didn’t say wrong,” she corrected him, still softly, but there was no softness in her voice now. It was rather the echo of a gale, heard from a great distance when one might still safely escape its wrath.

  Her son, if several times removed, heard it and quickly, if figuratively, tucked his head down. The respect was back, but it was grudging, a thin skin of ice over his temper. “Mother, help me to understand.”

  She was annoyed at herself. She hated having to frighten her children. But that was the price she paid for not having seen so many of them for so long. They knew of her but they didn’t believe in her. She was one legend they dismissed when they shouldn’t.

  In an effort to be conciliatory, she chose her words with care. “I’ve never said how you live is wrong. I’ve simply said it’s unhealthy. You’ve picked up bad habits over the centuries. Habits that put you in danger.”

  Sensing he wasn’t convinced but was too wary to say so, she directed him, “Look out the window.” He turned toward the two long panes of glass that met in a corner where they were sitting. Only darkness punctured by the white streetlights of the parking lot and the occasional set of headlights looked back at him. “You have no reflection. Tell me how that’s a good thing.”

  He twitched self-consciously and scanned the restaurant. His bodyguards had cleared out all the customers and were dutifully blocking the entrance, yet they hadn’t done anything about the girl behind the counter. She seemed absorbed in polishing the coffee machines, but he still glared at his two men. They snapped to attention and one moved toward the counter.

  “There’s no need,” his mother informed him. “She hasn’t heard or noticed anything. I’d have felt it. She’s simply exhausted and looking forward to the bookstore closing.”