by J. F. Lewis
“Oh.” I frowned. “Well it’s not like he’s been gone such a long time.”
“But you expected him back yesterday.”
I looked away as the mirror spoke and focused on the version of Daddy in my memory, asleep on his bed, exhausted from the act of creating me.
“Or you expected him to call.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You can’t tell fibs to me, Greta.” The demon’s voice took on an edge of friendly menace. “You haven’t wanted to face it, but in the back of your mind, you expected him to show up tonight and save you, but he hasn’t even called. Talbot hasn’t come looking for you either. I wonder why? Maybe if you’d finished the job with Lisette . . .”
I opened my mouth to respond, but I was being carried away from the mirror. Demons lie. I knew that, but what if the stupid mirror was right? If Daddy was mad at me, if I’d been bad, then he might not come at all, not until I’d been punished. . . . It would have to be something worse than being locked in the freezer.
Grandma had her turn at the mirror next, and the moment she’d been returned to her spot, I sensed Lord Phillip. He was coming.
The door to Phil’s apartments opened behind us and our chairs rotated to face the opening. A line of bellhop-clad girls filed into the room, with Oranges in the lead, her uniform differentiated by the collar and leash she still wore around her neck.
They chattered among each other, wondering why they were here, all together. I knew Uncle Phil ran a contest every few years to see who his next offspring would be and that the competition was fierce, but, like the girls, I didn’t think it was time to choose a winner and I was too preoccupied by what the mirror demon had said to think about it too hard.
“Favete linguis,” Phillip’s voice intoned. From the reaction, I guessed he’d just told them to shut up, in Latin or French or something. He flowed into the room as a cloud of mist, materializing with his hand on Oranges’ leash.
“Some of you may no doubt wonder why we have gathered here out of turn and you would be right to wonder . . . as it has happened only once before.” He fiddled with Oranges’ leash, towing her free of the line, and she followed willingly, a look of superiority clear in her eyes. “Every decade, I hold a contest to determine my next two children, one male and one female. Offspring in whom I see the potential for becoming beings who will keep my unlife . . . interesting.”
“It’s a cycle.” He placed his hand on Oranges’ waist and her lips jerked slightly down. “First I appoint my nulli secondus and then my nulli secunda. My young man and woman. My son and my daughter.” He began to unbutton her overshirt, letting the air hold her leash in place through one of his little magic tricks, and the smile on her face vanished, replaced by a thin rigid line of null expression. “As the Latin implies: my second to none. Tonight I appoint my nulli secunda.”
Alive with objections, the air filled with words and Phillip fed on it, grin widening like a jack-o’-lantern’s.
He silenced them with a gesture.
“I could remind you of the old adage: Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim.” He looked directly at me when he translated, “‘Be patient and tough; some day this pain will be useful to you.’” His hands twitched as if he fought the urge to applaud himself. “But that is no longer up to me. As Senator William Learned Marcy once said, ‘ To the victor belong the spoils,’ or, in the case of my little competition . . . to the winner belong”—he looked down the line, spots of red sparking in his eyes—”the losers.
“Though you may object to the timing (I know you thought you had a few more years left in the competition), there is, as I’ve said before, a precedent. A young man came to me some few decades ago and made me a promise: Make me a vampire”—Phillip slid Oranges’ overshirt off and dropped it to the floor, revealing a white undershirt—”and give me thirty million dollars instead of the usual ten. Do this and I promise that you will be destroyed within fifty years’ time.
“Do you know how rare it is to find a human with such gall?” He reached around Oranges’ waist, unfastening her black belt, a belt that reminded me of Dad’s, and let it fall. “You all know the human who made that deal as the vampire Ebon Winter. He”—Phillip paused as he struggled to get a grip on the pull tab of her zipper—”has yet to make good on his promise, but every oracular method with which I am familiar assures me of two things: He is working on his plan and”—his hands gripped the fabric of her pants tightly as he dragged them down—“whatever the plan may be, it might work.”
If I’d been Oranges, I would have gone with panties, especially if I’d been dumb enough to make a deal with Uncle Phil to begin with. Fear radiated from Oranges. Heartbeat, breath, pheromones—all of them were out of control. If I could have looked away, I would have, because I had an inkling of what was coming next.
“That’s what I like to do,” Phil continued, “and he understood. Winter knew that what I really want in unlife is to have a good enemy, someone to plot against. Wendy here, or Peg, or Oranges as I believe some have come to call her . . .” He tore the shirt from her back, a stylized P tattoo visible briefly before he spun her about, revealing her naked front. My view of her chastity piercing was both excellent and unfortunate. “. . . may not have come to such an astute conclusion, but she did make herself an excellent example of qui audet adipiscitur. She who dares wins.
“Not unlike me at that level of mortality. When I was a human wizard, no vampire would embrace me, so I sought magical means to become immortal. Unfortunately, the ritual I used left me a lowly Drone—barely immortal—but I have in time been able to advance my status, one excruciating level at a time, through the use of magical items and the sacrifice of vampires of the level of power I desired to next attain. It was a long climb to Vladhood and the wait for an Emperor-level vampire with whom I could bear to part has been even longer.
“Enter Lisette and, by virtue of her willingness to aid me, Oranges. She agreed to keep an eye on Greta”—he gestured to me as he fondled Oranges—“to infiltrate her good graces and to inform on her should she come close to destroying Lisette. You see, I need Lisette. She’s the only Emperor vampire I’ve ever experienced who bored me completely, a perfect sacrifice to fuel my final ascension.”
Uh-oh.
“If not for our Wendy, or rather, my Wendy, Lisette would likely have been destroyed. For that reason, her prompt action in both calling me when the time was right and in exercising her skill for exceptional archery (which I hope may be aimed at me one day soon) I declare her the winner of this round and promise to make her a vampire and render her reward to her this very night . . .”
Oranges relaxed, but she shouldn’t have.
“As soon as a final bit of hazing has been endured.”
“Hazing?” Oranges asked.
“Oh my dear.” Phillip ran his hand along her body. “It is quite clear how to make you hate me forever, and the most wonderful thing about it is it’s something I do to all the winners anyway.”
As her former competitors/future property looked on, Lord Phillip tore her piercings out and changed shapes. He started out as a wolf when he first mounted her, transforming as his foul pleasures required. After an hour or two, he called three other vampires to his suite to join in. If I’d ever had any doubts Uncle Phil was a freak, he erased them.
It was wrong, all of it. Sure, I like to play with my food from time to time, but this was excessive, pointless, and cruel beyond even acceptable vampiric levels. And let’s face facts, if I thought it was too much for a vampire to get away with, that’s saying something. No wonder Dennis had left town after winning.
Phil kept his promise though, eventually, pausing long enough to make sure all her wounds had healed, then forcing his blood down her throat and strangling her with it. A person doesn’t have to bleed out to be a vampire. As Daddy says, it’s just more efficient. Act (or acts) completed, he removed her collar and leash, then, well and thoroughly spent, he had the bellhops take her
to her new quarters to await her rising . . . and her pleasure the next evening. Which left us alone with him.
Wearing only bloody smears and the various secretions Oranges would never have again, Uncle Phil pulled up a stool, opened a bottle of blood wine, and leered at us in the firelight, holding the wine in one hand and the leash and collar in the other.
“Enjoy the show?” Phillip asked. He guzzled the wine, draining half the bottle in one go. “Your Oranges wasn’t particularly enthusiastic, and I thought her screams were a bit exaggerated, but it’s a pleasant way to spend an evening while creating what will undoubtedly be an inferior foe.” Tipping the bottle back, he took another long drink. “Which is, I believe, entirely your fault, Greta. You forced my hand, and I do not enjoy being forced.”
“But in the end”—he stood, reaching for a pair of opera glasses that rested on the mantel by the clock—”I managed to gain you”—he touched Lisette’s cheek tenderly—“my first expendable.” He looked through the opera glasses at Lisette. “Empero . . . No!”
Oops.
“How?” Frantically twisting and turning the focusing knob on the glasses, Phillip howled.
Not to be impatient, I thought, but this would be a good time for a rescue, Dad.
“I . . .” He yawned. “I . . .” Uncle Phil’s sleep pattern had always been unpredictable, and I felt a flare of hope.
That’s right! Fall asleep now, Uncle Phil.
No such luck.
“You did this.” He seized my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “J’accuse!” He looked into my eyes, and I made contact. For three consecutive nights, I’d been in Uncle Phil’s proximity. Being staked had blocked it until that moment, but suddenly I knew Phil’s secret death condition, and boy, was it a doozie. Anything could kill him. He’d used magic to become a vampire and magic to increase his power, but when it came to destruction, deep down he was still just a Drone.
Unstake me, Uncle Phil. I pushed the command home. He’d had half a bottle of blood wine. He was tired, on the verge of collapse, but his mind, unlike his body, was every bit as powerful as I’d feared.
“Everything I did to Wendy,” he snarled, “I’ll do to you. And it will only be the beginning.”
Un. Stake. Me.
Phil pushed into my head, expecting the usual mind-to-mind contest of wills, but that’s not how it works in my head. I took him to the beach house, let him see little girl Greta, let him smell the blood on my thighs.
“Oh my. How delightful.” He adjusted more quickly than most and appeared wearing his usual dapper attire. The pants were tented with his obvious excitement. “It never occurred to me to create a mental library like this, a realized space inside the mind, a place to retreat. Shall we play?”
My head. My rules. His hand went for his belt and I swapped memories.
Beach house became Pollux bedroom. Little girl Greta vanished and vampire Greta, newly born and ready for blood, appeared behind Phil and sank her teeth into his neck. I won.
UN. STAKE. ME. NOW! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!
It worked.
A golden knob hit the floor. Next to it, the remains of a bloody crossbow bolt glistened in the firelight. The hole in my chest snapped closed with a zipperlike noise. A blow to both temples crossed his eyes and kept him from using his magic. One hand lanced to his throat, choking him. I shoved the other into his mouth, intent on removing the top of his head.
Glass shattered. Another vampire’s presence filled my mind. He was old—younger than Grandma, but only just, and he was more powerful than me. A sharp pain. And I was immobilized. With nothing to support me, I tumbled to the ground, a marionette with its strings cut.
Percy stood over me and Phillip, his eyes narrowed as he adjusted his glasses.
“Terribly sorry to interrupt.” His voice was pleasant and rich, an accent I felt Lord Phillip had been unconsciously trying to mimic. “But at the last moment, I couldn’t bring myself to permit it.”
“Percy?” Phillip’s voice quaked with fear. “I can explain. I’m sorry.”
“Your apologies are quite unnecessary, Phillip.” He reached out to offer Phillip a hand, but Uncle Phil backed away from him, scuttling across the floor. “You did nothing beyond that which I allowed.”
“But you were staked.”
“Well.” Percy brushed glass away from his clothes. “I suppose that’s true, but now you know my little bit of unique flair. All Vlads have them. I can’t seem human or eat food, can’t turn to mist or become a virus, but a stake through the heart does nothing to me.”
“So all this time . . .”
“Oh, a stake through the heart makes me seem dead, renders me undetectable by other vampires, but I could have left the box at any time.”
“Then why did you stay?”
Percy adjusted his golden-rimmed spectacles.
“We all have our little eccentricities, my boy. Our ways of keeping ourselves entertained. You like to create opponents. I do something similar. I pick a human, give them a taste for immortality, let them fall in love with my power, if not my body, and then I deny them in all ways to see how they react. In other words, your quirk is that you like to torture.” He leaned down and kissed Phillip full on the mouth. “Mine is: I like to watch.” Percy indicated me with his hand. “It’s your third act, Phillipus. You’ve been rescued. There is only a little time left before your swan song.” Percy’s fangs extended. “Show me something worth watching.”
Phillip advanced on me again, and I waited for Dad to come. I’d given it a good try. I had. I’d almost killed Phillip and had been robbed by fate or circumstance. Phillip tore at my clothes, and I decided not to let it happen. Not again. Maybe Dad was waiting so he could show up and avenge me as he’d done when we first met, but I couldn’t let this happen, not again, not even for Dad.
One of the reasons I scare people is because they can’t control me. Not really. I do what Dad tells me because I love him, but I’m nobody else’s girl. Phillip leaned down to lick my neck, but I didn’t feel it. For vampires, the body is an interface. To use it or not use it is a choice. I decided not to use mine anymore and let it go, leaving Phillip in a rage, staring at my body as it aged from twenty-one to forty something, my true age revealed just as happens with other Vlads when they finally meet their ends.
Oh, Dad, I thought as the world faded and the scenery changed, I wish you’d been on time. Phillip ran to a drawer and fetched out a soul prison, but it was too late. I was already moving beyond his reach. I stuck out my tongue and gave him the bird before I lost sight of him. With that, I sniffed the air to see if I could find her. After all, if Dad couldn’t rescue me, then perhaps Mom could comfort me. I caught her smell, ashes and smoke over a layer of clean old Marilyn, and, like a bloodhound, I followed the scent into the gathering dark.
III
AN AMERICAN
VAMPIRE IN PARIS
AS TOLD BY ERIC AND TABITHA
32
TABITHA:
MEANWHILE, BACK IN THE HALL OF JUSTICE
(Seven days before Greta dies)
After Eric posed for a few seconds on the steps of the chapel and then inexplicably flew off to the top of the donjon in a huff, Luc motioned for us to follow him into the castle. I was much more interested in the castle than in whatever Bea claimed “happened here.” Even when I became a vampire, it never in my wildest dreams occurred to me that I’d get to go to Paris, meet immortals, and visit magic castles.
Before my trip to the Château de Vincennes, the only castle I’d ever been to had been the one in Disney World. It was a few years before Rachel died. Mom and Dad took us there for three days and I remember not being able to feel like we were really, really going until we were inside the park and I saw Cinderella’s castle.
In my head, I’d been afraid it was all going to turn out to be a big joke. Dad had come home late that Thursday night. We’d already been in bed and he’d made us get up and pack in fifteen minutes. In the back of the van,
Rachel had complained about forgetting her pillow and her toothbrush, but Dad wouldn’t have any of it. He had driven all night, and for the longest time, I’d watched him. Rachel had slept on my shoulder. Mom had dozed in the passenger’s seat. Miles Davis had played on the CD player, hypnotic music that made my eyes want to close. I’ve never been a fan of that sort of jazz, but Dad was, and instead of sending him into the lethargic state to which it often sent me, the music worked its way inside Dad, brightening his eyes, making him alive, making him smolder like the end of the cigarettes he used to smoke before Mom had made him quit.
“We’re heading to Florida?” I’d asked. A rhythmic pattern had set up as we’d crossed onto a rough section of highway. Ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump. Ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump. Rachel had squirmed against me in unconscious irritation at the vibrations that shook the car with each jarring ba-thump.
Signs suggesting attractions at Disney and at Universal Studios had sprung up, punctuated by “We Bare All” signage and ads for Sea World.
Eventually, I’d slept. We’d stopped for gas once, the lack of motion pushing me awake. “Wha—?”
“If you’re awake you can have something.” Dad had looked back at us from his position near the gas pump.
“Can I have a Coke and a candy bar?”
He’d nodded. When he had come back, he’d presented us with two bottles of Coke and two Zero bars.
“They had glass bottles.” He’d been proud and excited. “Coke tastes so much better in a glass bottle.”
We’d talked about stupid stuff and had sipped our Cokes while he drove. I didn’t remember being awake very long, just long enough to eat the Zero bar and talk a little. Dad never talked about anything of real consequence, not with me or Rachel. We were just girls to him, as if “just” being girls was a bad thing.
He’d made the drive in eleven hours, and even when the stop-and-go of the Disney World traffic had woken me up again, I’d still been convinced we were going somewhere else. We’d parked in Minnie 37. That was the parking section. Dad had told me to remember it and I still did.