by Tara Moss
He got out of the car and walked around to my side. I got out before he arrived, and we walked up to the iron gates of the building together, our shoulders close.
Jay was still distracted by his surrounds. ‘Is it a safe neighbourhood? It seems kind of deserted?’
‘Oh no,’ I replied. ‘It’s not deserted at all. Just quiet. I think most of the residents are older. They’ve been here for a while.’
That was certainly true.
‘So what time should I pick you up tomorrow?’ Jay asked. ‘The event starts at eight.’
‘Whatever you think. Seven? Or seven thirty?’ I began, and then stopped myself. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, him coming here to get me. I cast a glance in the direction of Harold’s Grocer, and sure enough it was closed. It was only ever closed when I had company, I realised – company from outside Spektor. Right. This place didn’t like visitors. ‘Actually, I’ll be downtown, so perhaps I can meet you there, or somewhere nearby?’ I suggested.
Jay seemed a little surprised, but he agreed and gave me an address. ‘Seven thirty then. We’ll have a drink first. The dress code is cocktail. Just dress like . . . well like you did at the launch the other night.’
It seemed he had really liked that red dress. Well, everyone had. ‘Okay,’ I agreed.
I fished my key out of my satchel and put it in the gate, and when I turned to wish my date goodnight, his lips found mine before I could speak. His kiss took me by surprise, and I pulled back from him a touch. He stopped and looked down at me thoughtfully, perhaps worried he’d come on too strong. But I was smiling, and he relaxed when he saw that. His mouth trembled and then curled up at the corners. I stretched up and threw my arms around him, locking my hands behind his muscly neck, and we searched each other’s eyes silently for a moment before our lips met again. Oh, screw it. I leaned into him for more and we kissed deeper this time, my breasts pressing against his ribs. I opened to him a little more this time, enjoying the warmth and sweetness of his lips. And boy, did he know how to kiss a girl. I had never been kissed like that before. Well, not by a living man anyway.
After a wonderful moment we pulled apart, both breathing a little fast. ‘Well . . .’ I began. I dared to lean my forehead into his big shoulder for a moment while I caught my breath. ‘Um, thanks for tonight. I should go inside,’ I managed and prised myself out of his arms.
‘Does this mean I can have your number now?’ Jay asked, still not realising I didn’t have one. We both laughed. I was not in the mood to explain. ‘Thank you, Pandora,’ he said after a moment. ‘I had a wonderful time. See you tomorrow, then?’
‘Yes. Goodnight,’ I said dreamily.
I stepped through the heavy wooden door, which opened easily and slammed shut behind me with the usual puff of dust. One day I ought to get a duster and broom down here and tidy things up, I thought absently. It was the least I could do for Celia. Boy oh boy, that Jay Rockwell is some kisser, I thought next, with somewhat more interest and intensity.
Boy oh boy.
Then I registered that the lobby chandelier was glowing, and I was not alone.
‘Oh!’ I exclaimed, startled.
Lieutenant Luke, former Civil War soldier, was standing stiffly in the lobby, only a few feet away from me. His hands were clenched and he looked extremely distraught.
‘Oh, Luke, for goodness’ sake!’ I exclaimed. ‘Don’t look at me like that! You know I really like you, but you’re dead.’ I immediately regretted what I’d said, of course, but I still meant it. I couldn’t have Casper the Possessive Ghost waiting around for me every time I went on a date. What if I had invited Jay inside? Would Luke stand over us, radiating invisible, otherworldly jealousy while I tried to pretend that he wasn’t there? Talk about awkward. Perhaps he could even see through the door, and had watched us kissing? I was so confused about Luke, I didn’t know what to think.
‘Look out!’ Luke called to me.
‘What—’ I began in response, and was hit from behind with the force of a linebacker. I tumbled forward and struck the hard tiled floor with a slap, my hands barely breaking my fall in time. My satchel was flung forward and went skittering across the floor ahead of me.
‘I’m going to enjoy sucking you dry, virgin,’ came a low, demonic voice, sounding far too close for comfort.
Was this Samantha? Surely not.
‘Consider yourself lucky I got to you before my mistress, Báthory. She really likes to take her time . . .’ continued the abhorrent voice. Then it clicked. I thought of the woman in the back of the limousine. The woman with the high collar. I had sensed something powerful about her. Powerful and evil. ‘You’ll make a tasty little trophy. I’ll bring her your head.’
Athanasia. I’ve ruined her career, and she isn’t taking it well.
The sharp heel of a designer boot jabbed into my back. ‘You dumb virgin bitch!’ she yelled, and I was not at all impressed with her language, or her focus on the whole virgin issue, which frankly was none of her cotton-picking business. Her hand found the back of my head and yanked my hair upwards, stinging my scalp and straining my neck back as far as it would stretch. I tucked my head in and curled into the foetal position with all the speed and strength I possessed, losing a small clump of hair in the process but throwing her boot off me. I was repaid with a swift kick to the spine. I protected my neck and head with my arms, and swung a leg out to kick, my eyes darting about to find my attacker.
I sure hope I’m wrong about her being a homicidal, bloodsucking . . .
I noticed with alarm that Lieutenant Luke, standing at the foot of the staircase, looked totally helpless. He was semi-transparent, and seemed unable to move forward. ‘She hexed me or something! I can’t get within ten feet of her,’ he exclaimed, and his magnificent jaw was flexing like mad. I thought he might explode from tension. Well, he wouldn’t be helping anyone out this time.
Right.
Without hesitation, I jumped up and assumed my ninja pose, ignoring the stabbing pain in my lower back. I had seen a lot of movies, and it was the best fight stance I knew.
Bang.
Another blow, this time to the back of the head. Goodness, she was a nasty little supermodel. And agile. I hadn’t caught more than a blur of her yet. Her latest strike was powerful and smarted like hell, and I stumbled forward awkwardly, but still had the presence of mind to kick into the air behind me like an angry mule. My shoe made forceful contact with something before I went down on one knee.
I whirled around to look for my attacker, but she was no longer there.
I looked up.
Things had gone from bad to worse. Athanasia was crouched directly above me on all fours upside down on the high, cobwebbed ceiling, clinging to it effortlessly like some scary-as-hell gravity-defying lizard. Her neck was twisted round at an unnatural angle and she was grinning maniacally at me with her fangs flashing and her glossy hair hanging down, ready to pounce on me from above. The humanness of her fashionable designer clothes and cover girl beauty made quite a striking and disconcerting contrast with her extended panther-like incisors and freakishly demonic inverted stance. Her eyes seemed to glow. She hissed like a cobra.
Holy mother of all hell.
Well, that settled the whole vampire question once and for all. As if I wasn’t sure before.
Athanasia’s leather pants creaked as she shifted, ready to launch at me. ‘You ruined everything, and now you’re mine!’
I was already up and running for the elevator, and the next thing I knew I was grappling for the loose piece of broken ironwork and spinning round to witness Athanasia in full flight, speeding towards me through the air with her fangs bared and her hands outstretched like claws. I held the broken rod of iron out in front of me, wielding the pointed lilies of the fleurs-de-lis like a weapon, but before I could steady myself she flew straight into me and we both hit the ground with force. We slid across the tiles entwined, and my head hit the iron cage of the lift hard enough to make me yelp.
> I felt Athanasia’s fangs graze my exposed neck. I let out a blood-curdling scream and fought against her surprising weight.
And then I stopped.
Her head rolled to one side, lifeless and heavy against my throat. She was as inanimate as a rag doll.
Goodness.
I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t even undead.
I was, however, positively drenched with blood. There were torrents of the stuff everywhere, pouring over me, streaming across the tiles around us, more blood than one body could possibly contain. The air smelled weirdly salty and metallic in a way that made me want to retch. The still weight on top of me was oppressively heavy – a dead weight, so to speak (or undead weight, really) – and the fleurs-de-lis was clearly visible, sticking out of Athanasia’s back, dripping with icky stuff.
‘You staked her,’ Lieutenant Luke said from the stairs, always helpful.
My goodness. I have.
It seemed I had impaled my bloodsucking nemesis through the heart with a broken piece of ironwork shaped like the former royal arms of France.
‘Looks like it,’ I replied.
My new vampire friend Samantha slunk out from the shadows by the mezzanine level, and came down the stairs unsteadily, wearing my polyester grey suit from Gretchenville. She held her fingers to her mouth, obscuring her extended fangs.
‘Oh, Pandora!’ she exclaimed in a more or less human way. ‘She came looking for you. I think she figured you had something to do with that article Pepper wrote.’
The article. So vampires read women’s magazines. Great.
With a struggle I managed to get myself out from under the supermodel’s inanimate body. Lieutenant Luke rushed over and helped me up, now more solid to the eye and finally able to move freely. He checked to see if I was okay (thankfully, I was unpunctured) and we both stared at Athanasia, neither of us saying a word. After all I’d seen over the past couple of weeks I half expected her to burst into flames or float away as ashes like they did in the movies. But she didn’t. This vampire just lay there on her face with a rod of iron sticking out of her back.
Darn.
And the day had started with such promise.
I rode up in the old elevator with Lieutenant Luke in post-traumatic silence.
He stood in the little carriage with me even though he didn’t need the building’s machinery to get from A to B. We’d left Samantha in the lobby, curled up on the steps. I wondered darkly whether the Fledgling was licking up the blood or something gross like that. There was nothing cheerfully optimistic about these Sanguine, I reflected. Luke stood watching me with his military cap in his hands, looking handsome and protective, his Union uniform spotlessly clean. He didn’t try to hug me or talk to me. I think he could see I wasn’t in the mood.
The carriage stopped and the doors slid open on Celia’s floor. We both got out.
I knocked and stepped into the penthouse. Luke stayed on the landing outside the lift, looking deeply worried. His angular jaw flexed and his brows were knitted together. ‘I’ll be here if you need anything, Pandora,’ he told me in a tender voice. ‘Just call for me any time. Well . . . any time after dark,’ he amended.
Supernatural rules. I didn’t understand how it all worked, or just how a blood-sucking homicidal supermodel managed to contain a ghost soldier in some trance or spell, (was it like Rock, Paper, Scissors with these supernatural beings? Vampire beats ghost. Ghost beats . . .? Who knew?) I nodded a thankyou and closed the door.
I took a breath.
‘Hi Celia, I’m home,’ I called out. I stood in the entryway wearing my great-aunt’s silk dress and cashmere coat, now coated in fresh blood. I felt a rush of relief to be back in the safety of Celia’s penthouse, but I couldn’t bear to make a move. I’d already ruined her beautiful clothes and I didn’t want to ruin her beautiful penthouse floor, and her beautiful penthouse walls, and her beautiful penthouse furniture.
I stood immobile, feeling shocked and uncertain. Did this bizarre and rather violent turn of events make me a murderer? Or a vigilante? A vampire slayer? Well, it had been in self-defence, I reminded myself. Athanasia had proven herself to be a not-very-nice person, with fangs and what looked to be a 360-degree rotating neck. I’d not really had a choice about impaling her, as things played out, and it had happened so fast I hadn’t even known at first that I’d done it. Some survival instinct had kicked in, that was all. Still, I had killed someone and that someone was right now lying in a convincingly human-like state of recent slaughter in the lobby of Celia’s building with an iron ‘stake’ sticking out of her chest. What to do now? I could hardly imagine trying to explain this turn of events to the New York Police Department. Imagine how they would respond to a story of vampire models, fraudulent face creams and friendly ghosts? Ha! They’d have me in a padded cell on mind-numbing medication faster than I could say ‘supernatural’. So did this mean I would be one of those people who decided to ‘dispose’ of a dead body? What do people do in these situations? And what would I tell Celia?
My head hurt, and I was no closer to a solution – or an acceptable state of cleanliness.
‘How did it all go, darling?’ came my Great-Aunt Celia’s voice from the lounge room. Now that I had pulled myself together a bit, I noticed her toes were visible from my vantage point. She was in her usual spot under her reading lamp, reclining in the bookish alcove in her leather chair, feet up on the hassock. The curtains remained open to let in the moonlight through the tall windows of the room. I could see the silhouette of the Empire State Building in the distance, framed black against the faintly bluish urban haze of the Manhattan night sky. New York was carrying on as usual, but my outlook on the world was forever changed.
Celia shifted position and turned to face me. Despite my conspicuous appearance she observed me without a hint of surprise.
‘Oh, you got her,’ she declared simply, as if she’d already known everything that would happen.
‘I killed someone!’ I blurted loudly, not able to help myself. Oh here it comes. The freakout. I began to shake. Tears welled up.
‘Oh, darling, that model was already dead, anyway.’
Yes. Right.
I blinked back my tears. I regained a bit of composure.
Celia placed her feather bookmark in her novel and closed it. She balanced it on the right arm of her chair, uncrossed her ankles and placed her feet on the floor. ‘I knew you’d get her, darling,’ she assured me.
I nervously ran a hand over my face, and then looked at my palm. It was bloody. Oh . . . nasty. ‘I should go wash up,’ I managed, my head reeling and my stomach doing unpleasant little somersaults. I didn’t know what else to do.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t bother till you’ve finished with her,’ Celia informed me.
‘Pardon?’ I said.
‘You haven’t cut off her head yet, sweetheart.’
I’m afraid I reacted rather badly to this statement.
‘WHAT?’ I shrieked. ‘You want me to WHAT?’
Celia calmly rose from her chair and slipped her stockinged feet into the pair of fluffy, high-heel slippers she had lined up next to her chair. They had those cute little ostrich feathers sewn on the front. She walked over to me, looking elegant and unruffled, and stopped just a couple of feet away. Celia looked me in the eye and sighed. ‘My darling Pandora, you staked that vampire but you didn’t kill her. She’s only resting.’
‘WHAT?!’
‘Don’t shout, darling. It’s not necessary, really,’ she told me. ‘I’m right here.’ Her voice was calm and even. I grew quiet. ‘Sweetheart, they only stake vampires to keep the body still while they cut off the heads and stuff the mouth with garlic.’
Sometimes I am given too much to grapple with and I just have to deal with it. This was one of those times. ‘Oh,’ I replied in a dull voice. I stood silent for a while. ‘I thought you said it was bad manners to call them “vampires”?’ I said next, once my mind was clear.
‘Oh yes. But it’s rather
warranted in her case, don’t you think? Nasty.’
She had a point there.
‘Athanasia had it coming to her. Anyone will be able to see that,’ Celia declared confidently. But her choice of words made me wonder about reprisals. Would hordes of vampires try to kill me now, for murdering one of their own? And what about whoever was behind BloodofYouth? Was it just some con artist I’d drawn attention to, or was it Dracula’s latest business venture? And who was that woman with the high collar I’d seen silhouetted in the back of the limousine? Just how far did my naivety about the supernatural world extend, exactly? With a shiver, I imagined how many vampires – or Sanguine – might be in New York. Were there hundreds? Thousands?
‘Am I in danger, Great-Aunt Celia?’
‘For staking her? Oh, I shouldn’t think so. That girl didn’t make herself too popular. And besides, they can’t come up here, anyway.’ She made a gesture to indicate the penthouse. ‘It’s forbidden.’
‘You’re absolutely sure they can’t get in here?’
‘Yes, darling. Sanguine can’t come in if they’re not invited.’
There were those mysterious supernatural rules again.
‘Although, I suppose you might want to be careful coming and going after dark for the next little while,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘I don’t think Athanasia’s employer will be in good humour about the recent turn of events. But I’ll talk to Deus about it, and I’m sure he’ll sort it out.’
Oh good. My great-aunt will talk to her immortal friend and sort it all out.
I thought about the body in the lobby. ‘Is it because I didn’t use a wooden stake? Is that why she isn’t um . . . dead?’ (Or dead-dead? Fully undead dead?)
That’s what those vampire hunters in the movies always seemed to use. But like the rest of the mythology surrounding these creatures, I didn’t know what to believe. If vampires could reflect in mirrors, and could be photographed (she was a supermodel for goodness sakes!) what other pop-culture folklore about them was wrong?