A Vampire's Christmas Carol

by Karen McCullough

  Carol shifted also, gathering herself to run if he made any more threatening move.

  The fire crackled and snapped. Wood creaked as it settled somewhere in the old house.

  The red glow in his eyes grew stronger. He opened his mouth, and firelight glittered off elongating fangs.

  Chapter 3

  She might really be safer outside, even if it was snowing harder than ever. She turned to look at a window, to see if she could tell, but saw only the reflection of the room and the people in it. Wasn’t there some old myth about vampires not having a reflection in mirrors? Either that didn’t apply to window glass or it was indeed just a myth. She saw his reflection clearly enough.

  An odd noise, half moan and half curse, came from him right before he threw himself back in the chair, eyes closed, head smacking against the back.

  She turned toward him. When he opened his eyes again, they were just deep blue, with no red showing. His breath changed to a series of elongating pants, like someone who’d just done wind-sprints. His teeth looked normal again.

  The fire popped and snapped as a burnt log collapsed, triggering a shower of sparks. He let out a long breath that carried an almost painful edge of despair. His face looked drawn, etched with suffering. “That was bad.” He brushed a hand across his eyes. “Did I scare you half to death? I’m sorry. It took me by surprise and it was stronger than I expected.”

  “Because I’m here?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. Maybe just because time’s so short. It’s been getting stronger when it hits for the last few days. With time winding down, it will get worse, quickly. You might be safer outside, even with the weather.”

  “I thought about it,” she admitted. “Do you want me to go?”

  He looked surprised. “You would?”

  “It’s not my first choice. But I hate that I might be making this harder for you.”

  He stared at her for a moment before his mouth crooked into a wry grin. “Harder in one way, but… I don’t know. I’ve been alone so long, I’d forgotten that there’s comfort in company. Especially attractive and sympathetic company. But I don’t know if I can hold out at the end, when the blood-lust and the instinct for self-preservation meet and combine. I’m not a strong man. That’s why I’ve hidden myself here where no temptation could reach me.”

  “Until I knocked on your door.”

  “The very night I’d have the hardest time resisting. I don’t know how Antoine managed it, but I can’t think that’s entirely coincidence.”

  “I don’t know how he managed it either. Unless he played tricks with my brain to induce me to make wrong turns?”

  “Or played tricks with signs?”

  Carol considered. “I suppose it’s possible.”

  “In any case, I’m very sorry he involved you, that he’s using you as bait in a trap set for me. If there were something I could do to protect you…” He stood and went to the desk again, moving so fast she could barely see him. He got something from a drawer, returned and handed the object to her. It took her a moment to realize what she held.

  “A wooden stake? That’s true?” The stake was about a foot long, an inch in diameter and sharpened to a wicked point at one end.

  “It’s true. The trick is getting it into the vampire before he’s torn out your throat. You saw how fast I can move. Two suggestions. Keep the stake in your hand at all times. And don’t turn your back on me. Even for a second. Also, when you see red in my eyes, look down at my hands, don’t look at my face.”

  She nodded, watching him. The combination of his concern for her, his obvious effort to restrain himself, the tragedy of his story and his torment touched her heart. His good looks, ravaged by suffering but still poignantly attractive, didn’t hurt either. She wanted to put a hand on his arm, to show him there was comfort in contact too, but she feared it would provoke another attack.

  Damn, it was stupid to let him get to her. Stupid in so many ways she couldn’t even count them.

  Out in the hall, the grandfather clock chimed the hour. Midnight. Witching hour. Or the vampire hour, in this case. She almost laughed, but stifled it. She was getting punchy and still having trouble believing it, despite what she’d seen.

  “Do you want to go on with your story?” she asked.

  Michael nodded, but went to put another log on the fire before he continued. “Whatever illusions I had did die slowly.” He remained standing, with an arm propped against the mantel. “But I made sure he got no satisfaction from it. It wasn’t easy, though. It was a shock to find out that since he turned me, he did pretty much own me.”

  “How so?” Carol picked up her pen.

  “His blood runs in my veins. It’s kept me alive all these years. It creates a link between us. He cannot control or compel me as long as I don’t meet his eyes, but he can always find me and everyone else in the vampire community acknowledges his rights over me. He can make it very…uncomfortable to refuse him, and if I do forget and meet his eyes, even for a second, he does control me.” He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, pushing hair back from his eyes. “As I found out the night I discovered how truly monstrous a creature I’d become.”

  His eyes closed for a moment and his mouth squeezed in a tight grimace before it relaxed as he spoke again.

  “Antoine had been training me for some months by then, but it was mostly routine stuff… Staying out of sunlight, sleeping underground in a locked room, understanding the vampire hierarchy and how to spot the older, higher ranking vampires, how to fight. A lot of how to fight. They do a lot of fighting among themselves. I got…rather good at it.”

  It should have sounded boastful, but the words held no trace of pride.

  “He also taught me how to attack humans. The trick is either to get them from behind before they even know you’re there or to let them run away and catch up from behind. You don’t want to give them a chance to beg or plead or cry. Especially not cry. Human tears are not good for a vampire. Of course, I didn’t have to put that into practice since the hunger hadn’t roused. I was living with it well enough, other than having to spend so much time with Antoine.

  “Then, about a year after I woke, Antoine took me to my first vampire feast.”

  * * * * *

  The house looked almost shockingly normal as Antoine’s brand-new horseless carriage rumbled up the drive toward a large, two-story house, built in the Victorian style with porches, towers and a few bits of elaborate trim. Dim, sullen light shone from all the downstairs windows and a few of the upper ones.

  The carriage pulled under the porte cochere and they got out. Antoine didn’t knock or wait for acknowledgement, but turned the knob and pushed the door open. Michael followed him into an entrance hall lit by a pair of candelabras. He had learned to see the aura of power surrounding the undead and the different levels of vampires. The strength of the aura signaling power and rank. Men and women—vampires all—floated around the area, in costumes that ranged from the ordinary suits he and Antoine wore to the stunningly exotic. Kimonos from the Orient mingled with rougher wear from the Western states, tunics and saris from India, as well as togas and gowns from ages long gone.

  “You didn’t tell me this was a costume party,” Michael said.

  Antoine shook his head. “It’s not. They’re dressed as they were accustomed to in their before life. Or sometimes as whimsy takes them. Come over to the bars.”

  There were two of them, a blood bar and one serving other beverages. Michael gratefully requested a beer. Though it tasted as good as he remembered, he was disappointed to find the alcohol no longer brought him the comfort it once did.

  Antoine introduced him to one vampire after another. Michael wouldn’t remember the names afterward and he struggled to recognize the titles and respond accordingly. He realized about twenty minutes into the party that Antoine was testing him with the rest of the local vampire society. He thought he passed. He did forget to bow to a vampire referred to as “Minister” and a
ddressed a director as “Sir” rather than “Your Honor”, but he got it right more often than not.

  The event marked something of a debut for him as well, he realized. when Antoine escorted him into what once had been an office or den. It now functioned as a de facto throne room for the man who lay lengthwise on a loveseat that sat on a raised platform. The recliner looked up lazily as they entered the room. Five large men and three attractive women surrounded him. They went tense and watchful as Antoine and Michael approached.

  “Your Majesty.” Antoine went to one knee before him and Michael followed his lead.

  The king straightened on the loveseat and then stood. “Rise,” he said. “You bring someone new into our ranks, Antoine?” The king gave Michael a long, curious stare.

  “May I present Michael Carpenter to you, Your Majesty?”

  Michael dipped his chin again.

  “Approach,” the king ordered.

  Keeping his head down, Michael walked up to him.

  The king stepped off the dais to meet him, walked completely around him, and then, with no warning, slugged him with a hard right fist to the jaw. Michael spun back and away, slamming into the wall of the room, but staying on his feet.

  Anger sparked an aggressive instinct he’d never known was there, and he stalked back to the middle of the room, fists raised. Two of the king’s guards jumped down off the dais to intercept him. Somewhere between the wall and the king, though, his brain kicked back in. Michael restrained himself, just glaring at the man rather than pummeling him. The guards stopped and waited.

  The king stared at him for a moment, ignoring the fists, then turned carelessly away. “He might do,” the man pronounced after he stepped up onto the dais again. He waved a hand, dismissing them.

  “Let’s go,” Antoine said.

  “But, what—?”

  “Let’s go. It was a test. You passed. There’s another pair waiting.”

  Michael stepped back, making way for a smallish man accompanied by a truly huge one. The larger one was the newcomer. Michael hung back, wanting to see what happened this time.

  The smaller man introduced the large one to the king. The king repeated the sequence he’d visited on Michael, circling the big man, then throwing a fist that drove him to the wall. Instead of getting up, though, the giant slid down into a crouch and crossed his arms over his head. It shocked Michael to see such a big man cringe so. It didn’t impress the king, who sneered and shook his head. One of the guards moved forward, holding a stake. He stopped to glance at the king, who nodded.

  Before anyone could blink, the guard was on top of the cringing giant. The stake flashed down, embedding itself in the big man’s unprotected chest. The man’s arms flew up, eyes and mouth opened wide, but the scream never emerged. Instead he slid down further, then flopped onto his other side, and lay there, very obviously dead. Truly dead this time. Two of the guards dragged him out a side door.

  Antoine put a hand on Michael’s shoulder and guided him out to the main part of the house. “He failed. Often it’s the ones you least expect who fail.”

  Michael just shook his head, still in shock from the way the man had been dispatched with such summary judgment. The viciousness of it bothered him. The lawyer in him wanted to protest the lack of any kind of trial, or even a crime committed, for that matter. But this was a different world he’d entered, a more ruthless one, obviously. He’d have to adjust to it.

  They got drinks and talked to a few more people before Antoine said, “I hear the interesting games are upstairs. Shall we go look in?”

  The words sent a frisson of uneasiness along Michael’s spine, but he couldn’t say why, so he followed Antoine up a wide, grand staircase to the second floor. The crowd gravitated toward a room at the far end of the hall. An acquaintance of Antoine waved and said, “Good sport so far tonight. You almost missed it all. They’re bringing out the last one now.”

  “The last what?” Michael asked.

  “You’ll see.” They had to push through a coterie of milling vampires to get into the room, which held nothing but a single four-poster bed, a small table and several chairs. People stood around the room, mostly near the walls, talking to each other. They went quiet as a cheer rose from those out in the hall.

  A group of vampires entered, dragging a young female into the room with them. She screamed and struggled, terror turning her face into a rictus of open mouth, wide eyes and wild hair flying. Despite her wriggling and scratching, they got her spread out on the bed and shackled her hands and feet to the posts. Michael stared in horror as he realized she was human, not vampire.

  He turned to Antoine. “What are they doing to her?”

  “Watch and see.”

  “No.” He moved toward the men binding the girl to the bed, intent on fighting for her release.

  Antoine snagged his sleeve and dragged him back. “Don’t interfere,” he warned. “Just watch.”

  Michael didn’t catch any signal, but moments later four others had latched onto him, holding onto his arms, shoulders, hair and waist, pinning him securely among them.

  They held some kind of lottery to be the first in line. A heavyset, fortyish woman, who looked like she might be a teacher at your local school under other circumstances, won. She approached the terrified girl on the bed, eyes narrowed in evil concentration. She opened her mouth to show canine teeth elongated into razor-sharp fangs.

  The girl on the bed screamed. The smell of her fear permeated the room. “Help me,” she begged, staring wildly around the room. Her eyes met Michael’s and lingered. “Please, please, help me!”

  He lunged forward, hoping to wriggle free of their grasp and get to the girl, but hands tightened around him, holding him fast.

  Antoine spun him to face him. “Look at me.”

  Unthinking, Michael looked into his eyes.

  “Watch and don’t move again until I release you,” Antoine ordered.

  To his shock and horror, Michael realized Antoine did have that much control over him. Against his will, he found his gaze locked on the girl and his body unable to move.

  The girl looked around wildly, saw the woman advancing on her, fangs at the ready, and screamed again and again in increasing terror and desperation. She struggled wildly against the bindings, tearing the skin of her wrists in her frenzy to escape.

  The smell of blood incited the crowd, who began to yell encouragement as the fanged woman stood over the bed. The girl’s screams died down. She moaned and began to cry. The crowd cheered the appearance of the tears.

  Michael felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t know if he could still throw up, but he could certainly feel nausea. He couldn’t even move enough to struggle.

  The older woman dipped her head cautiously. The girl wriggled, moaned and cried harder. The woman almost made it to the girl’s neck, but tears dripped down that side of her face and the woman pulled back to avoid them. She reached out and grabbed the girl’s hair to pin her head in place. Holding her face to one side, the older woman went for the throat again, but didn’t manage to avoid the tears entirely. She got one fang embedded and drew blood, but then she suddenly reared back, shrieking and holding her face, and ran from the room, still yelling curses.

  Michael breathed a sigh of relief, thinking they’d let the girl go.

  Wrong.

  They drew lots again and a slim, lethal-looking young man stepped up next to the bed. Within moments, he’d sunk his fangs deep into the girl’s neck, easily evading the tears, and began sucking the life out of her.

  * * * * *

  “They killed her.” Michael sighed and looked at Carol. “Right there in front of me, while I watched. Not fast. At least half a dozen of them drank from her before they took too much and she died. I wanted so badly to do something, anything, to save her. I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. They’re monsters. You see why I don’t want to be one of them? I won’t be one of them. No matter what it costs.”

  “It’s going to cos
t you your life, isn’t it?”

  “I died one hundred years ago. This isn’t life, it’s not-death. I can’t go out in the daylight and I don’t dare spend too much time in the presence of other people for fear the blood hunger will overwhelm me. Or they’ll ask too many questions about who I am. I don’t want to go on this way. I can’t anyway. By tomorrow I either drink human blood and become full vampire or I truly die. I’ve made my decision. Now I’ve just got to stick with it.”

  “Is there no way to…get back your life? You were such a young man when they turned you.”

  He shifted uncomfortably and sighed. “I asked Kurt Severin about it, the man I first talked to when I woke. He became a pretty good friend. He said he’d heard rumors there was a way, but he didn’t know anything more about how it was done. He’d never heard of anyone managing it, so he’d pretty much decided it was just a rumor or myth. I’ve done a bunch of research since and I’ve found a couple of hints, but they sound so arcane I can’t imagine them working. They all involve someone else’s help, in any case. Someone human.”

  “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  She stared at him.

  “It’s not something I’d want anyone to try. It’s…tricky at best, and definitely dangerous.”

  “I’d like to include it in your record. Maybe it will benefit someone else someday.”

  He stopped to consider that for a moment before he nodded. “All right. It’s kind of messy too. And it has to be done outside, during the day, with an undead who hasn’t yet drunk human blood. He goes out in the sun to die, lies on the ground and opens a vein so that some of his blood runs into the ground. When he’s close to death, but not quite there yet, a human has to offer some of his or her blood. It has to be when the vampire is too weak to be able to draw the life essence on his own because it can’t be taken or it won’t work. It has to be freely offered with the human in control of how much is given.”

  He shook his head at her. “It’s very dangerous, because the timing has to be perfect. If the vampire has any strength left at all, he’ll drain the human and become a vamp. And immediately die too, since he’ll be out in the daylight. I’d prefer not to risk anyone else. I’m reconciled with dying. I’d prefer it to life as a vampire. The only thing I truly fear is that I won’t be able to control myself in the final spasm of blood lust.”