It took one well-placed hit to the side of his head to put him down in a twitching heap at my feet. I didn’t even consider sparing him, extending my claws to their full length before slashing at his neck, severing his head in one clean swipe. His body twitched a couple of times then went still, his blood growing in a puddle under his neck and shoulders.
So much for not getting messy.
If that didn’t get Aleksander’s attention, nothing would. Now I just needed to clean up the bodies and get out of there before the field behind me closed down for the night and everyone started making their way out to the parking lot.
It’s actually harder to hide one of our bodies than the body of someone you’ve fed off of. I didn’t want to know what any coroner who examined one of our bodies might think. My worst fear was one would try to isolate and re-create what it was that infected us. There are some things that those in authority positions just shouldn’t get their hands on. Too many with questionable ethics and morals.
And too few who would try to stop them.
The best way to get rid of an infected body is to burn it. Unfortunately, large bonfires in the middle of a city tend to draw a considerable lot of attention. If you know where to look, however, you can find something that will work almost as well.
I grabbed each one by their collars and dragged them over to a nearby dumpster, I stuffed both bodies behind it, then went and found their heads. I checked both of their mouths, not surprised neither one was actually in a feeding cycle. There were a few specks in greasy’s mouth, but not enough to indicate he’d needed to feed right then.
I spent the next hour checking buildings in the area before I found one that had what I wanted. I didn’t know what I’d do if people stopped needing incinerators.
It didn’t take me too long after that to dispose of both bodies. I stayed long enough to make sure nobody was going to happen in and find them before they were destroyed.
That would have raised far more questions than I wanted to answer.
After I got rid of them both, I spent the rest of the night wandering around, looking for more signs of Aleksander’s group, but not finding anyone else.
Hopefully that meant the rest weren’t that stupid.
Chapter Seven
Cause and Effect
I don’t dream. I used to, before I was infected. Vivid, lucid, phenomenal dreams. Some good, some not so good. I’d wake up with my heart racing, or the sheets soaked with sweat, or the most vivid memories of sights behind my eyes. Colors and sound and emotion were all there. Yes, I know all about the raging debate about dreaming in color. Believe what you want, but I know I saw colors.
And people.
There were always people there. I was never alone in my dreams. I’d dream about events at university, or memories from my youth, or just…people. Sometimes I knew them in my dreams as though they were lifelong friends, even when I’d wake up and have no idea who they were. Other times I’d see my actual friends.
I was never prone to nightmares, though I’d have the occasional bad dream. Usually during times of stress, like most anyone else. Dreams of anxiety and nervousness, making mistakes, that sort of thing.
I can remember as a child, looking forward to bedtime, so I could see what story was going to unfold within my mind that night. Such fanciful things. Such innocence.
Such a fool was I.
I find it ironic that I never dreamed of monsters and yet look at what I’d become. But we’re taught that monsters don’t really exist. At least not in the real world. If you see them in your dreams, that’s the only place they stay. They can’t hurt you in the real world. There’s a borderline there, a threshold that keeps their world from crossing over into the real one. That shapeless black thing that bumps and growls at you from your closet vanishes with a puff of smoke the moment you open your eyes. Those piles of bodies and that overwhelming smell of death from another dream are gone within seconds of when you snap upright in your bed. The drooling, fanged beast nipping at your feet as you run disappears with the first light through your window.
I used to scream, trying to wake myself up from this dream.
Except there’s no waking up from the real world.
Sadly, there’s very little sleep in it, either.
I never dreamed about that night when the man in the alley bit me. And it was shortly after that when my dreams stopped. It was not too long after my dreams disappeared when I found myself sleeping less and less.
Which was why it surprised me when I woke up to see it was well into the afternoon. I had only expected to sleep a few hours, my usual amount, after I’d gotten back to my studio from looking for anymore of Aleksander’s group the night before.
I rolled onto my back, letting my mind wake up on its own. The light was mostly blocked by the blinds on the windows, but I could see the afternoon sun shining behind them. I could hear traffic in the distance from the main road just a few blocks away. The rich smell of my painting supplies was a comforting presence.
All in all, it wasn’t a bad way to wake up for once. Except for the scent of the puttanesca that jolted my mind to complete awareness as I sat up, suddenly very much aware. I will have to say, though, there are worse things to startle you awake.
“About time you woke up,” Marcella said, her accent heavier than usual. She was in the kitchenette, stirring something in one of the pots on the stove. She’d tied her hair back, having left her headscarf on the table with a light, woven shawl. The ends of her hair just reached the middle of her back in thin strands. She was wearing an ankle length olive green dress with a mandarin collar, hiding the scar I knew was on her neck. She leaned forward slightly, making herself look a bit stooped, though I knew she could pull herself up to perfect posture if she chose.
I stood up and realized I’d fallen asleep in my clothes, as well as slept on top of the bed. Odd, I haven’t done that for years. Come to think of it, I only vaguely remembered going to bed. My mind must have been more distracted than I’d thought.
“Change your shirt, you look like something the dogs fought over.”
I paused to blink at her.
“What are you doing in my studio?” I asked her, tilting my head so I could look at her with my clear eye as I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it into a nearby basket. I got a clean one from the old wardrobe against the opposite wall, the worn wood creaking slightly as I opened and closed one door then re-latched it. There was no self-consciousness in taking my shirt off with her there. She’d seen my scars a number of times and had given me a couple of them.
Marcella glanced at me, then went back to her stirring. I think I heard her snort. Possibly at the idea that I could keep her out of my studio.
“I put extra capers in it, Rosie reminded me you like it that way.”
I walked into the kitchenette while I buttoned the cuffs on my shirt.
“I’m certainly not going to complain about having dinner provided,” I began, savoring the rich aroma from the puttanesca in the air. “But what’s going on?”
Marcella finished stirring her sauce, tapping the spoon on the side four times before setting it down on the center of the stove where she’d neatly folded a napkin into thirds for it.
Yes, I even count the stupid little things like that.
She turned and looked at me, her dark eyes watching me closely.
“I’ve been thinking about this baby,” she said. She walked past me, her head not quite reaching my shoulders. That wasn’t unusual, most women didn’t even quite reach me that high. She moved with that sort of wary confidence of someone who’d seen it all and was tired of the stupidity. I suppose if you’ve lived as long as she has, you’re entitled to that. I hadn’t lived nearly as long as she had and there were a lot of days I felt like that.
I took a moment to look at the sauce on the stove, enjoying the strength of the aroma before I turned back to her.
“What about her?” I asked, leaning against the counter while she folde
d her headscarf and set it to one side before sitting. I glanced at the locked door and large window. Both were still exactly how I always left them. “And how did you get in here?”
She snorted and waved me off, obviously not going to answer that question.
“Are you still thinking of pursuing custody of her?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. But I’m leaning that way.”
“Then you need to make sure it’s safe for her,” Marcella stated, her accent growing heavier. “You need to figure out what Aleksander is up to.”
That got my full attention immediately. “What do you mean?” I asked her. I didn’t really want to let her know what I had already found out from him. And I wanted to know how she knew he was up to something. Well, besides the fact that he was always up to something.
“Don’t think you’re hiding anything from me, Mikhos,” she stated, her tone warning me. “I can smell two of them on you even now and this whole place reeks of Aleksander and one other.”
I should have known better. She always knew. Kind of annoying, really.
“The other one would be named Gianna,” I told her. “They came by the other night. I wasn’t impressed.”
“And the two you made bleed?”
“Dead, actually,” I corrected. “Newly infected. I found them ‘hunting’ at a high school last night.”
She chewed on her lower lip, obviously turning that information over in her head. It was a habit I hadn’t seen her do for several years. Then again I didn’t spend a lot of time with her anymore. “Two. Just infected. Are you sure?”
Oh, it just wasn’t a good sign when she started cutting her sentences that short. If she started ranting in Italian, I was going to run. I made sure I wasn’t within immediate arm’s reach, just to be on the safe side.
“I’d say within the last few months. One didn’t have full claws yet. The other wasn’t even into a first feeding cycle. I’d say it was more of a practice run.” I stepped to the stove and picked up the kettle. I rinsed it out and filled it with fresh water, then put it on another burner and lit it. I got a cup and the jar of tea bags down from the shelf next to the stove and set them to the side to wait for the water. I didn’t bother asking Marcella if she wanted any, I’d learned a long time ago that she didn’t care for tea.
More chewing on her lip.
That sick gripping feeling deep in my gut. Not as strong as the night April was attacked, but still undeniably there.
“Why?” I asked her, suspecting something else had gone on.
“I chased one out of the shop last night after Rosie and Nicholas went home,” she finally said. “The little bastard didn’t even realize what I was until I caught him. Then he had the nerve to think he could attack me.”
I winced before I could even think to stop myself.
“I take it he didn’t last long?”
She laughed, that same deep cough that turned into a rough cackle.
If nothing else, I could amuse her.
“I left him with a few reminders of why he should respect his elders and sent him running home,” she replied. She paused, narrowing her eyes at me and making the faint dark circles under them seem more obvious. “He smelled of Aleksander. What’s he up to?”
I shrugged with one shoulder. I suppose I should tell her. Chances were I’d have to anyway since I was probably going to need her help. “He was ranting on and on something about organizing us under one leader and how he was going to build us an army. He seemed to think I’d jump on his ship and be right there with him.”
Just so you know, Marcella’s growl makes every hair on my body feel like it’s standing on end and quivering in fear.
Most growls are low, kind of deep in the throat and get your attention immediately. That natural instinct to sense danger. Mine tended to sound a bit rough, kind of scratchy. Marcella’s came from deep in her throat and had a low gurgle type quality to it. Mine was the ‘you’re making me angry, start running’ type of growl. Hers was the ‘I’m already angry and nothing’s going to save you now’ type.
“And this Gianna?”
“His ‘pet’,” I replied. “Infected a couple of years ago, they seemed fairly attached at the hip.” I took a tea bag from the jar and set it in the cup, then set the jar back on the shelf and got a spoon from the drawer next to the small fridge. “I’m sure she thinks she’s found herself the ultimate catch.”
Marcella snorted again.
“Stir that,” she motioned to the sauce. I picked up the spoon from the stove and stirred it for several seconds. “Where is he?”
“That I don’t know,” I stated. “I was going to start sniffing around. I figured if I killed enough of his group, he’d notice and come looking for me.”
“Dangerous.”
“I know, but quickest. Besides, I’ve already proven to him he can’t get the upper hand on me in a fight.”
Marcella nodded, chewing on her lower lip again.
“You know if you’re that hungry, I’m sure there’s something in the fridge.”
I hid my grin when she pointed at me and a single claw grew out. She retracted it immediately, just leaving a subtle threat in the air.
“Have you considered why that is?” she asked me finally. Her dark eyes were pinned on me now, watching, waiting.
Great.
Another test. I thought I’d outgrown those a century ago.
“I’d imagine because I’m not afraid to hit back,” I told her, wondering what she was looking for. It was an interesting personality trait. I really didn’t like violence. I tried to avoid it if at all possible. And yet it was very much a part of my life and when I had to, I could be just as violent as anyone else like us. If it meant ending a fight sooner rather than later, I took whatever steps I had to.
She was quiet long enough the kettle behind me started to whistle. I turned and poured the water into my cup then shut off the burner and set the kettle back down on it. I took a moment to stir the sauce before turning back to her while I waited for my tea.
“I was bit when I was twenty four,” she finally said.
I blinked. I’d known she was fairly young, with young children, but had never asked for specifics. Those sore spots again. Some of them just weren’t worth the hurt they’d cause in retaliation.
“Wait,” I held up one hand. “Is this the kind of story that if I mention it after this, you’re going to try to nail something to me again?”
She actually smirked at me.
“If you mention it again, I’ll make sure you’re dead before you have time to regret it.”
“Got it,” I nodded. I dunked the tea bag up and down in the water a few times. She never was one to mince words and had a way of getting her point across quickly.
“I’d gone swimming and got my hair tangled in a fishing net someone had cut loose and left there.”
I nodded, waiting for her to continue. I already knew interrupting would get me smacked and I had no doubt she could cover the distance between us before I could blink.
“Do you remember when I explained to you about the age of the one who bites you?”
I nodded again. I took the tea bag from my cup and braced it in the spoon. Wrapping the string around it once, I pressed the wrapper against it to drain it, then tossed it in the bin. I added one cube of sugar and stirred it slowly.
“The one who bit me was old. Probably close to six hundred years old.”
“Wait, that would mean he was born—“ my voice trailed off as I did the math in my head. I decided I really didn’t like numbers that high, at least when referencing someone’s age.
“In the tenth century.”
At least she was brave enough to say it out loud. I couldn’t even fathom the strengths and abilities he must have had. For the infection to have built up in him for so long, by the time he bit her… It was no wonder Marcella was as strong as she was.
“He was my grandfather.”
I couldn’t help but sta
re at her over my tea when she said that. “Your grandfather?” I found the idea somewhat repulsive. To do something like that to your own granddaughter. To leave her with this curse, mark her for the rest of her life. It all seemed so wrong to me. So evil.
She nodded. “Further back from me than I am from Rosie by at least three or four generations. He found me, practically dead from drowning. It was the only way he knew to save me.” She paused, her dark eyes watching me closely, studying me. “I had grown up with him. Helped him and watched out for him when nobody else in my family would. And my children were the light of his life.” She sighed quietly as she said the last, a tone of resignation in it, as if just realizing something good had been destroyed in that moment. I suppose in a sense, it had.
“Like Rosie is yours.” I understood now her fierce protection of each of her grandchildren who had stayed with her. She had been in their position once and she knew the dedication and love it took to look past the monster and see the person.
“I’ve watched, over the years, studied the others like us that I’ve met.” She paused again, her eyes still locked on me. “There are certain traits that those infected by old ones have, that the others don’t. Certain things that don’t become apparent until you’ve reached a certain age.”
I already had a pretty good idea of what. Like I said, Marcella had skills I’d never seen anyone else use.
She motioned me over to the table. I picked up my tea and came over, sitting in the chair across from her. She set her hand on the table, growing out her claws to their full length. They were easily almost three inches long, thick and yellow with age. The curved inner side was razor sharp and the point a needle. I had seen her use them before and there was little left of the person besides ribbons of flesh.
What she did next, however, I hadn’t seen before. She gave a peculiar, slight flex to her fingertips and a thin line of greenish black moved along the center of her claws from the base to the tip, stopping a hair’s width from the end.
“What--?” I looked up at her, both curious and almost afraid she was going to tell me. Part of me wanted to tell her not to, to leave me in my state of unknowing. Whatever it was, I just knew it wasn’t something nice.
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