Bloodlust

by Kramer, D. L.

I nodded. “Shame,” I said. “It probably ruined your ear for music.”

  He nodded.

  “Anything else you’re dreading asking me, or can I go back to my painting now?”

  “Now that you mention it--”

  I sighed and waited.

  “About how long until your next feeding cycle?”

  “Why should that matter?”

  “It would help me to schedule things, or know what to expect.”

  Like when I might be even more willing to rip his head off, I was sure. I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t need to be in a feeding cycle for that.

  I shrugged. “It’s hard to tell, three, maybe four months.”

  All right, I shaved a month off. But he didn’t need to know that.

  “I’m about a month out,” he noted, almost absently. “I don’t suppose we could get you settled in helping us by then, so I can disappear for a few days and not have to worry about things going to hell?”

  “We’ll see,” I said. “It depends on what you wanted me to do. You know I’m not going to infect people.”

  “Just like you’re doing with the detective,” he said. “Mentor them. Answer their questions. Help them understand the changes it puts us through. I’ve got six now who are starting to get their claws, all they do is whine about the pain.”

  “In their defense, it does hurt,” I noted. “They won’t get the elevated pain threshold for another few months.”

  “But still, maybe if they hear someone—older—explaining it to them, they would understand.”

  “You’re older than me,” I pointed out.

  So that was it. He was after my involvement because of the age of the infection in me. Marcella had been right.

  I’d never hear the end of it when I told her.

  But I wasn’t the monster.

  The monster was sitting on my sofa carrying on a casual conversation with me. I wondered if he knew about the venom in Marcella’s claws and that I’d have someday. Better not to mention it, just in case he didn’t.

  “Only in years,” Aleksander noted. “We both know you appear as one much older, Mikhos. Any of us who meet you know it. And they’ll most certainly sense it and give you that respect for it.”

  Marcella had told me she thought I was an old one when she found me. I had smelled old to her.

  “Like your pet?” I asked him. “It took forever to clean up her blood. I really don’t appreciate being attacked in my own home.”

  “We’ve discussed that,” he said. “She knows to watch herself around you now.”

  I had a feeling my claws in her neck had more to do with that than any ‘discussion’ had.

  “Good.”

  Aleksander stood from the sofa, stretching a bit then straightening his shirt. “I should let you get back to your work. I’d hate to be depriving you of work time for something that’s obviously going to be very valuable when it’s finished.”

  There was something in his voice with that statement. That twisted stabbing in my gut sent warning pangs through me.

  Now what did he mean by that?

  He already knew my paintings were valuable. But perhaps he didn’t know just how valuable until recently. Maybe he was hoping I’d be donating them to his cause when I joined him.

  Maybe he was a bigger fool than I thought.

  Maybe he was hoping I was just that foolish.

  Maybe he would be sorely disappointed.

  “Tomorrow night down by the river then?” he asked me.

  “I’ll be there,” I replied. “But don’t expect a lot of involvement. I mostly just want to get an idea of what you’re doing.” Now that was the complete and absolute truth.

  “Excellent.”

  He turned to leave and I walked him to the door. After he was gone, I churned through everything I’d learned from him that afternoon as I cleaned up my work area once more.

  He definitely believed he’d caught his prize fish. Which led me to another thought that brought me up short.

  How was I going to tell Marcella I’d joined him, even just as a ruse to gain information about what he was doing? Somehow, I didn’t think that was going to go over very well. At all.

  I finished cleaning up my paints and brushes, then decided to get that out of the way. I might not have time to tell her tomorrow and if she went looking for me and found me without having told her first… Well, it wouldn’t be pretty.

  I put on my coat and hat as I walked out the door, locking it behind me. As I made my way over to her shop, I paid close attention to sounds and scents around me. Once I was sure neither Aleksander nor anyone he sent was following me, I relaxed some. When I was at a point where traffic and pedestrians had thinned, I slipped down an alley and jumped to the nearest roof, covering the rest of the distance at a much faster pace.

  I jumped back to the ground a block or so before the shop, then walked the rest of the way. I could smell the subtle scent of incense as I approached. Something a bit lighter this time. Lily of the Valley perhaps. The table was once again out front, an assortment of beaded jewelry and bags on it this time. The door was closed, though, which wasn’t unusual.

  I pulled open the door, setting the bells to ringing as I walked inside. Nicholas looked over from where he was moving one of the tables on the far wall, nodding to me. I felt that moment of apprehension from him, though he tried to hide it. I still scared him, simply by existing.

  “Nicholas,” I greeted him. I noticed neither Rosie nor Marcella were downstairs in the shop. “Is Marcella here?”

  “They’re upstairs,” he said. “Rosie should be back down in a minute.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, I’ll just go up. I was here to see Marcella anyway.”

  I debated waiting for Rosie just so I could ask what kind of mood her grandmother was in now.

  I made my way up the narrow staircase, following their voices to Marcella’s living area. I knocked on the door the same time Marcella called for me to come in. No doubt she’d smelled me coming from five blocks away again.

  I took off my hat as I opened the door, closing it behind me. Marcella sat in one of her armchairs while Rosie was in the other one. I noted Marcella’s knitting bag next to her chair again and debated teasing her about it, but then decided I didn’t want to get smacked again.

  “Ladies,” I greeted them.

  “We were starting to wonder if we were going to see you today,” Rosie said, standing up and coming over to kiss my cheek.

  “It’s been an interesting day,” I said.

  “Sit down,” Marcella said nodding to the old red sofa across from their chairs.

  “Feeling better now?” I asked her as I set my hat on the arm of the sofa and sat down. She looked like she’d gotten some rest after feeding. The red around her eyes wasn’t quite as prominent and the dark circles under them weren’t quite as obvious. She seemed tenser than usual. I wasn’t sure if I should be concerned or not.

  I probably should.

  “Did you find anything new?” Marcella asked, leaning forward slightly. Rosie sat back in her chair. Marcella paused, sniffing the air. “Aleksander.” I could hear the growl just under her voice as she spoke his name.

  Yes, this was going to go very well.

  Maybe I should just start running now and yell what I’d done over my shoulder.

  “He came by my studio,” I answered, my tone cautious. I spared a glance at Rosie, making sure she noted her grandmother’s growl. I could tell by her expression that she had. “We had a rather lengthy discussion.”

  “No blood,” Marcella noted. “So you must not have killed him.”

  “No, he’s still very much alive,” I nodded slowly. “I have--” I paused, trying to gather the courage to finish the sentence. “Agreed to join him and help him.”

  Have I mentioned how fast Marcella can move?

  Multiply that times ten.

  I wasn’t even sure at first what had hit me, only that I was knocked from the sofa with a s
harp jolt of pain on my left and then the sound of Rosie’s voice yelling for her grandmother, then my name. That was when I realized that Marcella had hit me from the side, surprising me with both the speed and strength of her attack. She made sure she landed on top of me and I felt her hand close on my neck and the sharp pain as her claws sunk into my skin and through the tissue as she slowly extended them. I realized I couldn’t turn to throw her off of me without risking her severing something that would kill me. I also realized by the pain shooting through my chest whenever I took a breath that she’d likely cracked a couple of my ribs.

  Yes, she knew exactly where to put her claws. I could feel my arteries and veins pulsing against them every time my heart beat. The warm blood ran down my neck and I could feel it pooling underneath me. The scent thick and strong, clinging in my nose and mouth. Even just a hair’s movement would guarantee she would kill me.

  It vaguely reminded me of when she’d gotten my attention when I’d first met her.

  “Grandmother!” Rosie’s voice was almost frantic. I could see her from the corner of my eye, standing just to the side, obviously just as surprised by Marcella’s attack as I had been.

  “Let me finish,” I managed to croak out, shifting my gaze up to Marcella’s face. She was glaring, her eyes narrowed, her jaw set.

  She was not happy.

  “You joined him?” she demanded, her accent heavy. She flexed her fingers slightly and a cold chill hit me. Even with her claws sunk into my neck, I could smell the venom as it came up in them.

  “Let me finish,” I repeated, my voice growling. I didn’t even dare try to shift my weight. If she thought I was going to try getting her off of me, she could simply flood my neck with her venom. I was sure there were more unpleasant ways to die, but I had no idea what they might be at that moment.

  “Grandma, please,” Rosie said. “This is Michael, he wouldn’t do anything like that without a reason.”

  Marcella glared at me for a moment before finally retracting her claws and moving off of me. I pulled myself to my feet as she went back to her chair, then stared at me, waiting.

  Rosie got me a towel from a nearby shelf, then another to soak up the blood that had been left on the floor. Though it looked like my coat had absorbed most of it. I used the towel from Rosie to wipe the blood from my neck. I could feel the wounds already healing and knew they’d quit bleeding in the next minute or two.

  “So talk,” Marcella ordered.

  “I agreed to join him so I can get an idea of just what he’s got going on,” I told her, sitting down on the sofa again as Rosie wiped my blood from the floor. “To give us an idea of how many people he’s got and who he has where.” I didn’t bother trying to hide the contempt in my voice at her attacking me before she heard the whole story. I’d half suspected she might, but hadn’t expected her to attack me so quickly or so fiercely. It wasn’t the first time, though and I had no doubt it wouldn’t be the last.

  It reminded me again of why I try so hard to stay on her good side.

  “See?” Rosie said to Marcella. “That’s not a bad idea at all.”

  Marcella snorted. “Unless Aleksander twists him around to his side again.”

  I gazed up at the ceiling. “I have never been on Aleksander’s side,” I reminded her. “There were times we got along, but I have never bought into his schemes. You know that.” I wiped the last of the blood from my neck and Rosie took the towel from me.

  Marcella snorted again. I knew her well enough to know that was the closest I was going to get from her by way of an apology.

  “I’ll be getting my first look tomorrow. A warehouse down by the river docks, just like the one boy told us.” Rosie sat back in her chair, but stayed near the edge. Marcella’s attack had obviously startled her, too. “I’ll come and let you know what I found after.”

  “And the old one?” Marcella asked. “He’ll be there?” Her accent was still heavy and there was an odd note to her voice. Tense. Dare I think nervous?

  “Actually, an odd thing about that,” I noted. I could tell she was going back to the business at hand. I might just survive this after all. “He never mentioned an old one with him and he didn’t seem to know what had happened to the two bodies that disappeared from the morgue.”

  Marcella’s brow creased and I could tell she was concerned.

  “But that’s one of the questions I intend to get an answer to,” I assured her.

  “He didn’t say anything at all?” Rosie asked.

  “Nothing,” I told her.

  Now Rosie looked concerned.

  Wonderful.

  “You’re staying for dinner.” Marcella didn’t make it a question and I was a bit nervous about declining.

  Though I suppose there were worse ways to spend the rest of my evening.

  Like dead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Discovery

  I was raised that you respect your elders, mind your manners and your place, do an honest day’s work and take an honest day’s pay for it. You bought what you could afford, paid your debts in a timely manner and didn’t buy needless frivolity. Men attended public school and could go on to university if they chose, with those on the more fortunate side of society claiming the higher places. Women were taught social skills at home: music, dancing and needlework chiefly. Those who were more insistent on doing more with their lives could become a nurse, governess, or possibly help her husband with the accounts for his business.

  My grandfather was an old-fashioned sort, who wanted my mother to stay at home and raise me in a dutiful and respectful manner, just as my grandmother had raised her. While many families were forced to send their children to work to help provide for the family, mine was fortunate enough to not have to do that.

  My mother had other ideas from what my grandfather wanted.

  Each day after I got home from school, she’d be waiting for me. We’d spend the rest of the afternoon running around trees, chasing frogs at a pond, looking for lizards under rocks and stirring up sufficient mayhem that we’d both have to bathe and change our clothes before my father got home. We weren’t rich enough to be at the height of society, but we were well off enough that there was always a hot dinner on the table and fresh milk for the tea and I was never hungry.

  My father knew about our adventures each day and I also suspect he was a bit jealous. More than once he’d put on a show of scolding me for the mud on my boots, then ask me in more conspiratorial tones how I’d gotten them in that state, wanting to know every detail.

  My grandfather would have given himself a hernia if he’d known, especially that it was my mother taking me on these adventures. Needless to say, we didn’t tell him.

  While I learned many valuable things in school, it was those afternoons that taught me the most about life. First, even adults don’t mind getting dirty just for fun occasionally. Second, you don’t have to conform to the rules of society if you don’t want to if you’re willing to face the consequences. Third, you can find opportunities to learn something just about everywhere you look and with even something as simple as quiet observation, you can learn a great deal. Fourth, never be afraid to ask questions. If I’d never asked questions, there are so many things I’d have never learned. And finally, any society that appears perfect on the outside, is probably hiding more than its share of social ills beneath the surface.

  Our life seemed happy and idyllic, but I saw the children on their way to the coal mines while I was on my way to school each day. I saw those no older than four or five going to work in the textile mills. I saw the look of quiet desperation in those a little older, who had come to realize this was the best they could hope for in life.

  When my mother walked me to school, she’d do her best to help those she could, taking a sack of bread with her and giving some to those who looked like they needed it most. When my grandfather took me, he’d hurry me along, barely sparing any of them a glance.

  And that had been perhaps one of the
most profound lessons of all for me. My grandfather had fought and earned his way to his position in society. He had been born to a poor family and gone to work on the docks when he was barely eleven years old. Through perseverance, determination and educating himself, he had worked his way up through the shipping company he worked for to become one of their supervisors in charge of dozens of men. He had broken free of his place in society and built himself a new one for my grandmother and the rest of his family.

  And he would not look twice at anyone he deemed beneath him now.

  Then my mother, who had been born wanting for nothing she needed and given an education, would defy that place, run rampant like an unruly adolescent girl even after she’d married and had a child and did everything she could to show compassion for those with less than her.

  I think my mother had the right of things.

  She’d have made an incredible teacher at day-school if my grandfather ever would have tolerated her working outside the home.

  There were times, even now, that I missed my mother.

  What would she think of me, had she known what I’d become? Would she have slammed the door in my face, cutting me entirely from her life and spending the rest of her years swearing she had no son? Would she have shown me that same compassion that she showed others, told me she would always love me as her son and wrap her arms around me? Would she have accepted what I was with quiet resignation and spent the rest of her life with a detached look in her eyes, always mourning for what had been lost?

  I honestly didn’t know.

  But I knew there were days I’d give anything to hear her and my father’s voices once more. To hear her laughing as she chased a frog along the water’s edge. To see the look in my father’s eyes as I told him what I’d done that day to muddy my boots.

  Just once more to ask their advice or hear their opinions.

  My grandfather wouldn’t approve of adopting Dawn. She was born to someone less than him, so she wouldn’t have been worthy of a place in our family.

  I suspected my mother would have been delighted. My father would have only sighed and nodded, knowing arguing was pointless once my mother decided she wanted something.