The living room was her father’s pride and joy. When they’d moved into the house, it had been nothing more than a carpeted room with painted walls and strange windows. Over time, her father had replaced the carpeting with wooden panels, repainted the walls and covered the windows with curtains that kept out the sunlight. The bookshelves were his particular favourites, even though his wife had pointed out that they would have more money if he stopped buying books. Sandra stopped on his command and turned around, staring at him. Now she had been alarmed, she could tell that there was something fuzzy about his appearance, as if he was a picture on a poorly-tuned television. A moment later, the image popped completely.
Calvin? Astonishment warred with horror as he studied her, drinking in every aspect of her body. Calvin was just a harmless kid, a nerd who spent most of his time being beaten by Moe and his cronies...he certainly hadn't been on the same level as Sandra herself, let alone the queen bee of their grade. And then something clicked in her mind. Moe and two of his friends had died in what had been called a magical accident. She looked at Calvin and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’d killed them.
Calvin seemed to swallow, as if he was nervous. “Undress,” he ordered. “Remove everything. Now.”
Sandra wanted to scream, but her treacherous body betrayed her. Her hands reached to her blouse and pulled it off, followed by her bra. She tried to fight as her fingers removed her earrings, before reaching down and unsnapping her jeans. Calvin’s eyes went very wide as he saw her pull down both her jeans and panties, exposing every last inch of her body. Her hands fell by her sides as she finished undressing, allowing him to study her without impediment. Dear God...she’d heard about rape, she’d heard about girls who allowed themselves to get drunk or drugged at the wrong time, but this was something different. Was he going to force himself on her?
She cringed mentally as he walked around her, feeling his eyes leaving trails of slime all over her body. No matter how much she struggled, she couldn't break free of his control, or the sense that she was completely at his mercy. She watched with dull horror as one hand reached for her breast, only to draw back at the last moment. Could it be that Calvin hadn't really expected to get so far? It wasn't as though he was one of the boys who was used to getting whatever he wanted. Maybe he just wanted to stare at her...
...Or maybe it was just some kind of horrible nightmare.
“Lie down,” Calvin ordered. Sandra felt the cold wood on her back as she lay down and knew that it was no dream. “Spread out your hands and feet.”
He was going to rape her, Sandra realised. She’d never opened her legs for anyone before, or even allowed one of her boyfriends to slip his hands into her panties. But his order left no room for doubt. She struggled hopelessly as her legs opened wide, beckoning him to pull down his own pants and force his way into her. Calvin knelt down beside her, producing something from his bag. Sandra stared in surprise as he produced something that looked like a knife made of stone. What was he doing? And why wasn't he kneeling between her legs?
She felt the knife pressing against her chest, just before her breasts, and suddenly realised what he had in mind. All of a sudden, even rape seemed preferable...
***
Calvin had never been close to a naked girl before; he had never even reached first base with anyone, anyone at all. He’d heard the bragging, of course, but he could never have bragged himself. And yet now he was staring down at a naked girl, he felt an odd caldron of emotions spinning through his mind. If Harrow’s cold presence hadn't been dominating his mind, giving the whole experience an eerie dreamlike air, he would have either thrown himself on her or fled.
Sandra’s naked breasts bobbled in front of him, causing strange desires to shiver in his chest, but he ignored them as best as he could. Instead, he pressed the knife into her skin, causing a tiny drop of blood to well up from the cut. Sandra let out a gasp of pain, despite the controlling spell he’d slammed on her mind, reminding him that she had some mana sensitivity herself. An odd feeling of compassion welled through him and he found himself casting a spell to numb her. There was no reason why she had to suffer as well as die for his ambitions.
He sensed Harrow’s laughter as he finished carving the first symbol into Sandra’s body. It was a complex pattern that reminded him of the Star of David, but with additional lines that seemed to help channel the mana. Patiently, using his gloved hands, he dabbled them in the blood and used it to mark out a thin circle surrounding Sandra’s helpless body. A moment later, once the circle was complete, he carved the next four symbols into her hands and feet, symbols that would release the mana. Runes, Harrow had called them, although she hadn't been too clear on how they actually worked. Reading between the lines, Calvin suspected that no one had dared look too closely at the theory, even the Thirteen. It could be dangerous to the unwary.
His entire body trembling, he stepped back – careful not to place his foot on the blood – and surveyed his handiwork. Sandra’s chest had stopped bleeding and the symbol he’d carved on her stood out clearly against her pale skin; the other four symbols looked dimmer, but they were already bleeding mana. Not much, not yet, but enough to convince him that he had to hurry. Time was running out.
But he hesitated. Killing Moe had been one thing – the bully had deserved it – but this was something different. He was about to end a human life, a life that had ignored him rather than bullied him, treated him as if he didn't exist rather than something to pick on, to torment and degrade. There were other girls he might have chosen to kill, but Sandra? Sandra was guilty of little more than ignoring him.
You have gone too far, Harrow said, again. She will die now. The runes you carved on her will make sure of that. All you can do now is ensure that she does not die for nothing, but for the cause of rebuilding the world as it should have been.
Calvin swallowed hard, lifted the knife, and stepped forward one final time.
***
Sandra had watched numbly as Calvin worked on her body. At first, the cuts had hurt badly, beyond anything she’d ever imagined, and then her entire body had just seemed to lose all sensitivity to pain. She'd felt him carving into her hands and feet, and then stepping back to study what he'd done, but even the fear had drained away into nothingness. Instead, she just waited to see what would happen next.
I’m sorry, she thought, wishing that she could speak to her parents one last time. She’d opened the door and allowed a monster into their home. Calvin was carving one final symbol into her body, just above the groin. A rapist would have been very preferable. I’m so sorry...
Calvin held the knife over the symbol on her chest, hesitated for one long moment, and then thrust the knife down, into her body. There was a brief moment of agonising pain, a scream that she realised had been torn from her own throat, and then her remaining awareness just faded away.
***
Calvin screamed too as the mana raged into his body, a wave of energy tinged with madness and death and something he only vaguely recognised as part of Sandra’s soul. He’d done all of the mental exercises Harrow had ordained, time and time again, and yet the roaring fury nearly overwhelmed him. Instinctively, he reached out to either absorb it or push it away, despite knowing that either one would be disastrous. Somehow, desperately, he held on to his link to Harrow, drawing on her strength and experience to channel the mana. It couldn't be stored in his cells, but it could be contained within his wards.
Fire seemed to blaze through his mind, incinerating his thoughts as easily as he had incinerated Moe a lifetime ago. Calvin felt his mind opening wide, allowing the fire to plummet through his memories despite his struggles, followed by a series of thoughts and memories that couldn't possibly be his. He’d drained Sandra’s memories, he realised dimly, as the fire finally started to recede. The power he’d torn from her dying husk was safely stored now, within his wards. Staggering slightly, Calvin stepped back from the remains of Sandra’s body and stared. Her body se
emed intact, right down to the marks he’d carved in her flesh, but the blood he’d used to make the circle had turned to ash. He was mildly surprised that the fire alarm hadn't sounded, summoning the fire department. Outside the circle, the sofa and chairs were badly scorched.
Some of the mana ran lose, Harrow said. She sounded...satisfied. Calvin wondered why that no longer bothered him as he picked up the knife and stuck it into his belt. You have saved enough, however, and when you are ready we will proceed to the second sacrifice.
Calvin nodded. Somehow, the thought of repeating the whole process no longer bothered him either. The rush of power, far more mana than his cells would ever be able to gather, had blown away all of his doubts, and fears, and the compassion he’d felt for Sandra. Now, he knew that truth. She’d been put on the world to serve him and die in his name.
Carefully checking to make sure he hadn't left anything behind, he walked to the door, checked his glamour and then opened the door, heading outside. Harrow had ordered him to cast spells intended to keep the noise from bothering the neighbours, but it was still a relief to see that no one looked concerned. But then, these days no one would dare investigate screams that might have been caused by a vampire feeding on a human target. Even the cops would hesitate before charging in with loaded weapons.
Quite calmly, he walked home under the glamour, slipped indoors and walked upstairs to the bathroom, where he undressed completely and piled the clothes in the bath. A simple spell reduced all of them to fine dust, which he promptly washed away down the toilet. No one who happened to be looking for the clothes worn by the killer would find any trace that they ever existed at all. And the gloves he'd worn would ensure that there were no fingerprints for the NYPD to find and track down.
He looked down at his hands and blinked. For a moment, he was sure that he saw blood dripping off his hands, before it vanished when he looked closely. Shaking slightly, he climbed into the shower and washed himself thoroughly. Normally, he would have looked at the girls before washing, but somehow it no longer seemed so entertaining. He was ready to take it further. And Sandra had been so easy to manipulate. He could have done much more with her if he hadn't needed a victim for the sacrifice.
It had bothered him to see her so naked, and so vulnerable – but that had been the old him. Now, he only wished he could have taken it further, to really enjoy his powers. The old him had been weak, a fool who refused to believe that all that mattered was strength. He knew better now. The world and all it held was the plaything of the strong.
Congratulations, little necromancer, Harrow said, as he climbed into bed and closed his eyes, trying to sleep. Her presence hung in his mind, waiting and judging. You’ve just graduated.
Chapter Twenty
Washington DC, USA
Day 25
The report on the vampire girl didn't make comfortable reading. Caitlyn read it in bed on her laptop, trying to make sense of the medical jargon that the doctors had used to write their report, before turning to the summery, which was mercifully jargon-free. Layla Griffin, as the vampire had turned out to be called, was no longer human, even if she wasn't exactly undead. She didn't seem to need to breathe, or to eat anything, apart from human blood. The doctors had tried to feed her animal blood, only to discover that her system didn't digest it properly.
We cannot say if she is undead in any conventional sense of the word, but her physical changes are quite alarming. She is extremely strong, capable of moving at blinding speed (this may be the source of the legends of vampires becoming mist, as she has not demonstrated any such capability) and remarkably durable. There are no traces of the wound caused by an explosive bullet during her capture on her body. Most surprisingly of all, her ovaries appear to have shrivelled and died. It is possible that she may never be able to have children naturally.
Her fangs represent another remarkable change. Unlike normal teeth, they appear to be capable of sucking blood out of a wound and channelling it directly into her bloodstream. Layla appears to be capable of retracting them at will, ensuring that she would probably pass unnoticed in the mundane world. At full extension, they cannot be missed by anyone. But by then it might well be too late.
Some of the other changes are peculiar, to say the least. She has developed a sexuality that pulls at everyone, male and female, who spends time in her company, enticing them into coming too close for comfort – or safety. Her reflection cannot be seen in a mirror, nor can she be detected by security cameras, although she does represent a ‘cold spot’ on infrared detectors. As yet, we have been unable to come up with any explanation for these changes.
The legends about vampires not being able to survive in sunlight appears to have some basis in fact. Once transformed, Layla never went out in the daytime – and limited exposure to sunlight – and UV light – produced what can best be termed an allergic reaction. Quite why this happens is unclear, but we can probably find a way to duplicate the effect and produce a vampire detector.
Caitlyn scowled. The media had been delighted to hear that the vampire had been caught, but it had done nothing to stop the panic sweeping the nation. Only two days ago, a man had been shot and killed by his neighbour on suspicion of being a vampire, even though there had been no real proof. And, comparing his very intact dead body to Layla, it had become clear that the dead man had never been a vampire. The neighbour was currently facing charges of murder, but it wouldn't stop the panic.
Or, for that matter, the growing demands that all vampires be rounded up and isolated from the rest of the world, if not exposed to sunlight and exterminated. The only good thing about the crisis was that books and movies that portrayed vampires as good guys were suddenly being exposed for the lies they were.
She shook her head and moved on to the next part of the report.
It is the mental changes in Layla Griffin that represent the most dangerous – and ominous – change in her status. Put simply, her entire ethical framework has been radically rewritten, twisted into a pattern that is literally inhuman. She now regards humans as nothing more than cattle, her prey to hunt as she sees fit. Like a number of patients with extreme mental conditions, she is incapable of empathising with normal humans on more than an abstract basis. She may feel some guilt at the prospect of eating livestock (humans) but is unlikely to become a ‘vegetarian.’
In some ways, talking to her is like talking to a person from a very different culture. Her sense of right and wrong is very different, and almost completely selfish – by some extent, it may even be considered racist (discrimination against Unchanged humans). She attempts to manipulate the psychologists, doctors, and armed guards in her confinement, often using mental tricks to interfere with their minds. Four different people have been caught in the act of attempting to release her, without really being aware of what they were doing. Layla appears to consider such mental manipulation perfectly normal, without even a mild sense of guilt at her actions. Right now, we confess to some nervousness about the security precautions around her cell. Given the supernatural aspects of her condition, it is alarmingly likely that, sooner or later, she will succeed in breaking free.
We cannot say if she can ever be termed ‘responsible’ for her own actions. She is not someone choosing to sin against what she believes to be right, but someone whose morals and ethical system is currently very different from our own. We do not believe that she is capable of recognising Unchanged humans as equals, or realising the need to curb her drives and appetites. Indeed, by her lights, her behaviour is natural and right. Given that her pre-Change mentality was by no means sociopathic, this bears testament to the sheer power of the Change – and how it has overwhelmed her.
In short, she cannot be ever considered to be cured and released back into the civilian population. The convictions affecting her would make her incredibly dangerous even without the physical changes in her body. She will hunt and kill again if given the opportunity, no matter what she promises to us, because it is part of her Cha
nged nature. Even if we do find some way to reverse the effects that Changed her, we may never be able to undo the mental damage. It is this office’s very strong recommendation that Layla Griffin be declared insane and committed to permanent confinement, without hope of release.
In other words, Caitlyn thought, you want us to keep her locked up for the rest of eternity. And to hell with her constitutional rights.
So far, the media hadn't quite picked up on that factor, but Senator Whitehall had. Caitlyn suspected that it wouldn't be very long before someone started pointing out that vampires weren't human and therefore were not entitled to human rights – and it was only a short jump from there to declaring that all the Changed were not entitled to legal rights. Even if they did have rights, the rest of the population had rights too – and leaving vampires in a position to prey on innocent human beings was a gross infringement of their rights. Besides, the longer they waited before coming up with some kind of legal framework, the more tragedies there were likely to be. And all of them would help propel Senator Whitehall forward, towards the White House.
The advice she’d had from the legal advisors was complicated; clearly, they were being paid by the word. Or, perhaps, they were unwilling to offer a blunt legal opinion because it might come back to haunt them later. Caitlyn had been a junior agent when Wikileaks had published classified diplomatic telegrams and she’d heard of a number of careers that had been blighted because of advice they’d given, advice that was meant to remain confidential. The result had been inevitable; advisors concentrated more on covering their asses rather than on providing proper advice.
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