X-Rated Bloodsuckers

by Mario Acevedo

  “You a doctor?”

  “So what? Unless the cops—”

  “They didn’t do it.”

  We entered the breezeway. Only another forty feet to the stairs. I looked up to the landing on the second floor. It would be an ordeal, like climbing to the top of a mountain.

  “Then who shot you?”

  Veronica would have to haul me up the stairs. I could barely stay on my feet, much less work up the energy to fend off her questions.

  “Okay,” I told her. “I owe you that.” I motioned that she bring her face close to mine.

  Veronica fixed her eyes on the lenses of my sunglasses. I rallied the strength needed to hypnotize her and dropped the sunglasses from my face.

  CHAPTER 48

  Veronica’s eyes dilated to the size of dimes. Her aura blossomed into a silky crimson.

  I clasped her neck and brought her closer, so we stood nose to nose. I wasn’t sure of the strength of my flagging powers and concentrated on giving her the maximum dose of hypnotism.

  Her aura grew a fuzzy penumbra that vibrated like the cilia of a microscopic creature. It wasn’t much of a hold upon her psyche. But enough.

  “Help me up the stairs,” I said.

  Veronica pulled my right arm across her shoulder and trudged upward with the grace of an ox pulling a stubborn plow.

  Near the top of the landing, the bullet shifted and an agonizing jolt sawed through me. My legs buckled and I collapsed against the stairs. I dropped my bag. Lying still, I wet my lips and waited for the pain to ease.

  Veronica stared at me, her face impassive and dull.

  I pointed to her door. “Pull me inside.”

  Veronica moved as if her thoughts swam through molasses. She pulled the keys from her purse and opened her apartment door.

  Blood trickled from my torn shirt and splattered on the steps, each drop turning into a poof of dust. My aura trembled as would a burner flame set on low.

  I raised my arm. “Take me inside.”

  I expected her to lift me to my feet. Instead she grabbed my wrist and yanked my supine body up the stairs.

  The pain strangled my howl. My head and feet hammered against the steps as she tugged me onto the landing. She backed into her apartment, dragging me in like a rug.

  When my feet cleared the threshold I begged her to stop. “Let go. Get my bag then come back and close and lock the door.”

  Veronica did as I told her.

  I didn’t like being in the front room. What if at sunrise I was still here? I crawled to the home office, where I knew I would be safe. Veronica followed me, her aura flowing about her like a cloak.

  I lay on the floor and motioned her to kneel beside me. I refreshed the hypnosis.

  Time for the real pain. “Go wash your hands. Bring towels, bandages, disinfectant, and your sharpest knives.”

  I unbuttoned my shirt and removed it and my undershirt. I lay bare-chested on my right side, the wound a jagged mouth drooling blood. Smoke drifted from the lipless opening.

  Veronica returned with two terry cloth bath towels, a spool of white adhesive tape, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a fistful of kitchen knives, and a sanitary napkin. She sat and arrayed the items on the floor between us.

  I inspected the napkin. The label said it was for heavy-flow days.

  I pushed aside the butcher knives—too big—and selected a paring knife with a four-inch blade. I ran my thumb along the edge, and the blade cut like a fresh razor. A drop of blood seeped from my thumb.

  “Push the towels along my back,” I said.

  She unfolded both towels and shoved them between my right side and the floor to catch my blood.

  I handed Veronica the knife.

  “Here,” I said, pointing into the wound. “Feel in there for a bullet and cut it out.” I’d risk an infection. That bullet would kill me before any germ could.

  Veronica’s gaze fixed mechanically upon the wound.

  I wound my undershirt into a roll that I inserted into my mouth.

  She extended the fingers of her left hand and inserted them into the hole.

  The agony was like getting split open. I clamped hard on the undershirt, and if I could’ve wept, the wooden planks of the floor would have been soaked with tears.

  Veronica’s fingers wiggled inside, touching organs and rib bone. Her eyes gazed at nothing. In this trance, and oblivious to the torture wracking my poor undead body, she continued to probe.

  My kundalini noir stiffened into near rigor mortis.

  Veronica angled the knife and slid it into my side.

  Her movements escalated the pain. I doubt I could’ve been in more agony had she ripped the flesh from my bones.

  Her hands withdrew, stained with my blood. Pinched between her left thumb and index finger was the smoking clump of silver.

  My kundalini noir relaxed. I spit out the undershirt and gasped. “Good job. Now clean the wound.”

  She uncapped the bottle and splashed hydrogen peroxide over the ripped flesh. The hole bubbled. I squeezed the towel until the pain eased.

  “Now cover the wound.”

  Veronica tore open the sanitary napkin’s package and centered the napkin over the hole. She unrolled lengths of tape and secured the napkin against my side.

  The gobs of blood on my skin crumbled into tiny flakes. I could wash the towels and clean the floor with a whisk broom. Evidence from vampires was easy to dispose of.

  Now to recuperate.

  I told her to pull the curtains tight and close the door. Then I said, “Veronica, come lie next to me.”

  She crawled around me, my blood peeling from her hands. She unfolded her body parallel to mine.

  “Loosen your blouse.”

  Veronica’s fingers glided down the buttons of her blouse to her pants, revealing a lilac-colored bra. I only needed the top buttons unfastened, but the view refreshed me.

  I rolled onto my belly and pulled myself against her. Her scalp smelled of that familiar apricot shampoo and her ever delicious perspiration.

  Fatigue dulled the excitement. I wanted only to feed and rest. The points of my fangs dragged along her throat. I eased into position and bit.

  CHAPTER 49

  My snoring woke me. I lay with my head resting on Veronica’s belly. Her aura glowed tranquil and calm.

  My muscles ached and my joints creaked as I sat up. My head felt numb. I smacked my lips. Her blood left a pleasing aftertaste.

  My wound?

  I peeled away the bandage. A mustache of dried blood clung to a scar that looked like a thumbprint pressed into my flesh. I traced my finger over the depression.

  No pain, but I was still tired as hell.

  Sunlight illumnated the curtains. I checked my watch. Time, 4:47 P.M. We had slept all day.

  Moving stiffly, I stood and shuffled into the bathroom. I’m sure my face was a frightful mask. I got my bag, washed up, and applied makeup.

  I put in my contacts and returned to Veronica. Her aura remained smooth. I carried Veronica to her bed. With a towel soaked in warm water, I cleaned the dried blood on her neck. My fang wounds had had all night and day to heal, and even I couldn’t find them. I buttoned her blouse.

  Veronica would question the gaps in her memory. One moment we were outside, the next, she’s in her bedroom and it’s afternoon the next day. I didn’t know what I could tell her. Relationships with women were difficult enough; try factoring in being undead.

  I waited in her kitchen.

  The door to Veronica’s bedroom creaked. She entered the kitchen, a robe cinched tight over her clothes. Her hair hung in moplike strands. She clutched the lapels of her robe together. She blinked at me. “Last I remember you were…shot.”

  I patted my side. “Much better today.”

  “But how?” Her gaze swung around the room, as if searching for something to explain her confusion. Her eyes fixed back on me.

  This was the problem when feeding from a “friend.” Fang a stranger and you
could leave them anywhere and let them figure it out. But someone you’re close to?

  “Last I remember, I was walking you to the stairs…” Veronica’s head turned to the bedroom. “And I woke up in there.”

  “Nothing happened.” Nothing sexual, anyway. I stepped toward her.

  Veronica raised her free hand. “Stop. Something did happen. What?”

  The question burned me like another silver bullet. I had no answer. I had been stupid for thinking I could keep fooling Veronica.

  What could I say? Tell her the truth, and then what? I faced this dilemna the first time I was here and now I had to resolve it. If I revealed myself as a vampire I could either convert Veronica into one of the undead or offer her the chance to be a chalice. If she refused, I had to kill her.

  But there was another way.

  I could leave.

  “I’m sorry, Veronica.” I raised my hand to my eyes.

  She tightened her grip on the lapel of her robe. “What are you doing?”

  I removed my contacts and zapped Veronica. Her aura blushed with a crimson luminescence.

  I had many powers as a supernatural. What I couldn’t do was love Veronica as a man loves a woman. A great sadness poured into me, and I felt the curse of being a vampire.

  I carried Veronica back to her bed. She would awaken with the same questions about the missing time. Only I wouldn’t be here to answer them. I collected my belongings and left.

  I had no heart and no soul. Then why did leaving Veronica hurt so much?

  I rode my motorcycle to Sunset Boulevard. What if something happened to Veronica? Cragnow, Venin, and Paxton were still out there looking for me. If anything bad happened to Veronica, I had myself to blame.

  I stopped in an Internet café and checked my email. No news from my Internet hacker.

  I thought about another woman in my undead life. Lara Phillips. Why would she meet with Cragnow? She should hate him for trying to ruin Journey.

  I wrote names on a scrap of paper and drew circles around them. Cragnow, Venin, and Paxton in the circle of the nidus. Venin, Niphe, and Journey in the circle of the church. Katz, Roxy, and Cragnow in the porn circle. Lara and Roxy in the sister circle. Katz and Roxy in the dead circle.

  A circle around Cragnow, Journey, and Lara. Circle labeled what?

  I ordered coffee that I didn’t drink. I kept thinking about circles when my email Web site refreshed itself. A message waited from my hacker. The email contained two columns, one listing Katz Meow’s cell phone calls, and the other Roxy Bronze’s. On each column the last call was from the same number.

  I didn’t know when Katz had been murdered, but the call came in at 3:41 P.M. on the day she went missing.

  The call to Roxy’s number came at 1:02 A.M., about the time of her death.

  Who had called? I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and dialed the number.

  The voice on the message recording belonged to Lara Phillips.

  CHAPTER 50

  I stared at the number on my cell phone and compared it to the numbers listed in the email.

  I compared the numbers again. And again. The last calls to Katz and Roxy before they were killed had come from Lara Phillips.

  Was each call a warning? Or a setup?

  I looked back to the circles I had drawn around the names. What was the relationship between Lara and Katz? Lara knew Katz, but did Katz know Lara? Had she known Lara was Roxy’s sister? If yes, wouldn’t Katz have mentioned that to me?

  Katz couldn’t tell me. She was dead. But Lara could.

  I deleted the email, logged off, and went into the night.

  I took a detour on my way to Lara’s house. I cruised by Veronica’s apartment. The light shone through her front windows.

  I slowed the motorcycle and throttled back to coast quietly down the street.

  I caught a whiff of something familiar. Meaty. Spicy. Rancid.

  Rat chorizo.

  Coyote?

  I shut the engine and rolled to a halt. The odor was faint, almost as if I imagined the smell.

  “Vato.”

  The moaning whisper made my kundalini noir tingle with joy.

  “Coyote? Where are you?” I looked left and right, at the parked cars, the shrubs, the apartment doorways, even along the rooftops.

  “Around, ese.”

  “You’re alive?” I laughed, dizzy with giddiness. I took out my contacts and saw nothing supernatural. Was I hallucinating?

  “I’m as alive as you.” His voice came like the breeze.

  Coyote was here. I felt he was close enough to embrace, but how could I touch a phantom? This was beyond the ordinary undead paranormal; this was real magic. “How did you survive the explosion?”

  “I got my ways.”

  “So you escaped?” I tried to find the source of his voice.

  “No, hermano. I’m in the process of reconstituting myself.”

  Using magic? “What’s that mean?”

  “It means, ese, that you’re wasting time with these questions. You need to go. A la volada.” Flying. “Get Cragnow. Get Venin. I’ll watch over your mujer.”

  I didn’t want to tell him that Veronica was far from being my woman anymore. “Is she safe?”

  “Very safe. Don’t you worry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “More pinchi questions. Don’t you have somewhere to go?”

  “One more. Will I see you again?”

  “If you don’t screw up, Símon. Ya vete.” Scram.

  CHAPTER 51

  People and vampires were going to die tonight. I had seven rounds in my little Colt automatic as backup to my fangs and talons.

  Coyote was back. Sort of. And he watched over Veronica. I’d rather have him by my side, but at least I didn’t have to worry about her.

  Coyote alive. It sounded great. I opened the throttle and zoomed along the freeway.

  I rode to Verdugo City. In Spanish, verdugo meant assassin. Lara Phillips lived in the city of the assassin.

  I slowed to enter her neighborhood. My fingers and ears tingled from my sixth sense.

  Slow down, Felix. Don’t stumble into another trap.

  I paused at the corner to observe her house. Lara hurried down the steps from her front door and climbed into Niphe’s BMW coupe. She carried a canvas bag. Her aura bristled with agitation, as if she expected—or contemplated—trouble. A red aura and an orange aura waited in the BMW. Niphe drove, and the vampire rode up front.

  Why was Lara Phillips riding in Niphe’s car? Where were they going? To see Cragnow? Or someone else? Councilwoman Venin?

  Did the vampire notice the state of her aura? Or was he wearing contacts?

  The BMW pulled away. I followed, keeping a discreet distance.

  Niphe drove like a demon. To keep track of him all I had to do was follow the fastest set of taillights busting through traffic.

  The BMW left the Ventura Freeway and got on Coldwater Canyon. They headed for Cragnow’s estate. Getting in would be difficult, unless I attacked in a form they didn’t expect.

  I turned off Mulholland and ditched the Yamaha behind a clump of Joshua trees. I found a soft patch of dirt between short desert palms and removed my clothes, folding them into a neat pile that I tucked into the chaparral.

  I set my hands and knees into the dirt and summoned the transformation.

  Energy like fire burned through my nerves and flesh. My bones twisted and reformed. The marrow boiled with agony. Fur pushed through my skin with needlelike pain. My head felt squeezed in a vise that forced my jaws away from my skull. My fingers retracted into my hand, and my hands and feet turned into stunted, clawed paws.

  I lay on my side, panting. The pain of the transformation receded into a fading ache. I flexed my legs and stretched, cognizant of new strengths and powers.

  I lifted my snout. The night air filled my nose with a thousand new scents: wild blossoms; waxy leaves; insects; the droppings of birds and mammals. My ears detected tiny cr
eatures scrambling under leaves and across the sand.

  I stood on my paws. A glance across the scrub revealed nothing hostile.

  I chose a path through the darkest of the shadows in the chaparral and trotted toward Cragnow’s home. Branches and spines raked my sides and my fur absorbed the noise. I ducked under the twisted branches of an oak and traveled through the darkest void in the gloom.

  A car started and its door slammed. The engine growled and gravel pinged against metal.

  I galloped through the weeds and rocks.

  I reached the edge of the shrub. Twin red lights flashed at the entrance to Cragnow’s estate. The lights dimmed, the car made a right turn at Mulholland, and vanished past the trees. The burning fart smell of the engine hung in the air. Two cars remained on the flat field of gravel. Niphe’s car was gone. Who had left, and why in such a hurry?

  I stepped away from the chaparral and onto the gravel field. Lights illuminated the inside of Cragnow’s home. I moved carefully, ready to jump aside in case a human fire weapon barked at me.

  Nothing.

  Moving close to the entrance I smelled the sharp odor belched by a fire weapon. Then I smelled blood—human and vampire.

  An orange aura appeared from behind a jasmine bush. The aura moved low, as if the vampire crawled on all fours. A musky odor drifted to me. He was also in the form of a wolf.

  His eyes glared. He growled, his lips wrinkling to expose long teeth.

  I growled back and advanced across the wooden path above a shallow stream of water.

  He limped close. I smelled almonds. Blood glistened on his haunches. Pain showed through his aura. He was wounded and what else?

  I crept toward him. We snarled. The hair on our necks bristled. Our ears folded back, and our fangs extended to combat length.

  We circled to the right. Our bodies trembled in excitement.

  He lunged, but his attack was clumsy. I knocked aside his snout with my left shoulder. His jaws snapped along my ear while I twisted my neck to seize his throat.

  My teeth sank into fur and I pushed hard to drive my fangs deeper. He tried to pull away and I pushed again, harder still.