by Lewis Aleman
“I don’t know what he wants me for—that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, jackass.”
I say, “Ambrosia, it’s got something to do with your baby.”
“What? What are you talking about?” tears running from her eyes before she finishes.
“You have two heartbeats. Saw them the first time I saw you on the dance floor.”
Sniffling, “Been late. Few weeks. Been late before—never been too regular. I can’t be…just can’t.”
“It is. I saw it beating.”
She sniffles and says, “Knew it…just didn’t want to believe it…could feel something different…”
Edgar’s face looks panicked, “No, it’s about the stuff—I promise you all this is about the stuff. Roderick doesn’t care about any kid—never has.”
“It’s the same thing, Edgar. The kid is the new breed.”
As I tighten her corset around my waist, I marvel at how different Maxine looks wearing the brown wig that she had in her hand when she walked in. She truly looks like an entirely different person. I guess it’s easy to mold beauty into different shapes.
Since Maxine is so much taller than me, my clothes are tiny on her—all stretched out and doing a terrible job at covering her body.
Looking to the opened doorway and the unconscious Carvelli and Quint, she whispers to me, “Better hurry up, princess, and get yourself out of here before they wake up and see both of us in your room.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you dressing up like me?”
“I’m staying here, lying on the floor with my back to them, pretending to be you. Hopefully fool them just long enough for you to get yourself out of here.”
“They’re knocked out. Why are you staying? Why don’t we just run out of here—now?”
“There’s more vamps here than just them—they all need to think you’re still locked up in this room or you won’t have a chance.”
“But, I’ll look nothing like you.”
“You don’t have to—you just have to look enough like one of us for none of the others to notice you on your way out. There are always strangers here—girls the guys have picked up, but they all pretty much look like us, and none of them look like you. Those clothes make you look different, but not much like a vampire. Pray it’ll be enough to get you past them.”
“How’d you knock the guards out?”
“They were distracted.”
“Why was your corset undone when you came in?”
“That was the distraction.”
Little silver car jumps two lanes and cuts us off to get on the exit ramp at the last second—going about one third of the speed as us.
Slam on the brakes. Tires shriek. Feel Katrianna’s head smack the seat behind me. Edgar’s hands grab the dash. Inches from slamming into the back of the car.
Ambrosia’s body bounces with the turbulence, but she doesn’t look as though she feels any of it.
Soon at the bottom of the exit ramp—stopped behind the silver car at the traffic light. Its stereo booms—louder than its little engine, shaking the car. Heads bounce to the music. Not looking to turn right—just sitting and bouncing. No room to go around—trapped between concrete ramp railings.
Look over my shoulder at the motley company packed in the small interior. Ambrosia’s mind is no longer in the car. She stares out the window, a hand at her stomach. Edgar still licks over his filthy nails—casting glances at Ambrosia, and Katrianna taps her fingertips together, striking the nails of one hand against the other as if readying them for destruction.
“Edgar said there’s three floors. Ruby’s probably in a locked room on the second floor—only room with a door. Look-outs probably on the first floor. Mass of people in Roderick’s main room or balcony on the second floor. Third floor’s where any kind of intimate party is going on—this time of night, something’s going on up there for sure.”
Rethink plan, catch breath, continue, “Katrianna, are you sure you can get to the third floor?”
She makes a feline growl and waves her fingers, showing the edges of her knifelike nails. Can feel the rage in the tone of her voice. She’s going to be wild—savage. Hopefully it won’t ruin this and condemn us all to Roderick’s demented imaginings. Have to chance it—going to need all the help I can get.
I continue, “But if they’ve figured out we’ve picked up Edgar here, everything we know about what’s going on in there is going to be wrong—they’ll be waiting for us—know what we’re aiming for—and they’ll use what we know to trap us.”
Look over at Edgar who fluctuates from a smile to a sneer, “Edgar, you stay the hell out of the way—as soon as we park, get lost.”
“Oh, I’ll be around, but don’t worry about me.”
“Edgar, I’ll kill you—you know it.”
“We’ll see what we all know and don’t know before the night’s through,” looking back to Ambrosia, tongue to the corner of his mouth.
Light turns green. Silver car sits. Driver bounces his head in a circle.
I lay on the horn.
Single finger is raised at me. Car still sits. Heads bounce again. Finger stays in the air.
“Katrianna, when was the last time you drove a car?”
“Years.”
“Can you do it again?”
“Yeah.”
Opening my car door, “I’ll be right back.”
Chapter XIX
Into the Hive
Shove gas pedal to the floor. Borrowed silver car jumps the curb—its little engine screaming like an angry chainsaw. Fingers squeeze the steering wheel—digging into it—cracking it—whitening my knuckles.
Seatbelt buckle bangs between the door and the seat—chiming out a warning for the disaster I’m racing toward.
Heads on the balcony turn to look in my direction. At least eight of them.
Tearing through the grass—slinging mud into the air in a shower of filth, the house looks larger and larger—closer and closer. Aim the passenger corner of the front bumper at the right column of the porch.
Front of the car ruptures the boards of the porch. In an instant, wood cracks—splinters—and flings up. Car reaches the column—body rises in the seat—head breaks through windshield—column cracks like a tree struck by lightning—thunderous and menacing.
The shattering glass surrounds me. Slicing. Piercing. I soar over the hood—flying over the porch. The front wall of the house seems to rise up toward me as my face crashes into it.
Loud snap in my neck. Pain shoots down spine.
Balcony creaks and snaps. Cracking in half on the right corner. Crashing to the ground—people are sent flying onto the lawn, sidewalk, and driveway.
Having trouble moving my left arm—crawl with right, push with numb legs. Roll off the porch onto the ground. Right behind thorn bushes. Kick in rotten lattice work that lines the bottom of the building—fencing in the area under the raised house. Roll myself underneath it.
Pain shoots through me in shocks.
Hope I’ve crawled out of sight enough to give me time to heal. Hope I can heal—gonna take a ton of energy. Hope it was enough to get Katrianna in the third floor without being noticed.
Hope it gives her a chance to get Ruby—get her out of here before they find me.
Stick my head out into the hallway—fully expect something to lash out and cut it off—leaving my blue and black prison chamber for the dank, off-white corridor.
Loud thuds and screams come from the third floor above.
Carvelli knocked out on the right. Step over Quint on my left—he starts to stir. Maxine’s hand pushes my back firmly—sending me flying over him. Feet hit the floor—look back to see if it woke them up. Quint’s hands rub at his face—Carvelli still not moving.
Maxine’s eyes are commanding beneath the brown wig she dons, eclipsing her blonde hair—subduing her brazen brightness to take my form, squeezed into my clothes that are too small and too tame for her, as she gives me a nod to move forward and throws me a
last look as she closes the door, leaving herself inside.
Screams stop upstairs. Hear feet coming down the stairwell that’s out of sight and around the corner.
So crazy—so unexpected. Surreal—like I’m planning or dreaming an escape—not actually doing it for real, as if I’m still trapped in the blue-black void. Trusting Maxine deep inside Roderick’s cavernous house—taking an escape route provided by a succubus.
What am I doing?
Can’t just sit still waiting for Simon to come into this hell to save me. Waiting on him to get slaughtered—waiting on Roderick to grow tired of toying with me—tormenting me. Soon he’ll move from attacking my mind to my body. Who knows what else he has waiting for Simon? Have to do something. Have to try.
Put my life in the hands of a female beast—a vampire who loves my Simon, one who’d be better off if I wasn’t.
See sharp fingernails hanging around the corner. My hand grasps the same stake that struck Maxine. Dim light reveals little, but what it does show breeds dread.
If this is it, I wish I could press against his lips one last time—let my soul soar inside his eyes—feel his heartbeat pulse into my chest.
Whatever horrors are around this corner—whatever monster belongs to those claws, I hope Simon stays free of them.
Follow me into the vampire’s den. Not really our place—Roderick’s place. All who can bow are welcome.
Enter through the back window under the shadow of the rear balcony—the dark, unseen entrance is appropriate. So much happens inside these walls that the sane would love to turn their backs to—pretend it never happens—not in their happy world. Would kill to be in their world. Sometimes kill just to stay alive in my own shadow of a world.
Slide the window up—it’s always unlocked. Wood frame cries a little—squeal into the darkness of the back room.
Hear shuffling—maybe a mouse—a rat. Can’t see anything. Streetlight doesn’t reach back here—not much else does either.
I’d say you’d get used to the smell, but numbing your senses is the only thing that makes it reek less. Can’t explain it exactly. Can’t live like an animal and not have your home smell like a wild den. Musky on the edge of rotten, but human girls associate it with sex. They don’t seem to mind it on us, but most of them have drank, smoked, or shot their senses dull before being brought here. We find them late in the night—coming for them when we know they’re ripe, and we know exactly where to look.
Step through the window. Hand flies at my face—nails extended—threatening.
Grasp its wrist mid-air—inches from my eye.
“Little touchy tonight, Desirée?” I ask.
“Dangerous night to be creeping though windows, Edgar.”
“Always dangerous creeping though windows—especially in this place.”
Barely see her eyes in the darkness. Haven’t seen her in weeks—a girl after my own addictions—hooked on the same things but not in as deep as me. Not yet.
“Where’s Roderick?” I ask.
“Upstairs—where he always is.”
“Crowd with him?”
“Yeah. Supposed to be a busy night. War’s going on outside.”
“Will be. Very busy.”
“Speaking of busy, Maxine’s here. Borrowed a wig from me.”
“Maxine’s here? Wonder if Roderick knows she’s here. He won’t like that. Not tonight.”
“He’s looking for you, you know. Pissed—said you ran off at the bar.”
“Roderick still got the girl—what’s he pissed about? Didn’t need me.”
“He got the girl to get the other girl—still doesn’t have the one he wants—didn’t get the blue-haired one. Besides how’d’you know he got any of them if you cut out early?”
“No need for questions, dear. Why don’t you keep those sweet lips shut and forget you ever saw me come in here?”
“Can’t, Edgar. Roderick’s gone nuts. Kill me if he finds out I saw you and didn’t tell him.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, not this time,” Desirée resists, shaking her head trying to convince herself. So feeble. So pliable.
She looks like she’s made of angles. Always twisting her body askew before she says anything. Shoulder cocked up at one angle—her chin down at another angle—her eyes aimed up and over at me from yet another. Three separate angles to separate her from what she says. One for satire, one for sarcasm, and one for style. Never looking head on—but behind a few turns, distancing herself from what she says, making a simple phrase seem deeper because the words must travel through the maze of curves in the pose she holds, hiding her real intentions down the crooked path into her mind, far away from being responsible or ridiculed for them—the listener having to look from her pointed shoulder, down to her neck, from her neck to her chin, from her chin to her lips, and from her lips to her eyes that lie beneath batting lashes. She makes it a winding journey for anyone to see inside her, and most are too lazy to travel through her bends and folds.
I see into her because I just like breaking through doors that I’m not supposed to open.
“Yes, you can—you will. You find a nice place to hang out—a quiet corner in here, and I’ll bring you some of the good stuff.”
Her face lights up—can see it even in the darkness that my eyes are slowly becoming used to, “The new stuff?”
“Yeah, the new breed. What else?”
“You promise?”
“Now, what good are words, sweet thing? Desire is good enough—you know I want it as much as you. Ache for it,” fight to keep my eyes from rolling in the back of my head, “All the better to feed on it together.”
“How are you gonna get it?”
“Just found out where it’s kept.”
“Okay…okay.”
I pat Desirée’s cheek with an open hand and finally release her wrist. She disappears out the doorway, so far into the pitch black that I can’t see her, but the marks of my pressing fingers are still red in her wrist and my promise in the dark tantalizes her senses. Her heartbeat pounds with the thought of the new breed—not even the darkness can hide her lust for it.
She’ll keep quiet. At least until her rising urges make her scream out in impatience. Better not take too long.
Birth of flames. Hungry tongues surging out—lusting for air to burn more—hotter—faster—spreading.
They burn out of the engine—flickering high in the air around the hood that has been busted open and mangled.
The edge of the fallen balcony crashed into the driver’s seat—crushing the roof of the car—smashing it down toward the ground—mangling its axles under the immense weight—bending the wheels crooked and sticking out. Flames rise up and scorch the wood.
Don’t know if I hate or welcome the fire. Definitely welcome the dark smoke billowing from out of the hood—wish it would be thicker, more dense—everywhere, granting me a smoky cloak to hide beneath.
Don’t know if I’m far enough away if it explodes suddenly—flames could reach the gas tank—could have ruptured the gas line—could engulf me in an instant. Start to wiggle my body—push with my legs to shove myself deeper under the house.
Need a minute to heal. The sting still shoots through me. Maybe need two minutes.
Even in the darkness I can see discoloration in the shape of puddles and drips on the wooden floorboards above my head. The terrible tales these stains could tell—each dripping from some atrocity, spilling from something wicked.
Sharp nails pierce my left ankle. More dive into my right. They tense and drag me back toward the smoke and fire.
Nails hanging around the corner move in my direction. Swing the sharpened stick at them—all my strength. Feel like time’s grown lazy and slow as the stake slices through the air.
Much faster than the small, pointed branch moves, the sharp-nailed hand chops at the stake, slicing through it, shattering it—sending splinters shooting in all directions.
The jagged edge of the stub lef
t in my hand dives into its shoulder, scraping and tearing.
Woman—it’s a woman. Black and gray hair—angry, lit eyes.
She grabs my forearms and slams me hard against the wall. Fangs threaten. Frantically she scans over my face—my eyes—then to my fingernails.
“You’re no vampire.”
“No.”
“Ruby?”
Scared, “Yes.”
“Damn it, girl—I’m here with Simon.”
“Simon! Simon’s here!” my heart touching joy I thought it’d never reach again.
Her hand presses over my mouth.
“Keep quiet,” she commands in a hard whisper, then releases my mouth.
Looking over the wildness in her eyes and her gray and black hair, I say, “You’re the one he went to see—Katrianna. I mean Kari—”
She cuts me off, “It’s fine—Katrianna’s fine. I am what I am. Suits me better anyway.”
“I-I’m sorr—”
“No time. Got to get you out of here. Out the back—the back door.”
“That’s what Maxine said.”
“Maxine! Oh, God! Where?”
Quint pushes himself off the floor onto an elbow.
She looks at me with untamed eyes, “Run! Down the stairs—out the back—red car—five blocks toward downtown—can’t miss it. Now!”
She turns to go after Quint. Carvelli starts to twitch.
Without looking back at me, she says, “Run!”
I can hear her feet charging down the hallway as mine scramble toward the stairs.
Hear male screams as soon as I hit the first step. Hard to remind myself it’s a good thing—sounds so far from anything good.
Flames flicker in the tall windows that flank the front door—one of them shattered and cracked.
See something at the base of the stairs. Man—not impressive enough to be Simon—but imposing enough to be deadly. Keep my head down. Pray the craziness—flames—and Maxine’s clothes keep whatever horrible thing he is from noticing me. Not likely.
On the mangled front porch, my throat is pinned against the shut door.