by H. T. Night
“Shh-h-h-h!” my visitor responded, moving closer to my ear. I grabbed the pen light and turned it on. A miniature halogen illuminated the ceiling directly above my bed. I believe I mentioned my bed is the top bunk, and I can easily touch the ceiling with my hands, though it wouldn’t have seemed like a wise move right then. I instinctively shrunk back, pulling my covers up to my neck.
Two faces studied me, one at the foot of my bed and the other less than six inches from my face. The iridescent green eyes and pale features near my feet announced Garvan’s presence, and unlike last evening he smiled warmly. That knowledge could have eased my tension, if not for the unfamiliar face so close to mine, wearing an ornery grin. Like Garvan, this other ashen face belonged to another male, one as stunningly handsome as Mr. de Sang. But his slicked-back hair and features were darker, with a little curl hanging down onto his forehead, sort of like Michael Jackson. This one’s eyes were a brilliant blue—bluer than any eyes I’d ever seen.
“Txema, it is good to officially meet you…finally!” the owner of this other face exclaimed, revealing fangs more pronounced than Garvan’s slender incisors. He seemed to find amusement in my fearful-though-enraptured expression, and threw his head back in an uproarious fit of laughter.
It was my turn to shush him, and I did so harshly.
“Be quiet or you’ll wake up Tyreen!” I scolded him, brazenly ignoring the fact that these two had a distinct advantage over me in my bedclothes. “If that happens, you’ll be in a serious world of shit, and then everyone on this floor will be up and going crazy on you!”
Realizing the likelihood that these guys really were vampires, I hoped it was true they could read minds—if only briefly—to where this creature of the night pictured my mental image of sixty angry bitches pummeling his ass. He definitely caught something from either my thoughts or, more likely, my perturbed expression, as he chuckled while studying me. For a moment, his eyes turned a deeper shade of cobalt.
“Let me go check on your friend,” he said playfully. This one’s accent was even more genteel than Garvan’s. Like he had spent much of his earthly existence managing an island plantation in the Caribbean. His face disappeared and I heard Tyreen’s bedcovers rustle. My pulse immediately quickened as I worried what he might do to her.
“Hello…Hel-lo Ms. Tyreen!” The vampire’s voice boomed powerfully from beneath my bed.
“What in the hell have you done to her!” I demanded, when she didn’t stir. Before I drew another breath, he was back in my face. The faint smell of ginger filled my nostrils.
“Nothing…relax,” he replied, wearing another Cheshire Cat grin. “Just a little ‘tap’ to ensure she does not awaken while we visit with you, dearest Txema!”
“Is that what you did to me last night?” I didn’t try to hide my irritation, focusing on Garvan, who frowned and looked away when I shot him an angry look. “Do you always treat new acquaintances like this?”
“No!” Garvan replied, his tone indignant. His face drew close to mine as he suddenly appeared in front of me. I gasped despite a warm musky scent, hinting of cinnamon, wafting toward me. “You gave me no choice!”
The blue-eyed one pulled him aside, whispering something sternly in a strange dialect that was neither French nor Spanish. Garvan looked over at me again, silently mouthing ‘sorry’.
“Who are you, anyway?” I asked, scooting back against the wall our bunk beds lean up against. I kept my fingers on the Tazer beneath my pillow, trying to remember how to turn the damn thing on without actually seeing the switch. “And what do you want with me?”
“My name is Armando Iocura,” he replied, glancing at the pillow. His smile widened. “I am one of five emissaries who have traveled across the Atlantic just to see you! We are here to make sure your pretty little neck stays pristine and whole.”
He paused, as if waiting for me to respond in some way. But all I could think of was Irma Goizane with her throat torn out.
“Not so pretty an image, is it? Yes, it is most unfortunate that others have also traveled across the ocean, although their more primitive senses lack the keenness to define exactly what they are searching for,” said Armando, removing all doubt that he could read my thoughts. I was at a definite disadvantage, as if the vampires’ other preternatural traits hadn’t already confirmed that fact. “They don’t possess our heightened sense of smell, nor our lucent intuition.”
He proudly tapped his long sharp fingernails against his head to emphasize this point, the manicured tips glistening in my flashlight’s glow.
“They must have some special senses to make it here, if they’re the ones who killed Irma Goizane,” I said, hoping to learn more about the ‘others’. Other what? I also sent a silent prayer heavenward that my visitors were truly the good ones.
“The others knew beforehand that one of your kind resides in America,” said Garvan, his long locks shielding his gaze, making his previously easy-to-read expression hard to see.
He threw back his head and shook it, the hair falling away from his face to reveal his handsome features clearly. His mouth formed a slight smile as he studied me. Armando looked over at him and nodded.
“The reasons as to why this is so is not important,” he continued, after releasing a low sigh. “What is imperative is that no harm comes to you, as I told you last night.”
“So, you two are real live vampires, am I correct?” I asked, though it seemed quite obvious. Their grooming and manners suggested they were more prone to vanity than most vamps I’ve pictured from novels—definitely not kin to Stoker’s Dracula. But, without anything else to go by they sure seemed like the ‘real deal’ nonetheless. “You are immortal beings?”
God, it felt really weird to say that…it sounded so absurd coming out of my mouth.
“Well, I’m not sure that ‘live’ is the right word to define us. We are not pale enough for you…no? Do you know anyone else who can effortlessly float above your bed while carrying on such a pleasant conversation?”
Armando motioned to Garvan as they both rose toward the ceiling.
I suddenly realized they had been drifting like this during our entire conversation. Up until that moment I had assumed they were standing on my floor. I half-expected the two of them to be dressed like Bela Lugosi, with black tuxes and white shirts beneath full-length capes. Both wore jeans and flannel shirts—pale-faced lumberjacks with sleek features that could put them both on Madison Avenue for some Calvin Klein advertisement.
“But to answer your question, yes we are vampires,” Armando continued, while his and Garvan’s heads bobbed just below the ceiling. Garvan moved closer to him, allowing me to hold my flashlight in one spot instead of alternating back and forth between them.
“So, it’s a bunch of pretty ‘Hollywood’ vampires against the so-called ‘others’, huh?” I asked. Really, it slipped out before I had a chance to decide if my cynical sense of humor would be appreciated or not, a meaningful question posed from an irreverent perspective. The initial looks I got from my visitors made me regret it, but before I could apologize for being so forward, Garvan spoke up again.
“In a sense, you are not far off the mark,” he advised, his expression solemn. “Like your movie stars, only a few fortunate souls make it to the Big Screen, as they say. That is similar to us, where just a few hundred vampires like us exist throughout the world. However, the army that is looking to destroy your kind numbers in the thousands.”
This revelation surprised me, and sounded beyond ridiculous. I mean, all this attention for just little ole me?
“So, these other guys are vampires too? I take it they don’t look like you two, either—am I right about that?” I asked, trying to define the scope of danger I faced while sitting up high enough to lean on my elbows in my bed. Neither one moved as they silently watched me...still studying me? Or was this how they read the stream of thoughts flowing through my head. I imagined my cynical forthrightness hindered that effort.
“That
is correct,” said Armando, finally. “You would find them grotesque and frightful. The closest thing you have in your modern world that I can compare them to is Nosferatu. But even his portrayal on the silver screen would be considered generous compared to the race known to the people of Spain as ‘La sangre fea embauca’.”
“Or ‘Monstres Glabres’ to the good citizens of France,” added Garvan, almost interrupting Armando, which drew another stern look from him. He looked away, uncomfortable again.
If there is a hierarchy or pecking order among all vampires, I had certainly just been given a clue as to who’s the boss between these two.
“These other vampires are like rabid dogs,” Armando resumed after returning his attention to me. “They are highly dangerous mongrels with no self control…no decency. They feast on what amounts to road kill in your terms, at least until recently. La sangre fea embauca were once a menace to ancient villages in Europe and Asia until the Industrial Age. They scurried underground like the vile vermin they are, and we’ve rarely heard from them since the early nineteenth century…. But now they have regained a lust for living blood and tissue, and no longer are content to hide in the shadows like recluse spiders, waiting for a meal to show up for them.”
He studied my expression; I’m sure searching for a trace of squeamishness in my blank look. But I was simply fascinated by what he talked about…about these other vampires with an obvious bent toward violence.
“So, you and they are different?” I persisted. “Yet, you both survive off the blood of people—”
“Or, sometimes animals too,” interjected Garvan. “But our kind doesn’t need to feed as often as the others do.” He nodded thoughtfully.
“The difference is in how strong the ‘germ’ is with them,” said Armando. “The mutation they bear comes from the exact same source that has afflicted everyone of us, a condition that all vampires deal with. Think of chupacabras. You have heard of these creatures, no?”
“The hairless mutated dogs that attack sheep and cows down in Texas?” I asked, wondering what the ugly critters I saw once on a Yahoo report had to do with our discussion.
“And in Mexico too,” said Garvan, who then quickly nodded to Armando. Apparently deferring this way kept him from another upbraiding look.
“Yes,” said Armando, glancing briefly toward our door as if he just heard something. Perhaps an RA had heard him speak….that could be bad for Elaine Johnson, if she ventured a peek inside my room. “They, too, suffer from a germ that is similar to ours, though the canine version does not slow the aging process. But the mutations are almost immediate…loss of hair and elongated fangs and claws.”
“Is that what usually happens to you?” I asked. Again, my mouth-gate couldn’t stop an abrasive thought from leaving my head.
Armando opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped. He looked over at Garvan and they both shook their heads.
“No, it will not happen to us—definitely not!” he said, turning his attention back to me. “There is not enough time to explain how this whole thing works tonight. Just know that our adversaries once started out like us, but then changed. We are different based on something in addition to the germ in our systems…something which makes us truly unique, and thus our numbers run much smaller than theirs….”
He paused for a moment to look at the door again. Then, he suddenly disappeared and I heard the doorknob shake, the lock being checked. An instant later he rejoined Garvan at my bed.
“I am afraid I must wrap this up,” said Armando, his voice dropping to a whisper as he drew nearer to me.
“So are you two going to try and drink my blood?” I asked, when his face came within a few inches of mine. The scent of ginger grew stronger. I feared a repeat of last night, where in the blink of an eye my blood had been drained—enough to make me pass out. What would happen if they took even more blood tonight?
“You are so silly, Txema!” he chided me, pausing to look over at Garvan, whose face had also drawn near...so beautiful in his deathly comeliness, his brilliant eyes pulling on my heart? Or was it my very soul. “We have no intentions of defiling your sacred fountain…at least not tonight!”
He smiled, mischievously, his fangs glistening in my flashlight’s glow. They seemed bigger than before.
“As I said, we are not like the others that are here—the human chupacabras,” he continued. “Think of us instead as a holier form of humanity, and one that is immortal—at least in terms of what you understand immortal to mean. We are like the Roman Greco gods of old, as they were based on what we are. And consider this…Garvan and I do not need to read history books to learn what took place in Europe during the last five hundred years. We were there!”
“This is true,” Garvan chimed in. “I even spent many a night in Marie Antoinette’s presence, as a member of her court! Most of her aristocrat attendants had no idea that I was different from them. I never needed to powder my face to blend in!” He smiled wryly as he reminisced.
The doorknob jiggled again and a key slipped into the lock from outside the room.
“Time to go, Txema!” said Armando, his excited voice rising above the whisper he had spoken with. “Garvan told you last evening to stay indoors, and that edict remains in effect for you. This is mandatory from sunset to dawn. They are hunting for you, and are getting closer. Each victim they take will be closer to here, I fear, although I am left to wonder why they have left a corpse behind—usually they take a body with them to feed on for days and weeks…like an African crocodile.”
“They struck again?” I asked, distracted by a crack of light that had just entered my room. When I turned to look back at my visitors they had vanished.
“Yes,” Armando and Garvan’s echoed voices said in unison. “Stay alive, Txema!”
“Txema? Tyreen?” Elaine stepped into my room, armed with her own flashlight. Tall, blond, and athletic, her hair was disheveled and she looked like she barely had time to don her slippers and a bathrobe over her nightgown. “I thought I heard a man’s voice in here.”
Like a male wouldn’t be somewhere on our floor during most nights.
Nearly all of the rooms on the female wing of the fourth floor have seen their share of guys come and go. I guess maybe it’s a question of discreetness. A glance at my bedside alarm clock confirmed that notion. 2:41 a.m. Boisterous male vampires apparently had awakened one of the girls on my floor, who in turn roused Elaine from her room. It made me worry about Tyreen again, since no sound came from her bed. Did they hurt her with something stronger than a mere ‘tap’?
Suddenly two quick clicks resounded from the window, and both Elaine and I directed our flashlights to the swaying curtain.
“What in the hell?” she whispered, after she moved over to the curtain and pulled it back.
Not only was the window shut, the latch was locked.
It left her muttering to herself, staring out the window at the nearby security light’s glare and the early morning darkness beyond. A gentle breeze caressed the windowpane, and no vampires in sight.
Lucky for me, she left, though in a huff. I couldn’t tell for sure if she was mad at me, or annoyed that she didn’t find anyone. At least when she turned the overhead light on, I could tell that Tyreen was okay, sleeping soundly. And I have no doubt that once Elaine returned to her room, she promptly went back to sleep.
If only it was that easy for me. Left to think about my recent conversation, I couldn’t go to sleep right away. Yet another restless night. One theme repeated in an endless loop, keeping my weary mind awake: Garvan and Armando…. Were they truly good vampires? Or, were they more like the bad vamps they spoke about, just pretending to be good?
Only time would tell.
Chapter 6
What a difference one day can make. Twenty-four hours after a brutal homicide rocked the campus, the morning hustle and bustle in getting ready for Thursday’s bevy of classes and other events was a somber affair. Not that everyone took things serio
usly, as Peter and Johnny made serial killer jokes at breakfast. Enough to really upset Tyreen, her tears were the only reason her man quit making fun of what happened to Irma Goizane.
My man soon followed suit, after a rumor spread like a wildfire through the cafeteria. Another victim had been found, and this one near Humes Hall. On campus.
The menace had stealthily moved from UT’s off campus housing to the dormitories. I shuddered as I thought of Armando’s statement that the ‘others’, the more primitive vampires, were tracking my scent. Did it mean that when I passed Humes Hall on the way to my morning classes the day before I had left an invisible trail for them to follow?
I prayed this homicide was unrelated—even though the rumor included the assertion the police had already confirmed the killer, or killers, were the same ones. But I held onto my fantasy of an alternate outcome. Even after breakfast when Peter and I stepped into the morning’s sunshine, everyone around us trying to get to their classes on time smiled politely. Nearly all of them seemed at peace.
“It’s probably just a coincidence, and we don’t even know the details of this other killing,” said Peter, after I brought it up again. “Let’s not jump to conclusions until we see or hear the official report on the news.”
We had just arrived at our biology lab, and I reluctantly pulled away from his protective warmth to sit down across the table from him. His confidence and comfort made me think for the time being that things would work out somehow. Even as I sat down across from him, his penetrating deep brown eyes and infectious smile warmed me as much as his body and light spiced cologne had moments before.
“I suppose you’re right…I hope so, anyway,” I agreed, while arranging my notes while he lit the Bunsen burner that our instructor had advised us to use for the day’s lab project. “I guess it’s best to sit tight until we know for sure.”