Blood Claim

by Laura Baumbach, Angela Fiddler, Jet Mykles

  "We're getting Cory back,” Luke said. “And you're getting the hell out of Dodge. That's about as far as I want to plan with you right now."

  "You're a fool,” Lathe snarled.

  Luke hit the gas a little harder than he meant to.

  They found Cory on the top of the Centennial Parking Garage. He was naked, as usual, and sprawled spread-eagle on one of the cars abandoned overnight. He was hungry, without even knowing it, but having that thing in him was probably taking more strength than it thought. The thing sat up when they reached the row it was in, and slid off the car onto Cory's feet. There was nothing more of Cory inside him, Luke saw, even from where he was sitting behind the wheel. If Cory wasn't asleep, he was far, far down.

  The garage was newish, less than a couple years old, but it was still old enough to have caused its own share of deaths. A homeless man, found frozen where he slept on the coldest night of the year, a hit-and-run victim who'd died before paramedics arrived. There was even a businessman who had been found clutching his chest behind the wheel of something black and sleek. They'd gathered around Cory, leaning into the power that he was, but Cory didn't seem to notice them.

  Luke didn't get out of the car. He didn't have to to know that it was all a very bad idea. Cory stared at him through the glass, and Luke knew Cory knew exactly what they were planning.

  "This is not going to work,” he told Lathe.

  "Have some faith,” Lathe said, using the word as though it only had four letters.

  "He knows why we're here."

  "Of course he does. But he doesn't know what you have in your pocket. You don't know how far a sexual obsession can go."

  "He can do a bit more to us than just boil a rabbit,” Luke said, but Lathe looked at him hard, so he get out of the car, too tired argue anymore. Cory hadn't moved from where he leaned against the fender of his car.

  "I revoke my invitation,” he said in Cory's flat voice. His arms were crossed, his face cold, but still his entire body leaned toward Luke out of need.

  "I think that only works in private dwellings,” Luke told him.

  "Really?” Cory asked. “You sure?"

  "Fairly,” Luke said. “Sorry."

  "So many rules to this body. How did you learn them all?"

  "One at a time.” Luke was close now; he hadn't been aware that he'd kept moving. He remembered planting his feet a good four or five yards from Cory. Now he was close enough to feel Cory's breath on his neck, if either of them breathed. It helped that he no longer smelled of Cory, but of something completely other.

  "I suppose I'll learn them as well. There are others coming like you. Soon this place will be swarming with them. And you and I will feed."

  "But you're hungry now,” Luke said calmly.

  "Starved,” Cory agreed. “I can feel your blood moving, and I want it. Also, I want to put you over this hood and fuck you, or at least this body does. Is that normal?"

  "For that body it is.” Luke couldn't kill the grin on his face. He wanted it as much as Cory did, and it took a lot of strength to pull back from the need. More strength than he had, and he was on borrowed time as it was, but he needed to understand.

  "The others that are coming here. Did you know they're all stronger than the one thinking about the chain in the trunk right now? Are those for me?"

  Luke looked over his shoulder. “Supposedly,” he said, though he had no real way of confirming what Lathe was thinking.

  "Does he think I'm just going to fall for that hypodermic needle in your pocket? That I'd just let you, what did he say, ‘stick’ me? Does he really think I'm that stupid?"

  "I believe he believes you'd be overcome with lust."

  "Overcome with lust?” Cory repeated. “Over you?"

  There was no lying to Cory, not when that thing was inside him. He pulled the truth from Luke like a handkerchief from a pocket. “I told him it wouldn't work,” Luke said.

  "Tell him I said you were right.” Cory looked back to him. “You make the one inside me happy. I like that feeling. Come with me. Serve me. I'll make you happy, too."

  "I can't do that,” Luke said, though it hurt him, physically, to deny Cory.

  "Yes, you can. Isn't giving in one of the easiest thing you can do? Just let me in."

  "The one inside you is dying. I want him back. I need him back."

  "I'm a hundred thousand times more powerful than he is."

  "That doesn't mean anything to me."

  "It does to the other one,” Cory said, motioning to Lathe in disgust. “He'd grovel at my feet for an ounce of what I'm offering you. Why won't you take it?"

  "You can take that up with him. I just want my Cory back."

  Cory pushed away from the car. “Do you think I couldn't just take it from you? You said it yourself—revoking your invitation doesn't work out here, and that's the only line of defense you have. I can show you parts of yourself you've never had access to before. I can make you like a god."

  "Not interested,” Luke said, and Cory just looked at him. Suddenly the cold night air was impossible to breathe, even as a pretense. Words failed him.

  "That's better,” Cory said. Its eyes were no longer Cory's. They were the same green, but the pupils almost completely swallowed up the iris. “No words, no more useless objections."

  Luke took out the hypo. “And what are you going to do with that?” Cory snarled. “I already told you it would have no effect on me."

  It's not for you, Luke thought, and Cory's eyes widened as though he'd spoken aloud. Luke jammed the needle into his own thigh. It worked as well as Lathe said it would. One moment he saw the growing anger across Cory's face at being denied that which he wanted; the next he was in darkness. He felt his head hitting something, and then he just floated away. He didn't see Cory, the real Cory, in his hazy dream, but he felt him getting weaker with every sunrise.

  Luke woke up in the basement of the Deane House, mouth dry and his head pounding. He didn't open his eyes until he could locate Lathe. The dizziness passed for the most part, and he could hear Lathe pacing back and forth in the narrow space.

  "You're awake. I heard you swallow,” Lathe growled.

  Luke sat up, touching his forehead. His fingers came away covered in drying blood. “I'm awake,” he agreed.

  "How could you fuck that up? Walk up to him, let him suck you off, and stick him. What part of that did you mess up on?"

  "He knew the needle was there. He knew you had the chain, and he knew the drug would have no effect on him.” Luke touched his forehead again. He had a lump. It was healing, but he would need to feed before it healed entirely.

  "You didn't know that for sure."

  "I did, actually. I only went along with your stupid plan so that I could talk to him without being taken completely over."

  "And you couldn't have told me?"

  "If I'd fully formed the thought to put it into words, I'm sure he would have been able to read that part as well. However strong you think it is, believe me, Lathe, you've underestimated it. It's stronger than that."

  "Impossible."

  "The only reason why you're not groveling on your knees right now is because he doesn't particularly want you there. If you think you can contain this thing, you're fooling yourself."

  "You're just saying that because you want all that power to yourself."

  "What?” Luke demanded. “Are you hearing me, or am I just wasting my breath, such as it is? He will destroy anything in his way, and he's already calling more vampires to serve him."

  "And what do you suggest we do otherwise?"

  "I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just stating the situation."

  "And what are you, personally, going to do about it?"

  Luke exhaled and touched the lump again. “I'm going to get Cory back."

  "And failing that?” Lathe asked.

  "I don't know,” Luke said. But he did know. It would only sting to bow down once.

  It was dark out. Luke went upstairs to
the second floor. He wasn't alone. The woman had stopped crying, but she was still there. The man in the attic, the murderer, the patient on the stair—and there were more people in the house. He saw indigents, not only the man Lathe had killed in the basement but dozens more from the winding paths.

  One of the dead wore a World War II uniform. Several were dripping wet, filling the room with the smell of river water and decayed leaves. Women, children, some so old and so faint they wore buckskins. The room wasn't quite twenty feet by thirty, but the dead were layered. They all needed the vortex back.

  "I'm sorry,” he told them. He went outside, under the cold stars. There were more dead under the ground. The vortex had chosen this land centuries and centuries ago, and it had cost dozens and dozens of lives. Human lives, which were frail enough to begin with. And now that thing was in Cory, and if Cory remembered any bit of it...

  Luke pressed his hands against his face.

  The first vampire walked down the old bridge in the middle of the road. The road was cold, coated with the ice fog that had crept up from the river, and a traffic light's reflection turned green, yellow, red, and then green again. The vampire walked right past Luke and knelt down in the grass in front of the house. He was older than Luke; that much Luke did get from him. But he was empty inside. There was no evidence of ability, nothing like what Luke could do, or what Cory could do. When Luke closed his eyes, he felt Cory like a burning torch, and this vampire in front of him was a bare spark. There were others, coming closer, and Luke didn't know why he didn't like that at all.

  He called up one of his old feeders, Jose, and paid for the cab to wait outside. They didn't speak. Luke didn't feel like it, but fresh blood was so much better than any blood pack. When it was over, and Luke wiped up the young man's semen, he got dressed a bit slower than usual.

  "You never call anymore. Did you find someone else?"

  "I fed from my partner,” Luke said. “He liked hunting."

  "Don't lose my number again, please. I like you."

  Luke kissed his cheek and gave him money for the fare back. “I won't. I like you, too."

  Jose closed the door behind him. Luke locked the door and lay down on the couch. He felt the blood work into his system, better than any alcohol, and while he didn't sleep, he sank down into the gray inside him.

  The knock on the door was more of a rap, like how a cane would sound against glass. Luke pulled himself up from his sleep and stumbled to the door. Still half asleep from the sluggish blood in his system, he pulled open the wooden door.

  And stopped. The desire to touch his throat—or better yet, to kneel—was instantaneous and all but uncontrollable. His master, Marcus, stood on the porch, the black car behind him gleaming in the moonlight. Marcus was the night. His dark eyes met Luke's with disdain he was trying hard not to show. He brought a lit cigarette up to his lips, the horrible smell of smoke curling around his mouth. He wasn't alone; a young pet stood behind him. It wasn't the same one Marcus had left him for. This one seemed even greener—and frightened.

  "Master,” Luke said, the word cutting his throat. “What are you—"

  "Are you going to invite me in?” Marcus demanded.

  No, Luke wanted to say. Bugger off would have worked as well, but he stepped back. “Please,” he said.

  "Please what, Luke? That's not specific enough."

  Luke closed his eyes. He took a deep breath to tell him to go away, but all he wanted to do was invite his master in. Luke remained motionless by the door, unable to speak.

  Marcus stubbed out his cigarette, smile wide on his face. “Luke. I asked you a question."

  "Now isn't a good time, Master,” he said finally.

  Marcus reacted as though Luke had slapped him. Luke supposed he had. “What did you just say?” Marcus demanded.

  Luke rubbed his face. He hadn't touched that part of him that still wanted Marcus's return in a long time, which was odd for him. The ashes had been cold to the touch, but just being near him made them spark up again. If he hadn't just been so close to Cory, however, he might have missed the very subtle pull he felt. He cleared his throat. “I suppose you can come in. If you want."

  "Is that all you have to say?"

  "It's all I want to, yes,” Luke said. He stepped back and made Marcus open the storm door himself. “What brings you here?” He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it, regardless.

  Marcus stepped into the house, but the pet was brought up short. “The boy, too."

  "The boy can wait outside,” Luke said and moved to the sitting room. “You won't be staying long."

  "I agree. This is hardly a suitable abode. What happened to the house I left you?"

  "An upswing to downtown property value. I believe it's a condo now,” Luke said. “You're not staying here."

  Marcus didn't appear to hear him. “There is power here, Luke. Enough for all of us. You'll be coming back to my family. Maybe not as my pet, but I will have need of your services. We must move now. Staking out territory happens quickly.

  "I'm not going with you,” Luke said. He stirred the ashes inside himself. Examined them. But now that he had identified the pull, there was nothing at all. Marcus's dark looks would always be classically beautiful. The eyes could still pierce. His jaw line was still regal. But he paled in comparison to Cory. “I think I'm really over you."

  "Funny,” Marcus said. “I made you. You belong to me."

  "You set me free,” Luke said. “I felt it when you released me. Did you think I'd stay there, pining for you?” It was ridiculous to hear it, especially since up to—had it only been a week? Less?—a few days ago, it would have been true. “You made your choice. I made mine."

  "Luke—"

  Luke held out his hand. “Take your pet and go,” he said.

  Marcus grabbed Luke by the throat, trying to pin him against the wall, but Luke had no problem peeling back Marcus's hand. Marcus was still strong; Luke felt that in his wrist. It was just ... Luke was stronger. Whatever Cory had done to him made him stronger. Marcus's eyes were wide, but he didn't protest as Luke showed him to the door.

  Marcus tried grabbing his wrist again. “Better to be with me than against. I would offer you more than other family could possibly."

  Luke shook his head and turned away. “It's not going to come to that."

  "I was afraid you were going to say that."

  Luke saw him reach into the inner pocket of his jacket. He smelled the scent of the black cigarettes and was about to tell him not to light up in his house when he felt the pin prick in his neck. “You've always been too trusting."

  "Fuck yourself on a cactus,” Luke managed, and was falling again.

  Luke woke, wrapped in the chains that Lathe had made, on the floor in the backseat of Marcus's black car. They didn't touch his bare skin, but he still felt the burning sensation. It wasn't enough to make him black out again, but if he'd been thrust into a bathtub full of razor blades he would have been in less pain. The pet in the passenger seat smelled more of Lathe than Marcus did, but only because the smell of tobacco had covered the original scent up. It had been a setup from the very start.

  "The vortex isn't looking for partners,” Luke called. “He only wants slaves to serve and feast on."

  "That's not going to happen,” Marcus said. “It's fooling itself if it thinks we're going to allow it to remain free."

  "How are you going to stop it?” Luke demanded. “It's stronger than you are. It's stronger than any of us, and it has no weaknesses."

  "It has one,” Marcus said. Luke waited and then realized Marcus meant him.

  Luke closed his eyes and waited.

  Marcus drove to the Deane House. Of course he did. Luke knew it would be a waste of breath to argue the point, how summoning the vortex and trapping it were two different things. They chained him out on the floor of the second-story room, right in front of a window, and the dead were so thick around him that when Luke looked into Lathe's face he saw a dozen dea
d men and women first. “You're making a mistake,” he said.

  "I don't think so. If there was one thing I had miscalculated before, it was the bond the two of you actually had."

  "It doesn't think like that. It doesn't think at all, hardly. If you think it is somehow magically attuned to me in danger—"

  "You would be absolutely correct,” Cory said from behind Lathe. He'd changed. There was so very little of Cory left, Luke knew by sunrise there would be nothing of him at all. Luke shook his head, wanting to warn Cory off, but by then he already had Lathe up by his throat and dangling several feet off the floor. Marcus appeared frozen, and his pet was motionless beside him.

  "Take those chains off him,” Cory said.

  The pet was the only one able to comply. Luke stared at him, feeling Marcus through him entirely, and he wondered if he'd been that pathetic when they were together. The hold had seemed absolute, and when Marcus had freed him, he hadn't taken all his chains off. With Cory in the room, Luke felt that he had been kept in that state of complete need for decades, and Marcus had enjoyed it.

  The chains fell free, and Luke jumped to his feet. In any other situation he would have taken off all his clothes to completely shed the burning, but he didn't consider it to be very wise right now.

  Cory shook Lathe, and he jerked in the air like a rag doll. “You've been a constant source of annoyance,” Cory said, face completely blank. “Did you think I would let you harm him?"

  "Cory—” Luke began, but it was too late. Blue flames, as cold as ice, ran up Cory's arm, and while they should have burned him, they didn't. Cory wasn't completely a vampire anymore, Luke supposed. Lathe, unfortunately, still was, and when the flames touched his face, curling around his ears and throughout his hair, he began to melt.

  Vampires are hard to kill, but not impossible. Luke jerked back, his revulsion at watching Lathe come apart instinctive. Cory continued to hold him, even as the fingers of flame slid up inside Lathe's nostrils, into his ears, and down his throat when he opened his mouth to scream. Once the flames became internal, Lathe burned away from the inside. Eventually Cory opened his hand, and that which remained of Lathe, the waxy remnants that turned to dust the moment they hit the floor, left a sooty black stain where they fell. Cory wiped his hand off on his shirt in disgust.