In Her Blood

by Janice Jones

  “Just keep me updated on her movements if you can,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Dr. Gilchrest replied. “There is one other thing, sir.”

  “Yes?”

  “She’s afraid of something or someone.”

  “Really? Interesting,” he replied. SecDef sounded as if he were excited all of a sudden. “How do you know for sure?”

  “Just a feeling,” Dr. Gilchrest replied as he realized he shouldn’t have mentioned that.

  “So nothing she said or did?”

  “No, but I’ve been monitoring her long enough to pick up on her cues.”

  His chuckle seemed rude and completely unnecessary. If she was in trouble, they were supposed to help, right? Wasn’t that what they said they were here for? To help her if the operation went wrong and she needed them?

  “That’s good,” he said finally. “Very good. I expect confirmation on that as soon as possible. You have to take the initiative on this one, Tom. It’s very important to know what’s spooking her.”

  When the line went dead, he was glad. He tossed the phone on the desk then headed to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. As the machine hummed and purred, and his mug filled with fresh coffee, he rubbed his temples. With the full cup in front of him, he dumped in powered creamer and sugar as he contemplated what he had gotten himself into.

  She wasn’t what they said she was. She wasn’t just a soldier with PTSD. She was cautious, careful. And she had a heart, a big one. She cared about the Vets he helped and she cared about the people closest to her. She seemed broken in the hospital. Maybe she was and maybe they wanted to keep her that way, but why?

  “How did she look?” he remembered Carlisle’s question seemed odd to him. At their last real meeting, they met for lunch at Hank’s Oyster Bar on Dupont Circle one nice Saturday afternoon. He remembered because they had a table on the patio.

  “She looked like a successful businesswoman,” Dr. Gilchrest replied. “And you were right. She did remember me.”

  “She has an eidetic memory,” he seemed to say with pride.

  “She also has a great life. I don’t think you should worry about that missing time anymore.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked as he looked over menu. “Did she tell you what happened to her? Where she was? What she was doing?”

  “No, but she seems happy now, so why does it matter?”

  They placed their orders with the surly waiter.

  “It matters, Tom,” he replied. “I need to know that she’s back to her old self before we bring her back in.”

  The waiter returned with two beers and a dry ‘your order will be out in a minute,’ then left again.

  “Bring her back in for what?” Dr. Gilchrest asked.

  “We have a new assignment for her,” he answered. “Pretty simple, but important.”

  Dr. Gilchrest was confused. From everything they’d told him, she was out of the program; had been for years. Now Dr. Carlisle wanted to bring her back in. Why would she even consider a return to covert operations after all she’d accomplished on her own?

  “Jon, I only spoke to her briefly,” he sighed. “I can’t assess her stability after a five minute conversation. How am I supposed to get her to talk to me?”

  His grin surprised Dr. Gilchrest a little. A big platter of raw oysters landed in the center of the table. Napkins, crackers, lemons and a small bottle of Tabasco too. A pretty young woman helped their grumpy waiter bring it all out. She smiled as she placed two white plates on the table between them.

  “We’ve set up everything you’ll need for your foundation,” Dr. Carlisle said as he took two big shells to start. A couple of splashes of Tabasco and a spritz of lemon, then he swallowed the gooey meat with a nod of approval. “She’ll check you out first, but everything is clean and above board.”

  Dr. Gilchrest was speechless. He’d only mentioned wanting to start an outreach for homeless vets in passing. He looked through the portfolio Dr. Carlisle placed in front of him in disbelief.

  “How did you do this so fast?” he practically whispered.

  “The perks of working for the government,” Dr. Carlisle chuckled. “Don’t worry, she’ll want to help you. That’s your in.”

  Dr. Carlisle was right. She did want to help. And she helped him more than any of his other benefactors. He considered telling her the truth almost every day. But he could never bring himself to do it. But what if he did now? What would she do?

  When Strategic confided in him that she was not just any soldier, but one involved in a special project, it all made sense to him. The way she guarded her words. How self-aware she was. The things she said to him before she left for Las Vegas. As far as he knew, she was still under their control. And if he let himself think too hard about it, he had helped keep her under their thumb by following orders. Dr. Gilchrest absently stirred his coffee and pondered his situation. Why not follow orders? You’re a soldier too, he told himself. I’m a doctor, psychiatrist, he corrected. What’s best for your patient? “She’s not my patient,” he said out loud.

  Chapter 29

  It was just a shell now. Just a pretty wrapper that would soon be emptied of its contents then cast aside for good. He turned back to the mirror and smiled as he admired his new physique. Of all the things he imagined for his future, he never thought he’d be in a new century with a new life and a brand new body, at least compared to the old one.

  A nice young body was just what the doctor had promised him and he had delivered—someone unrecognizable to his enemies, but who would be revered and respected by his friends. Tristan couldn’t care less how Dr. Carlisle had acquired the volunteers. When he paid that kid to hack the computers, he was just looking for something to lead him to the identity of the Dagger. He never imagined he’d find a wealth of other information in the process.

  He knew his old body had too much history attached to it now. That’s why this ritual was such a great idea. As Tristan Ambrose, he had made more enemies than he wanted to count and had very few friends. Those he called his family were long gone and were not friends in the traditional sense anyway. Being locked in a frozen cage for years left little opportunity to meet new people. Although he had brain function, he couldn’t stop the experiments on his body. His jailer, Dr. Carlisle, as he heard many call him, took samples of blood and tissue almost every day. He would play awful music as he worked in the lab. Once he heard a voice use the term ‘classic rock’ several times during one of their sessions. Tristan knew if he ever escaped, the first person he’d kill was the guy from the ‘classic rock’ station the doctor always listened to.

  Then one day, his brain was awake without the sound of rock music blaring. Then his eyes blinked open and his thumb twitched as his body temperature warmed. At first he thought it was a trick. The doctor was hidden in a dark corner somewhere just to see what would happen next. Harsh lights overhead burned his eyes, but after a few minutes, he was able to raise his hand to shield them. An hour later, he was able to sit up, and found himself on a steel table with only a pair of thin cotton pants to cover his lower body. The ice coffin hummed next to him.

  Tristan looked around the room, caught his own reflection in a mirror across from where he sat. He barely recognized his gaunt image. Silvery pale skin covered his bare torso and head. His once lively blonde hair was frostbitten and brittle from the years spent refrigerated like old meat. As he slid slowly from the table, his bare feet landed on the broken glass on the floor underneath them. Inky red and thick, the frozen blood stuck to his skin as he walked gingerly toward the mirror.

  His exotic blue eyes were now dull and lifeless. The skin was tight and cracked, but not as bad as it could have been. He remembered a sharp pain spike behind his eyes as his body temperature rose even more. At the ice coffin he studied the lock carefully. There were four empty slots for the biomaterial that held the mech
anism in place. On the floor, three smashed vials that held the material.

  Tristan dropped to his knees and sniffed the samples. He tasted each one too. He’d track down the owners and make them pay for what they’d done to him. He began to rise, but stopped. His eyes scanned the floor again. Three vials. Three vials. An anger grew inside his rapidly defrosting body. Where was the fourth vial? Just as he was about to trash the entire room, the door opened and two hooded figures stepped inside. Behind them came Giselle. And the rest, as they say, is history.

  Shaking off his memories, he remembered that he was now a sire without children to lead. Tristan’s children feared him in the past. He understood that. He liked it that way as a matter of fact. What he needed then were offspring willing to give their lives for his survival. Now his methods had to change because the world he knew no longer existed. His new vessel had friends, buddies as he called them, and they went on trips together. They dined and played and wooed women together. As a group, his companions thought themselves better than the average human male and they went to great pains to prove it.

  And, with this new body would come new possibilities! He was looking forward to the future again. The 21st century was living up to the hype so far, but he had just been brought back a few hours ago. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself. There would be time to stake his claim on this new society. There would be more than enough time to rebuild his clan and put into motion his revenge on those who imprisoned him. The prize he was promised in return for his cooperation would soon be his as well. Then he would teach them not to trust a twelve hundred year old vampire with a grudge.

  He could feel the human fading inside him now. Screaming and begging to be set free—promising all sorts of riches for a second chance. In the next 36 hours, the original owner would slowly die out like an old car battery. Soon, his voice would be just a slight irritation, then nothing at all. By the time he reached the Northwestern United States, Brice Campbell, legal counsel for the world’s most powerful and famous, would be reborn. But Tristan would retain his memories, skills, and ideas. Everything would be embedded into the new owner’s consciousness.

  Tristan Ambrose, once a powerful presence in the old world, had come to the new one to pick up where he left off.

  Tristan studied his new physique with the curiosity of a child.

  He touched and stretched and pulled at every limb and digit. He took stock of how well defined each muscle was, for a human anyway, and decided he’d been given the best of the lot of hopefuls. He even admired his manhood as he held it gently in his hand. What woman could resist him?

  As the ritual dictated, he would be able to recall anything Brice knew. A long incantation, a sacrifice of some kind, and twenty-four hours later, Tristan’s consciousness was transferred to Brice’s body. For the next few hours, Brice and Tristan shared this body, but it was Tristan that took control of it. And, from legal tome to the face of his latest conquest, Tristan had access to all his knowledge and dirty little secrets.

  For now, Brice was still very much trapped inside his own head for lack of a better explanation. He considered that Brice had no idea what he had agreed to when Creed approached him with the offer. Meeting through a woman Creed referred to as a ‘call girl,’ Tristan figured the term to be a modern reference to a paid whore. He didn’t have all the details on how Brice had been talked into the deal, but Brice jumped at the chance the way Creed told it. It wasn’t Tristan’s fault he didn’t ask the right questions. The man was an attorney for God’s sake! He laughed and continued to take stock of his new identity.

  Brice, as he was eight days ago when he took possession of Tristan’s sarcophagus, would fade into oblivion soon enough. His soul extinguished to make room for a new one, Tristan’s. As the minutes ticked by, Tristan began to understand just how human he was right now. He felt the cold tile of the bathroom floor under his bare feet. He could only hear the hum of the machine in the next room and the buzz of the florescent lights above his head. And he felt hunger, growing and gnawing at his insides. He’d considered using Brice instead of taking over his body, but he decided against it. Humans could be too easily tortured and turned to trust sometimes. To hold on to Brice’s soul was fruitless. He’d served his purpose.

  Tristan turned back to the mirror and focused on his face in the harsh bathroom lighting.

  From his Korean mother, Brice had inherited the slightly almond shaped eyes and soft features inherent to the race. The genes from his American Caucasian father gave a rugged edge to those features. It worked for him though. And at six feet and two inches, he had a commanding presence that Tristan liked most of all. His forehead was smooth except for a tiny scar just at his right temple, which caused him to frown at the discovery.

  “What happened here, Mr. Campbell?” Tristan listened closely, then shook his head at the reflection. “Really? That was dumb.”

  As he continued down his face, Tristan noted his longish nose and strong cheekbones. Very regal, he decided with a nod of approval. He needed a good shave and possibly a facial, but that would have to wait, he told himself and Brice.

  His lips, pinkish and thin, didn’t please him at all. However, his teeth looked strong and would make wonderful fangs once they came in again. His dark hair, thick and well cut, shined in the light over his head.

  He turned his head left then right and decided his ears were too small. Maybe in this age that wasn’t such a flaw, but a few centuries ago small ears were a bad omen.

  “God, I would have hated to be born this way really,” he huffed and squinted at himself. “You’re so ordinary.”

  As his brown eyes moved down his body, he was pleased with it overall. But Brice had been soft in places he could have taken better care of. With Tristan in the driver’s seat, his diet would change quickly. Once he fully inhabited this vessel, everything about it would be different, better, perfect.

  The last thing he would have to do was ingest the entire blood supply of his old body.

  He turned and leaned on the doorframe to stare at the refrigerated casket in the far corner of the massive master bedroom. It hummed as it kept his old body intact. The bitter cold held the parts together while they were drained of blood.

  The device attached to the bottom captured every last pint of precious, pure ancient blood. When the two gallon bottles were filled, the shell would be allowed to writher to dust. He’d already picked the perfect urn for his remains.

  The ritual had worked according to plan. After the final step, Brice Campbell would be perfect and forever. He might look like him on the outside, but he wouldn’t be Brice Campbell on the inside any longer. He’d be Tristan Ambrose, a fourteen-hundred-year-old vampire with the world at his feet.

  Tristan stepped back inside the bathroom but the knock on the door didn’t interrupt his taking stock of his new self.

  She strolled in with a bundle in her arms.

  Round and plump, it slept peacefully against her breasts. He noticed those the second he opened his eyes. They hovered over his face hidden inside her clothes, which only made him want them more. She placed a flask on the table then turned to him.

  She may be considered older by today’s standards, but Tristan was sure she had experiences to share and ways to sway a woman to his favor in the modern world. Her big brown eyes sparkled behind long lashes as she looked down on the baby in her arms.

  “You’ll drink that first,” she nodded at the flask. “Then, you’ll have to start slowly once the blood is replaced,” Giselle said as she rocked the baby gently. “Newborn blood helps with the transition. And I hear it tastes like the finest wine in the world.”

  “First born, I’m assuming,” Tristan hummed as he continued his inspection of the child. “What’s in the flask?”

  “Different things to help that body ingest your blood; keep it down,” she smiled. “And, as promised,” she smiled down on the child in he
r arms. “The mother will be quite happy with his replacement, so no one will ever know the difference.”

  Tristan came from the bathroom without even a towel to cover himself.

  She glanced up, but didn’t seem startled by his nakedness. Maybe women were more relaxed about such things now. Or as he thought, she had experience; but compared to him, she was still a virgin.

  “Why couldn’t I have both mother and child?” he asked as he drew a finger down the child’s face then licked it with a smile. Warmth spread through him from the taste of the baby’s sweat. How perfectly delicious, Tristan thought. His mouth watered as he imagined what the blood would feel like on his tongue. He imagined it to be sweet and thick as it made its way down his dry throat and filled his empty stomach completely. The first taste of human blood was an experience he’d never forgotten.

  “Because you won’t be strong enough,” Giselle scolded. “I’ve warned you about the transition in the final stages. It will be painful, very painful until you are fully yourself again. Don’t treat this lightly, Tristan Ambrose. That would be a tragic mistake.”

  Tristan stepped back and bowed to her and the baby.

  “I am in your capable hands, Giselle.”

  “Yes, you are, and I will not fail you as long as you do as I say. Now, you should eat something and then get some rest. I will wake you at midnight. I’ve taken the liberty of having your lunch prepared and set on the patio. It is a beautiful day; enjoy it as a human would.”

  Back at her side, Tristan let his eyes move over her body as he slid his hand down her back. When it rested on her round butt without protest, he smiled down on her. Beautiful olive skin everywhere he looked and it all smelled so wonderful, even with his human senses.

  “You will wake me before midnight. If I’m going to experience the final hours of this day as a human, I’d like to see what it’s like to take a woman as a mortal man.”

  “As you wish,” she hummed and shuddered when he gave her butt a squeeze.