Vampire Miami

by Philip Tucker

  Out into the morning light, to be carried away from the jeep. She twisted, fought further, contorted and lashed out, managed to score a kick between somebody’s legs. They let go, fell back, only to be replaced by somebody else. Over the broken road, away from her family, her friends. She strained against them, wished as she never had wished before for vampire potency, for their power that allowed her to knock others down as if they were dolls. But no. She was just Selah. She couldn’t break free, and then they were in the copter, and it was lifting into the sky. Somebody placed a mask over her face, and a cold gas washed down over her. She writhed, struggled, but it was becoming harder. Impossible. Her limbs were leaden. Terror and fear weighed her down. Mama, she thought. Cloud. And then she was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Selah awoke from a dream of stillness, of a city empty of people and vampires. Of nature reclaiming the world, clothing the asphalt and concrete in her finery of green, of birds and animals making their homes in basements and offices and theaters that had once belonged to man. Of the great and vast sensation of rightness, of how this was for the best. Awoke by slow degrees, not realizing she was awake until after she’d opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling for some time.

  A nightlight glowed by her bed. It was a small lamp, and it had to be on a dimmer because its luminescence was but a soft glow that did little to push the darkness of the room away. She was in a huge bed, a king-sized expanse that accepted her body, molded itself about her contours and made her feel almost as if she were floating. She looked about, turning her head from one side to the other. A window to her left, large and open, looking out onto trees. She could see trunks, hear the sound of the wind stirring leaves. She lay still. Didn’t want to think, not yet. Lay still, and stared out the window. The trees reminded her of something, her dream perhaps. What had she dreamt? She couldn’t remember. Something soothing. Something good. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Floated in the stillness, and then the first pinpricks of memory came to her.

  The flash of an image. Mama hanging from her seatbelt, head lolling to one side, unresponsive. Selah grimaced, and turned her head sharply away. Another image: Cloud falling in slow motion off his bike, tumbling along the ground. Selah gripped the sheets in her fists, willed it away. No. Cholly, his chest a riot of raw flesh, his eyes wide open, startled even in death. No.

  Selah sat up, breathing rapidly. Where was she? Where was everybody? She looked about the room with a new focus. Large, heavy wooden beams crossed the ceiling. No decorations but for a large, ornate dreamcatcher on the wall over the bed. She swung her legs over the edge and saw that she was wearing soft flannel pajamas, faded blue and just slightly too large for her. Stood, and then paused. She wasn’t hurt. She touched her hand to her forehead. Nothing, not a scratch. She felt well rested, she felt good. That couldn’t be.

  Selah padded around the great bed. A large fur rug was thrown across the floor at its foot. Brown and thick, soft under her bare feet, a bear’s head attached to one end, claws at each corner. She moved to the bedroom door, paused, and listened. Silence. Selah hesitated, and looked at the window. She could slip out, into the garden. Escape. The idea was but momentarily attractive. Escape where? She didn’t even know where she was. And they wouldn’t have left the window open if they weren’t confident of trapping her should she try to flee. But it was more than that. She had to know how her friends and family were. She had to ask.

  She opened the door. Beyond was a living room, a fire burning in a stone fireplace, crackling and spitting and sending shadows dancing and leaping across the walls. A huge flat-screen television occupied one wall, larger than any she’d ever seen, as tall as she was and twice as wide. A sun climbed forth in slow motion, setting morning clouds aflame, bright and brilliant, its light liquid gold and quicksilver white. By its light and that of the fire, she saw the man seated on a similar fur rug in the center of the room. He’d been watching the TV screen, but when she opened the door, he turned his gaze toward her.

  Selah froze, transfixed. There was such dolorous weight and majesty to his gaze, such penetrating power. The room faded away into shadow; his eyes were two jet-black coals that stripped her down to her core, peeled back all her layers and left her naked and vulnerable to the cruel wisdom and insight he possessed. She felt herself shrinking, curling into herself, unable to bear their weight, their scrutiny. Then he looked away, and raised one hand to indicate the space on the rug before him.

  Selah took a shuddering breath, then a second one. Felt as if she’d just stepped out from under a glacially cold waterfall, her body shocked, numbed, yet awakened by the electric intensity of the experience. She had no choice in the matter. She stepped over to the rug and gingerly sat cross-legged before him.

  His face was beaten bronze, wide and with harsh cheeks. His mouth a disapproving slit, his nose flat, angular. His black hair parted down the center and wove into two short braids that hung down to each clavicle, intertwined with strips of cloth. But his appearance, his features, they were meaningless. They didn’t seem to be him. It was what burned beneath his skin, what smoldered within his eyes, that was the real man. Vampire. He wore human form, but was as far from human as one could imagine. It was as if winter were seated before her in the guise of a human, or a wolf, or the embodiment of silence. There were vast voids and depths to him, spaces she could not fathom, all of them contained within his body.

  He was wearing, she realized with a shock, a Superman T-shirt. That caused her to jerk her head back perhaps an inch at the dissonance of it. His face remained inscrutable. She looked down at her hands, suddenly confused. A Superman shirt?

  He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. It came to her, then. Who this had to be. Whom she had been brought to. Sawiskera. The lord of Miami, the vampire king, Theo’s sire, the most powerful vampire known to man. Her hands tightened into fists. She stared fixedly at the ground, trembling. This … this thing—had been walking the earth for millennia. If people were right. He was older than most countries. Selah’s mind raced. Sawiskera. Here. Before her.

  Then she relaxed. All the tension flowed from her like blood from slit wrists. Her shoulders slumped, and she lifted her face to look at him. So this was it. She wouldn’t have to kill herself after all. He would do it for her. Karl’s last present, no doubt, to the most powerful vampire there was. Would he drink from her? Would she gain his powers? She blinked. Could that happen? Would that be her escape? No. He would know of the consequences of drinking her blood. Would understand, and wouldn’t risk it. Would he?

  She swallowed. Why wasn’t he talking? He just stared at her. Those implacable eyes. She looked down again. Either way, events were now out of her control. She could not escape, not from him. She couldn’t resist him, either. The likes of Jocasta and Theo were children compared to this creature.

  The fire crackled and gave off a pleasant smoky smell. Silence. Resigned, she waited. There didn’t seem to be any point in asking him about her family. She felt as if he wouldn’t understand, be able to answer. So she waited.

  One moment he was seated before her, and the next he wasn’t. He was simply kneeling before her, one hand reaching out to gently brush her cheek with the back of his index finger. There had been no intervening movement. His face was grave, his eyes locked on her own, his touch cool and sure, moving down the curve of her cheek, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t think at all.

  “Do you love another?” His voice was soft, strangely accented, and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t formulate a response. But he looked into her eyes and seemed to read the answer in her very soul, and what he saw caused him to nod. When skin contact broke, it was as if she had been given the ability to breathe again, and she gasped, rocking back, blinking furiously as tears filled her eyes. She reached up and wiped them away, and realized that he was gone.

  Selah stood. Turned wildly, nearly tripped. He was gone. Not in the corner, not by the TV, just disappeared. The sun on the screen had barely cleared th
e horizon, she saw, creating a glorious morning. Disoriented, confused, she stepped to the bedroom door, peered within. Nothing. Turned back. What should she do? Find a weapon? Escape? Wait? Was he coming back?

  Unnerved, near panic, she heard a door open and then close in a further room. Decidedly normal sounds. She straightened, smoothed down her clothing. Lifted her chin. The door to the living room opened, and Karl Plessy stepped inside.

  He was turning to close the door when Selah ran at him with a scream torn from her soul. No thought, no decision, just an upwelling of hatred so profound, so utter and total, she could do nothing else. She lashed at him with both fists, trying to batter his face, but he caught her wrists with each, a genial smile on his soft face.

  “Now, now,” he said, and cast her down onto the rug. She fell hard, cracking her knee and elbow, but struggled back up only to receive a kick in the stomach. All the breath went out of her, and Karl placed both hands on his hips, watching to see if she would try another attack. He moved, fast, terribly fast, but she’d been able to see him move. Blur, even. Which once would have been terrifying, but now, after Sawiskera, was almost comforting.

  “Calm down, Selah, calm down. Let’s not get excited. I mean, there is cause for excitement, genuinely good things are in the works, but let’s not get carried away, hmm?”

  Selah lay heaving, fighting for breath. Motes of colored light danced in her vision, and finally she inhaled terribly, sucking air back into her lungs, wheezing and panting in pain. Karl laughed, and moved over to stare at the TV screen. He watched the sunrise for a moment, and then shook his head. Turned back to her, waiting.

  Finally, Selah sat up, her breath under control. She wanted to claw out his eyes, tear that smile from his pudgy face, but didn’t try. Knew she couldn’t. So she poured her hatred into her gaze, despite knowing that would simply amuse him further.

  “Well, the good news is that Sawiskera has accepted you as my gift. Good news for me, I suppose. You are to be his. I don’t know quite what he plans to do with you, but I’m sure he’s learned some tricks in his time that would put Jocasta to shame, eh? Ha. Poor Jocasta. What a disaster that night turned out to be for her! And to think, Theo got caught up in all that mess. How unfortunate for all involved. Ah, well, live and learn.”

  Selah stood. “Where is my grandmother? Maria Elena? What has happened to my friends?”

  “Oh, right. More good news. Everybody is fine.” Selah closed her eyes and felt a flood of relief wash over her. “Well, almost everybody. That driver fellow is quite dead, and both of the people on the motorbikes. They were unfortunately shot, several times, but, well, you really shouldn’t shoot at security, now, should you?”

  “Both of them?” Selah felt her relief drain out of her. “No. Please, no.”

  “Sorry. Your grandmother is fine, albeit a little sore, and my, does she have a mouth on her. A few slaps shut her up, though. She’s being returned to the Palisades, as is your friend. Maria Elena, is it? No problems there.”

  Two bikers were killed. There had been three. Selah waited, eyes bright. Unable to ask. To see which of her friends had died. Thought miserably: Cloud.

  “Oh, one last thing. Your friend, Cloud? The Resistance leader? Our dashing rebel? He’s alive and well. He’s being held prisoner, of course.”

  “What—” Thank you, Lord, she thought, trying to stand steady, to not let her knees shake. “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “You know how these things are. You can’t expect to lead a resistance movement and get away with it, can you? He’s going to be entered into the next Freedom Fight against our current champion. A small example, shall we say, to all other like-minded fools.”

  That was too much. Despite her resolve to be strong, to show no fear before this monster, she couldn’t take so much all at once. She sank down to the rug and buried her face in her hands. Cholly was dead. Joey and Cassie were dead. She couldn’t even process that. Cloud was being held for a Freedom Fight. She stared, dry-eyed, at nothing. Her mind numb. She had no more tears, she realized. No more tears.

  “Now, I know this comes as a shock, but this is what happens when you break a deal with me. I would apologize, but, well, you were the one who broke the deal. I actually think I’m being quite lenient by letting your grandmother and friend go home. I should have them killed, but what can I say? I feel sorry for your situation. It is rather tragic, really. So consider that a small gift from me, and proof that I do indeed have a sympathetic heart.”

  She looked up at him. Something in her stare made him lose the smile. “Well then. I have other things to attend to. You’ll be transported to a holding cell until all this gets wrapped up, and then I’ll present you formally to Sawiskera next week at a public event. Something to look forward to, I suppose.” His tone had grown hard, cold. He stared at her as if she were but a hunk of meat. “Until then, Selah.” With that he turned and left. Closed the door behind him.

  Selah sat still. It was too much. She couldn’t process it. She thought of Cassie helping her pick out her dress on Miracle Mile, her sarcasm and grouchy protectiveness, her lopsided smile. Thought of Joey meeting her in that dark bar, his face lit by a single flame. Cholly. Cholly and his hopes for Mama B. How he had done everything to impress her, to try and win her over. His nappy hair, his lumbering walk, his big eyes as he watched the world. Selah’s shoulders shook, and she lowered her head. Cloud, she thought. Oh, Cloud.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Selah was moved from the small house and placed in a security van. She didn’t look around, didn’t take much notice of anything. She felt numb and without life. Defeated. This was the end. At least her grandmother had gotten out alive, but Selah knew Mama B. She’d be devastated. Maybe the fight would go out of her too. There was no point in thinking things through. In looking for new options. Friends were dead because of her. Friends were still going to die. Enough. She wouldn’t fight anymore.

  They drove north. The van rumbled and shook over the cracked roads. They drove for some time. Where did Sawiskera live, she wondered? The moment of curiosity died. What did it matter? They arrived. The back doors were opened, Selah was dragged out, hands cuffed behind her back. She watched everything take place from miles away. They were downtown, it looked like. Across the pavement, and into the back of a high-rise through a loading dock. Selah didn’t struggle, didn’t fight. Barely walked. The two men half dragged her, half pulled her along. Into a service elevator, and then down a couple of floors. Out and into a concrete corridor. Basement levels, bowel of the building. It was cool down here, the dominant sound the distant hum of vast machinery. Along the corridor, past various doors. They stopped before one, and somebody opened it. Stepped inside, and she saw actual jail cells, old school, each cell with bars as thick as her wrist. It looked like something out of a Wild West movie. The bars emerged from the ground and went straight into the ceiling. Three cells, and she was thrown into the one at the farthest left.

  The men departed, but she didn’t care. She stared at the occupant in the cell to the farthest right. Theo. He sat against the concrete wall, wrists on his knees, watching her with flat, black eyes. Simple black shirt, jeans, feet bare on the floor. Silence. She could feel the hum of machinery through the ground. Selah scooted back against the wall, facing him. Watched him through the bars. He didn’t seem hurt. Just trapped. A prisoner, an animal, like she was.

  “So this is where you ended up,” she said at last. He didn’t answer. She took a breath, and then hung her head. The flicker of hope she’d felt upon seeing him extinguished. He was as helpless as she was.

  The minutes stretched out. She wondered when Cloud would be thrown into the ring. Was it happening now? She tried to recall the roar of the crowd she’d seen in the feed. Pictured Cloud going up against some monster of a man. How long would he fight? He wouldn’t go down easy. His dancer’s grace might keep him out of reach for a minute, maybe two. But he would go down. And down again, until finally he’d lay s
till, broken. Dead.

  “What happened?” asked Theo, his voice breaking the silence.

  Selah looked up at him. His face betrayed nothing. A mask of stone. She shook her head. “We tried to escape. Make a run for the embassy. They stopped us, killed some of my friends. Another one—Cloud, the guy leading—who was leading the Rebellion—he’s being put into a Freedom Fight.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve been given to Sawiskera.” Silence. No sound from Theo, not even that of breathing. “And you? What’s going to happen to you?” She opened her eyes to watch him.

  He stirred, shifted his weight. “I’m going to be given to what’s left of Jocasta’s brood. They will drink my blood, eat my flesh, and then kill me.”

  Selah couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Well, aren’t we a pair. Both our lives have turned to shit.”