The Cowboy and the Vampire: A Very Unusual Romance (The Cowboy and the Vampire Collection Book 1)

by Clark Hays

  Local No. 24 B Manhattan Firehouse was directly across the street and the firefighters were gearing up to respond. The siren was ear-splitting, but faded quickly as the truck left and the background city noise settled into place. As I exhaled, I wondered how my agent was faring with the Last Cowboy book pitch.

  The whistle of the teakettle interrupted my nicotine reveries. Stubbing the cigarette out, I returned to the kitchen where Felix waited patiently by his dish. I poured some dry food and he rubbed against my leg in appreciation. With coffee in hand, I headed for the shower, setting the cup on the ledge and adjusting the water to just short of scalding.

  Most people sing in the shower. Not me — I do my best work in the shower.

  The research on vampires had been routine, even interesting, and certainly productive. The Harrold archives had some information, the rare book room at the Central Library even more and, of course, there was no shortage of vampire-related content online. Some of the most interesting material — rare, out of print books — just appeared, dog-eared and underlined, on my desk; the efforts of an eager, or enchanted, intern seeking some brownie points, it seemed.

  To my surprise, I was somewhat intrigued with parts of the actual legend. The ancient mythical world of the vampire was a far cry from the hordes of silly kids I interviewed. Maybe that could be my angle, I thought, the difference between the vampire myth in folktales and literature, and how the current fad was so Hollywood, focusing only on fangs and blood. And sex.

  In folklore, vampires definitely did not spring up on cue when the opening credits stopped, wearing black capes, bearing fangs and moping through an extended adolescence. Outside of Dracula, most historical characters fitting the vampire bill were aggregated creations of frightened, preliterate societies. Bloodthirsty vampires handily explained away contagious diseases, overwhelming lust, inexplicable murders and practically any other mysterious but completely human phenomena. Still, I wondered, why the continuing fascination? Why had this myth lasted when so many others faded or turned comical, like leprechauns? What was it about the vampire myth that kept its hold on humanity?

  Sure, I thought, sudsing my hair, that will work, that’s the thread that can hold together the article, which meant I could shut down the research phase and start writing. Tonight would be the last Goth event I would have to bear. And when I wrap up this latest article, I’d make time to pay Tucker a visit.

  Or should I?

  Was I really going to leave my job at the magazine to work on what, the weekly LonePine Gazette? And there was certainly no place in Manhattan for Snort, and Rex would hate it, not to mention Tucker.

  A fling with a man more than two thousand miles away who lived in a trailer made very little sense. Was I in love, whatever that was? He certainly hadn’t said anything about love or forever, but still, I could tell he was feeling something. And after one too many beers, I had probably said too much on that point.

  After I finish this story, I’ll go back. Just for a little while. At least one last visit before getting back to reality, I thought, rinsing off. Clear it up, explain what I meant about love.

  The invitation for tonight’s affair arrived two days ago, careful calligraphy on gold brocade paper promising, “A Thoroughly Diverting Evening of Vampiric Delights.” At least it was being held at the Weeber Gallery, a strike in the direction of respectable pretentiousness. Many an untalented artist developed investment potential at the hands of Max Weeber.

  The phone buzzed. I ignored it. A few seconds later it buzzed again. Cursing, I turned the water off and wrapped a towel around me, squeezing excess water out of my hair, and picked up the phone.

  “Vaughan here.” I expected someone from the office.

  Instead, there was a refined British voice on the other end. “Ms. Vaughan?”

  “Yes.”

  “My master wishes me to ascertain whether you will attend our little gala tonight.”

  “Your master?” I asked. “What are you, a dog?”

  “Yes, just so,” the man said. “Can we count on your attendance?”

  “I’ll be there with bells on. Or should I say crosses?”

  “Quite. Splendid then, I will inform the master. He will be most pleased.”

  “Listen, I thought vampires sleep during the day.”

  “Oh they do, Ms. Vaughan, they do.” There was a click, and he disconnected.

  At least this party sounded like it might be a little classier than the mosh-pit spectacles I had been privy to for the last two weeks. I ruefully surveyed the red marks on the back of my hand.

  At the Spartacus club last week, a chubby little man in a cape sank his plastic fangs in unexpectedly. I grinned at the memory of him hopping up and down and cursing in a most human way after I stomped on his toes with my heel.

  I read the paper, finished the pot of coffee, made another and drank most of it as I roughed in the outlines of the article. The phone buzzed again, but I checked the number first and saw it was Ric. He didn’t leave a message. I looked at the clock and smiled. Since the party took place at night, there was no sense rushing into work. Instead, I thought about all the things I should be doing: going for a run, picking up my dry cleaning, following up on the phone call yesterday from a disgruntled assistant in the mayor’s office, cleaning my apartment, getting a new cleaning lady — the list was endless. Instead, I crawled back into bed to think more about Tucker.

  It was well after noon when I woke up. Felix watched me change into my office wear, a charcoal-gray tailored blazer with pinstripes, matching pants with cuffs and a turquoise blouse. For old times’ sake, I slipped on my cowboy boots and checked the final result in the mirror. Not bad. The haircut from last week was a definite improvement. Shorter and sleeker.

  On the way out, I checked the mail, disappointed there was nothing from Tucker. I never really figured him for the writing type though, and given his stubborn refusal to get a computer, the likelihood of an e-mail was also zero.

  At the office, things were in the usual state of turmoil. Stan was lumbering from desk to desk making important editorial observations like, “Where the hell is your article,” and, “You call this writing?” I waited until he returned to his office, knocked and he barked for me to come in.

  “What do you want and how much longer is that damn vampire article going to take?”

  “I’ll have it done by Monday,” I said.

  “Good, except I want to see a draft on Friday.” He returned his attention to a folder on his desk, scowling. I waited quietly. “You’re still here,” he said at last, without looking up.

  “Yeah, I just have one tiny question, more of a favor, really. I was hoping there was someone else who could take photos tonight.”

  He cut me off with a wave of his hand. “Ric’s the best we have, you are the best we have. Therefore, he goes with you.”

  “It’s just that…”

  “I don’t want to be indelicate here,” Stan said, finally looking up. “But you are the one who tumbled into the sack with him. You’re a big girl. Learn to deal with the consequences.”

  “But,” I said, stalling out quickly.

  “End of story.”

  “But, Stan.”

  He scowled menacingly. “Listen, your last story about the cowboy was good, maybe the best this magazine has run in a while. But when it’s all said and done, it ran in my magazine, therefore this is my decision.” He looked at his watch. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

  I walked over to Ric’s desk and he looked up at me through a filter of wounded pride and a glimmer of hopefulness in his eyes. I handed him the party briefing notes. “Get it straight,” I said before he had the chance to speak. “I don’t like this anymore than you, so just read the notes, we’ll go to the party and you can take your pictures.” I flagged down an intern and shoved some money in her hand. “Tuna on rye. Mayo, mustard, lettuce. No onions. And an iced tea, no sweetener.” She looked at me blankly. “Go.”

  “Gett
ing a little bit of an ego, aren’t you?” he said, as the girl rushed out. I silenced him with a glare, and sat down at my cluttered desk which, unfortunately, was right next to his.

  I punched out six pages before it got dark.

  “Want to share a cab to the party?” I said to Ric, lighting a smoke now that everyone was gone.

  “You could play this role,” Ric said, paging through the notes.

  “Me? A vampire?”

  “You’ve got some of the characteristics down pretty well already,” he said. “What’s it say in Webster’s? A beautiful, unscrupulous woman who seduces and leads men to ruin.”

  I thought my response was pretty calm, given the thunder and lightning inside. “If I thought it would do any good to say I’m sorry, again, I would. But it won’t, so let’s be grown ups and get on with this assignment. It only lasted three months. We’re not meant for the long haul, you know that. We have to work together, so please don’t be small about this.”

  “At least I would have the decency not to break up with someone by phone.” He looked at me expectantly for sympathy. I had none to give. I just smiled insincerely to get myself out of this situation and took Ric’s hand. God, I hate it when men act in this insipid way.

  Ric brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “It’s just that you’re hard to get over,” he mumbled.

  I said nothing, knowing my silence was likely to be more effective than any words could be. It worked and Ric’s mood changed quickly. Silence embarrasses men, makes them posture, and Ric was true to his gender. “I bet I can find another vamp tonight at our party. Let’s get this little blood-sucking show on the road, shall we?”

  Like most older buildings in downtown Manhattan, the Weeber Gallery looked stately and innocuous from the outside. A young man was waiting at the door to inspect invitations. After showing him ours, he ushered us inside the industrial elevator and directed us to the third floor. It was a pleasant surprise to find the gallery well lit and crowded with an interesting mix of attractive people, not a single one of whom was wearing Gothic accessories made in China and purchased on the internet. They all appeared to simply be wealthy patrons of the arts gathered to view an exhibition.

  The paintings, granted, were disturbing. Huge canvases covered nearly the full height of the loft walls, dark and primal with looming shapes and hidden currents of erotic power. Other than that, it was sedate. No funeral fugues, no Halloween props serving as centerpieces with flickering candelabra and fake cobwebs, nothing at all to reveal the vampire theme the invitation promised.

  No sooner had we entered than a young lady attached herself to Ric and diverted him away. I suppose some might find her attractive in a buxom, under-dressed Hollywood-starlet sort of way. Alone, I wondered how long I would have to stay when a distinguished older man approached. He was not particularly attractive, of average height, slim and fit, with jet black hair highlighted with flickers of gray. His skin was smooth and pale and he wore an unremarkable charcoal suit that stood out only in its simplicity and impeccable cut. But as he introduced himself, his voice was low and powerful, like a wolf barking through gravel, and his eyes burned fiercely.

  “Good evening, Ms. Vaughan, I am Julius, your host and,” he gestured behind us, “master of ceremonies, so to speak. I am glad you could make it.”

  “How could I say no?”

  “How indeed?” He arched an eyebrow smugly.

  “It’s certainly not what I expected.”

  “That could be interpreted a number of ways,” he said. “I trust you are not disappointed.”

  “Not at all. Pleasantly surprised, really.”

  “A glass of wine, then?”

  “Please.”

  He snapped his fingers and a young man brought two glasses of Pinot. “From my private reserve.”

  “Wonderful. May I ask you a question or two?”

  “Of course,” he said. “But only if I may ask you a question or two as well.”

  “Me first. Where are the vampires?”

  “Why, Ms. Vaughan, you’re talking to one,” he said.

  “And all the others?” I looked over his shoulder at the genteel crowd.

  “Also vampires. Well, most of them. Some are vampires by lineage only. They have yet to take the final step, the leap of faith, one might say.”

  “I guess after the people I have been interviewing for the last several weeks, this crowd seems tame in comparison,” I said. “No fangs, or strange piercings, no blood swapping. What’s behind it all?”

  “The others you speak of are phonies, charlatans, wishful thinkers,” he said. “Many of those you now see before you have been alive for hundreds, even thousands of years. But you will doubt me, as you should. Now it is my turn. Tell me about your family, I am curious as to how a woman of your obvious good breeding came to be a reporter for such an insignificant magazine in this squalid city.”

  “I guess I’m important enough to be invited here. But that’s beside the point. My personal life is off limits,” I answered too quickly, but I felt a curious desire to tell him more about myself. “And anyway, my life isn’t very interesting.”

  “Oh, but it is, it is.” His voice was mesmerizing, his hands hot and soothing on my arm, and an urge to share was growing inside.

  “All right, I’ll make an exception for the sake of small talk. Here’s the condensed version. My father died in a hit and run accident a month before I was born. My mother never remarried. With the money from his insurance settlement, we lived comfortably. I was raised primarily in New York and a few boarding schools in Europe. Educated in a manner, my mother always said, of which my father would have approved.”

  His eyes burned. “I’m sure he would have, had he been alive to see you.”

  “All I have left of my father is a faded picture, a large man with a kind face who my mother loved absolutely.” Julius seemed to wince. “Now they are both gone and I am alone and spilling my guts to someone who thinks he is a vampire. Isn’t it funny how things turn out?”

  “Hysterical.” He grasped my arm tighter. “If only they could see you now. They would be so proud.” His words sounded almost sincere, but there was mockery dancing just behind them. I pulled my arm free.

  “Please excuse me for a moment.” He slipped away, leaving me unsteady in the center of the room. I looked for Ric, but he was nowhere to be seen. Julius was talking in low tones to a beautiful woman with raven hair, his head bowed close to her ear.

  She nodded and then disappeared through the throngs of people, who parted silently as she passed. I was starting to feel nauseated, and cursed myself for saying anything at all to him.

  I watched as he walked back to me, willing myself to breathe deeply.

  “Now where were we?” he asked. “Oh, yes, you were telling me about your lovely mother and how she always handled things with such tact and grace.”

  I was embarrassed at the attraction he held over me, the force he exerted. My pulse was pounding in my ears, the blood felt dense, like tar pumping through my veins. “You knew my mother, then?”

  He glanced at his watch. “My apologies, I did not realize the time. The festivities are about to begin.” He pressed his lips close to my ear and whispered with shocking savagery. “Do not move from this spot. I shall be back for you shortly.” A thrill of fear ran down my spine and I stood rooted to the spot as he strode to the center of the room and clapped his hands. All heads swiveled to study him as the lights dimmed.

  “May I have your attention, everyone. As you know, tonight is the annual Turning celebration, and we are honored to have a special guest.” He looked directly at me and several of the guests whispered briefly, studying me. “For those of you expecting pomp and circumstance, you will be disappointed. I am in no mood to prolong the ritual. Tonight, I am tired, and expediency will be the standard. Acolytes, present yourself.”

  A group of twenty men and women of various ages stepped forward into the center of the room. What sort of chara
de was this?

  Julius snapped his fingers and, on cue, twenty chains dropped from the shadows of the ceiling to hang six feet off the floor. “Your clothes,” he said. The group quickly shed their clothes, standing nude before the assembly, yet not at all uncomfortable. Instead, they stood relaxed; hands at their sides, completely exposed.

  “Attendants, make them ready.”

  Twenty others stepped forward, men and women. They carried short lengths of rope with which they used to quickly fasten the hands of those standing above their heads, tying them tightly to the hooked ends of chain. The erotic image was startling, twenty nude people bound with their arms above their heads. There was no unity of age or form. I could see several middle-aged women, their bodies softened by age, but still attractive; young men with knots of muscle and hairless chests; other women were in the prime of beauty, with slim hips and full breasts; one man was very fat, and another must have been close to seventy, his flesh wrinkled and fitting loosely, but his eyes burned with life. Next to him, a teenage girl with a body like a teenage boy and pierced nipples couldn’t hide the anticipation in her eyes.

  The incongruous body types, ages and skin colors made the whole spectacle that much more lovely. My earlier sense of discomfort was rapidly being replaced by a sense of privilege, at what I quickly came to expect was an elaborate performance art piece. I only hoped Ric was not in the coatroom with Ms. Silicone USA and could actually get some shots of this. No matter what these people had planned, this already beat any other party or night club I had been to. My thoughts were clearing now that Julius had left, and a new angle on the article was taking shape, a very kinky story about fetishism and vampires.

  “Take your places,” Julius intoned, sounding almost bored. The attendants stood beside each of the naked bodies dangling from their chains. “Knives.” Twenty blades gleamed in the half light. I sucked my breath in, hoping this wouldn’t be some gross scarring ceremony. The room was silent, waiting for Julius. He raised his hand. “Kill them,” he said simply.