BloodStar

by Montoya, Cassidy

  Then, the vamp made a silent descent, and even in that thickest of darkness just after sunset, Marley saw a face. Right before her eyes, the thing's human features did a troll-doll-two-step and the creature savaged Marley’s flesh, sucking her blood and clawing at her like an adult sized newborn.

  Marley was dizzy, and…aroused? How about that for a big what-the-fuck?

  She honestly thought for a moment she was going to die right there, in that dirty motel room bed that had probably hosted God knew how many clandestine affairs and blatant prostitution ventures. She would be found on a cheap, overstock-purchased mattress stained with lube and adulterous come.

  Just before Marley lost consciousness, the vampire woman withdrew her fangs with the same ferocity, bringing new lacerations to Marley’s collection of injuries. The woman licked blood from the fresh invasion, and the wounds healed over but it was a shoddy job. The monster cocked her head to the left, and then the right, as though trying to decipher code.

  And then she just looked offended. "I really don’t get it. For decades, oh how delicious you are, how amazing everything is when you’re around. My palate must be more refined. Sabian and I’ll just have to agree to disagree." There was something about the way she spoke, a desperation veiled by what exactly? Culture? Aristocracy?

  "You’re using me to get to Sabian? Is that what this is?" Marley tried to burrito herself in a blanket of consciousness, but it was a struggle. The difference between the slumber of an unwilling blood donor and the waking horror of becoming this wretch’s meal was daunting, and Marley was tempted to let herself sink back below the surface.

  "Not quite the genius he always raved about, are you? Believe me, if I just wanted to get to Sabian, there are a million other ways. I could have killed you days ago if I just wanted to get to Sabian. Years ago, in fact." Marley’s vampire captor rolled her eyes, and said, "I’ve lived in that world. I really don’t think I could stand another hundred years of his whining and moaning about his soul-mate. I have bigger and better plans for you, my sweet." The vampire doinked the tip of Marley's nose with her index finger, playful just like that.

  Marley tried to place the accent; this vampire sounded foreign, but Americanized somehow. She must have been in the United States for a long time, but come from somewhere else. Russia? Maybe a former Soviet country? Wherever it was, the accent sure lent maniacal credibility.

  Too afraid to say something that might lead to another attack (she could hold onto reason for only so long, and the supply was diminishing), Marley just looked at the vampire through the darkness of the room, no longer artificially created by the heavy and no doubt tacky curtains (probably some orange color—why were all seedy motel curtains orange?).

  "My God. You don’t know who I am, do you?" asked the vampire, genuine disbelief in her voice.

  Marley wished she could see her face more clearly, and the vampire turned on the light with a your-wish-is-my-command expression on her mug. Marley got her first real look. It took a moment to adjust to the brightness of the lamp. What the hell did the damn thing take, a five hundred watt bulb?

  As with Sabian, and maybe all of their kind, Marley felt like she was looking at an airbrushed photo—a representation of what physical beauty is supposed to be, but can’t be achieved with what the good Lord gives up naturally. No lines creased the vampire’s face, her piercing crystal blue eyes were breathtaking pools of madness, and her body dimensions were a pale, svelte version of Barbie’s, and almost as natural. She exuded this ethereal glow, something that was difficult to reconcile with the simultaneous pulse of psychosis.

  The timber of the she-vamp’s voice and the glow of her loveliness were absolutely enchanting. She looked to be around nineteen or twenty years old, long limbed and always at the ready to pounce. Marley got the impression this creature lived her life on the defensive, but then maybe they all did. Sabian had given her that feeling more than once.

  None of the various physical characteristics, most of which when individually combined achieved a synergy resulting in devastating beauty, held a candle to the eyes, two windows with a view to insanity. Marley felt her mouth go dry, and that old familiar fight or flight thing started up in her system.

  "I don’t know who you are. I barely know him, to be honest." Marley knew her voice was shaky, and this creature could probably smell the fear in her blood.

  "I am his Anya."

  This meant absolutely nothing to Marley. How should she handle it? Anya obviously thought she was important enough to Sabian to warrant previous conversations, but Marley had never heard the handle before.

  Knowing next to nothing about Sabian was turning out to be a huge liability. Maybe they should have played that game Have You Ever instead of fucking. And what was with the one-name thing? Did all vamps use a single moniker, a bunch of Madonnas and Beyonces running around, sucking blood and looking fabulous?

  His Anya? If Marley let on that the name did not ring a bell, would it be an insult to his Anya? Little-miss-important obviously knew about Marley, had in fact gone to the trouble of making the motel room into a literal bed and breakfast. If Anya saw herself at the pinnacle of importance in Sabian’s world, what did that mean for Marley? More time or less time? Anya had a plan—she’d said so—that meant there was some time. If she wanted her plan to come to fruition, certain things probably needed to be accomplished, and that bought Marley a minute to think, if only her aching head would cooperate.

  She really needed a drink. Some Jim Beam, maybe a little generic vodka, anything.

  "You really don’t know? I can’t believe he didn’t say anything," Anya fumed. Marley could tell this was a creature that, under normal circumstances (whatever that constituted for vampires), had very little use for social convention and was probably unaccustomed to controlling her fury.

  A million anger-management therapy sessions courtesy of some well-meaning social worker came swimming back into Marley’s memory, and once again, she had to force the errant thoughts from her mind in order to concentrate on more pressing matters, like the fact that she needed a drink like never before.

  Marley watched in morbid fascination while Anya fussed herself back from her silent temper-tantrum. Who was this—this crazy person—this vampire bitch? Marley found it hard to classify Anya into a category that felt even remotely right. If Sabian had given this—thing (yes, that was more like it)—the impression she was important, what the hell did that mean for Marley? What, he wouldn't die for her anymore? Or did he just go around the fucking world changing young women into bloodsuckers so he could have a toy on every continent?

  And Sabian had played the same games of ownership with Anya, no doubt. Otherwise what was with the I’m his Anya business? The nag of jealousy that came on caught Marley with her pants down. She hated Anya all of a sudden, and not because of the imprisonment and rape of her veins a hundred ways from here to Timbuktu. This hatred was the putrid-green of envy, and tethered to this unwelcome condition was vengeance. Neither feeling could be addressed just then, but Marley was happy to let them marinate.

  She needed a mother-fucking drink.

  As Marley squirmed on the lumpy mattress, something occurred to her. Anya had just taken quite a bit of blood. She knew from Sabian that Anya would be feeling the effects of the high. Was that the vulnerability she was looking to exploit?

  Sufficiently recovered from her trip to the Land-of-the-Livid, Anya chirped, "Oh well, that’s OK. It doesn’t change anything. This is between him and me. You don’t need to know who I am for this to work. In fact, maybe it's even better this way."

  "Jesus, what did he do to you?"

  The only response she got was a smile that oozed across the vampire's lips, and Marley's thoughts of booze and lost-love and nettles in her eyes disappeared. She truly was fucked.

  Chapter Twenty

  Solis and Teichmann arrived at Denver International Airport a little after noon. It was the day before Halloween but no one was dressed up here, unl
ike the patrons at that fucking coffee shop where they left Ben’s carcass to be discovered by some poor sonofabitch. Teichmann, a damn good Hunter for a rookie, couldn’t imagine what it must be like for a civilian to run up against a big slab of meat like that with no training, no psychological preparation for the horror.

  The brainstorming hadn’t taken long. Fucking Solis and his precious parsimony. Eight months he’d been ridiculed, physically shoved around, and once nut-checked for not following Solis’s fucking Law of Parsimony. Apparently it was some pretty fundamental stuff in the science community, law enforcement, too, but to Teichmann, it would always be Solis’s brainchild. When Teichmann offered ideas, Solis would bark at him, "Too complicated." When Teichmann thought out loud just to get the juices flowing, Solis was always waiting for something Teichmann said to break the law. And then came the insults, the shoving, the goddamn nut-checking.

  But this time, his perpetually pissed-off partner was right. Parsimony. Where would a bloodsucker go if he needed info and Halloween was twenty-four hours away?

  New York City, damn skippy. And it was Teichmann who’d thought of it, and miracle of miracles, Solis had given him a bro-hug. Nothing sappy, just one arm around the back and a shoulder bump, lots of space between uglies.

  The two Hunters parked in a stall reserved for police and emergency vehicles, neither caring about the repercussions. The Vanguard was virtually untouchable.

  Solis thumbed through his various credentials, all waiting nice and neat in a billfold for the appropriate time and place of liberation. Meanwhile, Teichmann rummaged through his backpack for his, knowing it drove Solis crazy. His partner had told him a thousand times if he’d said it once to get his shit together—literally—and be a professional. According to the all-wise, all-knowing Solis, real Hunters didn’t carry backpacks. Real Hunters could find anything they needed in three seconds or less. Real Hunters carried no less than four weapons on their person at a time.

  Yeah, thought Teichmann, and real Hunters had their assholes screwed up so tight a bloodsucker could crawl up there and be safe from the sun for a month.

  They were going to be FBI agents this time. Solis couldn’t decide if they should be FBI or Department of Homeland Security, but in the end, after miles of deliberation, he decided Homeland Security might make other travelers nervous and bring too much attention their way. That was fine with Teichmann. FBI, Homeland Security, fucking US Postal Service. It was all the same to him as long there was action at the end of the day.

  At the end of this day, however, Teichmann was disappointed. The BloodStar was vapor. They assaulted every fucking man or woman they could find in the standard issue blue blazer and tastefully patterned ascot. They flashed badges, wielding just the right amount of prick-condescension for FBI authenticity, and found not a single lead.

  "So what do you think?" asked Teichmann after the last flight departed for the night. "Hotel?"

  Nothing from Solis, not even a shrug or a headshake. The senior Hunter fished in his pocket, pulled out a wetnap, and went to sit down in one of the waiting areas of the domestic terminal. Teichmann watched Solis open the little package he must have picked up from that barbeque-rib joint they’d checked out the week before, and wipe down his brow and neck. Then the agent leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

  "Hey, you’re kidding, right?"

  Anya smiled at Marley. "Sit back and conserve your energy. Big things are coming."

  "Like what?"

  "You’ll see when Samuel arrives."

  There was another kidnapper involved. Jesus Christ, Marley had no idea how to play this thing out in her head, couldn’t play it out because her brain was on stutter mode. But she needed Anya talking, needed all the information she could get. "Who’s Samuel? What are you going to do?"

  "My goodness, you really are obtuse."

  "It’s obtuse to ask what you’re going to do to me?" asked Marley, a little defiant.

  Anya was thoughtful. "You have a point. Making assumptions would be obtuse...go ahead. Ask."

  Marley rolled her eyes. "So… what are you planning to do to me?"

  Anya assumed the posture of someone being interviewed for an expose, casual yet eager somehow. "Obtuse would also be giving your adversary the details of your plan. So I say no comment."

  The exasperation was impossible to mask. "We aren’t adversaries. I don’t even know you."

  "I really don’t envy you," said Anya in a pitying voice.

  Frustration got the better of Marley. "Oh, for God’s sake," spat Marley. She made a point of craning her neck for a good look at her bound wrists and then back to Anya. "Are you sure about that?"

  "Careful, pet."

  "Who is Samuel?"

  "Didn’t Sabian tell you anything about our kind? We sense intent; we can feel when you’re motivated. You want to keep me talking, don’t you?" The vampire got up, moved to the bed, and stroked Marley’s hair. "Think maybe I’ll slip and give you something to work with? Something you can use against me and then live happily ever after with him?" Anya laughed, but not a villainous laugh, just a soft chuckle of amusement. The way Anya’s voice switched back and forth from intense disgust to unconcerned disinterest ate at Marley’s concentration.

  The door to the motel room opened, and the milk-light of the streetlamps seemed too bright. The figure that stepped through the door was backlit, and with dilated pupils, Marley could only make out a silhouette. It was definitely a man, but he stood there, not coming all the way in for a moment.

  Marley was nine years old again, watching the shadows under her door, willing the feet to turn around. Just walk on down the hall.

  Then the door closed, and Marley got her first look at Samuel.

  Jesus Christ.

  "Sam?" It was Jenna’s Sam, sure as shit. What. The. Fuck?

  Sam didn’t answer. He studiously avoided eye contact as he walked over to the little round motel table and tossed a brown paper bag on top; snacks spilled out, but Marley didn’t notice. She was speechless.

  Sam still didn’t (wouldn’t) look at her. He sat down in one of the chairs, rubbed his face, and took a deep breath. He looked around, almost as if trying to switch off weary-auto-pilot-mode and go manual.

  "Where’s Jenna?" she asked. "Goddamn it, Sam. The cops say she’s missing." Marley lifted her head as high as possible off the bed, trying to make Sam look at her. She ignored Anya’s snickers in the background, ignored the pain in her shoulders. Her brain felt like Malto-Meal, but whatever. She wanted answers.

  He looked at Marley, just looked at her, no words, no real expression, but his eyes were knowing. He finally shook his head. "I don’t know where she is."

  "Bullshit!"

  A little more slowly, and with more emphasis, he said, "I don’t know. She’s not important to her," he nodded toward Anya. "So really—I. Don’t. Know."

  Marley looked at Anya. "Where is she?"

  Anya, who had moved to the sink area, nothing more than a counter placed strategically against a wall so that the most possible space could be utilized, only smirked.

  Marley took a moment to examine Sam, needing to know exactly how he fit in. He had bags under his eyes and his skin tone was the not-so-exuberant flush of rotting hamburger meat.

  "Marley, look, you don’t know enough about this situation." God, he must have been exhausted because his voice was thin as lint. "You need to just keep your mouth quiet. Seriously, it’s good advice. Take it." Sam stared her down hard with his tired, drugged eyes.

  Marley looked left to right, inspecting her bindings.

  Anya lowered her head and shook it from side to side, giggling as if she were privy to an inside joke, and keeping Marley on the outside made it even funnier. "You just lay still, little pet. Samuel and I have business. I’ve been practicing for something special, and I need to make sure everything is perfect before I create my masterpiece. Samuel?"

  He moved to Anya, dragging a chair behind him. He sat down, leaned his hea
d to the left, and exposed his neck to her. His skin was swollen and angry, potholed by Anya's onslaught. The vampire leaned in, locked her eyes on Marley, and began nursing.

  Well, that explained the rancid burger color.

  When it was over, Sam crumpled to the floor, breath coming in weak gasps, not nearly enough to oxygenate his blood. Then again, he probably had very little blood left to service.

  "Is he alright?" Marley was one step away from full-blown panic, shitting bricks and struggling against her bondage for real now.

  "Just a little drunk off my charm, I suspect." Again, the fiend smiled and her fangs shone. Marley was certain it was an intimidation tactic. Would it make it more exciting when Anya caught scent of the fear in Marley’s blood?

  "You took too much! Look at him."

  "You should really worry more about yourself than Samuel." When she spoke the words, the tone was light and playful, but the sound made Marley’s ribcage want to close in on itself to protect her soft parts.

  Anya's smile was all decadence. "Don’t worry; he loves it. Young Samuel is an addict. He can’t seem to get enough of the rush. You must have had the pleasure I imagine. No way Sabian could deny himself so valiantly, like the hero you must have made him inside that playground you call your mind. I bet he didn’t even ask the first time, right? Just went ahead and took it and claimed what was his. You and your blood, right? Bastard dog."

  The last comment was spoken under Anya’s breath, but still Marley heard it loud and clear. Pure hatred.

  This more than anything else made Marley sick. She wanted to yak her guts right then and there but there was nothing in her stomach to eliminate. God, she was an idiot. Apparently anyone with a pulse and a pussy had Property of Sabian stamped across their throat. Jesus, he wasn’t even creative. He used the same lines on this headcase-bloodsucker that he used on Marley.

  "Where is Jenna?" she whispered.