by J. E. Cammon
Untrained in such styles of combat, the vampire fell back on simple mechanics and superior strength. His arm reached forward to claw at the man’s face, not at all impeded by the child-like strength of the defense he encountered. Jarvis felt two of his fingers scrape into the supple flesh of the man’s face and then chip away at his skull, and two other fingers sink into the weak viscera of the eyes, pressing them against the bottoms of their sockets.
The hunter screamed, the momentum sending him sprawling backwards along the edge of the roof. He gritted his teeth and fired the remainder of his bullets, having regained the presence of mind for battle. Most of the bullets flew through the spot where Jarvis was standing, but lying on the ground as he was, the vampire remained unscathed. The empty gun clattered in front of his face, smoking. He watched the man blindly draw another gun with one hand while he pulled a cellular phone from a pocket and flipped it open with the other.
Jarvis rose slowly, and as his eyes crested the roof edge, he caught sight of movement from David’s rooftop. Inside, David looked out of his window, but his visitor seemed to have no clue as to what was going on. It was already time to go, but Jarvis saw this kind of situation go from bad to worse before.
He decided he wanted the hunter’s phone. The vampire pressed his feet flat against the rooftop and pushed, leaning forward a hair. The rooftop shrunk in his view as he felt the air press against him, and then the world grew in size again as he aimed for the tiny spot behind the blind hunter. He seemed like a veteran, but his experience also made him prideful. The man survived worse, Jarvis could feel him thinking. He fired many more bullets into the empty space of the rooftop, spreading his fire into a wider arc as death landed behind him.
On the other end of the phone a female voice answered the call. The sound that was transmitted to her was the wet squelch of a man’s neck being twisted completely around and the phone clamping shut.
Jarvis looked at the clam-like device and realized, much like with the gun, that there was yet more technology he’d have to familiarize himself with. He glanced at the other rooftop and saw nothing; he got a few steps start and jumped from his rooftop to David’s. He heard a distant metal door burst open and slam against something hard. Looking back across the street, he could see that someone was looking around on the rooftop. Briefly, they looked about them before squinting across the intervening space. Jarvis imagined them drawing a weapon in a fit of rage, or blinking, but whatever the case, when they looked again he was gone.
Jarvis pondered. David spoke of having a girlfriend, and if that’s who that was with him in the apartment, social norms indicated that Jarvis should find somewhere else to be. He wanted to tell the lycanthrope he was being hunted, though it was possible the hunters’ targets may have changed, or the list at least expanded. He realized then it may have been a good idea to have memorized the man’s telephone address. Eventually, Jarvis retreated.
The nature of the architecture, the height and feel of the buildings, changed by the time he slowed down and finally stopped. He was never able to uncover how it was that slayers hunted. Jarvis imagined it was through some form of occult science or inherited mysticism, baubles and totems that let them see more and identify the tracks of a creature’s going and coming. In his experience the slayers were rare, but always showed up at the worst possible times. They always shot first, too.
The vampire contemplated the flat silver telephone and clumsily opened it. The bright glow of the screen illuminated the entire alley. There were buttons of different colors, blue, green, and red. The blue buttons were numbers, but the red and green were symbols. It was a point of embarrassment that Jarvis could not read. He knew most letters and understood the magnitude of numbers, but little else. He fiddled with the tiny device, looking up every now and then. After a few moments, he decided to move again.
After another hour the vampire made some breakthroughs. Someone called the phone at one point, and he also discovered that closing the device was the equivalent of ending the call. Additionally, it seemed that the phone held memory of recent calls in a list within itself. Jarvis knew about area codes, and after discovering that the call list was ordered most recent to least recent, he assumed the two most prevalent numbers with matching area codes were two other hunters.
The list of numbers was short and there weren’t many with Bay City area codes. One was a place that served pizza, now closed. Another was a number where there was no reply. A human voice was attached to the third, one that the vampire recognized. The call was answered officiously, though the man was mostly still asleep. As the vampire listened in silence, the voice came more awake, growing apprehensive. Jarvis closed the phone, crushing it in the same action, and dropped the resulting pieces as he went. He put blocks between each of the shattered bits.
The vampire was never one for moods, but David maintained he had them, despite his stoicism. Jarvis’ mien darkened to match the night. The vampire found it ironic that short-lived humans would have trouble keeping their promises.
He went home and worked to discover the use of the gun he stole. It took hours, like the phone. In the end, once he discovered that there was a tiny on/off switch, he was mostly prepared.
He gathered the few full head coverings he collected. David showed him a movie once where vampires used a store-bought cream to protect themselves from the sun; Jarvis explained away the assumptions of the makers of the moving picture. Vampires did not explode in the sun, but they did burn and peel to the point of conflagration; there was also some bubbling. There was nothing about the sunlight specifically that caused those such as he distress. There was something else in the air; the same thing that made flowers bloom and trees grow and people happy made his kind wither and die. Nothing smeared on one’s skin could help that. Being outside in the sunlight made vampires nauseous, sometimes dizzy. The dark and the cold were best.
In that regard, Jarvis supposed it was irrational to do what he was doing, but something was tugging at him. They made a pact, and he upheld his end. Betrayal was…it would not stand.
He arrived near to sunrise, which made his skin crawl, but he rigidly focused on the task at hand. The home reminded him of the plantation house, wide and tall and white, sprawled out over a green lawn. Jarvis moved about the immense roof, pausing to listen at times. The betrayer was awake, but waited until full light before he inched his car out of its home. Jarvis crawled across the roof of the garage and concentrated. He should have been more worried than he was, he distantly reasoned.
Once the car exited completely he jumped, aiming like he did with the hunter. The impact of his weight on the car was enough. The bag in the steering wheel quickly filled with air, knocking the man back into his seat and then smothering him. In shock, the man stomped on the accelerator and drove straight backwards into a hedge of bushes. Scrambling, the man punctured the bag and was suddenly aware of the barrel of the gun pointing into his driver’s window.
Jarvis squeezed the trigger, aiming at the man’s lying mouth. The first and second bullet shattered the glass and struck him in non-vital areas; the next dozen were like a hive of strangely affected bees, some streaking in the direction the barrel was pointed, others over and around the man, a few even bouncing back at Jarvis. The inside of the car and the other windows were all destroyed in moments.
The mage’s hand twitched and the gun stopped firing, the mechanism consternated in some way. Jarvis’s insides churned like each of the bullets that struck him was set aflame. He bent double to cover himself from the sunlight scathing his exposed flesh.
“Fool.” The man spat teeth and blood. He sounded confident, but Jarvis could feel him dying. Forcefully, the man opened the car door, striking with unexpected force. “You may be powerful, but…” He attempted to stand up and mostly succeeded, sagging and wheezing. A few of the holes in his chest were still smoking.
Jarvis sat up and threw the useless
gun at the man’s head, while kicking at his legs. The toss was expected, and the object wobbled harmlessly away from him, but the man’s leg broke like a rotten post beneath the kick; the mage toppled over, screaming.
“Motherless sevren, I am the Dean of the Academy!” he screamed.
Jarvis rose to his feet, watching the mage on the ground begin what he suspected was more of that strange nonsense that he was always leery of. He pushed the door closed on the man’s head and stomped on his hand. A suddenly upturned piece of glass shot through the vampire’s foot, but the man could not use the immobilized hand to stop the door’s shutting. It closed against his head, and again, and again, and again. The metal of the door bent beneath the vampire’s grip and the impacts, but did its job.
Eventually the head was messily separated from its body. It rolled between Jarvis’ legs, the eyes still open and alive. The lips moved subtly as the light finally left the irises. The vampire felt a brief spark of respect, but it was dwarfed by the profound sensation of the severing. In awe, he drank, dimly aware of a sudden twitch of the body’s unharmed hand. The car exploded violently, audible for blocks. Other events could be felt much further away than that.
Chapter Seven
David was more than a little dubious about all the popular crime dramas which had at their core some form of scientific reality. Then the sun went down, came back up, traipsed across the sky, and that evening a police detective showed up at his door. She was preceded by a pleasant smell and the sound of a confident, quick stride. Her knock was all business, too.
The entire time the detective was there, David was anticipating a visit from Jarvis. In the comedic part of David’s brain, he was awaiting a sudden spotlight, followed by Jarvis swinging in through one of his windows and yelling something ridiculous. Fortunately, that never happened.
All that came to pass was yet another evening spent evading the truth. Talking to the detective brought back memories of a simple life back on the island: “David, some of the other kids said your family is in a cult or something.” “We’re very serious about our beliefs, but I guess if Catholicism is a cult, then guilty as charged.” “David, why don’t you go out for the basketball team?” “I have a rare disease that makes my ankle ligaments weak. The misfortune of heredity.”
“You’re being completely honest with me?”
David looked the detective in the eye when he answered her. Dimly, he could remember feeling a rush, a flutter, when he was younger. It was exhilaration at the fear of being caught. Now that he was grown into his power, things like fear were rarely seen as accomplices. He was apprehensive, cautious, wary, but never afraid.
The detective said they were investigating a trespassing, a possible homicide, and the mutilation of a large animal. They found evidence that David was in the vicinity—hair specifically, and other evidence he suspected existed but that she didn’t mention—and simply wanted to know if he saw or heard anything strange.
“Strange?” David replied. “No, not really.”
He took that to be the climax of the interview; he got the police lady’s name and her card, and saw her to the door. She hung around for a while on the other side in the hallway—going over her notes, he imagined—but David turned his attention to the scream he heard across the street. He didn’t know where the sound came from exactly, but it was a fact that things were beginning to connect in uncomfortable ways. He didn’t go to investigate though. David was just a vet tech that paid his taxes and lived alone, so he watched the late show and turned off all the lights, and lay awake in his bed.
Jarvis never came. The next morning, David showered and ate cereal. Staring at his cell phone, he thought about the people who he could call. Then he went to work without calling anyone.
Work continued to be the mostly unfulfilled hassle everyone told him it would be. On the other hand, he suspected he neared some sales records in regards to pest solution products. Make them wear this, it repels almost all flea and tick species. Give them this, it makes their meat bad tasting. David lost himself momentarily in that part of the job, because sales was basically lying. However, he never lied about the products.
During lunch he noticed that the officer’s card stole its way into his wallet. The small white slip of paper accused him of things, none of which he denied. At the end of that day, David went home.
A yet third puzzle piece appeared in the form of a police car sitting across the street from his building. David thought he might know what made the detail so important, but instead of doing more to figure it out, he debated with himself over take-out menus. No one else from the authorities showed up, but he did notice that the confident detective with the fresh scent appeared briefly downstairs.
Not full, but not hungry either, David decided that he wanted to go to the diner down the street and have some soup, and he wanted to walk in a very round-about way to get there, too. Paranoia was a new acquaintance. As if to ward off the new foe, David ordered chili. He didn’t eat though, just swirled the beans around in the beefy brown lake of sauces and spices.
Then, to complicate things even further, Nick walked through the front door of the diner. David must have made a face, too, because the other man paused as if to look behind him. David started eating then, for some reason, perhaps to seem more confident or less idle.
“Hi,” Nick said awkwardly, with a little wave.
“I can see you,” David replied. “What?”
Secret agent Nick looked around and then abruptly wedged himself into the opposite side of the booth. He grabbed for a menu and opened it, taking his time to peruse the items.
David let the spoon fall into the bowl and dropped a hand heavily on the menu. “What?” he reiterated.
Nick put his hands up in surrender. “Okay,” he started, sighing. “Look, I came to apologize.”
“For?” David asked, going back to his chili.
“For running.” As he talked, Nick lowered his voice and hunched down. “I’m sorry for leaving you guys. That was wrong of me.”
David finished chewing before he dropped his spoon again. He was surprised that progress was being made; there was only about half the bowl left. “No worries, everybody runs.” He shrugged. Nick sat back thoughtfully, which made David in turn go over what he just said, searching for deeper meaning. “So, did you get expelled for hell raising?”
Nick frowned. “No,” he said, a little surprised at that himself. “I mean, I told my mentor what I did, and he washed his hands of me.” His shoulders slumped. “He told me to go see the Dean and tell him, and Scarlet was there,” he rambled.
“Who?”
“What?” Nick looked up from his hands, fidgeting on the table.
“Who is Scarlet?” Nick’s mouth splitting into a goofy grin told David who Scarlet was, but he still waited for him to say it. He ran a hand through his hair.
“My good man, Scarlet is…” Nick blew air out of his mouth as if he worked all day, “…an amazing wonder, and apparently some sort of new program scholar. The Dean has me showing her around.” He paused, frowning again. David thought then that maybe Nick was trying to solve a puzzle himself and came to this diner to find a piece. “She’s actually the one who made me think of thanking you, or at least realize it was wrong of me to be so unappreciative.”
“You told her?”
Nick pressed his back against his seat, shaking his head. “No, of course not. I just told her I was working on something and my group mates pulled me out of the fire, and I focused on their methods rather than their results,” he said, proud of himself.
David smirked. “Damn right we did.” He hiccupped suddenly. He could taste chili in the back of his throat. “So, group mates?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“I had to say something.” Nick shrugged.
“I guess,” was the reply.
After som
e time, David stretched awkwardly. Nick twiddled his fingers. The action was fairly impressive: his fingers swam deftly among themselves revealing quite a high level of dexterity.
“Well,” Nick said. “I was thinking that since we’re not bad people, and we don’t hate each other, and we’re sort of like colleagues, that maybe, if you’d like, we could get together some time.” Again came the frown. “Where’s the…Jarvis?”
Where is the Jarvis. David rolled his eyes. “Haven’t seen him. I’m sure he’s around.” He surrendered, pushing his bowl forward and signaling for the check. He leaned sideways to get at the back pocket with the wallet. Opening it, he fetched his debit card.
“The police came to see you.” It wasn’t a question.
David nodded, eyeing Nick as he handed off the debit card. “You?” He queried.
Nick shook his head. “I just figured that unless it was disposed of…” He let the statement trail off.
David chuckled. “You know, if someone were listening to us, they might get the wrong idea completely,” he said, sliding out of the booth. He looked down at Nick, who was still lost in his thoughts. “By the way, thanks, and you’re welcome.” He paused as Nick looked up at him. “Maybe we could get together, but I wonder if you meant to include what’s-her-face when you were speaking.”
Anxiously, Nick exited the booth as well. “No, she has her own space, friends, interests. I mean, it’s not like we’re together-together. I have an obligation to her, and she has one to me, sort of. I’m hoping that during, or even afterwards, that maybe…”
David put a hand up to interrupt. “Plotting Casanova, got it.” He accepted the receipt and signed it.
“She seems fairly receptive, I think we’re hitting it off,” Nick said.
“You hope,” was the reply.
“Her eyes are like emeralds.”