by Amy Cross
Ludo stops and the door and steps aside, before turning to me with a look of utter disdain. I can't work out whether I'm the object of his disgust, or Ragoth, or both of us. Whatever the truth, I flash him my most winning smile and slip into the cluttered back-room that Ragoth uses when he's selling his wares. As I do so, my stomach rumbles. Damn it, I'm starving, and not for food.
"Welcome!" Ragoth says, barely visible behind the tables piled high with paraphernalia. Various pipes and items of jewelry are hanging from the ceiling, and the place seems like the kind of shop where you'd buy a Mogwai. Unfortunately, dealing with Ragoth involves entering his world, and the guy always goes out of his way to be a gracious host. Maybe I'm being a little cynical, but the whole thing sickens me to my core. I hate perky vampires.
"I need -"
"I know what you need," he replies, interrupting me as he hurries over and gives me a big hug. "There! Was I right, or was I right?"
"Is there a third option?" I ask.
"What's wrong?" he replies, stepping back and fixing me with a broad grin. "A hug not good enough for you, Abby Hart, daughter of the great Patrick?"
"Just Abby will do," I mutter.
"Wait," he replies, "I think I'm starting to sense something. An urge, deep in your soul, struggling to -"
"Blood," I say firmly. "You know damn well what I need. Blood." Reaching into my bag, I pull out some cash and thrust it into his hands. "The usual price."
"You said last time that you wouldn't be coming back."
"This is the last time," I tell him firmly.
"Of course, of course."
"I've just had a bad couple of weeks," I continue, "and I want to take the edge off. I picked the wrong time to quit, but that's just bad luck. I'm gonna go cold turkey after this."
"Of course."
"I just want the usual."
"Adjusting for inflation -"
"I'm not paying more than last time," I say, fixing him with a determined stare.
"Of course," he says, counting the money as he leads me to the cabinet where he keeps his supplies. "So what can I interest you in today?"
"Same as always," I reply. "Nothing fancy. Type O is fine by me."
"Not AB?" he asks, opening the cabinet to reveal a selection of refrigerated blood bags. "Or what about AB? I got a particularly rich supply from a Chinese businessman. It's said that he was very virile. He died in one of the city's finest hotels, with one of the city's finest prostitutes, and it's said that he'd recently been traveling through Mongolia."
"Just O, thanks."
"I have some type W blood too," he continues. "Werewolf. Or what about this..." He unhooks a bag of thick, syrupy-looking blood and holds it out to me. "Type G. Do you even know what type G comes from?"
"I'm happy with type O," I tell him. "Boring old human blood."
"Golv blood," he continues, looking very pleased with himself. "Type G is Golv blood. Or how about this -" He puts the bag back, before removing another bag and holding it up as if it's the Holy Grail. "Type X. The rarest of the rare. It was extracted from a spider that was cornered in one of the most remote parts of the Library. Are you aware of the value of this bag? Do you know how much spider blood costs?"
"More than I can afford," I reply. "I gave you two hundred dollars. I just want a bag of type O blood."
"Have the type X," he says, handing the bag to me. "On the house."
"This is worth -"
"It's priceless," he says quickly. "The last bag that came up on the open market sold for half a million dollars, and that was over a year ago. A whole bag of spider blood, and it's yours. For free. A gift from me to you."
I stare at the bag in my hands, and I have to admit that the rich, exotic blood is seriously tempting. "There's no such thing," I say eventually, "as a free lunch."
"Where did you learn to be so caustic?" he asks.
"Life," I say darkly.
He smiles. "You might have a point. But first, enjoy that wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime blood, and then we'll talk, huh? When was the last time someone gave you a gift, Abigail? Allow an old man to perform an act of kindness, won't you?"
"No way," I reply, setting the bag down. "If you're giving this to me for free, then you must have a damn good reason. I don't do favors, Ragoth."
"But you're a good person," he replies. "I can see that in your eyes."
"I'm just a little drunk."
"Poor little Abigail Hart," he says, with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Why take a compliment, when you can just make a joke instead? You know, sometimes you seem more human than vampire."
"Do I need to find a new dealer?" I ask.
"I want you to do something for me," he continues. "I do a lot for you, so I was thinking -"
"I pay you for everything you do for me," I point out. "There's nothing owed between us. You're just my..."
He smiles. "Dealer?"
"Vendor," I reply with a scowl.
"But I do other things for you," he replies. "You're the great Abigail Hart, daughter of... Well, everyone knows who you're the daughter of, and we both know that there are certain... entities and organizations out there that would love to know where to find you. Some of them even send out feelers from time to time, hoping to stumble upon you. I've been known to distract them and point them in the wrong direction. I'm not taking all the credit for the fact that they haven't found you, but still, one has to be aware that loyalty is a valuable commodity."
"Are you threatening me?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm merely highlighting the fact that I haven't told a soul that I know you," he replies. "I've offered you a very reasonably-priced service, while avoiding the temptation to sell out your location to the highest bidder." He pauses, and for the first time since I met him, there seem to be darker shadows around his eyes. "Believe me," he adds," I could have made a lot of money that way. There could be all sorts of creatures hiding in this room, waiting for the opportunity to pounce. You're a very popular young lady, Abby Hart, and not in a good way. It's not fair, but sometimes things happen even though they shouldn't. Your father made many enemies, and some of them would like to take out their frustrations on his only living child."
"I'd like to see them try," I reply.
"You remind me of him," he says with a faint smile. "The point is, I've done you a favor, and I was hoping that you'd consider doing something for me in return. That seems only fair, doesn't it? When one person does things for another and gets nothing in return, the karmic balance is disturbed." He pauses, as if he hopes he can persuade me to help. "It's my daughter Katia. She -"
"I don't do favors," I say firmly.
"She's in trouble," he continues, "and I can't get her away from the place where she's being held. I've tried. I've pleaded with them. I've filed all the paperwork, I've argued with their decisions, I've done everything within my power and they still won't budge. You, on the other hand, could go in there and rescue her. It would be nothing for you. A walk in the park."
"What do I look like to you?" I reply. "The A-Team? Macgyver? I'm not a vampire for hire, Ragoth. I don't go around fixing things for people."
"Not even if an innocent young girl is suffering?"
"Especially if an innocent young girl is suffering."
"But if -"
"It's none of my business," I reply firmly, interrupting him. "I'm not driven by some kind of desire to put the world to rights. I'm sorry if bad things are happening to good people, but that's just the way the world works."
"Is your heart so cold?" he asks, with tears in his eyes. "Was there never a time when you needed help?"
"My heart's fine," I tell him, putting the bag of type X blood on the table and grabbing a bag of type O from the cabinet. "I'm sorry that your daughter's in trouble, but I have a job and a life, and wherever she is -"
"An asylum," he says, interrupting me. "The asylum, actually. You must have heard of it. Every vampire has heard of Tor Cliff."
"Along with
Peter Pan, the Little Mermaid and a bunch of other fairy tales," I reply.
"You don't believe that Tor Cliff is real?"
"Of course not."
"Then you're lucky," he replies, "not to have that place haunt your nightmares. Unfortunately, I cannot share that delusion. I know all too well that Tor Cliff is real, and that good, innocent people are held there against their will for no good reason, with no prospect of every being released. They say the man who runs the place is insane himself, and that he conducts experiments on his patients."
"Maybe there was a real asylum once," I reply wearily, "and maybe it was run by, and for, vampires, but if it did exist, it was destroyed a long time ago. Nothing survived the war."
"Of course not," he replies. "Of course not... And yet my daughter Katia has been imprisoned there for so many years, never allowed to leave, never allowed to receive visitors. I've stood outside the gates and heard her cries, but what can I do to help her? I'm just a humble apothecary. If I set foot on the ground of Tor Cliff, I'd be shredded alive." He pauses. "You could go there, though. You, Abigail Hart, could get in there, rescue my daughter, and get out again without so much as a scratch. Half of the monsters there would drop to their knees at the mere mention of your name."
"I have enough to deal with -"
"Without getting mixed up in other people's problems?"
"Exactly." I pause for a moment. Although I genuinely feel for Ragoth, and I have no doubt that his daughter is in a horrific place, there's no way I'm willing to throw myself into danger. "If she's in a place like Tor Cliff," I continue, choosing my words carefully, "there must be a reason. She must have done something. She must be insane. Maybe if she stays there, they can help her."
"They don't try to help people," he replies darkly. "They just use them."
"Then I'm sorry," I tell him, "but there's nothing I can do."
"It was worth a try," he says with a faint smile. "If I'm honest, Abigail, I gave up long ago on the hope that she might be rescued, but then when you walked through the door for the first time... I suppose a foolish old man is to be forgiven for allowing a glimmer of hope to be kindled in his heart, is he not?"
Taking a deep breath, I try to force myself to be strong. After the events at the church a few months ago, it has taken me a while to get my life settled, and although I know that there'll be more vampires along eventually, right now I don't feel like barreling into the middle of someone else's problem.
"I wish I could help," I say after a moment, "but I can't. I'm not some kind of vampire superhero. There's nothing I can do to help you or your daughter, and I'd only be putting her in danger if I tried. I hope you can understand."
"Of course," he replies, with a hint of tears in his eyes. "I didn't mean to put you in an awkward situation."
Looking down at the blood pack in my hands, I take a deep breath.
"So this will be your last transaction with me?" he asks.
"Absolutely," I tell him. "This time, I mean it."
"Don't forget that blood is only one of my product lines," he continues. "I have so much more to offer for the discerning customer."
"Maybe I'll come back some time and take a look."
"Absolutely," he replies, putting on a fake smile as he shuffles over to me and leads me to the door. "You're always welcome here, Abigail. I knew your father. Well, maybe I didn't know him, but I saw him once, from a distance. Come to think of it, it might have been someone else, but I definitely heard a lot of stories about your father. It's an honor to help his daughter, even if..." He pauses as we reach the door. "Why do you buy this blood from me anyway? You could go out there and just take whatever you need from the walking, talking bags of blood that walk the city. I'm not anti-human, but some of them are scum. No-one would miss them. Why not just -"
"I tried," I tell him firmly, "once."
"You hunted?"
"I didn't like it very much," I add, preferring not to go into detail. "I didn't like how it made me feel."
"And how did it make you feel?"
"Goodnight, Ragoth," I reply, turning and heading along the corridor.
As Ludo lets me out the front door, I slip the blood pack into my bag. I want to drink it all right now, of course, but I also know that delayed gratification can make things so much sweeter. I'm going to wait and wait and wait until I can't wait any longer, and then finally, after a few hours, I'll let myself drink the whole two liters at once. It might not be much, but it's enough to give me the biggest buzz I've ever felt in my life. The only problem is that I'm getting more and more addicted to this particular buzz. When I told Ragoth that I'd be back in a month, we both knew that it would be more like two weeks, three if I'm particularly strong. I am addicted to this stuff, and my cravings are getting worse all the time.
As I make my way along the street, I hear a noise in the shadows, and I realize that I can smell the adrenalin and sweat of the guy who's preparing to jump me. Stopping, I turn and look in his direction. It's dark, but I have a slight advantage that allows me to just about make out his skulking, trembling figure. He's just a few feet away, his eyes wide as he tries to build up the courage to attack. I was right: it's just a petty, common little human. I could rip his head off and drink his blood, but I swore a long time ago that I'd never do anything like that again. The initial sensation is exhilarating, but the guilt lasts for days.
"Don't even try it," I say after a moment, slipping a hand into my bag. "I've got a -"
Before I can finish, he turns and runs. As I watch him disappear into the distance, I can't help but feel a little sorry for him. And for me, too. After all, I had a tough, witty little speech all lined up, and he didn't even give me the chance to use it. Damn it, sometimes I wish that humans were a little less easily scared.
As I take my hand out of the bag, I realize that I'm trembling. Damn it, I need to drink this blood pack as soon as I get home. At least then, the symptoms will stop. For a while, anyway. And then I'll start to really work on this problem. I just need this one last fix.
Dr. Cole
"Calm down, Felix," I say as I attach the electrodes to his forehead. "We've done this before. You know how it works. Just try not to get so worked up. You'll only end up hurting yourself."
It's no use, of course. Straining at the chains that bind him to the table, Felix has tensed every muscle in his body. He pulls first one way, then the other, his muscles bulging and his face contorted with pain. He must know by now that there's no way he can escape from my operating room, yet he tries every time with the same tenacity. In a way, it's admirable; I like to see a good, strong man who refuses to give up. Then again, he's wasting his time and mine, so I'd be quite happy if he, like all my other patients, would just calm down and accept the inevitable.
"Is it going to be like this for the whole session?" I ask, intentionally trying to sound as if I'm amused by his behavior. "You'll do yourself some damage, Felix, and then where will we be? It's more stress for you and more stress for me. Everyone loses."
Ignoring me, he continues to pull at the chains. I watch as he tries to change his shape, to resume his more natural wolf form. Every time I tie him down, he attempts to escape in this way, but of course I anticipated this trick long ago. Every day, I pump Felix full of a cocktail of drugs that prevent him from changing to his wolf form. After all, I can't have an insane werewolf running loose in the place. As I grab a syringe and prepare the next injection, I glance over and see that he's still trying to force the change, pushing as hard as he can against the physical and psychological barriers that I have erected. For a fraction of a second, the muscles on his bare chest seem to alter slightly, as if the transformation is beginning; moments later, however, he lets out a pained gasp and falls still, having finally run out of strength.
"Nice try," I say calmly. "It'll never work, of course, but I respect you for not giving up. It shows that you've still got some fight left in your soul."
Walking over to the table, I slide t
he needle into the side of his neck and quickly inject the drug that will limit his resistance to the next phase of my experiments. As I do so, he slowly opens his eyes and turns to look at me, but he says nothing. Perhaps he has learned, finally, that no amount of begging or pleading or posturing or threatening can possibly stop me. The moment he entered Tor Cliff, he was mine, and for the past six years I have been using his body as I see fit.
"Doctor Cole," a voice buzzes over the tinny loudspeaker, "there's a phone call for you. Should I patch it through?"
Walking over to the receiver hanging on the wall, I open the mouthpiece. "Not right now," I reply. "I'm busy."
"It's -"
"I'm busy," I say firmly. "I asked not to be disturbed, and I meant it. Whoever it is, tell them to call back later, or preferably not at all. I don't need outside interference."
"He says it's -"
"Do I have to tell you again?" I ask, finally snapping at the foolish girl's impertinence. "I'm busy, and if you say one more word, I'll have you strapped to one of my tables. Is that clear?"
There's a faint gasp on the other end of the line, followed moments later by a clicking sound as the connection is broken. Closing the mouthpiece, I turn and look back over at Felix. How am I ever expected to get my work done when I'm being constantly interrupted by idiots? Sometimes I think that no-one else understands the importance of my work. They probably think I'm just pottering around in this rundown old place, prodding and poking at my patients while vaguely hoping that I might alight upon some kind of solution for their problems. If only they could see the precision with which I work, or the brilliance of my ideas. One day, when my experiments are complete and the beast has finally been brought under control, they'll all bow down before me.
"You're lucky," I tell Felix as I walk past the table and reach the generator. "Oh, so lucky. I doubt you appreciate the fact right now, but let me assure you that in years to come, your name will be mentioned in every medical textbook in the world. Who needs a gravestone, when one can have a different kind of immortality?"