Best New Vampire Tales (Vol.1)

by Laimo, Michael; Newman, James; Hults, Matt; Webb, Don; Meikle, William; Wilson, David Niall; Everson, John; Waggoner, Tim; Daley, James Roy

  As I shuffled the cards, a shadow fell across the table and I looked up. The wraith-light obscured the features, but by the white skin color it had to be a Wirehead.

  “Do you tell futures?”

  I looked up into the shadowed face and answered, “Only if you ask.”

  “Then I ask.” He pulled out the chair and sat. Classically handsome, with a strong brow and deep brown eyes. A Roman nose and a narrow chin were framed by auburn hair that just brushed his shoulders. He looked at me, waiting.

  I held out my hand. “I’m Agate.”

  “Gamaliel.” He shook mine and I passed the cards to him. I noticed the carbon steel nails and guessed cybersonics or lasers lay beneath them. He set his drink at the corner of the table and said, “What do I do? I’ve never had a reading before.”

  “Never?”

  “I thought my future was fairly evident.” He smiled. Pointed teeth. White skin. One of the undead. I tried to hide my unease.

  “Oh, well … shuffle them, keeping the, uh, question you have in mind. When you feel ready, cut them into three piles on the silk and I’ll take over from there.”

  I shivered slightly with dread, but was still fascinated at this man’s nonchalance. From the moment I was old enough to understand, my parents and uncles, aunts and cousins, all the Rom had instilled in me the fear of death and the dead. Because my people feared death so much, we worshipped it––no––gave obeisance to keep the dead away. It had always been so: treat the dead with respect and they won’t come back to haunt you. It was all I could do to keep myself from chanting a warding spell before this man.

  It was difficult, but I recentered myself as Gamaliel cut the cards into three piles. I picked them up, then turned over one after the other until there were twelve in the sun-wheel spread, with a thirteenth card in the middle. I pointed to the middle card, the Emperor; an assured man sitting upon the throne.

  “This represents you and shows you are strong, a leader. Um, that is beyond your, uh, natural attributes. You’re in control.” And I wasn’t. Undead so close, I was unnerved and feeling foolish. I took a deep breath and tried to get through the reading.

  I had forgotten to ask him what his question was. No matter, the cards would still reveal an answer. The past and present cards showed several swords cards, the Moon, the eight, and three of wands, and the king of coins.

  I sipped my Brosia and said, “Your past shows there was a time of confusion and strife, partly caused by your view of magic. You were shaped by it and dealt with a great hardship.

  But it shows here,” I pointed to the wands, “that you have worked hard and become comfortable. You do not want for anything in the world of material gain, and have attained what you tried for.”

  I looked up and saw he watched me, not the cards. Looking down, I pointed to the next three cards: the knight of wands, the Fool, and the queen of cups. “Your future shows that you search for something more and that it will lead you on the Fool’s journey. You must be careful, for you might be so blinded by what you seek that you will fall to someone who is charming, yet potentially harmful. You must remember reason, but don’t overanalyze the situation.”

  He picked up his drink and sipped it, still watching me. He hadn’t said a word and I wondered about the undead drinking normal drinks.

  I licked my lips and continued. “These last three cards show the outcome of what you seek.” The cards were strong: the Lovers, the Lightning Struck Tower, and the five of cups. I was surprised that the Death card hadn’t figured in a spread for the undead. But then, I knew better, that card hardly ever meant the literal interpretation. “Your search will lead you into a relationship, possibly a partnership. This card signifies that you must make a choice and that there is the possibility of rivalry. The Tower indicates sudden change and a collapse of old structures. I don’t think this relationship of the Lovers will last through it, but in the end there will be something left to build on. You will find that choices for the future will have changed, and the old beliefs will have broken down.”

  Gamaliel leaned back in his chair and smiled. “An apt reading, and an interesting one. I should do this more often. Thank you.”

  I finished my drink and couldn’t help saying, “You’re not like the others.” I had, of course, “encountered” my fair share of roving undead or gangs in this chaotic world.

  He leaned forward, elbows on the table, while I avoided his eyes and wrapped the cards in the silk to put them away. I didn’t feel like doing any more readings. Too hyped.

  “Do you mean, like other Wireheads, or vampyrs?”

  “Vampyrs. They’re usually not so public, or so I thought, unless … ”

  He smiled widely, enjoying my discomfort. “I’m not on the hunt, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Oh.” But how did I know he told the truth? I fiddled with objects in my pockets and tried to maintain the cool facade.

  He stood and I realized he was very tall, over six feet. “If you don’t mind I’ll buy you a drink. Partial payment for the reading.”

  I just nodded, hoping I wouldn’t make a bigger fool of myself. I watched him walk to the bar, calm, barely parting the crowd.

  Gamaliel returned and set the Brosias down. He took off his long, green lacquer plast coat and tossed it on the back of the chair. Its hard scales clattered and caught the wraith-light hovering above. His muscled arms were bare and he wore an insul t-shirt that said ‘Go with the flow, it’s here to stay.’

  He moved his chair to the side, so he half-faced me, and so that he could watch Bore Hunter, a band of stocky men and women with strobing gemstones adorning their heads. One guitarist had silver tusks that protruded from her lower lip. A singular beauty.

  Gamaliel leaned over and whispered, his breath hot and sultry in my ear, “I promise not to drink you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Oh.” I tried to laugh. “No … well, yes I was. Sorry, but I don’t know many … of your type and well, my people have always had a great fear of the dead returning to haunt us.”

  “And do you think I’m haunting you?”

  “No. But you do have to eat sometime.”

  After watching the band for several minutes, Gamaliel turned to me just when I thought he hadn’t heard. “Yes, I do have to eat, but I choose carefully and usually those who deserve it.”

  That didn’t ease my nerves. I’d met enough crazed Wireheads who arbitrarily decided what someone deserved.

  “How do you decide? And wh … what do I deserve?”

  Amusement sparked his eyes. “To be paid, for one.” He tossed some creds on the table. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you.”

  “That’s what you say.” I gulped my drink. “How do I know it’s the truth?”

  “Well,” he leaned close. “You just have to trust me. Besides, I know that Gypsies have charms against the undead. I’d have to wait until you didn’t suspect me.”

  I smiled, feeling that I could trust him. My intuition was rarely wrong. I finally relaxed enough to talk with Gamaliel about the city packs, and the music of Bore Hunter, and the other new band, Acid Reign, that was hitting the scenes.

  I realized as we talked that my perceptions, and old legends of the undead had clouded my view to the person beneath the vampyr image. Gamaliel talked warmly. I was fascinated by this friendly vampyr. This man could literally give me the kiss of death and yet he seemed at ease, lighthearted. But then, he could be. It wasn’t he that had to worry about having his life stolen.

  The evening passed and Gamaliel and I danced, sucked into the desperate ambiance of people trying to forget the world. We were still talking when Keg came over and said, “Time to run, folks. I need my beauty rest.” I found myself attracted to this man, this dead … thing. He seemed so alive, and yet, again I found preconceived warnings that my people had given coloring my views.

  I pulled on my voluminous, many-pocketed coat and patted it to make sure everything was there. Gamalie
l stood and pulled on his shiny coat. “Look, Agate, I’ll walk you to your place. Too many packs out lately.”

  “I live at Stanley’s Green. That’s almost an hour from here.”

  He raised one eyebrow and motioned with his arm toward the door. “I have nothing but time.”

  It was a tomb outside. The rain had stopped. The only sound was the ever-present hum of the grids overhead. We walked down the quiet crumbling roadway, well away from the crypt-like depths of abandoned buildings. Neither of us talked, our boot heels the only living sound.

  Suddenly I whirled, the sense of someone watching too strong to ignore. Behind us, emerging from a doorway, were two Gorgon pack members. Their fibril hair writhed about their shoulders. They smiled carbon steel smiles and razor nails glinted in the streetlight. I looked around as Gamaliel turned to face them.

  Quickly, I pulled the stiletto and wand from my coat. I waved the wand through the air in a pattern of pentacles and chanted a warding against the Gorgons’ hypno-sonic stares. I thumbed the safety on the laser stiletto. The blade hummed and the edge of white light lit my hand.

  Gamaliel calmly fished a leather band from his pocket and tied back his hair. “I suggest you hunt somewhere else.”

  The female Gorgon, her hair ending in arrow-like points, laughed. “Hey, the man’s walking his meat.”

  The other one moved a step forward. “Don’t be greedy. There’s plenty to share.”

  And then they were upon us. It happened as fast as lightning, and I managed one stab at the male before Gamaliel kicked him flat, then slashed through the throat of the woman. He bent over the man whose chest he’d crushed. The Gorgon wheezed and moaned. The smell of charred flesh and metallic blood tainted the air.

  Gamaliel turned back to me, his lips drawn back from his fangs. He growled, “Turn away. You won’t want to watch.”

  “But, what––”

  “Turn away,” he snapped, and I did. But I wanted to watch, like a moth drawn to the deadly flame. Saliva filled my mouth; I felt like vomiting at the thought of him sucking up the warm lifeblood. There was a part of me that said, this is taboo, and another part that said, you can watch; you’re not doing it. I resisted the urge to look.

  I jumped when Gamaliel touched my shoulder. He urged me on, saying nothing.

  Just before we entered the green I turned to Gamaliel and said, “Did you have to––”

  “Look, you knew what I was. They would have killed us. How do you suppose I feed?” He was angry, but I was scared.

  “I saw you drink Brosia.”

  The anger left him and he sighed. “Yes, I can drink and eat regular food but my nutrition must be from blood. Oh.” He stopped. “I see. Agate,” he touched my face softly. “I swear I will never harm you. I only take from those who would do others harm; the evil ones, the flesh packs. Please, trust me.”

  “Yes, I do,” and realized I meant it.

  We stopped in front of the door to my cube. Trying to hide the lingering dread of the Gorgon encounter, I bravely invited him in. He declined, saying, “No, it is late and I would rather that you’re totally comfortable with my presence. But I would like to talk to you again, if I may.”

  We agreed to meet at the quieter Schroedinger’s Box the following night. I slept deep, and dreamt of walking through tombs, searching, searching, and always behind me someone wailing, “Come back, come back.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t until our third time together that Gamaliel revealed the extent of his sense of humor. We were sitting on the steps of the old gallery, talking.

  “Oh, I brought something for you that I got last night.” He dug through his pockets and pulled something out and dropped it in my lap. A red tongue and an eyeball lay shiningly on my coat.

  I squeaked and jumped up, realizing at the same moment that they were very obvious rubber toys. Gamaliel laughed so hard he nearly rolled down the steps. I slapped him. “Idiot,” and had to laugh too. It dispelled my last visions of contemptuous vampyrs.

  “You’re a very undignified vampyr, you know that?”

  He just smirked. I touched his shoulder. “Gama? Would you show me where you live?”

  He tilted his head, thought for a moment, and said, “All right.”

  We walked along crumbling streets, and Gamaliel clasped my hand. I didn’t say anything but looked up at him. He looked straight ahead, his head tilted as if listening. I bit my lip but continued to hold his hand. It was warm, not as warm as a living person’s, but not the cold of the crypt that I had been expecting.

  “What … ”

  “Shh.” He continued to listen.

  I looked at the stunted, gnarled trees that lined these streets. Their leaves were few, warped like heated plastic. There had to be strong magic going down to keep them even this alive. I realized we were in Shaughnessy; large houses sprawled across crisp brown grass. Some homes were of stone and others, weather-stripped wood. The ritz used to live here in the twentieth century and it made sense that any ritz left would still live in the spacious homes.

  We walked up the cobblestone steps to a house with a turret. The windows were still intact and the door was reinforced with embellished steel. Gamaliel opened the door and let me enter first. If I was expecting tomblike colors and velvet drapes, I was completely surprised. The place was furnished with soft couches, paintings and very little else. Everything numbed my eyes with bright shades of green and yellow.

  “Ugh, it’s bright in here.”

  Gamaliel smiled and bolted the door. “It’s too depressing otherwise. But the whole place isn’t done in these colors. Here, I’ll show you.” He led me up a dark wooden staircase. The second floor was more subdued but not somber; the colors ranged through red, green and brown, like a twentieth century forest in fall.

  I shivered, imagining Gamaliel dragging victims into his home and keeping them chained in the basement. There was no evidence, but still I quivered, mortal jelly, at what he may have done here. “Very impressive,” I said.

  He stared down the hall and said, “I am not very old but I was able to find this place before the collapse destroyed too many homes. Except for fortifying, I’ve had little to repair.” Then he turned suddenly and kissed me, holding my shoulders.

  Surprised, I looked at him and he stopped, confused.

  He dropped his hands. “I’m sorry, Agate. I thought … I hoped. I’m sorry. I wanted you to like me.”

  “Wait, Gama, I do.” I touched his face and dropped my hand. “I do. Why do you think I’ve spent this time with you?” Why indeed? The lies we tell ourselves. My heart pounded––fear moved like a moist worm into my throat. I swallowed and said, “I do care, very much.” Then I kissed him back. The kiss blossomed, grew to many more and then into gentle caresses. He picked me up and carried me to his bedroom. My body responded to his and I clung to him.

  We lay, heated by dozens and dozens of candles in his room, but the heat we gave off dimmed them in comparison. Light glittered back from mirrors and windows like thousands of knowing eyes. Tears of sweat flecked our skin.

  Gamaliel’s flesh shone like a bank of snow against my brown flank. He licked warmly at my neck, my arms, my breasts. I vibrated from his caresses, expecting at any moment to feel the thin sharp bite of his teeth. It made my passion hotter, stronger, thinking that this might be my last act. And I wanted it, I didn’t care, to be pulled down and taken at the height of intimacy. What more could I want, taken body and soul?

  It was a feeling, not a conscious thought, and it wasn’t until years later that I understood what I had wanted.

  Later, much later, we lay curled into one another. Gamaliel murmured into my hair. “It is the worst part of this sort of life; the loneliness. So many people fear to be near me and can never relax. There are so many old world legends, and everyone has preconceived ideas that mold all their views. And my own kind,” he laughed bitterly. “They are the worst; egotistical, competitive, jealous. They’re happy to perpetrate the imag
e of fear; they love the power, but I don’t. I want to love a person.”

  I turned and looked at him. “Oh, Gama, I don’t fear you.” I feared myself, my lack of control, and his temptation.

  * * *

  We continued to see each other. Something was happening to me inside that I didn’t like: a distorted pearl growing bigger, malignant. Something weighed me down, fought me, changed me. I brooded and provoked fights with Gamaliel, daring him to strike me, to lash out and drain my life. But he wouldn’t. He looked at me, hurt.

  “Why are you doing this, Agate? Why do you want to fight?”

  I snarled, “Do you think it just takes one to fight?”

  “No,” he said calmly. “No, I don’t.” And he had turned away.

  One night at his place we made love and I finally lay subdued beside him. My mind still roiled and I had grown temperamental over the weeks, afraid of what I wanted and didn’t want. The big problem; I didn’t know what I wanted, nor why I was angry.

  I lay thinking of Gamaliel’s long life and my relatively short one. I was more than a universe away from him. He murmured something, kissed my eyes, my mouth and nipped lightly at the flesh of my neck.

  I gasped and returned to myself. Trembling, I felt a yearning to bare my neck––abandon soul and flesh to his caresses. In that moment, quicker than light, I murmured a Rom incantation against vampyrs. He yelped as light arced from my skin to his. An acrid smell filled my nostrils.

  Pulling back, Gamaliel hissed, fangs flashing deadly. “How dare you! Have you no trust?” he bellowed. He turned and slashed the stuffed chair beside the bed and kicked it across the floor. It crashed into the wall and glass tinkled from the broken window.

  I sat up trembling, afraid that I would die now.

  Anguish cracked his voice. “I love you, I would never, never drain your blood! Don’t you know that by now?”

  Shaken, I knelt where I was, knocking a candle over as I reached for him in haste. “I know, I’m sorry. I w … wasn’t thinking. Gama.” I tried to reach beneath the red-rimming of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I was scared of my own reactions. I wanted to die. I … I wanted you to take me.”