Shufah stepped to the side, allowing the men access to the room. They went to work without delay, carrying the dead man, between them, out the door. They had no emotion about their work and may have just as easily been taking out a bag of trash or a pile of dirty laundry.
“Do any of the other rooms need cleared?” the second of the pair asked.
“Not at the moment, thank you,” Shufah said. “Give us another hour or so and we should be ready for you to come.”
The men nodded, then left with the corpse.
Jerusa was happy to see them go, not just because they had taken away the dead body—which had started to take on the most miniscule scent of decomposition—or because of the matter-of-fact way they took to their macabre task. But because their scent, comingling with Thad’s, had reignited her thirst. She had hoped that their leaving would bring a release, but it instead brought her focus to Thad.
Jerusa turned toward the wall. “Thad, I think you should go back to your room.”
Thad started to protest, but Taos ushered him out the door, a bit too harshly, truth-be-told. Thad lingered in the hallway for a moment. Jerusa could tell from the sound of his heart.
“Go on, Thad,” Shufah said softly. “It’s dangerous for you to be around Jerusa right now.”
Shufah shut the door. Jerusa listened as Thad shuffled—none too quickly—back to his room. His scent still lingered. Soon the roaring tempest of blood thirst fell into a dull ache throughout her body.
“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Taos said to Jerusa. “I know you’re fond of your little ghost friend, but to be honest, she’s starting to get on my last nerve.”
Jerusa sat on the bed. “Mine too.” She glanced over at Alicia who had a sad, but unapologetic look on her face. Foster stood in the corner of the room with a bewildered sort of grimace on his face. In life he had been so learned, so full of wisdom. It was no small torment for him to be struck dumb by death.
“I still have a human tied up in my room,” Taos said. “Maybe together we can fight off Alicia long enough for you to feed.”
Jerusa barked a humorless, tired laugh. “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t think that will work. I can’t take another jolt tonight. I’d rather go sunbathing.”
Taos shook his head. “It’s that bad, huh?”
Jerusa glanced at Shufah who had a strange, thoughtful expression upon her face. “What? What are you thinking about?”
Shufah twitched as if startled. “Huh? Oh, nothing. Just dreaming on my feet, I guess.” She turned and started for the door. “Come on, Taos. Let’s leave Jerusa to her rest.” Then she was out the door.
Taos raised an eyebrow toward Jerusa and shrugged his shoulders. “Good night,” he said, then followed Shufah out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Jerusa touched the bed where her mother had been lying. She thought of Silvanus and a stab of anger filled her heart. If not for his interference, none of this would have happened. She shook herself and remembered that had it not been for Silvanus, she would be dead, or worse, savage. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come back? If she called his name right now, would he appear?
Jerusa opened her mouth to speak his name, but the sounds died in her throat. Something in the room had changed. A subtle stirring like a change in temperature. Or a brightening of the lights. Or perhaps the beginnings of a new scent. It was all of those things, yet none of them at all. Jerusa looked up expecting to see Alicia and Foster moving through the room (which they were), but she was not prepared to see a third spirit standing by the window, staring at her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thad sat at the table in his room looking down at the meal provided to him. It was wonderful to behold: roast chicken with garlic, new potatoes, green beans and yeast rolls. It was more than he had expected to get from the undead, that’s for sure.
He had half believed that as soon as he passed the threshold of the great house that the vampires would either burn him alive or drag him off to be one of the infected human slaves. But now, sitting in this plush room, with a fine meal steaming before him, he could almost imagine that he really was on a trip, as he had told his parents. After six months of his moping about and morose attitude, his parents had been all too keen on him getting out of the house and seeing the world. They thought his depression was due to Jerusa and in a way, it was.
Thad’s stomach growled, as the mingling scents of the food rose to his face. He wanted to eat, to plunge his face into the plate and feed like a hog at slop, but he held tight to the gnawing knot in his midsection. This was what Jerusa felt, only a thousand times worse. That thing attached to her, that greedy, lonely ghost was somehow keeping her from feeding.
Maybe if Jerusa could feed then it wouldn’t be so dangerous for Thad to be around her. He didn’t care for the thought of her killing and drinking blood, but that was her nature now and he could accept that.
It wasn’t fair. For six months, he had been separated from her, only able to communicate through email, and now she was just a few rooms down from him and he couldn’t be with her.
It was stupid to even think about. He was sure she had had feelings for him in the beginning, but that was back when they were both human. Now her eyes, her face, they were unreadable to him. What could he possibly offer her?
Thad’s eyes flitted away from the food to the silverware resting on the napkin near the plate. He picked up the knife and tested the edge with his thumb. It wasn’t razor-sharp, but had a serrated edge that might do the trick.
A cold sweat broke on his forehead and his stomach knotted, but he figured that was only natural. He was still mortal and the fear of death still inhabited his very DNA.
It was an appealing thought, though, taking matters into his own hands. It wasn’t the first time it had crossed his mind. He had considered it more than once, but the thought of his parents finding him dead on the floor, or worse, him reanimating and feeding upon them, stayed his hand every time.
But what reason did he have to stop now? Why wait for the Stewards to hand down judgment? Why not narrow their choices for them? He could either be a vampire with them or they could put him to death. Either option seemed better than forced servitude.
Thad pressed the blade of the knife to his wrist. Would it hurt? Did it matter? Would the Stewards accept a vampire born of the bite, instead of born of the blood? He would be a weak vampire or so said Shufah. Vampires born of blood are always stronger. Taos would still have the advantage.
Thad didn’t care. He could teach himself to be strong.
He drew a breath, dug the serrated teeth into his skin, but stopped.
What if his blood brought the other vampires to his room, like a frenzy of sharks to an injured seal? They might fall upon him and tear him to shreds. Or worse, injure him too badly to become a vampire. What if he turned into a savage instead?
Thad shuddered, despite the warmth of the room. He remembered well his encounter with Kole.
He dropped the knife onto the table.
Thad searched through the drawers and closets. He found an array of clothing and was more than a bit disturbed to find it all his size. Everything from soft flannel pajamas to a crisp, expensive suits were at his disposal. He didn’t like to think what such a wardrobe might mean about his pending freedom, so he shut the drawers and closed the closets.
Thad had a sudden thought. He could drown himself. That would bring on the change without drawing any blood. It wasn’t the ideal way to go. He didn’t like the idea of suffocating to death, wasn’t even sure he could manage the pain long enough to get the job done. Maybe he could find a way to weigh himself down.
He stepped into the bathroom and threw up his hands, both disappointed and relieved at the same time. There was no bathtub, only a narrow shower stall. He checked the toilet, almost giggling at the thought of the headstand maneuver he’d have to perform, but even so, it was a modern water-saving model that would barely wet the top of
his head.
“Okay, drowning is out.”
All this thought of suicide was making him dizzy—though was it really suicide if you rose from the dead? He closed the lid of the toilet and sat down with his head in his hands. He didn’t want to kill himself, not really. He was in no rush to die and truth be told, wasn’t all that thrilled with the prospect of being some eternal blood-drinking ghoul. But as much as those avenues of choice left a bitter taste in his mouth, the alternative made him feel physically sick.
Thad thought of the two men that came to retrieve the dead body from Jerusa’s room. He had guessed both men to be around the age of his father, not old, but past their prime. They weren’t ugly or out of shape. They seemed hard working (most people Thad knew wouldn’t cart away a dead body by hand), humble, obedient. Shouldn’t their service toward the undead be rewarded with immortality?
No, the Stewards, self-proclaimed leaders of the undead, were the ultimate clique. Worse than any high school elitism, or college frat mentality, or religious/political bigotry. The Stewards made no qualms about their admission standards: beauty, which was subjective, or power, which was corrosive.
Thad understood Shufah’s disdain of being a member of such a group, but being one of the infected human slaves, whittling away the years in servitude to ungrateful masters until old age crippled you, finding at the end the only gift of retirement is to be burned to ashes so that you won’t rise as an embarrassment to the ones you served, seemed all the more abominable.
Though he took no certain pride in it, Thad knew he had the youth and looks to appease the Stewards…if he were turned now. Five years from now, ten years, who knew? He should have taken Taos’s offer six months ago and let him complete the change. He’d be a vampire, born of the blood and they wouldn’t be in any more trouble with the Stewards than they were right now.
Thad glanced over at the belt of the terrycloth robe hanging from the door and wondered if there was any place to hang himself. The shower curtain rod was a no. He didn’t think the dowel rod in the closet was all that promising, either. Thad went to the robe and pulled the belt from the loops. Its soft yet sturdy material would make a fine impromptu noose. Maybe he could sneak off to some other part of the house.
He laughed to himself. It was true what his dad always told him. The hardest choices in life were often just choosing a path. Once you focused on one direction, all other steps were easier.
Thad tucked the belt into his back pocket and stepped out of the bathroom. He went to the table where his food sat cooling. The aroma of the chicken filled the room and his stomach roared out. He stood next to the table, shoveling the food into his mouth with his hands, like some starved refugee. He thought perhaps he should slow down, enjoy each morsel of his last meal as a mortal, but he had made his choice to join the undead and he wanted to get on with it before doubt had a chance to sweep in.
Thad stared blankly at the remains of his dinner, licking the grease and salt from his fingers, when a knock came at the door.
His heart lurched at the sound. Were the Stewards sending for them so soon? Would they judge them tonight? Thad crossed the room with weakened legs and opened the door just a crack. An older woman, perhaps in her sixties, stood with a pleasant smile on her face.
What has she got to smile about? Thad wondered. “Yes,” he said, opening the door.
She started to speak in Russian, caught herself and said in English, “I’m here for your dishes, dear. Are you finished with your dinner?”
Thad nodded that he was. She came strutting in with a youthful gate, almost joyful. He had expected her to come lumbering in, but instead she seemed happy to have something to do.
“I would ask how dinner was,” she said, surveying the wreck of his plate, “but I can see, well enough, you enjoyed it. I’ll let the cooks know. They’ll be pleased.” She gathered up the dirty dishes onto a tray and covered them with a towel. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m not supposed to ask, but will you be joining us here?”
Thad had the urge to smile, not because he found her question funny, but because for the first time he had a clear answer. He held the smile at bay, though. She might misread it. “No. I’m afraid not.”
A bit of joy drained from the woman. “That’s too bad. We could use some more help around here. It hasn’t been this busy in, well, all of my lifetime.”
“A lot of visitors, huh?”
“You could say that and not all of them vampires. Humans, from all over, have been shipped here instead of the other communities.”
Thad didn’t want to talk about the quarantine communities, but the lady had an easy charm about her that made conversation effortless. “Why are they coming here? What’s wrong with the other towns?”
“Not sure. Maybe something. Maybe nothing. Hard to tell.” She smiled at him in a motherly sort of way, as if to say he’s grown to be such a good lad. “It’s a shame you won’t be staying. There are far too few young backs around here and I’m not getting any younger.”
“Why don’t you leave?” Thad asked. He hadn’t meant to, it just fell out. She stood straight, as if he had jabbed her in the side. Thad thought maybe he should apologize, but he didn’t. “Why stay here if they are never going to change you? Why not run away and hide? Live your life for yourself.”
“Why would I do such a thing?” she asked. Judging from her reaction Thad might have asked why she didn’t stomp puppies with cleated boots. “There is nothing for me out there. Here I’m safe. Cared for. Useful.”
“No, you’re not. You are a slave.” Instant regret. “I’m sorry, but it’s still the truth.”
“To your eyes, maybe, but not to mine.” Her words were soft, not at all angry like he had expected.
“Don’t you deserve immortality? Don’t you deserve to have what they have?”
Her brow furrowed softly, as though she pitied him. “Who says I want that? Not all servitude is forced. Some is born of gratitude.”
“Gratitude,” he said in exasperation. “Gratitude for what? For kidnapping you? Stealing you away from everyone you love?”
“Gratitude for my life,” she said. “When I was very young, only nine years old, I was bitten by a rogue vampire. It was a terrible creature, born of the bite. It had awakened with a terrible thirst. It came upon our home one night. There were ten of us under the roof. I was the only one to make it out alive.”
“I’m sorry,” Thad said.
She nodded in appreciation. “A group of Hunters had tracked him to our house. They caught him feeding on me. By their hands, my family received swift justice. I was infected. They could have killed me too, but they chose not to. I grew and when I came of age, I hoped that I would be offered the blood, but I didn’t pass the tests. I didn’t begrudge it, though. I was given my life and a home and a new family. I have no regrets.”
The weight and tragedy of her story fell on Thad and he felt as if he should sit down. He leaned against the doorjamb instead. “I’m sorry, but you and I see things very different. Who cares if you didn’t meet their beauty standards? Had you been given the chance, you might have become the most powerful vampire to have ever lived. It’s not fair. Why should they get to choose?”
Her face grew somber and she rushed forward, forgetting her tray of dirty dishes on the table. “Shhh,” she said, placing her soft fingers upon his mouth. “Watch what you say within these walls. The Watchtower is very near and they may be monitoring you.” Thad looked around for a hidden camera. The woman shook her head. “They don’t watch you like that. They don’t need to. The Watchtower is full of fierce and powerful vampires. Their minds are not like our minds and if ever there were slaves that lament their lot, it would be them. Keep your hatred of the Stewards buried within your heart and pray the Watchtower does not find it there.”
Thad felt shaken by the woman’s visible fear, but more so by how quickly it passed, as if she had taken off a mask and cast it aside.
“Don’
t worry about my lot,” the woman said. “I doubt it will be your own. You will make a stunning vampire.” She seemed embarrassed by her compliment, grabbed the tray of dirty dishes and rushed past him into the hallway.
“What’s your name?”
She smiled again, a youthful flirty smile. “Dorothy, but everyone around here calls me Dot.” She sped off with a chipper little strut.
Thad stepped away from the door, but didn’t close it. He sat on the edge of the bed. A lump of something shifted beneath him, tilting him at an uncomfortable angle. He reached back to move the obstruction and found the robe belt still in his back pocket. He pulled it out and coiled it in his lap, like a sleeping snake.
A noise roused him.
Four men passed by his open door in pairs. Each pair carried a dead body between them. None of the men glanced into Thad’s room, but kept their eyes straight ahead, as they continued on their grim task in silence.
Thad figured the dead bodies were the prisoners cast into Shufah’s and Taos’s rooms. He tried to feel some remorse for them, but found a great vacuous space where his empathy should be. He should be appalled that his friends had killed the men to feast on their blood, but he wasn’t. Shufah and Taos were vampires. Vampires fed on blood. Jerusa was a vampire, too and if she ever found a way around her annoying ghost groupie, she would feed on blood as well.
But it was more than that. He could feel no sorrow or disgust over the slaying of the prisoners because Thad now knew that one day he would feed on the blood, too.
A gnawing curiosity crept over him. What did they do with the dead bodies? Where were the four infected men going and what would they do afterward?
Thad stood to his feet before he realized what he was doing. He crossed the room quickly and poked his head out the door in time to see the pallbearers turn the corner at the far end of the hall. He waited for them to vanish, checked the hall to make sure no one else was watching, then shut his door and followed them.
Perpetual Creatures, Volumes 1-3: A Vampire and Ghost Thriller Series Page 42