“Why didn’t you just dazzle him?” Dylan whispered as they followed Lucy through the bar. The ponytail at his back swung hypnotically as he walked.
Christa shrugged. “Sometimes there are other ways.”
They passed into a short corridor, hidden from the bar by a large, black cotton sheet stapled across the bare door frame. Dylan held the sheet aside for Christa and let it fall back into place behind them. As they walked down the corridor, the smell of cooking grew stronger. Voices caught the air and the sound of a bass-heavy blues band floated back to them. They eventually stepped out onto a wide veranda facing the lake. It wrapped around the back of the building and hung out over the water.
“Here we are, folks,” Lucy said, turning to them with a grin. “Lucy’s Dance and Grill. The original and still the best.”
“Why do you have to hide it?” Dylan wondered. His gaze swept the myriad people. They were lounged on benches, dancing beside the low podium occupied by the band, or simply leant against the railings before the lake, their faces turned to the settling twilight, their hair ruffled by the soft breeze coming in from the water. In a far corner, people queued to collect barbequed steaks from an ancient-looking grill operated by a short, sweaty-faced young man in grubby chef’s whites.
Lucy laughed. “I’m sure Troy must’ve told you about our extra services.”
“Of course,” Dylan said. “That’s why we came.” Beside him, Christa sniggered behind her hand.
A look of confusion crossed Lucy’s face, but he let the comment pass. “Any problems finding what you want, just ask me. Name’s Lucy,” Lucy said. He briskly shook Dylan’s hand and headed back down the corridor, towards the front bar.
“Extra services?” Dylan asked Christa.
“You just told him we came here looking for prostitutes,” she said, laughing. “There are private rooms you can use, up those stairs.”
Dylan turned in the direction Christa was indicating and saw a narrow flight of steps set against the side of the building. They ended at an open doorway and a corridor stretching back into the top floor.
“I’ve never had to pay for it,” he said. “I refuse to start now.”
“That’s reassuring,” Christa said. “I’m going to grab some food, okay?”
Dylan nodded and watched her walk away towards the grill. Something was nagging at him. It was a strangely familiar feeling, a tugging at his mind. He frowned, wondering what it could be. There was something up those stairs. Something besides the prostitutes and their clients. It was plaintive and insistent and spoke to him like the comforting melody of a mother’s lullaby.
Intrigued, Dylan walked to the steps and began to climb, reaching out with his vampiric senses. Whatever it was didn’t feel dangerous. He paused in the doorway at the top, his nostrils widening. He could smell fresh blood. Filled with a sudden sense of urgency, he pressed forward into the corridor. From behind the closed doors on either side of him came the sounds of whores plying their trade.
“Call me Uncle Ernie!” one voice suddenly shouted.
Dylan smiled and kept walking, finally stopping before the very last door. The aching, nagging feeling was stronger here, the smell of blood sharper. He grasped the door handle and felt it resist beneath his hand. The door was locked.
“I’m with a private client,” a male voice called from inside. He sounded out of breath. “Come back later.”
Dylan almost complied, suddenly embarrassed. He certainly didn’t want to barge in on a busy prostitute. He looked up at a sign on the door, noticing it for the first time, and frowned again. This wasn’t a whore’s private room, this was the tattooist’s studio. The sign was written in a flowing, bold hand on laminated card: ‘Sin on Skin – Tattoos by Roberto’. Another burst of warm, sweet blood infused the air and without thinking, Dylan gripped the door handle once more, bearing down with his considerable strength until he felt the lock buckle and fall apart. When the door swung inwards and Dylan was finally able to see who was inside, he felt winded, as if someone with even greater strength than he had punched him deep in the stomach.
For several seconds, no one spoke. Dylan blinked, sure that he must be imagining the scene before him. A slim, tightly-muscled man was bent over a motionless woman, laid out on the single padded chair in the middle of the room. Two wounds at the woman’s throat bled bright crimson that ran down her neck and disappeared into her cleavage, staining the fitted white dress she wore. When the man looked up at Dylan he hissed like a predatory cat, baring perfectly formed fangs flecked with gore.
There was a deep intake of breath, then: “Dylan? Shit, man. Is that you?”
Finally, Dylan understood his prickling feelings of familiarity. It had been so long since he’d been in the presence of another vampire, he had failed to place the sensation. He gaped for several moments, his gaze travelling from the pale woman on the chair to the vampire, his grinning mouth circled with scarlet. Rob certainly cut a different figure from the nervous boy he’d left in Hannard all those years ago. He had shaved the blonde curls from his head and grown a beard, wearing it as a goatee almost as long as Lucy’s ponytail. It was plaited down to his chest, woven through with strands of silver and fine purple ribbon. He wore a black tank top to expose the sculpted muscles of his arms, each covered with stark, black and red tattoos that reached from his wrists to his shoulders.
“I can’t believe you’re still here,” Dylan eventually said.
“Most days, neither can I,” Rob said, laughing. He abandoned the woman and strode towards Dylan, wrapping his arms around him and clapping him on the back. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. This is one big fucking surprise.”
Behind them, the woman in the chair stirred and moaned.
“Shit, where are my manners?” Rob said, releasing Dylan. “Please, help yourself.”
Dylan closed the door behind him and walked towards the woman, feeling dazed and strangely disorientated. He had believed he was the last of his kin. Alone. Now Rob was here, grinning as stupidly as he had ever done and acting as if nothing had transpired. As if his vampire family hadn’t been purged from the earth like common parasites. He looked down at the woman, felt his stomach grumble and turn over when the scent of freshly-let blood drifted up to him. He leant over her body, searching for a clean place to bite, and noticed a crisscross of minute scars running along her neck line and across both arms.
“You’ve fed from her before?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah man, she’s fine with it. Loves it, actually. It’s a lot easier than leaving bodies everywhere. But this was your trick, wasn’t it? I learnt from you.” Rob suddenly paused and clapped his hands with excitement. “Shit, I can’t believe you’re here. You’re like my fucking father, man.”
Dylan forced a smile and turned back to the woman. The idea of being someone’s adopted father made him feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t as though he had put any thought into turning Rob vampire. It had been Gwyneth’s wish, a passing whim that left her almost as soon as the immortal bloodlust had settled itself within Rob’s quivering body. Dylan didn’t feel responsible for him as a father would. Frankly, the very suggestion was nauseating. He lifted the woman’s downy arm and turned it over. When he found an unmarked piece of skin on her forearm he bit down hard, causing her eyes to fly open with shock. She remained mute and as Dylan continued to suckle at her rising blood, she settled back against the chair and relaxed once more. Dylan barely took a few mouthfuls before dropping the woman’s arm and stepping away. The glut of Christa’s blood he had ingested the previous night was still swimming in his system, glowing in his belly and making him feel full. When he turned back to Rob, his old friend had cleaned the blood from his chin and mouth.
“We trade blood for ink,” Rob said, nodding at the woman. “She wants a pair of angel wings on her back.” He turned away slightly, dropping his voice. “Everyone wants angel wings these days. That, or some crap written in fucking Chinese above their ass-cracks. No one has any i
magination anymore.”
Dylan smiled properly for the first time. “I thought you would have moved on years ago,” he said.
“Well, I’ve been around. Learnt my trade in New York.” Rob patted the steel-topped table on which his needles and ink were laid out with a certain sense of pride. “There’s something about this place though. Keeps drawing me back.”
Dylan nodded his agreement. “It’s hard to break with your roots.”
Rob was about to say something else, but was stopped by a loud voice in the corridor outside.
“Hey, Rob. Knock, knock, Rob. You missed our appointment.”
The fear that flashed across Rob’s face intrigued Dylan. What would such a careful vampire have to be afraid of?
“I’m with someone, you’ll have to come back,” Rob shouted through the door.
There was a long pause. So long that Dylan began to think the intruder had given up and retreated. They both jumped back with surprise when the door burst open with a bang. Ernie Coldblood stood on the other side, a wide smirk on his greasy face.
“Who’s your friend?” he said, eying Dylan. He seemed oblivious to the bleeding blonde in the chair.
At the mention of his friend, Rob seemed to bolster. “We go back a long way,” he said. He moved closer to Ernie. “A very long way, if you get my meaning. You should back off.”
Ernie studied Dylan, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t know what this guy’s been telling you, Rob, but he’s one of mine. I could smell him in the hall. I swear I’ve seen him before, too.”
Rob faltered and turned to Dylan, the confusion plain on his face. “A jinn?”
“Yes, a jinn,” Ernie said. “You’re a Grade A genius, Rob.”
Dylan’s shock at seeing the leader of the Coldbloods again, so far from The Starlight Lodge and the lonely desert roads that led to it, soon wore off. “I’m not one of yours,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You interrupted us. I think you should piss off now.” He moved forward and stared at the smaller man, refusing to take his eyes from Ernie’s face.
Ernie took in the two men and stepped back. “Fine, have your little reunion,” he said. “It doesn’t change anything.” He took one last look at Rob, his eyes bristling with hate, before backing away and disappearing down the corridor.
Dylan closed the door. “What the hell was all that about?”
Rob didn’t appear to have heard him. “Are you really a jinn, Dylan? A filthy fucking jinn?” The nervous boy that Dylan remembered seemed to have momentarily returned. His lip quivered, making the long tail of his beard dance on his chest.
Dylan sighed. “It’s a long story.”
***
Rob agreed to sit and talk with Dylan, but on their journey down the steps and back out onto the veranda he had remained mute, refusing to walk too closely behind him. Dylan found Christa sitting at a wooden table beside the railings, an obscenely huge plate of steaming steak and bread rolls set before her. She watched them approach with a quizzical look on her face, her jaws working on a mouthful of meat and bread.
“Sorry I was gone so long,” Dylan said. He waited for Rob to sit down on the bench before Christa. “This is Rob. He’s an old friend of mine.”
“A very old friend,” Christa said. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled, obviously intrigued. “I thought you were the last of your kind, Dylan.”
“I may have been exaggerating somewhat,” Dylan replied. He sat beside Christa, his eyes fixed on Rob. He was looking past them, towards the lake.
“Rob, this is Christa. She’s travelling with me.”
At the mention of his name, Rob finally focussed on him. Dylan could see anger burning in his eyes. Anger, and a deep sense of anguish that puzzled him. “For Christ’s sake,” he said. “Why do you care if I’m part jinn now? Why does it matter?”
“It fucking matters,” Rob said, his voice a low growl in the back of his throat, “because I hate those dirty motherfuckers.”
“What the hell are they good for?” Christa mused. Dylan stared at her in surprise.
“Exactly!” Rob said. “Well fucking said. At least my people have some class. We see the taking of blood as a ritual, an art. Not the jinn though. They rip people apart in the street and leave the bodies in the gutters. They eat the most disgusting things, raw and dripping and tasting like shit. We’re predatory hunters. We have skills and techniques honed through centuries of experience. They run in packs like wild dogs and have all the finesse of a drooling rottweiler. People mistake them for us, did you know that? In the places where they still keep their legends and fear the things that stalk the night. They find the mutilated corpses in the morning and start hanging garlic in their fucking windows.” Rob finished his tirade and sat back, his arms crossed, silently demanding an answer from Dylan.
“I thought we were as good as extinct,” Dylan said. He briefly wondered why the hell he should have to explain himself to this infant. He doubted the man had ever even left American soil. He had chosen to spend many of his long years in this crumbling backwater, after all. Dylan swallowed thickly, deciding he would be patient with Rob, if only because he might well be the last vampire he would ever see again. “There was an incident in England,” he continued. “Actually, incident isn’t a strong enough word. One of Gwyneth’s schemes backfired and The Ancient Order were wiped out. Those who were left, anyway.”
“Gwyneth?” Christa questioned.
Dylan ignored her and pressed on. “I was the only one who survived. Who was I going to turn to? Mortals?”
Rob’s anger had been replaced with cold shock. “They’re all gone? Gwyneth’s dead? Shit. I’m sorry, man.” He briefly lowered his head. “That still doesn’t explain why you turned jinn,” he said after a pause. “What the fuck is wrong with being alone? I’ve been alone for forty years, but you won’t see me putting their shitty stones in my stomach.”
Dylan was surprised at the deep sense of shame he felt. “It’s my weakness, I suppose,” he said. “I’ve never liked being alone.”
“So are you jinn, too?” Rob asked Christa. If he wasn’t entirely satisfied with Dylan’s explanation, he was at least willing to let it stand.
“No,” she said. “I’m just Christa.”
Rob caught the eye of a waitress and signalled for her to bring them three beers. They sat in silence while they waited for their drinks, Rob fidgeting with the end of his plaited beard. Once the waitress had returned and passed out the bottles of beer Dylan sat forward, his hands resting on the table.
“So, you’ve heard my story,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“I don’t think I can fucking tell you now,” Rob said. “Not now you’re one of them.”
“You can trust us,” Christa said, her voice low and soothing. “Who have they taken?”
Rob visibly relaxed. The tense lines around his eyes smoothed and he exhaled deeply. Dylan mentally reminded himself to tell Rob how to shield himself from Christa’s gifts.
“The stupid assholes want to be vampires,” Rob said. “That Ernie guy walked in on me when I was with one of my special customers.”
“Like that woman in the chair upstairs?” Dylan said.
“Yeah, like her. He got all excited, started shouting about how he thought we were a myth. Then he asked me to turn him, right then and there. As if it’s that fucking easy. When I refused he got angry, almost tore the place up. I fought him off but he came back with his buddies.”
“Then what happened?” Christa said.
“They wouldn’t leave me alone, that’s what happened. They followed me home, got into my personal business. Even emptied out my goddamn trash can. Then they found out about Marie.” Rob looked away, his lips pressed tightly together.
Christa leant forward and put her hand on his arm, bringing his attention back to her. “Who’s Marie?”
Rob looked from Christa to Dylan and laughed. “I guess she’s my fucking weakness.” He paused. “I wanted to turn her. I was waiting for the r
ight moment to tell her what I was. Then I was going to make her an eternal offer she couldn’t refuse.” He grinned, but there was a deeply wrought sadness in it that made the gesture hollow. “When the jinn found out I was seeing her they broke into her place and fucking kidnapped her. Ernie told me if I don’t turn them by midnight tomorrow, they’re going to– Shit, I can’t even say it.”
Christa looked to Dylan, her face pale. “We should stop this,” she said. “They can’t just go around kidnapping people.”
Dylan sighed. “Jinn kidnap people every day. Besides, they’re the Coldbloods. They think they can do whatever the hell they want.”
“The Coldbloods?” Christa said. “I know that name.”
“You should do, you scared the shit out of them at The Starlight Lodge.”
Christa began to laugh and stopped herself, looking guiltily to Rob. He didn’t seem to have noticed. He was staring past them again, his gaze fixed on the lake. Dylan produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to his friend.
“Thanks, bud,” Rob said. He put the cigarette in his mouth but didn’t light it.
“I remember them now,” Christa said, lighting her own cigarette. “That Ernie had bad skin and he’s losing his hair, but he thought he was God’s gift.”
“That’s him,” Dylan said.
“Well, I scared them off before. I can do it again.”
Rob shook his head at her. “What do you mean, you scared them off before? Anyway, there are more of them than there are of us. They’re almost as strong as vampires, too. Don’t live as long, of course. Can’t do any of our tricks. That’s why they want me to turn them.”
“I didn’t know there were tricks,” Christa said, grinning at Dylan.
Dylan shrugged, embarrassed. “Some of us are more talented than others.” He had always been ashamed of his shortcomings and silently, he berated Rob for forcing him to disclose it. “My kin used to study magicks. Glamours, curses, things like that. I wasn’t very good at it.”
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