“I didn’t do anything behind your back,” she said, staring back at him. “Darrell’s sensitive, like me. That’s why we were friends. He heard a call that I unwittingly sent out and somehow, he found his way here.”
“A call?” Dylan’s accusatory tone evaporated and he stepped away from Christa. “What does that mean?”
Christa sighed, unwilling to divulge something that had been sacred to her and Darrell. She glanced at her friend and he shrugged. “It’s something we found out we could do at school,” she began. “If I was worried, or if something bad happened I could send out a call, like a beacon, and Darrell would hear it.”
“It’s more like a feeling, really,” Darrell interjected.
“That’s right,” she continued. “It works the other way round, too. If Darrell ever needed me, he could send out a call and I’d know I should go to him.”
“Can you do all the things Christa can do?” Dylan asked Darrell. “Can you read peoples’ thoughts?”
“No,” Darrell shook his head. “Nothing like that. If I concentrate on someone I only see shapes and faint impressions.”
“So how did you track Christa to New York?” Dylan took Christa’s hand and smiled at her.
“It was like chasing a ghost or a shadow,” Darrell said. “I caught fleeting images of her in the places where she’d been.” He turned to her, his face unflinching, his gaze intense. He obviously wanted her to understand exactly how difficult it had been to find her. “The trail went dead for a while, then I made it to Camden and I was certain I felt you there. I asked around, and people said they’d seen you. I finally found out you’d come here, to America. That’s it, really. I watched people, I searched their minds for impressions of you. Eventually it led me here.”
Christa grinned, overwhelmed that someone had gone to so much trouble to search her out.
“Fascinating,” Dylan said, drawing Darrell’s attention away from Christa. “What are the odds that two people with gifts such as yours would end up attending the same school? You must have both felt incredibly lucky, to have found someone to confide in.”
Again, Christa wasn’t entirely convinced of the sincerity behind Dylan’s words. His expression was one of honest curiosity, but she thought she saw mistrust lurking within his ocean-blue eyes. “We are lucky,” she said. “I don’t think there are many people like us in the world.”
Dylan nodded. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you both to catch up. I really must get back to Rob.” He flashed Darrell a tight smile. “He’s my own old friend,” he told him. “Although I daresay we’ve been acquainted a good deal longer than you two have known each other.”
Once Dylan had disappeared from the room, Darrell sat back down on the sofa. “I can’t believe I was just talking to a vampire.” He looked up at Christa. “Why haven’t you told him about the Institute?”
“I don’t have to tell him everything,” Christa repeated for the second time that day. She turned away towards the window, thin arms wrapped around herself. “I don’t want to relive what happened there. Most days, I just pretend none of it was real.”
The ensuing silence confirmed Darrell’s mutual agreement. Some things were better left beneath the rug they’d been swept under.
Eleven
As the setting sun infused night’s gathering clouds with deep amber, Dylan left the hotel with a spring in his step, his companions at his side. Even his annoyance at Christa’s constant disappearances into Darrell’s suite since his arrival two days earlier had left him. That evening there was to be a jinn night at one of the more discreet clubs in the East Village, aptly called The Fabric of Dreams. The heavily coded website he’d stumbled across had promised a surprise of biblical proportions. It was certainly an opportunity Dylan couldn’t bear to pass up.
“Why the hell do you care about finding this Bredia chick?” Rob had asked while Dylan preened and posed before the mirror in the bathroom, readying himself to shine before the jinn masses. “She’s just another stinking jinn bastard if you ask me.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Dylan had replied, turning on his friend with a fire in his eyes that silenced him instantly. He sighed, his expression softening. “Sorry.” Rob just nodded. His protégé had been a forlorn and rather pathetic figure since watching Ernie Coldblood kill his beloved Marie. All fight seemed to have left him and he let Dylan push him around far too easily. If Dylan was honest with himself, it irked him.
He turned back to the mirror and raked his fingers through his hair, letting it fall across his face. “I just want to find out what Bredia is,” he said. “Is she animal or mineral?” He smiled at Rob in the mirror but his friend refused to share in his weak attempt at humour. “I got myself into this position,” Dylan continued, frowning. “I forced a shaky-handed jinn mystic to sew these stones into my stomach. I just think I should find out what it is I’ve done. If anyone can tell me, surely it’s a jinn goddess?”
Rob’s obstinate silence continued as they made their way towards the subway station at the end of the street, his eyes misted, his face worn and tired. Behind them, Christa and Darrell walked in step, whispering together like two children.
“Why are you two so excited?” Dylan asked them. “You’re chattering like monkeys.”
“It’s just nice to get out of the hotel,” Christa said. “I thought you were never getting out of the bloody hot tub.”
Dylan grinned at her. “I told you I was waiting for a decent lead. This is a properly organised, jinn-only event. I’m expecting a certain level of class, and perhaps some jinn with more than two brain cells who will talk about Bredia.”
Rob snorted. “Good luck.”
“It’s all about patience,” Dylan said, ignoring Rob. “I knew that if I bade my time, the answers would come to me. Patience is a skill creatures like me become very good at.” He looked pointedly at Darrell, deriving a certain satisfaction from the way the man’s face whitened as if on cue.
“If the club’s jinn-only, how will we get in?” Darrell said, swallowing.
“We could offer you up as an appetiser,” Dylan suggested.
“Don’t worry,” Christa said, shooting Dylan a remonstrative look. He winked at her and turned away. “I’ll make sure we get in unharmed.”
A rush of hot, stale air rushed up to greet them as they reached the subway station and began to negotiate the stairs. Dylan lifted his sleeve to his mouth. He had once heard that breathing in the gust of wind created by passing subway trains was akin to smoking a hundred cigarettes. He had no need to fear lung cancer, but he detested the thought of decades-old human filth flooding his body in a single breath. They reached the platform just as the train they wanted was pulling away.
“Great,” Dylan said.
“They’ll be another one in a minute,” Darrell said, edging closer to Christa when Dylan bared his teeth at him.
“Why do they never put seats in these shitty places?” Rob said, looking around the deserted platform. “Like it’s too fucking much to ask for a bench.”
“Would you sit on it if there was a bench?” Dylan said. “It would probably be covered in chewing gum and soaked through with tramp’s piss.”
Christa laughed out loud. “That’s gross, Dylan. I think–” She stopped, interrupted by the echoing sound of feet pounding on the platform.
“Wait,” a girl was shouting. “Please wait!”
The group turned towards a tall, wild-faced woman making a beeline for Christa. She was hotly pursued by a shorter, sweating girl with thick, bright green hair pulled back in bunches that bounced on her shoulders as she ran.
“We’ve found you,” the taller woman said, stopping in front of them. “I can’t believe it.” She turned to punch her friend on the arm, flashing a gap between her front teeth when she smiled. “See, Rebecca. I told you this was the place.”
Rebecca was finding it hard to catch her breath. She looked up at Dylan, biting her lip when she noticed his steely expression
. “Sorry to disturb you,” she said.
“Don’t apologise, Rebecca,” her friend said. “This is important, they’ll understand.” She thrust her hand towards Christa. “I’m Anne. Are we the first to find you? I hope we are, I can’t wait to tell the guys on the forum about this.”
“What guys?” Christa said, refusing to shake Anne’s hand. The woman finally let it drop to her side but her rejection barely registered. She continued to smile widely, her pale eyes shining.
“We’re part of an online wiccan community,” Anne said.
“Good lord.” Dylan grinned at Rob. “And I’ve forgotten my broomstick.”
Rob stifled his laughter while Anne glared at Dylan, her sunny smile replaced with indignation. “It’s that sort of stereotyping that leads to victimisation,” she said. “Our religion is based on nature and healing. We’re not Halloween witches.”
“I bet you have warts though,” Dylan said. He clapped an arm around Rob’s shoulders and they laughed together, the noise rebounding along the length of the platform.
Anne turned back to Christa, disbelief draining her face of all colour. “I didn’t think that you, of all people, would have friends like this.” A large pentagram on a silver chain began to vibrate against her chest as her breathing became more agitated. “I put up with creeps like this at school. That was all supposed to change when I found you.” She was on the verge of tears.
“What did you call me?” Dylan said, his laughter draining away.
“I called you a creep,” Anne said, her stance defiant, her eyes daring him to argue with her. “Because that’s what you are.”
Dylan’s arm snaked out too fast for mortal eyes to see, his fingers gripping Anne’s throat and squeezing it like a soft fruit. She gasped and flailed, wet eyes wide with panic. “I’ll show you what a real creep is,” he roared, his skin suddenly burning with thirst, with the terrible, all-consuming desire to tear this girl’s throat apart and drink from her until she was little more than an empty, fleshy shell. “Bloody wiccans,” he said, moving his face close to hers. “You’re nothing but misguided, teenage fantasists. You don’t know what it is to have real power. This world is not a place of nature and healing, it’s dark and brutal and stained with rich, ripe blood.”
As he bared his teeth at the quivering girl, angling for the kill, Christa gripped his arm and forced him to look at her. “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “I still haven’t found out why she was looking for me.”
Dylan snarled at Christa, lip curling back from razor-edged teeth, eyes misted with a pulsating, aching need. “Get away, Christa,” he said, barely able to control himself. His fingers trembled at the girl’s throat and a short, sharp wail of horror fought its way out of her mouth. He pushed Christa aside and brought the girl to his lips in one swift, fluid motion, relishing the loud tearing sound his teeth made in the skin at the base of her neck. The world fell away as hot, magical blood began to pump into his mouth and down his throat, filling his withered stomach with thick, precious essence. The platform and his companions ceased to exist for those brief moments as he spiralled far away from them, borne aloft on a joyous, crimson wave.
Finally, he drained his last and pushed the body away, watching as if in slow motion as it smacked onto the floor, the girl’s skull breaking against the grimy concrete like an egg. Rob stood beside him, fingers twitching at his sides and nostrils flaring, his senses driven to frenzy by the smell of fresh blood. Christa was a short distance away, her hands on Rebecca’s shoulders, peering intently into her eyes as some silent communication passed between them. Rebecca’s face was wet with tears, her make-up smudged around her eyes and mouth, but her apparent hysteria seemed to have ceased for the moment. She swayed before Christa, filmy gaze locked with hers.
“You done yet?” Dylan said. “Why were the Bitches of Eastwick here?”
Christa released Rebecca and turned on Dylan, face dark with anger. Rebecca remained motionless before her. “What the hell was that?” she said. “Can’t you control yourself for more than two minutes?”
“Do I look like a man who revels in control?”
“You didn’t look like a man at all.” Christa sighed, pushing her hair back from her face. “They read about me online, apparently. You scared her so much it was hard to piece her scattered thoughts together. She said something about watching for signs and following the clues. They knew I would be here tonight, but they didn’t know when. They’ve been hanging around the subway for hours, waiting for me to show up.”
“That’s bloody weird.”
“I know.” Christa looked back at Rebecca, her brow furrowed. “I couldn’t make out why they wanted to find me. What did they want me to do, exactly?”
“Join their drum circle?” When Christa refused to smile, Dylan shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “They probably mistook you for someone else. Who knows what they were looking at online? There are some pretty fucked up people on the web.”
“Maybe,” Christa said, sounding unconvinced.
“Well, enough of this,” Dylan announced. “There’ll be another train soon. It wouldn’t do to leave this mess in full view of the passengers.” He nudged the broken body on the floor with his foot.
“You finished with her?” Rob asked Christa. He was looking past her, towards Rebecca who was still swaying on her feet, open-mouthed and dewy eyed.
“Sure,” Christa said. She stepped out of the way as Rob rushed at the girl beside her, hands grasping, teeth slick with saliva.
Dylan bent to gather Anne’s limp corpse into his arms. “Give me a hand with this, will you Darrell? We can stash her in that bathroom over there.” Darrell reappeared from the shadows he’d retreated to, a thin sheen of sweat shining on his forehead and along his upper lip. Dylan smiled at his suitably horrified expression. “Come along now,” he said. “No need to be afraid. I’m quite full for this evening, your neck is safe.”
Darrell looked at him with what Dylan could only describe as a grimace of pure hatred. He laughed and began to whistle as they dragged the body across the platform, Darrell holding Anne’s feet. This was turning into a very pleasant evening indeed.
***
The Fabric of Dreams was one of the strangest buildings Dylan had ever seen, which was no small admittance from a vampire of his years. The entrance was innocuous enough, set back from the street and obscured by overflowing trash cans. This though, was where the blandness ended. Inside, the club appeared to be small and claustrophobic, completely devoid of corners and curved as though he was standing inside a hot, smoky tube. When Dylan looked down however, over a low balcony running in a circle around the centre, he saw that the space descended beneath him, dropping so deeply he was unable to see the bottom. The floor he was standing on was only the first of many. Stairs spiralled down behind him, hugging the wall and disappearing into the blackness. The music was rich and heavy, interspersed with deep-voiced, lethargic lyrics. Dylan nodded in approval, barely acknowledging the jinn youth in drain pipe jeans who stepped forward to ask him for the ten dollar entry fee and to press a stamp onto the back of his hand. When Dylan inspected it he could just about make out the smudged impression of an eye, filled with a single flame.
“So you can get back in if you step outside,” the youth explained.
Behind him, Dylan’s companions had paused before entering, gathering around Christa as she worked her subtle magicks on each of them. She held their hands and breathed deeply, closing her eyes when an almost imperceptible wind started up, passing through their hair and rippling against their clothes. When they finally approached the bouncer at the door neither Darrell nor Rob seemed convinced by Christa’s insistence that they’d now pass for jinn. Darrell could barely look at the greasy haired bouncer and instead stared straight ahead as they were waved inside, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Once they reached the youth with the stamp however, they held their hands out to him readily, grins wide on their faces. They had made it, they had bee
n accepted as jinn. Christa, of course, didn’t look at all surprised. She shrugged at Dylan and laughed.
“That was easy. We even smell like jinn.”
Dylan sniffed experimentally. “Spoiling meat and cold chip fat. Yes, you’ve excelled again, Christa dear. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that you lot had jinn stones in your stomachs.”
Darrell looked as if he wanted to be sick. “We smell like chip fat?”
“Well, to other jinn that’s a turn-on,” Dylan said. He paused and walked back to the youth hovering near the door. “What’s the surprise planned for tonight? Do you know?”
The youth raised an eyebrow, regarding Dylan as if he were extremely stupid. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
Dylan swallowed his sudden desire to punch the self-righteous kid in the gut, breaking open his precious jinn stones. Instead, he gritted his teeth and returned to his friends, staring at the youth’s face for a fraction of a second longer than was comfortable. He wasn’t going to cause a scene and get himself evicted from the club, but he also wanted to remember the kid’s face in case he ever ran into him again.
“Everything okay?” Christa asked.
Dylan wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side. She looked particularly exquisite in a backless black velvet dress and long lace gloves. “Everything’s fine. Let’s get you a drink.”
Dylan led the way down the staircase against the wall, the railings woven through with twinkling lights. Each floor of the club was furnished with a bizarre and eclectic array of objects. On one floor, an enormous fish tank squatted amid a throng of clubbers, filled with exotic fish and multi-hued, undulating plants. A bald, lithe man wearing only a tiny sequined thong and painted head to toe with bright blue paint was swimming in the tank, doggy paddling amongst the skittering shoals and broad-leaved flora. The next floor was covered with nests of cushions and towering Turkish hookahs, each one surrounded by cross-legged patrons, tentacle-like hose in hand, creating long drifts of smoke that smelt of apples and cocoa and cherries.
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