by Sean Hayden
I pulled a warm shirt over my bare torso (I skipped the bra, small A-cup anyway), and slid into my jeans. My tennis shoes followed and I found myself ready. I rode the elevator down and waltzed through the lobby into the cool night. This is what got scary. I don't remember anything after the sliding glass doors closed behind me. I must have wandered through the downtown area of Arlington Heights, and climbed aboard the train, because the next coherent thought I had, I found myself gone from the suburbs and in the city proper. Bars and clubs lined the street I stood in the middle of. Cars honked from both directions waking me from the trance I had found myself in. I leapt from the middle of the street onto the crowded sidewalk. I heard a couple of muffled "fucking vampires" as the crowd around me parted to give me a wide berth.
When I sat in my room, bored at home, sometimes I would walk through my neighborhood in the predawn hours. Sometimes I would run, and sometimes I would leap through the air. I had never really tested my abilities, but as I stood from the crouch I had landed in I gasped with amazement. I knew the strength I possessed, and I knew I could be fast, but this shocked the hell out of me. I looked around at the ring of faces staring at me with both fear and awe and I smiled. I turned and walked away up the avenue until I came across a street sign proclaiming my location at Milwaukee Ave. I looked around at the surrounding neon and regularly illuminated marquees and wondered where to go. At that moment, the hunger struck.
I smelled blood and the promise of quelling my hunger. It smelled just like my aunt only a thousand times more potent. Like the difference between a cube steak and filet mignon. I had once told my aunt she smelled like spice. One Thanksgiving she had made a full dinner. She made a turkey, and potatoes, and even baked a pumpkin pie. Of course, I couldn't share the bounty with her, but to me she smelled like cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and everything good all mixed together. She laughed at me and told me her perfume smelled like lilacs and that must have been what I smelled. I tested her perfume, and I even stopped to smell some lilacs once, but to me she smelled of spices. Now I smelled it again, but the vastness of it reminded me of what an apothecary would smell like. A thousand different varieties assaulted my senses. I didn't just smell them. I could see them and taste them, hear them and touch them. I felt their essence curl around my body like a lover I had never met before, and I became drunk with their intoxicating aroma.
When I had been but a year or two old, I had watched cartoons. I remember a specific one about an adorable mouse and a cat of questionable virtue, but I would always laugh when they smelled something delicious. The smell itself would curl a finger at them, beckoning them to follow. Sometimes the smell would pick them up and carry them along. I felt just like the cat standing there on the cold wet sidewalk.
The smell pulled me to a set of double doors of tinted glass. Normally at night even tinted glass has the ability to be seen through if it is illuminated from within. Not this tint. It looked as if someone had taken a giant tub of black ink and used it as paint on the inside of the windows. I looked around and saw no brilliantly illuminated sign welcoming patrons, just a simple gold embossed lettering on the door labeled, "Fangloria's". Personally, I didn't care if the place bore a skull and crossbones adorned sign labeling the establishment, "Condemned," I had to get in there.
I pulled on the door handle and it opened easily. The spice smell became strong enough to make my mouth start watering. I stepped inside and found myself in a brick hallway divided lengthwise by a red velvet covered rope. People, and I do mean of the human variety, were corralled within its confines waiting to gain access into Fangloria's. A mountainous man of African descent stood behind the entrance to the velvet waiting pen. His attire ran black from head to toe. Black polo shirt, black pants, black belt and shoes gave him the impression of an immovable mountain of onyx. The Fangloria's logo embroidered on his chest in scarlet being the only splash of color.
"Identification," he grumbled in a voice three octaves lower than bass.
"Um, I don't have one," I said meekly to the man-mountain.
He sniffed the air and hissed. I swear to gods, he hissed, so I hissed back. I didn't plan on doing it; it just came naturally leaving me with the strangest feeling. It lasted only for a moment and he stopped. He bowed and made a sweeping gesture to his right ushering me past the cordoned off area and down the length of the hallway. As I walked past him, I caught his scent. He reeked of cinnamon and vanilla, and he smelled good enough to eat. Oh shit.
I stared at him wide eyed as I walked past, and my entire body began vibrating with the urge to pounce and sink my fangs into him, but I figured attacking him probably wouldn't be a good idea. I may be strong but he, a six foot eight mountain of vampire would probably mop the floor with my red head. The question of why he smelled tasty made its way across my addled brain. My aunt certainly wasn't a vampire so what could the connection be? I walked down the hallway pondering when it made a sudden turn to the right. The velvet ropes followed and about six feet down the line of people ended at another bouncer. This one topped the last by at least three inches. Where did these people shop for employees?
There wasn't anything stopping me from entering the club, nor did the second bouncer even glance my way, and in case you wondered, he smelled of nutmeg. I walked into a smoke filled room with a bar encompassing the entire length of the back wall. Booths and couches lined the remaining walls and a dance floor occupied the remaining real estate. I would normally expect techno or trance music to be pumped into a club with a mile long waiting list, but classical music pumped in over speakers from around the room at a tolerable level. Thank gods. Nothing tweaked my sensitive eardrums more than loud music. I gasped in surprise to see people dancing intricate waltzes and other similar bygone dances and they seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.
I, however, found myself at a loss at what to do. I couldn't wander up to the bar and have an alcoholic beverage, nor did I have a dance partner. I had to eat and soon. I couldn't even smell the cigar and cigarette smoke anymore. Spices invaded my sense of smell from every direction. I had hit the proverbial jackpot; I just couldn't claim my prize.
I looked around to see if I could find an empty couch or booth, but no such luck. Even the bar had patrons stacked three people deep, so I settled for standing by one of the columns surrounding the dance floor.
After getting a good look at the occupants of Fangloria's, I felt a little underdressed. Most wore intricate evening gowns, and even the guys dressed in a minimum of slacks and button down shirts. I had to be the only person in sight wearing anything of the denim persuasion. Even my long sleeved T-shirt marked me as being out of place. I probably looked like I had shambled my way here from a rock concert.
I heard a tentative, "Madam?" I turned around. A youngish man stood behind me with one hand clasped over his wrist. His entire body screamed nerd, but the myriad of bite marks on his neck caught my eye. I fed from my aunt on a regular basis, and always from her wrist. Every time I finished from her I could watch the wound I had made close before my eyes and leave nothing behind. I had read master vampires held similar powers and it had something to do with enzymes in the saliva which sped the healing process to an almost magical rate. People were even talking about trying to reproduce this enzyme for use in medicinal applications. So far they had little success.
I considered ignoring the little man, but my aunt had raised me never to be rude. I turned toward him and gave a tentative sniff. He smelled of spice, but unfortunately it belonged to the cheap aftershave variety. "Can I help you?" I tried for polite, but I sounded bitchy even to me.
"Could I offer you something to drink?"
I wondered at his seriousness for a moment, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. I felt hunger, but not for him.
"Thank you, but no. I'm looking for someone." The lie slipped easily from my lips. He looked crestfallen, but he wasn't pushy. He smiled, turned, and escaped back into the crowd.
I knew from television, a vampire's b
ite could be pleasurable to humans, but my mind couldn't fathom why humans would willingly offer themselves to vampires they didn't even know. My aunt fed me regularly, but I never saw pleasure on her face while it happened. The absence of pleasure alone let me know she did what she did out of love, and not some addiction to pleasure or pain. The thought of people willingly being meals not only disturbed my morality, but almost left me with a sense of outrage. I had to fight to stop myself from yelling at their absurdity.
My thoughts drifted to the smell of spices all around me and the hunger roared through my mind. I had to eat! I could barely control my body any more. I could actually feel lethargy creeping into my limbs and I could barely hear the music permeating the club anymore. I made my way to the bar frantically searching for something. I knew what I wanted; I just didn't know how to get it. I knew if it did not get offered to me, I would take it.
My vision became blurry and I spun in place looking for the closest source of palatable blood, and found him at the bar a mere five feet away. He stood about six feet tall with roguish good looks. He conversed with a demure blond human dressed to the hilt in a black cocktail dress. I could see both hunger for blood and something else in his eyes, and I'm sure she could see it too.
I remember taking one step towards him, and the rest is a blur. I kind of remember launching myself at him, and I definitely remember my teeth piercing the flesh of his neck and the first spurt of his lifeblood striking my tongue. Blurrily, I remember hands of steel and sinew pulling against me, trying to pull me off the handsome stranger whose blood tasted so sweet. I remember the shouts of anger and outrage at what I had done, and then I remember nothing.
Chapter 3
I came to sitting in a high backed leather chair in a nondescript office. I didn't know if I remained at the club, or had been spirited somewhere else. I felt two things, regret for what I had done, and fear of the consequences. I wasn't just sitting in the comfortable chair; I had been bound hand and foot with not one, not two, but three sets of handcuffs. I must have fought pretty hard against the bouncers for such extreme measures. I must have not completely fed either, because the hunger still grumbled from deep within.
I looked around the room, and knew myself to be alone. I thought of the handsome vampire I had attacked with a pang of guilt. I wondered at his fate. I don't think you can kill a vampire by ripping out his throat, but for every interesting fact I did know about vampires, there are probably a million no one had documented yet. If you want to talk about secretive sects, vampires outrank most supernatural species by several rungs of the ladder.
I glanced down at the sets of handcuffs encircling my wrists and gave a tentative tug. They weren't standard police issue cuffs either. I could tell because instead of being a bright chrome color, they had a grey matte finish. I wondered what material was used in their production. While cool to the touch, pure metal would have been even cooler. I pulled my wrists apart to see if they would give, but the material refused. I had heard the expression "up the creek" before, but now I could actually pinpoint the location on a map.
I heard footsteps outside the door and I glanced up just as the door swung open. An angry looking woman stopped just inside the door and stared at me with hatred in her eyes. I gasped a little from her beauty. She stood about five foot seven and probably weighed a little more than my one-hundred pounds. Her hair, the color of spun gold, lay intricately above her beautiful face. Green eyes flashed at me and her lips pursed in an angry line. Her skirt and jacket, obviously of designer label, lay sleekly against the lines of her body and she wore them gracefully.
"Give me one goddamn reason why I shouldn't turn you over to the fucking police." She stood with one hand on her slim waist and one foot tapping an angry rhythm on the hardwood floor.
"I'm sorry ma'am. I wouldn't blame you if you did. I haven't eaten in almost a week, and I don't know what came over me," I looked down as I said it and tried to look as meek as humanly or inhumanly possible. I didn't even look up when I heard her close the door and walk behind the mahogany desk in front of me to sit down.
"Who are you, and more importantly what the hell are you? I know you're a vamp, at least a master, but how did you get so fucking strong? I have seen hunger do strange things, but it took ten of us to pull you off Charles. Those handcuffs you are wearing are carbon nanofiber cuffs. I couldn't break through one of them, and yet you broke through not one set, but two. I didn't think even three sets would hold you, so again, what the fuck is going on?"
"I don't know I swear!" I could hear the tears welling up through my voice, and they weren't faked. I felt scared, hungry, and all alone and I feared my perch on the precipice of the abyss wouldn't remain stable. "I have always been like this. I don't remember ever not being a vampire, and I don't know how I got like this. Please, just kill me or call the fucking cops. I can't do this anymore!"
I brought my cuffed hands to my face, hid behind them, and cried. I didn't expect anything from the female vampire and she didn't disappoint. She just sat behind the desk and left me to my despair. I don't know how long I went on, but it took quite a while, or at least it felt that way. I went from hysterics, to wracking sobs, to sniffles and then finally to quiet lip quivers. When they finally subsided, my mysterious captor finally stood and pushed her chair back.
"What is your name?" Her tone sounded five-hundred degrees softer than before.
"Ashlyn," I answered.
"Ashlyn, if I take those off are you going to attack me?" The timbre of her voice made me pause. I heard her ask, but the words kept repeating themselves over and over and over. I could feel them trying to insinuate themselves into my brain, trying to force me to answer truthfully. I wouldn't have lied anyway, but I felt the compulsion almost forcing the truth from my lips. I knew I could have lied, but I didn't.
"I don't know. I'm still hungry."
If I judged the look on my new friend's face correctly, I surprised her. She closed her eyes for a moment and I heard a soft knock on the door followed by it opening and the large man mountain from the front door pushing his bulk through its inadequate frame.
"Yes, mistress?"
"Anan, come in and close the door," She said and waited for him to comply. "I need you to bare your wrist for our famished guest. Do so now."
I had to give the guy credit. Her voice left no room for argument, but I probably would have told her what she could go do with herself. Anan however, removed the watch from his left arm and lowered his wrist to my mouth. It looked like an entire leg of lamb splayed out in front of me. I raised my eyes and locked gazes with the woman behind the desk as I bit down. I fought the instinct to grab his arm, which would have been damn near impossible anyway because of my spiffy restraints.
The blood hit my tongue and I felt ecstasy consume me. I had lived on the blood of my kin for over seventeen years. It had nourished me, kept me alive, and kept me sane. I never enjoyed it. This however felt like liquid fire pouring itself through every nerve of my body. The puzzle of what made my aunts blood nourishing became clear. It had to be power. My aunt told me my mother had been an earth mage of considerable power. Here before me now stood a vampire of considerable power. My aunt must have had the aptitude to use magic, just not the desire. I must have been a fool not to have seen it earlier.
I drank deeply of my meal. He made no motion to stop me, even as I felt his legs start to quiver. I felt his power ebbing and neither myself nor the hunger inside felt the desire to stop. Then I felt his fear. I like to consider myself a good person. I have never harmed animal, vegetable, nor mineral in the scant two decades of my existence. Feeling his fear made me a little sick to my stomach. Hooray for morals.
I let him go and made sure to be careful extracting my curved fangs so as not to rip his flesh anymore than necessary. I don't know if I expected a modicum of gratefulness from him for my delicate work or what, but I did feel a little hurt when he grabbed his wrist and fled to the far side of the office. I let it go and rol
led the power and taste around on my tongue. It tasted exquisite. I stretched like a cat and felt the hunger slumber finally. I had been hungry for days and the feeling of contentment washed over me.
I couldn't contain myself. I looked down at my bonds and snapped the three chains without a thought. If I had thought about it beforehand, I probably wouldn't have done it. I looked again at my captor. She closed her eyes again and a mere moment later a group of large vampires in the Fangloria's regalia came surging into the room. A mere fraction of a second later and I became surrounded in bouncer.
"Whoa!" I wasn't going to do anything; I just wanted to free my hands. I held my hands up in the classic "freeze" posture, and I felt multiple hands grab my wrists and arms.
"Stop," I heard her say. Again she used her double voice. I could hear it whispering to me with desire to do what she said. I'm not going to lie; I wish I had her ability. It would be pretty handy in a bank.
"I'm not doing anything, the cuffs started to chafe," I told her. I saw doubt wash across her face and something else. Maybe fear. I doubted it. "Can you please undo my feet? I promise you I'll leave and never come back."
She motioned her private army to release me and back up and they did so. I rubbed my wrists and settled my hands into my lap.
"Ashlyn, first you have to answer some questions for me." I felt her using a compulsion not to lie again. "How old are you? What house do you claim as your heritage? Who is your master?" The questions kept repeating themselves over and over in my mind. I wanted to lie, and I knew I could, but to what point. The truth would probably be more believable than any lie I could concoct.
"I'm seventeen. I don't know what you mean by "what house" and I have no master. Now you know my name, could you please tell me who you are?" I saw her ponder both my answers and my question.
"Gloria is my name, child. I am the proprietor of the establishment you chose to wreak such havoc upon. How dare you come in to my house, attack one of my customers, and create problems, the likes of which you couldn't possibly imagine, for me? Tell me child, what am I supposed to do with you now? Call the authorities and tell them you attacked one of my guests and let them figure out what to do with you? Vampires in jail don't last too long. Should I kill you myself? I can tell you are going to be nothing but a huge inconvenience if you don't outright get me killed. Or should I turn you over to the Master of Chicago and let him deal with you?"