The Vampire Sextette

by Edited by Marvin Kaye

  —Did the defendant mention Jeremy Kindred at all? The fact that his friend physically prevented him from being sucked into the vampire world?

  —No.

  —So you had no idea there was any side to the story other than what you were being told.

  —That's right, sir.

  —Did you believe him?

  —Not really, sir. I thought he'd lost it. But there was something real hypnotic about his voice and such. He was sexy, too. In a scary kind of way.

  —Sexy and scary?

  —He was pale and thin. His cheeks were all sunken and his eyes, too. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days and he'd stayed out of the sun… well, like he was dead, really. Dead but beautiful. I guess what was exciting about him was… there was a wrongness. About the way he moved. The way he smiled. Like they weren't his lips, his limbs. Do you know what I mean? Like something was animating his body and such. Possession or something. I touched his shoulder.

  Flinched from it. It was cold as ice. But then again I felt I wanted to warm him up all over. I wanted to give him what I'd denied all those other men who took what they wanted from me. He was different. I wanted to make love to him. And later, we went back to the doughnut van, and, in the back, I did make love to him. I think of it as that, though he didn't really do much. I did all the moving. I'd never used Dad's van for that before, and it was sticky on account of all the bits of custard filling and the little patches of spilled powdered sugar and all. He sat back against a pile of delivery boxes and I didn't care that they were getting all crushed. I just ate him up, impaled myself on him, rode him up and down, wrapped my titties around his face, but all the while he was muttering about other things… about banging and banging on the gates of hell till his fists were raw and bloodied from the rough stone… I didn't know what he meant until that night, when I met him again at the Forbin-St. Cloud monument and saw him kneeling at the carved mouth of hell and beating his fists against the granite… but I didn't care, you see, because I'd found someone as lost as me, maybe even more lost, someone I could give to freely, someone I could love.

  —So you became a member of his… secret society.

  —If you could call it that. It was just him and three of us girls. He called us the Brides of Dracula. He drank our blood. He mixed it with vanilla syrup and ice in a blender. Said he needed the ice because the heat of the blood would send him straight to the other world, and he wasn't ready yet, he still had things to do in the human world. The other two girls were Ramona and Chastity. They're dead now. He found Ramona lurking outside a homeless shelter over there in the city. Chastity was a runaway. I know what we done was wrong, but Jody, well, he had a vision and such. When he talked, we felt we belonged to something big. He gave us a structure, too, our nightly hunts. He taught us to pounce on alley cats and bite their necks and slurp down the gushing blood. That was disgusting, but it was kinda thrilling, too. And now and then as a really special treat he'd fuck us. But it was always with us doing all the work, and him staring off into space, thinking I guess about his great vision. Which he finally explained to us. The day before… you know.

  —He told you… what? That you were going to go on a killing spree?

  —Not exactly. I remember it perfectly because we were having another meeting in Dad's van. We always used it for meetings now, because I could always get the van between deliveries, and now, behind the smell of apple-cinnamon and chocolate, there was also a permanent smell of sex. Because the three of us… the girls I mean, not Jody… we'd do stuff in there while we were waiting for him. Thing is, you know how it is when us girls hang out together all the time… our periods kind of fall into sync. And so all three of us were on the rag at the same time. And we were all laughing about it, how it had gotten closer and closer in the last two months and now, this time, third time lucky and such, bang, same day, same second practically. And we were all idly fingerbanging each other while we talked about our fucked-up lives. So finally he shows up. And he's all, I smell blood. God, I smell blood! It makes me feel all… oh, I want it, I want it. And since we're all already with our panties down, and all moist from playing with each other, he's all over us, pulling out our tampons, lapping at us like a cat cleaning its ass. God, it was hot! I never felt that way before. The way he flecked my clitoris, the way he tickled my lips, teasing out every last flake of coagulating blood…

  —Your Honor, spare us this pornography! Objection, objection!

  —Your Honor, this evidence speaks directly to the nature of the defendant's mental illness… his delusional obsession with the, ah, sanguinary aspects of the human body.

  —Young lady, get it over with, and proceed to the question at hand.

  —Yes, Your Honor. Um… what were you going to ask me, sir?

  —Well, Natalie. You've just explained that Jody became unusually animated as a result of the smell of blood.

  —That's true, sir. As I say, usually he would just lay there while we rubbed up and down on him, but that day he was excited. He even came. I mean, he just spurted.

  —I don't think we need to know all that, but did the defendant then say anything about his grand vision?

  —Oh, yes.

  —What did he say?

  —Well, as we all lay there in the back of the van, there was this good, warm feeling, you know, us against the world and such, a little tiny piece of heaven. But then Jody begins to talk about the dark path we have to trod. I had my foot in the door, he said, and I was pushing my way in, and they sent me back out into the world. They didn't think I was good enough. But I'm gonna show them. I'm the king of the vampires. No dead dude in a coffin is gonna be badder than me.

  —Did this statement contradict previous statements of his to you and your group of followers?

  —Yes, sir. He always told us he was sent up here from the other world, that he had given up the world beyond so he could find disciples and teach all of them the dark path before he went back. Now he sounded bitter and angry, and we didn't know what to do.

  —What did he say next?

  —We're going to do something really big, he said. An orgasm of blood and pain. We're gonna kill, maim, disembowel, decapitate, swim in the lubricous life force that spews from the veins of the dying. The way he said it, you gotta believe, it sounded… poetic… beautiful… I could feel the blood rushing joyfully from my pussy to meet his eager tongue… I could think about nothing but all that blood, swirling over me, carrying me toward the final climax in waves of crimson passion, oh God, Jody made me feel that good, all of us, he made us want to kill and to die the way we wanted his arms around us, his cock inside us and such.

  —And how do you feel about Jody now?

  —I love him, sir.

  —Do you think he hears you, hiding as he does behind his wall of self-imposed silence?

  —I don't know. Yeah. Maybe not. Maybe he doesn't hear any of us no more, maybe he's listening to a different music, the rushing of the river of death.

  —I want to spare the jury yet another description of the crimes themselves… the slashing, the torture… all the things you witnessed but did not participate in… because you… had a twinge of conscience.

  —I chickened out. I shoulda done them things. Like all the other girls did.

  —Then you would be in trouble, Natalie.

  —I don't care! Do you understand? I love him. I want to go with him! Into the ultimate kingdom. Into the dark country. Jody, listen to me, you motherfucker… I didn't mean to betray you… I'm here because I want them to know the truth… what you mean to me…

  —Your Honor, the witness isn't supposed to be talking to the defendant.

  —Sustained. Kindly confine your comments to the questions asked of you, Miss—

  —Your Honor! The coffin! It's busting open! The lid is sliding again!

  —Got a stake handy, Bailiff? You can use my gavel as a mallet, you superstitious nincompoop. You people are… screw it, let whoever it is come out. If the ladies and
gentlemen of the jury would refrain from panicking—and just what the hell do you think you're doing in my courtroom, young lady, in the nude? Have you no sense of propriety at all? Bailiff, fetch the witness a damn cloak.

  —Jody.

  —Young lady, you're not on the stand yet. Go and sit down right this minute or I'll cite you for contempt.

  —Be silent!

  —How dare you!

  —In this human world, you may be a judge of men, Mr. Trepte, but there are darker courtrooms, and there are punishments more dire than death. I stand before you, a naked woman, whose flesh is colder than the grave. Touch me if you dare.

  —Madam, there is no higher authority present in this chamber than this jury and this judge. If you have anything to say, you will have to wait your turn.

  —So what do you plan to do, asshole, cite me for contempt?

  —Bailiff, cuff her!

  —Your Honor, she's just ripped off the bailiff's head!

  —Sobering isn't it, Mr. Kangaroo Court, to see your enforcing officer's torso twitching on the carpet. I'm sorry that I won't be paying the dry-cleaning bill. Where I come from, we don't have money… or credit cards, for that matter.

  —Uh—uh—

  —Speechless, at last, Your Honor! Give me a minute while I take a sip from this poor man's gushing jugular. Excuse me while I wipe my lips clean with his matted hair. Where shall I throw it? You have a basket? Thanks. Now… where was I? Oh yes. The defendant. The silent one. You who heard voices in the night, who were labeled a paranoid schizophrenic by Dr. Shimada over there… you who have been true to your deep dark self, all this time, you who have kept the faith… I've come for you. I ain't Cat Sperling, the town slut, no more… I've worked on my accent some… you learn a lot when you hang with the undead… plenty of sixty-four-dollar words in their vocabulary when they've been around a couple of centuries. Look at me, silent boy. I like that you kept silent after it was over. You betrayed no one. Oh! Bullets! My, my. They go right through me. I feel nothing. No feeling, you know, when you cross over the river. No mortal feelings, anyways. Look at me, silent boy. I'm still beautiful, ain't I? Beautiful as the day you saw me. My body is as firm as when you first touched it, but now it's cold as marble. It's a dead body, Jody, a corpse. But oh, a corpse that everyone in this room wants, man and woman, a corpse that exudes a sensuality that the living can't match, a corpse that breathes eternity, eternity… Oh, Jody, you don't know how long you were watched, how long you were groomed for that moment of sacrifice that your friend ruined for you. Oh, he meant well. But he's just an ignorant human being. And human beings are just cattle. They're here to serve us. Their lives are over in an instant. I watched over you… saw you grow up alienated… knew you were marked to become one of us. In this world a throwaway, one of the disenfranchised… in the world beyond… a prince. When you had your fantasies of death… when you dreamed of death and woke up with a stiffie in the night… one of us was watching… perhaps in the shape of a mist, coiling about the keyhole of your bedroom door… or a black rat, sniffing its way along the floorboards… smelling the crimson of your dreams. Oh, Jody, it was all meant for you… my seduction of your dumb, sentimental friend… the party at the cemetery… partly real, partly a fabric of hypnotizing illusions. Do you understand that? Oh, your doctor noted it all down as a dementia—delusions of grandeur—megalomania—paranoia—when it was all nothing but the truth. You heard the music of the night when others heard only wind, rain, the rustling of leaves, frightened children murmuring in their sleep. Oh, we were disappointed when you didn't die the slow death that night! You have always been special to the dark ones. All your life you've heard that whispered in your ear, you've wondered if you were going mad. Those whispers were all true. You have been anointed from birth, Jody. I wasn't kidding when I called you a prince. That's exactly what you are. The Duke couldn't welcome you into the kingdom himself. His coffin has been taken faraway, for safekeeping. It's getting dangerous for us here, with all these movies and role-playing games. Lies, but flirting with the truth. He's sent me to fetch you, Jody. I told you we were all sad when you didn't come to us. Some of us wanted to fetch you by force. But the Duke said, in his wisdom, Leave him be. The darkness is strong in him. If he cannot find the true kingdom right away, he will strive to build his own kingdom… he will mirror our world in his own world… and he will make himself worthy… and when he is ready… we will bring him in. That's what I'm here for. To finish what we started. Look at me now. Look at me, translucent as alabaster, pale as moonlight; come to me. That's right. You don't need that ugly orange prison suit any more. Those cuffs are useless now. Come to me. I twist them off with a flick of my wrist. The undead have great strength. They draw their strength from the womb of Mother Earth herself. Oh, Jody, come, come. Unzip that uniform and stand before me naked. Touch me. Look at the horrified faces of the judge and jury. They are so unimportant now. Slide your finger against the bailiff's blood, congealing on my breasts. Lick them. Lick the blood from the areola. Slow now, slow. I kiss you now. My teeth meet soft flesh. I taste blood. Give me your blood. Warm my stone heart with your last life force. Oh, Jody, Jody, you are beautiful. Give me all of you. I bite your chest… your abdomen… my fangs tease at the sensitive tip of your penis… blood engorges it… blood stiffens it… blood that will soon run gushing down my throat… oh, Jody, Jody, this is the end for you, the end and the beginning… drink me now… as I drink you… the cold of death is absolute… the warmth of life is but a shadow… and now… come… come into my coffin… I don't want to sleep alone any more… come into the coffin… into the womb… into the tomb… oh, Jody, this is love… this is death.

  The transcript ends here. At least, the decipherable portion of the transcript. What follows on the tape is chaos. Screaming. Here and there a single word: blood, shit, fuck, no, no, no.

  There was also the fire. The courthouse razed to the ground, the judge, the superlawyers, many others hospitalized for third-degree burns. There was also the complete disappearance of the defendant. Not a charred husk of him… not a bone… not a tooth.

  There was also the silence. Not a word in the press. Not a picture in the paper. Not a clip in the news.

  But you know all that. You follow the media.

  Perhaps you even know about the transcript, which has been pronounced a hoax by almost every expert who has been given the privilege of examining it.

  Does it matter? As a certain Roman procurator once said to a certain rabbi, in a courtroom not unlike this courtroom, two thousand years ago… What is truth?

  It really doesn't matter to most of you. So stop reading now. Close the book. There's nothing to be gained from idle speculation about the nature of light and darkness… about the relationship between love and death… between desire and self-destruction. Get on with your lives. Go on. Do it.

  Unless, of course, you can hear the music of the night…

  * * *

  CHELSEA QUINN YARBRO

  In the Face of Death

  Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, of Berkeley, California, is an award-winning fantasist perhaps best known for The Saint-Germain Chronicles and other vampire tales, one of which, "Advocates," was co-winner of the prestigious World Horror Award for Best Novelette. "In the Face of Death," tangentially linked to the Saint-Germain series, describes a plausible "period-piece" affair between a fascinating vampire and William Tecumseh Sherman (1820-1891), a West Coast banker who became one of the Civil War's most important Union generals, second only in importance to U. S. Grant. Sherman's military genius was surpassed by his hatred of war; his alleged penchant for bloodiness was a reputation reportedly engineered by his enemies in the South and North. According to Ms. Yarbro, Sherman's family was indeed absent from the scene during the period in which her story takes place.

  I know of no courage greater… than the courage to love in the face of death.

  —William Tecumseh Sherman to Queen Victoria

  FROM THE JOURNAL of Madelaine d
e Montalia

  San Francisco, 18 May, 1855

  At last! And only four days later than anticipated when we left the mountains. Had I been willing to travel on the riverfront Sacramento, we would have arrived on the date anticipated… My native earth should be in one of the warehouses, waiting for me, which is just as well, as I have got down to less than a single chest of it.

  My escorts brought me to a very proper boarding-house on Sacramento Street, and have gone on themselves to find suitable lodgings. A Mrs. Imogene Mullinton, a very respectable widow from Vermont, owns this place and takes only reputable single women. She has given me a suite of three rooms at the top of the house, her best, and for it I am to pay $75 a month, or any fraction of a month, a very high price for such accommodations, but I have discovered that everything in San Francisco is expensive. The suite will do until I can arrange to rent a house for three or four months…

  Tomorrow I will have to pay off my escorts, which will require a trip to the bank to establish my credit here, and to begin making my acquaintance with the city. Doubtless the excellent Mrs. Mullinton can direct me to Lucas and Turner; the documents from their Saint Louis offices should be sufficient bona fides to satisfy them.

  At the corner of Jackson and Montgomery, the new Lucas and Turner building was one of the most impressive in the burgeoning city; located near the shore of the bay and the many long wharves that bristled far out into the water, the bank was well situated to sense the thriving financial pulse of San Francisco.