by Lily Luchesi
“Fiona isn’t stupid, and Leander is a veritable genius when it comes to war. You said that he considers the fight against the paranormal a war, right? So he knows strategy like a human soldier does. He will always be prepared. Let’s say we were to go into Hell and attack them off their guards: it would be impossible. They will never be off their guards,” she began.
“Wait,” Danny interrupted. “Did you just say ‘go into Hell’? Like, Hell? Lake of fire, screams of the damned, Crowley signing contracts on his throne? That Hell?”
She smiled. “Yes, Danny, that Hell. The one place that both Winchester brothers have vacationed…and found it a bit too hot for their liking.” She winked. “In any case, going there would be a death trap. We’d be tortured for eternity. However, Leander would expect for us to go and attack first, just like we were going to the last time we faced Fiona. So we won’t. Instead, we’ll plan, meet them on their terms, and kill them on ours.”
“I can understand that plan, but does anyone know what Fiona’s contract exemption is?”
Angie stopped typing, her fingers poised midair. “No. I don’t. And I don’t know how to find out.” Her eyes widened. “Unless we trap a demon!”
Danny ran his hand through his curls in frustration. “Are you drunk? We both know what demons are capable of. What are you going to do, paint a Devil’s Trap on the floor and hope one steps into it, like they really are as dumb as TV makes them out to be?”
“It’s this or go in there blind. There will be two of us and only one of them. If things go south, just keep stabbing it till its dead.” She stood up. “And the best time to trap a demon, the night where they make the most deals, just happens to be tomorrow. Looks like we need costumes: we’re going to a Halloween party after all!”
***
“You said you wanted to dress as your favorite fictional couple,” Danny said to Angelica as he looked in the mirror and tried to fix the glue on his fake mustache.
“And we are,” she said, straightening her deerstalker with a smug smile.
“Jack and Sally. Morticia and Gomez. Lily and Herman. Mulder and Scully. Those are fictional couples. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are not even a couple!” he complained. “This fucking lip rat is gonna be the death of me tonight!”
“Depends on who you ask,” she replied, gently placing a different hat on him as well. “And you might get the mustache, but I have to wear the ear-flapped death Frisbee, so deal with it. Come on— it’s our first Halloween we’ve spent together! If we have to go and torture a demon, I want to have a little fun first.” She went looking for the grey tweed bag she needed to complete the character. “And don’t complain: we were very close to being Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling!”
“‘Death Frisbee’? You know what, never mind. Right now, I’m just glad I’m getting out of here without wearing a face mask and strapped to a gurney.” He chuckled and held his arm out to her, wondering how she could look so beautiful dressed as a Victorian detective. He put on the best British accent he could and said, “Shall we, Holmes?”
She smirked. “Good accent. Come, Watson, come: the game is afoot!” She tugged his arm, not hard, however. She’d rarely exert even a fraction of her true strength around him, for fear she’d hurt him or worse.
“What?” she asked, surprised as he pulled her back to him and kissed her. She giggled into the kiss as the fake mustache tickled her face. “Vous mortel idiot.”
“I don’t think I like the sound of that,” he commented warily.
“It means that I love you. Come on, let’s go trap a demon.”
They took a public CTA bus (to save them parking time) to the Congress Hotel, where the city’s biggest Halloween party was held. Angelica had always held to the paranormal community’s feelings about the way humans celebrated Halloween: it was a mockery. Just that night she had heard that the Grand Coven was sulking over it…yet again. Lately, however, mortals had surpassed their previous level of idiocy by making Halloween about who could wear the sluttiest costume and drink the most. She found herself missing the old, sillier Halloween, where people pretended to be vampires and werewolves, fearing being out past midnight because it was “Devil’s Night”.
I am wearing way too many clothes, she realized, watching the other women around her. Were they vampires, they wouldn’t need to show their pubic hairs through their dresses to attract men. They’d just need to snap their fingers and the men would come running.
“How will we find a demon?” Danny asked sotto voce.
She took out her cell phone and clicked on an app that Brighton had been kind enough to send her: now she had a portable version of his infernal energy tracker. “Easily. Once we find one, I know just what to do. You need to follow my lead and everything will be peachy.”
“Peachy. Sure. Like it’s ever that easy,” he said.
“By the way, Brighton sent me this, too. Apparently I was asleep when it came through. Looks like he and Mark stole my idea!”
Danny looked at the phone, and saw that the two of them were wearing modern Holmes and Watson costumes. “I swear, you and Brighton must be related!”
He was about to walk deeper into the party, but Angelica was unmoving at the threshold. He turned back and she saw the confusion on his face. “What? Do you need to be invited in or something?”
She shot him a glare. “No. My senses, from my sight, to my hearing, to my sense of smell, they are all heightened. More so than I am used to. This crowd is full of loud people, bright lights, and a lot of different perfumes and drinks and bodily sweat. I need a second to adjust.”
She could feel her fingertips getting tingly, her breath was coming short, and her stomach roiled. All were classic signs of a panic attack, which is usually what sensory overload can give anyone, human or not. She needed to regulate her breathing before she fainted. Aside from the sterile confines of the PID, she had not been in a large crowd since her turning, and she was not prepared for what she was experiencing.
Damnit, Cross, pull yourself together, she scolded herself. She closed her eyes, trying to focus. Her claws threatened to extend, but she held them back. She dug her nails into her palms, feeling the skin break and cold blood leak down her hand. The pain might help center her, just like they used to bleed people in the olden times.
It began to help, until she heard a crash and a girl scream in pain. That was when the new smell hit her nose, and that broke whatever resolve she had. It was freshly spilled blood. Some lush must have broken a glass and some other idiot must have cut themselves on it. Or maybe it was the same idiot. Didn’t matter. She needed to get out of there— immediately!
She dashed back into the lobby, where there were considerably less people and the other smells covered up the blood. Danny followed hastily— she could sense him —but she would not acknowledge him till she was in complete control of herself. Between the panic attack and the bloodlust, she was dizzy and frantic. She now understood why many vampires were in self-imposed exile. Being in a crowd, no matter the size, had extreme and possibly deadly drawbacks.
“Angie, will blood help you?” Danny’s voice. She was squeezing her eyes shut, but could tell that he was sitting next to her on the lobby sofa.
“Maybe,” she said, barely able to say that one word. Full vampires could not vomit, but her stomach was queasy enough to test that theory.
“Come with me. Now.” He gently tugged her up and she offered no resistance. When panic attacks were slowly going away, they usually left the sufferer feeling drained and boneless; ready to sleep for a century or two. Vampires were not exempt from the effect.
“Where can we go? You’ve got to feed before you pass out.”
She stopped walking and leaned against a wall, rooting for her wallet inside her satchel, thankful she had brought it. She took out a key and handed it to Danny. “Top floor. Presidential.” He took her into the elevator and hit the top floor.
“Why book a room?” he asked her.
&nbs
p; “Trying to keep me talking so I don’t pass out? Good idea.” She huffed in a breath, opening her eyes to see Danny in the mirrored walls of the elevator. Just Danny. Her missing reflection was something she still needed to get used to. “I own part of the hotel. An investment. Which reminds me— I need to get faster bloody elevators.”
The elevator dinged and Danny helped her steady herself. “Your British side comes out when you’re not well, I see.”
“Oh, bite me!” Her breathing was steadying, but the bloodlust would not go away. Neither would that post-anxiety lethargy. Before, she’d have a double shot latte and blast Metallica in her earbuds to perk up. Now the only thing that could possibly help her was blood.
Danny opened the suite’s door, barely even noticing the beauty of the view or the room itself as he laid Angelica on the sofa. She hated being toted around like this, but being ill was not a choice. She couldn’t help what had happened and she would have to learn that, while she was still adjusting to being a full vampire, she would need someone there by her side to make sure she didn’t hurt herself or someone else. It wasn’t permanent and that was what mattered the most.
I am not weak. I am not weak. I’m simply…adjusting, she thought, trying to make herself feel better about her situation.
She watched Danny ditch his brown tweed jacket (which was actually from the 1800s) and roll up his shirtsleeve. With his wrist so close to her, she could easily hear the blood rushing in his veins, his heartbeat, and his breathing. She wasn’t sure how one person could excite her and ease her nerves at the same time.
“Come on, before you hyperventilate,” Danny urged.
It didn’t take much for Angelica’s fangs to elongate. She was still unused to all of her teeth changing shape, and they still bled a bit. Tasting her own, dead blood was not a pleasant sensation. She did not look up at Danny, afraid that she would see an expression or fear or disgust at how she looked. No vampire ever looked the same when they let their dark side show. Vamplets didn’t have that problem, except for the eyes.
She rolled his sleeve up further, her fingertips tracing the veins to see which ones she could puncture while not injuring him too much. Feeling the hot blood flowing beneath such a thin veil of skin undid her, and she sank her fangs deep into his skin. She heard him groan, but ignore it as the hot, salty blood hit her taste buds, helping her like hot tea helps a mortal. A common misconception of vampires is that their fangs are like straws and that is how they suck blood. Not true. Vampires drink from the wounds after they bite. They keep their fangs embedded in the flesh because they hold the wounds open wider, allowing the blood to flow easier.
As she drank, her lust calmed a bit, and she felt her sapped strength returning to her with every mouthful she swallowed. She could feel her skin getting warmer. As he always did, he brought her back to life in more ways than one.
She would— and could —have drained him dry, but she was self-aware enough to let him go after taking only a pint. And that one pint was probably too much for Danny to handle losing, considering they were about to go and hunt down a demon.
She released his arm, leaning her head back in satisfaction. Fresh blood from the person you loved was more enlivening and addicting than the finest whiskey. Unfortunately, she could not revel in her bliss. Danny was still bleeding, after all. Retracting her fangs, she bit her finger and ran it along his wounds, watching them disappear as if they had never been there at all.
He was breathing hard, and she worried that she had hurt him. “Did the glamour not take?” she asked, worriedly looking up at him.
He shook his head. “No, but it’s not the pain. I—” He promptly sat down next to her on the couch. “What are bites supposed to do to a human?”
“When you’re not being glamoured or in sexual thrall? They’re supposed to hurt like the worst possible Hell,” Angelica said. “Danny, are you in pain still? Did I hurt you?”
He shook his head again. “I think I have the absolute most opposite reaction to your bites.”
“Opposite reaction? What—” It dawned on her and she stopped her question with a giggle. “Really, Danny? Well, isn’t that good to know for when we’re in private!” She leaned over him and kissed him, glad that he welcomed it without minding that the last thing in her mouth had been his blood.
He chuckled, gently biting her bottom lip. “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” he murmured, his lips capturing hers again. She giggled into the kiss, so grateful to be feeling well again. The bloodlust was bad enough, but unless you have ever suffered sensory overload causing a panic attack, you can’t possibly comprehend how terrifying it feels. No matter how many years Angelica would live, she would always wonder if she was dying every time she had an attack.
Danny suddenly stopped kissing her, cocking his head and reminding her of a dog that had got a scent.
“Can you feel that?” he asked, his voice low.
She shook her head, wondering what he was talking about.
He stood up slowly. “I just got a vibe from someone who walked past the door. It wasn’t good. It was…evil.”
Angelica sprang up. “It could be a recent possession. The human will still have brain activity for a while, before the demon shuts it down. Here, let me check Brighton’s monitor.” She shook the phone when the app didn’t move. There was definitely infernal activity going on: it wasn’t working. Only demons and strong spirits could affect electronic devices.
Quietly, they left the room, and Angelica trusted that Danny’s powers would not fail him this time. Or that the demon wouldn’t shut down its vessel’s brain activity. Danny turned the corner, and they came to another suite. He nodded his head, whispering, “In here.”
“Positive?” she whispered. “’Cause I really don’t want to get busted for breaking and entering if you’re wrong.”
He smirked. “I’m sure.”
“Okay.” She checked the lock. “Locked from the inside, so my master key won’t work.”
“Can you pick it?” he asked, and she knew that he knew that it was difficult to pick mechanical hotel room locks. He’d been on a case where he’d tried to do it, to imitate a suspect, and it had not worked, so his dossier said.
Angelica winked. “No need.” She stepped back so she was about two and a half feet from the door and with one quick movement, she had kicked it in, alerting the inhabitants of the room.
Her knife was out, as was her gun. Unlike on TV, there were no bullets that could stop a demon, but the iron ones should injure it at least. She was glad she carried both iron and silver bullets with her when she could.
She and Danny walked into the room, where a black-eyed demon was standing over a pretty, intoxicated girl in a (slutty) Disney princess costume.
“Step away from the girl and maybe you’ll get outta this with your eyeballs still in your skull, eh?” she said, pointing the gun at the demon. “Well?”
The demon laughed, and with its eyes closed it looked human. Angelica felt a pang of regret for the human it had taken over. No one deserved that. And now there was no coming back. It was let the person live mad, chained up in a white padded cell, or kill them. Murder was a mercy for the remains of a mortal once possessed.
“Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.” Angelica fired three shots, two in the chest and one in the head. It wouldn’t kill the demon, but it would hurt it enough for her and Danny to truss it up and make sure it wasn’t going anywhere soon.
While she looked in her bag for iron chains, Danny convinced the girl that they were FBI and she needed to leave—immediately. He joined Angelica in tying the demon to the sturdy chair with iron while it was still barely conscious. While he secured the chains, she took out a can of spray paint and started painting a Devil’s Trap on the rug beneath it.
“What is that, a Mary Poppins bag?” Danny asked.
She tucked the spray paint away. “There was more than one reason I suggested these characters. Not many characters carry around a messe
nger bag.” She stepped back from her handiwork and looked at the vessel the demon had possessed. He was about forty, but handsome enough to the point where his age wouldn’t be a hindrance. She reached into his pocket and saw that he had been a banker in the city, and had two children and a wife. She kept his card in her bag, to be sure that her office could inform the family of his death. With those gunshot wounds, there was no way the mortal survived. The only thing keeping this vessel alive now was the demon.
Going into her bag again, she pulled out a small holy water font. Taking care that she didn’t splash any on herself, she tossed a few drops at the demon, the pain waking it.
She jumped back at its roar of pain, thankful that the trap was active. The demon got control of its pain and looked at her with those disconcerting black eyes. It didn’t seem to notice the hole in the middle of its forehead, leaking blood down its nose.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the vamplet herself,” the demon said.
“Oh, you’ve heard of me? Lovely. Then you know what I can and will do to you if you don’t cooperate,” she said, taking out her knife. “Now, answer my questions and I’ll let you vacate this body and go back to Hell, no problems.”
“And if I refuse?” it asked, sneering at her.
She smirked. “Then I get to have a little fun with your vessel.” She wagged the blade at it. “Thankfully the soul has passed on, so you will be the only one hurt here.”
The demon laughed. “You’re just wasting your time, dhampir! In two days you will be nothing but a pile of ash.”
She swiped at its cheek, leaving a burning cut that would not heal thanks to the holy water the blade was regularly soaked in. “I’d cut out your tongue, but unfortunately I need you to talk.” She walked around it, stalking it like prey. When she had hunted with her father, he had taught her quite a bit about intimidation tactics, and she found that the classic ones worked best to instill fear in her captives. Rarely was torture necessary past what she had just done, but she knew that a demon would not be swayed as easily as a wayward vamp or were-creature.