by J. R. Rain
The crazy bastard is going to force-feed me that disgusting finger.
Even crazier without any ketchup. It looks a little dry.
Spider, so help me God...
I figured it would only be a matter of minutes before the entire crowd was exponentially infected.
But I only let Parker sweat for another few seconds before I ambled out into the spotlight, sliding the bass guitar from my shoulder and laying it on the stage.
Demande looked up at me and smiled. “Ah, I knew you couldn’t resist playing hero.”
“Your move,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-one
Except, of course, they had been waiting for me.
I haven’t stayed undead this long by walking headlong into traps. I’d taken note of all his goons, and the one I heard cocking back the hammer to an old-school single-action revolver—which was probably the only gun that could handle these custom-made silver bullets—did not take me by surprise.
Rather, I was waiting for the one asshole to show himself who did have the silver-bullet-rigged gun. Now that I had him pinpointed, it didn’t take much for me to kick into a high gear—and I mean some seriously high gear. I spun away and was moving before he pulled the trigger.
Three shots rang out loudly, but I was already long gone, having curled around and moving in a blink. The shooter was probably dead before the bullets plunged into the stage. He fell limp at my feet, his neck neatly broken.
I didn’t stop to admire my handiwork. Truth is, I never enjoy killing, which is why I got out of the killing game. Which is why I devoted my time to helping those who couldn’t help themselves. That this scumbag had to die as a means of helping the entire ship of innocent passengers, well, I could live with that.
And, yeah. I am alive. Kind of. Still haven’t quite figured that one out.
Anyway, I was speeding off again, hurtling across the stage to where it had just occurred to Demande that his sharpshooter had not only failed but was currently spasming with a broken neck.
The audience had heard the shots. They had also seen me disappear on stage, only to reappear now. Undoubtedly they had thought that the gunshot was all part of the show, unaware just how freaky the show really was.
In fact, I even received a small round of applause. That just might be my first applause ever. I would have bowed if it wasn’t for Demande’s hat.
Or, rather, that damn thing he kept in the hat.
* * *
Turns out, Demande had some pretty good reflexes himself.
While I was busy dispatching his shooter, he had set loose the creature from within his corny top hat. How he did it, I hadn’t a clue, but the thing that came slithering out was real.
And it kept coming and coming, while the hat flopped on stage—and all to the crowd’s thunderous delight. Truth was, I didn’t blame them. How could this be anything but a special effect? Surely nothing that big and hideous could appear from a top hat.
Not unless, of course, it was controlled by one hell of a powerful witch doctor. Of which Demande was, in spades.
So, as the crowd laughed and gasped and pointed, I was suitably distracted enough to miss the Jamaican crime lord heading straight to Parker, who was still bound and gagged inside the stage prop.
I had just made the decision to dash to her side—actually, my decision was to forcibly remove Demande’s head from his shoulders—when something extraordinarily powerful wrapped itself around my waist and lifted me up off the stage and high into the air.
I hate when that happens.
Chapter Twenty-two
The thing that had me was like something out of an H.P. Lovecraft story, one of those creatures from beyond that should not be named. “Ugly mo-fo” was a good enough name for it.
It was about ten feet tall, with the face of a lizard, the tentacles of a squid, and the stink of a frat boy. The crowd oohed and aahed, thinking the creature was a holograph or animatronic trick. I can guarantee you this slimy creature came with no strings attached. I elbowed hard in what I hoped was its gut, but it was like beating a tub of Jell-O with a spoon.
Demande cackled with mad glee and began sawing on the box that held Parker. She shrieked for help behind her gag and the audience was delighted. This show beat the heck out of Best of the Sixties as performed by Candy Layne.
I struggled to slip free of sardine-breath’s grasp. I could have easily escaped two arms, but this thing had eight or ten.
“Hey, watch where you’re grabbing, fella,” I said to it. It wheezed out some seawater in response.
Seawater.
The thing was out of its element. Even though it was summoned through some of Demande’s magicks, it was built from spare parts Demande had called up from the depths around the ship. Lucky for me, he didn’t find a shark out there somewhere. I scrambled my brains searching for a way to use the information to my advantage.
Then I spied the big metal hook, which had not been fully retracted to the catwalk after dropping off Demande.
This creature would work just fine as bait.
I gave the rubbery neck a massive karate chop and its tentacles loosened. I took advantage of the reprieve with a follow-up kick to the thing’s squishy bits, but my foot got stuck and I almost lost a boot in there. I clasped my hands together into one big fist and brought it down hard into the reptilian face. The eyes bulged out like water balloons and the creature squeaked like a Bieber.
I did a scissors kick and the other tentacles loosened. As I scrambled up the slimy skin to perch on top of the creature’s head, Parker mentally yelled, Quit showing off and save me, dammit.
The crowd was eating it up. I leaped high and used the squishy creature like a diving board, bouncing once and then reaching to grab the big metal hook. I gave it a yank and unreeled the cable as I dropped back down. The creature scrambled after me, and like a Spanish matador playing a bull, I stepped gracefully to the side and...
...tripped over the bass guitar.
The big hook retracted back up into the ceiling without its bait, and I was sprawled on my back while the Creature from the Psychedelic Lagoon loomed over me. It looked like I’d be the bait.
Then I remembered one of the nicknames for a guitar is an “ax.”
Sweet.
I grabbed the guitar by the neck, jumped to my feet, and gave a chop that would make both Paul Bunyan and Babe Ruth proud, and maybe even Pete Townshend of the Who. Salty fluid gushed from the creature’s ruptured gut and the tentacles flailed helplessly in the air. The crowd gasped in amazement as the gooey gelatin spread across the stage as the creature deflated. I stepped away from the quivering corpse and squared off with Demande.
He left the saw in the box where Parker was trapped. It was so deep it had to be touching her belly by now.
Yes, it is, Mr. Obvious.
Oh, yeah. Telepathy. I guess we’re in this together.
“Yes, you are going to die together,” Demande said. “Just before I turn this entire crowd into zombies.”
“You’re reading our minds,” I said. “That’s rude.”
He waved the nzambi finger at me. “You’re a little too cocky for your own good. You’re just a vampire, but I am evil incarnate.”
I gave a mock yawn. “Well, you’re nothing without that dinky little piece of rotten meat. Why don’t you put it aside and fight like a man?”
“What do you know about being a man? You can’t get it up unless you drink blood.”
Speaking of which, I could have used a little boost right then. I felt a little weak after the silver infection and the battle with the creature, but my blood packets were all back in the cabin, and I couldn’t risk sinking my teeth into one of Demande’s security guards in front of the crowd—even though they might just think it was part of the show.
“Kick his ass, Spider, and get me out of this box,” Parker thought. “I think I’m bleeding.”
Bleeding? I’d been too distracted to notice, but now it hit me like the smell of
bacon in a truck-stop diner. Parker had strange powers of her own, and drinking her blood might lead to some rather bizarre side effects, but I doubted I could beat Demande and his finger without a little boost.
I did a sidestep and feint, letting Demande think I was going to slug him or snatch the finger, and when he ducked, I scooted past him and reached the box that held Parker.
“Get me out of here,” she repeated.
I grabbed the saw handle and quickly worked the blade all the way around the box, being careful not to cut her, although the rich aroma of blood was making me woozy. Demande was coming up behind me but was interrupted by the cruise director, who had stormed the stage with a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s have a big hand for Demande Jemarcus and...uh...his assistants! Remember, drinks are half price tonight in the Starfish Lounge.”
As the crowd clapped and cheered, I dipped my fingers in the opening of the box and dabbed up some of Parker’s blood. I licked it, trying not to think how kinky it was that I was ravishing her while she was all tied up. I instantly felt a great surge of energy rush through my veins and I cracked the box open like a fortune cookie. Parker stood on wobbly legs.
“You’re okay,” I said. “It’s only a flesh wound.”
“Is there any other kind?”
“A big hand!” the cruise director repeated.
Demande’s eyes grew bright green as he jammed the partially-masticated nzambi finger in the corner of his mouth, chomping on it as if it was the world’s most revolting cigar. Once done, his hand got big, all right.
As big as a hammerhead shark.
He knocked the cruise director into the house band, punctuated by the crash of cymbals. Then it was him and me and the hand from hell.
I wiped the blood from my lips.
Yumm. Good stuff.
Chapter Twenty-three
I’m stronger than any mortal.
Hell, stronger than many mortals combined. But Demande was a different kind of freak altogether. A mortal, yes, but he’d cultivated powers that Criss Angel could only dream of...or sell his soul for.
The hand itself was more than an illusion. Where the freak summoned it from, or how he performed his magicks, was between him and the devil. But one thing was for sure, that hand moved fast—and seemed to defy time-space quantum physics. Luckily, I’m fast, too, but it took all that I had to avoid the damn thing.
At one point I didn’t avoid it, and it swatted me off my feet and sent me flipping head over ass into the air. I landed hard and rolled just as the giant fist came crashing down, literally splintering the stage floor where I’d just been.
It slammed down again and again, even as I continued rolling. At least, that was the plan until I reached the edge of the stage. Then I was falling, and, like a cat, I always land on my feet.
Demande’s fist crashed down just inches from where I ducked below the stage. Those in the first row clapped and some clown even whistled. That real fragments of wood were flying through the air, or that the stage was now near to collapsing, was lost on the tourists, who had certainly gotten more show than they bargained for.
And before the wicked witch doctor could manifest something even more destructive, I decided to perform a little magic trick of my own...undoubtedly to the pleasure of the crowd before me. Normally, I wouldn’t have been so brazen, but, hey, this was a magic show, right?
As Demande and his giant fist lumbered to the edge of the stage, I disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Or, rather, mist.
* * *
It’s a neat trick.
Not all vampires can do it, and it takes decades of practice to do it right. And, no, my clothing didn’t disappear with me. I left it in a bundle at the foot of the stage, while I floated up toward the rafters. Below, I saw Demande turn and look up, squinting, confused for once, as his giant fist deflated into a normal-looking one.
He didn’t look happy.
As I briefly hovered directly overhead, my intelligence intact, but my body formless and amorphous, I suddenly knew exactly what to do with that damn nzambi finger.
* * *
I reformed and dropped like a rock, naked as the day I was born, which, of course, was a very long time ago.
The crowd was in for a really big surprise.
I timed my drop perfectly, landing directly behind the big Jamaican. He spun, arms forming into what appeared to be serpents, but before they could, I cupped my palm over his mouth...and shoved the nzambi finger all the way in.
I kept my hand in place as Demande fought like a cornered tiger, his arms now writhing, hissing pythons, coiling around me, squeezing tightly. I’m sure my eyes bulged. I’m sure other parts of me bulged, too. But I held on to his face, covering his mouth and nose. He gasped and fought and squeezed.
He gasped again...and promptly inhaled the finger. He gasped and choked and swallowed, and it went down.
I released him as he staggered back, his arms flailing like serpentine streamers. Demande gave me a horrified look, one that seemed to say, What did you do!?
A taste of your own medicine, I’m sure my return look must have implied. I might have added a smirk in there for good measure.
The witch doctor and drug lord dropped to a knee, breathing hard, gasping, fighting something. I braced myself, aware that anything—and I mean anything—could appear from the bastard. But when he snapped his head up, I saw Demande was no more, replaced by something undead.
And not the sexy kind of undead.
His eyes had clouded over and he was foaming at the mouth. As he rose to his feet and began lumbering toward me, a shot rang out and the back of Demande’s head exploded in a hail of blood and brain. He dropped to his knees, wavered there for a moment, his jaw snapping briefly, then he pitched forward.
I turned and saw Parker holding the same revolver I had retrieved from Demande’s shooter. I guess there was another silver bullet inside.
As Demanded quivered once, twice, the crowd leaped to their collective feet and clapped madly.
Still naked, and suddenly bashful, I looked at them, blinked, and bowed deeply. Well, not too deeply. I was naked after all.
Parker and I looked at each other, shared a thought, and dragged Demande’s corpse up between us, then the three of us made a bow in unison. We propped up the corpse while I tried to hide a little, placing the top hat over my private parts. I hoped nothing squirmy or snappy was hiding in there.
The cruise director had picked herself up and alertly signaled for the curtain to drop. “Demande Jemarcus, everyone!” she shouted.
We continued bowing as the curtain dropped. Applause is kind of addictive.
Chapter Twenty-four
“You drank my blood,” Parker said, tossing my clothes at me.
I uncovered myself to catch them and the cruise director got another eyeful.
“Hey, handsome,” she said. “You’re pretty good. Do you want to sign up as our main attraction for the rest of the cruise?”
I looked around at the damage, the shattered stage, the ruined musical instruments, and the security guards dragging Demande’s dead goons backstage. “I don’t think you could afford the liability insurance,” I said. “What are you going to do with the corpses?”
“Toss them over the side. With any luck, some of the guests will get to see some shark fins. Good publicity.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“Demande’s been our headliner for several cruises. We’re used to it.”
Parker must have been a little jealous of the cruise director, because she stood beside me and helped me slip into my briefs and jeans. She had jammed the revolver in her pocket, and there were a couple of bloody wounds where Demande’s saw had injured her. I licked my lips again and she saw the hunger in my eyes.
“No more of that,” Parker said to me. “We have no idea of the side effects.”
“It saved your life,” I answered, now fully dressed. “And if I grow a third eye or gain the power
to turn people into stone because of it, we’ll just cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“So what exactly are you guys?” the cruise director asked. “That was way too weird to be just magic and holograms. And…well, we had some fatalities, including the couple in the sick bay.”
“Would you believe me if I said these guys were terrorists and we’re with the National Security Agency?”
“Works for me,” she said. “Nobody would dare question that. Or else.”
“Of course, we can’t be mentioned on the ship’s manifest. We were never here, got it?”
“And this never happened?” she asked with a wink.
“Well, we had hundreds of witnesses, but they think it was all make-believe. What they don’t know won’t hurt them. But it almost did.”
“Almost?”
Parker gave Demande’s heap of a corpse a gentle kick. “He was carrying a toxic agent that could have caused a ship-wide outbreak. If you think the bad publicity those ‘poop cruises’ got, this would have put you out of business. And out of a lot of other things as well.”
The ship’s maintenance crew was incredibly efficient, and most of the mess was cleaned up while we were talking with the cruise director. The stage would take some repair, of course, but they’d already swabbed up the gooey remains of Demande’s brains. I hoped the brains didn’t host some kind of infection. Something like that would spread fast on a ship.
The cruise director excused herself to go report to the captain, promising to make it sound good. After all, her job was on the line as well.
Now that I was completely dressed, I said to Parker, “We better get you to sick bay and get those cuts patched up.”
“We can do it back at the cabin,” she said. “I’m not hurt that badly.”
“But then I’d have to take off your shirt.”
“You’re getting the idea.”
“You’re bleeding. I can’t really trust myself. What if I lost control and just sank my teeth into your neck?”