In the Blood (Sonja Blue)

by Nancy A. Collins

  “You used me, Morgan!” Fell said angrily. “I came to you for help and you fuckin’ used me as a guinea pig! You looked inside me and took out things that had no right being outside my head so I would fit into your Dracula über alles ego trip!”

  Morgan tilted back in his chair, studying Fell with a detached interest, just like he used to during their therapy sessions.

  Sonja had warned Fell about going up alone against the vampire lord, but the hate he felt for Morgan swelled inside him like a storm. It felt like he’d downed an amphetamine cocktail with an adrenalin chaser. He was immortal and invulnerable, a child of the night to be feared by all that dared cross his path.

  “No one fucks with me and gets away with it! I’m going to flay you alive, old man!” he snarled, thrusting out his chin in defiance.

  “Go ahead and take your best shot,” Morgan said as he stepped out from behind the desk in one smooth, seamless motion, his arms held away from his sides. “Be my guest.”

  Fell snatched up an obsidian letter opener lying on the desk and moved forward, ready to plunge the knife into the vampire’s eyes. As he lifted the blade, his eyes met Morgan’s and the room began to spin around as if it had suddenly become a centrifuge. He cried out in pain as an unseen hand forced his fingers to peel away from the hilt of the letter opener. The obsidian knife dropped to the carpet at Fell’s feet with a muffled thud.

  “What’s the matter, Fell? Got a cramp?”Morgan chuckled darkly.

  The younger vampire snarled and averted his eyes from his Maker’s taunting smirk.

  “Look at me when I speak to you, boy!” the vampire lord snarled. “I said look at me!”

  Fell cried out as invisible fingers yanked at his neck, forcing him to meet Morgan’s wine-dark gaze.

  “Now show me whose boss,” he sneered.

  Fell promptly dropped to the floor as if hamstringed, laying on his back, belly exposed, like a cub submitting to the dominant male in a wolf pack. A thin, nasal whine escaped his constricted throat as he pissed himself.

  “Ah, the recklessness of youth!” Morgan proclaimed as he knelt beside Fell’s writhing body, caressing his hairless cheek with the ball of his thumb. “Ready to snap the leash and bound, unhindered, into the world! Is that what you want, child? Freedom?”

  Fell tried to answer, but all that came from his mouth was a bubble of bloody froth.

  “Yes, I can see it in your eyes. You’re still human enough to believe in such garbage, I fear. And it’s contaminated you beyond redemption.” Morgan said sadly. “What is freedom but the chance to die at the hands of those who fear you? If you went to the zoo and threw open the door of the tiger’s cage, would it leap free of its prison and run wild in the streets, snacking on infants snatched from their strollers, or would it simply yawn and go back to sleep, the concept of freedom meaningless to it?” Morgan leaned forward and kissed Fell’s sweaty brow gently, like a father bidding his young son good night. “You should have stayed in the cage, Fell,” he murmured. “You are no longer of use to me. Pity. You showed such promise in therapy.”

  Morgan picked up the letter opener Fell had dropped, running his thumb down the length of its obsidian blade, watching the blood boil forth like brackish water. His thumb sealed itself before the thick, foul smelling liquid had time to stain the carpet.

  “Give me your hand.” The command was quiet, almost gentle.

  Fell gritted his teeth and tried to keep from obeying. Although his muscles groaned like rotten mooring ropes, in the end there was no escaping the vampire lord’s will. Morgan placed the letter opener in Fell’s rigid, trembling hand, and then wrapped his fingers around its hilt.

  “You know what to do,” he whispered.

  Fell ground his teeth, heedless of the blood filling his mouth as his fangs shredded his lower lip. He tried to twist his head away from the slowly approaching blade, but it was no use. His body was no longer his to control. He tried screamed, but all that escaped his paralyzed larynx was a high-pitched whine. As the point of the letter opener punctured his right eye like an overripe grape, he managed a short, muffled shout of pain. Then, to his horror, his other hand rose of its own volition and took the weapon from his bloodstained right hand and plunged it into his remaining eye, plunging him into total darkness. Then he felt the sharp edge of the blade begin to saw into his exposed throat. He continued trying to scream even after he’d severed his own larynx.

  As he felt death close about him, Fell’s thoughts turned one last time to those he had loved most: his parents, his sister, Anise, and his daughter.

  “What is this?” Suddenly Morgan was straddling his body, slapping the letter opener from Fell’s grip. “There is a child?” He grabbed Fell by his bloodied shirt front, trying not to shake him so hard his head finally fell off. “The bitch tricked me! The child isn’t dead! Tell me where! Tell me!”

  Fell opened his mouth, but all that came out was a large, black bubble of blood. He could feel Morgan rooting inside his dying brain, searching for the memories concerning the baby’s whereabouts. Blind and partially paralyzed, it was like being alone in a dark house with a rabid, hungry animal.

  “Tell me where it is, breeder, or I swear I’ll keep you alive like this forever!” Morgan spat.

  Fell knew he had waltzed into Morgan’s trap like the world’s biggest fool. He’d gotten a taste of being superhuman and it had made him reckless, and now he was paying for his carelessness. He was dying, but he’d be doubly damned if he’d betray his daughter to this monster. But he also knew Morgan was stronger than him, both physically and mentally, and accustomed to getting what he wanted. So he grabbed a fistful of his own hair and give it one good, final yank.

  Morgan yowled in rage as Fell’s head came free of its body, rolling onto the Persian carpet. He let go of the body, kicking it a few times in frustration. Nasakenai stood off to the side, watched his master nervously.

  “Send the pyrotic after Howell!” he commanded. “Once I’m done with the good doctor, it can use his body as its new host.”

  “Very well, milord,” Nasakenai said, bowing in acknowledgement. “And what of the rogue?”

  “She’s mine.”

  Sonja sat up and rubbed the back of her head. Her fingers came away sticky. She grunted and wiped her hand on her jacket. Fell was stronger than she’d suspected.

  She got to her feet, leaning heavily on the banister. Bouquets of fireworks exploded behind her eyelids. Had she been human, the fall she’d just taken would have killed her. She had to find Fell. Make sure he was all right. What did the young fool think he was doing, running off like that?

  “Fell!” Her voice sounded weak to her own ears, like that of an old woman. “Where are you?”

  She fell silent upon hearing a footfall at the top of the landing. She looked up and saw Fell lurch into sight, his tread heavy and unsteady. His clothes were so coated with blood it looked as if someone had doused him with a five-gallon can of paint. In his stiffening right arm he held his own severed, eyeless head by its long, yellow hair.

  Fell’s dead fingers spasmed as his animated corpse went limp and collapsed upon the upper landing, sending his head bouncing down the stairs, until it came to rest at Sonja’s feet, staring up at her with its ruined sockets.

  From the darkness on the second floor came the sound of laughter. She knew that laugh. She’d last heard it in London, back when she was human.

  “I’m coming for you, bastard!” she whispered under her breath, her hand closing about switchblade in her pocket.

  She is here, and my hands shake in anticipation. Her aura precedes her, lighting her way like foxfire. That I could have succeeded by accident where my carefully laid plans failed so horribly is both fascinating and humbling. I must destroy this, my most magnificent creation, for her very existence is a threat to my continuance. Yet I cannot help but stand in awe of her—worship her, as Pygmalion adored his Galatea. She is here, and my hands burn for her blood.

  Palmer pre
ssed his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the things eeling in and out of his field of vision. They looked something like centipedes, except that they were transparent and swam about in midair. If Howell saw them, he didn’t seem to mind; he was too busy checking his syringe for air bubbles to worry about the extra-dimensional creatures in the rafters.

  “Look, Doc—if you want to get away from Morgan, I’m sure my friend Sonja will be more than happy to help you out...”

  “My dear Mr. Palmer,” Howell sighed around the hypodermic he held clenched between his teeth as he slapped the inside of his elbow with his index and middle fingers in hopes of raising a vein. “I have spent over five years in the grip of one vampire. What makes you think I’d want to hand myself over to yet another one?”

  “Sonja’s nothing like Morgan,” Palmer hastened to assure him.

  “And rattlesnakes are nothing like Gila monsters,” Howell replied as he deftly jabbed the loaded hypo into his arm. Watching Howell shoot up made Palmer want a cigarette. He winced and averted his gaze.

  Howell smiled wryly. “Go ahead and look away. I don’t mind. Mainlining isn’t a pretty sight, not even to junkies. You could jump me right now. Why don’t you?”

  Palmer shrugged. “I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth.

  Howell quickly untied the rubber tubing and flexed his elbow a few times. He turned to face Palmer, his eyes dilating as the heroin rushed through his bloodstream. It suddenly occurred to Palmer that, despite his aged appearance, Howell was only a couple of years older than himself.

  I’m not proud of the things I have done in Morgan’s service. But it’s too late to pretend they didn’t happen or that I had no choice in the matter,” Howell said as he removed the Luger from his pocket. Palmer tensed. The guy was a loon and a junkie to boot. There was no telling what he might decide to do. “I must admit that the work challenged me, unlike anything else I’ve ever encountered. I dug my grave years ago, Mr. Palmer. I am a dead man. The only question is when my heart will stop beating,” he handed the pistol back to Palmer, butt first. “I do not expect to live terribly much longer. In fact, I’d be surprised if I survive to see the dawn. But I warn you, do not trust your champion simply because she is a woman. The females are even worse than the males.”

  “Sonja’s different—she’s not like the others.” He knew what he was saying sounded stupid, even deluded, but it was the truth. How could he hope to explain it to someone like Howell?

  “You love her.” The scientist’s voice was flat, almost dead, reminding Palmer of Chaz’s equally lifeless pronouncement.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.” He was surprised to hear himself admitting it out loud.

  “Renfields always love their masters,” Howell said, his head beginning to nod. “That’s what makes them so loyal.” The scientist frowned and sniffed the air. “Is it my imagination, or do you smell barbecue?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sonja followed the trail of blood down the hallway, to where she knew Morgan was patiently awaiting her arrival. Although she could not see or hear him, she could feel him the same way a conjoined twin senses its sibling’s moods and health. It was a dreadful, unwanted intimacy, and it made her want to retch.

  As she approached the library, the door swung open of its own volition, and a strange, flickering light the color of a ripe bruise spilled out into the corridor.

  “Welcome, my child.” The voice was familiar, although it lacked the upper-class British accent it had possessed when she’d first heard it, decades ago. She took a hesitant step into the purple-black light, shielding herself as best as she could from the siren song of his personality

  Morgan stood in front of a mammoth fireplace, dressed in bespoke evening wear. dinner jacket and matching pants and immaculately groomed. He flashed her a welcoming smile, as if he was genuinely glad to see her.

  “Come forward, child, so I may look at you,” he said, studying her over the top of his tinted aviator glasses.

  Don’t be fooled by what you see of him on the surface, the Other hissed from its place coiled within her. Look beyond the illusion. See him for what he truly is!

  Sonja’s vision flickered as she shifted into the Pretender spectrum. The Morgan standing before her warped and twisted like a piece of cellophane held too close to a light bulb, his flesh losing its sun worshipper’s glow until it resembled tallow. His fingernails grew long and curled, like those of an ancient Mandarin, while cellular decay bloated his features. The smell that radiated from him reminded her of the dead mouse she’d once found lodged in an old sofa bed. The very thought of this putrescent monstrosity thrusting his rancid member into her was enough to make her gorge rise.

  As much as she longed to gouge out Morgan’s eyes and use his head as a bowling ball, she had to control the rage boiling inside her. Although she had made her hate for the monster that raped and tortured her all those years ago a part of her day-to-day existence, this was not the time to indulge her loathing. She knew all too well the immensity of her rage, as well as what it could do once unleashed. She swore she would never allow herself to lose control again, like she did when she confronted Catherine Wheele; the lives she’d destroyed and the souls she’d shattered that night would haunt her to the grave and beyond.

  “Should I say ‘so, we meet at last,’ and get the clichés out of the way?” Morgan suggested his handsome, debonair visage once more securely in place.

  “Do you recognize me” She had to fight to keep the tremor from her voice as she asked the question.

  Morgan’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Do you have any idea how many hapless, silly girls I have seduced over the last six hundred years, my dear? Do you truly expect me to remember one out of that multitude?”

  “Denise Thorne. London. 1969.”

  “Ah, yes! The heiress! You were actually missed, if I recall. That was careless of me. Though not as careless as not making sure I snapped your neck before tossing you out of the car. It was such a happy-go-lucky, irresponsible era! I blame the zeitgeist for my sloppiness.”

  “I’ve been hunting for you for a very long time, Morgan.”

  The vampire lord sighed and studied his fingernails. “I suppose you want to kill me, or something equally tedious. Tell me, child, what exactly would my demise prove?”

  “That I’m not like you.”

  “Indeed?” Morgan smirked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “If you are different from me, how have you managed to survive these past few decades, little one? How have you kept yourself fed?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “Black market bottled blood no doubt. But that can not be all you’ve dined on. I know how bland prepackaged blood can be. Have you killed? Answer me true, child—I’ll know if you lie. I can feel your pulse racing even now.”

  “Yes,” she replied grudgingly. “I have killed.”

  Morgan’s smile was slow and sly. “How many have you taken down? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “And it doesn’t matter.”

  “Ha!” Morgan sneered. “And you claim you’re nothing like me!”

  “I am not one of you!” Sonja snapped.

  “That is true,” he conceded. “You’re not a vampire, as the human like to call us. But neither are you the same as your dear, departed siblings. If only Fell and Anise had turned out half as well as you! But, perhaps, that is what I get for choosing such flawed vessels to begin with. Still, it’s a shame to destroy something as... unique as yourself. But some things simply can’t be helped. ”

  He was inside her head, fast as a striking cobra, his will crashing against her own, like a wave breaking on a high cliff. With a concentrated shove, she ejected him from her mind like she would spit out a broken tooth.

  “Very impressive. Your will is very strong for one so young,” Morgan asked as he watched her from behind his tinted shades. “We are more alike than you would like to believe. There are better ways fo
r a father and daughter to resolve their differences.”

  “You’re not my father!” Sonja snarled as she wiped at the blood trickling from her nose.

  “Ah, but I Made you in my image, child! You are bonded far tighter to me than any parent. Although you fight it, you have more in common with me than either Anise or Fell. They were weak, flawed vessels, unworthy of the gift I gave them. In the end, they could not surrender their humanity, and it cost them everything.” Morgan held up his left hand, dragging the nail of his right thumb across his palm. A black, polluted liquid gushed forth. “Honor thy father, Sonja! Look into yourself and find me there—in the blood!”

  She felt the relentless pressure of his will bearing down on her as if she’d been suddenly transported to the bottom of the ocean floor. She dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around her abdomen. Blackish-purple solar systems went nova behind her eyes. The temptation to capitulate was intense. It would be so easy to simply surrender and allow him to fill the void inside her.

  Morgan moved closer, his voice that of a punishing parent. “Believe me, I don’t enjoy doing this. You are beautiful. I like beautiful things.” His handsome, male model features shivered, revealing worm-eaten ruin. “You are also very, very dangerous. I like that, too. I see elements of my younger self in you: angry, volatile, defiant. I find this similarity... arousing.” He leered at her, gesturing with a corpse-like hand to the knot in his pants. “Humans are always prattling on about love. I know nothing of that. But I do know of hunger…need…want. And you have awakened a dark fascination in me, Sonja. It is the same allure that draws a moth to the flame. I cannot allow this hunger to grow, for it imperils my continuance.” He lifted a hand smelling of graveyard mold and touched her cheek. His skin felt dead and cold against her own. “But, still, I can not help but be attracted to you.”

  Sonja closed her eyes and saw a young girl, naked and bleeding, struggling to wriggle free of the red-eyed demon pinning her to the back seat of a car. She heard the girl’s screams as he emptied himself into her, and how he laughed as her pulse fluttered and dimmed beneath his cold, cold hands.