Vampire Sire

by J. R. Rain

  “You are one freaky chick, Samantha Moon,” said Allison, dispensing with the telepathy.

  “I’m conflicted.”

  “You can’t tell me you’re seriously planning on living here? If so, I’m not sure how often I will be coming over.”

  “Then it’s decided.”

  “Such a—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Bitch,” she finished.

  We continued the tour, moving through a number of rooms with their Jack-and-Jill bathrooms. All told, there were seven official bedrooms and a number of oddball, unclassifiable rooms, including lofts and spaces with wide double doors. Most bedrooms had their own balconies, although none of the views were as spectacular as the one off the master bedroom.

  As the tour moved on to the kitchen, I asked the elderly couple some questions—who they were, how long they’d lived here, and what was the deal with the candles and red-eyed shadow people—and got officially zero response, that is, other than their smiling, happy faces. The good news, their smiling faces weren’t indicative of possession. I knew this unofficially, of course, but their smiles were normal enough. Not stretched beyond their limits, as was often the case with demonic or satanic possession. Those hosting dark masters (i.e., me, Kingsley and a host of other vampires, werewolves and Lichtenstein monsters... and mermaids?) didn’t sport the goofy grins. That was, I suspected, because we didn’t host demons. Just dark masters.

  No, these smiles were pleasant, normal, but completely devoid of any real warmth. That said, occasionally—just occasionally—I caught a flash of something more behind their eyes. Just a flash, and it was gone. It was, I was certain, their real selves, trapped within their own minds.

  “What are your last names?” I asked again, hoping to find a sort of loophole in whatever mind-spell they’d been put under.

  No response, although they might have smiled brighter.

  “Whatever mind control you are under is powerful, which surprises me, considering your former boss has been dead for six years.”

  “Our former master,” corrected Robert.

  “Er, right. How long did he live here?”

  “Records will show that he purchased this home nineteen years ago,” said Mae.

  “Is that when you began working for him?”

  No response.

  “Do you have children?” I asked.

  No response.

  “Do you miss anyone?”

  No response. Wait. No. Hmm. Maybe. Both of them glanced toward each other, or wanted to. But they stopped short.

  “Do you enjoy living here?” I asked.

  “We love it here, Ms. Moon,” they said together.

  “Do you really?” asked Allison next to me.

  No response.

  “Is there a way for me to end your enchantment?” I asked. “Is there a way I can help you go back to your normal lives?”

  They said nothing, but both did slowly turn toward each other. As they did so, I felt my heart pick up a beat or two, which was the equivalent of it racing. I felt like a gamer who might have just unlocked a secret passageway into a secret room.

  I looked at Allison; she looked at me. Slanting sunlight came in through the window... and almost touched Allison’s features, but not quite. It was as if the sunlight had hit a barrier of some type... and disappeared into it.

  There’s a spell on the house, Sam. Inside it, too. I can feel it.

  Can you help me break it?

  I’m not good with spells, but Millicent is.

  Because you’re more the blast-first-and-ask-questions-later type of witch?

  Something like that. I’ll see what Millicent says.

  Millicent was, of course, one of three witches within Allison’s powerful trifecta, of which I knew little since I was banned from their group—and also from Allison’s mind. Not that I wasn’t trustworthy... just that Elizabeth inside me most certainly wasn’t trustworthy. Anything I knew, Elizabeth knew, and each night while I slept, Elizabeth was free to leave my body and return to what is known as The Void, the place where all the dark masters had been banished. There, she was free to commune with others of her kind, many of whom were presently possessing their own human bodies.

  Do you really think Millicent will help?

  If I ask her to, yes.

  Is she still a ghost?

  She’s in spirit, for now. But she’s looking for a possible walk-in.

  Walk in?

  A host who is willing to leave their physical body.

  Who would do that?

  Believe it or not, Sam, there are those who don’t want to live on this planet, but are also not willing to take their own lives. The depressed, the down and out, the addicts, a number of them are willing candidates. They get to exit without dying.

  And she just... takes over? But I thought she was pretty good at manifesting a temporary body.

  She is, but it’s limited. It’s made of ectoplasm, not flesh and bones. It’s limited and dissolves over time.

  Okay, maybe I’m the one who should be afraid of her.

  “The master has left you instructions, Samantha Moon,” said Robert.

  “Within the instructions are the answers you seek,” said Mae. “Or so he believed.”

  “And a way to break the spell?” I asked.

  They said nothing. But Robert did peel away from the group and stepped out of the room. Meanwhile, Mae continued smiling at us. She was in her seventies, no doubt. Her skin was pale and smooth, with few wrinkles. It was almost as if they had been given a mild elixir to keep them youngish and healthy enough. But their age was undeniable.

  Can vampires be alchemists? I asked Allison.

  I don’t know, Sam. Seems unlikely.

  What if they were alchemists before turning into vampires?

  Seems a question for the Librarian, she responded.

  Meanwhile, Robert re-appeared in the kitchen, holding a rolled parchment of some type, wrapped with a leather cord. He stopped before me, bowed slightly, and handed it to me.

  “Master wishes for you to read this at your earliest convenience, Ms. Moon.”

  I took it from him and frowned.

  “Well, aren’t you going to read it, Sam?” asked Allison.

  I sensed her eagerness and curiosity. Myself, I wasn’t so eager, although I was curious. Walking through the home of my attacker—my sire—was one thing. Seeing his things, his staff, his crazy enchantments was all within the realm of what I could handle.

  Having him speak directly to me... well, that was quite another, and one I wasn’t prepared to experience in front of anyone.

  “Fair enough, Sam,” said Allie, sighing.

  Interestingly, something tugged at me from inside. Something that seemed to be... awakening, stirring within me. What that stirring was, I didn’t know, but it was related to the letter. Or the scroll, or whatever the hell it was. Who writes on scrolls, anyway?

  A five-hundred-year-old vampire does.

  It was even sealed with wax, and stamped with an emblem, no doubt from a ring worn on his finger. The symbol in the wax was of a single flame. I expected this from Dracula. Then again, I didn’t really know my sire, did I?

  Nope. Not at all. Who he was, I didn’t know. But the answers lay within this scroll. This overdone, melodramatic scroll. There was something else, something tugging at me. The answers were not entirely inside this scroll. They were within me, too, and how I knew that, I hadn’t a clue.

  “Are you okay, Sam?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure of that either.”

  “Should we leave now?” asked Allison.

  “I think so, yes.”

  And so we did, saying our goodbyes to the elderly, mind-controlled couple, even while the nearby candles floated up walls and into dark corners... keeping the seemingly always-present red-eyed shadow people at bay.

  Chapter Five

  I was at home, in my
office, sitting behind my desk, with the rolled-up parchment resting in front of me—where it had been resting for the past thirty minutes now.

  Instead of opening it, I found myself thinking about Allison.

  I don’t make friends easily. Scratch that. I don’t make close friends easily, especially women. I’m not entirely sure why that is, but I’ve been aware of it my whole life. I get along better with men. I tend to have their sense of humor. I’m a tomboy at heart. I like to box and jog and dress in jeans and t-shirts and sneakers. In fact, up until I became what I am, I never wore much makeup. True, I loved my lip gloss, but the other stuff was... torture. Maybe it came from growing up with next to nothing, often living off the land, and often stealing food from our neighbors. My first job was at a cookie shop at age 14. I’d told them I was 16 and kept “forgetting” to bring my work permit until they quit asking. I brought home tons—and I mean tons—of broken and day-old cookies to my family. In fact, I think that was about when I started actually putting on a little weight... weight that stuck with me until I started the ultimate keto diet.

  Anyway, throughout it all, I bonded with the local boys. I could play sports better than most, and I really, really liked to race the boys. I wasn’t the fastest, but it was just so damn fun to feel the wind in your hair in an all-out dash to the finish line. Truth be known? I didn’t think of myself as a girl. I was just me, and boys were my friends, and that was that.

  Allison was my first true girlfriend. Crazy, I know. But she really is, and I wasn’t entirely prepared for how needy she was. Or how touchy-feely she was. I was already standoffish at having anyone touch me, but she didn’t give a damn if I was standoffish. Or cranky. She grabbed my hand with reckless abandon, or pulled me in for the mother of all hugs, all while I grumbled and cursed. Oh, and she made so many... noises. She squeed and clapped and giggled. My God, the giggling.

  All of this was too much at times, and a part of me still rebelled at her girlishness. A part of me lashed out at her to keep her at bay, but Allison would not be denied. That, perhaps, was what I appreciated most about her. Her tenacity to be my friend, through thick and thin, through grouchiness and thinly-veiled snipes, was admirable. Truth be known, I didn’t feel worthy of such devotion and friendship.

  My reluctance to give out compliments and warmth was met with a hunger in her for both. Then again, maybe she was just naturally needy.

  Which made me wonder...

  Was Allison a kind of love slave, albeit of the friendly variety?

  A few years ago, Russell Baker would have stolen for me, maimed for me, gone to prison for me, killed for me. His real self had slipped further and further away inside his own mind. But that connection had been sealed with sex.

  Or so I had thought.

  Was there some way that my proximity to Allison was causing an unwarranted devotion, a supernatural connection? Was Allison, in some way, my mental love slave? After all, hadn’t she had clients today, and ditched them to come see me? She had. She had lost money she undoubtedly needed to come roam an old house with me. Then again, it was a home I’d just inherited from the very vampire who’d turned me. Surely that was of interest to her, right? Surely that was of more interest than training lazy middle-aged men who were trying to sneak peeks down her top.

  Or so I told myself.

  Hmm...

  Hell, she had even brought me a Starbucks and a scone. Hell, she’d driven an hour to meet me... in terrible traffic, no less. Hell, I think I might be an ass.

  Was I taking advantage of her friendship? But was her friendship more than friendship? Was I pushing things to see how far I could, in fact, push her? Or was I, actually, trying to push her away because I was afraid of getting too close to her? Hell, too close to anyone. Poor Kingsley was still chasing me. Granted, we have a very sweet relationship, but something else kept me from opening up to him completely and totally, although I did sometimes. Well, occasionally.

  Of course, all fingers pointed directly at me and my inability to get close to anyone.

  So, was Allison simply being a “good friend” or was there something else here at work?

  I didn’t know, but I would keep an eye on things.

  I drummed my fingers, cracked my neck. Glanced at the scroll. I checked my cell phone, cracked my knuckles, cracked my neck again. Stared at the scroll.

  Yeah, it was time.

  I didn’t have to open it, of course. (Or, in this case, unroll it.) I could burn the scroll and never know what was ever written on it. I didn’t have to enter the mind, so to speak, of the man who had turned me. Of the man who had attacked me, who had hurled me dozens of feet into a tree. I distinctly remember leaving my feet, of flying dozens—yes dozens—of feet through the air. And I very much remember hitting the tree which had knocked the wind out of me and broken some bones. I remembered the medallion on his neck, too, gleaming briefly. And I remembered his lips and teeth on my neck, the pain, the sounds of drinking... drinking! Gulping, even. And then, I remembered drifting away, so very certain I was going to die, of missing my kids already, of knowing, with certainty, that I was done with this world, and not knowing who had attacked me or why. Or, really, what was happening to me. Of course, I would awaken later in a hospital in Fullerton, bandaged and bruised... and healing far too quickly than anyone had a right to heal. Later, a man would be attacked in the hospital, a man I was certain I had fed from, but had no memory of that attack.

  Ugh.

  That had been nearly twelve years ago, and I could honestly say my life had never been the same since. Not even close. No, not at all.

  Is it ssso terrible, Sssamantha? came a hissing voice deep inside my mind.

  Yes, I thought. And no.

  Is it so terrible to be so strong, to be so powerful, to see the wonders of this planet? To see, in fact, the wonders of this universe?

  Yes, I thought. And no.

  Open the letter, Sssamantha. Open it...

  Elizabeth was always around. True, I could tamp her back into the further reaches of my mind, but she always found a way out. Always. Luckily, she kept in the background enough not to be a bother, and so, these days, I let her roam free. I let her participate, but from a safe distance. Truth be told, she sometimes... sometimes... gave me decent advice.

  The very fact that you want me to open it makes me think I should burn it.

  Hollow laughter drifted to me as if from down a distant hallway. You are your own person, Sssamantha. I have long sssince known not to push or pressure you. Do as you pleassse. But know thisss. He was not one of us. No, not at all.

  Elizabeth obviously didn’t know what was in the scroll letter, which I found curious. Something to keep in mind with vampires—and other such creatures—is that when you are dealing with them, you are, in fact, really dealing with two entities. The possessed (me, for instance)... and the possessor (Elizabeth, for instance). Sometimes, both entities worked in concert with each other, like Dracula and his own dark master, Cornelius. Others, not so much. I might fall in that latter category.

  Dark masters, I knew, could roam at will while their charges slept. So, each morning when I was floating through the cosmos, Elizabeth was back in the Void with her cohorts. There, the entities reported what they had seen, and, undoubtedly formed new plans... or carried on with the plans that were working. Surely, she would have known what my sire—that is, he who attacked me—had written in the letter? Surely, her own fellow dark master—that was, whoever was the entity who had possessed Jeffcock, would have reported in, so to speak.

  So, to clarify, I thought: The man himself wasn’t one of you? Or the dark master who possessed him wasn’t one of you?

  Over time, both.

  You lost the dark master?

  In a way, yes.

  How? Why? What became of the dark master who possessed Jeffcock?

  Two scenarios caused his defection. First, over time, he had become weakened by his regular consumption of cow and pig blood. Second, over time,
he was convinced to give up the ways of our kind. And when Jeffcock was finally killed by the hunter, our one-time friend allowed himself to be caught.

  Caught by whom?

  The devil and his demons of course. He chose Hell, Sam.

  But...

  But only for a short while, of course. He knew, after all, a plan was in motion to do away with hell altogether. Now with hell abolished, he was in heaven.

  There is heaven for dark masters?

  Of course, Sam.

  At Jeffcock’s death, the dark master who’d possessed him would have been ejected back to the Void. The Void, of course, is where all the dark master buttheads hang out while the rest of us—the possessed, that is—sleep our days away. Or, in my case, my mornings. Still, I was confused.

  What plan was under way to abolish hell?

  You know the plan well, Sam.

  Wait, what?

  You effectively destroyed it.

  No, I killed the devil.

  Indeed, Sam. And now, his demons are on the run, too, scattered to the four corners of the earth. Tell me, who is guarding the gates of hell?

  I, um, sort of thought it ran itself. And how do you know so much about hell?

  She laughed, and it was a grating, hissing, harsh, terrible sound.

  Few have escaped the reach of the devil, Sam. We are among them. We understood our enemy well.