She finally agreed and downed a bag. And then a second. The blood fleshed her out, giving her a healthy glow that made her look nearly human. She drank a third bag and discovered that vampires get drunk when they chug. Tipsy, she chased the kitten around the apartment until dawn snuck up on her. She dropped dead on the living room carpet, her face locked in an expression of delight.
Pounce jumped onto her body, curled up on her chest, and fell asleep.
I said good night—well, good morning—to Holly and Pounce. Neither of them replied, so I let myself out.
On the way home, I stopped at my favorite diner and got a slice of chocolate cream pie, even though it was barely seven in the morning. I’d done a good deed, and good deeds deserved pie.
*~*~*~*
The next time I visited Holly, she told me she was ready to really learn how to hunt. When she took down her first rapist, I couldn’t have been prouder.
Once she was done feeding, I beheaded the guy to make sure he wouldn’t rise as a vampire. No one likes a messy eater.
Back at her apartment, Holly lounged, blood-buzzed, as I took in all of the changes she’d made in the past week. She’d bought five cat towers made of carpet, a dozen scratching posts, and more toys than I could count. And that was all just in the living room. Pounce seemed content; he couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge me because he was too busy introducing a stuffed bear to his claws.
“Quite the cat house you’ve got here,” I said.
“He likes it,” Holly purred, smiling big. “Don’t you, Pounce?”
Pounce did what he was named for and pounced on the bear.
“Jesse?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you hunt with me tomorrow?”
I grinned. “Of course.”
“Cool.”
She was too exhausted from her first hunt and first true feeding to be much of a conversationalist, so we watched Pounce play. At one point, he bounded over to me and attacked my boot, then he dashed off to slice the bottom of the window shades. A cat with attitude. I completely approved.
When the sun rose, Holly sprawled dead on the sofa. Pounce jumped onto her chest, turned around once, and fell asleep. Just a kitten and his vampire. Smiling, I showed myself out the door.
*~*~*~*
We hunted together for the next six nights. It took a lot out of me; being human(ish) meant that I needed my beauty sleep, but between my day job dance lessons, my various training sessions with swords and demons, and hunting with Holly, I was barely scraping by on four hours a night. I’d been tapping into my Hell mojo to help keep me going, but at this rate, I was going to crash—and crash hard. I intended to tell Holly that I was going to take a hunting break for a while, but I never got the chance.
On that seventh night with Holly, everything changed.
Outside of a nightclub, we watched the prey of the evening sneak out a back door and make her way into an alley. The girl couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and dressed like she’d been partying with Liberace, all flowing sequins and enough shiny fabric to blind a passerby. I caught her aura and knew the whole story—too many drugs, too many bad decisions. She was huge, this teenage girl, but not just from too much crappy food.
Holly and I bore witness as the girl dumped a newborn into a garbage can at the back of the alley.
I thought I heard Holly gasp, just before she streaked out from the shadows. She was on the girl in a heartbeat, ripping open her throat and throwing her aside like a broken doll. I couldn’t say if the girl died before or after she hit the wall headfirst, hard enough to bounce off and land with a thud in the middle of the alley.
Before the echo faded, Holly reached into the trashcan and carefully removed the baby.
It let out a weak cry—a protest, maybe, or a plea for help.
Holly cradled the tiny body to her chest. She lifted up the bottom of her own shirt and used it to cover the baby as she rocked her arms back and forth.
“Shhh,” she said. “Shhh now. It’s going to be just fine, Honey Bear. Mama’s here.”
“Holly,” I warned, “that’s not a good idea.”
“You’ll see,” she cooed to the baby, or maybe to me. “It’s all gonna be fine.”
“Holly…”
“You have to run an errand for me, Jesse. Right now. Baby needs formula and a bottle, right away. You buy those things, right at the all-night pharmacy a block away from my place, and you bring them to me, in the apartment. We’ll be waiting.”
I sighed loudly. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
“Do this for me, Jesse. Please.” Not bothering to hear my answer, she walked away, stepping over the dead teen mother and holding the baby in her arms like she’d been waiting her whole life for that moment.
This, I told myself, was really, really not a good idea.
But I still went out and bought a carton of formula and a package of bottles, plus a box of diapers. And a chocolate bar, because hey, good deed.
Back at the apartment, I boiled the bottle under Holly’s watchful eye as she held the baby. She’d wrapped the newborn in a hand towel and was rocking the baby back and forth. Pounce attacked my legs playfully, but I barely scratched behind his ears before Holly scolded me.
“Can’t touch Pounce and then the bottle. Go wash your hands. With soap!”
Rolling my eyes, I did as she asked. Then, following her instructions, I mixed a serving of formula and handed the loaded bottle to Holly. She coaxed the nipple into the baby’s mouth. The little thing drank everything, belched once, then fell asleep in Holly’s arms.
“Don’t wake Honey Bear,” she warned me in a ferocious whisper.
I mimed zipping my lips shut.
In her bedroom, Holly diapered the newborn—boy, as it turned out—rewrapped him in the towel, then gently set him inside an open dresser drawer. She put the stack of diapers on top of the bureau, along with more towels. The baby didn’t stir; he was out cold. Being alive for a night was tiring work.
Pounce sniffed the empty diaper box, which Holly had left on the floor, then twitched his ears as he looked up at the drawer. He made as if to jump up, but Holly nudged him away with her foot.
We tiptoed out of the bedroom, but left the door ajar so that Holly could hear if the baby cried. She called to Pounce, who bounded out of the bedroom and immediately jumped inside the empty formula carton on the kitchen table.
Her voice pitched low, Holly said, “My Honey Bear’s sleeping so soundly!” She beamed proudly. “I’m going to name him Jack, after my father.”
“Holly,” I said, “you’ve got to stop a minute and think this through.”
“Oh, I am! There’s so much to do,” she whispered excitedly. “We need onesies and socks and mittens and a cap, and a baby tub and soap and that stuff to stop diaper rash, and more bottles, tons more diapers, and a stroller and a real crib, and…”
“Holly.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “You can’t be a mother.”
She stiffened. “Of course I can. I’ll be a great mother.”
“You’re a vampire.”
“So what?” She lifted her chin stubbornly. “I can still do everything a human mother can do. Better! I won’t be distracted or get exhausted. I’ll give him everything he needs.”
“You’re dead during the day. How’re you going to take care of him when the sun’s up?”
“He’ll sleep during the day, like me,” she insisted. “I’ll raise him at night. It’ll be fine,” she said loudly, a hint of panic in her voice.
“Babies don’t care what time of day it is,” I said. “What happens when he wakes up crying at noon because he’s hungry?”
“Well… he’ll just have to wait until dark. He can wait! It won’t kill him to wait!”
“And what if he gets sick during the day? What if he spikes a fever and needs medicine? What if he needs a doctor?”
She screamed, “Stop confusing me!”
In the bedroom, the baby began to wail.
>
“Look what you did!” she shouted. “You woke my Honey Bear!” She stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door.
I looked at Pounce, who’d poked his head out of the formula carton. “Do vampires have crazy hormones? Because she’s certifiable.”
Pounce twitched his whiskers, then disappeared inside the carton. Smart kitten.
I should have left. I should have just walked out the door and never thought about Holly and her Honey Bear again. I’d walked away from much greater things, with far worse consequences.
Instead, I sat on the sofa and waited. I still don’t know why. Stupid human feelings should come with an owner’s manual.
Eventually, Holly snuck out of the bedroom. She looked at me, chagrined, then went into the kitchen. A minute later, she walked into the living room, sipping from a blood bag and eying me.
“He’s sleeping again,” she said.
“Okay.”
A pause, and then she said, “You really upset me.”
“Wasn’t my intent.”
She sighed. “Look, I know it’s gonna be challenging. But parenting always is. This is something I gotta do, Jesse. I need to be a mother. Ever since…” Her voice trailed off, and she rubbed her stomach. “Since you know, I’ve felt empty. And the kitten is wonderful, but I’m no momma cat. I need a baby, Jesse. I need my Honey Bear.”
“You have to think about the daylight hours,” I said.
“I know. I know. But…for this first day, would you stay? Please?”
“Hey, now…”
“Please, Jesse? It’s almost dawn. I can feel myself slowing down. Please, just for today, be here for Baby Jack? And when I’m up tomorrow night, I’ll figure out a plan. Please?”
Idiot that I was, I agreed.
Holly squeezed me half to death, then made cooing sounds at Pounce until dawn came. Dead again, she fell to the living room floor.
The kitten bounded out of the carton, walked over Holly’s body, and settled on her chest. He let out a tiny kitten yawn, then fell asleep. I was on my own.
Just call me Jezebel the babysitter.
I checked on the baby, who was still breathing. Mission accomplished, I climbed into Holly’s bed. Seemed a shame to waste the mattress, since she wasn’t using it tonight.
“Wake me if you need anything,” I told the baby. Then I rolled over and fell asleep.
*~*~*~*
The moment I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong. I felt too rested. Too peaceful. The last time I’d felt like that had been after a particularly vigorous session with a battery-powered personal toy.
Frowning, I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Eight-fifteen in the morning. I’d slept only for a couple of hours, but it felt like it had been longer.
“It was much longer,” a voice said from the foot of the bed.
I sat up and glowered at Disco Angel, who looked pristine as ever in her white leisure suit.
“Get out of my brain,” I growled. “My thoughts are private.” To prove my point, I thought of some extremely colorful suggestions regarding the angel’s virginity, a number of pinfeathers, and a halo wedged in a particularly tight spot.
Unfazed, Disco Angel said, “You slept for twenty-six hours.”
My eyes bugged out. “I what?”
“You were exhausted,” she said primly. “You needed your sleep. I let you sleep. You’re welcome, by the way.”
My brain whirled. A full day? How could I have lost a full day? Why didn’t Holly wake me? I demanded, “What’re you doing here, angel?”
“My job, Jezebel.”
Oh no.
I jumped out of bed and raced over to the bureau. The crib-drawer was still sticking out, but Baby Jack wasn’t inside.
“He’s in the other room,” Disco Angel said.
I dashed into the living room, and skidded to a halt. The big window was wide open, the curtains fluttering in the wind. On the floor by the window, Pounce was curled on top of Baby Jack’s body. The dirty-white kitten looked up at me, his eyes big.
“It wasn’t the kitten’s fault,” Disco Angel said from somewhere behind me. “The curious thing wanted to see what his caregiver had placed in the drawer. When he jumped inside to explore, he landed on the baby. The infant died quickly.”
I let out a sigh.
“If it makes any difference,” said Disco Angel, “the baby would have died from exposure, had the vampire not claimed him. He was not meant long for this world.”
“More than twenty-four hours might have been nice,” I muttered.
“His soul is in Paradise—”
“A place of joy and bliss, blah blah. Yeah, heard it all before. Yay for the baby. Where’s Holly?”
“The vampire went insane when the baby wouldn’t wake. She shook him and slapped him and tried to get him to breathe. All that did was further break his body. In a fit, she threw him against the wall, and he landed there on the floor.”
Now that I was looking, I could see the smear on the wall where Baby Jack had hit.
“The vampire was convinced she’d killed him,” Disco Angel said, “so she flung open the window and climbed out. She perched on the ledge until the sun rose. She waited there for hours, unmoving. And so the vampire died and burned, with her ashes and tattered soul scattered to the winds.”
My hands balled into fists as I turned to face the celestial. “You know all of this how?”
“I came for the baby. I stayed for the entertainment.” She smiled serenely. “Vampires can be so unpredictable, don’t you think? So much fun to watch.”
People say that demons are evil, and they’re right—that’s what’s in a demon’s nature. But angels are worse. They’re cold.
“Goodbye, Jezebel.” The angel poofed away just before I could tell her to go bless herself.
Sighing, I walked over to the window and closed it. Ever since I’d seen Holly’s aura that night at the café, I’d known she was going to die—truly die, not just some halfhearted death that all vampires go through every morning. And I’d stuck around until her journey’s end, just as I’d promised myself. Maybe I’d been looking for absolution for letting that vampire escape weeks ago. Maybe I just liked Holly, the friendly waitress who’d been so impressed by my ability to eat chocolate pie and not gain weight. It didn’t matter. I still felt lousy.
I need a baby, Jesse. I need my Honey Bear.
Holly had been filled with a need to love and nurture, to be a mother. But that sort of love is for the living. The closest that vampires can get to it is an undying love, one that turns into an obsession that burns hotter than the morning sun.
Sorry, Holly.
There was a bump against my leg, and I looked down to see Pounce trying to eat my boot.
“Hey, there,” I said. “Need a home?”
The kitten nibbled leather.
“Give me a moment,” I said to him. “Got to take care of something first.”
I gathered Baby Jack’s body and went into Holly’s bedroom. I set the small corpse onto the bed. Crushed, empty of a soul, he didn’t even look human, more like some dollmaker’s idea of a baby.
I pulled out my cell phone and called 9-1-1.
When I was done, I scooped up Pounce.
“The authorities will bury Baby Jack properly,” I told him. “They’re good at covering things up. Let’s get out of here.”
Pounce nuzzled against my ear, as if he wanted to make sure that I’d have a killer kitten like him in my home.
Of course I would; the former demon in me wouldn’t have it any other way.
Part IV:
Urban Fantasy
New York Times Best-selling author CARRIE VAUGHN is best known for her popular Kitty Norville urban fantasy series about a werewolf who hosts a radio phone-in show. She is also the author of several standalone young adult and fantasy novels and has dozens of short story credits to her name. In 2011, her story Amaryllis (originally published in Lightspeed magazine) was nominated for a Hugo a
ward.
Visit her official site for more info:
www.carrievaughn.com
Dancing With the Mouse King
Carrie Vaughn
Marie slipped through the alley, creeping along the boundary fence and pausing at trash cans and mounds of refuse. Breath fogging in the chill, she tried to move softly, quietly, stealthily, but it was hard because of the brace on her knee.
The Victorian houses that lined the street had fallen to ruin, their porches crumbling, their windows boarded up, their gardens choked with weeds. Not the best part of town anymore. She hardly noticed. She had a goal, and finally she found the house of Karl Drost.
Marie popped the deadbolt of the servants’ door in back with a crowbar. Once inside, she leaned against the wall, taking weight off her bad leg. Moonlight came through the window above the sink and cast a silver glow in the kitchen, gleaming on the white tile floor. The place smelled unused and musty, but she knew this was the right house.
Movement flashed across the square of light that fell on the floor from the window. Startled, she flinched, pressed herself against the wall, and covered her mouth with her hand to keep from screaming. The sound of the door closing had shocked a mouse into rushing across the floor.
Then it was gone. Just a mouse. Nothing to be afraid of. She closed her eyes and sighed.
Moving to the hallway, she put a hand on the gun in her coat pocket.
The furniture, curio cabinets filled with trinkets, and pictures on the walls were shadows that Marie examined by imperfect, gray-white night vision. Scratching behind the walls seemed to follow her. The place must have been infested with mice. Gooseflesh covered her arms under her coat.
A light shone through the crack between the floor and closed door of a room halfway down the hall. Inside the room a voice hummed, low and creaky. The song was unclear, distracted, as if the person making the sound was preoccupied. Marie drew the gun from her pocket.
She stood for a minute, wondering if she should wait and surprise him as he came out, or throw open the door and confront him inside the room. She grew dizzy from standing and waiting, and that decided for her–no telling how long the old man would stay in there.
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