Blood Crusade

by Billita Jacobsen

  I cuddled the children, one in each arm, retrieved my clothes and headed back downstairs to the professor. He was still alive but his eyes had a faraway look to them. The same look seen in the eyes of humans not long for this world. It was time to act fast or he would be gone.

  “Harold, it’s me, Nola.”

  He looked at me with a calm understanding. “I see that you’re a werewolf--that must have helped tremendously.”

  I could have changed back to my human form but Harold needed to know his options. “Harold, I need your help. There’s only one way to save humanity--we need an army. You need to enlist and there’s only one way to do that--I have to infect you.”

  Now he looked at me as if I were speaking in an alien tongue and the alien was from Mars. “Harold, I need to bite you or you will die. Werewolves heal quickly and we can be out of here in a matter of minutes. But I won’t contaminate you unless you agree.” He hesitated as the spark of life began to fade from his eyes. He had to be convinced that becoming a werewolf was the right thing to do. “Professor, do you really want to die and leave your wife’s murder unavenged?”

  He perked up immediately. Knowing how to play my cards, the final bet was made. “Professor, please, I can’t take care of these babies without you.”

  The children had been placed on the floor while their parent’s bodies were covered by tablecloths. They were probably too young to ever remember seeing their mother and father strewn about the kitchen like slaughtered lobsters but you never know, so hiding the sight was the least that I could do. Vampire baby was crawling towards his normal sister so I picked him up. “I need your help, Professor, please, may I bite you?”

  He lifted his arm towards me. “I’m signing up for your army,” he said steadily, “and don’t call me Professor, my name is Harold.”

  Chapter 8: Sex in Sin City

  This wasn’t how I imagined getting ready for my first date in eighteen years--hiding out with a werewolf professor, vampire baby, and human child after a night and a full day with no sleep. We booked a $1,000 a night suite off the strip and bribed some contacts to supply fresh, no-kill blood for vampire baby and ran to the store for bottles and formula for regular baby and extra-strength aspirin for my headache. Food was also necessary since we certainly couldn’t order from room service. The professor needed meditation tapes and a cd player so he could begin training to control the werewolf inside. The maid was tipped $100 to not disturb us, with the explanation that the room didn’t need to be made up; we were environmentalists who wanted to conserve water. Lance would not be happy with the expenses bill for this month.

  Although exhaustion was setting in, it was time to get ready for my date with Mark--Mr. Dashing. Instead of dressing as vampire bait it was my own style that would prevail tonight--a soft white blouse, long turquoise skirt, and my black, guilt-free, faux leather boots. The silver dagger Lance bought for me was easily concealed inside the boots.

  My favorite black blazer completed the look. I knew how to play the game although there’d been no participation for almost two decades. The blazer would cover my plunging neckline until it was time to play it coy and remove it slowly while Dashing looked. It also provided a little warmth which might be needed since so many places indoors in Vegas keep the air conditioning on arctic tundra setting.

  Another executive decision might have to be made tonight. If Dashing Mark is a vampire, should he be killed or recruited? ‘Up’ta you,’ I thought. Another gift from Lance--a long, thin gold chain, went perfectly with the amulet from the professor. I sat on my bed fingering the scarab and hoping it would protect my heart from Mr. Dashing’s charms. I found myself desiring male companionship lately and the reality that Lance wasn’t interested in me that way was beginning to set in.

  The local news blared on the TV but brushing my hair and getting the knots out had my full attention. You never hear real reporting anymore but if you listen in between the lines you can sometimes discern what’s really going on.

  The anchor was describing a body found in the desert outside Las Vegas. “Authorities are still trying to identify the body of a white male in his thirties dressed in a t-shirt that read WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS, blue shorts, and flip-flops.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said out loud to the TV set that now had my full consideration. My words went out to the body left to rot in the blazing Nevada sun. The cadaver was obviously that of the drunken tourist observed in the casino when I’d been blinded by Dashing’s good looks. He could have been saved if only I’d been more observant and doing my job. Vampires love drinking from an inebriated victim; it gives them a buzz, but most bodies end up buried in the desert, never found. The vamps were getting careless.

  “I beg your pardon?” The professor asked with a puzzled look on his now healed face. Unfortunately, his middle finger would be gone forever but the rest of his body repaired itself swiftly, thanks to the werewolf virus.

  “A casualty of war, Pro…I mean, Harold. The vamps are getting more blatant every night, a fresh kill was found in the desert.”

  The professor looked irritated. “I see,” he said, holding and rocking vampire baby. Normal baby slept soundly on the plush king bed of the suite. “Must you go out tonight?”

  “I’m afraid so, I’m following a lead that’s important. I’ll try to get back early. By the way, a realtor friend of mine is searching for a house rental for us,” I said, throwing my cell phone in his direction and testing his skills. He caught it without directly looking in its direction. “Please answer, she might call back tonight and we need to move out of here.”

  Casino hotels had too many cameras, too many “eyes in the sky” and Harold would no doubt be on a most-wanted list with a huge bounty offered to any human or vampire who spots him. “And how do I contact you if she does call?” he inquired, looking at my cell phone in his hand.

  “Just get the information from her, Harold. We’ll get out of here when I get back,” I said, heading for the door.

  “This is some army,” he said with exasperation. “Now I’m a secretary and a babysitter.”

  I took a taxi to my date with Dashing, hoping to see a familiar face while flagging down the cab but it wasn’t a small world tonight. Cabbie would be warned about the coming vampire apocalypse should fate ever bring us together again. He really should have been told before; he could have warned a lot of people.

  Self-conscious and full of regret, I walked into the poker room. I really just wanted to be reunited with my daughter and get her to a safe spot, perhaps Camelot, before the shit hit the wind and the world was never the same. What was I doing here? Why did I want to meet this probable vampire? I thought I knew myself--clearly that was not the case. I peered into the poker room eager to find a table, sit down, enjoy a game and find myself again.

  And there he was, cashing in his chips and waving at me. I smiled and waved back. Shit…he was so damn handsome. Desperately wanting to turn tail and run, I forced myself into the Star Trek stance--legs slightly apart, hands behind my back, at attention and ready for duty.

  He glided towards me with the confidence of a man who is satisfied in his own skin, reminding me of a snake slithering towards a trembling mouse. And I was the mouse. “Good evening Nola,” he said, beaming a dimpled smile and giving me a European kiss, brushing both my cheeks with his exquisite soft lips.

  The aroma of his signature scent, Green Irish Tweed, seemed to clash with my perfume--a behind the counter, expensive, lovely brand to be sure, but not up to snuff with his spicy posh fragrance. A man who smelled better than me did nothing to instill any self-assurance to my shaky ego.

  “I have a wonderful night planned Nola. Prepare to have fun!” he exclaimed, instantly putting me at ease. This was his charm--to make you feel that you’d been cohorts for years when you were, in reality, complete strangers. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, flashing his dimples. “Do you like Italian food?”

  I nodded my head. “I love it…I
could survive eating only pasta the rest of my life.” Those words could turn ironic since my life could end tonight, depending on whether Dashing was a rogue vampire or not.

  He tipped the valet twenty bucks to hail us a taxi. As the cab pulled up I now fervently hoped that fate would be kind and have a stranger driving. Cabbie would poke a huge hole in my plans if he showed up now and mentioned vampires.

  Fortunately, the driver was a woman and I settled into my seat and smiled and nodded at Dashing as he talked about his favorite things--poker, good restaurants, and traveling. My eyes closed briefly as everything but his voice was blocked out. The pitch and tone were so reminiscent of actor Patrick Stewart as Captain Jean-Luc Picard on Star Trek. What is it about a man with an accent? English or Australian, southern drawl or Irish brogue, my ears couldn’t get enough of an accent.

  I also never got my fill of Star Trek, whether it was the original series with Captain James T. Kirk and Spock, Deep Space Nine, Voyager, or Enterprise. Some would call me a Trekkie because of my devotion to all the Star Trek heroes, especially Kathryn Janeway, but only Jean-Luc’s voice, and definitely his voice, not his face and bald head, made my romantic temperature rise. The modulation and cadence made me want to “make it so” with Jean-Luc and Dashing had that same wonderful accent.

  During breaks from duty, alone with a bowl of popcorn in my room at Camelot, hour after hour of recorded Star Trek episodes would play with the sound down low. For some reason, I was embarrassed to be a devotee and would never let anyone know I was a fan. Yet the concept of a future where mankind travels among the stars searching for knowledge and protecting the universe from evil was so compelling that I should have shouted from the rooftops that the world needs to start a Starfleet--yesterday!

  “So Nola, tell me, what are your favorite things?” Dashing asked in his crisp English accent.

  Moment of truth. “Well, as you know, I love playing poker,” I cleared my throat, aware that my voice was not as well modulated as his. “I’m fond of animals and nature…and I love watching Star Trek.” There, it was said, to someone--finally.

  Dashing laughed, loud and long, shattering my hope of ever being on a successful date. “Oh, Nola, no. I’m not laughing at you,” he said, stroking my arm. “I think you’re the type who boldly goes where no woman has gone before.”

  “You’ve watched the show?” I asked with some relief.

  “I have indeed. But I must say I prefer Star Wars,” he said with a smile.

  The taxi dropped us off at a nondescript little strip mall where a small Italian restaurant had a line of people out the door. “Locals love this place,” Dashing explained. “The food is fantastic.” He walked past the crowd to the head of the line, holding my hand. “Pardon me, I have a reservation.” he said to the crowd. One woman looked quite annoyed as we strolled past until Dashing shot her his enchanting smile. She practically swooned on the spot.

  We were greeted warmly, or at least Dashing was, by a short hostess in a black frilly blouse wearing too much gold jewelry. “Oh, Mr. Anthony, it’s so nice to see you again,” she said, holding a smoky gaze on Mark for ten seconds longer than necessary.

  She led us away from the open kitchen where delicious aromas made me realize my stomach was rumbling--it had been two days since I’d had something substantial to eat. The restaurant tables had appealing red tablecloths and a single rose in a simple glass vase. Dashing gallantly pulled out my chair and eased me in, receiving my best smile as a reward. Lance once told me that this custom began when women wore unyielding long dresses and couldn’t easily maneuver into a sitting position. Perhaps Dashing had been pulling out chairs for the ladies since the tradition began.

  The waiter arrived as soon as I settled into my chair. “Good evening, Mr. Anthony, how are you tonight?”

  “Good evening, Tony, I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Very good, Mr. Anthony. Can I bring you drinks? Appetizers?”

  “This is Nola,” Dashing said, waving his palm in my direction. Tony got a slight nod and small smile from me. “Would you like wine tonight, Nola?” Dashing had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the world. He was playing me, to be sure.

  “I’d love wine,” I said, knowing all too well that two glasses will go to my head, especially on an empty, rumbling stomach.

  “Red or white?”

  “Well, red has its health benefits, so I’d prefer a red wine,” I answered.

  Dashing ordered Chianti Classico, a wine from Italy’s Tuscany region made with Sangiovese grapes. My favorite actually. I was sure to have at least two glasses.

  “Also, Tony, can we please have the calamari fritti as an appetizer?”

  Oh boy, here we go. I had to be disagreeable before we even ordered our main course. “Mark, thank you but…I won’t be having any squid tonight…I’m a vegetarian,” I announced.

  Tony looked uncomfortable and Mark looked amused. However, he kept up the gentleman persona and changed the order to bruschetta. Tony walked off, shaking his head.

  “So, I take it you won’t be ordering spaghetti with meatballs? How long have you been a vegetarian, Nola?” Dashing asked, still looking quite amused.

  Instead of telling him it had been three decades, I answered, “Since I was a teenager. A visit to the Chicago stockyards convinced me that we have no right to kill animals when there are plenty of food alternatives--seeing all those gentle creatures looking at me with their big brown eyes about to be led to slaughter seemed so senseless. You know…meat is murder.” It was no use preaching to anyone about how barbaric or unhealthy eating meat is, you either get it or you don’t, and Dashing didn’t seem a bit sympathetic to the cause…it was time to stop talking.

  However, he wasn’t putting it to rest. “Would you deny the lion its prey? You know…the circle of life. Predators are necessary to keep down the surplus population of grazing animals. Cattle were bred and domesticated to be used as food. It’s simply nature.”

  “It’s hardly nature!” My voice was rising up angry and it was impossible to bring it to a halt. “Forests are clear-cut so crops to feed cattle can be grown. Factory farms pollute the environment and destroy drinking water. Cattle are shot full of hormones and antibiotics. Predators like bears, coyotes, foxes, bobcats and…wolves…are killed when their habitats are destroyed so hamburger can make it to your plate. Does that really sound like nature?”

  Tony presented the wine with a flourish, ending the conversation as he opened the bottle of Classico Chianti. “Thank you,” Dashing said, “you can leave the bottle on the table.” Apparently this player likes to present the wine on his own. He elegantly poured half a glass, handed it to me and raised his own. “A toast to poker,” he said, smiling. I gently touched his goblet with mine and drank, downing half before stopping.

  The familiar, dramatic, music of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony began to emanate from Dashing’s jacket. He pulled out the cell phone to see who was calling. “Excuse me, I have to take this call,” he announced, walking away from the table. Thank goodness the professor had my phone--Dashing didn’t need to know that Beethoven’s Fur Elise was my ring tone. So we shared a fondness for the music of Beethoven. It just proves that even a player can enjoy good melody.

  He disappeared around a corner and out of earshot. It was imperative to listen to what he was saying--canine hearing was the only way. Intense concentration was needed to turn my human ears werewolf. It was actually easier to go full werewolf than to turn one body part but years of training had given me this skill.

  “I think I’m pregnant,” the lady three tables down whispered to her male companion. Not the conversation I needed to hear. My ears turned towards Dashing’s location around a corner. A sharp-eyed onlooker would see the hairy tips of my ears crowning through my teased blond hair but it was necessary to take the chance. Anyway, in my observations, people aren’t very vigilant, choosing instead to shake away what they see and keep their version of reality.
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br />   “She’s been killed? You’re certain?” Dashing’s lilting voice asked with concern. “Only her ashes remained?” A pause. “How do you know the hunters are responsible?” He was silent for a moment and then furiously said, “I can’t believe they have the balls to come to Las Vegas.”

  Tony delivered the bruschetta to our table. My hands flew to my hair, while pretending to brush it back my ears quickly shrunk to human form. Dashing returned to the table, looking at me with suspicious eyes and a smiling mouth.

  Obviously, he was a vampire. He had to be talking about what happened at the mansion. Still, he couldn’t possibly know about my involvement in the death of Poker Babe. So why the distrustful look?

  He motioned to Tony. “We’re ready to order. I’ll have the veal scaloppini.” He looked in my direction. “Sorry Nola but baby cow is delicious.” I was tempted to order garlic spaghetti but settled on pasta with marinara sauce and a house salad. He poured more wine into my empty glass but the conversation no longer flowed. We sat in silence until he finally said, “You really don’t care if you please me, do you?”

  “I sure don’t,” I replied truthfully.

  “I haven’t seen that quality in a woman in…ages.”

  Perhaps it was time to be coy. I slowly brushed my hair back over my shoulders and removed my blazer. Expecting to entice him, he instead stared at my neck and looked…fearful. He wasn’t staring at my breasts; he was wide-eyed over my amulet.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “What? This amulet? It was a gift from a friend; it’s a replica of an Egyptian artifact.”

  He reached over and fondled the amulet. “It certainly looks authentic. Funny thing is, a friend of mine has one just like it.”

  It was possible, vampires travel in tight circles. But was it likely that Hypatia was a friend of his or that he had simply seen her wear it? Either way, we were in dangerous territory now. The charade was ending.