by J. R. Rain
Jake begins sucking on my arm, his tongue flicking at the holes I made. They’ll only last a minute before closing, but it’s enough. I pull out of the hospital like a normal person, an unremarkable car obeying traffic laws. My emotional state is too chaotic to ascribe any one feeling to it. Simultaneous grief, horror, relief, guilt, joy, and worry cloud my thoughts. Part of me feels like a child who just did something horrible and isn’t sure if anyone noticed.
Jake licks at the now-healed skin on my wrist. I pull my arm back and grip the wheel with both hands. My partner remains slumped against the door, eyes closed, but he’s breathing again—or at least appears to be.
“Sorry, Jake.” I gingerly take his hand and hold it.
Maybe I didn’t totally fail him. After all, that sniper was sure trying to nail me in the head. If she’d hit me, that would’ve guaranteed he died for good… and who knows where I’d have woken up—if at all. I suppose there’s little point lamenting the what-ifs at this point.
Might as well head to the embassy.
Chapter Twelve
Warm Lies, Cold Heart
Nine hours later, Jake finally opens his eyes.
We’re in a plain room deep inside the US Embassy in Berlin with beige-painted cinder block walls, one small couch, and a desk that doesn’t look like anyone uses it. The interior room has no windows, only a pair of fluorescent light tubes. I’ve been perched on the armrest of the couch for the past three hours, waiting with Jake.
People going through the transformation to night walkers can react differently. Some freak out with fear, some go crazy violent, others think it’s a dream. A handful don’t react much at all. Given the calmness with which he’s been sleeping, I’m hopeful he’ll be one of the quiet ones.
Jake sits up and looks himself over, evidently surprised by his change of clothes. The embassy people were kind enough to provide a pair of khakis and a polo shirt to replace the blood-soaked mess he’d been wearing when I carried him in.
He grimaces, scratching his chest. “Ugh. What happened?”
“The bullet slipped under your heart, tearing a hole in your suprarenal abdominal aorta. At least, according to the doctor here.”
“That sounds… not good.”
“Understatement of the year.”
Jake slides across the couch, closer to me. “Should I be concerned that you look like someone close to you is dead?”
“Maybe a little, yeah.”
He catches my meaning. Then again, his mind was already going there. Jake, like most field agents, is a helluva smart cookie. “I was shot, badly, but it doesn’t feel like anything happened. Guess I’ll assume I didn’t make it and you brought me back.”
“Good assumption.” I stare down at my sneakers. “Sorry. I had orders to get you out of there.”
He squeezes my hand. “No point teasing you about being a rotten liar when I’m sure you didn’t actually intend for me to believe that.”
“You’re not upset?” I lift my gaze off the floor and make eye contact.
“Nah. What’s to be upset about? If you didn’t do that, I’d be gone. I still feel like me.” He pauses, concern rippling across his eyes. “Am I the same, or did something else take over my body and I only think I’m Jake Bishop? Am I… really dead?”
“You’re neither dead nor alive. Scientists haven’t figured out how it works, so I’m fairly sure it’s more psychic than biochemical. The process has to be initiated within a minute of death—or before death. If the body’s been dead too long, it won’t take. So maybe it’s more like bringing someone back with CPR. I don’t really know.”
“Feels like I have a heartbeat.”
“You were dead for a little while. Maybe forty seconds.” I grasp his hand in both of mine. “I’m sorry, Jake... I couldn’t let you die.”
“Mina.” Jake brushes a hand at my cheek. “Please stop being so glum. I am not at all upset with you for… turning me, or whatever the term is.”
I spend a moment staring down again, trying without success to understand why I feel like I lost him. It’s silly for me to feel sad. Maybe it really is that I’m taking his almost-death personally as a failure on my part to protect him.
“Thanks.” I manage a feeble smile. “Sorry for messing up. I misread that psychic warning. Didn’t realize danger was already there. Dumbass move to just run out the door like that. I’m too used to thinking like a vampire.”
“Nothing wrong with that. You are one.” He cringes. “Oh, that’s not good.”
“Pain is normal. First two-to-three days are going to be full of random shocks, aches, and cramps. You’ll probably be happier staying in bed until that passes. But it’s different for everyone.”
“What does that mean?”
I lift his head with a finger under the chin and look him over. His eyes are bright, he looks healthy, maybe even a year or two younger. “The differences aren’t major, but ones who died and came back are slightly stronger than humans who underwent the change while alive. They can also have stronger reactions to sunlight.”
“Reactions?” Jake scratches his head. “Such as?”
“Daylight will hurt your eyes. Even an average not-too-sunny day will be bright enough that you’ll want sunglasses and still wind up squinting and in pain. Think of it like being stuck wearing night vision goggles that you can’t take off. You’ll also be sluggish and a bit groggy until you’re inside or the sun goes down.”
“Right… am I going to pass out at sunrise?”
“Nope. More movie stuff. You actually sleep, but you’ll only need about six hours. When you sleep is up to you, although most night walkers do so in the day... because why put up with the annoyance if you don’t have to?” I rest a hand on his leg and squeeze. “You’ll heal from wounds much faster than a normal person, except when losing your head.”
He laughs. “Having my head cut off would’ve killed me before, so that’s not exactly a down side. Guessing I’ll need to get accustomed to the drinking blood deal, huh?”
“Yeah. For the first couple days, you’ll need to consume quite a bit more than normal. Once you settle in, you’ll need about a pint a day.” I point at a collection of red cans on the desk. “The embassy people brought you some Syn-X.”
“That look on your face is sending a message.” He struggles to stand, then stiff-legs it over to the desk and the synthetic blood. “Ouch, ouch, ouch. I hurt everywhere. Even my teeth.”
“That’s your fangs coming in. You need to feed, big guy.” I wave toward the cans, roughly the size of a twenty-ounce cola. “In an emergency, that stuff is passable. I find it disgusting.”
He braces a hand on the desk to keep his balance, picks up a can, and laughs. “That’s cute.” He holds it out so I can see the little smiling cartoon vampire under the Syn-X logo. “Wild cherry flavor.”
I cringe.
“What is this stuff anyway?”
“It’s an attempt to make synthetic blood grown in a factory. Except blood shouldn’t taste like cherries.”
“So this stuff will keep us alive?”
“It’s the instant ramen of the vampire world. Long term consumption will probably cause a host of health problems.” I chuckle.
He pops the cap, sniffs, and takes a tentative sip.
“Three… two… one…”
A wild look shines in his eyes. He chugs the contents of the can, then downs a second before coming up for air. “Whoa… holy shit.”
“You’re starved. Manic hunger usually only happens during the first few days, unless you go too long without consuming blood.”
“Right.” He opens a third can, which he sips casually, and heads back over to sit beside me on the couch. The scent of cherry-faux-blood stirs bile in the back of my throat. “I have to admit, I found vampires fascinating ever since they went public. Think I was around eleven when it hit the news, and I used to daydream about having powers like that. ’Course, I was an emotionally starved foster kid in backwater Indiana
.”
“I really want to stay with you until you get your legs under you, but I can’t hand off my mission to anyone else and I have a fob to deliver. Unfortunately, you’re in no condition to help. And you won’t be for at least a week.” I hand him a business card from the embassy that I’ve written my personal cell number on. “Call me if you have any questions about the change. Or if you just want to call me.” I smile.
“You bet.” He grins, taking the card. “At least I’ve overcome my trepidation regarding vampires. Maybe it’ll work out this time.”
“What will work out?”
He shrugs bashfully. “You know, us.”
Okay, that was super cute. “Hmm. And what do you mean, this time?”
“Dated one a couple months ago.” He spins the card in his fingers, eyeing the number. “Didn’t realize she was a vampire right away. Though, I should’ve suspected something. Women that pretty don’t usually initiate things with guys like me.”
My curiosity is piqued. “So what happened with the other vamp?”
“Didn’t work out, or even last that long.”
“Oh? Because she was a vampire?”
“Guess that might’ve been a subconscious part of it at the time, but mostly she, uhh, wasn’t exactly smart.”
I smirk. “She probably played you since ditzy is what humans expect from gorgeous blondes. And… she was probably also Dominion. Good chance she’s how you wound up compromised.”
He gives me an ‘oh, shit’ stare.
“Don’t worry about it… it isn’t like you could’ve kept secrets from one of us no matter what you did.”
Jake sips at his third can of Syn-X for a few minutes while sending a forlorn stare into space, then starts rambling about his fake family. He doesn’t bother with the accent this time, but he tells me about things that happened during the childhood he never had. Sofia getting stuck on a Ferris wheel when she’d been six and remaining morbidly terrified of any sort of amusement rides even as an adult. Deiter playing pranks in school, family vacations, his mother’s favorite cake, his father’s penchant for old American movies.
It’s tempting to look into his head to see if he’s gone around the bend and started sincerely believing his cover story family had existed. The way he talks about them is saturated with sorrow as if, rather than being fictional, they’d been real and all died.
“I spent weeks memorizing all that stuff, Mina. My first assignment and all. Guess I got too into it.” He shakes off the gloom, his unkempt hair half draped over his face, and tilts back the last of the can. “So, what made you decide to bring me back?”
“You have information, and my mission was to bring that information in. Dead men tell no tales and all…”
“Ahh yes, but undead men don’t shut up.”
I shoot him the side eye, but can’t help but laugh at his goofy expression. Grimness takes over in seconds, and I sigh. “Sorry.”
“For?”
“Not protecting you.”
“Hey, you’re immortal, not perfect. The way I see it, the drawbacks balance out the bonuses. Hey… would you mind doing me a small favor? In my old apartment, there’s a photo of me with my fake family. I know it’s all made up and photoshopped, but I’d really like to have it back and I don’t think I’m going to be in any shape to go after it myself any time soon.”
“Sure. It’s the least I can do for letting you take that bullet.”
Jake puts an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry about it, Mina. I’ll consider this new me an upgrade.”
“It kind of is.”
“Come to think of it, if someone tries to demonize vampires again, it probably won’t be the church… it’ll be the health insurance lobby.”
“Oh?”
“Seriously… facing a horrible, expensive disease? Just find an Origin vampire and go night walker. Problem solved.”
“Erm…” I wince. “It’s not exactly that easy. The change has a roughly fifty percent chance of failure, and it won’t repair things. It freezes the body in the state it’s in when the change takes hold. Chronic pain is bad, but chronic pain for eternity?”
He blinks. “So I had a fifty percent chance to die?”
I blink innocently. “Oh, you didn’t know that?”
“Of course I didn’t know that. Is that why you’re feeling so… guilty?”
“No. You were already dead, remember? I couldn’t have made you more dead. No, I really do feel like a failure for misreading that psychic hit.”
“Don’t. That bitch probably would’ve shot you in the head through the window if we waited. Then we both would’ve been screwed.” He raises one eyebrow. “Question: What happens to a human who isn’t dead when they try to do the change and it doesn’t work?”
“Excruciating agony and a slow death.”
“Oh, is that all?” He whistles. “Okay, maybe the insurance lobby won’t care too much about us.”
Chapter Thirteen
Memories
A night walker’s first couple of days are fairly rough.
The heavy meal of blood knocked Jake out, and he’ll probably lose about twelve hours while his body finishes undergoing changes. Vampire bones have a higher iron content than human bones, muscles are more dense, nerves slightly thicker. Being unconscious is a mercy, really. Compared to body aches from a heavy flu, the change feels like child’s play.
Anyway, Jake should be fine for now.
So, I slip out the back of the embassy and—for the first time since arriving in Germany—wind up driving a car that I have permission to use. White isn’t really my color but it’s not like I’m buying it. It’s an entry level Beemer since we need to do right by the U.S. taxpayers or something to that effect. This one’s got a built-in GPS, so I set it for Munich and hit the road.
My instincts tell me there’s a lull in the Dominion’s hunt for me. It could be from their assumption that Jake is dead, but they have to know I got away. Whether they’d expect me to turn him or not, I can’t say. That would depend on if they believed he had any information in his head. It’s unlikely they’d know my feelings for him. Either way, I can’t help but get the sense that the Dominion is backing off for now. The most plausible explanation is they’ve accepted they failed to contain the information in that memory stick and are trying to figure out their next move.
That gives me a little time to run back to the apartment he used to live in. Since his cover is burned, an Agency clean crew will hit the place within the next day or two and make it look like he never existed.
Andrew, my boss, is aware of the goings on, and he’s sending a team of eggheads over to the embassy to take a crack at the unusual memory stick. As far as Jake’s future with the CIA goes, they’ll probably ask him to stay on since they’ve been desperate to add more vampires to the payroll. He gets to be the first agent who didn’t go inactive after being killed in action.
I wonder if he’ll get a black star on the wall since he’s technically still around. Usually, when an agent dies in the line of duty, the only memorial they get is a little star on a wall, no name, no fame. Not like the Agency can advertise who, what, and where for the stuff we do.
The Autobahn lets me make good time. While I am going a bit faster than most cars, I have the reflexes to compensate and I only do 120 MPH when it’s straight and clear. The only cause for urgency is not wanting to spend all damn day on the road.
***
Upon arrival in Munich, I stop by a place called Fanghaus.
Since our coming out to the world, a number of these establishments have cropped up. It’s part fast-food restaurant, part hangout bar for vampires. Humans with a fetish for vampires, curiosity, or a need to make some quick cash offer themselves as blood donors. It’s not regular work as a person can only give away one pint or so every two months without suffering health issues. That’s also part of the reason concoctions like Syn-X have gained popularity. Ordering blood from a willing donor would be astonishingly exp
ensive if not for our ability to so easily take it from random people. A human who’s already low from a recent feeding has a weaker scent, so any vampire who claims to have accidentally killed someone from overfeeding is lying.
I spend about twenty minutes inside, deciding to try the place’s ‘high end’ synthetic blood meal. It comes in a tall, narrow silver cylinder with a black rectangle on one side bearing a single extended fang symbol, no text. For $50 a bottle, this shit better be decent. Then again, it’s still a better deal than the $300 they want for a live donor. Most places like this, at least back in the US, are way cheaper than Fanghaus… but there’s the risk of junkies. At least they appear to be screening donors here.
A thin strip on the top opens into a sipping straw. My first sniff is promisingly normal—no attempt to add fruit flavor—so I take a sip. And, okay, the ‘Fang’ blood isn’t terrible. It’s actually drinkable, but not something I’d choose over fresh if both were in front of me. For the convenience of not having to find someone in an isolated spot, it’s worthwhile. Open feeding is still frowned upon by human society. It’s one of those situations where everyone assumes it’s happening, but as long as no one sees or remembers it, no one cares.
After leaving Fanghaus, I drive to the apartment Jake used to live in. It’s on the third floor of an ultramodern building with exposed concrete slab floors and walls. It looks like some giant built a house of cards. Silvery windows stand inset a bit from the edges of the concrete, creating tiny patios the residents have decorated with flowerboxes or little chairs.
A nagging sensation at the back of my mind draws my gaze to a more ordinary apartment building on the opposite side of the street and down a ways. In the sixth window from the corner on the third floor, I spot a silhouette with either a huge camera lens or a telescope pointed at Jake’s building.
I keep going instead of taking the turn into his parking lot, also rolling past the building with the person watching Jake’s place, and park on the next side street. For all I know, they could be one of ours… or German police. But, my gut says it’s Dominion. I find a spot and park.