by Jamie Ott
Finally, there was Mica who was a social butterfly and bartender enrolled at the Soho Beauty Academy. She already had a steady list of clients and was making more money than any of them. But she went out of her way to make sure the kids had clothes, and would try to get jobs for them through her many connections.
“Hey, Starr,” called Lily.
“Hey, Sweetie.”
She bent over and kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulders.
Lily was a twelve year old girl who attended middle school on the other side of town. Her mother was never around to take care of her, so she was often found hanging out in the clinic.
Starr almost walked right past her one cold night when she was sitting and shivering on a stoop. It was midnight and the freaks were out, so she brought her to the clinic. Since that night, she’d been a regular.
Although Starr was no mind reader – that was Shane’s thing, she was still good at reading people. It was easy to see that Lily was a neglected, affection-starved child.
“You eat, tonight?”
Sometimes there wasn’t enough food, despite their trying to keep the clinic’s staff room and refrigerator full. Feeding a dozen people three squares each day was hard work.
“Yeah, I had a couple grilled cheese sandwiches. Marla made dinner tonight, before she went to work.”
“Did you get veggies?” Lily hated vegetables, so Starr was always trying to convince her.
“Three pieces of celery,” she grinned.
“Alrighty, then, finish your homework, brush your teeth and go to bed. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Lily was a sweet girl. If Starr could have had another sister, it would have been her. She hoped her mother would never come for her, and even imagined what she’d do if she did appear. If she were hurting her in any way, Starr would put a stop it.
Becoming immortal had instilled a cocky sort of arrogance in Starr. Before they took her, she was just like Lily: sweet, trusting, looking for affection. Perhaps that was also why she went out of her way to be there for her, because, for Starr, it was that sweet nature that got her into trouble.
More than anything, she wanted to protect Lily; the way her sister tried to protect her – tried and failed. If only they had turned her sooner, she would have saved them both. She would have torn their limbs right out of their sockets and sucked the marrow from their bones.
She couldn’t get much out of Lily about why her mother was never around. But Starr didn’t care. The fact was she let her child wander the streets, and that was enough information for her. She would just trust that Lily would confide in her when she was ready.
Starr walked down the hall to the third door on the left. It was not a great place to have a room, with people always walking past, but it was a good way to keep an eye on all the kids.
Marla, Mica and Shane also stayed in the front rooms, so if someone wandered in, they were likely to hear it, or, at least, Mica would: super hearing – that was her power.
She closed and latched the door behind her. Kids loved to come in and sneak things, and, sometimes, they were able to do so without her knowing until later.
The fables would have people believe that their kind was ultimately supernatural in every way. Meaning that they weren’t easy to fool, and their superhuman instincts would protect them always; that they lived by rigid rules of nature, but it wasn’t so.
The truth was only their natural strengths were intensified after death, so if a person, like Mica, had good hearing while they lived, that person would have super hearing after death. If a person was an insomniac, and the insomnia was due to a natural lack of serotonin in the brain, then, like Marla, that person would never need to sleep. It was the same with Shane, who was already prone to glimpsing the thoughts of others when she was mortal. Now she was the ultimate mind reader.
And, Starr?
She was a natural runner, black belt in karate, and could bench press like a man when she was alive. Now she was literally a real life woman of steel.
There were only a few things they all, consistently, seemed to have in common: quicker minds, quicker reflexes, a stronger sense of smell, pale skin, brilliant eyes, resilient organs, and, yes, a desire for blood.
Whether they would truly live forever was a question that remained unanswered, as neither of them had ever met another of their kind before, but all the research they’d done pointed to the fact that they might be around for a long time.
Carefully, she pulled out the half dozen silver ear rings and hoops from her ears, and laid them on her desk.
Fortunately, her ears were already pierced before she died, so they didn’t heal themselves every night. Unlike Shane whose mother would never allow her to get piercings.
Starr twisted her waist-length hair up into a tight bun on her head. If she could have, she’d have cut it off. Before she died, she always preferred short hair.
Unfortunately, it was the first thing that changed when she died: it grew and it didn’t stop until the next day. The same thing happened when she, later, tried to cut it again. Luckily, it seemed to take hair dye like a sponge absorbing water; a great consolation because she loved her long, sleek black hair.
She unbuttoned her black leather vest, and untied the strings of her black leather boots and pants. Coating a cotton ball with makeup remover, she smeared the black eyeliner and mascara away from her eyes, revealing the depth of her soul in the mirror.
A long, deep sigh, she exhaled. She still had trigonometry and a paper to write, but she was exhausted. Pulling on her jammies, she climbed into bed.
~~~
The next morning, she was the first up, as usual. It was selfish, but she liked to enjoy the mornings in peace and quiet. To do this, she needed to avoid the others.
She’d leave before anyone was up, often taking coffee and a bagel in a shop a couple blocks from school.
The fables would also have people believe that they only drank blood, but it wasn’t so. She could go many nights without it, and, if she had to, New York had tons of butchers in the city. She’d go and get a raw haggis or an uncongealed blood pudding. While some thought it strange, the ethnic butchers didn’t think much of it.
Contrary to popular myth, certain animal blood was just as good, if not better, than a human’s, like sheep, goat, and even dog. Sturdier breeds of animal always turned up the best tasting. This would explain why chicken blood was way better than cow.
According to Shane’s research, people thinking human blood was the ultimate was pure arrogance. She read from a journal she’d picked up from the library that “’Being turned, turns one into a hunter, and there was nothing better than hunting a human,’” wrote the author, L. S. Credenza (1955).
“’They’d lost much of their animal instinct millenniums ago, and along with it, the ability to cloak their bodies chemistry. Often, that chemistry put off an exotic pheromone that was like catnip to them: fear.
For the vampire, it was the scent of fear that was most seductive. It‘s the hunt, more so than the blood that calls them (L.S. Credenza, 1955).’”
What Credenza wrote was the truth; they didn’t actually need to eat anymore, let alone drink human blood. It was just hard to resist all the fear in the city, like watching an attractive mate; a mate who arouses lust, so like it was the scent of fear: walking to the store, to their cars, or in the dark, everyone was afraid of something.
Still, they could eat just like anybody else, if they wanted. Although coffee and chocolate didn’t seem to have the same stimulant effect as it did when she was alive, the flavor and smell was still just as inviting and, sometimes, irresistible to her new sharpened senses.
One day, she passed by Godiva’s and the intoxicating scent incited a fever in her. Her mouth watered like a fount and bits of perspiration soaked the shawl around her neck.
She walked in and bought chocolate macaroons, chocolate truffles, and cherry chocolates. Starr r
an out of the shop, down an alley, and hid behind a dumpster where she shoved as many chocolates as she could into her mouth; then the fever came down.
Later, as she told Shane about her experience, she confided that she’d had a similar one. The aroma of hot chocolate wafted passed her, a while back at the university. A horribly embarrassing tale of how she pushed through students, filled a Styrofoam cup, and gulped down the 100+ degree formula without burning her tongue, as a hundred students in the commons area watched on in amazement.
Between them all, the scent of chocolate was a danger to their senses. They couldn’t find any research to support what they’d experienced, but it was very real.
They found nothing from Credenza on the subject, whom they’d contemplated writing to on several occasions. Although much of the author’s research was published in the fifties, they considered that he or she might still be alive. Maybe the author could help them fully comprehend the limitations of their conditions as well as how to deal with them.
But they never got around to writing; afraid that to do so would tip him or her off. Instead, they snuck into the library and stole all the books by L.S. Credenza, and kept them locked away in Starr’s room.
She looked out of the window. It was still pretty dark and the chill was deepening, as it was October.
They needed to figure out how they were going to get a new generator because the old one was broken. Maybe she’d go and meet her friend, Michael, at the Salvation Army on the way home. Between all four of them, they should be able to get something.
Not that they ever got cold, anymore, but the kids would need it. Since she’d been turned, the only thing she felt was warmth, when in the direct sun. Her skin would perspire and burn.
Once, she left her arm under direct exposure to see what would happen, and, though it wasn’t terribly painful, her skin felt irritated. It turned to a mocha-color and gave off a foul odor, like burning trash.
When she pulled back her arm, it healed back, instantly. Fortunately, sunscreen did work, and even on their kind. This confirmed L.S. Credenza’s assertion that it was the ultra violet rays that were dangerous to them.
Still, that didn’t mean they couldn’t freeze. Apparently, in the mid-twentieth century, a piece of glacier arrived off the coast of Greenland. Geologists went to inspect, as even then they were worried about global warming. Inside they found a man had been frozen. A fable, to most, but to the author, Credenza, it was real: it was nosferatu.
A quick shower, into her usual black garb, and a smear of her vampire red lipstick from Manic Panic, and she was off.
Just as she ducked under the rotted boards blocking the entrance to the glass door, she caught Mot, a Danish kid who, if possible, was even whiter than Starr, smoking.
“Mot! I thought you promised to quit!”
“Where I fr-r-rom,” he rolled his r, “everybody smoke.”
“Fine, just as long as you keep out here, but I’m warning you: if you attract unwanted attention – like cops or hobos, I’m coming after you!”
Mot was a good kid, though. She just wished he’d stop smoking because, to a vampire’s preternatural sense of smell, it was worse than a toilet.
He was fifteen years old, attended remedial school on the East side, and had a penchant for trouble. Though he was usually loyal toward those he cared for, he was the kind who always looked for an easy way out; he was the kind you’d expect to wind up in jail one day. From what Starr had gathered about his father, Mot didn’t fall too far from his tree of origin, either.
She hunkered down at the bakery, her usual morning haunt and finished her homework.
Another advantage they seemed to have in common was their tripled reflexes.
Anyone who’d witnessed Mica slip up while cutting hair or serving drinks, saw her moving at demon speed. For this reason, she had so many clients and made a lot of money. She was talented and fast.
In the early mornings of the bakery, she’d often finish her homework just as quickly as Mica could serve up a few dozen cosmopolitans, which was about twenty minutes.
The lighting was terrible, but not to her dead eyes that could see better, now, than when they were alive. Also, the dark bakery was advantageous because it was quiet and no one would see how fast she could turn pages.
Starr looked at her watch and saw she had twenty minutes until class. She packed up, put on her leather jacket and entered the cool morning air.
As usual, the kids at Victorian High were lined up to greet her, graciously.
“Hello, Satan,” said Marcus Rent, a typical school jock with smelly breath. “How are you today?” he asked.
Starr opened her mouth to say something mean, but then he convulsed, shook his hands, jumped up and squealed, “Aaaaa, she’s cursed me, aaaa, hahahahah…” he laughed and ran back to his buddies.
Making Frenemies
Chapter 2
The day was another typical day. Rachel, Starr’s sworn enemy since day one, made sure to let everyone in their chemistry class know that she was an apostolate from hell; that if they wanted to save their souls, they’d sit far away from her.
“Hey, Starr? Why are your lips so red? Have you been kissing demon butt?” she asked.
“What about that chain around your neck? Is that from your father? Is that from Satan himself? If so, please stay back. I don’t wanna go to hell,” chimed her best friend, Chloe.
Starr just ignored them as usual. She loved the metal look, which she first saw a girl in a comic book wear. It was nothing more than a thick metal chain that hung around her neck, clasped off with a full sized lock.
Starr wore the same thing; the key was in her pocket at all times.
Before she died, she would have been angered by her classmates constant taunting. Now, however, she rarely felt moved enough to even acknowledge them.
This was one way in which the fables also got things right.
According to Shane’s research, “’sometimes the turning induced more of a base instinct; more simplified animal-like nature in humans (Credenza, 1955).’”
In other words, the virus that turned them also killed certain chemical parts of their brains. Parts that were likely responsible for the more complex emotions that humans felt.
As a result, they could feel extreme emotions – like love and hate, but only when a situation moved them enough.
But most adjective torment, like name calling, couldn’t hurt them. They couldn’t feel the complexities of loving something, yet hating it at the same time; wanting to achieve, but fear and anxiety holding them back. The nervousness and insecurity that humans were familiar with were complexities that vampires weren’t capable of.
Although Marla disagreed, claiming she still felt anxiety from time-to-time, for Starr, Credenza was right.
For example, even with Lily, it wasn’t her personality and sweetness that made her want to help her, but it was who Lily reminded her of. Because of this nostalgia, she felt a need to protect Lily’s innocence and her person.
Starr was more like a dog protecting her puppy rather than an evolved human valuing the virtues of a person, which by definition is truly love.
Besides, her classmates couldn’t hurt her. If she wanted to, she could crush them like cockroaches and feed them their own hearts while they still beat.
Knowing these things restored her hope for the future; knowing that she would be around long after her tormentors were gone. Inwardly, she knew that she could accomplish great things with this mysterious gift that she’d received.
One issue that did worry Starr was that Marla didn’t turn the same way she and the others did. Not only did she feel anxiety, but she felt sorrow, from time to time.
This scared her because, when Starr was human, sometimes feelings made her want to withdraw from the world.
Being absent from emotional complexity is what made each of them stronger.
It was only after Starr was turned tha
t she was able to pick up her grades at school, and forget about the crappy things that had happened to her; all except one thing, her sister.
Point is, numbing of those emotions made trivial things less important, and, therefore, unable to stand in her way.
At that point, life really was for the taking.
This change that took place in people was also addressed by Credenza. She dedicated many chapters to vampires who’d risen to success and fame, like Thomas Edison and Abraham Lincoln. Most assumed that vampires were thieving grave robbers, but this was also false.
“Simply, people who have nothing to fear let nothing stand in their way,” (Credenza, 1955).
“Dying the way Starr did was the ultimate, but dying like Marla was a death sentence,” Credenza also wrote.
Starr agreed.
How many lifetimes could Marla last?
Surely, a sensitive demon of her type would likely end up in seclusion, or premature end of life. Maybe not even make it to the end of what would have been her own natural life.
When Starr thought of going through several lifetimes without being de sensitized, it seemed comparable to a reoccurring nightmare. Each time with the same painful punch lines, and with the same terrible ends: death.
Loving people and losing them, again and again.
Eventually, she would have to end it, for who could stand it?
Finally, Alec, the instructor walked in.
“Alright, everyone.” The room got quiet. “We will begin.” Then, noticing Rachel and Chloe in the corner sniggering, he said, “Not today, ladies, and not in my class!”
They stopped, immediately.
Alec had little patience for their brand of high school idiot; that and he liked Starr very much. Despite their connection being chemistry class, he was also her sixth grade literary professor, and he, too, had a dark side.