1949
I woke up in searing pain. However, that was nothing new because, during my months in Sisters of Mercy, I’d often been in searing pain especially when Frederick had visited my room. I’d also had many other nightly visitors who’d enjoyed hurting me just as much as—if not more than—the sadistic vampire first encountered when I’d literally dropped down to earth.
“You’re going to be okay, my sweet,” a familiar voice said.
My blurry vision slowly sharpened until I could soon see the beautiful, mournful face of Dr. Mercer. My head was cradled in her lap as she brushed my straggly hair out of my face.
As I lay there, I soon realized the searing pain was different from what I was used to. It was usually something I could pinpoint on my body, in a place where an excited vampire had ripped into or broken me. No—this pain was not like that at all; it felt like my insides were on fire and my brain wanted to explode from my skull. Something was wrong. I didn’t know why Dr. Mercer wasn’t healing me, or if she even could. As much as it hurt, a small amount of relief washed over me; maybe I was finally dying, maybe this was it. And with my death, I could be free.
Dr. Mercer placed a damp facecloth onto my forehead, pressing down to make it as cool as possible. “You’re doing so well,” she purred.
“What’s wrong with me?”
She didn’t hesitate when she said, “Your body is dying.”
And my first thought was one of relief. It was such a mercy for her not to heal me, and to instead, let me go. I knew how much she cared for me. She had gotten into multiple altercations with Frederick on my behalf. A few weeks earlier, she’d stopped feeding on me altogether and simply started coming into my room just to talk. If I was in bad shape when she arrived, she’d heal me with her blood, even though it was the orderly’s job. Some nights, we’d talked for hours and she’d refused to let anyone else in to see me—that was unless Frederick paid me a visit. Then she was forced out but not without a fight.
Now, it seemed she loved me enough to let me go. “Thank you,” I whispered. It was all I could manage in my inflamed state.
“I won’t let them hurt you anymore,” Dr. Mercer said, staring down at me with her bright blue eyes. A single tear dripped down one of her cheeks as she offered up a pained smile.
From our talks, I knew she thought I was some reincarnation of her late husband who had died of pneumonia half a century earlier. She was certain I’d been sent back to save her from her eternal loneliness. She’d found short spells of companionship but never love—until I’d unknowingly shown her how love was still possible with the eternal undead.
I could feel my internal organs shutting down and it was like nothing I’d ever felt before, even with all the torture I’d been forced to endure. I groaned and writhed upon the bed, begging for death to take me soon.
“I love you,” she said, using the damp cloth to dab at my cheeks, then returning it to my forehead.
I didn’t have the strength to say anything in return but she didn’t seem to expect a reply. She slowly rocked back and forth, my head cradled in her lap as comfortably as she could make it.
And as much as I wished for death in that moment, a part of me was still afraid to die. I was afraid of the unknown—of what would happen next, where I’d end up and of what would become of my consciousness.
Perhaps I would cease to exist, winking off for a final time like an unscrewed lightbulb? Maybe I’d wake up as someone else and wouldn’t have any recollection of my past life? Or maybe I’d transition to a new place, some heaven or hell only the artists could truly describe. I didn’t have enough faith to believe in one outcome over the others, but—in truth—all the possible outcomes frightened me.
“I’m afraid to die,” I croaked.
“It’s only natural,” Dr. Mercer said in her most soothing voice. “But I’m here with you. You shall not die alone.”
After another few minutes, the burning inside my body reached a zenith and I felt my heart seize up. I felt everything stop. My eyes were still glued to Dr. Mercer’s lovely face and in that moment, she seemed to have frozen. I didn’t just stop, rather the world did.
I no longer felt the heat. I no longer felt the pain. Everything ceased to exist except what my sight had frozen on.
And as quickly as the end came, my heart somehow restarted itself, though much slower than before. Dr. Mercer blinked, her smile changing ever so slightly. She was clearer than before, and somehow even more beautiful.
“I feel like I’m dead,” I said and realized my voice was much stronger now. “The pain—it’s gone…”
“You are dead… and no one will ever be able to hurt you again.”
I sat up and gaped at her, feeling more strength and energy coursing through my body than I could ever remember. All the colors surrounding me were more vibrant and the darkness outside was lighter like dawn was approaching.
As I tried to make sense of my seemingly new surroundings, of how wonderful I suddenly felt, it was quickly overshadowed by a compulsive need for—something.
The burning in my chest began to return and I felt a compulsive need to drink, to drink water to douse the growing flames. If I didn’t, I’d soon be consumed…
I gazed into Dr. Mercer’s eyes, even more fearful than before. “What’s wrong with me?”
“I saved you,” she said and leaned forward to envelop me in a hug. “He won’t be able to hurt you ever again.”
32
Susan
Frederick and I went to the tattoo parlor we owned on Hollywood Boulevard, suitably called Immortal Ink. That was where a good portion of the Vampire Nation members received their official tattoos. It’s also where I received mine at the skillful hands of Draven Stone—not that the Vampire nation stamp takes much skill to create, which was why it was easily recreated at many shops around the country.
Draven was the lead artist in the shop and its sole vampire. There was something a little unnerving about getting a tattoo from an artist without any of his own; the human artists in the shop appeared more traditional.
“Mr. Alabaster,” Draven said as we walked in the door, looking up from the sketch he was working on for a new stencil. “Good afternoon, sir. And to you, Ms. Winter.”
Two patrons sat in chairs and were being worked on by the human artists, Spider and Morpheus—both obvious nicknames. Morpheus was stenciling the leg of a guy in his thirties while Spider was shading the upper back of a woman looking about ten years younger. The woman had a friend watching from a stool, so I assumed these were two separate groups.
“I suppose you’re here to see the stencil?” he asked as we strolled up to his backlit table.
“Indeed, we are,” Frederick said. “How’d it come out?”
“See for yourself,” Draven said, picking up a printed sticker of a compass, copied from a picture of Fiona’s forearm that Frederick had emailed, showcasing her compass tattoo.
“Let me see the photo,” Frederick said as he took the sticker from Draven. Once he had a picture in each hand, he scrutinized the copied design. Without providing any feedback, he passed them to me. “What do you think?”
The outlined design looked like a great replica, with only the arrow pointing south instead of northeast; it had been pointing to Frederick who’d taken the picture.
“I think it’s perfect,” I said, handing the pictures back to Frederick.
“I agree,” Frederick said. “I’ll take it.”
“What?” Draven asked, obviously taken aback. “Sorry, sir. But it will be gone before I even get halfway.”
“Let me worry about that,” Frederick said with a knowing smile. “Let’s use the private room.”
“Of course,” Draven said and led us to a small room with a glass door. There was a shade on the back of the door; he promptly closed it. “I don’t understand. What are we doing? I thought this was for her?”
“Nope,” Frederick said, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small vial of what looked like
blood. “Mix this in with the ink and let’s see what happens.”
“What is it?” Draven asked, holding up the vial.
“Angel blood.”
“But… but this could kill you.” Draven was already trying to hand back the vial but Frederick refused to take it.
“Let’s start by only mixing in half,” Frederick said, taking a seat on the reclining chair.
“What’s it going to do?”
“If it works the way I expect it will, it’ll keep the tattoo from healing.”
“And you’ve seen this done before?”
“Once,” Frederick said. “Like I said, let’s try it and see what happens.”
“If you’re sure…” Draven certainly didn’t sound sure but he set down the vial on a partially set-up workstation and proceeded to get all his equipment and materials ready. He mixed in the blood with his assortment of blacks before squirting the colors into thimble-sized cups. “Where’s it going?” he asked once his workstation was complete.
“Left forearm, just like the picture,” Frederick said.
Draven positioned the stencil on Frederick’s left forearm and it peeled away, leaving only the major lines of the design. Then he turned on the machine and started to outline.
I rolled up a stool to sit beside Frederick as he watched Draven work his magic. “This reminds me of when I got mine,” I said. “You were right here with me.”
“Yes. It was a very special day,” Frederick said. “As this will be.”
The whole process took about two hours but when Draven was done, the compass looked damned convincing.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Burns like hell,” Frederick said.
“So, now you know what we feel like,” I laughed.
“If it doesn’t heal, then is it going to continue to hurt?” Draven asked.
“Only time will tell,” Frederick said. “But I suspect it will.”
“Then why would you want this so badly to put up with constant pain?”
“Because the design is very dear to me,” Frederick said. “I had it when I was alive and believed it was gone forever—that I’d never be able to get it back. This will prove how very wrong I was, that nothing’s gone forever. And if we want something badly enough, we can have it. Nothing is beyond the reach of unyielding determination.”
We all stared at the new tattoo, watching for signs of healing. But the tattoo seemed to be sticking. Draven had gotten through the whole design without losing a single line, and each one was just as strong and distinct now.
“I think you’ve done it, my good man,” Frederick said, his face beaming.
“Do you want me to bandage it up?” Draven asked.
“My skin actually looks raw,” Frederick mused. “And the pain—it’s such an interesting feeling. You need to try this on yourself.”
“I dunno,” Draven said as he wrapped up Frederick’s arm. “I think I’ll wait a while to see how you react to yours.”
“Well you’ve still got half a vial of angel blood,” Frederick said, stepping down from the chair. “Are you ready to go, m’dear?”
“Would you like me to drive?” I asked, following him into the main room of the shop while Draven held open the door.
The women were gone now, but the man from earlier was still getting an intricate design on his leg colored.
“No,” Frederick said. “I’m fine. There’s no need to worry. This is the best day I’ve had in years.”
“Don’t tell me that,” I said, pouting my lower lip.
“Meeting you is still much higher on my list, otherwise I would have said decades.” Frederick grabbed my hand.
Once we’d left the shop and were walking down Hollywood Boulevard toward the side street where Frederick had parked his Aston Martin, I asked about what it really meant.
“Thanks to your daughter, I should now be able to walk through the True North Society compound as Matthew. No one will be looking for a rogue vampire on the premises.”
“Why?” I asked.
“The angel blood now inked into my skin seems to mute their detections, so Matthew is detected differently from everyone else. It seems he was the only one to go through the process of getting the tattoo—for obvious reasons.”
“How does it feel?” I asked. I knew how dangerous angel blood was to vampires and had shared Draven’s concern.
“Like I’m still getting stabbed with the needle,” he said. “But it’s a welcomed pain. I haven’t felt anything like this for a long time. It makes me feel—alive.”
“Once upon a time, did you have any tattoos?”
“No. It seems ironic that this is my first.” Frederick laughed. “And there’s one more thing you should know. The plan has changed.”
“You no longer need Fiona?” I asked, hopefully.
“No. I need your daughter more than ever. But her role has changed.” He opened the passenger door for me, placing a hand on the small of my back as I lowered myself into the sports car. “I’ll explain everything on the way back to the club. There’s someone you need to meet.”
33
Fiona
Kelly answered the door of my father’s room. I made sure to be five minutes early, so it would read precisely on time by his clock. We’d gotten into that routine.
“That must be Fiona,” my father said. “Because she’s right on time.”
“It always helps to have a watch,” I said, showing him my wrist as I entered. I’d found a Disney princess watch on the Target clearance rack and bought it, thinking it matched well with his children’s watch. I only wore it during my transcription shifts—it had become my new uniform.
“That it does, my girl,” he said, getting up from his rocker on the far side of his bed. “Never leave home without one.”
“I think that’s an American Express card,” Kelly said with a laugh, but it was a joke lost on the rest of us. “Now, Assemblyman Damascus. Remember what we talked about. I have to leave, and Fiona will be continuing the transcription alone today.”
“If you must,” my father said, but he sounded far less upset about the prospect of my help than he had when I’d first started coming here. “But I’m sure Fiona will have no trouble finishing your job.”
“I know she’ll do great,” Kelly said, giving me a shy smile. He looked like he was about to give me a hug when he stopped himself and quickly ran out the door.
He’s so weird, I thought, turning to my father. It finally dawned on me that I was alone with him for the first time. My mouth went dry. Now I didn’t know what to say.
“Shall we get to work?” he asked, taking a seat at the long desk and opening one of his many notebooks. “Failsafe procedures. Very important to get them right this time because there were bugs in them previously. The sectors began to malfunction and the crew had to shut them down. People died as a result. Terrible; simply terrible.”
“Sounds like it,” I said, my voice cracking as I took the seat beside him and opened a new Word document. “I’m ready when you are.”
Once my father began deciphering his notes, he became so focused it was nearly trancelike. He was sitting next to me but his mind was far away, back on the station where he was learning all that stuff firsthand.
I typed as fast as I could to keep up with what he was saying, realizing my typing skills were not up to par. I needed to revisit some formal training so I wouldn’t have to continually glance down at the keyboard. But I couldn’t get distracted by that; I needed to focus on the words my father was saying.
He stopped talking about forty-five minutes later. He was no longer looking at his notes but directly at the wall ahead of us. However, he didn’t seem to see that either; some dynamic scene was playing out in his head.
My wrists were burning so I stretched them out, flexing each finger one at a time. I had six pages of notes now, maybe a new record.
“Is that everything for this topic?” I asked.
It took him a few m
oments to respond, long enough for me to wonder if he’d even heard me. Then without moving his attention from the wall, he said, “I’m tired.”
“Me too,” I said. “That was a lot of information.” As we sat there in silence and I remembered that Kelly wasn’t in the room with us, I wondered if he’d be willing to talk about anything more personal. “Tell me about Susan,” I said.
“Susan…” he said, the corners of his mouth raising to a small smile. “She used to serve me at the Angry Goat. It was a little dive bar in the downtown area that I’d only been to a few times with friends until I met her. We talked and she was friendly—as bartenders are when they want good tips. But there was something about her that I couldn’t get out of my mind. I started going back just to see her.”
He’d mentioned that story when Matthew first took me there. It wasn’t something Mom had ever told me about, so I didn’t know if it was true or another by-product of his time travel condition. As far as I knew, Mom was never a bartender but I was sure there were plenty more things she hadn’t told me about.
“After months of going back there, I finally gathered enough courage to ask her out on a date. I remember being so nervous. She laughed at my silly line but she said yes. She wore a wedding ring while she worked to keep the other guys at bay, but I’d talked to her long enough to discover it was merely a prop. Her mother had told her to do it after she’d complained about being propositioned so often.
“We had a wonderful time while it lasted, but it wasn’t meant to be. I got her an invitation to the Society but she ultimately declined, and I had to break off all contact with her. I so wanted her to say yes. So, I spent more time on the station, burying myself in my work to try and forget about her.
“But—about seven years later—she contacted me again, leaving me the most heartbreaking message I’d ever heard. She’d had twin daughters. What were their names, now…?”
My pulse quickened at the direction the story was going, my hands shaking as I stared at him. It seemed the early stuff about Mom being a bartender was true and he did remember her for more than he’d originally claimed.
Angeles Betrayal Page 17