by R. J. Blain
“One of the perks of living on the top floor is delivery. While you’re bathing, I’ll make arrangements. There’s enough on the top floor for you to explore that it’d be a waste of time to send you down to the cafeteria. Do you have a preference?”
“Not pizza,” I blurted.
Emerick laughed, shook his head, and crossed the reception to one of the doors behind the oak desk. “Vampires, one and all, are lactose intolerant. Everyone carries medication with them to allow indulgence. Cheese is not kind to us.”
“Vampires are lactose intolerant?”
“Immortality comes at a price. One of those prices is cheese.”
That explained my poor relationship with my slice of pizza after clawing my way out of a shallow grave. “Any other culinary hazards I should know about?”
“I recommend against drinking more than one shot or glass of wine a night. We don’t process alcohol very well.”
I halted, my mouth dropping open. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Is there a problem?”
“Yes, there’s a problem! Are you telling me I can’t have cheese or wine?” I added two important reasons to torture the man who’d transformed me into a vampire, and I’d weaponize my two favorite luxuries in life when I got my hands on the bastard.
“You can have wine in limited quantity, and I’d avoid testing your luck with the cheese. The medications help, but it doesn’t help that much. Milk’s easier on us. Cream’s tolerable with medication. But cheese is a problem for everyone.” Emerick sighed, turning to me. “Let me guess. You like cheese and wine.”
“Well, I did before some fucker dumped me in a shallow grave, shoveled dirt over me, and left me to fend for myself.”
“In good news, you aren’t the first in my brood to have a temper when hungry. I’d also like to inform you that there are lactose-free options for pizza, and as vampires are spoiled, it’s almost as good as the real thing. I could make arrangements for one of these pizzas to find their way here.”
“How almost as good are we talking about here?”
“Tolerably so.”
I narrowed my eyes, looking him over. “And how do vampires feel about meat?”
“I own a cattle ranch to help mitigate the cost of feeding the brood. We go through a cow a day as a general rule. I’ve found it’s profitable to have poultry farms as well, and as we don’t eat nearly as many eggs as we do chickens, I make a tidy profit providing fresh eggs to the rich and wealthy in the area. We’ve also discovered chicken blood is an excellent alternative blood source for us, so not only do I feed my vampires meat, I supplement our blood supply at the same time. I appreciate efficiency.” Emerick chuckled, opened the door, and gestured for me to follow him. “Any other questions?”
“Chicken blood? You drink chicken blood?”
“Cow blood, too. While we’ll drink human blood from willing donors, most in my brood will stick to animal blood except for special occasions.”
If Emerick kept lobbing surprises my way, he’d have to peel me off the floor. “I guess I should be grateful I wasn’t a vegan.”
“Indeed. Veganism and vampirism aren’t compatible. At best, you’d last two weeks before you went mad from thirst. For the record, I do not raise unwilling individuals, nor do I consider vegan applicants.”
“Who do you raise?”
“Willing applicants who go through a one-year process to ensure they’re ready to become a vampire. I dislike making exceptions, although it does happen from time to time.” Emerick waved for me to follow him, and I forced my feet to move. Beyond the reception was a sitting room suitable for up to ten, comfortable, luxurious, and pretentious enough to please even my father. Emerick’s love for hardwood continued, and I suspected he had a fetish with dark velvet trimmed in gold and silver. “Ben was an exception.”
“Oh?”
“A hundred years ago, trauma victims didn’t have nearly as good of odds as now. Had I not begun transitioning him, he would’ve died on the street. His brother had, before his second death, been part of my brood. Ben struggled, but he’s become an exceptional vampire and an even better man. I think you’ll find him a sympathetic ear to your plight. He resented me for many years before fully accepting who and what he is.”
“He didn’t want to become a vampire?”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but he hadn’t wanted to become a vampire when he had. He lost a great deal in his unlife, including the love of a woman. She was superstitious and would never accept a vampire as her husband, so she lived the rest of her life believing he’d died his final death the day I’d stolen him away.”
I wondered what Ben had thought when he’d learned I’d been raised against my will, too. Unlike Ben, I’d never accept my maker as anything other than a monster to be drained and staked. “And he stayed in your rooms, even then?”
“My rooms were not nearly as nice then, but yes. I’ve been doing that since the first vampire I rose. And before you ask, that was a long time ago.”
“I figured. Anyone who says ‘indeed’ instead of ‘yes’ or something more modern must be over the hill a few times already. But, as you’re a vain, egotistical vampire, you’re looking good for your age.”
“Thank you. And you’ll look lovely for your age for the rest of your second life. May I inquire your biological age at the time of your death?”
Something about the way he asked hinted at some protocol I didn’t understand, but I couldn’t find a reason to keep my age a secret. “Thirty-one.”
Emerick’s eyes widened. “That old? You look far younger.”
“Good genetics and a dislike for makeup.”
“Interesting.”
“Disappointed?”
“Relieved, truth be told. You had a chance to live some life before it was stolen from you. It’s harder for the younger to adapt.”
“Really? Why? I thought the younger would be more adaptable.”
“Entirely the opposite, I’m afraid. The young understand they have missed a lot of their lives and long for what they can’t have. Those who have experienced the bitterness of life along with the youthful joys can adjust to the realities of immortality, such as it is, more easily.”
“For immortal beings, vampires are easy to kill,” I muttered.
“We have our weaknesses. I’m more impressed you found and exploited them so quickly. You’re young. After your bath, if you’re willing, I’d like to know how you managed.”
I wondered if he’d ever ask me if I had a name. “Okay. But I demand pizza that won’t try to kill me in exchange for that information.”
His smile transformed him into the sort of man women would hunt in packs for a chance to join him in bed, and his eyes gleamed violet. I’d never been inclined to hunt men; my father’s wealth attracted them readily enough, but he made me wonder.
Was someone like Emerick worth pursuing?
I’d never trust his wealth. Only a fool would trust my father. My mother, the Queen of Fools, reigned supreme in her stupidity, but his money contented her when his personality didn’t. She’d never understood why I’d moved to Midtown the instant I’d turned eighteen.
I wondered if my death had changed either one of them. Would my father seek another woman, one who could have children, to replace me, his only heir?
“Then we have a bargain. The bathroom’s this way. Take your time. I’ll knock when your payment of pizza has arrived.”
It’d been so long since I’d had a proper shower my skin color paled significantly and turned red from my vigorous scrubbing. I emptied an entire bottle of shampoo to get the filth out of my hair, and despite my efforts, I considered cutting it all off. It’d grown long during my year on the streets, and instead of taking a relaxing bath, I dug through the vanity drawers until I found a comb, grabbed the conditioner, and went to work.
In the time I’d been out on the streets, my hair had grown a frightening amount; rising from the dead likely had something to do with how I’
d gone from shoulder-length hair to a mess dangling to my ass. How had I not noticed it grow so much?
The matted, tangled mess I’d conquered took the blame, and I’d left a disturbing amount of shed hair in the shower. Unable to tolerate the thought of leaving it for someone else to clean, I gathered it up and dumped it into the trashcan beside the toilet.
While tempted to make use of the tub, I turned away, stole the bathrobe hanging from the door, and wrapped into it, tying the sash securely. Unwilling to dirty my feet kicking my discarded, ruined clothes, I found the toilet plunger in a closet and shoved them to the side.
I wanted to light the outfit on fire just to watch it burn.
A knock at the door distracted me from my destructive thoughts, and I cracked it open to discover Emerick on the other side.
“Your payment of pizza just arrived.”
“I need matches. I’m concerned there might be vermin in my clothes.”
“I’d rather not have to replace my bathroom due to a fire incident, but I can ensure they’ll be disposed of in such a way they won’t contaminate anything.”
“But fire would do a better job of preventing contamination.”
“I see you resent the state of your former attire.”
“It deserves it.”
“I’m certain it does.” Emerick smiled, smothered it, and nudged open the door. “It wouldn’t do for your pizza to get cold.”
As I’d offend his delicate, egotistical sensibilities if I told him I liked my pizza cold and served the next day fresh from the fridge, I followed, giving the bathrobe sash a tug to make certain it wouldn’t go anywhere. “If this is your bathrobe, I might perform an act of theft,” I confessed.
“I’ve others just like it. Ordering a replacement is no issue.”
It wasn’t his, much to my disappointment; if it had been his, he would’ve hesitated. Rich men did that. What was theirs was theirs, and they didn’t appreciate when someone infringed on their territory. He tempted me into finding where his bathrobe was so I could test his boundaries.
If he wanted some docile woman, he’d picked the wrong vampire to target. After living in Harlem for so long, Tremont seemed as luxurious as SoHo. After I took the time to observe him, I’d begin testing his limits in earnest to discover how best to survive as part of his brood.
I’d done the same with my father.
As long as I went with the flow in most areas, I could pull off strategic defiance with minimal consequences. Moving to Midtown had been one of those defiances, the best one I’d ever made for myself.
I’d given my father everything else he’d wanted in exchange for my limited freedom. I’d ultimately become his legal lapdog, but I’d done so in a way I could live with. Life had been simpler when all I needed to do was wade through paperwork, confirm legalities, and act like a good heir despite being born the wrong gender.
I expected, had I lived long enough, he would’ve found a way to ensure I only inherited a pittance while he gave his empire to someone he actually liked.
Emerick led me out of the bathroom, down the hall, and through a living room with a television I’d love to watch for many long hours. After so long, I enjoyed the silence, something I’d learned to embrace to avoid going mad from solitude.
The kitchen meant for no more than three or four people startled me, but before I could soak in the pleasant rustic atmosphere, a pair of pizza boxes on the island captured my attention.
“When in doubt, always order an extra pizza. I’ve learned never to underestimate a woman’s appetite.”
Could my stomach even handle one slice of pizza? Needing no other invitation, I beelined straight for the boxes, hooked a stool with my foot, and made myself at home. The plain white plates stood out, but I refused to think too hard on the oddity.
I had pizza to consume.
I peeked into the first box to discover a meat lover’s heaven waiting for me, one crowning a sea of cheese and grease. I swallowed so I wouldn’t drool, grabbed a slice, and didn’t bother putting it on the nearest plate before shoveling as much of it into my mouth as possible without choking.
It’d been so long since I’d had anything other than blood, I couldn’t tell if the cheese tasted real or not. It was hot. It was gooey. It was greasy enough I’d ruin my new bathrobe by the end of the first slice. And it had the perfect balance of toppings, cheese, and sauce.
Unlike my first foray into pizza consumption, the slice didn’t make an immediate reappearance along with the rest of my digestive system, which I took as a sign to accept my mission to consume the entire pizza without any help from Emerick.
In good news, he didn’t laugh at me when I snatched the second slice. In bad news, he tried to claim a slice for himself, and I grabbed the entire box and pulled it closer to me. Had my mouth not already been full, I would’ve hissed and snapped my teeth at him.
Emerick Lowrance was vain and egotistical, but he wisely left my box of pizza alone. “It seems I’ve severely underestimated how territorial you’d be about your breakfast. A wise thing, getting two boxes.”
Meeting my gaze, he opened the second box and took a slice, and I swore his violet eyes challenged me as he took his first bite.
As there was no way in hell he was getting a single taste of the pizza I was owed as my payment, I ignored him and concentrated on eating as much as I could before I exploded or my abused stomach rebelled.
At the halfway mark, my stomach informed me it no longer hungered and liked what I fed it.
“Would you like something to drink other than grease?” Emerick asked, startling me from my meal.
My face flushed, and I forced myself to chew before swallowing. “What do you have?”
“If you want it, I probably have it.”
“Water, please.”
I could’ve gone for soda, I could’ve asked for wine, but I hadn’t been brave enough to try something as simple as a glass of water since my disastrous experience with pizza. It hadn’t occurred to me, either.
A lot hadn’t occurred to me, and I had no one to blame but myself.
“You have simple needs. I was hoping for a little more of a challenge than a glass of water.” Emerick chuckled but got up and fetched my requested drink in a crystal glass.
“Maybe tomorrow night.”
“Humor me. What might you ask for tomorrow night?”
“A Kobe steak with wine and mushroom sauce, seasoned with truffles, on the side. Truffle-infused mashed potatoes. A complimentary vegetable, something with bite that wouldn’t overpower the truffles. A glass of red, but not a Musigny, as that pairs better with poultry, but perhaps a Penfolds. If I’m going to make you work for it, I may as well only get one of the best. If you can’t do a Penfolds, I might as well go after your bank account and insist on a glass of Screaming Eagles.”
I savored the moment his expression went blank as he processed what I’d asked of him.
“And for dessert?” I admired his even tone.
“You’d have to go to New Orleans for that, and honestly, the only time I want a man offering me a pink diamond ring of that caliber is if he’s begging me to marry him and bringing a reasonable, second ring for me to actually wear, as why would anyone ever want to wear a diamond of that size?” I took a sip of water. “The rest of that dessert would be lovely, though.”
“I see someone has done some research for the excessive ways the rich and famous indulge themselves.”
I allowed myself a grim smile and borrowed a prized word from his vocabulary. “Indeed.”
Three
An unfortunate case of immortality.
Refusing to accept defeat, I scarfed down my entire pizza, and after my last swallow, I slumped over the island with a low groan. My stomach adored me, although I worried it really would explode if I tried to consume another bite.
“I should be grateful you saved some for me,” Emerick said, and with a wicked smirk, he lifted the last slice of his pizza from the box and ate it at
his leisure, his display meant to send one message: he could still eat more if he wanted, thus defeating me. “What sort of dessert should I enjoy tonight? You seem rather full.”
“Like hell you’ll enjoy dessert without me,” I grumbled through clenched teeth.
“It wouldn’t do if you were to expire on me due to overeating. Perhaps a little later for dessert. It’d be tragic if I had to clean already eaten pizza off my floor.”
“You don’t seem the type to clean anything.”
“How very true. You’re right. Perhaps I should find something for dessert. It might be entertaining watching you clean up after yourself.”
I’d won by eating an entire pizza by myself, but I’d lost, too. To call his bluff, I’d have to find room for dessert, and I had the feeling the smug vampire would enjoy besting me. “Are you sure assignment to Tremont is a punishment? Distance from you seems like a reward.”
“You just haven’t seen the full wonder and majesty that is me yet. You’ll learn. Now that you’ve been paid one entire pizza, it’s time for you to pay your end of the bargain. How did you manage on the streets? How did you learn to kill vampires?”
I lurched upright, straightened on my stool, and sipped my water. “I was thirsty, and I refused to attack a human. I didn’t ask to be a vampire, so I decided I’d live off them. But I didn’t want to just go after any vampire, either. I figured if I was going to be killed off, at least I’d get killed trying to remove some of the garbage off the streets. I started following around vampires and watching them. When I found one who attacked innocents, I decided to put folklore to the test.”
“Stakes, garlic, and holy water?”
“Basically. Less holy water, more decapitation. I wasn’t sure where to get any holy water, if it exists.”
“It exists. It’s rather unpleasant. It’s like intense exposure to the sun. It won’t necessarily kill a vampire, but it’ll make us miserable for a while. How did you get the stakes?”