by A K Blake
These turned out to be the least of his worries, as he rounded the corner to Iona’s room and instantly felt that something was wrong. The door was slightly ajar, one heel of a shoe having gotten stuck between the door and the wall, so that it was quite simple to pry it further open. Yet the door was not nearly as worrying as the blood. He could smell it long before he got there, the sweet, cloying scent of it heavy in the air. Much of it was uninteresting to him, likely that of a vampire, but there was enough that was human, of that much he was sure, and it was far more than one typically received out of a veinguard.
Only once before had he smelled blood like that, a sea of red, fragrant and alluring even as he stared into the eyes of his dead butler, an elderly human who had fallen down the stairs and cracked open his head. Now, as then, it was a revolting and compelling contrast, guilt and fear intermingling with raw and unbridled want. But that blood had been old, even when fresh, the paltry offerings of an aged commodus. This was different: strong, thick, rich. Damp molecules of it drifted in through his nose, his mouth filling with spittle even as he registered that this must be hers, that it could only be a praedulcis. Kaius felt desire well up in him, a wild want that disgusted him even as he tried viciously to push it back down.
Reaching the door, he slid it back easily and, for the first time in his life, felt far too slow. There was in indeed blood, the vivid color splattering the walls, covering the bed like a second blanket. The color was, however, hard to distinguish against the bodies, as they were already wearing red. There was one that was dead. This much was certain, the chest cavity splintered and ripped open, the vampire eyes with their wide black pupils staring unblinking at the blood-speckled ceiling. The other, however, could not be dead, must not be. Her eyes were not open, those dark lashes he had so admired now coated and matted with gore, and he could not hear her breathing over the sound of his own rapid heartbeat.
Each step seemed an eternity. It had never taken him so long to cross a room. When he finally reached her, she was limp, putty in his hands as he tried to shake her awake, yet there was a noise, a whispered sort of groan that escaped her lips before she once again fell silent. She was alive. Desperate, he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t imagine what to do. Call an ambulance, that was the sensible thing. But just then he found the source of the blood, and his heart sank. A wound to the jugular vein would bleed out long before they arrived. Think. Suddenly he was was blinded by his own brilliance. Had he not, mere hours before, tossed around the room all manner of emergency and life-saving first aid? Yes, yes he had. And now he was going to save her damn life.
Furiously he ran around the room, flashing from corner to corner as he collected everything he had thrown aside. The first thing, he thought, was to stop the bleeding, plug up the holes. He shook the renYOU Skin bottle and sprayed it across the punctures in her neck. Within minutes the bleeding had stopped, and the holes had begun to close. Taking the QuickBlood syringe, he used the built-in laser to find a vein before jamming the needle it into her wrist. Was he imagining it, or did her cheeks already look a bit more flush?
She was breathing at least. He could feel her pulse, weak but there. Kaius called the ambulance, his voice sounding strange, disembodied, like some other, calmer person was taking care of the situation. After that was the hardest part of all: the waiting.
***
Later, waking up was difficult for Iona to remember. There had been voices, many of them, low and serious, swarming around her. There had been a smell too, a burnt metal smell and a strong odor of charred meat. Her body felt light, weightless, as if she were floating along the bottom of the sea. Behind her, like an almost forgotten memory, was an aching, a dull throb. There was a bright, searing flash in her face, and she groaned instinctively, pulling away.
“Young woman. Young woman, can you hear me? I need you to look at me. Can you follow this light?”
A pair of hands grabbed her chin and held her firmly.
“Young woman, I need you to follow the light. Stay with me now.”
Blearily, she opened her eyes, which were stuck together by an unknown substance. The light moved to and fro across her face, and she followed it obediently. The vampire holding her sighed and sat back, letting go of her head. He spoke to someone else in the room.
“She’s conscious, responding to directives. No pain meds until the police get here.”
Freed, Iona sank back into the blackness.
***
When she came to again, the weightlessness was gone, replaced by an aching that subsumed her entire body, right down to her bones. Trying to move, to take stock of her situation, Iona found she was in pressure cuffs.
“Looks like she’s awake.”
There was a heavy rocking of the mattress as someone sat down on her bed, the movement jarring her and causing a fresh wave of pain as another vampire swam into focus. This one had a thick neck and broad shoulders that brought to mind the upper half of a bull, his large head coated with very soft, straw colored hair that seemed to have been transplanted from someone else’s scalp.
“Alright, I’m going to get straight to the point. I’m Detective Rosh and this is my partner, Detective Sozeot.”
He gestured with a tic-like movement of his head toward a sour-faced female standing by the door. Kaius was seated in a chair that had been drawn up next to her, his face pale, his expression devoid of laughter in a way she could never before have imagined.
“How about you tell us what’s going on here. Let’s start with your name.”
“Iona...Meranto.”
“And the victim’s name.”
She was momentarily confused. “Victim? You mean...Sylton?”
“Sylton. How about a last name?”
“I don’t know. But he’s not the—"
“Now don’t be trying to fool with us here. I don’t know what kind of holovids you’ve been watching, but this here is real life, and you’re in serious trouble, do you understand me?”
“Yes, but—"
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes sir, but I really don’t know. And I’m trying to tell you—"
“We’ll see about that. So what was this Sylton doing in your room so late? You having a little private party or something, trying to make a couple extra cc’s?”
“No, he was here when I came home. I...opened the door, and he attacked me.”
“Attacked you. Out of the blue. Just went crazy.”
“Yes. He said he wanted...blood.”
“Well, don’t we all. But let me get this straight, you’re saying you didn’t invite him in for a private giver session?”
“No.”
“Well then how do you explain the traces of commodus and transfusion drugs the emergency responders found in your blood?”
“I-what? I don’t know...”
“Look, officer, I can explain the transfusion drugs,” Kaius broke in, “It was from the first aid that I administered when I found—"
“Actually, sir, I’m gonna have to stop you right there. You said earlier that you came in after the altercation occurred, is that correct?”
“Yes, but—"
“In which case, sir, I’m going to have to ask that you leave.”
“I’m not leaving, I’m a witness! I wasn’t here when Iona was attacked, but—"
“But then you saw fit to walk into a giver’s room late in the day unannounced and, per your version of events, administer commodus and transfusion drugs to said giver. Now, I’m no judge, but that to me sounds an awful lot like some side giver business going on, with a nice gentleman like yourself unfortunately caught up an illegal transfusion situation. Me, personally, I like to take you at your word, sir, that you were just stopping by to help—"
“I was coming to help.”
“—in which case I think we’re all agreed that you had nothing to do with the crime at hand and are free to go.”
“No. Yes. I mean, I should be free to go, but you need to listen to her! That
Sylton guy was crazy, I have another person who can...maybe confirm.”
“Sounds like you’re not too sure about that.”
“Look, I sent him a message telling him to back off, I can show you!”
“Now, all due respect, sir, this is when it starts to look bad for you, sending threatening messages to the victim and such. Trust me, sir, I’m here to protect you. Why don’t you let Detective Sozeot show you out, and you can be on your way? Forget about all this nasty business? I’m sure you have important palace functions to be getting on with.”
“I…” Kaius seemed confused, his face pale, dark eyes out of focus. “Wait. No. I need to stay here. I need to help her, I—"
There was a subtle nod from the male, and Detective Sozeot pulled him up from where he was sitting, holding firmly to to his arm.
“Let’s get you home, sir. It’s been a long day.”
At this Kaius finally seemed to rally, drawing himself up and shaking off her arm. He took a step forward.
“This woman didn’t do anything, she was brutally attacked! She’s sitting here trying to tell you about an assault on her life, and you’re treating her like some kind of criminal! It’s not right, and I won’t stand for it. You can arrest me for injury to lawful process if you want, but you’re not going to intimidate me into leaving.”
There was a tense moment of silence. Iona couldn’t see the male officer’s face, but Kaius looked frightening, his pupils huge like Sylton’s had been, the edges of his canines sharp. But even with the eyes and teeth, she knew Kaius well enough now to know that behind his bluff he was scared.
“Look, Mr. Amicus, it’s clear you’re upset. You don’t know what you’re saying. But, call it one vampire gentleman to another, I’m going to go ahead and do you a favor. In fact, I think I’ll take you up on your offer. Detective Sozeot, let’s let Mr. Amicus sit this one out for a few hours. Book him on suspicion of drunken disorder, give him some time to sort things out.”
“What? No! You can’t—"
“All due respect, sir, I think you’ve done enough here.”
Iona scarcely had time to process what the officer had said before the cuffs were on Kaius and the female officer was leading him away. She heard him yelling down the hallway, but it was difficult for her to focus on the words. Still, she thought she heard her name, the sound retreating into the distance.
The male turned back toward her, all of the conciliatoriness he’d displayed with Kaius wiped from his face. His brown eyes were again hard, the lines around his mouth deepening into a frown.
“So. You can’t explain the drugs.”
“What? You just heard from Kaius—"
“Don’t interrupt me, girl! Let me tell you what I think happened. Looks to me like you were running low after the party, decided to give yourself a little boost. Are you aware that unnecessary blood transfusions are considered a felony under Atherian law? False advertising is what that is. Giving yourself off as a praedulcis when it’s really all watered down with some shitty commodus or simplex. Think that’s an easy way to fleece some poor vamp, do you? So you had this guy over and told him he could feed from the vein. Maybe he got a little thirsty, maybe he said something that set you off, and you snapped. Took that illegal weapon you’ve got there and stabbed him dead. That sound about like what happened?”
“No, that’s not what happened. He was waiting for me when I got here, and he jumped at me. I was defending myself!”
“Don’t start getting belligerent with me. I know how your type can get violent, but that’s not going to solve anything here.”
“My type? You mean—"
“Don’t you start interrupting me again!”
“I didn’t—"
“Sir. You didn’t, sir.”
“Sir, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, I think I know what you meant.”
The conversation spiraled into circles after that. It lasted for what felt like hours, a deep buzzing competing with the mounting fury in her head, so that she could hardly see straight. In the end, she started getting her answers confused, the timeline scrutiny (“So you say you left the ball around 12, but last time you said 1...”) and the rapid fire questions tripping her up, so that her story sounded even flimsier than before. It was almost a relief when, visibly disgusted with her, the police officer finally gave her up and sent her off to jail.
He was just moving her from the bed, unlocking the pressure cuffs from the frame to let her up, when the call came. It was inaudible to Iona, though he must have heard it through his ear implant. His hands went limp for a moment, one end of the pressure cuffs falling to dangle against the small of her back. She had one second of foolish, futile thoughts of escape, before he swiftly caught it up and slapped it back on.
“Sit down there a minute.”
His voice was gruff, but not in the aggressive way it had been before, in a way that sounded almost sorry. Her legs were already threatening to give way. Begrudgingly, Iona sat. He picked up her spore.
“What’s the password to this thing? Never mind, I’ll just use your thumb.”
He pulled up the news, setting the spore on the stand that had been knocked to the floor and standing back to watch. A newscaster appeared on the screen, her hair perfectly polished, her face grim.
“...reports that seem to be genuine. Her Majesty Basilla Sarton Legarth dePulchari has suffered severe symptoms during the last few nights, due to a currently unidentified illness. Doctors were reportedly unable to reach a diagnosis, but symptoms included a high fever, extreme fatigue, and hemoptysis, or coughing until the point of blood. It is a disease to which she succumbed earlier tonight. In her last moments…”
The newswoman stopped, looking down for several pregnant moments, her face in shadow. Eventually, she straightened up, her expression once again composed.
“In her last moments, Her Majesty is said to have given her blessings to Prince Phiancaris and placed a benediction over all of her people. It goes without saying that her passing is cause for great grief. Details of the funeral and forthcoming coronation have not yet been released, but we will of course keep our viewers up to date once they are made public.”
She paused for a moment, something of the professional veneer in her face fading, giving way to a look of almost defiance, as if what she were about to say went off-script.
“Though the Prince maybe have his detractors, we are in his hands now. May Dieda Herself keep him ever in the corner of Her thoughts. The Queen is dead. Long live the King.”
Part VI
Chapter 19
Luca had every intention of staying awake for his first ever coding class. He arrived early, making sure he had time to download the digital textbook to his spore, flipping through the virtual pages and trying to quell the mounting feeling of terror as the incomprehensible lines of code began to scramble his brain. Not quite making it to the end, he hastened back to the first page, a nice blank screen with only the title of the book (Plunge into Programming) and the names of the contributors in very small print at the bottom. His anxiety momentarily receded, though he could feel it bubbling on the back burner of his mind, just waiting to boil over.
Going back to school had never been one of his great ambitions. Had it not been for the mysterious messages, he would have been happy to never again see the inside of a classroom. However, he knew his skills, if one could call them that, were far from adequate to access the GroundCom terminal at the arena, a fact that he wanted to erase as quickly as possible before the sender found out. While it was impossible to find a coding class for the actual deadwire language, he hoped that learning traditional programming would help him to make sense of it. It had to. It had become clear that turning over the GroundCom characters alone would not get him what he needed. This was the only way.
A few more students trickled in, though the room was far from full when the teacher arrived. He was a poorly dressed human, graying at the temples, with an altogether forgettable demeanor.
Without any kind of introduction or preamble, he directed the students to open to the first page of chapter one and began lecturing. Halfway through the second page, Luca began to fall asleep. His head plunged toward his spore, but at the last second he jerked awake. Dreaming was the last thing he wanted to do.
His nightmares were worse now than they had been before the jubilee. While most of the country was celebrating, he was contemplating treason and mopping up rivers and rivers of blood. He had never seen such a slaughter, the convicts brought in by the truckload, stuffed into cells with barely any standing room and then catapulted into the arena, where they were beaten and mashed until completely unrecognizable, all to the roaring and cheering of the crowd. Luca’s gag reflex had long since ceased to function, but the stench and the taste, air thick with blood invading his mouth and curdling his tongue, followed him even into his dreams.
He had taken to barely sleeping, only passing out from sheer exhaustion when the sun was already high in the sky, so that he was too tired to conjure up any monsters. His nights were fuzzy with fatigue and matra, which he had taken to smoking at all hours and with anyone who would join. Even Mykal had mentioned warily that maybe he should cut back, but it was the only thing that kept the terror at bay.
Yet there was only so much his body could take. He tried to stay awake, he really did his best, but somehow his eyelids were too heavy. His head drooped forward again.
***
The next thing Luca knew, he was being jostled awake by the other students as they filed out the door. He had missed all but ten minutes of a class that had cost him a significant chunk of his life’s savings. The one mercy at least was that he had been too tired to dream. Mentally berating himself, he gathered up his things. He wouldn’t have time to go home, heading instead straight to work.