A Vampire's Christmas Carol (4 page)

Michael nodded, but went to put another log
on the fire before he continued. “Whatever illusions I had did die
slowly.” He remained standing, with an arm propped against the
mantel. “But I made sure he got no satisfaction from it. It wasn’t
easy, though. It was a shock to find out that since he turned me,
he did pretty much own me.”

“How so?” Carol picked up her pen.

“His blood runs in my veins. It’s kept me
alive all these years. It creates a link between us. He cannot
control or compel me as long as I don’t meet his eyes, but he can
always find me and everyone else in the vampire community
acknowledges his rights over me. He can make it very…uncomfortable
to refuse him, and if I do forget and meet his eyes, even for a
second, he does control me.” He drew a deep breath and let it out
slowly, pushing hair back from his eyes. “As I found out the night
I discovered how truly monstrous a creature I’d become.”

His eyes closed for a moment and his mouth
squeezed in a tight grimace before it relaxed as he spoke
again.

“Antoine had been training me for some months
by then, but it was mostly routine stuff… Staying out of sunlight,
sleeping underground in a locked room, understanding the vampire
hierarchy and how to spot the older, higher ranking vampires, how
to fight. A lot of how to fight. They do a lot of fighting among
themselves. I got…rather good at it.”

It should have sounded boastful, but the
words held no trace of pride.

“He also taught me how to attack humans. The
trick is either to get them from behind before they even know
you’re there or to let them run away and catch up from behind. You
don’t want to give them a chance to beg or plead or cry. Especially
not cry. Human tears are not good for a vampire. Of course, I
didn’t have to put that into practice since the hunger hadn’t
roused. I was living with it well enough, other than having to
spend so much time with Antoine.

“Then, about a year after I woke, Antoine
took me to my first vampire feast.”

* * * * *

The house looked almost shockingly normal as
Antoine’s brand-new horseless carriage rumbled up the drive toward
a large, two-story house, built in the Victorian style with
porches, towers and a few bits of elaborate trim. Dim, sullen light
shone from all the downstairs windows and a few of the upper
ones.

The carriage pulled under the porte cochere
and they got out. Antoine didn’t knock or wait for acknowledgement,
but turned the knob and pushed the door open. Michael followed him
into an entrance hall lit by a pair of candelabras. He had learned
to see the aura of power surrounding the undead and the different
levels of vampires. The strength of the aura signaling power and
rank. Men and women—vampires all—floated around the area, in
costumes that ranged from the ordinary suits he and Antoine wore to
the stunningly exotic. Kimonos from the Orient mingled with rougher
wear from the Western states, tunics and saris from India, as well
as togas and gowns from ages long gone.

“You didn’t tell me this was a costume
party,” Michael said.

Antoine shook his head. “It’s not. They’re
dressed as they were accustomed to in their before life. Or
sometimes as whimsy takes them. Come over to the bars.”

There were two of them, a blood bar and one
serving other beverages. Michael gratefully requested a beer.
Though it tasted as good as he remembered, he was disappointed to
find the alcohol no longer brought him the comfort it once did.

Antoine introduced him to one vampire after
another. Michael wouldn’t remember the names afterward and he
struggled to recognize the titles and respond accordingly. He
realized about twenty minutes into the party that Antoine was
testing him with the rest of the local vampire society. He thought
he passed. He did forget to bow to a vampire referred to as
“Minister” and addressed a director as “Sir” rather than “Your
Honor”, but he got it right more often than not.

The event marked something of a debut for him
as well, he realized. when Antoine escorted him into what once had
been an office or den. It now functioned as a de facto throne room
for the man who lay lengthwise on a loveseat that sat on a raised
platform. The recliner looked up lazily as they entered the room.
Five large men and three attractive women surrounded him. They went
tense and watchful as Antoine and Michael approached.

“Your Majesty.” Antoine went to one knee
before him and Michael followed his lead.

The king straightened on the loveseat and
then stood. “Rise,” he said. “You bring someone new into our ranks,
Antoine?” The king gave Michael a long, curious stare.

“May I present Michael Carpenter to you, Your
Majesty?”

Michael dipped his chin again.

“Approach,” the king ordered.

Keeping his head down, Michael walked up to
him.

The king stepped off the dais to meet him,
walked completely around him, and then, with no warning, slugged
him with a hard right fist to the jaw. Michael spun back and away,
slamming into the wall of the room, but staying on his feet.

Anger sparked an aggressive instinct he’d
never known was there, and he stalked back to the middle of the
room, fists raised. Two of the king’s guards jumped down off the
dais to intercept him. Somewhere between the wall and the king,
though, his brain kicked back in. Michael restrained himself, just
glaring at the man rather than pummeling him. The guards stopped
and waited.

The king stared at him for a moment, ignoring
the fists, then turned carelessly away. “He might do,” the man
pronounced after he stepped up onto the dais again. He waved a
hand, dismissing them.

“Let’s go,” Antoine said.

“But, what—?”

“Let’s go. It was a test. You passed. There’s
another pair waiting.”

Michael stepped back, making way for a
smallish man accompanied by a truly huge one. The larger one was
the newcomer. Michael hung back, wanting to see what happened this
time.

The smaller man introduced the large one to
the king. The king repeated the sequence he’d visited on Michael,
circling the big man, then throwing a fist that drove him to the
wall. Instead of getting up, though, the giant slid down into a
crouch and crossed his arms over his head. It shocked Michael to
see such a big man cringe so. It didn’t impress the king, who
sneered and shook his head. One of the guards moved forward,
holding a stake. He stopped to glance at the king, who nodded.

Before anyone could blink, the guard was on
top of the cringing giant. The stake flashed down, embedding itself
in the big man’s unprotected chest. The man’s arms flew up, eyes
and mouth opened wide, but the scream never emerged. Instead he
slid down further, then flopped onto his other side, and lay there,
very obviously dead. Truly dead this time. Two of the guards
dragged him out a side door.

Antoine put a hand on Michael’s shoulder and
guided him out to the main part of the house. “He failed. Often
it’s the ones you least expect who fail.”

Michael just shook his head, still in shock
from the way the man had been dispatched with such summary
judgment. The viciousness of it bothered him. The lawyer in him
wanted to protest the lack of any kind of trial, or even a crime
committed, for that matter. But this was a different world he’d
entered, a more ruthless one, obviously. He’d have to adjust to
it.

They got drinks and talked to a few more
people before Antoine said, “I hear the interesting games are
upstairs. Shall we go look in?”

The words sent a frisson of uneasiness along
Michael’s spine, but he couldn’t say why, so he followed Antoine up
a wide, grand staircase to the second floor. The crowd gravitated
toward a room at the far end of the hall. An acquaintance of
Antoine waved and said, “Good sport so far tonight. You almost
missed it all. They’re bringing out the last one now.”

“The last what?” Michael asked.

“You’ll see.” They had to push through a
coterie of milling vampires to get into the room, which held
nothing but a single four-poster bed, a small table and several
chairs. People stood around the room, mostly near the walls,
talking to each other. They went quiet as a cheer rose from those
out in the hall.

A group of vampires entered, dragging a young
female into the room with them. She screamed and struggled, terror
turning her face into a rictus of open mouth, wide eyes and wild
hair flying. Despite her wriggling and scratching, they got her
spread out on the bed and shackled her hands and feet to the posts.
Michael stared in horror as he realized she was human, not
vampire.

He turned to Antoine. “What are they doing to
her?”

“Watch and see.”

“No.” He moved toward the men binding the
girl to the bed, intent on fighting for her release.

Antoine snagged his sleeve and dragged him
back. “Don’t interfere,” he warned. “Just watch.”

Michael didn’t catch any signal, but moments
later four others had latched onto him, holding onto his arms,
shoulders, hair and waist, pinning him securely among them.

They held some kind of lottery to be the
first in line. A heavyset, fortyish woman, who looked like she
might be a teacher at your local school under other circumstances,
won. She approached the terrified girl on the bed, eyes narrowed in
evil concentration. She opened her mouth to show canine teeth
elongated into razor-sharp fangs.

The girl on the bed screamed. The smell of
her fear permeated the room. “Help me,” she begged, staring wildly
around the room. Her eyes met Michael’s and lingered. “Please,
please, help me!”

He lunged forward, hoping to wriggle free of
their grasp and get to the girl, but hands tightened around him,
holding him fast.

Antoine spun him to face him. “Look at
me.”

Unthinking, Michael looked into his eyes.

“Watch and don’t move again until I release
you,” Antoine ordered.

To his shock and horror, Michael realized
Antoine did have that much control over him. Against his will, he
found his gaze locked on the girl and his body unable to move.

The girl looked around wildly, saw the woman
advancing on her, fangs at the ready, and screamed again and again
in increasing terror and desperation. She struggled wildly against
the bindings, tearing the skin of her wrists in her frenzy to
escape.

The smell of blood incited the crowd, who
began to yell encouragement as the fanged woman stood over the bed.
The girl’s screams died down. She moaned and began to cry. The
crowd cheered the appearance of the tears.

Michael felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t
know if he could still throw up, but he could certainly feel
nausea. He couldn’t even move enough to struggle.

The older woman dipped her head cautiously.
The girl wriggled, moaned and cried harder. The woman almost made
it to the girl’s neck, but tears dripped down that side of her face
and the woman pulled back to avoid them. She reached out and
grabbed the girl’s hair to pin her head in place. Holding her face
to one side, the older woman went for the throat again, but didn’t
manage to avoid the tears entirely. She got one fang embedded and
drew blood, but then she suddenly reared back, shrieking and
holding her face, and ran from the room, still yelling curses.

Michael breathed a sigh of relief, thinking
they’d let the girl go.

Wrong.

They drew lots again and a slim,
lethal-looking young man stepped up next to the bed. Within
moments, he’d sunk his fangs deep into the girl’s neck, easily
evading the tears, and began sucking the life out of her.

* * * * *

“They killed her.” Michael sighed and looked
at Carol. “Right there in front of me, while I watched. Not fast.
At least half a dozen of them drank from her before they took too
much and she died. I wanted so badly to do something, anything, to
save her. I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. They’re monsters.
You see why I don’t want to be one of them? I won’t be one of them.
No matter what it costs.”

“It’s going to cost you your life, isn’t
it?”

“I died one hundred years ago. This isn’t
life, it’s not-death. I can’t go out in the daylight and I don’t
dare spend too much time in the presence of other people for fear
the blood hunger will overwhelm me. Or they’ll ask too many
questions about who I am. I don’t want to go on this way. I can’t
anyway. By tomorrow I either drink human blood and become full
vampire or I truly die. I’ve made my decision. Now I’ve just got to
stick with it.”

“Is there no way to…get back your life? You
were such a young man when they turned you.”

He shifted uncomfortably and sighed. “I asked
Kurt Severin about it, the man I first talked to when I woke. He
became a pretty good friend. He said he’d heard rumors there was a
way, but he didn’t know anything more about how it was done. He’d
never heard of anyone managing it, so he’d pretty much decided it
was just a rumor or myth. I’ve done a bunch of research since and
I’ve found a couple of hints, but they sound so arcane I can’t
imagine them working. They all involve someone else’s help, in any
case. Someone human.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

She stared at him.

“It’s not something I’d want anyone to try.
It’s…tricky at best, and definitely dangerous.”

“I’d like to include it in your record. Maybe
it will benefit someone else someday.”

He stopped to consider that for a moment
before he nodded. “All right. It’s kind of messy too. And it has to
be done outside, during the day, with an undead who hasn’t yet
drunk human blood. He goes out in the sun to die, lies on the
ground and opens a vein so that some of his blood runs into the
ground. When he’s close to death, but not quite there yet, a human
has to offer some of his or her blood. It has to be when the
vampire is too weak to be able to draw the life essence on his own
because it can’t be taken or it won’t work. It has to be freely
offered with the human in control of how much is given.”