Well.
“One of your kind,” Curtis said, glancing over my shoulder at the entrance. His glasses—which I’d since learned he ensorcelled to help him spot those of us who were less or more than human—glinted in the dim lights of the bar.
It was a vampire I knew, and when he realized who I was, his lip curled in distaste. He walked straight to the table, confident and full of a mean amusement. I couldn’t remember his name—not surprising, since I tried so hard to hide from the other vampires—but I knew he was a member of the largest coterie in the city. He was tall, and blond, and lean.
And angry.
“This place is mine,” he said, without preamble. “Leave. Now.” I felt the will of his coterie flex from him, swarm against my skin, demanding my obeisance…
…and dissipate.
“Non,”
I breathed. I smiled, and let my fangs show. “We’re staying right here.” Then, feeling a rush of pure freedom, I added, “You leave.”
Something happened. Curtis gasped, Anders grunted, and I felt my own will slam into the blond vampire.
He stumbled back a single step, a stunned look on his face. He opened his mouth, shivering, but said nothing.
I met the blond vampire’s gaze again, and this time, actively called upon my will. It gathered quickly, snapping into place with a force I couldn’t believe. This wasn’t just vampire. Nor was it just demonic, or magical. It was
more
. I leaned forward. I felt my will build, a pressure between my eyes that was almost painful, and then repeated myself.
“Leave.” My will struck out like a thing alive.
The blond vampire nearly tripped over himself scrambling back, and didn’t stop once he reached the other end of the bar. He was nearly running by the time he pushed through the doors and into the street.
Curtis stared at the door, his mouth open slightly.
“I’d call that a success,” I offered mildly.
Curtis turned to me, mouth still slack. Anders grinned and raised his glass.
“To not being alone,” the demon toasted. Curtis laughed and raised his own.
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” I said, looking back at the bar. The bartender blushed and looked away. “I need to go see about my drink.”
It was advertised as a “Leather and Levi” bar but a strict dress code was never enforced. Muscled boys in tight tanks and jeans, cigar-smoking shirtless bears, tourists in shorts and sandals, aging queens in satin shirts, stern slaves in harnesses and leather-brimmed caps and even the occasional painted peacock in blond wig and sequined gown pushed and pawed their way around the dimly lit space. The only light came from the glow of small red lamps that hung from the ceiling along with several flat screens depicting naked men in compromising positions performing uncompromising acts.
Shadowed in the smoky haze from the lamps and screens, Reid squeezed between a toned, smooth ab and a fat, hairy one and approached the bar. The bar was a large black-wood square ’round which patrons could cruise, checking out the men straddling stools or those positioned in various poses against the walls. Nearly shouting to be heard above the blaring music and cacophony of conversation, Reid ordered a beer and, with bottle in hand, circled the bar sliding past sweating bodies till he reached the back door. Leaving the din behind the door, Reid stepped into the quieter outside patio.
The patio was warm in the tepid Fort Lauderdale air and almost as smoky and stuffy with the Saturday night crowd. Enclosed by an eight-foot-high wooden fence, the patio was long and narrow with an additional bar, wooden benches and even a pillory for the occasional public flogging. In the far corner by the door was a small set of bleachers. It was here that Reid liked to sit and observe the people and proceedings. As luck would have it, there was an available spot.
Plopping into the spot, Reid gulped his beer and gazed up at the midnight sky. The black sky was dotted with few stars but the not-quite-full moon was visibly bright. Recalling an astronomy lesson of lost youth, he knitted his brow. “Now, what’s the phase before the full moon called? Waxing…Waxing…Oh, yeah…Waxing gibbous!” Pleased with himself, he returned his gaze to the patio and watched the parade go by.
Passing directly in front of him, Reid spotted a shirtless old goat undoubtedly in his late sixties. Long strands of white hair lay plastered over a bald spot while a small tuft of curly gray hair drooped wilting between wrinkled breasts. With a lascivious leer, the withered lecher slid his fingers across the well-defined, hairless, bare chest of a handsome young stud leaning against the fence. Like the waxing moon above, the young man appeared to emit an ethereal glow, affecting a seemingly otherworldly air. With a pale moonlit hand, the exquisite youth gently, but firmly and without malice, removed the elder’s paw.
Observing the scene, Reid was reminded of his own sagging fifty-six-year-old body. He sighed. “Is that gonna be me someday?” As the years mounted, his middle spread, making it harder and harder for Reid to hold in his stomach. Besides the tire ringing his waist, his hair was graying and thinning and his mustache and goatee were interspersed with white hairs. What was even more discouraging was the fact that it was becoming increasingly difficult to attract younger, good-looking men. So it was to Reid’s unexpected surprise to catch the strapping young hunk studying him. Reid, in timid anticipation, smiled weakly.
Seeing the smile, the sexy stranger returned a wide grin and walked over to Reid. Face-to-face, Reid felt compelled to stare deep into his eyes, eyes that seemed unnaturally dark and fathomless. Lost in those ebony orbs, Reid for a moment felt mesmerized, almost hypnotized. Then, recovering, Reid blinked and simply said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” mimicked the young man again, grinning broadly. In that smile, Reid noted teeth that looked dazzling white against pallid yet strangely luminescent skin. The clean-shaven cheeks were smooth and soft over classic chiseled features, and the cleft in his chin seemed to dance when he smiled. The smile was even more accentuated by the medium-length tousled raven hair that framed his face.
His face was so unnaturally striking that Reid was immediately aroused with both tingling excitement and guarded suspicions. His suspicions raced rampant through his head. “Why would this guy want me? He’s obviously only in his twenties. Very good-looking. Aggressive. Not drinking anything. Must be a hustler.”
As if reading Reid’s mind, the alluring colt affirmed, “I know what you’re thinking. I’m not a hustler.”
Ignoring Reid’s embarrassed, feeble laugh, the young beguiler offered his hand and introduced himself. “My name is Atan.”
“Atan?” repeated Reid, not sure he had heard right.
“Yes. It’s short for Atanasio.”
Taking his hand, Reid was seduced by Atan’s sturdy, sensual grip. “I’m Reid,” he stammered.
Instead of the usual “what are you up to” line, Atanasio asked, “What does the moon tell you tonight?”
A bit baffled, Reid responded, “Well, it’s not quite full, if that’s what you mean.”
“I watched you staring at the moon before.”
“You…watched me.” Reid scoffed, though only half kidding. “Now, what does a good-looking young guy like you see in an old man like me?”
“I’m not as young as I look. So I don’t think like a young man.” Atan paused as if for effect. “I’m really two hundred fifteen years old.”
“Well, you look damn good for your age.”
“It’s no joke.” Atan became deadly serious. “I’m a vampire.”
Reid immediately thought, “Here we go. I always meet all the nuts.” But he said aloud in a slightly mocking tone, “Nice to meet you, Dracula.”
Without comment, Atanasio pressed closer to Reid, revealed his teeth, and produced two menacingly sharp fangs.
Startled, Reid jumped back, hitting his head on the fence behind the bleachers. His heart dropped to his stomach, fluttering madly like a caged wild bird. He quickly looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. No one had. The other patrons were preoccupied with their own comparatively pedestrian nocturnal encounters.
Retracting his fangs, Atan placed a hand on Reid’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he said in a calming voice. “Don’t be afraid. I mean you no harm.”
Reid regarded the intriguing fang-bearer with a mixture of morbid fascination and nervous excitement. Reasoning he would be safe in the crowded bar, he found himself more curious than fearful. “How?” he asked in a slightly shaky voice.
“Did I become a vampire?” Atan added.
Reid nodded intently.
“It was in St. Augustine,” Atanasio explained. “I was born there in 1794 while the Spanish still held the city. You can’t imagine how difficult it was growing up a ‘mariposa’ in such a strict Catholic environment. From the time I was fifteen, I would walk the streets late at night hoping to meet others like myself. It was rare, but the few times I did, there was so much guilt and shame and fear that I never saw them again. Then, on my twenty-third birthday, it happened.”
As Atan’s voice grew more passionate, Reid listened raptly engrossed in the tale of Atan’s terrible transformation.
Atanasio and friends had celebrated till after midnight at the rustic home of Josef Buchanti. The small wooden dwelling had not only served as Buchanti’s residence but also as a local tavern. After much draught and revelry, Atan had bid his friends farewell. Drunk with wine and desire, Atan had headed for the Plaza de la Constitución in the heart of the city.
The large rectangular plaza, carpeted with grass and landscaped with live oak trees, had derived its name from an eighteen-foot monument standing in the west end of the park. The monument, a white obelisk constructed of coquina stone, had been built in 1813 to commemorate the Spanish Constitution of 1812. So named the Plaza de la Constitución, the park had been the hub of St. Augustine’s public life with its common well and marketplace. The marketplace, a long stone structure with a colonnade supporting a red tiled peak, had bordered the east end of the plaza. Facing the park’s north side had been the parish church of St. Augustine, not yet a Basilica Cathedral. Overlooking the west perimeter had been the Government House. The two-story Government House, a stately mansion with masonry walls and a second-floor balcony that spanned the length of the building, had sheltered beneath its shingled gable roof the offices of the colonial ministry.
Passing by the Government House, Atan had entered the deserted plaza. Far beyond the witching hour, the public square had been veiled in a shroud of night save for the glow of the full moon. Like a lighthouse beacon, the moon had illuminated the tip of the obelisk, which cast a long deep shadow across the damp lawn. Within that black velvety silhouette, Atan had discerned the barely visible figure of a cloaked stranger. The mysterious man had waved a hand gesturing for Atan to follow.
“I remember being afraid.” Atan admitted. “I sensed danger. But the liquor and the fire in my groin got the better of me. So I followed him.”
With his sable cloak flapping like wings, the intriguing enticer had moved so swiftly that Atan had had to run to keep pace. Nervous sweat dampening his brow, Atan had paused by the well. Leaning against the weathered rock base of the well, he had thirstily eyed the wooden bucket that hung from the slanted Spanish moss–covered pine roof. But there had been no time for Atan to drink. His design had left the plaza. Breathing hard in the breezeless, humid air, Atan had dashed from the well to overtake the stranger. The salacious seducer had led Atan to the parish church.
Built of sand-colored stone and shingled with vermillion Spanish tiles, the face of the church had risen one hundred feet. The top of the front wall was crowned by a freestanding Mission-style façade that towered above the roof. Within arched openings of the façade, six exposed bells had hung silent in pyramid fashion. Far below the bells at ground level, five carved coquina steps led to two heavy oak doors framed by Doric columns bracing a circular arch. Perched just above the arch, the marble statue of St. Augustine faithfully guarded the entrance.
Feeling a tinge of guilt, Atan had stopped to behold the sacred figure. The saintly statue seemed to look down on him disapprovingly from its pedestal. Denying his shame, Atan had turned away in time to spy his lure slipping round the side of the church. Lust outweighing reason, he had pursued. Hidden in the shadow of that holy edifice, Atan, trembling with fear and anticipation, had approached his waiting obsession.
“Even in the dark I could tell he was very handsome. And I remember thinking I would be cursed for doing this in the shadow of God’s house. But I wanted him so badly I didn’t care.”
Panting heavily and heart pounding, Atan had stopped directly in front of the tempter, so close that their bodies had nearly touched. The clandestine man had pulled Atan tightly into his arms and wrapped his cloak around him. In the crush of those arms, Atan had pressed against him, scared and excited at the same time.
“Then I felt his fangs pierce my neck. I tried to scream but could not. I could feel the life draining out of me. In panic, not knowing what else to do, I bit into his throat and drank. And drank. And drank till he pulled away and pushed me to the ground. I could hear his devilish laughter as he disappeared into the darkness. I lay there weak and dying. Somehow, I knew I had to get out of sight.”
Determined to hide, Atan had struggled unsteadily to his feet. Feeling his way along the cold stone wall, he had staggered to the front of the parish, crawled up the steps, and pushed open the heavy door. Passing under the arch, he had entered the lofty church. The Classical-style church, adorned with several fifteen-foot stained glass windows and dark wood beams supporting a peaked ceiling, was dimly lit by candles that lined the side walls. Their dancing flames glinted on the edges of the polished pews that all faced the large crucifix that hung on the ochre-colored back wall. From the wood cross, the face of the porcelain Christ, flickering from the glimmer of candles beneath, gazed sadly upon the red and gold brocade draped altar below.