Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires (67 page)

“It had been a long time for me, Tabitha. A very long time, and if I took advantage of you, if you think I did, then I'm sorry.” He took hold of my right hand and gently pulled my claws from his chest. I let him. Even with my hand poised to hurt him, possibly kill him, I was afraid. His claws were holy. He was some kind of sacred hunter. I was just a vampire, a queen, sure, but…

His expression softened as my claws came free, the fur subsiding, his pantherlike features not quite melting into human ones, but fading, like an illusion. He stared at me with human eyes that were too cute, too endearing, and I let him up.

“My kind does not apologize, Tabitha. We don't have to, because we are never wrong….” I bared my fangs, arms crossed, standing against the brick, away from him, as he continued, “Or we claim we aren't. I'm different.” He straightened his clothes, brushing at the dirt, and the rips disappeared. I wondered if they were really gone or if it was an illusion. Did he really look human at all or did everyone simply see what he wanted them to see?

“I am willing to admit that it is remotely possible that I share part of the blame, but not all of it.” He leaned in close, his lips a breath away from mine. Despite myself I wanted to kiss him. “You did not smell out of control,” he continued. His left hand traced the outline of my body, almost, but not quite touching me. “You smelled like you knew exactly what was going on and I trusted that.”

He looked me straight in the eyes, dared me to make contact, to pit my will against his.

“Now I'm going to smell like you,” I said, looking away.

“Most people only get one chance with me, Tabitha. You've already had two; this makes it three. I let it go the first time you jumped me, because you didn't know any better. I let the second one go because you were drugged. I'm going to let this one go because of the postmortem stress and the extenuating circumstances, but don't try for a fourth chance. I'll tear you apart and swallow all the pieces. Unless you've made a pact with a demon that I don't know about, you won't be coming back from that.”

Angry with myself and with Talbot, I brushed past him, stopping near the car. Little dots of light reflected up at me from the Jag's passenger's side mirror, which lay cracked in the alley. I picked it up and looked at my reflection. I was a mess. My new blouse was ruined; grime and blood spotted it in multiple places and there was even a small rip where glass had cut it. My hair—

I don't think I could have been more surprised if I went to my folks' house and Rachel answered the door. I dropped the mirror, stumbling away from it in denial. “My reflection. How…”

After a moment, I picked the mirror up again. I did look beautiful, even with the grime and dirt. Then, my image slowly faded, along with the body heat and my other renewed bodily functions. It was more depressing than the ruined blouse, like dying all over again, without the promise of immortality.

“Damn.” I shivered, cold again, as my fingertips caressed the glass. “Come back.” With unbearable slowness, my face reappeared in the glass. “How is this possible?” I whispered.

“I suspected it when you first turned into a cat, and appeared to be alive,” Talbot said from across the alley. “Eric seems to draw vamps that defy the norm. Every one he creates comes prepackaged with pain and wonder. Maybe one in ten thousand, possibly one in a hundred thousand vampires can turn their bodies back on, choose to cast a reflection in animal form or human form. The number of vamps who can do both? I couldn't even begin to calculate. Maybe one in a million? My guess? No more than five and possibly just you.”

“What?” I asked. I'd heard what he said, but it wasn't sinking in.

“They're called Dolls. They are vampires that can seem completely lifelike. You can stop worrying about whether he'll want you or not. He'll probably fall head over heels for you. You're immortal, you're beautiful, and you will never change. You can have body heat, a heartbeat…even blood coursing through your veins. You can even cast a reflection when you wish. You'll probably even be able to have saliva and, um, other appropriate fluids after a little practice.” He let out a long breath again.

“But I tried that earlier and it didn't work—”

“The first time you tried to transform into a bird it didn't work either. It takes practice, like anything else.” Talbot reached out as if to touch my cheek again, but checked the impulse before I swatted him, though I don't think I would have.

“If you think Veruca was angry that you could turn into a cat,” he continued, “you should know that there will be plenty of vampires that will hate you for what you can do. Just stop worrying about your boyfriend. The only way another girl could compete with you now is with magical breasts and an enchanted crotch. He's yours for the taking, if you still want him.”

I smiled. “Oh, no; he'll have to earn it.” If he wanted this Snow White, then first he was going to have to kiss my cold dead lips. I didn't want him to want me because I could be warm and lifelike, his precious little doll. First he had to want me for me.

And then…I forced blood to run through my veins, watched as my pale perfect skin grew pink and pretty. Mine for the taking. I liked the sound of that.

PICTURE PERFECT

H
ave you ever slept through an entire day and woken up at night thinking it was still the same day? That's kind of what happened to me. I woke in my own bed at the Pollux, with Rachel paying me some not unwanted attention below the waist. Disorienting—but nice. I don't know how it is for girls, but for guys, when something like that happens, you go with it. Everything else is immaterial. For instance, the rainbow wig completely escaped my attention at first. As did the
Happy Birthday
banner hung on the wall opposite the bed and the balloons tied to the bedposts.

“Are you wearing clown makeup?” I asked.

Rachel looked up. Though bereft of white paint, she wore thick black mascara mixed with blue, strategically smudged at the corners of her eyes. The big red clown nose was obscene in contrast to her nakedness and the black choker around her neck. I wondered if the tiny gold padlock held some special meaning.

“Happy birthday!” Rachel straddled me and doffed the wig and nose, going from clown to Goth as easy as smiling. While I'd been asleep, she'd apparently highlighted her dark hair with streaks of reds and blondes.

I don't like clowns. I'm not afraid of them, but I've never found them amusing. This, the Goth thing, was more my style. We kissed, smearing her black lipstick. My heart began beating in time with our rhythm. As birthday surprises go, this was near the top of the chart.

It isn't hard to get up there though; my birthdays are usually a disaster. Or at least as far as I can remember. Ninety percent of the women who have ever dumped me chose my birthday as the magical day. When I was alive, two of the three wrecks I'd been in were birthday related. My mom died of a heart attack on my nineteenth birthday. You get the idea.

Maybe, I thought, maybe this will be one of the good ones. The knob on the bedroom door began turning, almost in slow motion. Have you ever had your girlfriend walk in on you while you were screwing her sister on your birthday? Yeah, I thought not.

Tabitha wore a midnight-blue dress that clung to her curves. A diamond necklace sparkled at her throat in the partial light from the hallway. The necklace accentuated her cleavage even more than the dress's plunging neckline. Her skin took on a golden tone, little bits of glitter catching the light. She was beautiful. She looked almost human. Her expression was exactly the sort of complex blend of shock and embarrassment I might expect her to have worn if she'd walked in on her parents having sex.

A package rested in the crook of her arm. It tumbled to the ground as she turned and ran. A gun I supposed to be
El Alma Perdida
was visible for a microsecond, flipping through the air.

It was a single-action pistol. They call them single-action because you cock the hammer back manually and all the trigger does is let the hammer fall. It can go off accidentally if the hammer strikes the round in the chamber hard enough to discharge the bullet. In the Old West, most folks would only put five rounds in the gun to keep accidents from happening. Tabitha must have put in all six.

I don't get shot very often. All the vampire hunters I'd ever met used arrows, holy water, and crosses. Bullets hurt, but they don't generally give any vamp but a Drone much trouble. The bullet went through the side of the mattress at an angle, lodging itself in my right butt cheek. It sizzled like fire. I yowled in pain. Rachel rolled off of me. I know I'm not a werewolf, but the bullet clearly did not like me.

“Get it out!” I shouted. “It's magic.”

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, my ass caught fire. Flames literally jetted out of the bullet hole in my butt. Rachel laughed uncontrollably while I fumbled with the sink. She laughed even harder when I sat in it. Cracks formed in the plaster around the corners. My ass still stung, but the lack of fire made things more bearable.

I tried to pop my claws to dig the bullet out, but nothing happened. Shapeshifting didn't work either. I even tried misting. I was that desperate, but I couldn't change. Rachel ran out of the room and came back with a letter opener. She dug the bullet out, periodically splashing water on the wound to keep it from reigniting. Several agonizing minutes later she handed me a perfect little bullet with no signs of damage, just like the one I'd found out at the lake.

“It's not funny.” I dropped the bullet on the bed. She didn't stop laughing and I realized I wanted to snap her neck. The anger was so sudden, so visceral that had I been another vampire, one who had the speed all the time, who didn't have to hope it kicked in when he needed it, I think she would have been lying broken on the floor without my ever consciously deciding to act.

“Oh, it's funny all right,” she said, sobering slightly. She was going to get herself killed acting that way around me. At least that's how I justified it in my head when I grabbed her left arm.

“If you thought that was funny, you're gonna love this.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, a tinge of fear in her tone. Her heartbeat sped up.
Don't be mad,
said a voice in my head that wasn't mine.
Forgive Rachel. Love Rachel.
The smell of cinnamon hit me, enough to make blood tears well up around my eyes. I wasn't mad anymore; but I was still mean.

“Feeding,” I answered. I sank my fangs into her inner elbow, hitting the ulnar artery. It's inefficient and painful for the donor, but it works. Rachel cried in short gasping sobs, but she didn't fight me. Instead, she wiggled her feet nervously.

“I'm sorry,” she said. Taste hit my tongue, sweet and bitter like before.
Leave, damn it,
I thought at her.
Don't you understand, this is what I am? I'm a monster. You don't want this.

“Yes, I do,” Rachel whispered. “Yes, I do.”

I let her go. She cupped her hand over the wound and her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Good one, Eric, I thought. Just beat the crap out of her next time, you fucking moron.

“Did you get enough?” she asked. “Do you need the other one?” She let go of the wound and held out her uninjured arm.

“No.” My voice cracked when I spoke. “That was…Look, I'm sorry. Do you need a doctor?”

“I'm a thrall now,” she said through gritted teeth and indicated the choker and the golden padlock with her uninjured arm. “I can take care of it. Just give me ten or fifteen minutes and I'll be good as new.”

“Right.” I pushed open the bedroom door and slunk away, grabbing my jeans off the floor as I went. I slipped them on in the hallway and rested my head against the door. You'd think there was a monster inside me, a creature that wanted to hurt people, a creature to whom violence was the most favorable answer to all of unlife's problems. Oh, right—a vampire!

But to be honest, I don't think just any vampire would have felt guilty about what I'd done, would have recognized the monstrosity. I did, and it didn't feel much different than it might have felt when I was alive. You do what you have to do to get by. You try to stay out of trouble, but when life or unlife throws you lemons, you don't make lemonade, you warm up your pitching arm and you throw them right back.

There were presents lined up along the concession counter, each wrapped in different paper and bows. It looked more like Christmas than a birthday. I looked down over the rail to see Tabitha waiting for me in the sitting area below. I'd half expected to find her sitting there with blood running down her cheeks, ruining her makeup, but her cheeks were dry. She was upset, but she wasn't crying. She was almost smiling, her lips pressed against each other in a thin severe line. I walked down the stairs, and sat down on the coffee table, my knees on either side of her.

“Sorry you walked in on that,” I told her.

“It's your birthday,” she said matter-of-factly. “Besides, I told you that you could sleep with whoever you wanted. I was just…surprised, that's all.”

“I noticed that you found the gun.” I leaned closer, resting my hand on her knee. She was wearing too much perfume and her skin smelled like two or three different types of soap. She was covering up an odor she didn't want me to notice. Probably corpse sweat again. She needn't have worried.

“I hope it didn't hit the girl when it went off.” Tabitha's words were faint, less than whispers. She hadn't recognized Rachel. Thank God!

“Nah, it hit me in the ass.” I laughed. “It was pretty funny.”

“It didn't sound funny.”

“It wasn't funny when it happened, but it's funny now.”

“Oh.” She looked left and right, anywhere but at me. “Do you want to open your presents?”

“If you want.” I walked over to the concession stand with Tabitha in tow.

“You don't have to,” she whispered. “I did tell you that I'd try, you know, it, with a human and you. We could go upstairs.”

“No,” I said too quickly. “No, let's…do you know what I really want to do?”

“What?” She had calmed down a bit, her body language more relaxed, more like the Tabitha I knew.

“I want to get Greta and go kill those fucking werewolves.” I pulled her close. “Wanna come?”

“You're joking.” Her face lit up like New Year's Eve. “Can I?”

“You'll want to change clothes first, but I can help you with that.” We exchanged a quick kiss. Her cold dead lips couldn't match her sister's heat, but I still cared for her.

“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed with a slow smile.

“You run across to the Demon Heart and get changed,” I said. “I'll find out where Greta went off to.”

“I thought you were going to help me change clothes,” Tabitha pouted.

“I will,” I promised. “Just let me round up Greta and I'll be right over.”

Her eyes lingered on the stairs. “Okay,” she said slowly.

Upstairs, Rachel was curled under the covers. She didn't say anything when I walked in or when I slipped on the rest of my clothes. The silence was a relief.

Without thinking, I picked up
El Alma Perdida
. It didn't burn my hand. I took the barrel in my left hand and touched the cross on the grip to my forearm, and it didn't burn that either. It was hot, but not hot enough to burn. The bullets didn't like me, but the gun seemed to think I was okay. Weird. I put it back in the box and tucked the box under my arm.

“I'll be back later,” I said.

“Okay.” Rachel sounded tired and hurt. I fought the impulse to say anything else. Anything I said would have just made things worse. I'd never had a woman like her. She didn't want to be a vampire and she liked being hurt, wanted it. I was going to have to get used to that.

Thanks to the new thrall sense, I could feel Greta nearby, in the parking deck attached to the Pollux. When I reached her, she was sitting on the hood of a Pinto looking up at the moon. Dried blood clung to her chin and throat and the matted tangle of her hair was plastered to the side of her head. Two half-naked teenagers lay in the backseat; their disembodied heads stared with sightless eyes from the roof of the car.

“I was really hungry, Dad,” Greta offered apologetically.

A cat, two pigeons, and a rat lay on the concrete next to the car. Greta's eating problem in a nutshell.

“It's fine. No lectures tonight.” I took off my shirt and wiped gently at the blood on her neck. “It's my birthday.”

“The girl was supposed to be your present,” Greta sulked.

The blood wouldn't come off. She needed a shower and a change of clothes. “Why don't you get cleaned up and then as part of my present you can help me do something important.”

“Really?” Her expression was a mirror of Tabitha's. Why do so many beautiful women think so highly of me? It's like a kind of brain damage.

“Yeah.” I dropped the shirt on the car hood and put an arm around her. “I want to go kill those werewolves and put an end to this whole mess. It'll be just the three of us: me, you, and your new mom.”

“Okay.” Greta got up slowly, uncertainly. “Where are the werewolves? I wouldn't think they'd still be hanging around the park.”

They wouldn't? No, I guessed not. The campground at the State Park couldn't have been a long-term living arrangement. They probably went there just to set up the confrontation with me.

“Why do you think they picked the park?” I asked myself aloud.

“Because they like the woods?” Greta offered.

“No,” I said, still rolling the idea around in my head. “Because it's not the city. It's exposed. A vampire could take cover from the sun, but not the same way he might in the city. There are no sewers to hide in, no people to hide among, no way to diffuse the scent.”

We will never surrender our land to one of your kind.
That's what William had said.
No matter how many dead you lay on our doorstep, we will not give in.

Our doorstep…
the only place…no, damn it; I couldn't remember. It was somewhere…somewhere…I'd been out there. I found the bullet that went in the magic gun, the one that led to the Highland Towers…Yesterday I knew, I'd remembered it, known it.

“Son of a bitch,” I shouted. “What the hell do you call it, the place with the big lake…” I barely noticed the smell of cinnamon and then I remembered. “Orchard Lake. William said I left dead werewolves at his doorstep. If he was talking about the ones Froggy killed, then he meant Orchard Lake. That's where they are,” I finished triumphantly.

“Will there be fish?” Greta asked.

Will there be fish? What the hell kind of question was that? “Yes, sweetheart,” I assured her. “There will be fish, but we'll be there for the wolves.”