The Vampire Evolution Trilogy (Book 2): Rule of Vampire Page 5

  Chapter 9

  France, 1653

  “It’s time for you to Make some offspring,” Michael said. Every few decades, Michael would stroll back into Terrill’s life. It was always an occasion for celebration. Several hundred years had passed since Terrill had been Turned. They were in France, but speaking English, to the disgust of everyone around them.

  Terrill had lost count of the drunken victims he’d consumed, so the comment came drifting through a haze of alcohol. Make some offspring? he thought woozily. Not this again!

  Michael was always going on about it, but Terrill had never desired to be a Maker. He didn’t want to spend weeks, months, or even years––depending on how much he wanted his progeny to survive––tutoring a baby vampire. Most didn’t last long anyway. Their instincts to kill and consume were too strong, and no amount of training could make new vampires cautious.

  Whenever Michael would reappear in Terrill’s life, he would insist that Terrill start to create his own offspring. Over the past several decades, Terrill had gravitated to Northern Europe, where there were plenty of small kingdoms in conflict that tended not to exchange information about strange disappearances.

  “Two strong vampires can watch out for each other,” Michael insisted. They were sitting in a large tavern in the center of a medium-sized town. The area was just populated enough for them to be anonymous.

  “So why did you leave me on my own?”

  Michael laughed. His silver hair glowed in the candlelight. His skin was flawless, like marble. “I could see you were going to do well without any help from me. And I am too old now to be bogged down. No companion can ever know all that I know. I find it frustrating.”

  “I’m getting pretty long in years myself,” Terrill said.

  “Yes, which is why I haven’t given up hope for you yet.”

  “What do you mean, hope? Hope for what?”

  Michael looked ready to say something, then shook his head. “Not yet. Someday, I may tell you, and on that day, you’ll understand.”

  Terrill downed a goblet of red wine. He had poured in a little of the blood of his latest inebriated victim so he could feel the effects of the alcohol. “You just told me I’m all right on my own,” he said. “So why should I want to create progeny?”

  “Look at it this way: it can be an experiment,” Michael said. “You get to watch as they develop.”

  “So that’s what I am to you? An experiment?”

  “Indeed. You’ve developed in some interesting ways. Not what I expected, mind you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Terrill groused, slamming down his empty goblet.

  Michael ignored Terrill’s outburst. “For instance, what do you think of the barkeep?” he asked.

  Terrill looked over at the tall, gloomy man behind the counter. He was dark and lithe, with short black hair and scars on his face. “Horsham? He’s all right, I guess. He keeps a clean establishment––and best of all, he keeps the fighting down.”

  The closest that Terrill had ever come to being caught was during a general sweep of a province after a brutal tavern brawl had spilled into the streets. Since then, he’d tried to find more upscale taverns, ones with reputations for harmony.

  “I heard he was a captain of the Free Rangers,” Terrill continued. “Got tired of the warfare, took his earnings, and bought this bar.”

  “Have you ever heard of such a thing?” Michael asked. There was a strange intensity to the question.

  “No, now that you mention it. Most Free Rangers never get to spend their wages. They’re addicted to war, and the only way they stop is with a blade in the gullet.”

  “Don’t you find it interesting that Horsham walked away?”

  “I suppose.” In truth, Terrill was starting to get bored with his own existence. For the first time, he wondered what it would be like to have a friend. Before he’d become vampire, he’d been a most sociable fellow. Until recently, he hadn’t much missed that, but now…

  That was the problem with following the Rules. They kept you safe, but at the price of a boring, humdrum existence. Sometimes Terrill wanted to break the Rules just to see what would happen––to be challenged by the danger of doing something stupid.

  So far, he had resisted the impulse. He had seen others go that route, and it never ended well.

  Michael changed the subject, but Terrill’s thoughts kept going back to the idea of having a friend, someone to share experiences with. His eyes wandered over to the mercenary veteran behind the bar. Someone like that wouldn’t have to be trained to fight. He’d already know how. He’d be canny and wary, which were the biggest challenges for new vampires. Perhaps…

  “Did you hear me?” Michael was saying. “I must go.”

  “Good,” Terrill said, then laughed. “Sorry. I mean, I’ll see you again in another decade, or whenever you next pop up.”

  Michael nodded gravely. “Let us hope.” He walked away without another word.

  Terrill poured another dollop of alcohol-laced blood into his goblet and took a sip. The drunker he got, the more appealing the idea of a companion became.

  He eyed the barmaids. That might be even more interesting. But undoubtedly, even as a vampire, a woman would want him to be constant––and Terrill had no intention of foregoing a variety of feminine companionship––whereas a friend wouldn’t care who he dallied with.

  Terrill was still sitting there at closing time. “Time to go, fellow,” Horsham said, standing over him, frowning. His look said, Are you going to give me trouble?

  Terrill smiled and staggered to his feet. “Farewell, friend. You run an admirable bar.”

  Horsham’s eyes followed him out the door. Terrill’s bonhomie hadn’t sounded quite genuine, apparently.

  #

  Terrill stood in the darkness of the alley, invisible to passersby. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to do this. On the other hand, the idea of getting up the next night and the next and doing the same things he’d done for a hundred years didn’t sound appealing, either.

  Think about this! he urged himself. Come back tomorrow when you’re sober. There is no hurry.

  But he knew he’d never do it sober––and he trusted the wine. He came to his best conclusions under the influence of wine.

  What does it matter? the colder vampire part of him asked. If I don’t like it, I can abandon him. Let him try to survive on his own. Or I can eat him. Why should I care?

  But something inside Terrill told him that if he committed to this, he wouldn’t walk away so easily. That was strange. For most of his existence, he wouldn’t have given the slightest consideration to the welfare of another. What was different about this?

  Then it was too late for second thoughts. Horsham was locking the back door of his tavern in the dark of the alley. Terrill found himself moving swiftly, walking up behind the barkeep as he locked the door.

  And then something happened that had never happened before in all of Terrill’s long existence. The man turned swiftly and plunged a knife into Terrill’s heart.

  The cold steel seemed to freeze his heart for a moment, as if the organ wasn’t sure it could survive the assault. But the knife was metal, not wood, and Terrill pulled it out of his chest and leaped toward Horsham.

  Again, the man surprised him. Horsham grabbed a cudgel that had been hidden near the door and started bashing Terrill over the head with it. Stunned, Terrill fell to the ground, holding his hands protectively over his head, feeling the bones in his arms break as the cudgel rose and fell repeatedly. His head slammed into the cobblestones. He tried to move, but he felt paralyzed.

  The knife was back in Horsham’s hands and he was standing over Terrill, screaming. “You thought you’d catch me off guard, you black-hearted scum! I figured you out from the moment I saw you. You are unholy, an abomination!”

  The knife sawed into Terrill’s throat, and that finally spurred him into action––one of the few ways to kill a vampire is to cut his head off. He push
ed the man away, and Horsham went flying. But instead of being stunned or running, Horsham went on the attack again.

  Terrill felt the knife enter his body again and again. It hurt, it weakened him, but such blows couldn’t kill him. He grabbed the barkeep by the throat and began to choke him.

  “Don’t kill him,” he heard someone say.

  Michael came out of the shadows and grabbed Horsham from behind, pinning his arms. “Now, Terrill!” he said. “Suck his blood!”

  Terrill sank his fangs into the helpless man’s neck.

  Three days later, in a cheap room at a nearby inn, Horsham reanimated, one of the rare victims who returned as a vampire.

  Horsham never let Terrill forget that he had needed Michael’s help; that he hadn’t taken him down alone.

  Chapter 10

  Jamie waited impatiently for dark, pacing the small enclosure. She’d put off feeding for too long. Now she wouldn’t have the luxury of picking her prey; she’d have to grab some random guy. She hated that. She hated killing, but at least she could try to rid the world of the rotters.

  She heard scurrying behind her and turned to see a small squirrel poke its head under the branches. It looked at her in alarm.

  She was on it in less than a second, astonished at her own speed. She raised the screeching critter to her mouth without a second thought and sank her fangs into its body. It tasted awful, but it slaked her bloodthirst. She sat down in one of the wicker chairs and thought about that for a while.

  She had heard Horsham mention scornfully that Terrill was drinking the blood of beasts, but for some reason she had never thought of that as an option until now. Human blood was what she wanted, so human blood must be what she needed, she’d thought. But was it possible she could live off of animal blood alone?

  Her mouth was befouled by the taste of the squirrel. It was like eating a spoiled hunk of meat might have been when she’d been human. She wondered if she would get sick.

  Truth was, she just didn’t know enough about being a vampire. She remembered how helpless, how out of control she’d been before Horsham took her under his wing. But what if everything he’d taught her was wrong? Horsham had told her that all vampires were the same; that their human memories were meaningless and would quickly fade; that vampires had no empathy for humans, only for their own kind.

  It was Terrill who was wrong, he’d said. Terrill was an abomination.

  But what if it was possible to be vampire and not kill people?

  She laughed as she realized how ridiculous that sounded.

  I am a vampire, she thought. Terrill had made her so. By killing her. So much for Terrill being morally superior.

  When darkness finally fell, Jamie felt that she had resolved her quandary. I am a vampire, she repeated to herself. I am a vampire.

  #

  She was running out of lowlife dives to try. It was becoming clear to her that she was going to have to leave this town soon, as much as she loved her little hideaway. Too many abusive boyfriends and husbands were mysteriously disappearing, though strangely, no one seemed to be reporting it. Still, someone was eventually going to catch on to the fact. Officer Robert Jurgenson was going to remember that incident on the beach and put two and two together.

  There was a bar downtown she hadn’t tried, a little more upscale than most of the places she’d been. She dressed in the best clothes she had, but when she got there, she still felt a little out of place.

  As soon as she sat down, she sensed someone standing next to her table. She looked up with a tacked-on smile to see Officer Jurgenson smiling down at her, as if thinking of him earlier had summoned him. He was wearing khakis and a dress shirt and looked like the man of her dreams.

  “May I sit down?” he asked politely.

  Jamie was speechless. All her usual patter abandoned her. She didn’t want to be phony with this man, but she wasn’t sure she remembered how to be genuine.

  He ordered them drinks, whiskey sours, before she could stop him. “Is that OK?” he asked, as if belatedly worried that he’d been too forward.

  “Fine,” she said. “My favorite.”

  “You dyed your hair,” he observed.

  “I wanted to start having more fun,” she said, flipping her blonde locks, and he chuckled.

  Then they just sat and looked at each other for a while. The silence was awkward, and yet… it wasn’t. It was as if both of them knew that they’d be chatting away like old friends in no time, and they were savoring the moment of introduction for as long as possible.

  When the drinks were delivered, they touched glasses and both took a sip.

  “So… I might as well get this out of the way,” Jurgenson said. “That night on the beach––why’d you run away?”

  “What did Stuart say?” Jamie asked. Jurgenson hadn’t arrested her; he hadn’t even seemed disconcerted to see her. So obviously, I’m not in trouble, she thought.

  “He said he cut himself and fainted, and that you were trying to revive him. I thought the kid was going to die. In fact, the paramedics tell me his heart actually stopped for a few minutes. They had all but given up on him when he suddenly sat up, looking none the worse for wear. Which was pretty strange, considering how much blood he lost. Perkins told me, ‘The IV transfusion seemed to flow into the kid as if he was sucking it up.’”

  Why had she run away? What possible excuse could she give? Jamie thought hard, but couldn’t come up with a plausible story. She was starting to get nervous when Jurgenson said, “You know what? Never mind. None of my business.”

  She smiled at him, no longer nervous, and let it go. “So, how long have you lived in Crescent City?” she asked, and off they went, chattering the night away.

  #

  “Can I take you home?” Jurgenson asked much later as they stood outside the bar.

  “Not tonight,” Jamie said, hinting that the night would come when she’d want him to. It was strange, how she had almost forgotten what she was. She’d started off the evening proclaiming I am a vampire, but ended it feeling more human than she had since… since she wasn’t.

  “OK.” Jurgenson didn’t look put out. He seemed to understand that the evening had been a smashing success and to be willing to go at whatever pace Jamie dictated. My hero, she thought.

  Suddenly, he turned pale and bent over. Just like that, he was puking at her feet. There was blood mixed in with the whiskey sours.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry,” he rasped, still bent over. “That was awful.”

  “No, it’s OK!” Jamie said, concerned. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Most of the whiskey went to waste, though,” he said, trying to smile.

  “No… I really mean it. Are you all right?”

  Jurgenson was standing straight again, though he was still pale. Jamie saw a flicker of doubt cross his face. Then he sighed. “I can’t imagine why I’m saying this. It’s got to be the worst first date in history. But somehow I feel like I owe it to you.”

  Again, he hesitated.

  Jamie had already figured out his secret, but she also sensed that he needed to say it. “Tell me,” she said softly.

  “Well, the long and short of it is… don’t get too attached to me. I’m sorta dying. Stomach cancer.”

  Despite knowing this already, Jamie felt the shock of the statement.

  “I feel like a total heel, getting to know you only to dump this on you,” Jurgenson continued. “I think we’d better not see each other again. That would be totally unfair to you. As soon as you realize how devastatingly attractive I am, I’ll been taking my charms away forever.”

  “Too late,” she said.

  He nodded miserably.

  “Since we can’t waste any time,” she said, “can I go home with you?”

  #

  Jamie never went back to the hideaway. Jurgenson––no, Robert: he was Robert to her now––had been married before, and his ex-wife had left her clothes behind. “She ran off with some rich guy,” he expla
ined. “She didn’t need them anymore.” They fit Jamie perfectly.

  She moved in that night.

  “I’m a little weird,” she said the next morning as Robert got up to go to work. “I usually don’t get up until really late, and I go to bed really late, too. Is that all right with you?”

  He laughed. “Darling, you never have to leave here at all if you don’t want to.”

  While he was gone, she went around the house and removed the mirrors, and hid them in the back of the giant walk-in closet in the bedroom, the same closet the ex’s clothing was in and which she’d already figured out he never entered. Now she just had to avoid being in the bathroom at the same time as him.

  Within a couple of days, they had worked out a routine. Jamie didn’t stir when Robert left for work, but was waiting for him with dinner ready when he came home. They went out after dinner, and when they got home, she kept him up a little later than he was accustomed to, but he managed to convey––in the best way possible––that he was good with their late-night gymnastics.

  But on the third night, Robert was too ill to go anywhere, and he called in sick the next day. Jamie nursed him throughout the morning.

  As he finally fell into a troubled sleep, it occurred to her that she had a solution to his problem. She could cure him––forever.

  That posed a dilemma. She wouldn’t “cure” him without asking.

  And she couldn’t ask without revealing what she was.

  Chapter 11

  “Where have you been?” Terrill exclaimed. “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”