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Andrew Roller Presents
YOUNG VAMPIRES
in
Creatures of the Night
Chapter Two
Severin looked at Oscar�s face, glowing by the light of the match. He
looked at the nearest coffin. Frowning, he said to Oscar,
�Take my pick?�
Oscar yawned.
�We must sleep now,� Oscar said. �Beddie bye for good little boys.�
Oscar walked to large rose-colored coffin. It was a big coffin, at least
six feet long, much bigger than Oscar. It sat on an old dining table. The
dining table was a piece of outdoor furniture, being made of metal, and its
baroque appearance gave it the whiff of the exotic, as if it had once sat
outdoors on a wrought iron balcony in New Orleans. The table was bronze,
or bronze-plated. It had long since become discolored to a shade of deep
green. Oscar hoisted himself onto the table. With a grunt, he opened the
lid of the coffin. It eased back on oiled hinges. It stopped at about one
hundred and ten degrees, angled back, making the coffin itself now look
like a gaping tomb.
�Open for business,� Oscar remarked. He shook the match in his
hand, which had now burned down almost to his fingers. It went out.
�Wait!� Severin said in the darkness. He couldn�t see a thing.
�The dead will rise again,� Oscar laughed. Severin could hear him
getting into the coffin. There was the sound of a body lowering itself onto
plush cushions.
�I-- you can�t--� Severin stammered.
�Objections will be heard in the evening,� Oscar said. Then he
swore.
�What�s the matter?� Severin asked the figure he could no longer
see.
�I forgot my Nintendo,� Oscar said.
�I�ll get it!� Severin offered. His voice was suddenly high-strung,
urgent, though he tried to make it sound helpful.
�The door�s locked,� Oscar replied.
�Well, fuck-- give me the key!� Severin pleaded.
�Can�t. Sun�s up,� Oscar answered. �I guess I�ll just have to steal
another one.�
Severin heard the lid of the coffin begin to close.
�Stop!� Severin cried. He wanted the odd boy to disappear, but not
without first letting him out from this locked room.
�I locked the door, but I can�t guarantee that no one will open it,�
Oscar said from his half-closed coffin, his voice echoing slightly within
the wood, and dampened somewhat by the coffin�s silk cushions and lining.
�You�d better get in a coffin. That way if someone does open the door, the
sunlight won�t hit you. Better safe than sorry.�
The coffin lid closed. The voice was silent. The room was lost in a
blackness of riddles and hidden enigmas. Severin looked around, but saw
nothing. Then he noticed a sliver of daylight under the door he�d come
through. He cringed. He wondered at his fear and then felt a heaviness in
his limbs. He was tired. It had been a long night. He had slept all the
previous day, not wanting to but somehow needing to, and he had now
stayed up all night. It was, as Oscar had insisted, time for bed. Whether
he liked it or not. Severin stepped away from the door, from the
frightening evidence of daylight. His foot hit something solid and he
tripped over it.
�Owwww!� Severin yelled. But there was no answer from Oscar.
Instead he began to hear, very quietly, as if from within some locked
crypt, the sound of snoring.
Severin felt the thing he�d tripped over. It was made of wood. He
rapped it with his knuckles. It emitted a hollow sound. He felt for the top
of the object and it was the height of a body, plus a few extra inches, that
was lying down. The thing was made of wood. Its sides were smooth, and,
but for a slight outward flare, nearly vertical.
�A coffin!� Severin whispered in the darkness. He raised his head up.
He saw the daylight under the door. It was brighter now. He didn�t like
looking at it. Swallowing hard, he lifted the lid of the coffin he�d tripped
over. He stood up. He raised his foot and put it into the coffin. It was
bare inside. There were no cushions lining the bottom of it. But it would
be an extra protection against that damnable sliver of daylight coming in
through the door. Severin got into the coffin. He tried to figure which end
was for his head, which for his feet, but could not and finally laid down.
He felt ridiculous, lying on the hard bottom, smelling the wood all around
him. But he also felt safe. He reached up and pulled down the lid. He
thought about leaving it slightly open but the poorly-made hinges let the
lid slam down on top of him.
�Eeeeeyaaaa!� Severin screamed. He didn�t like shutting himself
inside a coffin. He threw open the lid again, nearly breaking the cheap
hinges which held it. He sat up. Immediately his eyes were confronted
again by the daylight coming under the door. He sank down. He adjusted
himself in the coffin a little and then laid down completely. He shut his
eyes. But he felt uneasy, leaving the lid up, with the sun so bright now,
and just outside the door.
Severin reached again for the lid. He yanked it down. He closed
himself in. He lay in the wooden box and listened for his breathing. There
was nothing. He felt for his pulse.
�Nothing,� Severin said in the silent box.
A sheet of fear raced through Severin. Mentally he yelled again but
he was suddenly too sleepy to emit the yell through his throat. As he
pondered the absence of his breath, and his pulse, he fell asleep.
The old man plodded into the room. He looked heavy with age. He
wore an old brown overcoat. He sat down heavily in a chair.
The sun was just setting outside. It cast an orange glow outside the
windows. The bishop sat in front of the windows, framed by the sunlight.
He smiled, but it was hard for the old man to see him with all the orange
light coming through the windows behind him.
�You look good,� the bishop told the old man. �Very good.�
�Thank you,� the old man said in a raspy voice. �I have rented an
apartment.�
�Yes,� the bishop said. �The Church will reimburse you. I trust it is
modest?�
�Yes, Bishop Mulgrew.�
�Very well. You have been extensively trained, do you feel yourself
ready?�
�With God�s help,� the old man replied.
�Yes,� the bishop answered. He cleared his throat. �You will be
killing things that look human. But you must not be troubled by this. They
are animals, undead things. They belong in the grave. In Hell.�
�Yes, bishop,� the old man said.
�There are various ways you can spot them,� The bishop continued.
�You have been trained, I trust, to know the smell of a corpse?� the old
man nodded. �Good. There is a slight difference between the odor of a
healthy human and that of a vampire. The undead thing tends toward the
smell of rotting flesh. For that is what it truly is. It is a mirage, in a
certain sense, that makes it appear, both to us and to itself, to be
something other than lifeless flesh.� The bishop stroked a cross hanging
from a chain around his neck. It was made of silver. The dying sun outside
his window reflected a ruddy light off it as he lifted it to his lips and
gently, compulsively, kissed it. �Another thing: vampires do not have a
pulse,� the bishop continued. �Feel the wrist of the thing. You will feel
nothing. As for their breath, that is more complicated. They do not
breathe, and as I�m sure you know breath is necessary for speech. It is the
forcing of breath over the diaphragm that allows a normal human to speak.
But, as you have read, vampires do speak. And they gasp, or at least sound
as if they do, and they sigh and cough and make all manner of other noises
that a human would make, but it is an illusion, much as their whole white
flesh is a kind of spectral illusion. The breath is there, but it is not there.
It is like sound coming from a televion. The television does not breathe,
yet many a human can attest to hearing heavy breathing on their T.V.,
espeically late at night, on the Playboy channel.� He laughed. The old man
chuckled, but on the old man�s part it was a forced show of good humor.
�So they do not breathe. Get one in a room and sit quietly with it
and you will find that the chest, the nostrils, the mouth, they are not
really moving. Some of them can fake the effect but it is another clue to
look for. Living things breathe. They cannot help breathing. The dead do
not.�
�They are dead, but they are not dead,� the old man nodded.
�Yes. They require our assistance. Like all things, some go astray.
We will put them where they belong. Or, rather, you will. I am due back in
Rome. This is an important task you face, Father Long. But it is not
something we wish to trouble the local churchgoing public with. Most
people believe that vampires are a matter strictly of fiction. An
entertainment. We want to keep it that way.�
The bishop stood up. The light behind him had faded. The old man
could see him better now. He was portly, with a bald head, except for a
fringe of hair above his ears. He hardly looked like someone who would
talk about death in such a casual way. But his eyes were steady and clear.
His jaw, though flaccid from overeating, displayed firmly set lips.
�Go forth and kill, in the name of God,� the bishop told the old man.
The old man got up from his chair. He sighed. Then he smiled.
�Yes, bishop,� the old man said. His voice was eager, the words
spoken distinctly.
They were beautiful in the darkness, and he admired them. The male
was tall and black and bulky, wearing a leather vest. He looked arrogant.
Beside him walked a woman who was as pale as he was dark. She had
short black hair and long black boots, with a skirt that the wind caught
when she walked, revealing elegantly black-stockinged legs. She wore a
scarf around her neck and a short black coat, with leather riding gloves on
her hands.
Oscar stood under a tree with Severin. They were in Old Sanramento,
and some of the creatures were out. The creatures with no pulse and no
breath, like Severin.
Oscar pointed to the African male, walking with the white woman.
�That will be your Priduchan,� Oscar told Severin. �Report to him.
He will tell you what to do.�
Severin looked at Oscar. It was one thing to hang around with a
nerdy Nintendo-toting Chinese kid. That was harmless, or relatively so.
But much as Severin admired the bearing of the man he was looking at
now, he had no intention of putting himself at his disposal.
�I- I can�t,� Severin answered.
�What do you mean, you can�t?� Oscar asked. �He�s your Priduchan.�
�He�s a fucking black dude,� Severin protested. He looked again at
the African. He was bigger than Severin, in addition to looking haughty
and proud.
Oscar frowned as they stood by the tree, under the shadows it cast
from the nearby street lights.
�Alright then,� Oscar said finally. He looked vaguely about. He saw
two creatures in the distance, standing and talking. To Severin they
looked like a young student of some business college, talking to a more
casually dressed college-age male. But Oscar pointed to them. �Go hang
with them,� Oscar said.
�Okay,� Severin answered. He felt that Oscar was trying to get rid
of him. Perhaps it was for the best. He was, after all, some weird
Oriental kid who had cut himself and made Severin suck his arm. And now
he was, perhaps in some bow to multiculturalism, trying to stick him with
a fucking Negro. The two college students looked normal enough. One was
white, like Severin, and the other was, if not white, at least not a Negro.
He was some South Pacific dude, or Mexican dude, or some other race that,
to Severin at least, seemed innocuous.
Severin left the darkness under the tree, exposing himself to the
light cast by the street lamps. He felt awkward, letting the light hit him
like that, but it was night now and the light was only electrical light
which, like the light from Oscar�s match, in the mortuary that morning,
couldn�t hurt him. He glanced up toward the sky. The lights of Old
Sanramento blotted out the stars. Perhaps it was just as well. The stars
were, after all, distant suns, like the Sun that Earth orbited that he was
so afraid of. They were too far away to hurt him but he still felt
uncomfortable about them. He felt again for his pulse. Nothing. He knew
why now, after talking with Oscar under the tree. He swallowed hard.
Perhaps he would go home to his apartment tonight. Then again, there was
no hurry. He�d never liked his life much and now it was over.
�Hi,� Severin said to the two college-age males standing and talking
on the old wooden sidewalk. He listened to the boards creak as he mounted
the plank walkway. A person walking a dog sidestepped him, gave him a
scowl.
�Hi,� the white business student replied. He wore a white shirt and
pinstriped pants. He had a tie around his neck. In his hand he clutched a
briefcase, as if he might walk away any moment to an important business
engagement. The less formally dressed college student reached out his
hand and took Severin�s. Gripping it, he shook hands with him. He did it in
an odd way, two fingers out and too back, his thumb erect. He seemed to
be feeling past Severin�s hand for his wrist. For his pulse.
�Are you warm or cold?� the casually dressed student asked.
�Huh?� Severin answered.
The student looked at his friend in the pinstriped pants. �He�s cold,�
the student told the young man clutching the briefcase.
�Welcome to the dead,� the briefcase-toting student replied, airily,
not really looking at Severin but apparently speaking to him.
�The undead,� the casually dressed student corrected. He looked at
Severin and said, �I�m Arnie. And this is Trace. Mr. T, the one and only.�
But Trace wasn�t listening. Instead he was now humming a tune by
the Trianglez, from a movie. �Undead undead undead undead,� he sang.
�David Bowie,� Arnie said confidentially to Severin. Then he asked
him, �Are you hungry?�
�No, but I�ve seen hunger in my life,� Trace, who was also, according
to Arnie, Mr. T, replied. �And I�ve seen The Hunger, too. Undead undead
undead undead.�
�Yes, we�re all undead, aren�t we?� Arnie asked. He looked at
Severin inquisitively, then laughed. �And who are you?� he asked.
�Huh?� Severin replied.
�He�s the man with no name,� Arnie told Trace.
�The unknown soldier. Who doesn�t even know his own name. So he�s
the really, really unknown soldier. Undead undead undead undead,� Trace
began singing again.
�We are who we are,� Arnie said to Severin. Just then Severin
remembered he had never told them his name and he said, awkwardly, over
the sound of Trace singing,
�I�m, uh, new.�
�Ah, new!� Arnie exclaimed. Just then a figure spoke from the
shadows.
�Quiet! Conduct yourselves properly.� All three of the young men
turned. They looked at a man so still, so quiet, that they had not
previously noticed him. He had regal features. A hooked nose, and the
first signs of age in his face, running along his upper lip, just outside it,
tracing the contours of it, from his nostrils down to the corners of his
mouth. He looked as if he�d been burdened with a heavy responsibility
once, and it had worn into his face prematurely. But his eyes were alive.
They glared out at the young men from under a broad-brimmed black hat. A
coat, the same color as his hat, nearly covered the length of his body.
Arnie smiled, awkwardly. He took Severin by the arm.
�Come on, New,� Arnie said to Severin. �Let�s go. We�ll talk
elsewhere.�
�Or perhaps in Otherwhere, like the Hero,� Trace murmured.
Together they walked down the old wooden sidewalk, past the shops,
past the tourists who still had breath and a pulse. Severin turned and
looked back to where the man had been hidden, in the shadow of a doorway,
under the overhang outside an Indian jewelry store, but he saw nothing.
Had he just imagined the person? But Arnie still had Severin by the arm.
Arnie was not, apparently, being motivated by any illusion residing only in
Severin�s mind.
They left the wooden sidewalk. They crossed a street. Severin cast
a sidelong glance down the street and saw a policeman sitting on a
motorcycle monitoring traffic. The sight made him shiver. He had never
thought much of the police but now they gave him the creeps.
They came to another sidewalk, to another row of shops. These
shops were vacant and they followed the empty storefronts to the end of
the street. They went around a corner and along a dirt road out to the
railroad tracks. There were no tourists there, just the distant lights and
the sky, with buildings to the east and the south, and an old abandoned
train warehouse to the north. Behind them was the old shed and the porch
where Severin had played Nintendo with Oscar the night before. It seemed
a million years ago now. He gazed toward the porch. He wondered if
Oscar�s Nintendo was still lying there, on the ground next to it.
�Why don�t we walk over here?� Severin said absently.
�What clan are you?� Arnie asked Severin, ignoring his suggestion,
peering at him through oval-shaped wire-rimmed glasses. He rubbed his
hands on his pink polo shirt, as if mentally greasing himself for a fight.
�Huh?� Severin replied.
�He�s new,� Trace reminded Arnie.
�New to the world,� Arnie answered. �Tell me, New, or is it Gnu,
like the African antelope,� Arnie paused and gave a manic laugh. �What
clan are you?�
�I don�t like clams,� Severin answered.
�He�s ripe,� Trace told Arnie.
�Like a tomato,� Arnie said.
�Ripe for the picking,� Trace agreed.
�A ripe vegetable,� Trace said.
�Yes!� Arnie proclaimed. He raised a finger. �Obviously he�s one of
us.�
�One of you?� Severin asked.
�If anyone asks, tell them you�re a vegetable. From the Institute,�
Arnie said to Severin.
Trace nudged Arnie. Together they looked toward the shed. There,
where just a moment before Severin had seen nothing, there were now
several dark shapes. They moved like shadows along the porch attached to
the shed.
�A gathering,� Arnie said softly.
�Perhaps we should go,� Trace said.
�Well, it beats going to the bathroom!� Arnie laughed.
�I wouldn�t know,� Trace answered.
And for the first time Severin realized he couldn�t remember taking
a pee. Or a bath, for that matter. He�d been out all last night, and slept in
a coffin all day, and then tonight he was out again, roaming, wondering if
he should go home but not really sure, and all that time he couldn�t
remember taking a leak!
�No pulse, no breath, no pee,� Severin muttered.
�Gosh it must be me!� Arnie chuckled. But already he had Severin by
the arm again and now they were walking toward the shed, toward the
moving shadows.
They arrived. Pairs of eyes peered at them. Severin saw, beyond the
gathered shadows, a taller shadow, and realized it was standing up on an
old table that was set out on the porch. It�s gaze took in Severin,
indifferently. And then he began to speak:
�I am your Prince,� the man who was standing on the table said,
addressing all the shadows, which now included Trace and Arnie and
Severin, who were standing up on the porch, under the porch roof. �We are
gathered here tonight to acknowledge my presence and my rule.� A
murmur went up from the assembled figures. They were dressed mostly in
black. Severin broke free of the Prince�s gaze and looked briefly around.
He saw, among the figures, the African male and his white female
sidekick, as well as, behind two other figures, little Oscar. Then Severin
felt himself drawn back to the Prince, as if he couldn�t look away, even if
he wished to.
�Last night we feasted,� the Prince told the crowd. There were
appreciative sighs. �I had not had pizza in perhaps a decade,� the Prince
said. �It was very good. My favorite, vegetarian.� Someone in the crowd
coughed, as if in disagreement. But when the Prince glanced toward the
disturbance there was only reverent silence. �Yes. I drink blood all the
time,� the Prince continued. �It was nice to have real food for a change.
Cheese, a natural, non-violent product. And asparagus, and spinach, and
olives.� The Prince rubbed his belly. Severin noticed that it was paunchy.
The Prince�s clothes were business clothes: a pin-striped shirt, blue
pants, brown dress shoes. He might have looked normal, Severin thought,
like Trace did. But while Trace was clean-shaven, the Prince wore a
goatee. It made him look sinister. In addition to that he was bald, and had
red eyes. The Prince looked to Severin like a pimp who was stoned, but
due in court, and trying to look respectable to avoid a verdict of guilty.
�Yes we feasted and my thanks to the gypsies for finding the serum
that made that possible,� the Prince continued. �Or perhaps �finding� is
not the right word when one is referring to gypsies, is it?� the Prince
asked rhetorically. There was mild laughter. �Knowing the Ravenna clan,
whoever owned that serum was duped, or swindled out of their serum, to
my benefit and yours. But now we have more important matters to attend
to, than filling our bellies, although I do hope you all get your fill of blood
as you need it.� There were sighs of agreement. �Tonight I must discuss
with you the matter of our former Prince. He is, as you know, guilty of
Lurressex.� The crowd murmured disapproval. �We do not have souls, of
course.� There was guilty laughter. �We gave those up when we passed
on, as we like to say, to our present selves.�
Arnie nudged Severin in the ribs. �When we quit peeing, eh?� he
asked, and gave a giggle.
�But we have an essence,� the Prince said. �Or, in my case, an aura.
Which I do hope you all will see fit to revere at all times.� There were
murmurs of strained approval. �Now our former ruler, who was convicted
by us of essence robbing, whom we killed and sent to his postponed date
with the Devil... it is rumored he is back.�
�From Hell?� someone asked.
�No not from Hell,� the Prince snapped, annoyed. �He never went.
We didn�t kill him. That is the rumor, anyhow. We tried to kill him. We
found him guilty and we passed judgement on him and, with much gunfire
and ignoble battle, we cut him down. But he survived, somehow. He is
lurking out there. I want him!� The Prince�s eyes grew fiery. �I cannot
have another. A competitor! Are you to divide your loyalty between him
and me? Are you?!� The Prince�s voice was almost a roar now. And as he
opened his mouth wide Severin saw, in his mouth, twin fangs.
�My God!� Severin breathed. Arnie nudged him hard.
�Don�t say that!� Arnie gasped.
�Ripe,� Trace, hearing them both, murmured.
But no one else heard, for the crowd was now chanting �no�, in a loud
voice, all of them gazing up at the Prince on the picnic table.
�Very well,� the Prince said. �Then I expect you to find this former
Prince, this Jung. Find him and kill him. You may do it on my authority.
Indeed, you do it at my command. And anyone found consorting with
former Prince Jung will answer to me-- with his life. His unlife!�
�Yes! Yes! Yes!� the group of dark figures now chanted, and then
suddenly they dispersed, into the night, and a minute later Severin found
himself standing alone on the porch, in front of an empty table, with only
Trace and Arnie beside him.
�Three peas in a pod,� Trace said, looking around at the vacant porch,
next to the old shed, by the railroad tracks.
�Yes, three peas. Who don�t have to pee,� Arnie said, and cackled.
�You guys are nuts,� Severin, beginning to be annoyed at his friends�
idiot repartee, told them.
�No we are vegetables,� Arnie corrected.
�And you are the ripest,� Trace told Severin, looking him straight in
the eyes for the first time that evening.
�Mr. T knows what he sees,� Arnie chimed.
�Don�t call me that,� Trace said to Arnie. �I told you never to call
me Mr. T. I don�t wear gold chains. I�m not black. And I�m not on the God-
damned A team.�
�Getting F�s again?� Arnie jibbed. He gave Trace a look of unctuous
pity.
�I�m going,� Trace said. He stepped off the porch into the dirt.
�Where one vegetable goes, another must follow,� Arnie said in a
sing-song voice, as if remembering some old childhood song, but obviously
butchering the original wording. He came down off the porch after Trace.
Severin followed them both, and as he stepped down he remembered to
look for the Nintendo. But it wasn�t there. Perhaps a child had picked it
up during the day.
The crossed the dirt road to the grassy knoll beyond, heading for the
low buildings to the east. They passed a collection of garbage cans.
Suddenly, as if from within one of the cans, a figure appeared. It was
dressed in shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. It seemed not to mind the chill
which was growing in the air.
�Hi, dickheads,� the figure, which was a young male, said in offhand
way.
�Ah! Reincarnation of vegetables has now been proven!� Arnie
announced.
�Welcome to a vegetable party,� Trace said to the young man.
�Yes, Boner, this is New,� Arnie said. He gestured toward Severin.
�He is so ripe. Perhaps you can teach him how to feed, eh?�
�Who embraced him?� Boner asked. He looked from Arnie to Severin.
But Severin didn�t know what to say.
�Embrace,� Arnie told Severin, in an insistent voice. He seemed as
if he might be asking for something as simple as the time of day.
�I-- Oscar, I guess,� Severin mumbled.
�Oscar,� Boner said. He looked at Arnie. He gazed at the trash cans
they were standing among and laughed. �Oscar the grouch!�
�Yeeeeesss!� Arnie cackled. Even Trace, normally solemn, gave a
quiet laugh.
�He was embraced by Oscar the grouch and now he�s a ripe vegetable,
an over-ripe vegetable, standing right where all us vegetables wind up, in
the trash!� Arnie proclaimed, under the stars, loudly, as if to make sure
the buildings to the east heard.
�Say ahhhh,� Boner told Severin. The young man didn�t know what to
do. Finally, reluctantly, he opened his mouth. Boner looked at his teeth.
�Ah! There they are!� Boner announced, staring into Severin�s wide-
apart jaws.
�Yes!� Arnie agreed, and now he and Trace stepped forward. Severin
felt ridiculous. He snapped his mouth shut. And, to his surprise, he felt
two small pinlike bumps on either side of his tongue.
�What the fuck?� Severin gasped. Arnie nodded.
�He is cold, he is embraced, and now he is growing his fangs,� Arnie
announced. �Soon he will have to feed. His first drink. Ahhh, to feel that
first rush of blood again! How I would love it.�
�Well, I�m not training him,� Trace said. He turned, as if to go,
adding, �He�s not my responsibility.� Boner edged away too.
�It�s mine?!� Arnie said, angrily. �I didn�t embrace him.�
�No. Oscar the grouch did,� Boner said.
�Feeding is difficult,� Arnie said. �One must learn to stalk. To be
stealthy.� His voice rose to a higher pitch and he lifted his finger, as if in
imitation of someone, perhaps the very person who taught him what he
needed to know. In a half reverent, half mocking voice he said, �The
tongue, of course, can be used to heal the wound left by one�s fangs. But
the victim is drained, you know. It is weakened. If it is drained too
thoroughly it could die. And if one desires it sufficiently, one can leave a
vampire in one�s wake. An unembraced idiot, wandering around in the
daylight. That is nothing but trouble for us, attracting unwanted
attention.�
�Which is exactly, professor, why it is your duty to see that this
idiot, though embraced, learns the ways of our clan,� Trace responded.
�The Cavmaulian clan, the greatest clan ever to be found in a trash
can,� Boner agreed.
�An institute,� Arnie corrected, forgetting his professorial tone and
speaking again in his normal voice.
�So I�m, like, a vampire?� Severin asked. It was a thought that had
been daunting him for some hours now and he was beginning to understand
why he�d fled from the sunrise.
�You�re ripe,� Trace said, disgust in his voice. He turned again to
leave and walked several steps. Arnie took hold of Severin�s gaze with his
own. He lowered his voice.
�You are, my ripe friend, a new vampire,� Arnie told Severin. �Not a
Gnu vampire after all but a Cavmaulian. Obviously you were embraced by a
Cavmaulian. Who else would stoop so low?� He laughed, eerily, and
seemingly without reason. �And now as you grow your fangs you are going
to have learn to feed.� Arnie gestured with his arm. Severin�s eyes
followed, and he saw the tourists in the distance, walking on the plank
sidewalks in front of the shops of Old Sanramento. �There is your food,�
Arnie said. �Two-legged food, unless you wish to be a pervert and eat dog
food instead.� Arnie laughed again, in his senseless way. �Go and feast.
Enjoy your first blood, your first victim. Will it be a lovely woman, or a
man? You flinch. Belive me, you will not care, when the hunger is upon
you. As easily as you might follow a woman, you will just as easily
follow a man. The men�s restroom is a good place to find men,� Arnie said.
He let out another laugh. �There they stand, waiting, before the urinal,
and you can just step up beside them, as if to pee, and then you can just
lean toward them, as if to compare wieners,� he laughed, �And the next
thing you know your teeth are in his neck, and, as a side benefit, the pee he
was waiting for is now zipping out of him!� Arnie laughed again, a long,
demented laugh.
�I appreciate your humor,� Severin said. �But I�m trying to cope
with these fucking... pins in my mouth.� Gently he felt the two sharp teeth
with his tongue. He was scared that his tongue would be cut by his teeth
but it was not. He stepped back from Arnie. He�d had enough of this young
man�s idiot behavior for one night. He turned to say goodbye to Trace but
he was gone. Boner was too. As Arnie said something about pins, rhyming
it with the word �sins�, Severin turned away. He had no idea where Oscar
was or even the Negro dude that Oscar had wanted him to introduce
himself to. He felt alone. As he walked down the dirt road, back toward
the annoyingly bright lights and the tourists, he was aware of a presence
to his left. He turned. From between two vacant shops a lone figure
stepped out. It was a female. Severin gazed at her long dark hair, at her
pale complexion, lit on one side by the glow from the street lamps.
Kayla!
�Hi, Kayla,� Severin said, feeling suddenly awkward.
�Hello,� Kayla replied. She smiled sweetly. She came closer to him.
Severin felt a thrill of desire. At the same time, for the first time, he
felt a strange hunger in his stomach. It wasn�t a hunger for food but
rather for something like liquid. But rich liquid. With a taste of iron in it.
He realized he wanted blood.
�Kayla... I...� Severin said. She was very close now. Her young face
tilted up toward him. He guessed her age at 15. She was beautiful, and he
was under the stars with her, and he felt hot.
�Did you enjoy Oscar�s company?� Kayla asked.
�Yes, of course,� Severin replied. �But I like yours better.� She
smiled, graciously.
�And did he feed you?� Kayla asked.
�Yes. With his fucking arm. And now I�m growing fangs,� Severin
complained.
�You will learn to use them,� Kayla assured Severin. �Travel light.
Don�t keep unnecessary things on your person.� Her eyes wandered toward
the bulge in his pocket, where his wallet was.
�So I�m a vampire then, huh?� Severin asked. He tried to let his new
sense of self sink in.
�Yes,� Kayla insisted. �Throw away your past thoughts, of your
humanity. They will drain from you slowly, over time, in any event. And
your possessions, don�t let them burden you. Blood is what you need now,
fresh blood. You�re a predator.�
Severin nodded. He looked toward the throngs of tourists, moving up
and down the plank sidewalks of Old Sanramento, going into the stores,
buying things. He laughed. He pulled out his wallet.
�I guess I don�t need this anymore, huh?� Severin asked.
�Not if it will hinder your pursuit of blood,� Kayla said.
�What should I do with it?� Severin said. Kayla�s eyes darted
toward the trash cans, where he�d been standing with Arnie and Trace and
Boner. Severin nodded. �Yeah,� he agreed. �I guess I�ll toss it. It�s not
like I can go into one of those stores and buy blood.� He chuckled. �Even a
blood bank doesn�t exist to sell blood, does it? I mean, not to me, not to
an individual.� He pictured himself walking into a blood bank. �Hi, I�d like
to buy some blood. To drink, that is.� Kayla laughed with him. He was
thrilled by her laughter. She reached for his wallet.
�Go feed,� she urged. �You�ll have to find a target and stalk it. Be
light and swift. And enjoy the sensation of sucking fresh blood through
your new fangs,� she smiled. �We grow weary of it after awhile, and
feeding becomes a mere necessity.�
�Oh,� Severin said. He stared into her deep brown eyes. His wallet
slipped from his hand into hers.
�Goodbye,� Kayla said. She turned and headed back toward the
vacant shops.
�I--� Severin pointed toward the trash cans. Then he let the matter
slide. What did he care where she threw his wallet? Would he be arrested
for littering if they found it tossed behind one of the stores? He laughed.
He felt an exhilarating sense of freedom. He was a predator! All his life
he�d been shy. Follow this rule, obey that law. Get a license before you
drive and don�t forget the registration and insurance. And the smog check.
Severin laughed again. Boldly he turned and walked toward the store
fronts, the ones where the people were, ignoring the excessive
illumination of the street lamps.
And then, suddenly, he saw him. The black man. The African. They
stepped out from under a tree, the black man and his white companion.
�For whom the bell tolls,� the African man said to Severin. The
white female laughed.
�For whom the bell tolls?� Severin asked.
�It tolls for thee!� the African intoned. The female laughed harder.
Her eyes shone with an animal brightness. The African man�s were as dark
as black diamonds, shining in his coal-dark face. He reached out and
grabbed Severin by the shoulder. Severin felt weak in his grip.
�The little white boy meets Sambo,� the female said.
�Sambo and Mambo,� the African said to his companion.
�You speak mumbo jumbo,� she replied.
Severin didn�t know what to say. He was gripped by the man and he
couldn�t get free. And the man, and his friend, seemed to be as senseless
as Arnie. Finally, remembering the phrase �black is beautiful,� and
frankly admiring the way the pair looked, if not how they talked, he said,
�Beautiful.� He remembered to add �Man,� for effect.
�Beautiful, man,� Severin said again, when the African raised an
eyebrow.
�Well he�s on the right track,� the white female said, her voice
showing a note of sympathy.
�Previously methinks he was on the wrong one,� the African replied.
He pushed Severin away. Severin stumbled backward. The dude was
strong!
�Go, white man!� the African proclaimed. �Colonize a victim, but
don�t expect me to spread your imperialism for you. If you could not come
to me for help, then you can learn to hunt by yourself.�
�Sure... man..� Severin replied. And then he was moving very quickly,
and within a few moments he was lost among the tourists, leaving the
tree and its two insane spectres behind.
He walked on the wooden sidewalk. He passed the store selling
Indian jewelry. He wondered if he should try finding a men�s restroom,
and seeing if anyone was in there. It was an odd thought, but he was
getting hungrier. But he felt no longing as he passed a store selling
hamburgers. He smelled the cooking beef, and the odor of ketchup and
mustard came to his nostrils, but they awakened only a sense of nostalgia
in him. They did not promise to assuage in any way his longing for blood.
Fresh, human blood. Two-legged blood, as Arnie had called it.
�Arnie. What an idiot,� Severin laughed. He gazed into a store
selling old books. There was a dark-haired girl there, with a male. They
were buying something at the counter. The clerk behind the counter
seemed impressed with them. He smiled, laughed. The girl turned
slightly, as if to point to something. She was holding two books in her
hands. The clerk followed her eyes. He took down another old book from a
shelf of books behind his counter. He gave it to her, adding it to the ones
she was already holding. She passed all three books to the male beside
her. Then she took a wallet from the folds of her dress. It was a
familiar-looking wallet. She pulled several bills from it. She handed it to
the clerk and his eyes widened appreciatively. �My God, it�s her!� Severin
breathed. Kayla was in that store, with Casey, buying books! They were
old books, with rich leather bindings. They reminded Severin of books he�d
once looked at, and wanted, but denied himself, regarding them as too
expensive.
And then he remembered just how much he�d had in his wallet. Not
twenty dollars, which is what he was used to carrying around, but three
hundred and twenty dollars. He�d taken money for the camping trip and
then not spent it when his girlfriend had bailed on him, leaving him to
pack up and go home early.
�Shit!� Severin swore. Kayla and Casey were full-blown vampires,
or at least that was what he had come to believe they were. If he needed
to travel light, why didn�t they? �Books, for Christ�s sake!� Severin
muttered under his breath. He wanted to run into the shop to confront
Kayla, but he was still too much in awe of her to do that. And Casey had
attacked him the previous night, in the alley.
Quickly Severin turned away. He slunk into the crowds of tourists.
�This vampire shit sucks,� Severin remarked. And then,
instinctively, he looked toward the sky, toward the east. He had only so
many hours left in which to feed. And then he�d have to find someplace
dark, if he didn�t get back to Oscar�s in time, someplace where he could
hide. From the sun. No matter how hungry he was.
30
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