Cara Mia - Book One of the Immortyl Revolution (2 page)

“I hate cigarettes.”

He laughs. Have you decided yet who I am, Loverboy? Snow White or Rose Red? Madonna or Magdalene?

He makes his move, baring his teeth. His nicotine yellowed nails dig into my arms. Stubble scrapes like sandpaper on my face and my head throbs harder. Saliva flows into my mouth. I shudder in anticipation. Not much longer now.

He laughs again as his fingers slither to the buttons of my blouse. His breath smells of nicotine and cheap booze. The silk slips from my shoulders and he grasps my bared breasts. I can’t help the moan. He breathes
encouragement and buries his head in my cleavage, probing with tongue and lips. The bony tip of his nose jabs into my sternum.

Just play along a little more, Mia. He’s almost where you want him. Lean your head against his. Close your eyes and breathe in deeply, ah, that yummy iron scent. Twine your fingers in the slippery hair and clasp him just a little bit closer. His breath is so hot on my body.

Feel the heartbeat, lub dub, lub dub, pumping blood to all parts of his body? Kiss that little pulsing spot on his throat. Just run the tongue over the ear and that slim cord beneath the salty flesh. Try that little trick with your hand.

He groans, nuzzling his face into my neck and pushes me down to the mattress. Thinks he’s pretty strong, does he? Throw him off! Look at his face! He’s pissed now. He balls his fist and draws back to punch. Raise your hand at us, animal? Go on, slug him in the face! He’s down! Red spray! Blood! Blood!

He rips off his belt and gets up, slapping leather against his hand. Delicious red streams from his nose and down his chin as he closes in.

Reach for the throat now! Easy, don’t crush it; the arterial spray is so much nicer when intact. Slam your quarry hard against the wall. Crack the head. Ah more blood, hot and syrupy sweet! Tighten the grip. Grab his balls, squeeze hard. Bring him close to the face. Slam him again, harder and show him the old pearly whites. That move always makes them wet themselves.

No screams? Is it hard to breathe? Why would I have sympathy for you? I’m the Bird of Prey! You’re just a bleeding hunk of flesh! One small kiss and then goodnight… Surprised you, huh? Just a little sting, you hardly felt it. Not quite what you had in mind for this mouth? Terrified? Very nasty demons haunt you. They’re coming for you. They have you in their grasp. There’s no escape.

Try all you want but you can’t get away. Ah, your flavor! I love the would-be predators, just the right bouquet. Red heat burns through me! Jet fuel! I soar!

What’s that music on TV? Ave Maria, that’s Pavarotti. Is it Christmas? Shit. Papa sang it at midnight mass— that last one we had together.

Ave Maria, gratia plene

Dominus tecum

Bendicta tu in mulieribus

Et benidictus, fructus ventris tui Jesus

Now you’ll be a fucking, crying mess! Come on focus… focus on the scent. Iron! Salt! This is what we live eternally for. Shut it out! It’s just a song. Go on, drink it all down. Hot, red delicious life!

Sancta Maria

Sancta Maria

Ora pro nobis…

Nobis peccatoribus

Nunct et in hora…

My head is clear now. I’m cozy and warm. Loverboy ceases to struggle. Mmm… Life ebbs away so easily, it’s all mine now. You’re all limp and senseless, Loverboy. Someone should pray for you.

“In hora mortis nostrae. Amen.”

Stop that crap! But Papa left me so young. No one kept the demons away. Ah, come off it. You accepted the gift with open arms. Enjoy the ride, sweetheart.

I feel so old, so tired all of the sudden. I’ll just lie down and enjoy the warmth, all those little drops of delight dancing in the cells. It’s one hell of an orgasm. Too bad there isn’t one of our own kind to consecrate this sacrament. One need satisfied and the other already troubling us.

Who’s that? An apparition… an angel… or maybe the god of love? Lovely as the dawn surrounded by cascades of blood red flowers… I’m free now! Look! The sunrise and the beach are here, just like Brovik promised. Your breath and lips fall warm on my throat. Your weight on my body is lighter and sweeter than Ethan’s ever was. Kurt, mio amore, spirit me away from the darkness.

Wake up! He’s far from an angel. They’re all the same. You fell for those big baby blues like a fool. Can’t waste time on wet dreams of Brovik’s little boy-toy.

No relief tonight. Or God knows when. What time is it? I must have drifted off. There’s work to be done before I can indulge in hopeless dreams.

Yuck. Got to get rid of this thing on the bed, it already stinks. It’s revolting. It was bad enough alive but dead it’s even uglier. Eyes clouded, mouth open in a silent scream, it gets more disgusting by the minute.

I’ll just rifle through the pockets and find enough money to get
a
hotel room. Nice black leather wallet, a little shy of thirty bucks in it. Not enough to get a room in New York, not at any hotel I know of. Leave it to me to choose the only pimp in New York with no money in his pocket. But I really didn’t have the luxury to shop around under the circumstances. Ah well, we’ll have to improvise.

Well, well what have we here? A Rolex, a real one. Well, it seems the vermin had expensive tastes. Something else to pawn. Also a gold chain around its neck and one diamond stud in its ear. That will help too. Maybe there’s something to say for jewelry after all.

Don’t forget the pack of
cigarettes from the nightstand. Toss them on top of the corpse. Add the overcoat and suit jacket to the pile. Wrap the entire thing up in the bedspread. What time is it?

The Rolex says it’s just after four. Guess I rested a little longer than I thought. After a kill I just feel like lounging for a while to savor the experience. Like a smoke after sex? Filthy habit. Smoking that is, the other I like too much.

Here comes the hairy part. One can’t leave corpses lying about all over Manhattan. Don’t provide fodder for the tabloids. One must clean up after meals. That’s the rule. Ethan did teach something of value. I may be just a tad rebellious but this is one custom I understand
.

Okay, throw
the
bundle over the shoulder. Did I forget anything? Nope. All nice and tidy. Open the door, quietly now and pause a moment to listen, nothing, not a creature stirring except for a vampire. This place reeks of bodily fluids, blood, urine and eau de amour. Close the door, good, not a sound. Down the hall to the back stairs, what you’re seeking will
be found in the basement.

This won’t ever get any easier will it? Kill, eat and dispose, no one else around to help with the unpleasant details, Sweetpea.

These stairs are steep and kind of slippery. Jesus, don’t they ever clean anything around here? The cobwebs have a distinctly ancient look to them, right out of the late-late show. I hope to hell the basement door isn’t locked. That could make a lot of unwelcome noise.

Okay, here goes nothing. Good, it’s unlocked. It’s dark. I’ll wait a moment for the eyes to adjust to the darkness. There it is. Incinerators leave too much behind, Ethan always said, but this one was a scumbag. Lots of people hated him. Who thinks twice about a wasted pimp? Or a cast off concubine for that matter?

Don’t start now. Christ, he’ll never fit in one piece. I can jam the legs in just a little further, but the arms will have to come off. Remember the way he taught you? Knife through the tendons, between the joint, just like boning a chicken. There. Nice work. All blood is gone, no muss, no fuss. A fitting epitaph? Burn in hell little man.

What’s this sensation running through me? Is this freedom? Freedom! You’re free at last, little girl! Ethan said you couldn’t do it.

“Ethan, you colossal prick, I’ll survive to see you rot. It’ll take a hell of lot more than you to kill me.”

Genpath Laboratories, Southern California, 2000

Joe wasn’t happy. The neuroscientist’s plans for a relaxing evening with his girlfriend were just ruined by Lydia Loy, his boss. Slamming the door to Lydia’s office, he stalked down the hall to the security desk where a beefy, young red-haired man sat eating Chinese ramen soup from a Styrofoam cup.

“Where’s the sergeant?”

The guard looked up, broth and undulating noodles dribbling down his chin, at the tall, dark, angry man in front of him. “Upstairs.”

“Get him down here.”

“He’s got rounds.”

“Get him the fuck down here, now!”

“Yes, Doctor.” The guard picked up the phone and hit a button. “Sarge? Kramer here. You’re needed. Nah, she’s the same. One of the Docs… I’ll tell him… ” The guard looked up at Joe. “He’ll be down in about twenty minutes.”

“It’s imperative I see the female subject immediately. Tell him now or I’ll report him to Dr. Loy.”

“It’s real important Sarge… Right, I’ll tell him.” The guard hung up the receiver. “He’s coming.”

Joe set down his briefcase and medical bag, rapping his fingers impatiently against the gray granite desk. He glanced at his watch. Seven-thirty. Shit, he was supposed to be at Jean’s place at eight. He’d never make it. Why did he have to go in there tonight? He was exhausted from setting up the new lab all day. The last thing he wanted to do was tangle with that thing in the cell. He wanted to be fully alert when he went in there for the first time. On top of that he felt a migraine coming on.

The elevator dinged and slid open. A huge sandy-haired man dressed in a khaki uniform and heavy black boots stood there with an annoyed expression on his pugnacious face. The Gulf War Vet’s face held remarked distaste. Joe supposed he looked too much like the enemy to suit him.

The sergeant growled in a deep bass. “You wanted me?”

“I’m going in to see the female.”

The sergeant paled a moment, pulling at his bushy mustache in consternation and nodded. “Right, follow me.”

Joe scooped up his belongings from the counter and started down the gray-carpeted corridor behind the sergeant. “Dr. Loy says she attacked Rider. She’s restrained?”

The sergeant grunted, “Sedated too,” and strode to a door marked
Broom Closet
. “But we gotta take extra precautions.”

Fumbling in his pockets he brought out a key ring to unlock the door. It swung open, revealing a neat little arsenal of rifles, tazers, clubs, cuffs and dart guns. Enough dangerous toys to keep the security boys happy, Joe reflected. The sergeant selected a high-powered rifle and loaded it.

“Is that really necessary?”

The guard looked at him oddly. “Doc, trust me on this one.”

Joe’s heartbeat accelerated. Rider, the psychiatrist, ended up with a dislocated shoulder and fractured pelvis when he attempted to interview the subject. Apparently, she didn’t take to him and decided to take him a few rounds. Now
he
was given the unsavory duty of trying to examine her. This wasn’t exactly his specialty, but Lydia was convinced the violence had neurological significance.

Take a look— talk with her— see what you can make of it. Maybe you can calm her down.

The sergeant offered some unsolicited advice, “Listen pal— it ain’t human.”

Joe corrected him.
“
Doctor.
”

The sergeant’s face worked as he digested Joe’s comment. “It looks like a nice little girlie but its every instinct is to kill. Don’t let down your guard for a minute.”

At the end of the corridor another guard, a young, open-faced, African-American, sat in a chair between the doors leading to the two cells, also clutching a large caliber weapon in his hands.

The sergeant nodded to him. “Any change?”

“Howlin’ like a banshee when I checked on her ‘bout half-hour ago. Pitched a real fit at chow time. Turned the intercom off so’s we didn’t have to hear. “

Joe frowned. “Chow time?”

“She wouldn’t… eat. They transfused her,” explained the sergeant. “We’re going in. Get on the horn— have three more men stand by.”

“Three?” Joe asked. “You’ve got to be kidding?”

The guard and the sergeant exchanged looks. A trickle of sticky sweat rolled down Joe’s backbone. His polo shirt clung uncomfortably to his body. Was it his imagination or was it ten degrees hotter down on this level? He wiped his damp forehead and noticed a smudge of black ink on his damp palm from the notebook Lydia had given him.
Damn it.
He rubbed it off on his jeans.

The corridor was oddly quiet. Most of the staff already had gone home for the night. Only the constant drip of the malfunctioning air conditioning provided ambient sound. Joe wondered if the guards could hear his hammering heart. He chided himself for irrationality but couldn’t help wonder if
she
could hear it through the thick concrete walls. Did they listen for fresh heartbeats? For fresh blood? Nausea pitched his stomach.

The sergeant opened a keypad by the door. “Got your clearance code?”

Joe nodded, noticing a mangled mass of metal that had once been a chair near the door.

“It records whoever makes a visit to the cells, and when. Flash your ID first— then punch in your code. When the light blinks put your palm in the reader. The outer door will open. Inside is the observation door. Just the palm there.”

“And to get out?”

“Fingerprint on the inside pad— if you need to get out fast. Didn’t help the shrink though— she was all over him in a second. See that chair?”

Joe glanced at the twisted metal. “Yeah?”

The sergeant looked vaguely amused. “Imagine it’s your spine. Left it to remind us what we’re dealin’ with.”

Joe had no idea what to expect. Everything he’d been told up to now wasn’t exactly comforting. In his research into neurological roots of anti-social behavior he’d dealt with dangerous individuals with all manner of bizarre conditions. But this
thing
? Never in his wildest imaginings could he have ever have conceived of this.
Vampirism?
Not some goofy Goth kid who dressed in black and drank animal blood as part of some ridiculous adolescent rebellion. Not a victim of porphyria, necrophilia or any garden-variety psychosis, but an honest-to-god, human blood-drinking,
immortal
being. Apparently stronger and faster than humans to boot. Yet he was expected to go in there and talk, even reason with a blood-sucking monster out of a nightmare?