The Wiccan Diaries (3 page)

Sid sat up. He temporarily lost his temper. I saw the little
demon flash behind his eyes. Sidney was home, all right. “Listen, blood
knight.” The derogatory phrase proved it. “You may have
status
. I don’t care. This is my place,” he said, thumping his
chest. “You got me?”

I counted Blood-in-a-Cups. “Sure, Sid, you got it.”

“Just because the
Lenoir
––”
he drew it out, just to let me know what he thought of them “––have
seen fit to
nobilize
you, doesn’t
mean you can tell the Sid what to do, my friend. I know about you.”

Somehow, I didn’t think so.

“I know they tell you what to do,” he said.

I held up my hand.

“Prancing around, in your little black getup...”

I put my hand down. This was getting good.

“I know about you,” he said again.

“Are you through? I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah. I’m through,” he said. His eyes blanked over. I had
lost the Sid.

“Because I want to tell you about me. Enough to let you know
that I don’t like being played, Sidney.”

No movement on his part.

“The Lenoir sent me here. Yes. But did you know, Sid, that
according to the records
kept
by the
Lenoir,
I
am the only vampire
in
Rome?”

His eyes shifted and did the back and forth thing again.

“Do you know what blood status really means, Sidney...? Do
you know what vampers really are?”

I could see him working it out. “I haven’t got a clue, Fang
Dick.”

“They’re people like you. They were turned, for whatever
reasons, and left to fend for themselves. Sometimes it was a vampire in a
hurry. Sometimes it was some newb of the night who didn’t––or
hadn’t learned yet, rather,
about
siring, and didn’t understand what they were doing. A quasi-vamper. An
almost-Sid.

“Other times it’s some mortal attacking their vampire during
the moment of embrace. The blood, Sid, it goes everywhere. Some of it may be
ingested by the one left for dead. Unbeknownst, a vampire has sired an
immortal. Its offspring.

“To put it in a parlance you’ll understand, Things Happen.
Look at yourself,” I said. “How
you
became a vampire.”

“I got bit,” said Sid.

“More, more,” I coaxed.

“He bit me. I had a tire iron. I whacked him pretty good. I
remember he got all upset. It’s like what I do when they talk back.”

“I bet that tire iron, when it hit him on the head, drew
blood, didn’t it?” I said.

“He snapped it up and hit me over the head with it,” said
Sid. “Beat me till I was unconscious.”

I could see it now. “He beat you over the head with the tire
iron that had his blood on it
after
he had already been feeding on you. Sid?”

“I’ll be,” said Sid, realizing what must have happened. “I
bet some of his blood dern got in my throat.”

“So the mystery of Sid is solved,” I said.

“I’ll be.”

“An unknown vampire mistakenly sired you when he thought you
were on your way to the hereafter.”

“I’ll bet you’re right.”

“I know I am, Sid.” The next part would probably go over his
head. “So, Sid. If someone’s biting people and draining all their blood...”

“Yeah?”

“And I’m the only vampire in Rome...”

“I’ll be. They’re gonna think you done it.”

He beamed.

“Do you know why that is, Sidney?” I asked.

He had to think about it. “I can’t say for sure, but does it
have something to do with the fact... that vampires ain’t vampers, and vice
versa?”

“Pin the tail on the donkey, that’s right, Sid.” I raised my
Cup to him. “A vamper is a non-person, uneducated in our ways. In fact, it is
on every true vampire, Sid, are you listening to this? To do away with vampers,
wherever they may be. So in a sense, my allowing you to live is a kindness on
my part. You have no sire. You are a walking, talking,
killing
abortion. But you see. The Lenoir don’t care about that.
They just care that they don’t have to hear about you. Because it allows them
to continue on with this blood status thing. That’s why I exist. Ain’t no
vamper in Rome, Sid. There’s just me. So it’s
on
me, if you follow me.”

He understood where I was leading him, the processes by
which we would be parting, if I did not get what I was after.

“But you know what’s really bothering me? You saying you do
like the one who made you
did
. That
bothers me.”

I saw his eye saccades again. “Would you like to know why,
Sidney?” I asked. “Because vampers make other vampers, indiscriminately,
without any thought of the consequences. And that is
why
we vampires hate them.”

“I didn’t kill
no one
,”
said Sid, agitated. “I ain’t this psychopath, killing.
NO ONE!
I ain’t done
NOTHING
.
If I was the one killing them people, do you think I would be drinking blood
cups?”

It was a fair point, and I told him so.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Sid. I really do. But
let’s be honest. When you were in Topeka, you didn’t exactly tell the truth.”

“I never sold lemons except to people had it coming. And I
knew he was bad. Look what he done to me?” he said, speaking about the vampire
who had sired him.

Again, I gave him that. “But, you see, Sid, I have to think
about the ones who
do
have it
coming.”

“Lennox, man. Come on? Whoever that guy is, ain’t me.”

“Vampers make vampers, Sid. The only reason you aren’t
killing them, is because
they ain’t dying
.
Now why don’t you play nice and bring your boys out. The blood cups are a dead
giveaway, by the way.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. But his
eyes looked off to the corner again. I didn’t know how many of them there were
back there.

“The discipline is hard for you. I know it,” I said.
“Drinking these lousy things. Tell me you don’t sometimes go off your diet.”

He didn’t say anything. “I’m not here to kill you, Sidney. I
just want to know why you gave me bogus intel about that necromancer. My friend
and I nearly got killed last night.”

He shifted and took out some money in his pocket. “I bought
a six pack of Blood-in-a-Cups. But that’s it, Lennox.”

I told him about the dead revenant I had locked in the back
of John Occam’s car. He chose to ignore this.

“Why don’t you answer me something,” he said, “since you’re
being all lawyer today. If you’re the only vampire in Rome, why is it I can
find a place to sell me packaged blood? If I don’t exist, why am I good enough
to sell blood to? If I don’t exist,” he said, holding out the hand with the
money it, “how come you give me blood money?”

I had to smile, I really did. “I pay you to watch and
report. I pay you because you’re a good pair of eyes. There’s something out
there, Sidney. I don’t know what it is.”

He dropped his hand. “The Suck,” he said.

“That’s its street name. Tell me what you know about it.”

“Don’t get bit. Just don’t get bit, man.”

His boys came out.
One...
two... three...

They were in rags––long unkempt
hair––shuffling out of the corners of the crypt. I knew
they
weren’t the ones responsible. They
weren’t exsanguinating––draining the blood; they certainly weren’t
responsible for
raising the dead
;
that would take some serious dark magic.

Sid had housebroken them––but they left the
evidence of their nocturnal feeding on the floor. Half-drunk blood cups.

Whole-drunk humans.

Whoever was doing this wasn’t running around half-cocked.

The part which really bothered me, was the reference to
biting, in the article by Emmanuela Skarborough. I knew somebody within the
Questura I could talk to about it. I decided to do that tomorrow. Maybe I could
see the dead bodies.

I heard a train race past; it rattled the furnishings. Sid
had picked up a book. I nearly choked. “Where did you get that?” I asked.

I went and grabbed it out of his hands. He shrugged. “Found
it, picked it up, stumbled upon it. How should I know?”

It was a copy of
The
Urban 411
.

I flipped through it––it had to be three hundred
pages long! The cover showed a pair of watchful eyes, with a half moon and a
setting sun––one in either eye. Just like on the train.

It was written by Infester. Obviously, a pseudonym.

I turned to the title page, completely ignoring the other
vampires, looking for the name of the publisher. I turned the page. There it
was, beneath the copyright. SURVIVOR BROS PRESS. It even had an ISBN. But there
was no address where I could reach them.

* * *

How to, Where to, And
Who With. How to survive the coming Apocalypse. Includes fashioning weaponry
and other important bits. Also called the Zeebus Guide. Presented by Infester.
Who will you choose to battle the undead with?

* * *

The summary was intriguing, to say the least. I decided to
keep it for later perusal. I tucked it into one of the many interior pockets I
had in my coat, and ran the fingers of my hands through my hair.
So much for that.

Infester’s guide! I had been looking for it forever! Sid
wasn’t much of a reader. He didn’t mind if I stole his book.

Vampers, now.

I mean obviously Sid had been siring. It was the same
impulse that made humans want to have children. Extend the bloodline. You got
to see your name live on.

If vampers weren’t an issue, we wouldn’t be having an issue
with vampers, I told myself. Vamper overpopulation was a major concern, for a
number of reasons.

Murder, letting people know about our existence, murder,
killing everyone, ending the human species, overrunning the earth, killing
everyone.

It reminded me of an article I read about the
crown-of-thorns. The crown-of-thorns was destroying the Great Barrier Reef. The
crown-of-thorns was a starfish––but it had curious properties.

It ate coral, which was alive, slow to
grow––just like humans were slow to grow and mature, and also
alive.

And if you hurt it, it could regrow itself. It could
multiply, this starfish.

And it gave off a chemical that attracted other
crown-of-thorns.

It liked to start a feeding frenzy.

And its numbers were growing. The crown-of-thorns population
was out of control. In consequence, coral was threatened.

That reminded me of this.

The vamper population was out of control, and, as a
consequence, people were threatened.

Well, this was my reef, and I had to defend it.

Such would have been the gist of any
argument––but a vamper was a vamper for one reason only. It didn’t
know any better.

I had learned long ago not to try to teach someone anything
that they didn’t already want to know. Especially if they had a pair of fangs
and could kill me permanently.

Chapter 3 – Lennox

Sid got off the couch and came toward me. I could smell the
whiskey on his breath. He was communicating without using words, telling his
offspring what to do.

It was a connection between the sired and their
sires––So I had been told.

“I am older than all of you,” I warned.

They chose to disregard this. The other vampires fanned out.

Unlike Paris, I did not choose to think of them as
vampers
. Having a dismissive name for
something showed either a foolish over-self-confidence or else highlighted a
deep-seated insecurity. It was the attacker you didn’t see that got you.

Some of this fighting philosophy had saved me in the past.

Sid’s progeny were trying to pin me against the wall. It was
four against one.

I could see by their appearance, Sid had preyed among his
own kind. That thought led to another.

Victim selection.

I made a mental note, preparing myself for combat.

I was older, but they had the numbers. Whether he knew it or
not, Sid had built for himself a nice little army.

Going against a sire was like pressing your flesh to the
crucifixion. It
burned
.

I had never met my sire. It wasn’t until I met Occam that I
even knew other vampires existed. He gave me the broad strokes, taught me how to
fight. He was the one who taught me that age mattered. Before that, I had been
just a regular, mundane vamper.

I did not immediately grab for the
stake––choosing instead to keep my mystery intact.

“If you can make your opponent underestimate you,” Occam had
said, “he will be more inclined to cut certain corners. This opens him to
vulnerabilities he would not otherwise have, and you can press home the point.”

Part of me felt upset that it had come to this. Sid
extinguished that concern when he suggested to the others that drinking my
blood could make them stronger. They came at me, clumsily––fangs
bared, claws extended. I moved in a blur, passing through them.

Sid gaped in astonishment; it was something
learned
, not given. I could see him
communicating with his children. His lips moved like they did when he read the
newspaper article I showed him.

This was actually a weakness in sires. They got so concerned
with directing the troops, they forgot
they
were oldest.

Sid was a much more formidable vampire than the ones he had
sired. They were clumsy, he was not. If I killed him, it would be like
releasing them––they could fight without impediment. So I let him
continue in his error.

Sid had mortal concerns. He scrounged money. He got all hung
up about things like status symbols, and so forth. He was into cars and
big-screen TVs. He was still that me-minded old Sid, who dreamed of leaving
Topeka, back in 1976.
Look where that got
him. Rome with rabbit ears.
Unfortunately, it made him a terrible sire.

When I passed through them, I wounded one, opening its
jugular with my finger. The neck spewed blood. It was a bad cut. In a human
being, it would have been fatal. But this was a vampire. Already the connective
tissue was knitting together, leaving the faintest scar.

The other two didn’t know what to do; they stopped and tried
to help their comrade. Sid put his fingers to his head like he had a headache,
closing his eyes and concentrating.

The real tragedy was these were newborns––days
old. They only existed because I had allowed Sidney. I had allowed him to
be
. I hadn’t sired him. But I hadn’t
destroyed him, either.

And now I had to kill his offspring, made because I had been
too soft on Sid.

The veins were standing out on his neck. I noticed the two
other vampires who were not wounded, double up in pain. He was trying to
concentrate, talk to them. It was an experience I was unfamiliar with.

“You’re losing them, Sid,” I said to him.

He fought with them while I watched the other vampire heal
itself. The sinews of its neck muscles were beginning to reattach and I saw it
pick itself up.

Half torn, they came at me.

They wanted to go for Sid––and would have, if
they had had a choice. They didn’t. They came at me, instead. Sid looked like
his forehead was about to explode.

I grabbed the remaining blood cups off the floor and threw
them at Sid’s face. They broke open, coating him in blood. His telepathic
connection snapped. He was set upon by his vampires.

I took out my stake. It gave me no pleasure, whatsoever.

Sid had his eyes shut, when I got to him. He was groaning
miserably. I suddenly understood why.

“I heard them die,” he said, taking his hands away from his
face. He was still trembling. “I heard what it sounded like... when you killed
them...” I had removed them one, two, three, when their backs were turned.

He looked up at me.

“I’m sorry, Sidney,” I said, imagining what it would have
been like to hear as the mental connection broke––as his vampires
were destroyed. I buried the wooden stake in Sid’s heart.

“But it’s not my problem.”

What happened next, was something I never get used to, no
matter how many times I am the cause of it.

Sid looked like someone had just infected him with the Suck.
Instead of it spreading from the wound, however, it was like all of his
vitality was drawn to the entry point I had just created in his chest. Like his
heart was a supermassive black hole and it was drawing in all the light that
was formerly Sid.

He ate in upon himself and just turned to nothing, right
there in my hands. And that was the end of him as a vampire. It was over.

I left the crypt, unaware of where I was headed, and just
wandered down the hollowed out tube, until I came to a place I recognized as
Spagna Metro station.

I became aware that the sucking of the life force from Sid
was not unlike the sucking of the life force from one of our victims, that it
was apt, and poetic, and all of that nonsense. And that one day it would happen
to me. Just whoosh. Nothing.

Someone screamed.