Underground Vampire (21 page)

He asked to be turned and she told
him no, she would never do that to him.  He told her he wanted to spend
all time with her and she said she would spend the time they were given with
him.  He said he would grow old and she would stay young, and he would
grow grey and feeble, dying before her.  She said that was her burden and
she would bear it happily and be his, but she would not sentence him to the
hell that was her life.

Tired, they slept, recovering from
wounds of the flesh and the mysterious wounds we do to ourselves.  They
recovered over the next few days, laying low in the apartment in the sky,
venturing out briefly for food and to be seen, returning home to marshal
strength an d resources, and to find a new way with each other.  In the
end they decided to live together the days left to them.

 “This guy really knows how to
line ‘em up and blast ‘em.”  Marching about and waving his arms as the 4th
movement of the Ninth built and the chorus joined.

“This guy,” she moaned, “This guy,
please?  Don’t refer to Ludwig as this guy; it hurts too much.”

“Oh my god I’m getting old; next it
will be cardigan sweaters and slippers.”  Vigorous, now conducting the
last of the millions ascending to the Lord.

“I’m not sure Leonard would
approve; at least get on the beat.

It made no difference.  He
waved both arms above the Sound stridently summoning fishes from the depths.

“Anyway you aren’t getting older,
your tastes are maturing.”

“I like that.  Sounds better
than getting older.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, as
the finale died away and he stood at the window waiting for the applause.

“I suppose you knew him.”

“No, he was in Vienna to the East;
I never met him, a mistake that I have always regretted.”

Jesse’s cell rang Double Trouble,
which meant Malloy was on the phone, which meant there was a problem, an unpleasant
problem, probably involving Vampires and death, he thought.  Ignoring
Akon, he focused on his plans, which were limited to a brisk damp walk into
Belltown, maybe detouring through the Sculpture Garden for some art
appreciation, then a trendy dinner with an Oregon pinot, back to her place,
admire the view, then kinky Vampire sex.

“Answer your phone,” she
said.  The problem with assigned ring tones was that not only you, but
everyone you spent time with knew who was on the phone.

Saying, “I’ll call him later,” he
snatched the phone off the end table that looked just like a box, she referred
to it as the cube but it was still a box, and tried to kill the ring.  She
held her hand out and he put the phone in it, taking a moment to touch her cool
skin, his fingertips tracing azure veins distinct against her translucent
wrist.  Taking the phone, acknowledging his touch, she pushed the
button. 

“Salut Xavier.”  She was the
only person in the world who used Malloy’s first name.  Even his business
card said X. Francis Malloy and Jesse had never even heard anyone call him
Francis.  Of course, the way Arabella said ‘Xavier’ made him want to
change his name and even made him a bit jealous. She launched into a long burst
of French, followed by a shorter time listening to him.  Wherever Malloy
learned to speak French, his pronunciation was impeccable, she said. Malloy
never missed an opportunity to go French, Jesse noticed.  Jesse’d tried a
snarky comment once and Malloy had only laughed, saying, “Learn the language, boyo.” 

He stood at the window watching the
ferry leave Pier 69, wishing they were on their way to Victoria for the weekend
because he could tell from her inflection he wouldn’t get a chance to show off
his secret research.  On one of their first public outings, she insisted
they detour through the Olympic Sculpture Park on Western.  Only about a
mile and a half from her apartment, the walk seemed long to a cop with a
department car who, until recently, drove everywhere and parked wherever he
wanted. 

He recommended a civilized stroll
up Western but she opted to dodge construction under the Viaduct and hike up
Alaskan Way. The ferry commuters fighting at Marion lent a surreal aspect to
the war zone vibe, and Jesse didn’t calm down till they veered away from the
overpass. She ignored his suggestions that they duck into one of the trendy
restaurants, plowing along till they reached the Park on Eliot and started up
the z-path.

He’d limited his observation to the
obvious: “giant eyeballs,” “look, a giant eraser,” and “that one looks like a
giant insect,” capped with a “who’s Persephone.”  Her telling him not to
sit on the giant couch was actually funnier than it sounded, and he’d survived
his first art encounter with no dignity but a stirred curiosity. 

“Oliver’s feeding again” was all
she said, handing back his phone, “one dead.”

“Who got it?”

“West Precinct has it, along with
all the others.”

“Where did they find it?”

“In an alley.  Next time you
go in, find out what they think.  One more thing, Gunderson’s here.”

“Gunderson?  What is he doing
down here?”

“Inter county task force, you don’t
think he’d miss it, do you?”

“Gave up on the wolves, did he?”

“You know, he shot one. 
Someone snared a male in a leg trap and he killed it.”

Jesse said nothing.  There was
nothing to say to the news.

“Get ready,” she said walking
towards her dressing room. 

Before Arabella, Jesse didn’t know
people had entire rooms to get dressed in.  So far as he knew, everyone
kept their clothes in the bedroom and when they woke up they got dressed and
before they got into bed, unless they were really drunk, they took them
off. 

The apartment had a bedroom next to
the master bedroom.  By demolishing the hall door, extending the wall then
opening the master to the adjoining room, she had created a mini suite. 
The original walk-in closet in the master she converted to the en suite,
providing an expansive opulent space with, Jesse was sure, the best throne view
in the Seattle area. 

Blue collar Catholic families did
not have entire wood paneled rooms racked, shelved and hung with clothing. They
didn’t have an entire rack of skirts arranged by color, a separate wall of
shoes where the boots had their own zip code, with hundreds of belts all coiled
with the buckles facing out directly across from the boots and shoes, with the
bags in the middle.  “How else can you match the accessories,” she
explained, sitting on one of the upholstered benches strategically strewn
about. 

Jesse’s world had one closet, unless
you shared a room and perhaps a chest of drawers where the t-shirts, shorts and
socks went.  Jesse liked Arabella’s world, and he especially liked it when
she invited him to drink his morning coffee sitting on one of the closet
benches while she selected and discarded, mixed and matched until the finished
look reflected her vision of the future day and her role in it and, most
important, the addition of an infinitesimal drop of beauty to a potentially
drab and tedious world. 

Basically, he liked watching her
get dressed.  And so long as he was quiet, she allowed it. Selecting the
day’s outfit was serious business.  Idle chatter, ignorant opinions,
helpful suggestions and calls for action courted summary banishment and, truth
be told, as much as he admired the living room view he admired her so much more
that he quickly learned to be quiet, in the moment, and enjoy her most
excellent coffee.  Her only concession was to allow him to choose the
music.  This morning was Live in New York City featuring performance
versions of Mr. Simon’s body of work, which, upon first listening, she’d judged
mature with arrangements befitting lyrics.

He knew they were in for it when
she slipped jeans over her hips and pulled a black turtleneck over her
head.  Incongruous, she tried on several pairs of heels before settling on
a spiky pair of red ones with red soles, the hallmark of some guy whose name
Jesse couldn’t remember but he knew they were expensive.  “The only good
thing about being a Vampire is I can wear heels all day and night and not get
tired,” she’d explained, “and I really like wearing heels.” 

Jesse was sure she was the only
woman in Seattle with a weapons section in her dressing room, with the guns
arranged from matte black to highly polished silver and a section racked from
floor to ceiling with edged weapons. This morning she slid her favorite .45
into a pocket of her bomber jacket, the oak stakes into the inside pocket and a
short sword into the sheath on her back.

“Why don’t you go to work,” casual
the way she dropped it on him, “Show your face in the station and see what’s up
with the SPD.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“No one cares if I show up, in
fact, they’re happy if I don’t,” he complained, a little of the hurt still in
him.“  I keep walking around down here and they’re happy.  I’ll go
with you.”

“Maybe not, Jesse, I need to make a
statement.”

“I’m good with that.”

“The Queen called Malloy. 
She’s threatening open war if we don’t get this under control; she wants a bold
statement.”

“Hey, I’m Seattle Police. 
It’s called resisting arrest.”

“I don’t want you to see me in
action, it won’t be real feminine.”

“I’m going with you, to protect
you.”

“I like the way our relationship
is; I’m afraid this might … change things.”

She stopped for a moment, her
treasured bomber jacket held in her hands.

“I’m at war; this is not a police
action, you can’t arrest anyone; I’m in the service of the Queen, a mercenary
who will complete her service.”

“I understand,” he said, “I
couldn’t live with myself if I don’t go with you.”

“You must do what I say.”

 “Is Malloy going?”

“Those days are over for Malloy,”
she said, looking him square in the face. “He has information.”

Jesse turned away, she didn’t and
wouldn’t use her sight against him, but when she was making a point she looked
direct and he knew she was serious.  Arabella was the front line warrior
and did the hand to hand, face to face activity.  Bit by bit, he’d felt
himself sliding closer to active engagement, and he wasn’t sure if it was to
protect the Humans from the scourge, or her from them or a little of both. All
he could be sure of was that he didn’t want to go to the station and wait this
one out.  He wanted to go with her and protect her.

“Promise me one thing,” she said,
as she shrugged into her jacket.

“Sure, anything.”

“Don’t protect me.  I don’t
need it and you might get in the way trying to help.  Just take care of
yourself and do what you are told.”

“Ok.”

“No independent action.”

“Got it.”

“If I go down, you run.”

“Well ….”

“Promise or stay home.”

“Promise.”

“If anything happened to you I
couldn’t live.”

“I’ll take care.”

“Promise.”

“Done.”

He walked her to the door feeling
close to her and happy with his decision.  Whatever happened he was doing
what he wanted to do and, he believed, the right thing.  Now he was antsy
to go Underground and face them, pre action jitters fluttered in his gut but
that was normal before the unknown, it was a good thing.

Opening the front door he was
confronted by the ugliest and, he had to admit, the scariest looking Vampire
he’d met to date.  The ones in the Underground were either rancid
frightening or the highly polished thugs of the bar.  This one had dead
black eyes, a sallow complexion that had never seen light, let alone sun, and
fingernails like claws. There was no doubt in his mind that this one brought
death.

Reflexively, Jesse reached for his
service revolver.  The Vampire wrapped his claws around his wrist and
throat without, as far as Jesse could see, moving.

“Release him,” said Arabella. 
“Now please, Petru.”

Again without movement he was
released, the only evidence of the attack scratches on his wrist and a choking
throat.  Petru stood there unconcerned and uncaring, saying nothing. 
Jesse wanted to shoot him but knew it would do no good, even if he could get
his gun up. 

“Why are you here?” asked Arabella
in a peremptory tone he’d never heard her use.  It was the tone you use
with a strange pit bull snuffling around your leg.

“Speak, I’m waiting,” she said
directly into Petru’s face.

Jesse thought she treated him as if
he were hard of hearing, either that or she just liked yelling at him. 
Either way, nothing seemed to affect him; he continued to stand obdurate and
dense.

“I’ve been ordered,” he said in an
old voice, unused to speaking Petru’s throat produced mitteleuropa sounds
unheard for centuries, “to accompany you to the Underground.”  Apparently,
he felt that all the explanation necessary, for he stood again as mute as a
post.

Arabella seemingly understood, for
she pulled the door behind her, locking it with the only key she carried
saying, “Petru, this is my Human, look at him.” Petru turned and opened his
black eyes wide and Jesse felt the skin scour from his face, so powerful was
this beast’s vision.  “Do not harm him and if he is threatened, protect
this Human; he is important to the Queen.”

Petru considered the statement the
way a bulldog looking at a bone considers NO, and finally acquiesced with a
courtly bow, returning to stand like a stone after the social interaction.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us,”
Jesse quipped.  Petru had the personality of a giant lizard he’d seen on a
nature program, and perhaps the same instincts, he thought, as the odor of dirt
and potatoes filled his nose.

“Petru doesn’t meet people, he eats
them, kills them or ignores them; he’s not really interested in the social
part.”

“Isn’t that right,” she said,
smiling at Petru.

“Yes,” the lizard face croaked,
wormy lips stretching into a response, “We must leave, we have work to do.”

“One of his more charming abilities
is that he can smell the fluids leaked by a wounded Vampire and track the
smell.”

“Like a dog?” Jesse blurted.

“Yes.  He can also taste your
emotions, smell the chemical signature of your muscles and predict what you are
about to do, so no sudden movements, please.”

Jesse felt an overwhelming desire
to run.  He understood that Petru wouldn’t attack; he understood that
Arabella had some control over his actions and he understood that he had dodged
having his throat crushed, but the Vampire was an abomination who made him want
to vomit.  Terror punctured the emotional membrane Jesse maintained
between himself and the world for the first time.  Involuntarily, his hand
went to his service revolver and he drew the gun, knowing all the while it was
as useless as a popgun against a gorilla.