"I, Vampyre" - Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE: Intervention

 

            “Oooh… Rodger, my love, tell me again how sweet my lips are…” Spike cooed softly, obviously having a dream that was much better than my current harsh reality.  I yanked her arm again, but she only woozily slapped at my hand.

            I spared a glance back at the undead nightmare next to me, recoiling in horror as -- with a final, blood-curdling *THUNK!* -- the tip of Bellissima’s blade finally seemed to penetrate the boundary of her arcane jail.  Belli ran a parched-looking tongue over the dried blood in the corners of her mouth, and began tugging on the handle of the dagger… obviously hoping to reveal a tiny slit through which she could make her misty escape.

            Throwing nicety to the bloody wind, I yanked on Spike’s long, pretty hair -- hard.

“OWIE!” she exclaimed, suddenly pulled awake and none-too-happy about it.  “I was having the best dream, Nevi, why’d you have to… OH, FOR BAAL’S SAKE!!”

Spike threw me out of the way (I landed on my face, one fang buried into a fuchsia-colored pillow) and adroitly pinched the tip of Bellissima’s dagger between her fingers.  With a gentle tug, she pulled the weapon out of Belli’s hands and through the membrane of the now-five-foot-wide sphere, which resealed itself with but a word from the sorceress.

I warily raised my head, peeking over the edge of the coffin again, as Spike placed her palms on the side of the orb… which slowly began to shrink.  Bellissima’s lips were moving, but we couldn’t hear what she was saying (nor would we want to, I’d wager).  Black, brackish tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, and soon her mouth was frozen in the fangy oval of a silent scream.

“Bellissima… oh, Belli…” Spike said, in a soft, soothing voice, “this is for your own good.  We’ll make you better soon… I promise…”

The ensnared assassin managed one last baleful look at me before the sphere shrunk to a size at which she was forced to dissolve back into mist.  Soon enough, it was back to its original diameter; Spike leaned over and picked it up from off the floor, holding it protectively to her breast.

“It… I… the magic must have grown weaker while I was asleep,” Spike said.

“Ya think!?” I sputtered.

Spike frowned, then slipped Belli’s dagger underneath one of the cushions in the coffin, arranging the pillow very precisely.  “Alrighty.  We need to get going.  NOW.”

With that, Spike hopped out of bed, disappearing quickly into what appeared to be a walk-in closet.  I heard her humming the lyrics of a very old song -- “No one’s gonna take me alive… the time has come to make things right…” -- as I regained my feet.  Throwing on my clothes, I reclaimed the Kindred’s Bane, coiling the whip very carefully on the tabletop.

Spike reemerged, her platinum hair combed back over her bare shoulders, wearing a glittery black-and-silver top, a black miniskirt, and open-toed black heels.  She lifted a small black knapsack (with what looked like an anime character on it) onto her shoulder, dropping the Belli-ball into it.  She then tossed a wadded-up black shirt at me.  “Put that on,” she politely demanded.

Catching the T-shirt just before it smacked me in the face, I shook it out and stared at it.  “Really, Spike?”

“Do it,” she insisted.  “I need a laugh… or else I’m gonna cry.”

With a sigh, I pulled the shirt over my head.  Spike giggled at the words printed prominently on the front: ‘BITE ME’

“Where we’re going, you’ll fit right in,” she assured me.  Spike paused.  “You’re not bringing… that?” she asked, nodding her head at the ‘Bane with a look of poorly-concealed disgust.

 “Where we’re going,” I said, thinking of Adrianos, “it’s probably best if I’m unarmed.”

“Ok, fine… now, get close to me.”  I didn’t hesitate to comply, sidling so close up to Spike that she gave me a glower of a look suggesting I could stand to take one step back.  “Let me see your hand, Nevik…”

Frowning, I held out my right hand for Spike’s inspection… and she abruptly slashed her bared claw through the holy-symbol-shaped scar in its palm.  I gave her an aghast look of betrayal, but she ignored it as she grabbed my wrist and squeezed out a goodly amount of blood before the wound quickly healed.

“What was that f--…?”

“Oh, shush,” Spike admonished, kneeling down and smearing the spilled blood into a roughly circular glyph.  “You know demon’s blood makes for powerful magic.”

(Hm.  Did I forget to mention that I was half-demon earlier?  Oops.)

“Is this going to work, Spike?” I asked, skepticism dripping like the ichor had just a moment ago.

“Yes!” Spike asserted.  “Probably… maybe… it usually does, as long as the destination is, ya know, on the same continent or so.  Just… hold on to me!”

I wrapped my arm around Spike’s waist, and she gave me a wink, her blue eye twinkling.  She said something in an ancient language that I could never hope to understand, and then…

Nothing.

We were dead.

 

 * * *

 

            We were still dead, I mean to say.  Undead… aware, awake… in the City That Never Sleeps.

            Spike’s teleportation spell -- or whatever you want to call it -- had worked.  Her crypt had disappeared, and we were now atop a skyscraper in the middle of the island of Manhattan.  Welcome to New York, New York… November, 2076.

            We looked up, as one, and I could sense Spike’s relief in addition to my own.  The mid-autumn sky was overcast, and the dreaded sun was just slipping below the horizon.  To paraphrase a certain meteorological rule-of-thumb: ‘Red sky at night, vampire’s delight…’

            We were on the observation deck of the Rockefeller Center.  A couple dozen tourists had turned their attention away from the breathtaking sights of the city, and were now staring, dumbfounded, at us.  The lingering moment of their utter disbelief at seeing two very pale-skinned ‘people’ appear out of thin air would, I knew, soon devolve into utter panic.

            “Spike…” I prompted, quietly, but she was already on the move.  Her clear blue eyes now had a bit of an unnatural shine to them, and she glided quickly amongst the crowd, gesturing, pulling them all in as if with an invisible lasso.

             “There’s nothing to see here, folks,” she said, her voice like the tinkling of bone-chimes.  “My friend and I are terribly uninteresting, really… we’ve been here all along… enjoying the view… just like you…”

            Spike coughed softly, blinking her mesmerizing eyes, and the crowd dispersed, most walking back to the railings at the edges of the ‘Top of the Rock.’  Only one child was left, a young female, still peering intently at Spike.  The vampiress grinned, flashing her fangs briefly, and the child squeaked before running after her mommy and daddy.

            I smirked at Spike’s dash of panache, and then looked out over the cityscape for myself.  New York wasn’t much different, even here in the late 21^st-century.  Still no flying cars, though they were all electric.  Phones and computers had gotten ever-smaller… it was even possible to implant them into one’s body, cybernetics at its best (or worst, depending on your point of view).  At the southwestern tip of the island, the Freedom Tower sparkled in the darkening twilight.

            Some might have called the building a triumph of the American spirit; I preferred to think of it as a 1,776-foot-tall vertical smorgasbord of tasty, blood-filled snacks.

            “Ad’s pad is near here,” Spike said, snickering at her own turn of phrase.  She wiggled her shoulders, and, in the next instant, a pair of red, feathery wings emerged from her back.  I glanced around anxiously, but the humans remained oblivious.  “Don’t worry, Nevi… we’re just terribly, awfully uninteresting!”

            I chuckled at that, and a pair of black, leathery wings protruded from my own shoulder blades.  Spike flapped her wings and took off, heading in a northeasterly direction, and I was about to follow suit -- but I stopped, catching a faint, curious scent.

            All Kindred have supernatural senses, and I possessed a sense of smell even better developed than most.  I swore I detected the aroma of an orchid, laced with a trace of ozone.  Almost like counting the rings of a felled tree, I could tell the ‘age’ of the scent by its particular quality… sixty-six years ago.

            “Siren…” I whispered.  But I didn’t have time to ruminate further, as Spike’s winged form was getting smaller, and she didn’t appear inclined to dawdle for my sake.  With a firm flap of my own wings, I ascended… leaving the clueless crowd of tourists, the Rock, and the intriguing hint of an old memory behind.

 

* * *

 

            Spike and I flew over Central Park, hovering on the cool wind like hawks in search of their next meal.  We swept down out of the now-dark-indigo sky, and, mutually feeling somewhat charitable, we interrupted a random act of violence… draining the muggers dry, and only ‘sampling’ the blood of their hapless victims.

            Rejuvenated, we pressed on to our final destination: a penthouse atop one of the swankier buildings on the Upper East Side.  Spike touched down first, her cardinal-colored wings disappearing quickly, and checked that a certain item was still safely ensconced within her knapsack.  I landed behind her, but I kept my ebony wingspan deployed -- for a quick getaway, perhaps.

            “How does Adrianos afford this place?” I asked, trying to keep the abject jealousy out of my voice (and failing miserably, naturally).

            Spike tiptoed around the bonsai trees in the lush rooftop garden, attempting to peer through the tinted glass of the penthouse’s skylight.  “Ad is an Elder Vampire,” she reminded me, distractedly.  “So, among other things, he’s filthy stinking rich!”

            “Of course he is,” I muttered.  I irritably kicked a small rock that dared to be in my way.  “How do we know if he’s even home?”

            “Oh, he’s here,” Spike said, a rising note of excitement in her voice.  “I can sense him.  The only question is… how do we get in?”

            A deep voice from behind us answered her: “Perhaps I can help with that, cherie.”

            I thought I managed to not flinch in surprise, but I was betrayed by the nervous twitch that rippled through my demon-wings.  I turned and looked, and there was Lord Adrianos, sure enough, standing in the middle of the garden we had just passed through.  His long black hair was swept back in a ponytail, he was wearing a perfectly-pressed suit, and he was as eternally, ruggedly, annoyingly handsome as ever.  However, the illusion of effortless cool was shattered, somewhat, as he pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and coughed violently into it.

            “Spike, my dear, so good to see you.  But, s'il vous plaît, step away from the skylight… I’d hate to see you get vaporized.”

            “Vapoo-WHA?!?” Spike exclaimed, suddenly losing her balance and tilting toward the skylight, seemingly on her way to an ironic end.  I had barely started to reach out with my hand, and Adrianos had already crossed the rooftop, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her back into a position that resembled a dip in a tango.  I rolled my eyes as she dreamily gazed up at him.

            Still smiling down at Spike, Adrianos reached out and blindly waved his left hand at the opaque glass.  There was a quick pulse of reddish light, and then the window silently slid open.

            “After you, mademoiselle,” Ad offered, and Spike was veritably beaming as she hopped through the opening into the room below.  Pausing before following her down, Adrianos at last acknowledged me.  “Hello again, Nevik.  Nice shirt.”

            I pulled my wings into my back as I stared at the Elder for a longish while.  Part of me was sad… disappointed that the tentative friendship we had forged years ago in the wilds of Valeria now seemed to be broken.  Torn apart by the usual suspect: a woman.

            Adrianos coughed into his kerchief again, and I thought I saw a spot or two of blood on the crumpled silk square.  He deflected my burgeoning query with a question of his own: “Why did you come here?”

            I gestured after Spike.  “We need your help… it’s about Bellissima.”  Adrianos cleared his throat, with an uncharacteristically wet-sounding gurgle.  “A bounty-hunt she took on went bad, somehow,” I continued, “and… something happened to her.”

Ad dropped his head, smirking sadly.  “Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.”

He must have seen the lack of understanding in my twisted-up expression, because he immediately translated: “The more that things change, the more they stay the same…”

I mirrored his melancholy smile and ducked my head as I stepped past him, dropping down into the living (‘unliving?’) room of the penthouse.  I took a quick look around, reluctantly appreciating the ultra-contemporary décor -- it looked as though Ad had completely bought out a 2070’s IKEA.

Spike was sitting in a stylish, yet uncomfy-looking chair, and as I looked back over my shoulder, I saw that Adrianos was already in the well-appointed kitchen, pouring a bottle of blood-wine.  He brought the three glasses into the room, handing one to Spike (who downed half of it in one, thirsty swallow), and setting the other down on a low table as I declined with a short headshake.

“My dear friends… where is Bellissima now?”  In the artificial light of the interior of the penthouse, I saw that Ad’s skin looked rather… unhealthy, somehow.

Spike glanced at me, biting her lip, and I nodded encouragingly.  Opening her pack, she produced the magic ball, which still contained a slowly-swirling scarlet vapor.  “Here she is…”

Adrianos’s eyes grew wide -- abnormally bloodshot, I couldn’t help but notice -- and an angry snarl escaped him as he snatched the sphere away from Spike.  “What the… why have you done this to her!?” he demanded, focusing the lion’s share of his intense gaze on yours truly.

I opened my mouth, retort at the ready, but Spike cut me off.  “We did what we had to do, Ad!  Her bloodlust is out of control!  We hope you can help calm her down.”

The Elder peered at Spike and me in turn, his eyes narrowed, and then took the orb with him back into the kitchen.  I plopped down heavily in the chair next to Spike -- it was decidedly uncomfortable -- and drained the glass of blood-wine on the table in front of me in three quick gulps.

“Spike,” I began, trying to articulate a thought that had been percolating in my mind for hours now.  “What if… Bellissima is still trying to find out who murdered Darius?”

Spike shot me a look of sharp disbelief.  “Say huh?  Lord Daemus killed Belli’s Sire.  And we killed him… finally.  End of story.”

I nodded, slowly, wanting desperately to agree.  We did defeat Daemus, the Nosferatu clan-leader… one of the last Scions, the chosen Heirs to the Shadow Council.  And yet, Bellissima was still not at peace.  Could she ever be?  Would she…

My muddled musings were cut off by the sound of something shattering in the kitchen, like broken glass.  But I quickly realized what, in fact, had broken, as Spike squealed in alarm… and deep red mist began angrily spreading throughout the penthouse.

 

* * *