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 | Donald Bain, Jessica Fletcher |
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Excerpt
Black Dagger Brotherhood pr n. Highly-trained vampire warriors who protect their species against the Lessening Society. As a result of selective breeding within the race, Brothers possess immense physical and mental strength as well as rapid healing capabilities. They are not siblings for the most part and are inducted into the Brotherhood upon nomination by the Brothers. Aggressive, self-reliant and secretive by nature, they exist apart from civilians, having little contact with members of the other classes except when they need to feed. They are the subject of legend and the object of reverence within the vampire world. blood slave n. Male or female vampire who has been subjugated to serve the blood needs of another. The practice of keeping blood slaves has largely been discontinued, though it has not been outlawed. The Chosen n. Female vampires who have been bred to serve the Scribe Virgin. They are considered members of the aristocracy, though they are spiritually rather than temporally focused. They have little or no interaction with males, but can be mated at the Scribe Virgin's direction to propagate their class. They have the ability to prognosticate. doggen n. Member of the servant class within the vampire world. Doggens have old, conservative traditions about service to their superiors, following a formal code of dress and behavior. They are able to go out during the day, but they age relatively quickly. Life expectancy is approximately five hundred years. The Fade pr n. Non-temporal realm where the dead reunite with their loved ones and pass eternity. First Family pr n. The king and queen of the vampires and any children they may have. hellren n. Male vampire who has been mated to a female. Males may take more than one female as mate. leelan adj. A term of endearment loosely translated as ‘dearest one'. Lessening Society pr n. Order of slayers convened by the Omega for the purpose of eradicating the vampire species. lesser n. De-souled human who targets vampires for extermination as a member of the Lessening Society. Lessers must be stabbed through the chest in order to be killed, otherwise they are ageless. They do not eat or drink and are impotent. Over time, their hair, skin and irises lose pigmentation until they are blonde, blushless and pale-eyed. They smell like baby powder. Inducted into the Society by the Omega, they retain a ceramic jar thereafter into which their heart was placed after it was removed. needing period n. Female vampire's time of fertility, generally lasting for two days and accompanied by intense sexual cravings. Occurs approximately five years after a female's transition and then once a decade thereafter. All males respond to some degree if they are around a female in her need. It can be a dangerous time with conflicts and fights breaking out between competing males, particularly if the female is not mated. The Omega pr n. Malevolent, mystical figure who has targeted the vampires for extinction out of resentment directed towards the Scribe Virgin. Exists in a non- temporal realm and has extensive powers, though not the power of creation. princeps n. Highest level of the vampire aristocracy, second only to members of the First Family or the Scribe Virgin's Chosen. Must be born to the title; it may not be conferred. pyrocant n. Refers to a critical weakness in an individual. The weakness can be internal, such as an addiction, or external, such as a lover. rythe n. Ritual manner of assuaging honor granted by one who has offended another. If accepted, the offended chooses a weapon and strikes the offender who presents him or herself without defenses. The Scribe Virgin pr n. Mystical force who is counselor to the king as well as the keeper of vampire archives and the dispenser of privileges. Exists in a non- temporal realm and has extensive powers. Capable of a single act of creation which she expended to bring the vampires into existence. shellan n. Female vampire who has been mated to a male. Females generally do not take more than one mate due to the highly territorial nature of bonded males. The Tomb pr n. Sacred vault of the Black Dagger Brotherhood. Used as a ceremonial site as well as a storage facility for the jars of lessers. Ceremonies performed there include inductions, funerals and disciplinary actions against Brothers. No one may enter except for members of the Brotherhood, the Scribe Virgin, or candidates for induction. transition n. Critical moment in a vampire's life when he or she transforms into an adult. Thereafter, they must drink the blood of the opposite sex to survive and are unable to withstand sunlight. Occurs generally in the mid-twenties. Some vampires do not survive their transitions, males in particular. Prior to their transitions, vampires are physically weak, sexually unaware and unresponsive, and unable to dematerialize. vampire n. Member of a species separate from that of homo sapiens. Vampires must drink the blood of the opposite sex to survive. Human blood will keep them alive, though the strength does not last long. Following their transitions, which occur in their mid-twenties, they are unable to go out into sunlight and must feed from the vein regularly. Vampires may not ‘convert' humans through a bite or transfer of blood, though they are in rare cases able to breed with the other species. Vampires can dematerialize at will, though they must be able to calm themselves and concentrate to do so and may not carry anything heavy with them. They are able to strip the memories of humans, provided such memories are short term. Some vampires are able to read minds. Life expectancy is indeterminate.
Chapter One Darius looked around the club,
taking in the teeming, half-naked bodies on the dance
floor. Screamer's was packed tonight, full of women
wearing leather and men who looked like they had advanced
degrees in violent crime.
Beth Randall looked up as her editor leaned his hip on her desk. His eyes went straight to the vee of her shirt. "Working late again," he murmured. "Hey, Dick." Shouldn't you be getting home to your wife and two kids, she added to herself. "What are you doing?" "Editing a piece for Tony." "You know, there are other ways of impressing me." Yeah, she could just imagine. "Did you read my email, Dick? I went down to the police station this afternoon and talked with Jose and Ricky. They swear a gun dealer's moved into town. They've found two modified Magnums on drug dealers-" Dick reached out to pat her shoulder, stroking it as he took his hand back. "You just keep working the blotter. Let the big boys worry about the violent crimes. We wouldn't want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours." He smiled, eyes growing hooded as his gaze lingered on her lips. That stare routine had gotten old three years ago, she thought. Right after she'd started working for him. A paper bag. What she needed was a paper bag to pull over her head whenever she talked with him. Maybe with a picture of Mrs. Dick taped to the front. "Would you like me to give you a ride home?" he asked. Only if it were raining thumbtacks and hair pins, you letch. "No, thanks." Beth turned back to her computer screen and hoped he'd take the hint. Eventually he wandered off, probably heading for the bar across the street that most of the reporters hit before going home. Caldwell, New York, wasn't exactly a hot bed of opportunity for any journalist, but Dick's Big Boys sure liked keeping up the appearance of carrying a heavy social burden. They relished cozying up to the bar at Charlie's and talking about the days when they'd worked at bigger, more important papers. For the most part they were just like Dick. Middle aged, middle of the road, men who were competent, but not extraordinary at what they did. Caldwell was big enough and close enough to New York City to have the nasty business of violent crimes, drug busts, and prostitution so they were kept busy. But the Caldwell Courier Journal was not the Times and none of them were ever going to win a Pulitzer. It was rather sad. Yeah, well, look in the mirror, Beth thought. She'd never even worked at a national level paper. So when she was in her fifties, she'd have to be at a free press polishing classifieds to have a shot at reflected glory from her CCJ days. She reached for the bag of M&Ms she'd been nursing. The damn thing was empty. Again. She should probably just go home. And pick up some Chinese down the street. On her way out of the newsroom, which was an open space cut up into cubicles by flimsy gray partitions, she hit her buddy Tony's stash of Twinkies. Tony ate all the time. For him, there was no breakfast, lunch and dinner: consumption was a binary proposition. If he was awake, something was going into his mouth, and to keep himself supplied, his desk was a treasure trove of snack foods. She peeled off the cellophane and couldn't believe she was biting into the artificial swill as she hit the lights and walked down the stairwell to Trade Street. Outside, the heat of July was a physical barrier between her and her apartment. Twelve straight blocks of hot and humid. Fortunately, the Chinese restaurant was halfway home and heavily air-conditioned. With any luck, they'd be busy tonight so she'd get to wait a while in the cool. When she was done with the Twinkie, she flipped open her phone, hit speed dial, and put in an order for beef with broccoli. As she walked along, she looked at the familiar, grim landmarks. Along this stretch of Trade Street, there were only bars, strip clubs and the occasional tattoo parlor. The Chinese food place and the Tex-Mex buffet were the only two restaurants. The rest of the buildings, which had been used as offices in the twenties when downtown had been thriving, were vacant. She knew every crack in the sidewalk; she could time the traffic lights. And the patois of sounds drifting out of open doors and windows offered no surprises either. McGrider's Bar was playing blues, Zero Sum had bleating techno coming out of its glass entrance, and the karaoke machines were fired up at Ruben's. Most of the places were reputable enough, but there were a couple she stayed away from on principle. Screamer's in particular catered to a scary-ass clientele. That was one door she wouldn't go through without a police escort. As she measured the distance to the Chinese restaurant, a wave of fatigue hit her. God, it was humid. The air was so heavy she felt like she was breathing water. She had a feeling the exhaustion wasn't just about the weather. She'd been pooped for weeks and suspected she was dancing with depression. Her job was going nowhere. She was living in a place she didn't care about. She had few friends, no lover, and no romantic prospects. If she looked ahead ten years, and pictured herself staying put in Caldwell with Dick and the Big Boys, she just saw more of the same. Getting up, going to work, trying to make a difference, failing, going home alone. Maybe she just needed out. Out of Caldwell. Out of the CCJ. Out of the electronic family of her alarm clock and the phone on her desk and the TV which kept her dreams away while she slept. God knew, there was nothing keeping her in town but habit. She hadn't spoken to any of her foster parents for years so they wouldn't miss her. And the few friends she had were busy with their own families. When she heard a leering whistle behind her, she rolled her eyes. That was the problem with working near the bars. On occasion, you picked up gawkers. The cat calls came next and then, sure enough, two guys crossed the street at a jog and came after her. She looked around. She was heading away from the bars and into the long stretch of vacant buildings before the restaurants. The night was thick and dark, but at least there were streetlights and the occasional car passing. "I like your hair," the big one said as he fell into step beside her. "Mind if I touch it?" Beth knew better than to stop. They looked like college frat boys out for the summer, which meant they were only going to be annoying, but she didn't want to take any chances. Besides, the Chinese place was only five blocks up. She reached into her purse anyway, searching for her pepper spray. "You need a ride somewhere?" the big guy asked. "My car's not far. Seriously, how ‘bout you come with us. We could go for a little ride." He grinned and winked at his buddy, as if the smooth rap was definitely going to get him laid. The crony laughed and circled them, his thin blonde hair flopping as he skipped. "Let's ride her!" the blonde said. Damn it, where was her spray? The big one reached out, touching her hair, and she looked at him good and hard. With his polo shirt and his khaki shorts, he was BMOC handsome. Real all-American material. When he smiled at her, she sped up, focusing on the dim neon glow of the Chinese place's sign. She was praying someone else would walk by, but heat had driven the pedestrian traffic indoors. There was no one around. "You want to tell me your name?" all-American asked. Her heart started banging in her chest. Four more blocks. "Maybe I'll just pick a name for you. Let me think... How's pussy cat sound?" The blonde giggled. She swallowed and took out her cell phone, just in case she needed to call 911. Stay calm. Keep it together. She pictured how good the rush of air conditioning in the restaurant was going to feel as she went inside. Maybe she'd wait and call a cab, just to make sure she got home without being further harassed by them. "Come on, pussy cat," all-American cooed. "I know you're going to like me." Only three more blocks- Just as she stepped off the curb to cross Tenth Street, he grabbed her around the waist. Her feet popped off the ground, and as he dragged her backwards, he covered her mouth with a heavy palm. She fought like a mad woman, kicking and punching, and when she reached behind and belted him in the eye, his grip slipped. She lunged away from him, legs driving her heels deep into the pavement, breath trapped in her throat. A car went by out on Trade Street and she yelled as its headlights flared. But then he got her again. "You're going to beg for it, bitch," all-American said in her ear as he put her in a choke hold. He wrenched her neck around until she thought it was going to snap and pulled her deeper into the shadows. She could smell his sweat and the college boy cologne he wore, could hear the high pitched laughter of his friend. An alley. They were taking her into an alley. Her stomach heaved, bile stinging her throat, and she jerked her body around furiously, trying to get free. Panic made her strong. But he was stronger. He pushed her behind a dumpster and pressed his body into hers. She drove her elbow into his ribs and kicked some more. "Goddamn it, get her arms!" She got in one good heel punch to the blonde's shins before he caught her wrists and held them over her head. "Come on, bitch, you're going to like this," all-American muttered, trying to get his knee between her legs. He ground her back against the building's brick wall, holding her in place by the throat. He had to use his other hand to rip open her shirt, and as soon as her mouth was free, she screamed. He slapped her hard and she felt her lip split open. Blood rushed into her mouth, pain stunning her. "You do that again and I'm cutting your tongue out." All-American's eyes boiled with hate and lust as he shoved up the white lace of her bra and exposed her breasts. "Hell, I think I'll do that anyway." "Hey, are those real?" the blonde asked as if she would answer him. His buddy grabbed one of her nipples and pulled hard. She winced, tears making her vision swim. Or maybe her eyesight was going because she was hyperventilating. All-American laughed. "I think she's natural. But you can find out for yourself when I'm finished." As the blonde giggled, some deep part of her brain kicked into gear and refused to let this happen. She forced herself to stop fighting and reached back to her self-defense training. Except for her heavy breathing, her body went still and it took all-American a minute to notice. "You want to play nice?" he said, eyeing her suspiciously. She nodded slowly. "Good." He leaned in, his breath filling her nose. She fought not to cringe at the rank smell of stale cigarettes and beer. "But if you scream again, I'm going to stab you. Do you understand me?" She nodded once more. "Let her go." The blonde dropped her wrists and giggled, moving around them as if he were looking for the best angle. All-American's hands were rough on her skin as he fondled her and she held Tony's Twinkie down by force of will, her gag reflex pumping her throat. Even though she loathed the sensation of the palms pushing into her breasts, she reached for the fly of his pants. He was still holding her by the neck and she was having trouble breathing, but the moment she touched his privates, he moaned and his grip loosened. With a hard jam of her hand, she grabbed his balls, twisted as hard as she could, and kneed him in the nose as he crumbled. Adrenaline shot through her, and for a split second, she wished his buddy would come at her instead of staring at her stupidly. "Fuck you!" she screamed at them both. Beth bolted out of the alley, holding her shirt together as she ran, and she didn't stop until she was at the door to her apartment building. Her hands were shaking so badly, she could barely get her key in the locks. And it wasn't until she stood in front of her mirror in the bathroom that she realized tears were pouring down her face. Butch O'Neal looked up when the police radio under the dash of his unmarked patrol car went off. There was a male victim, down but breathing, in an alley not so far away. Butch checked his watch. A little after ten o'clock, which meant the fun was just getting started. It was a Friday night, in the early part of July, so the college Turks were still fresh out of school and aching to compete in the Stupid Olympics. He figured the guy had either been mugged or taught a lesson. He hoped it was the latter. Butch grabbed the hand set and told dispatch he'd head over even though he was a homicide detective, not a beat cop. He had two cases he was working right now, one floater in the Hudson River and a hit and run, but there was always room for something else. As far as he was concerned, the more time away from home, the better. The dirty dishes in his sink and the wrinkled sheets on his bed were not going to miss him. He hit the siren and the gas and thought, Let's hear it for the boys of summer.
Chapter Two
Walking through
Screamer's, Wrath sneered as the crowd tripped over itself
to get out of his way. Fear and a morbid, lusty curiosity
wafted out of their pores. He breathed in the rank odor.
Darius had a third beer. A couple of Goth lovelies dropped by, looking for a chance to help him forget his troubles. He passed on the invites. He left the bar and walked over to his BMW 650i which was parked illegally in the alley behind the club. Like any vampire worth his salt, he could dematerialize at will and travel over vast distances, but that was a hard trick to pull off if you had to carry anything heavy. And not something you wanted to do in public. Besides, a fine car was a joy to behold. Darius got into the Beemer and shut the door. From out of the sky, rain started to fall, dappling the windshield with fat tears. He wasn't out of options. The talk of Marissa's brother had gotten him thinking. Havers was a physician, a dedicated healer of the race. Maybe he could help. It was certainly worth a try. Distracted with plans, Darius put the key in the ignition and twisted. The starter wheezed. He turned the key again and then had a terrible premonition as he heard a rhythmic clicking. The bomb, which had been attached to the under carriage of the car and hard-wired into the electrical system, went off. As his body was incinerated by a blast of white heat, his last thought was of the daughter who had yet to meet him. And now never would. |
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