No Man's Land

No Man’s Land

By

Debra Dunbar

Copyright 2014, All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

1

K
elly stood with her back to the doorway, her hands clasped behind her. Nothing she did helped stem the rising panic. Any moment, someone was going to walk through that door, and then she would most likely be dead.

Breathe, breathe
. But no matter how she tried to regulate her breathing and relax her muscles, they continued to tense. It still seemed unreal, like she was trapped in a bad dream. Just yesterday she’d been the manager of a large, lucrative casino, but with one slip of temper it had all vanished. Now she was just one more vampire waiting in a soundless hallway for her death sentence. How many had stood here before her, desperately holding onto their last moments before execution? How many had waited in this deceptively innocuous passage with its textured, brocade–print carpeting, and signed watercolor paintings?

Could be worse. They could have stuck me in an elevator for three hours listening to Barry Manilow instrumentals on repeat,
she thought, staring at the patterned blue and gold carpet. Or in the dumpster out back with the rotting food and equally rotting body parts.

It was no use. Every attempt at humor rang false in her mind. How could anyone approach the end of their life with laughter? There was nothing funny about death. Dead. In a few hours, she’d be dead. And there would be no one to mourn her. Vampires didn’t grieve; they quickly jockeyed for favor to take over the dead’s status and position. There wasn’t a single vampire in her family that would think on her demise with sorrow, none that would speak up to save her. Not one.

George
. He would have mourned. No, he would have fought to save her, scolded her for getting into this mess, then held her in his arms. She thought of his warm skin, the way his rough shirt scratched her cheek, how very safe she’d always felt when he was near. But George had been dead a long time.

Her hand crept into a small pocket in her skirt, touching the round metal ring. It was all she had left of him, of the only moment of sunshine in her life. Sharp pain stabbed her finger where the tape covering had torn. Silver burned hotter than a flame against her skin, but she refused to let go. The one link to the only love she’d ever had, and couldn’t touch it without agony.

A wave of grief threatened to overwhelm her, crushing her panic with its intensity. Her eyes brimmed and she blinked, trying to hold back a sob. Sadness and loss felt worse than the fear.
George. I’m so sorry, George. If only you were here now, if even just to hold my hand.
He wasn’t. No one was. She was alone. The panic crept back in, and her legs began to shake. Dead.

I really screwed the pooch this time.
Kelly felt her shoulders tighten, anger replacing some of her fright. Her temper had caused her downfall; it was only fitting that she now turn that significant character flaw in upon herself. Not that anger was her only sin. Pride and greed rounded out her failings, although among vampires those were considered attributes to be cultivated. Anger was most definitely not.

Pride. She’d been turned after a mere seven years of being Chosen, been the youngest vampire in her family to be granted New status, risen rapidly through the ranks. Yeah, she had a right to be proud. Everything she touched turned to gold. It had all come with a heady feeling of invincibility — the power of a vampire, the respect for her brains and business skills. What a fairy tale it had been for a penniless bastard previously destined for a short life of squalor. Unfortunately, the fairy tale was ending.

Kelly shifted slightly, hoping the action went unnoticed. The hallway was monitored, and showing discomfort would weigh against her. Her legs ached, her head throbbed, and her back was begging for a change in position. She’d been standing motionless for over three hours. Before that she’d been in a tiny, windowless room; waiting. Dawn had come and gone; she could feel it pulling on her bones like a weight, even as young as she was. It had been dark when they’d put her in the room, but the Master would obviously not make her punishment a priority. She was just a cog in the wheel, one that could wait until after he’d slept through the daylight hours as all the old ones must do.

So very tired. Not that she had to be in a coffin during the day or anything, but the daylight had sapped her strength, and she’d been up for twenty–four hours taking care of the casino. A hot bath would be wonderful, followed by the embrace of cool sheets and soft pillows. Mmm, she’d never wanted her bed so badly. Kelly shook her head with dark amusement, her mind returning to the fate before her. It was ridiculous to be thinking of sleep and aching legs in her situation.

The door opened, and Kelly’s heart sank as she saw the vampire. Pierre’s malicious grin was almost more than she could take. They all hated her, but Pierre hated her the most. He had always resented that she’d gotten the casino management job over him. He’d argued that she was barely Made, wasn’t even two–hundred–years old, that she shouldn’t even be let out of the catacombs. Pierre hadn’t been the only one pissed about it. There had been twenty vampires in the family in line for that job, and every one of them considered Kelly the least qualified of the lot. Twenty vampires, all waiting for the slightest error on her part.
They’d had to wait almost forty years
, she thought with some pride. Nobody had thought she’d last forty days.

Pierre took her arm and roughly led her into the room. The walk toward the desk seemed to extend for miles, and Kelly wondered if this was how people felt approaching the guillotine. The Master was behind the desk, writing on some papers. He appeared a distinguished man with black hair and elegant tanned fingers, but Kelly saw beyond the illusion he projected. An involuntary shiver ran through her. This was how vampires really looked. This was how she would have looked if she’d lived long enough for the transition to be complete.

Behind the façade of aristocratic wealth lurked something that no longer appeared human. The Master’s skin was bluish–grey and stretched tight over bone and lean sinew. Long yellow nails tipped fingers with extra joints. The Master’s eyes were solid white as they glanced up from the paperwork on the desk. Kelly hid a shudder of revulsion and willed herself to only see the illusion.

No one ever saw this when they were being considered for the change. No one. It was all about immortality, enhanced strength, the opportunity to be a valued part of a rich and powerful family. The convoluted politics, backbiting and constant jockeying for position and favor, the ever–looming threat of death by a member of your own family — no one discussed those things with Candidates. And no one ever discussed
this
. A hideous appearance, the eventual inability to tolerate the day, the growing loss of interest in any food beyond blood — all those facts were carefully hidden from the humans so eager to trade their lives away.

Would she have done it if she’d known? Probably. It’s not like her human life had held any kind of future for her. She’d be long dead by now, forgotten in some unmarked grave
. There are never any good choices, just hard decisions,
she thought.

Pierre yanked her arm, sending sharp pain through her shoulder, and she obligingly picked up the pace. As much as she longed to spout off a snarky quip, cover her fear with sarcastic commentary, Kelly kept her mouth shut. Temper, pride, and greed were enough; she wasn’t about to add stupidity to her list of faults. She might be facing death, but if there was a slim chance she could get out of this room alive, she’d take it. Screw her pride. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d humiliated herself to survive, and with any luck it wouldn’t be the last.

There was another vampire half sitting on the front edge of the desk with his foot dangling casually. Only one vampire would ever be allowed such familiarity. This was the Master’s son, referred to as the Prince. His real name was Kyle Fournier. Not that anyone would ever address him by this name. He was ‘Born’ not ‘Made’, and that created a huge divide between him and all but the oldest of vampires.

The Prince was Born from a line that could trace their status to the beginning of the species. He, as well as the Master, was a
true
vampire. The rest of them, no matter how old or how valuable their service, would never measure up. Kelly had no delusions of leniency from that quarter. Still, she looked at him, trying to remain subdued and respectful as she checked him out. It wasn’t every day you got to see a god. This would probably be the last time she’d see him, even if she lived through the morning.

The Prince was still was young enough to appear human without the need for an illusion. He looked to be about late twenties in human years, although Kelly remembered hearing he was just over three hundred. He had the dark hair of his father’s illusion, cut fashionably short and gelled into a disheveled state. Faint stubble darkened the edge of his jaw, casting his cheekbones into relief. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but long dark lashes brushed the cheekbones. His mouth turned up at the corner, and she couldn’t quite tell if he was smiling, or if the upturned edges were just the normal position of his mouth. It made him look oddly approachable, as if he found everything in life rather amusing. Of course, with the circumstances of his birth, everything in life probably was amusing.

Her eyes traveled down his frame, and she felt a twinge of annoyance with herself as she admired him. He was muscular without being overly bulky. His light grey suit screamed money. Even the dark socks and the shiny, black patent shoes announced his privileged state. He was good looking, and his aura flowed out like someone ten times his age. He wasn’t human, and neither was she anymore. She needed to remember that fact. It was one thing to appreciate his human–looking physical form, but she should never forget what lay inside. These vampires held her life in their powerful hands, and contrary to myth, sex had never had the power to sway a vampire. Confirming her thoughts, the Fournier Prince glanced up at her, his cold, gray eyes holding nothing but boredom.

Neither the Master nor his son said a word as she approached. The Prince returned to contemplating the end of his shoe, and Kelly couldn’t help her eyes from tracking there also. It was a nice wingtip, but it didn’t appear worthy of such attention. Now, if the Prince had been sporting a pair of bright red suede Zanottis or rhinestone encrusted Lorenzi platform pumps that would have been a different story. Those would be worth more than a casual look.

All too soon Kelly stood before the desk, awaiting The Master’s attention. Pierre did the same. Only the Prince remained relaxed, slouched half on the desk edge. Silence filled the room, broken by the occasional scratching of the Master’s pen and the noise of silk on silk as Kyle swung his dangling foot.

It seemed like hours, but probably only ten minutes had passed before The Master stacked his papers and set aside his pen to look up at her.

“Kelly Demir,” The Master said in a tone of mild interest. “An unusual name. Irish with a Persian surname?”

Any question from The Master demanded answer.

“Yes, my Master. My mother was Irish and my father Turkish.” She thought so anyway. Her name had originally been Elizabeth, and she’d quickly changed it after becoming Chosen. Her chest tightened at the memory. Elizabeth was someone she’d been happy to leave behind.

“And you were born a human in England? Eighteen fifteen, or thereabouts?”

“Yes, my Master.” Thereabouts was closer to the truth.

“You are quite young to be managing the casino,” the Master stated blandly, as if announcing it was raining outside. His sentence was not in the form of a question, so Kelly remained silent.

“Your service and behavior have been exemplary until last night. A few missteps here and there, but that’s to be expected with a newly made vampire, especially one so young.” He exchanged a quick glance with his son.

“Kelly, do you know why we provide the utmost in hospitality to the demons? Why we uncomplainingly clean up the messes they leave behind?”

“Because their alliance is crucial to our survival,” Kelly replied calmly. She was proud that her voice did not waver at all. “Because one day the angels or the elves or the humans will move against us and we will need these allies to ensure the future of our species.”

The Master looked at her with his milk–white eyes, breaking through the illusion. It was like being burned, being seared by a branding iron. “Do you believe this, Kelly?” he asked softly.

No, she did not. The angel assigned to negotiate and act as an emissary to them had always been reasonable and pleasant. There hadn’t been an elf in this realm in millions of years. The humans were numerous, but they were also stupid and blind to the existence of vampires. Plus they were
food
, for crying out loud. Since when was food a menace? Where was this mysterious threat that meant they had to risk their assets by playing doormats to a bunch of boorish demons? It would have been more beneficial to sic one of the angels on the demons and sweep the place clean. God, she hated demons. They were far worse than the angels or non–existent elves could ever be.