Suck It Up (25 page)

40

Bloodlust

Across the street, DeThanatos's face lifted into a smile as he watched Morning silently rise from the chair. Then he watched the vampire leap for Portia. His first attempt to sink his fangs missed, and the screaming and the struggle began.

DeThanatos shook his head with a low chuckle. The first swill and kill was always a clumsy affair. It took dozens of victims before a vampire perfected the three Ps: “pounce, pierce, and pacify.”

Morning was still working on his pounce. The two figures, locked in a dance of flailing arms and kicking legs, stumbled into the street. They spun, tripped, hit the ground, and broke apart in a cloud of dust. Portia yanked up her dress, jumped to her feet, and tried to run. Morning leaped after her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her toward him. She slammed her free arm against his chest, trying to fight off his embrace.

DeThanatos heard the rip of fabric and saw the flap of cloth drop like a lolling tongue from Morning's jacket. Something ejected from it, as if the fabric tongue had spit out an unwanted candy. Then the object was lost in the shuffle of feet.

Morning shoved Portia against a hitching rail, caught her swatting arms, and pinned her against the crosspiece. She leaned back, trying to shift her weight and knee him in the crotch. But he was too quick. He plunged his fangs into her neck.

Her scream parted DeThanatos's lips, revealing his fangs. They dug into his lower lip, drawing beads of blood. DeThanatos never liked to watch. But seeing Morning drink the poison that would kill the Leaguer cause was worth the exception.

For Morning, it was more than drinking. More than pulling a warm liquid in and swallowing. It was swimming through a slipstream of sensation. There was the touch of fluid velvet caressing his lips, mouth, and throat. There was the sound of her blood coursing into him like a swollen river, and the double thud of her heart concussing like unseen fireworks.

Of all the sensations, nothing compared to the taste. It was spiced with euphoric flavors—chocolate, berries, cinnamon, caramel. They exploded on his tongue and swirled through his head. But the strongest flavor was one he'd long forgotten. It detonated in his mouth and shot tremors through his body. There was no describing it, only its effect. It shook his bones with excitement. It flooded him with hope. It pitched him into the confluence where blood and dream become one. It was the ultimate reward of bloodlust. A plunge into the river of delirious youth.

As he cavorted in the forbidden well and swilled the essence of mortal beings, an image intruded. Portia's face loomed in front of him. In his mind, he turned away, but wherever he turned her image waited, fixing him with dark eyes. Then there was a flash of white; he felt her stinging slap on his cheek. It was so real his eyes flew open and he yanked his fangs out of her neck.

He immediately realized it was just a vision, another memory returning from the desert. Portia's real face was right in front of him. Her eyes were unfocused, limpid, her skin pale and iridescent in the moonlight. He skimmed down the white road of her neck and found the double wound. All he wanted was to leap back into the river, to plunge his cooling fangs back into the hot lava still coursing through her.

She moaned. Her foot jerked like a dreaming dog's. It kicked something in the dust. The object slid into Morning's view. He thought nothing of it, and bent toward her neck.

But as his fangs sought her wound, the object caught his eye again. He froze. It looked familiar. He tilted his head quizzically. Then came the slap of recognition. The wafer of wood—the Maltese cross—the good-luck charm Sister had found in his room and tucked in his pocket.

He tried to look away and dive back into the wound. But the cross stared up at him like a four-pronged eye: a silent accuser.

Then everything slowed. A drop of blood fell away from his lips. He watched it tumble down. It hit the wafer of wood, leaving a crimson splatter on the blue cross.

The jarring combination paralyzed him. His memory was not so easily stilled. Images loomed into view. The cover of
Watchmen
: the arrow of blood on the eye of a smile button. The first panel: the yellow smile button, the sign of the first murdered masked hero—the Comedian.

He blinked in shock. The smile button was gone, replaced by the blood-spattered cross in the dust.

He struggled to clear his mind, but a new wave of images crashed through him: firefighters crawling over the jagged ruins at Ground Zero—the North Tower collapsing in a devouring gray spider of dust—the ashen web of his body crumbling in the desert—the flash of a vampire's fangs coming at him—the old fireman beckoning him to the fire table—Portia's fist squeezing out a stream of blood—the blood plunging toward a pile of ash—blood spilling over the Maltese cross.

With eyes shut tight, he violently shook his head, trying to free himself from the chaos. He yearned to open his eyes and discover everything had been a nightmare. He opened them and saw the spackle of blood across Portia's neck. And the wound. It was no nightmare. He had succumbed. Her eyes were more limpid and lifeless than before. He held a finger to her neck. She had a pulse. Faint, but she was still alive.

He scooped her up, carried her back to the boardwalk. He set her down in the chair and dashed inside. He had to find Birnam.

Across the street, DeThanatos watched the flapping saloon door with burning disdain. Then his gray eyes shifted to Portia. “I hate leftovers.”

41

Negotiation

Having set off the sprinklers again, Morning dashed through the fog of dust. As he jumped onto the stage, he heard the stone door opening.

A moment later, Birnam came out and saw the blood and dust caked on Morning's mouth. Penny emerged behind him. Seeing Morning, she gasped and pushed past him.

He tried to stop her. “Please, don't—”

“Let her go,” Birnam ordered.

Morning released her arm. Penny rushed down to the saloon floor. As she frantically searched for her daughter in the swirling haze, Birnam raised an arm and stretched his fingers toward her. She jerked to a stop next to a table, her arms fell to her sides. Her eyes stared blankly ahead.

Morning gaped in amazement.

Birnam lowered his arm. “Close her eyes so they don't fill with dust.” Morning sleeve-wiped his mouth, moved down to Penny, and did as he was told. Birnam walked to the edge of the stage. “Some Leaguers retain the old powers,” he explained. Morning felt his condemning eyes. “And some Leaguers can't restrain the old desires.”

“I know,” he blurted, “but she's still alive! We have to save her!”

“Where is she?”

He rushed toward the door. Birnam followed.

Morning escaped the cloud of dust billowing onto the boardwalk. He stared at the chair. Empty. “She's gone!”

Birnam scanned the street. The bright moon hung high in the sky. “Why did you two leave the mountain?”

“I followed her,” Morning tried to explain, unable to hide the panic in his voice. “She was planning to meet the Loner. His name is DeThanatos.”

Birnam stiffened, then let out a sigh of resignation. “Ikor DeThanatos. I should have known.”

“You know him?”

As Birnam stared into the middle distance, his face pinched with concern. “We've never met. He's the only Loner who refused to sign the peace agreement at the end of World War V.”

“I don't care what he did or didn't sign. He's got Portia!”

“Yes.” Birnam nodded. “Which means she's still alive.”

Morning sucked in air and hope. “Really?”

“Loners are predictable that way. Empties get left where they lie. Unfinished vessels get saved for later.”

         

A pickup truck followed a two-lane highway snaking through low mountains.

DeThanatos steered the pickup he'd stolen from one of the partygoers who had returned to Leaguer Mountain. He still wore his ragged cowboy gear. Portia, pale as ash and held up by a seat belt, jostled in the passenger seat.

Her eyes fluttered open. She tried to turn her head, but she didn't have the strength. Her neck throbbed from the wound, now surrounded by an ugly bruise. In her semi-conscious state, all she could make out was the pool of headlights and the road sliding through it. Her mouth was parched, her lips felt cracked. “Where am I?” she rasped.

“In a safe place.”

She recognized the young man's voice. “What happened?”

“Morning tried to kill you.”

The memory flooded back. She exhaled sharply. She felt like someone had punched her in the chest.

DeThanatos gave her a moment to recover. “That's the secret I wanted to tell you. In the end, Leaguers are no different than Loners. But Morning did a pretty good job of proving that.”

More of the night came back to her. “And you're a Loner.”

“Yes, I don't live a lie.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He chuckled. “No, I'm trying to protect you.”

“From whom?”

“From Morning, Birnam, and any Leaguer who wants to cover up Morning's little deviation from the grand plan.”

Portia winced with pain and confusion. “Why would they want me dead?”

“You just became the proof that the great Morning McCobb isn't who he says he is. That the Leaguer Way is a farce. And that a ‘harmless vampire' is the most creative lie since ‘wardrobe malfunction.'”

After Morning's attack she couldn't disagree. And DeThanatos was protecting her. At least for now. “Where are we going?”

“To a sacred place. To a place that if they send Morning or anyone else after you, we can destroy them.”

She braced herself against the pain and turned her face enough to see him. “You want me to kill Morning?”

“You may not have a choice.” He lifted a bottle off the seat, used his mouth to break the seal on the top, and put it in her hand. “Drink it. It'll help you regain your strength.”

In the dim glow of the cab she recognized the label of an energy drink. She couldn't get the lid off fast enough.

         

Morning ran down the moonlit street. He shut his eyes and blocked out all sensation as he laser-focused on a great horned owl.

He felt a sharp jerk and almost fell backward as a force yanked him to a stop. He spun around. Birnam stood in the middle of the street, twenty yards away, one arm raised. As Birnam lowered his arm, Morning struggled to move but couldn't budge. He felt like he was wedged in a fissure of invisible stone. His eyes blinked. At least he wasn't as immobile as Penny. He still had vision and voice. “Let me go!”

Birnam ambled toward him. “No.”

“He's going to kill her!”

“You should have thought of that before you left her outside for the taking.” Birnam stopped in front of him.

“Please,” Morning pleaded. “I have to try and save her.”

“I'm afraid not. It's a trap to destroy you.”

“I don't care about me!”

“I do.” Birnam's brows slid upward. “And you've already fallen for one trap by coming outside.”

“You told me to keep an eye on Portia!” he protested. “That's why I followed her!”

“Yes.” Birnam's voice was calm, matter of fact. “You also followed your jealousy. That's what DeThanatos wanted. Then he stood by and watched you surrender to the trilogy of bloodlust: envy, vengeance, and a long drink from the forbidden well.”

Morning stared fiercely back. “You sound like you knew this would happen.”

“I had my worries.”

“Then why weren't you watching me? You could have stopped it!”

Birnam nodded. “Yes, I could have. But I was watching the launch of IVLeague.us.” A smile prowled across his lips. “The commercial was brilliant. Within five minutes the website got millions of hits.”

“I don't give a rip about your stupid website!”

Birnam's smile vanished. “And I can't watch every Leaguer all the time. Especially after Worldwide Out Day.”

Morning stared in stunned disbelief. “You can't go through with it, not after what happened.”

“Just because you failed doesn't mean everyone else will.”

“But you said I was the guinea pig, I was going into uncharted territory!” His voice cracked with emotion. “I just showed you where the path out of the dark wood leads. Right back into it!”

Birnam's eyes were as cold and hard as diamonds. “Nothing will stop our march out of the
selva obscura.
Not even a little stumble by our first ambassador.”

“A stumble? I almost killed her!” Morning raged.

“Okay,” Birnam conceded. “Let's call it a colossal blunder.”

Morning tried to thrust an arm toward the saloon, but it remained welded to his side. “You can't hide it from Penny!”

“Yes, I can.”

“How? By having a Leaguer Rescue Squad make her disappear like they did with me at the house where the couple got murdered?”

“The old powers are more subtle than that.”

Morning erupted in a scornful laugh. “Oh, so you'll kiss her like Superman kissed Lois Lane, and she'll forget she ever had a daughter, or had anything to do with me?”

“You're getting warmer.”

Morning seethed with revulsion. He wanted to spit in Birnam's face. He wasn't the war hero from the Leaguer history books, or the great reformer he pretended to be. He was a dictator who would squash anyone who got in his way. “And what about me?” he demanded.

Birnam held him with a sardonic smile. “I don't plan on kissing you, if that's what you mean.”

The crevasse of stone Morning felt trapped in squeezed tighter. “You can't risk your vampire poster boy turning Worldwide Out Day into Worldwide Truth Day, so you have to destroy me. Isn't that right?” Birnam's icy stare was the only answer he needed. Then a crazy thought came to him. His destruction was worth something; he could barter with it. “Fine,” he declared. “After what I've done, I deserve whatever end you're planning. But if you're so sure DeThanatos will destroy me, then let him do the job. Let me try and save her.”

Birnam's head pulled back, like a startled turtle's. “Intriguing idea. But what if you survive?”

“Then I won't blow the whistle. I'll pretend I'm still the bloodlust virgin everyone wants me to be.” He didn't blink or break from Birnam's intense gaze. “For you and your cause it's a win-win. I die and become the Leaguers' first martyr, or I live and you get your poster boy back.”

Birnam stepped back and raised an arm.

Morning shut his eyes and braced for whatever was coming.

Flicking his fingers, Birnam released the binding thrall.

As the invisible shackles fell away, Morning's lungs filled with air.

“You'll find DeThanatos in the Mother Forest,” Birnam said.

“Why there?”

“It's the Loners' favorite picnic ground. And the best place for a vampire to die.”

Morning gazed at Birnam for a last second. He wanted to thank him and curse him. But there was no time for either. He turned and raced down the dusty street.

A moment later, Birnam watched Morning's tuxedo drop to the ground. A great horned owl rose toward the moon.

When Birnam stepped back onto the boardwalk, he felt older than his seven hundred and eighty-three years. Emancipating the world from its fear of vampires was a grueling mission. Especially when it required brushing a few things under the rug.

Inside, he joined Penny, still standing next to a table like a dust-covered statue. He pulled out a handkerchief and cleaned off two chairs. Pushing one behind her, he thralled her into it, then slid her to the table. He sat in the other chair and gently brushed the dust off her face. He answered her blank expression with a bittersweet smile. “When the children spread their wings and leave the nest, all we can do is wait, and hope for their return.”

He swept a sleeve across the table, pulled out a deck of cards, and began a game of solitaire.