The Anatomy of Vampires: Volume 1 (4 page)

A dying Vampire can prove most lethal, for they are the most desperate for blood during the painful moments when they are dying, in order to diminish the pain.

The Effects of Blood

“The blood is their life. Fear not the thirsty Vampire, for they are the closest to death when they are starving….”

~ Lord Vladislov of the Regime

You’d think the first Vampire to feed on me would have been my wife. However sadly, that is not the case. You may be wondering why I consider this a sad thing. I learned very quickly the effects of mortal blood on a Vampire’s system are more than just sustenance. More than just food and survival. The effects of blood deal many a vital thing to the Vampire kind. I’ll explain in the following passages, but bear with me. These admissions get a little…personal.

It was weeks after I’d left my town. My home. My…family. I’d recently encountered the cursed man on the train and seen countless others dash through the shadows. I was not yet weary of my search. In fact, the more I sought, the more I found. Clues began to pop up in odd places—things I was reading—people I’d observed.

I imagine part of the reason why Vladislov, the magical lord ruling over all of the Occult society, probably didn’t think too highly of the Vampires, was because they did not do well with adhering to
Law One
. The more I paid attention, the more
humans
I came across who knew the secret—they had encountered an Occult creature in one form or another. One woman I’d met went to see a Witch regularly for alternative sorts of medication for her ailing son. Another gentleman, and I use the term loosely, I stumbled upon one night in a tavern, leaned in close to me and revealed his knowledge about a nearby brothel.

“The best lovin’ a man ever did get, I tell you what.” He took a swig from his flask. His breath reeked, and I had to force myself not to be sick. I discreetly tried to shield my nose, pulling my handkerchief from my breast pocket and nodded with the graphic details of his stories. But there was something else slightly off about this man—more than just being a simple drunk. He was frailer than he ought to have been. His skin was sallow. There was barely any light left in his eyes. What was most odd, was the strange, red scar wrapped around his neck and one side of his face in enflamed tendrils. The center of said scar almost looked to be in the shape of a
bite
.

In the beginning, I wasn’t at all interested in what he had to say. I’d only stopped in to the tavern for a tonic to ease my nerves on this particular evening, when I was experiencing a rather large amount of anxiety. I couldn’t stop worrying about my wife and what had become of her. And what would become of me, and the rest of my life. But as this good-for-nothing spoke on and on regarding this mysterious massage parlor at the edge of town, something he added struck me most of all.

“Most gorgeous women ya ever seen. Been going there for near ’bout forty years, since I was a lad!” He chortled and elbowed me in the ribs. “These ladies stay young forever,” he whispered, leaning in close to me again. “It’s something in the wine.” The deep red color of the tavern walls did something to sink me deeper into his story.

“Forty years, you say?” I wouldn’t just walk into some shady bordello without being completely sure about my reasoning for doing so. But then again…

“Near my whole life, and that’s a fact!” He swung his canister dramatically through the air above his head, nearly falling off his barstool, and spilling a few drops to the floorboards.

“Interesting,” I rubbed my chin, pondering carefully about whether to trust an old, crusty tippler. “Ever come out of there feeling, well, less than standard?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

His only furrowed at me. “Whatdyamean?”

“Uh, never mind,” I said quickly, slapping down my pay atop the bar under the stained glass lamps and jetting for the front door with my satchel swung across my body. If I wanted to make it to the edge of town, to the docks by dawn, I would need to be prompt about it. And at any rate, I didn’t want to ask too many questions. I didn’t want knowledge of my rare and off-color studies to creep into the wrong ears.

I shoved my way out of the tavern and into the frosty night. It was getting to be around winter time, if I recall correctly. The first of the year’s frost was beginning to lace the ground in patterns of glittering white. I damn near ran through the streets, every now and again glancing at my watch to make sure I wasn’t already too late. If I could find this place easily, I’d have a few good hours on my side. It might have been more than I needed. Mae’s Massage Parlor wasn’t exactly a well-kept secret. Once I reached the docks, I could hear hoots and hollers and follow the smell of whisky and the groupings of sailors. Small, rusted fishing boats rocked and bumped against the concrete. I could just barely see the dozens of them from behind the varying stacks of wooden barrels and crates. It was a windy night, so the black waters were restless. The area smelled of fish guts and gin, and I knew immediately I’d found the place.

The building, painted a vibrant red, stood out from between the dull ones, where it had been sandwiched. A crooked wooden sign hanging from the eves confirmed the name of the establishment. Pallid-skinned girls with eyes bright as the moon leaned against the Victorian façade, chatting up potential patrons. There was one in particular, casually brushing off two blokes who had clearly run out of cash. Like I had expected, her beauty was incapacitating. Her curled black hair was knotted at the top of her head, with only one gentle strand falling past her smooth shoulders and over her chest where one tiny freckle seemed to twinkle at me just above her left breast. Upon closer inspection, it was not a freckle at all, but rather a small piercing. A diamond? Her lips were full and the matched the scarlet color of the building’s walls. Her eyes flashed the same devilish and unnatural blue my wife’s did. I could see why this cathouse in particular was so popular. The women were all breathtaking. Devastating. A look alone could lay you out flat on the pavement.

The woman must have sensed I was there for a different reason than these other men, for when she cast her glare upon me, it was violent and mistrusting. Her black eyebrow arched in a mountainous point at me.

My breath hitched and I instantly feared she might fetch her superior—whoever it was who ran this gruesome establishment. Distantly, I wondered if they’d killed any of their clients. But instead, she only pouted and pushed between the gaggle of men to come stomping toward me in her six-inch scarlet pumps.

“You!” She howled. “What do you want?” She stopped only breaths before my face and jabbed a talon into my sternum. “You better leave,” she whispered haughtily. “We don’t have what
you’re
looking for.” Her face, though lovely, was slightly rounder than the gaunt angles of the other Vampires I’d seen. The suppleness of her cheeks and the length of her eyelashes did something to lessen the impact of how intimidating she was trying to be.

I blinked at her and shook my head. “I’m sure I do not know what you are referring to, miss.”

“Answers!” She barked. “I’ve met others like you, before. I know why you’re here. So many of you come seeking answers to your silly questions, but I am telling you to turn around now! Curiosity killed the cat, and, my friend, you’re playing in a den of wolves.”

“Please,” I begged her, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my silver money clip. “I don’t expect you to talk for free.”

Abruptly, a playful grin replaced the wicked grimace on her face, and she giggled. “Love, it’s rare I do
anything
for free.” She eyed me suggestively.

“Quite a business you’ve got going on, here. Tell me. Do you get all the men drunk first, or are they too drained by the time they leave here to remember anything, anyway?”

Her pout came back in an instant. “Fine. Have it your way. I will bring you to Mae, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Those humans who pry around the secrets of the darkness wind up dead.
Always
.”

She gripped my hand and, before I knew it, she was pulling me deliberately through the crowd, over the threshold, and into a great room filled with even more people.

It looked like a typical bordello. They did little to hide it, and something told me even the authorities liked to frequent this spot. The floors were checkered white and black, the walls painted ruby but with golden scrollwork that must have cost a fortune. In some previous life, these women had been gypsies from a far land. It lingered in their more exotic features and their interior decorating. She worked to part the crowd, turning and shouting over her shoulder, “I’m Cordelia, by the way!”

“A pleasure!” I responded over the noise. Men clamored around the women in large clusters, vying for even a scrap of attention. Their boisterous conversation and chortling was enough to drive me deaf.

“Thought I’d introduce myself in case ya ever wanted to come back! You can ask for me by name!”

I knew what she meant, and felt my face heat several degrees hotter. I glanced up at the chandelier made of dangling gold coins and wondered what sort of currency they were made from and nearly choked on the overpowering clouds of cigar smoke and the spicy smell of ale I didn’t recognize.

“But how can you have this establishment? What of
Law One
?” I asked.

She whirled around and sent the heel of her hand sailing across my face. “One mustn’t speak of those things so loudly,” she growled close to my face. She glanced around for eavesdroppers. “First, it is none of your business. And second….” Somehow, she figured out a way to lean even closer to my lips. “We have a special deal worked out with the Regime. Our immunity for information.”

“So you are
spies
?” I gasped.

She lifted her hand again in warning. I winced and nodded, indicating I had ended my questioning.

We trudged up an ailing wooden staircase. It creaked under mostly my footsteps before we reached the second floor. I blushed with the sounds of lovemaking penetrating the paper-thin walls. Cordelia glanced at me over her shoulder again, and I could swear she was giggling.

Finally, at the end of the hall, she opened a wooden door and pushed her way through a beaded curtain into an opulent room, which reminded me of the harems of India. Massive, jewel-toned cushions and rugs littered the floor, nearly covering the tiles completely. The ceilings were draped with low-hanging, sheer curtains of varying colors and more glimmering stones and coins. Had I found the treasure I’d been seeking?

Cordelia threw me forward so abruptly, I nearly stumbled to my knees at the center of the room. There sat the cursed woman whom I could only presume was Mae. She was smoking something—a contraption I’d only heard about in stories of the East. Large and silver, it created various shapes in the puffs of smoke she blew into the air through a pipe, long and thin. This woman was somehow more striking even than the rest. There was something about her gravelly skin which maintained its former life’s color, a bronze hue under the startling gray. Similar to Cordelia, she had jet-black hair, though hers was straight and fell all the way to the floor into a puddle around her folded legs.

“Miss Mae,” Cordelia bowed her head. “This man wishes to speak with you.”

My eyes widened at Mae. Her gaze narrowed, the corners of the mouth quirking up as she blew another perfect smoke heart toward the elaborate ceilings. She did not utter a word, but merely sat very coolly and stared. I felt like a rat in a snake’s den.

“H-hello,” I began earnestly with my hands folded in front of me, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

She eyed me with the possible intention of striking, like a cobra would, and I knew it would be just as quick and frightening. A heavy silence hung amidst all the fabric and I knew my life could have ended in the time it would take me to blink even once.

“Evening,” she finally spoke, a curious edge to her voice. Without another word, she gestured with her tapered, painted claws to one of the cushions before her, inviting me to sit. She nodded once toward the first Vampire. I didn’t hear her leave, but I didn’t have to turn around to know she was gone, either.

I kept my attention locked on the treacherous woman. I sat in front of her, my knees shaking awkwardly as a doe’s before my bum reached the cushion. “If you’re planning to eat me, may I request you do it quickly without humoring my notion of coming here for an interview?” I said, point blank. This wasn’t the first time I had looked death in the face, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Her laughter was soprano and musical. “Oh, dear, I am not going to eat you.” Her dialect was Indian and only added to her exotic allure.

“All right,” I nodded and pulled my pen out from the breast pocket of my overcoat. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, then?” I reached for my briefcase, but she leaned forward and placed her icy palm atop my hand, stopping me.

We locked eyes once more, and I saw the heat living within hers. She seemed ancient and worldly, as though she were hundreds of years old. In the way she moved and in that little smile of hers, I was sure was hiding something.

“Mae isn’t your real name.” It wasn’t important. I don’t know what made me say it.

She giggled again. “No. I’ve changed my name many times.”

Her intrigue was, dare I say, sexy. Her hand remained on mine, and the breath stilled in my lungs. I wanted to lean in closer, but this was what it was—part of what made her kind so lethal. Naturally designed to lure in mortals, to kill them swiftly.

“What is it you wish to ask me, dear sir?” Her eyelashes were long and black, like raven feathers cradling the periwinkles of her irises. I’m sure they were soft also, and I imagined them trailing across my cheek.

“B-blood,” I stammered like an idiot. “I wanted to ask you about the blood.”

She was intrigued. I could see it in the subtlest quirk of her eyebrow. “What about it?”