Strange City Read online

  Virgil nodded, "Can ( get you something to drink? I keep some wine down here for my infrequent . . -guests."

  "No, thanks." She sat on the edge of the mattress and looked up at him. "London died in [9I6. The Scarlet hellers was published in I955. But you can't be any older than thirty-five or so. How can that be? How can you walk—when I can't feel any pulse of life inside you?"

  He had turned away from her so that she was addressing his back. "Corrinda, you are not the only one who writes from personal experience." His words came haltingly, as if it pained him even to say them out loud. "You must understand that those poems describe my life—if what I wake to each evening can be called a life." He whirled on his heel toward her once more, hands outstretched as if imploring her to believe htm, and she shrank back on the bed reflexively.

  "There are those who live only by night. I don't just mean thieves and gang-bangers. There are things most people don't believe in - things they laugh at, because their laughter conceals the Fear they feel in their hearts."

  "So the Kindred—the vampires you wrote about in the Letters—they do exist " She shook her head in wonder, "Have you . . . been here . , . since the Roman Empire?"

  He couldn't hold back a self-mocking chuckle. "No, I am not the Virgil of the tenad. I had another name once, but I haven't used it in decades. I was born in Sicily in ... well, the year wasn't in this century; let's leave it at that, I traveled across the States and wound up in San Francisco. I became a correspondent, send­ing stories to various European newspapers."

  "How did you get like this?"

  He stood by one of the photographs, running his fin­gers over the smooth glass. "In I9I4 the Old Gringo, Ambrose Bierce, decided he wanted to cover the Mexican Revolution. The cynical bastard joined Pancho Villa's band. He didn't know what he was getting into. He was Embraced by a south-of-the-border Cainite—he never knew his Sire It seems fitting that the author of The Devil's Dictionary was transformed into one of the Damned.

  "He made his way back to San Francisco, the only home he had ever known We knew each other from our newspaper days in the I890s. He found me and made me one of his Progeny." Virgil rapped his knuck­les against the grainy black-and-white image of a seated man with salt-and-pepper sideburns and mus­tache. The man's expression indicated he didn't think much of sitting still for the camera

  "Bierce was as bitter in death as he was in life. He said, All of life is a rehearsal for death and I must have made a poor understudy, for I have died, and yet here I walk,' It wasn't for long, though. He just couldn't help making enemies. He enraged one of his own Brood, who slew him some sixty years ago."

  "This is incredible" Corrinda had absently knotted the fingers of her free hand in the bedsheets "You're telling me some of the most famous people in America have become vampires?"

  Virgil arched one of his eyebrows, "I'm only giving you a hint of the truth. I don't know it all myself. I try to stay out of Clan maneuvering. I don't want to run afoul of Prince Vannevar and his politics. I once got myself in enough trouble, over this." He tapped the little book Corrinda still held.

  "What happened?"

  "[ am of the Kindred Clan Toreadors. We are . . . drawn to the aesthetic arts. I have always watched over Bay Area writers and poets During the '50s, I began keeping company with some writers who were determined to express themselves in innovative styles no one had used before. Lawrence Ferlinghetti, lack Kerouac. Gary Snyder. They resisted what authority told them- They experimented, both with their bodies and their minds. They held readings that captivated me as nothing I had ever heard before. I spent time with them, spoke with them, read their work—never revealing my true nature, of course.

  "They inspired me I had written poems and stories before, but only for my own amusement. But I decided I wanted to capture the essence of what I had become. I wanted to portray both the wonder and the grotesqueness of the Masquerade—immortals doomed to feed off others to satisfy the cravings burning inside. I wrote them in the form of a series of letters to a mortal. I had the poems published private­ly and distributed in bookstores around town. I couldn't see them purchased during the day, but I understand they were quite popular at the time." He looked at Corrinda's book as if he couldn't quite believe he had produced such a thing

  But of course, I had gone too far I had broken the facade of the Masquerade. The Prince was outraged. and nearly called a Lextalionis—a Blood Hunt—upon me for making public secrets of the Kindred Crawling on my belly, I swore that no human would ever take my poems as truth. ] had to promise to retrieve and destroy all copies of The Scarlet Letters I've been track­ing them down for three decades. . . - Yours must be one of the few remaining."

  Tears glinted in the corners of Corrinda's eyes. Tm only human . , , but I know what you feel. Your poems are too lovely to destroy. They described exactly what I felt when I wanted to ... damn it, kill my fuckin' stepfather!" She reached out suddenly and grabbed Virgil's sweater. "Please! Make me one of you! Take me too! Embrace me—do whatever it takes .. ."

  With an animalistic growl he stepped back, freeing himself. "No!" he snapped. "You don't know what you're asking! Only now is Vannevar close to forgiving me. He's even attending a party here tonight."

  She slid from the bed to her knees on the floor. "I do. I understand .. ."

  "Fool! If you had the slightest notion what it is like to stalk your own kind, feed off their blood, you would run screaming from me! I've only told you as much as I have because I need your book and I owe you an explanation for what I'm about to do. I'm going to . , , touch your mind. It won't hurt you. You'll forget we ever spoke, and you'll forget you ever read a book called The Scarlet Letters. You can go back home and—"

  It was her turn to shout defiantly. "No! I don't have a home anymore! My mom left us three months ago. Last weekend my stepfather came into my room in the middle of the night He was walking in a cloud of sweat and smoke and beer. He ... slipped into bed with me. He said ... it wouldn't be wrong because we weren't really related. When he touched me, I caught a warning from him. He was going to rape me until he tired of me, then he was going to kill me. I pushed him away, and he slapped me, hard."

  She gestured at the bruise under her eye. "I shoved him again, and he fell back, smacking his head on my nightstand. While he was unconscious, I grabbed his money and whatever I couid stuff in my pockets. I ran into town and waited until I could hop the bus.'

  "Surely you have some other family to turn to—"

  "There's nobody! I picked San Francisco because I knew there were poetry readings here, and I wanted to share what I had written with other people. But now I don't know what I'm going to do. I can only sleep in the bus terminal and wash up in the public restroom so long. There's no way I'm gonna turn tricks for some crack-freak pimp," Her words were distorted, catching in her throat "I could wait on tables, but where am I going to live? I mean .I'd be better off jumping from the goddamned Golden Gate Bridge!'

  Virgil scowled. "What a typically adolescent thing to say."

  "Please " She dropped the book and folded her hands. I caught something else from youh when we touched. I know why you left home—why you traveled to America."

  "Stop it!" He almost seemed frightened of the girl at his feet. "You're not to speak of—"

  You were beaten, too, weren't you?" She brought her hands to her neck. "See, we're two of a kind. We understand each other." She undid the top three but­tons of her blouse. "Here. I won't cry. S won't back out. Write me into your lines. Make me part of your poem. I want you to. Put your teeth in me. Kilt me." She arched her head back, waiting for the strike.

  His lips were pulled back. His incisors had descend­ed instinctively, involuntarily. His hands came toward her as if rising through tar. Then he spun away, tearing himself from the sight of her pale, exposed flesh. "I can't! It's forbidden! ]f I Embraced you, Prince Vannevar would have me staked for the dawn!"

  "Fine." She sprang to her feet and bolted toward the table. "There'
s nothing left for me anymore." She grasped one of the wine bottles by the neck and smashed it against the edge of the table. The crys­talline shatter shredded their eardrums. "If you won't take me, I'll do it myself."

  "Stupid bitch!" Virgil cried, starting for the table, but even with his preternatural celerity she was too quick for him. She brought the jagged point of turquoise glass up underneath her jaw and jabbed—

  Both of them were screaming. Their positions from just a few minutes ago were reversed: Corrinda was now wavering on her feet; Virgil was on his knees, his arms outspread, looking up at her in shock. The sight of blood gently pulsing from her neck brought the Beast close to the surface. He felt himself hovering at the edge, a fraction of an inch from lunging at the thick red wash flowing down her shoulder.

  "I love you ... for helping me read tonight," she managed to say. "I want to ... give you part of me - - ."

  Eyes blinking rapidly, she walked behind the table and slumped against the wall. She bent forward from the shoulders and cupped her left hand between her small breasts. A warm, rich flow coursed down her neck, spilled down her chest, and pooled in her palm. She brought up her right hand and dipped her forefinger in the deepening well. She then put her finger to the wall and began to write—her finger the pen, her blood the ink, a poem her message.

  If I die, let it be with you.

  The words were not as beautiful as she wanted them to be. Some of the letters ran, and some were difficult to make out She had a hard time keeping on a horizontal line, and the words near the end of the line began to slope downward-

  Hold me close while the world fails in on me.

  "CorrindaT Virgil's mouth drew down at the cor­ners, "There's a way for me to stop the bleeding! You can still return to the world where you belong—"

  Whisper my name as the darkness rises

  She didn't know if she could keep going now. The blood was overflowing her cupped palm and dripping to the floor beiow with heavy wet splashes, She had to consciously focus her eyes in order to see. "Shhh. It's all right," Her words were slurred. Her tongue felt thick and unresponsive.

  And f fall into the dream that never ends

  Her legs wouldn't stay straight any longer; it felt as if her bones were dissolving, leaving only the cold stone to support her. Some of her hair caught in the still-damp letters and trailed downward, red, as she slid to the floor. "Damn it! Damn it!" Virgil violently brushed away crimson tears. "You're going to cost me ..."

  He scrambled to her side as her eyelids met a final time, He took her hair in his left hand and lifted her head. He brought his right wrist up to his mouth and savaged it—taking out his frustration on his own flesh rather than hers. Thin drops of deoxygenated blood welled up from the inside of his arm. He wiped them across her lips.

  "Drink. Drink well and come back from death, knowing you've cursed me."

  There was a flutter against his skin. Her lips, like an infant's smacked pleasurably. A small, pink tongue darted into the red stains and licked. He felt suction as she began to actively nurse his arm. and the feeling that flowed through him was the closest to sexual ecstasy he was capable of experiencing anymore.

  "They will make me pay for you," he said aloud, more to himself than the small form curled embryoni-cally at his knees. "Oh, how they will make me pay."

  Descent

  by Sam Chupp

  Really, Anastasia, I didn't think you'd show, especially after that earthquake." Selena smiled. It was a shark's smile, sure and preda­tory. She was dressed to kill, as well: a velvet dress, green, with a beautiful stone circle Sumerian pendant depicting Inanna, Queen of Heaven. Anastasia smiled back the same way, her eyes hard. It had been a long time since she had been forced to play dominance games with another vampire.

  "Oh, Selena, you know, i so dearly love Luigi's. That's why I'm here, really. Ah, isn't that Inanna! Wasn't she the one who lost her life in the Underworld?" Anastasia said, smiling

  "She found great power with the Queen of the Damned, actually. And returned to rule." Selena's eyes glittered.

  "Who's your blond friend?" Anastasia smiled. She brushed her thick, auburn hair back from her face and her dark eyes glittered. The maitre d' hadn't even noticed her leather jacket and jeans: perhaps he'd been expecting her.

  Selena prodded the teenaged, blond surfer boy with a single, gloved hand. The boy was obviously uncom­fortable in his white tuxedo, and he stumbled forward. Selena smiled wickedly back at Ana through the veil of her midnight hair. She smoothed the silk sheath dress she was wearing as she watched Anastasia's reaction. "Go on, boy. Tell Mistress Ana your name." Selena's leer, her red lips and tongue, disgusted Ana.

  The surfer smiled, dully, slowly, "I'm , , . my name's Dinner, ma'am." His voice was thick and sleepy.

  Anastasia flinched, almost imperceptibly. But Setena caught it. "What is it, Ana? Do you not like your wine white? I imported him from Marin County Would you prefer a less fruity, more robust vintage?" Selena had a habit of referring to blood as wine.

  Anastasia smiled slowly, "Although your hospitality is without question, Selena, I'm not thirsty at the moment Thank you for the offer, however.

  "Not thirsty? How strange, f myself am never one to turn down fresh, young things like this one But I understand: you prefer a more feminine blush these days. What's her name? Susie?" Selena motioned for the surfer to step back to her

  "Sofie. Her name's Sofie. I thought you wanted to talk about old times?JJ

  Selena brushed her hair aside, her green eyes nar­rowing- She smiled impishly, her whole demeanor changing in a second. "Oh? A sore spot for you? Don't tell me you've gone and fallen in love with her?"

  Anastasia returned Selena's look with stony silence. A waiter took this opportunity to change the plates on the table: the soup went away, replaced by the salad.

  Selena was first to break the silence. "Well, so. I see thats not a topic you're interested in discussing. Is there something beside the weather that we can dis­cuss?" Selena's voice was icy,

  "i would imagine you'd be full of gossip from the east. How is leremiah, Tabitha? I've not heard from them in some time," Anastasia said, picking at her salad. She was amazed at how old habits returned to her She used to be a master at maintaining the Masquerade, especially in public and especially in restaurants. She noticed that Selena made no such pretense—perhaps Luigi's was Kindred-owned.

  "leremiah is doing boring Toreador things, and Tabitha is doing boring Tremere things They're both boring. And you would know that if you weren't hiding in your ivory tower here in San Francisco." She motioned to the surfer, who kneeled next to her and presented his wrist.

  "Oh look, Ana. Poor boy's got slash scars. Probably has a rough life. Poor thing. Well, you're about to feel better, honey." Then, there, in the balcony of Luigi's, Selena sunk her fangs into the surfer's wrist and began to suck deep draughts of blood. He smiled in dull pleasure, closing his eyes and savoring the feeling.

  "Don't you think you should leave him some to get home on?" Anastasia said, trying to keep her compo­sure. Even though she was not hungry, and had not needed to feed as much lately, the smell of the rich surfer vitae was tempting.

  Oh really, Ana. You're so very droll. The last bits are the sweetest, you know," Selena said, smiling, lick­ing her lips, The totally drained surfer was lifted onto a cart and taken out. A waiter stepped forward with a napkin, and Ana looked up at him in surprise.

  Selena smiled, dabbing some vitae from her chin, "i wanted us to be completely comfortable this evening, Anastasia. So I took the liberty of arranging things Don't worry about your precious Masquerade tonight. None will be the wiser for our celebration." Selena's skin had grown pink, her hair shinier, her whole body more shapely.

  "Oh? And what are we celebrating?' Anastasia felt a wave of nausea well up inside her, and forced herself to maintain a mask of propriety.

  "Our friendship, of course, And independence. You are independent of the Camarilla, the Circle of Seven's iron
grip. And so am I," Selena said, smiling victoriously

  "What? How did you swing that? Your Sire get you a research grant?" Anastasia narrowed her eyes.

  "Hardly. I've decided to go freelance. Totally. Tremere for hire. And I tell you, Ana, I've met the most interesting people in Mexico."

  "Mexico? Why would you want to go there? The place is crawling with the Sabbat/' Anastasia said.

  "Exactly," Selena said, smiling, her eyes gleaming.

  Anastasia put down her fork. She looked at Selena, looked at the inhuman coldness in her eyes, for the first time seeing it. Then she looked away. "Oh, Ana. Ana. You are so naive. You and your her­mitage, your cloister. You're right to turn away from the Camarilla—what have they ever offered you that was of value? They ask you to deny what is truly you, The Beast Within:

  Anastasia looked up at her, eyes afire. "I ... I may not be involved with the Camarilla. But I am still loyal to my Sire."

  "Your Sire? And when was the last time you spoke with Etrius?" Selena said, smiling

  Anastasia's eyes narrowed to slits, "I speak with him at the Esbats, as you well know. Or have you for­gotten the lore that the Tremere taught you?"

  Selena licked her lips and brushed her raven hair aside again, "Ana, that's just it. I've learned so much more among the Sabbat. They have powers, and paths, and rituals that are much more potent than any of those taught to us in the Camarilla."

  "Yes, I imagine so. It's quite easy to gain power when you sell your soul for it So tell me, Selena: who is your infernal master?" Anastasia said, finally finding her anger. She felt it building within her, welling up.