《The Widening Gyre》


 The Widening Gyre

    He woke up in a pool of blood. The hotel room was covered in the stuff; yellow wallpaper splattered in red, carpet soaked in the spot where the corpse lay. Sitting up slowly, he rubbed his head and yawned, groggy. ¡°Goddammit¡± he muttered, looking around at the carnage. Last night was just a fast-paced blur of alcohol and death. The last thing he remembered was ripping her throat open, lapping the blood from her wound as she looked at him with terrified eyes. Everything afterwards was...fuzzy. It always was. Once the urge kicked in, it was uncontrollable. He never really could remember what it was like in the heat of the moment, but he knew it felt good. He knew he needed it.


    He let his head fall into his hands, and felt the blood encrusting his mouth, the little dried streams running down his neck. His hands were shaking already, head pounding as he tried to assess the situation. Hotel rooms were always the worst places to do these things. They only ever have wallpaper, and wallpaper is impossible to get blood out of. Not to mention annoyingly light-colored carpets.. The clock on the wall read 9 am. Too early. He couldn''t just vanish out the window or something.


    He looked over at the body lying on the floor. She hadn''t even known what was coming for her. He wondered what her last thoughts were, as he¡¯d bitten into her jugular. She was just a girl at a bar. But there was always more to it than that. From the Prada heels she was wearing, it looked like she was well-off. Perhaps she was some trophy wife cheating on her husband. Maybe she was a big marketing exec or something like that. He didn''t know. He never knew. In fact, the only ones he did know were the ones he turned. They were the special ones. He just drank from the rest. And there were hundreds of those. Dumped in the river, splattered across hotel rooms, buried in backwoods or trashed in dumpsters. Nothing left but an empty corpse.


    Last year, the police had named him ''one of the most prolific serial killers of the century.'' He had laughed at that. They''d found, what, 30 of his kills? They had no idea. And they had no idea how many of him there were. There were probably 300 of them in the city alone. The river was filled with their prey.


    His head was pounding, vision blurry, hands shaking. He had just passed his 150 year anniversary, but he still never got used to the hangover. It was horrific. He would be vomiting blood soon, puking up the dead girl''s vital fluids in some gas station toilet. The shakes would get worse, the insects would crawl up his skin to get at the salty sweat gathering on his arms and back.. The only difference between this and heroin withdrawal was that he couldn''t drown in his own vomit, because he couldn''t drown in anything.


    Sighing heavily, he lay back on the ground and looked sideways at her bloodied face. That look of terror was still frozen in her eyes. The gaping hole in her throat oozed a little leftover blood on the carpet. Why hadn''t he turned her? Why had he just murdered her? She would''ve been a beautiful little monster. But she wouldn''t wake up now. That was the end for her.


    He remembered the night when he was turned. He could still smell the mud, feel the blood flowing from his chest. There was the accident, wasn''t there? It was on a dark country road, he was riding back to Boston. There were wolves out there, and the horse, spooked, hurtled forward and crashed. He was crushed underneath the beast, whimpering and begging for help. He remembered the pain coursing through him, the feeling of something broken.The inability to breathe. Knowing that he was going to die.


    Sitting there, on that carpeted floor, he could still remember the feeling of the hot breath of a wolf on his face. He had closed his eyes so he didn''t see the things that he knew were going to devour him, but he opened them when he heard a voice.


    ¡°Is he dying?¡± it asked, smooth and deep.


    ¡°What do you think, Edmund? He''s breathing blood. I think he punctured a lung or something,¡± another one said in an annoyed Irish accent. He was starting to black out. He could barely breathe, and felt something warm dribbling from the sides of his mouth.


    ¡°God, don''t be such a prick, Lennix. Is he conscious?¡±


    ¡°Ey! You! You awake over there?¡± the man called Lennix asked. He opened his eyes as well as he could, barely able to see the men as his vision blurred in and out of focus.


    ¡°His eyes are open. I don''t think he''s dead yet.¡±


    ¡°Oh, good. Darling?¡± Edmund asked, leaning down and touching his face. Trying to talk to the men, to tell them to get him help, he choked even more on the blood seeping into his lungs, and coughed it onto the man''s face.


    ¡°Edmund,¡± the other man said, ¡°We should probably drag the goddamn horse off him.¡±


    ¡°God, fine.¡± He rolled his eyes and turned away reluctantly. He could feel the weight of the animal being lifted off of his body. His dying brain wondered how they moved it so easily, but he didn''t care enough to think about it.


    ¡°There we go,¡± Edmund said from what seemed like far above, ¡°Now what do you propose we do to this poor chap?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± the Irish man said, pensive. ¡°He wouldn''t be much for a meal, since he''s half-dead already. And it seems wrong to leave him to die out here.¡±


    ¡°Really? He''s just another one of them. It''s not like he matters anyways.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but we could...¡± the man trailed off.


    ¡°Why would we do that?¡±


    ¡°Well he''s clearly important. I mean that was a nice horse. And he''s got a bag full of papers and things right here. After all, we could use someone with pull in the Boston group.¡±


    ¡°We don''t even know who he is. You have to know who you turn.¡±


    ¡°Fine, then, let''s look in the bag.¡±


    ¡°He''ll be dead by the time we find out.¡±


    He was still conscious, somehow. And he could hear their conversation. He was scared of what these men might do to him, whoever they were. Maybe they were just a hallucination. Maybe he was dead already. He groaned, coughing up yet more blood, and drawing their attention back to him.


    ¡°Look at him,¡± the man named Lennix said, beckoning towards his body. ¡°I mean, why does it matter who he is? He''s gorgeous. Tell me you wouldn''t want that man to live forever in your world.¡±


    ¡°Why do you always pull that when you want to get your way?¡±


    ¡°Because it works.¡±


    ¡°Eugh, whatever. Fine, we can turn him. I guess we have to ask first, though, don''t we?¡± The man with the smooth voice walked back towards him and crouched down. ¡°Listen, darling,¡± he said, ¡°Oh, you¡¯re so pretty, aren¡¯t you. Look at that neck,¡± he ran his hand through his hair and smirked, ¡°Now, we really can¡¯t let a pretty face like yours go to waste, can we? Keep your eyes on me. I need you to listen now. I just need you, you gorgeous boy, to answer one little question for me. Oh, but you can¡¯t talk, can you? That¡¯s just too bad. Well, then, why don¡¯t you be a good lad and blink once for yes, and twice for no. Okay? I just need you to answer this one little question, sweetheart.¡± He was drifting in and out of consciousness, but he could see the man''s eyes, inches away from his face. They were glowing a cat-like yellow in the night, that much he could make out. ¡°Listen to me,¡± the man, Edmund continued, ¡°You''re dying, and we are approximately two-hundred miles from anyone that can help you. You will die unless you listen to me. Lennix and I are vampires. We''re immortal. If you want to live, there''s really only one choice. We can turn you right now, and you''ll live forever. Or you can say no and die a slow, painful death.¡±


    He didn''t know what to do. He didn''t want to die. He was only 20 years old. He had a new wife in Boston. He couldn''t just leave her alone like that. What were these men, these vampires? He had heard the old stories, knew that he would be cursed to eternal damnation for it. But, in the moment, he knew that if he did not agree he would die out there, in the mud and the rain, alone. And he was scared. One last time, he gathered all his strength. He could hardly keep his eyes open, but slowly, painfully, he blinked once, looking the man above him in the eye as best as he could.


    ¡°Well, then. Guess that''s settled,¡± Edmund smiled, showing a set of sharp fangs behind his lips. He shuddered a little under the glare of the vampire. ¡°I don''t think I would''ve been able to stop myself even if you had said no. Your blood is driving me insane.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so I presume you''re the one doing the honors?¡± Lennix said, exasperated.


    ¡°If you want to...¡±


    ¡°No, he''s your little toy. Do with him as you will.¡±


    ¡°This was your idea in the first place, you know.¡±


    ¡°No, it wasn''t. My idea was to save his life. You just want another little plaything.¡±


    ¡°God, you''re a pain in my arse, you know that?¡±


    ¡°Oh, for Christ''s sake! Just turn him already! He''s going to be dead within minutes,¡± the Irishman barked. Rolling his eyes, Edmund turned back to the dying man.


    ¡°This will hurt. A lot,¡± he smiled.


    The last thing he remembered from that night was the vampire lifting his head off the ground and the feeling of fangs sinking into his neck.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Eugh, Edmund. He didn''t give a shit about anything, the bastard. That''s what 800 years will do to you. Eventually you see so much that you stop caring about anything but the kill. That''s what happened to him. He was a soulless monster, unable to even tell what humanity was anymore.


    The shaking was getting worse. He wanted blood, so badly. He needed it. But he needed to stop thinking about it, and if he didn''t he had no idea what would happen. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he tried to remember so he could forget.


    It had been dark, and his eyes snapped open to more dark. He had eyes. And he had a mouth and he had a face and organs and skin. He screamed as loudly as he could. There was a living body on that table in the dark room. He was a living body, alive and breathing, but at the same time not. He felt his mind controlling his movements but still he did not know if he was real. Whimpering, clutching his arms, he cried. Tears dribbled down his face, and he rubbed his skin to see if he was really there. He remembered everything, the crash, the men, the fangs diving into his neck. He wasn''t human anymore, he knew that. That just made the tears flow faster.


    A candle was lit. Someone was walking down a set of stairs into the dark room. The light burned his eyes, and he turned away from it. A man appeared, holding the burning light. He didn''t want to look but he knew who it was. He could sense it. He could smell it. ¡°I see you''re awake,¡± Edmund said. He didn''t respond. ¡°We heard you scream, you know. But that''s understandable. It hurts, doesn''t it?¡± he asked, smiling.


    ¡°Wh-who are you?¡± he asked, shaking.


    ¡°I''m Edmund. I''m the one who turned you, remember? See, you''re a vampire now. We saved your life.¡±


    ¡°What h-happens to m-me now?¡± he gulped.


    ¡°Well you''ll recover from the turning soon enough. And you''ll need to feed. Of course, you''ll be too weak to hunt on your own, so we can do it for you for a bit. You''ll know what to do soon enough, most of it is just instinct.¡±


    ¡°What....¡±


    ¡°Oh, you know! Feeding. We don''t always turn people into vampires when we bite them. Most of the time we just drink their blood and leave them for dead.¡±


    He just stared into the darkness, scared of himself and what he knew he was capable of. His hands shook with terror and hunger. ¡°So,¡± he said, ¡°I- I''m a monster.¡±


    ¡°Well that''s a bit harsh, but if you want to put it that way, I mean, yes, you are. But trust me, it''s fun. See, people don''t shun monsters like us. They let us in. You have everything you could ever ask for, being a vampire. I mean, really. You''re immortal, you get to murder people and get away with it. You can basically do whatever you want because you''re damned forever but you''re not going to hell anytime soon. I''m 800 years old, for God''s sake. I''ve been declared dead at least 30 times, and I''m still here.¡±


    ¡°How ¡ª how do you enjoy that?¡±


    ¡°Well you really have no other choice. You either relish it, or you just hate yourself and then it''s not fun at all.¡±


    ¡°Will I ¨C will I get to see my wife again?¡±


    ¡°I suppose if you want to. I mean you could probably live with her for a decade or so. But by the time they see you''re not aging, you''ve got to fake your own death. Or turn her. I guess that''s your decision. If you''re going to do that, though, you''ve got to live mostly away from home.¡±


    ¡°Wh-why?¡±


    ¡°You can''t possibly think that your wife would approve of you violently slaughtering people in your house. Besides, there are...after effects of feeding. Have you ever done opiates?¡±


    ¡°N-no, of course not.¡±


    ¡°Well that''s too bad. Whatever. I suppose you''ll find out for yourself.¡± They were silent for a moment. His eyes were adjusting to the light, but it was still shockingly bright. Someone called Edmund''s name from somewhere above them. ¡°Oh dear. I forgot, I must attend to something. Stay down here for a bit. Come up when you''re feeling better,¡± he said, turning around and hurrying back up the stairs. Sitting on the table, he sighed. His hands twitched uncontrollably. He was hungry.


    He smiled a little, sitting on that bloody hotel room floor. He remembered those early days. His first kill, a young woman outside of Salem. Blonde, nervous, walking in the woods alone. Looking for company, just like all of the other ones he murdered. The taste of her blood, the feel of his teeth in her neck. It was that first high, that rush that any drug addict knows but will only ever get once. Even the good ones, the ones done in hotel rooms and behind restaurants in the spur of the moment, they were different. But that girl, on that cloudy night outside of Salem, she was the only thing that could satiate that hunger, that yearning in his veins. He could still taste the blood that gushed from her white neck, smell it on his clothes and skin.


    He had made friends with Lennix and Edmund. Lennix still had some traces of human left in him. He had been forced into that life, stranded on an island off the mainland after a boat wreck and turned by one of the covens out there. He felt bad for Lennix. He had tried to go off blood a few years before. Once he even tried to stake himself. But he always ended up giving in to the thing inside of him. He was just a normal guy, really. For Edmund, it was a choice. He wanted it from the beginning, so he could live forever and do whatever he wanted. Edmund was a monster, and he loved it. He didn¡¯t even recognize him, his own creation, as more than just a thing to play with. In reality, all he had ever wanted in turning him was an eternal sex toy. And it wasn¡¯t like anyone could stop him.


    It was funny, thinking about it so many years later. How he had been turned. It was really just dumb luck. The regional councils always insisted that they only turn those who agreed to be turned, and even then only in the most important cases. Sometimes they were assigned to turn someone, a dying politician or someone else they wanted in the group, for the sake of political pull. After all, they had to cover up those murders somehow. Often turnings happened for vampires¡¯ personal friends and family who agreed to it. Occasionally, it would be in the spur of the moment. That¡¯s what happened to him. It might have been different had they not found him that night. It might even have been different had Lennix not been there. He didn¡¯t want to think about what Edmund would¡¯ve done to him.


    His phone rang. Groggy, he looked around the room for it before realizing it was on the bed. Slowly, trying to ignore the pain growing in his stomach, he reached up and grabbed it. It was Lennix. ¡°Hey,¡± he said.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Lennix said. He sounded tired. ¡°Where are you?¡±


    ¡°Some hotel room with a corpse.¡±


    ¡°What hotel?¡±


    ¡°I think it''s the Hilton on 39th, why?¡±


    ¡°Edmund''s in the hospital.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck?¡±


    ¡°Apparently he decided to get hammered last night, and he gave himself alcohol poisoning. He''s not gonna die, obviously, but he''s sure as hell not in a good way.¡±


    ¡°How the fuck does he keep doing that?¡±


    ¡°He is immortal.¡±


    ¡°Goddammit. I hate that we have to do this all the time.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°How does a vampire even do that?¡±


    ¡°Last time this happened he told me he drank six bottles of vodka in two hours.¡±


    ¡°That''s insane. Did the hospital mention anything about his pulse yet?¡±


    ¡°No, thank god. I''m sure they stopped caring after the last time he came in.¡±


    ¡°That''s good, at least. Fine. Meet me in the alley behind the hotel in ten.¡±


    ¡°Kay. See ya.¡± He hung up the phone and looked down at his clothes. His face and shirt were covered in blood. The white button-down was soaked in the stuff. The worst part was never knowing if the blood was all gone. For vampires, there¡¯s always the chance someone will see a spot you missed, since you can''t see your reflection. Sighing, he shakily walked into the bathroom and grabbed a towel. He could hardly keep hold of it as he wet it under the sink water. Slowly, he wiped the blood dried on his neck and mouth. His breath came in short gasps, and his vision blurred. ¡°Fuck!¡± slipped from his mouth as the towel fell from his hands and onto the floor. His stomach churned and he closed his eyes. He reached down and picked up the towel, setting it back on the counter and slowly unbuttoning his bloodied shirt. He ripped one off as he tried to pull it from the buttonhole, cursing again. It was getting worse. He gasped for breath and stopped, leaning on the counter for support as blood trickled from his mouth. His whole body was racked with tremors, practically convulsing. ¡°Goddammit!¡±


    The blood came out fast, pouring from his mouth and into the sink. He doubled over, retching into the basin, eyes watering, skin sweating. Finally it stopped. Slowly, breathing hard, he looked up at the empty, blood-splattered mirror. There was nothing there. He would be fine, he knew. He was done with the vomiting, at least. Though it took effort, he was eventually able to take his shirt off and wipe as much blood as he could from his body. He stood up straight, trying to keep himself composed. Walked out of the bathroom. Unlocked the hotel room door. Walked outside, keeping the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob, and making sure it was locked. He took the elevator down. It was empty, which he was grateful for. The lobby, too, when he reached it, had only a couple guests and a concierge waiting. They didn''t notice him. Breathe in, breathe out. He was almost there. Almost to safety. If he was lucky, they wouldn''t find her corpse for another few hours. But it wouldn''t matter anyways. He''d used a fake name, and there was no image of him on the security cameras.


    He shielded his eyes from the sun, circled the building to the alley in the back. Lennix was there, waiting in the car, sunglasses on. He got inside and they began driving.


    ¡°So,¡± Lennix asked, smirking, ¡°long night?¡±


    ¡°I guess so.¡±


    ¡°Who was she?¡±


    ¡°Just some girl at a bar.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t they always.¡±


    ¡°Lennix?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, mate?¡±


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°This?¡±


    ¡°What are we doing? Why do we do this?¡±


    ¡°Because we have to.¡±


    ¡°But we had a choice.¡±


    ¡°Some of us did. We weren''t all that lucky.¡±


    ¡°But why do we keep doing it?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know.¡±


    ¡°Well for Christ¡¯s sake, there has to be some reason.¡±


    ¡°Do you think I have any goddamn idea why we do this? I¡¯ve lived for 500 years and I still have no fucking clue.¡±


    ¡°Well clearly you hate it. Why the fuck doesn¡¯t everyone else? It sucks.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re talking about Edmund...¡±


    ¡°Yeah, like, how does he do it? It¡¯s like he couldn¡¯t give a shit about anything else. He can deal with it. He doesn¡¯t try to kill himself. He fucks whoever he wants, murders indiscriminately and loves it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s a psychopath. And from what I¡¯ve heard, that¡¯s the way he was before he died.¡±


    ¡°I just feel like such an idiot sometimes.¡± His hands continued to twitch in his lap.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably just the DTs talking. I wouldn¡¯t worry too much about it if I were you,¡± Lennix said dismissively.


    ¡°Whatever.¡±


    Sighing, he looked down at his feet to avoid the sun. Maybe Edmund was right, so many years ago, when he told him to live it up. Maybe it was time to stop worrying about everything and start living. It wasn¡¯t like he could do anything to stop it anyways. Smirking a little, he opened the glove compartment and pulled out a hip flask engraved with the words ¡°fuck my liver.¡± As the car sped through the Boston streets, he lifted it to his lips and drank.

 A Different Type of Prey

    Any good hunter will tell you that the chase is a difficult, yet rewarding process. The best places to find prey are always the clubs, bars, really anywhere with lonely people and alcohol. The trick, of course is...well there are two tricks, really. The first is that you have to look hot. No matter how much makeup it takes, you have to look appealing. Humans rely on sex to fill their empty bodies, so hotness is essential. The second trick is to never hunt at the same spot twice. If you were last seen with a guy who was found dead the next morning, it''s not gonna work a second time. So hop clubs. No one will ask questions, which is vital if you don''t want to starve.


    Friday nights are, of course, always the best times to hunt. That''s what Edmund was doing that night. He had decided to change it up, hit some fancy place downtown. He donned an Armani suit (stolen from one of his wealthier catches) and took a cab into the city. Now, he was sitting at the counter of a hotel bar, drinking a glass of vodka and assessing the situation. He always loved these kills. They were so much fun. All of these rich people, so goddamn clueless. Breaking up a girls'' night out or snagging one of those fading beauties who look for any opportunity they can get to cheat on their rich and impotent husbands was always a moment to relish. Killing them was much different from any of the others. Usually he just picked up a guy in a gay bar and slaughtered him in some shitty hotel room. Besides, he always...preferred the men. That''s just the way it was. But tonight he would challenge himself, see what else he could catch.


    With the reflexes of a cat, he turned his head just as a gaggle of women walked through the door. He looked them up and down, scoping them out. There were....three, four, five. No, four. One was pregnant. All but one had a big, fat, diamond ring on her finger. They were younger, too. Probably hadn''t found out about their husbands'' affairs yet. Likely happy with their lives and their marriages, at least not ready to fuck another guy yet. The one without the ring could be a possibility. The others didn''t look...eligible. Keeping his eye on them, he finished the vodka off and watched the girls sit down at the other end of the bar. He liked the idea of snatching one of them, but groups are always more dangerous. Finding someone totally alone was always the better option. With groups, there are witnesses. The regional council would be pissed if he got caught because he was a careless dumbass. Maybe not, then.


    ¡°Hey, could I get another vodka?¡± he asked the bartender. The man nodded and poured him another glass. Taking it and placing it to his lips, he continued to survey the room. Seven men in suits gathered in one spot, probably celebrating some big deal or something. The gaggle of women at the other end. There were two couples, one honeymooning? another middle-aged, probably on one of those status-boosting anniversary trips, getting drunk and trying not to hate each other, all for the sake of looking good to their ''friends.'' And then there was him, Edmund d¡¯Aquitaine, an eight-hundred-year-old vampire, drinking his vodka and watching them all. There was a weird beauty to it. The hunter, in the middle of the flock, waiting to strike, none of them knowing who he was or what he wanted. He loved it.


    ¡°Feeling adventurous tonight, Edmund?¡± a voice suddenly whispered in his ear. Knowing instantly who was there, he whipped around and looked her in the eyes.


    ¡°What the fuck are you doing here?¡± he snarled.


    ¡°Probably the exact same as you. What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°I was looking for dinner, but now you¡¯re here, so that¡¯s ruined.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m just too much competition for you, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Oh, piss off.¡±


    ¡°I could get that one,¡± she said, pointing to the girl without the ring.


    ¡°I was here first.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but you wouldn¡¯t have gotten her.¡±


    ¡°Really? I don¡¯t think she looks gay. I mean maybe curious, but I don¡¯t think she¡¯d take one of us over the other.¡±


    ¡°Honey, I¡¯ve been tailing them from the last bar they were at. That chick, Cheryl? She just broke up with her girlfriend. They¡¯re bar hopping tonight to cheer her up.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a shock. She didn¡¯t look like the lesbian type to me.¡±


    ¡°Please, you have no idea how to read women. Besides, even if she¡¯s not, she¡¯d come to a hot girl like me before some asshole like you any day. I mean, no matter how cute you are, you¡¯re not exactly the ideal manly-man.¡±


    ¡°Did you just call me gay?¡± he spat.


    ¡°Well you are.¡±


    ¡°I know I am, but c¡¯mon. You¡¯ll ruin my cover.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, all the better for me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you prick.¡±


    ¡°Like you¡¯re not? Stop kidding yourself, Edmund.¡±


    ¡°Thea, I relish the fact that I¡¯m an asshole. It¡¯s the reason I¡¯m as hot as I am. You stop kidding yourself, because you¡¯re the exact same. When you see the things we¡¯ve seen, you stop giving a fuck. That¡¯s why all the mortals think we¡¯re so damn hot.¡±


    Thea laughed. ¡°The things we¡¯ve seen...Oh, you do know I¡¯m having a party next Friday, right?¡±


    ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°My 1500th.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯ll be a lot of drinks. I¡¯ll have a whole basement full of drinks. A wine cellar, y¡¯know?¡± she winked.


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Shitloads. Trust me, it¡¯ll be amazing.¡±


    ¡°I guess we¡¯ll just see if I¡¯m in the mood.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s free food, dumbass. You¡¯re coming. Besides, you missed my anniversary last year. So you¡¯re gonna be there.¡±


    ¡°Whatever. Bartender! Can you get me another vodka? Actually, can I have the whole fucking bottle? I really want to get drunk today.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± the man responded tiredly. Probably exhausted from all of the annoying pieces of shit in the bar. He handed Edmund the bottle and turned back to the other customers.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you overdose or something last week?¡± Thea asked, trying to sound concerned.


    ¡°Darling, you have no idea,¡± he smirked, bringing the bottle to his lips.


    ¡°Hm.¡±


    ¡°What? Do you have a problem with that? Cause, honestly, I don¡¯t give a fuck.¡±


    ¡°Well, honestly, half the time I wish you would die already. But I do think the regional council is gonna crack down on your bullshit sometime soon. You¡¯re a liability to the whole goddamn coven with the way you act. You could get yourself caught if you go on one of those stupid little rampages of yours. And you know that always means tougher regs.¡±


    ¡°Not always. Besides, why would they care if I got caught? I¡¯m a fucking vampire, for Christ¡¯s sake!¡± he practically shouted, ¡°I don¡¯t need stupid rules and regs. I¡¯m just doing what I need to do.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, see, that¡¯s the reason,¡± she sighed, nervously scanning the bar to make sure no one had heard that. ¡°You really can¡¯t keep your mouth shut, can you?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. Not when I guzzle this much hard liquor!¡± He continued to drink down the vodka, and it was clear that he was growing tipsier by the moment. Thea sighed. She had always loved Edmund and yet, at the same time, utterly detested him. The fact was, he was a prick. In fact, he had never not been a prick, as far as anyone knew. That¡¯s just how Edmund was. Being a vampire was, to him, a free ride. Immortality, near-invulnerability and a free pass to murder people is what he saw it as. Not that he was wrong. But a lot of the other vampires believed there was a certain...decorum to the trade. That you had to be tactful, choose who you turned and take part in mortal pleasures as little as possible. Edmund, however, had adopted the basic philosophy of  get wasted, get laid and murder people. Needless to say, that didn¡¯t always go over well with the Councils, especially when he went off his rocker and killed someone in plain sight. Of course, Edmund found this extremely ironic, since the entire purpose of being a vampire was to kill people. And it wasn¡¯t like he would die if he got caught. What¡¯s the point of it all if you can¡¯t have fun? Thea loved him for that. She also knew that it didn¡¯t particularly matter what Edmund did, even if the Regional Council did crack down on his unpredictable, drunken ways. The fact was, he had always done this, and no one could stop him.


    Edmund set down the half-empty bottle of vodka and looked over at her. ¡°So,¡± he said, ¡°I suppose my chances of catching those fish are gone for the night. I¡¯m on a roll now. Why don¡¯t we go find some sleazy whore in a back alley somewhere, then murder her in a hotel room? That sounds fun. Just order some escorts and rip their throats out.¡±


    Thea just stared at him, tired. ¡°I think I still have a chance with that one,¡± she said, pointing.


    ¡°Oh, but don¡¯t you just want to go get drunk and kill people? Why do we have to have all the foreplay and the courting? It¡¯s bullshit. I say,¡± he said, trying to stand up and wobbling a little, then sitting back down. ¡°I say we go find us a couple whores¡­..and rip out their fucking throats. That sounds like fun.¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Edmund, knock it off. You can go and starve, for all I care. I¡¯ve got my sights set on her, and I¡¯m not letting her go.¡±


    ¡°Eugh, whatever. But that¡¯s so stupid. I mean, really, why the fuck does it matter? We¡¯re just feeding, after all. We could just go kill whoever. Doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°No, not tonight.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means I¡¯m in the mood for fine dining.¡±


    ¡°Ohhh, that¡¯s bullshit!¡± he lilted mockingly. ¡°No no, don¡¯t tell me. Let me guess. You were dating her, and she broke up with you? And now you want to get your rrrreeeevenge by luuurring her in and sucking her dry.¡± He drunkenly emphasized the words ¡®revenge¡¯ and ¡®luring¡¯ as he talked, saying them in a strange, operatic tone.


    ¡°Actually, no, not even close,¡± she lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned towards Edmund. ¡°I was assigned to her a couple days ago. I¡¯m supposed to turn her tonight.¡±


    ¡°Oh-ho, then. I see.¡± Edmund said, his strong British accent making his speech even more slurred. ¡°So you¡¯re supposed to get into her pants and then make her...go to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, whatever. Really, though, I¡¯ve got to do this.¡±


    ¡°Buuut Thea, whyyy?¡± he whined.


    ¡°Because Ichabod told me I couldn¡¯t do it any later than tonight. No idea why, but you know how he is about this stuff.¡±


    ¡°Fine, then. I suppose I¡¯ll just sit here and get drunk.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re already drunk.¡±


    ¡°Darling, you¡¯ve got no idea how inebriated I can get.¡±


    ¡°Fine, then. Enjoy getting smashed.¡±


    ¡°Gladly,¡± Edmund said, tipping his head back and drinking down the vodka.


    ¡°Hey, Bartender. Order an Old Fashioned for that girl, the hot brunette with the Hermes handbag over at that table,¡± she said, pointing. The bartender nodded and began mixing the drink, hands flying between the different bottles peppering the counter.


    ¡°That¡¯s not cliche at all,¡± Edmund smirked.


    ¡°That¡¯s like, the most expensive cocktail here? Fuck off. Seriously.¡±


    ¡°Who is she, anyway?¡± He whispered.


    ¡°State Senator. Ichabod¡¯s looking for some political pull. Turning her would make for a senator and a representative in the state legislature.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not any representative that¡¯s a vampire,¡± Edmund said, confused.


    ¡°Yeah, there is, dummy. You turned him. Remember? Two years ago?¡±


    ¡°Ohhhh, yeah. Forgot about that, didn¡¯t I? Well I suppose Ichabod always gets what he wants.¡± He finished off the bottle of vodka and set it down with a flourish. ¡°You know, I got so drunk I almost died the other day.¡±


    ¡°We talked about this five minutes ago.¡±


    ¡°No we didn¡¯t, silly.¡±


    ¡°Whatever. So you got alcohol poisoning?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes I did. I drank THREE,¡± here he held up four fingers. ¡°Three bottles of vodka in two hours. I was so fucking drunk. It was awesome.¡±


    ¡°How the fuck did you do that? You¡¯re a bloody vampire.¡±


    ¡°I told you, I drank a lot of vodka. Simple as that.¡±


    ¡°Oh, hold on a sec.¡± Edmund rolled his eyes. Thea looked over at the table where the gaggle of girls were sitting. She could see the bartender handing the woman a drink and pointing to her. The woman smiled in surprise, and the others seemed to be excited. ¡°Got her.¡±


    Edmund looked over at the women. ¡°Why does Ichabod even care? I mean honestly. Who needs political pull when you¡¯re fucking immortal. They can give us the chair as many times as they want, but we¡¯ll never die.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t use the chair anymore,¡± Thea said absentmindedly.


    ¡°Really? What the hell do they use, then? The chair was always so much fun.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s lethal injection now.¡±


    ¡°So they just poison you? That¡¯s boring.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s supposedly more humane, though it doesn¡¯t always even kill the person.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nice. Unreliability is always good for an execution method. I remember back in the French Revolution, when they had that stupid guillotine thing. It was too efficient, honestly. I liked it best when you just took an axe to somebody¡¯s neck.¡±


    ¡°Really? I always thought that was dumb. Sure, there¡¯s a lot of blood. But you missed some of the best punishments, back in the old days. Ever heard of the Blood Eagle?¡±


    ¡°Probably, but I honestly don¡¯t care.¡±


    ¡°They cut the ribs from your spine and splayed them out like wings, rubbed salt into your gaping chest cavity, then cut your lungs open and stretched them over your bones. One of the most beautiful things I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s delicious.¡± Edmund smirked drunkenly and stared, eyes dead, into the bar counter. ¡°She¡¯s looking at you.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°Her friends are egging her on.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°I wager there are some good whores hanging out around here.¡±


    ¡°There always are.¡±


    ¡°Probably the fancy ones, too.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s coming over. Shut up.¡± Thea put on a sly smirk and sat facing sideways, looking impish and uninterested. The woman sidled over to them and sat down next to her.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she said.


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the drink.¡±


    ¡°Anything for a lady like you. Wanna sit with me?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± the woman smiled. ¡°So, what¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Theodora, but you can call me Thea. What about you?¡±


    ¡°Cheryl.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty name.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± she said, blushing a little.


    ¡°Can I buy you a drink?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t finished the other one yet.¡±


    ¡°Well, who cares?¡± Sitting next to them, Edmund giggled at the flirtation. He always hated the courting part of these things. The ¡®letting you in¡¯ bit. The rules of turning were obnoxious and weird, in his opinion. Can¡¯t turn someone without their consent, unless of course you¡¯re assigned to turn them. Don¡¯t randomly turn people into vampires. Only select mortals can join the coven. What the fuck did it matter? There¡¯s no fun in being immortal unless you get to do what you want. Vampires nowadays acted like a bunch of murderous birds, with their stupid mortal mating dances and rituals. It¡¯s not like they actually needed consent to turn someone. That was just a part of the bureaucracy, because there were too many random prostitutes and homeless guys getting turned. Didn¡¯t want ¡®bad blood¡¯ in the ranks. It was bullshit. Of course, Edmund didn¡¯t always follow those rules. Nobody even knew about Roderick¡¯s turning for five years. Talitha, too. She lived in his attic feeding on rats until 1893. They didn¡¯t know that vampires even existed when they got turned. Of course, most vampires, even Thea, a 1500-year-old Byzantine queen, at least acted like they followed those goddamn rules. Though he knew their secrets.


    Mmm. Perhaps he wouldn¡¯t eat tonight. Maybe he would just get so drunk he could pass out on the floor. That¡¯s when the Hunger is drowned out. When the body was too weak to even care about eating. It would take another few bottles to reach that point. The point when someone calls an ambulance. Whenever he wound up in the hospital, he liked seeing the fear in the eyes of the doctors and nurses when they couldn¡¯t find a heartbeat. The look of terror and, occasionally, realization, was extremely entertaining to him. But perhaps not tonight. He was craving it, the taste of blood, and the vodka had just made it worse. He looked hungrily at the bartender¡¯s neck. He could imagine the carotid artery bursting as he sank his fangs in, the warm blood dripping down his face and chin.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he said, rubbing his eyes and trying to look away from the boy. ¡°Hey, can I get some more vodka?¡± Looking worried, but clearly not caring enough to stop him, the bartender nodded and poured another glass. Thea and the woman were still sitting next to him flirting with each other. But, at that moment, he couldn¡¯t hear them. They were there, just sitting there and talking. And yet it was as if his ears were plugged with beeswax. The sound of their voices was completely muffled. No, his ears weren¡¯t plugged. They were filled with noise, a dull, rushing noise like an ocean washing back and forth inside of his head. His face felt warm, like it was filled with liquid, and he was suddenly dizzy. The room was clear, but he felt as if he was going to fall off the bar stool. He stood up, holding onto the counter, eyes uncontrollably fixed on the man in front of him. Snarling to himself, he turned his head violently before the bartender could see the yellow eyes glaring from his head. Slowly, he began to walk towards the door of the bar. Thea looked concerned, the bartender said something to him, but he didn¡¯t look back. The Hunger was setting in, and he needed to eat before he did something dreadful. Blood washed back and forth inside of his head, in front of his eyes, in his ears and his mouth. Then the screaming began. The screeching of a thousand voices pounding in his ears, crying out for help, let us go, please stop, no don¡¯t, please. He shook his head violently and covered his ears, but pulled them away when he felt the warm liquid gush onto his hands. Blood dripped down his neck and onto his suit. They were screaming, all of them, inside of him, the multitudes of him. It was their blood in his veins. But he needed more. He had to feed. He had to find someone before it got worse. Stumbling, he wandered into the hotel lobby and looked around, scanning the room for escorts. There had to be at least one. There was one woman, sitting in a chair in the lounge. She looked like a whore. But as he began his advance, another man walked up to her. Damn. Frantically, he looked around, trying to ignore the screaming and the blood he felt dripping from his face. It was smeared on the sides of his neck, dribbling down his jaw. The concierge. He would do. No, it was too obvious. Goddammit. This is what you get when you get drunk on an empty stomach.


    The hallways. He would stalk the hallways and find someone¡¯s hotel room. His vision grew blurry, and all he could see was the blood. Somehow, he blindly made his way to the elevator, stumbling inside as the doors opened and groping at the buttons. The 8th floor. No one would be up to see it. The elevator ascended and, as it went up, he could hear it more and more. Damned souls banging on the shaft, pleading and crying and telling him to spare them. The elevator was empty, so he screamed to the walls as it continued upwards, tears of blood streaming from his eyes. ¡°No! No!¡± he shouted to the things outside. They were getting louder and louder, closing in on him. Then the door opened. His vision cleared a little. He felt dizzy. The voices became quieter. He wiped the blood from his tear ducts, trying not to smear it on his face. Edmund watched the elevator doors close and then stood there, in the little enclave, waiting for someone to arrive. Anyone. He could hear it swoosh down, then, a minute later, a ding as it came back up. The doors opened and a woman stepped out. She had a suitcase. Probably checking in to her hotel room. Probably alone, arriving from a late flight for a business trip. She was so tired she didn¡¯t even look at him, despite the blood streaming down his neck. Perfect. Head thrashing to the side in a sudden muscular twitch, he stepped into the elevator and held the door open, so he could see once she had turned the corner. Then he got out, let the door close, and quietly followed her through the winding, tan hallways, to the hotel room. Groggily, not looking up, she fumbled for a key card and swiped it in the lock. As she walked inside, he dashed to the door with the speed of a tiger and pushed her into the living room. The voices, the screams were fading down. They were growing further away as he grew closer and closer to making the kill. He covered her mouth with his hand, so that she didn¡¯t scream.


    ¡°Hello, darling,¡± he said, looking at her with his yellow eyes that glowed with an animal ferocity. She struggled in his grasp, trying to get away but failing. He smiled, laughing under his breath, and sunk his fangs into her neck.