Krasue (Vampin Book Series XIX) Page 2

  ~~~

  Life had taken a hard turn on her. When was she going to turn it back? It was a question she’d asked herself so many times. Never, did she go to college; she didn’t finish high school; she never even had a real job.

  What she would do, if it meant she could go back and re do everything, but how would she? There was no way to go but with the current. Since when was she ever able to go against the tide that insisted on breaking before her feet, drenching her. From saving the world and killing the empress, to inheriting all of Valhol, the Council, and Credenza’s estate – an estate so priceless that it was like a pile of rocks with thin veins of dew. Properties that were near impossible to sell and the liquid on hand, left by Credenza, barely enough to cover the costs of maintenance. No doubt, when she was alive, she killed someone or stole to pay her debts.

  But still, how could Alex miss taxes on her father’s property? We’re talking ten long years. Further, how could Shane act as if it’s no big deal?

  It almost made her wonder if they were in on something, together. Shane had certainly come to resent her over the years, and she did try to kill her a few times, back in New York when they were teens.

  Eventually, everyone stabs the person they’re supposed to be loyal to in the back. And eventually, all relationships must part ways, even friendships. Anyone who says anything different was a mortal and hadn’t a clue. When you live forever, things are different. Things change; they don’t ever stay the same. In relationships, there’s always a leader and a follower. Over time, the follower always rises, defies or leaves. That’s what being a vampire had taught her.

  Lately, she thought about Meghan, her sister, a lot. When they were kids, she collected charms. One afternoon, she put together a bracelet of ogres and knives and gave it to her. It made her cry. Then later, feeling guilty, she gave her a pretty one made of roses and smiley faces.

  Then there was that last summer at the lake. How sullen she was, right before her boyfriend abducted her. It was such a drastic change. Was it all hormones and teen angst? Before, Starr didn’t understand how she could be so unhappy. She still didn’t understand, but despite that, she now understood how the need to escape can taint the taste of everything in life.

  Then there were all the false memories of the life she had before. Times with her brother, Dracus, came to mind to. They’d have lunch, fight and take trips through the forest together. He’d teach her how to live off the land, preparing her for the day when she’d have to leave her father, the King. Then the King would come home. He was so arrogant; he thought he was invincible – that he really was divine. He was so mad and would punish her for their activities. Back then, that meant lashings, even for the royal family. He’d bar her in her room for days, or lock her in the carceral.

  But Starr owed everything she was to Dracus. She pined for the love of the King, who wouldn’t even acknowledge her in public. Now, after all the years, she realized her loyalty should have been to Dracus who was there for her. If it wasn’t for him, she’d have never survived. She’d have never overcome those Gypsies.

  For someone who had all the time in the world, Starr felt like death was nearing. If she didn’t make a change, now, she’d be erased. The only problem was she didn’t know what kind of changes to make. It’s one thing to fantasize about a life of leisure, but such a life was impossible. Besides, people would be pissed if they thought she quit so as to do nothing.

  She sat there, staring at the trees until dark, trying to imagine a few different life scenarios, none of which appealed to her. But a stranger in the park once told her that you can’t find yourself by idealizing. You must walk a lonely path, and follow the signs that appeal to you. Sometimes, you’ll follow the signs all the way through, and other times, you’ll retreat after a time and go back to your pathway.

  The sounds of footsteps brought her out of her zone.

  Two dirty smelling men stumbled across her path. They stopped and stared, speaking in Romanian. One looked like he’d been on a bender, and the other, like he was one foot in the grave.

  “Hi, what are you doing out here all alone?” said the younger one.

  “Be on your way. This is your one warning, strangers. I’m dangerous.”

  Of course, they didn’t believe her. Even after all the years, she still looked like a sixteen year old girl. It would be many more centuries before her skin would wear the signs of weathering. Not in the traditional aging sense, but imagine your flesh slowly petrifying before your eyes: a process that replicated becoming calcareous.

  Foolishly, the men sat on the bench beside her. They leaned back and looked up at the sky. It reminded her of the time when the old Gypsy sidled up beside her, and lured her with salted pork and fresh ale from his bag. She was so naïve, then.

  “It’s a beautiful night,” said the older one. “This is a great spot.”

  He turned and looked at her.

  “Your Romanian is strange. Are you American?”

  Starr held her breath. The old man hadn’t showered in weeks. And in his cotton ball hair, she saw little things moving about, biting his scalp. Lice, she supposed it was.

  “You need a place to stay?” asked the younger one. His oily face shined under the starlight. On his lip, a crusted sore lightly oozed. “I can help you. I got a place in town. I like helping people from time to time. You know, I had it hard when I was your age, too.”

  Starr laughed because, obviously, she was not having a hard time. Her clothes were immaculate, as was her make-up and hair. What was his game?

  She took short sniffs of the air, taking in his pheromones. On him was the taste of three or four different women.

  Disgusted, Starr got up from the bench. “No, thanks,” she said.

  Slowly, she walked off into the trees. As she predicted, they waited a bit, and then followed her.

  Starr levitated up into the trees and rested on a thick branch. Before that moment, she promised herself she’d stop, but these men were too disgusting to simply let go.

  They walked by looking confused and turning around in circles.

  “Man,” said the older one. “I would have liked to have gotten my hands on that bitch. Did you see the stones on her?”

  “She was too smart for us. I could tell,” said the younger one. “Let’s go. I don’t think we’ll find her. Even if we do, it might be more trouble than it’s worth. Did you see the look in her eyes? She was dangerous, she wasn’t lying.”

  “You’re a pussy,” said the old man. “Scared of a woman.”

  She watched them walk on by. Then, with her mind, she followed them all the way home. They squatted in an abandoned house that was up in the hills. From there, she sensed the presence of half a dozen women. She couldn’t see them because, inside, it was dark. Only the light of candles threw glimpses of their faces.

  The men walked in and the women scattered to do various things. As long as they were there of their own accord, why should Starr interfere? She should go home.

  But then, a memory from the other night came back to her: a feeling. She wanted that again. It was breaking a promise to herself. Guilt assuaged her, but she couldn’t help herself.

  She flew up to the house and landed in the front yard. They’d patched the rotted holes with wood planks. From the room at the back, the younger man ran a bath. He took off his clothes and got in.

  “Zelda!” he screamed. “Get your ass in here!”

  Next second, a scraggily haired woman came in, disrobed and climbed into the bath with him.

  The older man shut himself in his room with another woman.

  Carefully, Starr opened the old wood door. It made a light creaking noise.

  Inside was as disgusting as they were. An old moldy couch faced a couple sticks of wood nailed to a ¾ inch plywood. Across from there was an old fireplace, in which the last remaining embers died down.

  On the fireplace mantle, there were dozens of crunched up cigarette boxes, which they appeared to
be using to start fires.

  This was Starr’s favorite part. She’d watch the people in the house, heavily – for lack of better word, until they’d get the feeling of unease. Often, they didn’t know what or why, but they had to check their surroundings. The only thing was, Starr could never decide if she wanted them to discover her all at once, or one at a time. In other words, have a blast or make it last.

  The old man was the first to respond. He walked in, but his eyes weren’t so good.

  “Casey?” he called.

  A smirk pulled at the corners of Starr’s mouth as she commanded the candles on the plywood table to light.

  But the old man still didn’t see.

  “Goddamn, Casey, go to bed. Why do you always linger out here?”

  Starr merely stood and watched.

  “Why don’t you do as you’re told?”

  He moved closer to her and put his hand on her upper arm and tried to pull her. When she didn’t move, he knew something was wrong.

  He took a step back and raised a candle higher. Recognition came to him.

  “What are you doing here? Why did you follow us?”

  “I told you to be on your way, did I not?”

  “Yeah, and you left. Look, it’s late, so you’ll be going, now!”

  Starr grinned and accidentally raspberried out of the sides of her mouth; something she sometimes did when trying to contain herself.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re putting off notes of fear into the air. It’s funny because, once, the scent only lured me, but ever since I was touched by the soul of a babe, it makes me giggle like a little girl.”

  And giggle she did, mirthfully, as the man watched.

  She laughed louder and louder, and wickedly. The man became more and more afraid.

  “Alfred!”

  A moment later, the younger man came into the room, accompanied by the woman. They were both wrapped in bath towels.

  “What is it? Have we got another coon?” he asked.

  Then he saw Starr standing in the living room, trying not to grin.

  The woman looked at her with hatred, because she was pretty and finely dressed.

  “So you followed us?” asked the man, trying to sound surprised. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  Starr sensed he was going to try and rob her, beat her or something of the sort. Still, she pretended to comply.

  The old man left the room. He returned a moment later with a rope. Several other women in nightgowns followed him into the living room to see what was going on.

  Alfred, who sat next to Starr jabbering on, trying to pretend he was friendly, suddenly stood and grabbed her by the wrists. Starr didn’t resist; rather she got up compliantly. Erroneously, he assumed that he’d overpowered her, which made her laugh even more.

  “Yeah, you’re gonna regret coming into my house at this hour. You do this all the time? Follow people home?”

  Starr laughed once again.

  “Why do you keep laughing?”

  “Because I told you to be on your way, did I not?”

  “Yes, and you left.”

  “Yes, but you followed me, intent on causing me harm. I was trying so hard to be good. But you see, life has been miserable for me, lately. Maybe this is just what I need. I’m so excited. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had as much fun.”

  “Whatever, lady. Things are about to get worse for you.”

  He put her arms behind her back and tied them with the rope. Then he smacked her. When she didn’t flinch or blink, he punched her. When she still didn’t move, he got frustrated and grabbed a log from the wood pile.

  He drew back it back and whacked her across the face. It broke clean in half.

  Starr grinned even harder. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes.

  Thinking it was a fluke, he went back for another.

  It broke in half.

  “Ha ha…!” she exclaimed.

  This time when she laughed, the women screamed to high heaven. Fear bathed the air like the scent of flowers floating on wind.

  Starr got heady and her skin tingled. Her fangs lightly touched down to her gums. And all the sudden her vision became extremely clear in the low light of the candles.

  They screamed even louder and ran outside.

  Starr pulled her wrists apart, and then broke away the rope easily.

  Alfred and the older man stood there with mouths agape.

  Starr walked across the room, slowly, breathing in as deeply through her nose as she could.

  “Why aren’t you running?” she asked. “Aren’t you afraid?”

  Then, as if their legs found themselves, they took off out of the door.

  Starr let them go, but followed at a distance for some time. And every time they thought they were safe, she appeared. They, then, screamed and ran.

  Starr did this for about an hour; then their pheromones started to wear off, as they realized she was toying with them. She swooped down on the old man and broke his neck. For a moment, she contemplated drinking his blood, but he was disgusting. Then she found Alfred, whom she also snapped like a twig, but didn’t feed on.

  Not that Starr was above feeding on humans. She liked to do it once in a while, but she preferred buff men. People who were healthy and liked to bath, or wore perfumes that made their skin smell nice. She was a vampire who preferred fine dining, instead of diseased and alcoholics.

  She could have found the other women and continued the fun, but she was tired and wanted to return to peace. So she walked the streets of Sibiu for a few hours until sunrise.

  Shane appeared before her.

  “Are you coming to work, or what? Today, we need to decide on the case of the Miscoptus.”

  They were a group of vampires who’d decided to start a cult. Like judge and jury, they needed to look over the reports and decide who should die and who should live.

  She got up and they flew back to the castle together.

  Shane dragged her to the buffet.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You haven’t fed in awhile, and you look terrible.”

  Food had become harder and harder to ingest.

  “I just can’t, Shane.”

  “At least have a little blood in your coffee.”

  She handed her a mug.

  They walked down the hall to the large meeting room. There, Anige gave her presentation, supplying them with evidence of the cult’s misdeeds, deaths and abductions.

  “The FBI is already investigating them. Although they don’t know it, they have two undercover agents in their organization, and none of them realize it yet,” she said.

  “Okay, but that’s all circumstantial,” said Count Julius. “You haven’t proved that they did these things. Further, if they are undercover agents, they’ll detect them eventually. I say we move on, until something more serious happens. We have too much going on right now, and with end of year festivities, our plates our full.”

  “I don’t totally disagree,” said Anige. “But I think that we need to keep them under our radar. They’re new, they’re young, and they’re careless. When have cults ever gone on peacefully?”

  “True,” said Starr. “Give them enough time, and they’ll be a problem. Let’s just get rid of them, now. How many vampires are there?”

  “Twenty-four and they plan to make more.”

  “Okay, contact the Fleet and give them the order.”

  “Starr,” said Blakely. “You really want them all killed? Shouldn’t we bring them here and evaluate them? See who should live and who should die?”

  “No, because all that will do is make more lifelong enemies, down the line.”

  “Starr,” said Anige. “Some of them were kidnapped against their will; some of them aren’t killers or psychotics. A few might even be a good addition, and they might willingly help us bring down the Miscoptus.”

  “Fine,” said Starr. “Do whatever you guys want. I really don’t car
e.”

  The rest of meeting was about money and assets, which new groups had formed and which old and powerful vamps had decided to die.

  That night, she managed to fall asleep a few minutes. It was long enough to dream about the many wars she’d participated in, during her time with the Fleet.

  Then she woke, tossed and turned for a few hours, and then got up.

  Becky, Kay, Misty and Misaki came to mind. She wondered how they were doing at the moment. They were backpacking through Europe together, but no one had heard from them in a couple weeks.

  She got out of bed and got dressed. Then she flew to them, using her inner demon to guide.

  An hour later, she recognized the horizon above Prague.

  She hovered by the window; then commanded that it open.

  Inside was a nice but old world flat. It even had the smell that these places grew into over centuries. A sometimes blend of charming and repugnant staleness.

  In her mind, she saw that they all slept, cozily, in their beds.

  Starr ordered room service.

  As she waited, she looked around. They were certainly having fun. Having the life she should have had. Clothes were strewn everywhere, a pile of make up and mirrors were on the living room table; bottles of liquor and beer smelled from the trash can.

  A knock came at the door.

  Starr let the waiter in.

  She wrapped all the garbage and handed it to him. Then she called for the maid, who took their clothes to launder.

  Although she intended to stay and have breakfast with them, she changed her mind. The bathroom mirror returned a picture of a lost soul; gaunt, pale and thin lipped with papery skin, and deep red onyx eyes, the kind you expect to swallow souls rather than reveal any depth.

  She needed to feed.

  But she just wasn’t hungry.

  Catnip for the Soul