Ensanguined

Chapter 2

City blocks and traffic-lights blew by as Col charged northward. His glance in the bike’s mirror only made him want to get home faster. The fade in his reflection was worsening all the time. It wouldn’t be too long before he couldn’t see himself at all. A police car made a right turn, and entered his lane. Col slowed out of habit.

He avoided looking in his mirror again, and instead let his eyes wander among the clashing bits of suburb and city around him.

The city of Theyeark was one of stark social divides. It was most apparent here, where the Highs district met the East-end. Mile-high structures to his left leapt boldly into the sky from deep cement roots, while to his right were short apartment buildings and squat shopping malls.

Though the proper name for the Highs, was Entredia, no one ever called it that. Col figured the nickname suited for that forest of tall skyscrapers and taller spires. Once he might have called it heaven, had he ever the chance to ascend the elevators into the lofty spire-towns. Up there, within the towns and out on their many web-glass guarded platforms, there was always a party of some kind going on.

It was widely believed that spire-towners never set their feet on the ground; That they went their whole lives suspended in mid-air, whether in their spires or carried here and there by Float-cars and Jet-bobbers and Commuter-Zeppelins. If this were true, then a spire-town would certainly be as close to Heaven as anyone might come before death.

Over the decades, Theyeark had slowly moved its way up in the ranks from mining town to pit-stop on the analog electronics circuit. It jumped on the big-city skyscraper bandwagon as quickly as it could count up the pennies in its treasury, and it struggled to be the first to erect Spires. Since then it has become one of the 64 modern wonders of the world, boasting the highest volume of spires and gravity-defying vehicles. Coupled with being the murder capital of America for a brief stint in the 2020’s, Theyeak gained a steady notoriety. In the years since the Spires rose from the city’s fertile soil, the earth-bound populace has slowly moved from the East-end, the Mid-Burbs and the Westies into the Highs, with hopes of ascending the lifts to better lives.

Though Col had once begged to come see the Spires, the vast solar fields, and other myriad oddities of Theyeark, he knew now that they were nothing compared to what lurked beneath the glittering veneer of normalcy.

For Theyeark holds many secrets.

Even the East-end, where Kandais lives is full of odd whispers and strange traffic. There are tales of how the native inhabitants of this land between the mountains worshiped the moon and took on vast monstrous forms at will. Wizards and Mages are said to have kept the original mining settlement out of sight for the near century between the acquisition of New Mexico and its recognition as a state.  

Barely a handful of days pass between frightening retellings of Theyeark’s more recent history, particularly concerning the night-stalkers and how they terrorized the town a few decades past. Of course many do not believe in such things, but occasionally they find themselves in the Lows district or the Olds district or among the Industrials, and they shiver.

Col’s eyes lingered on the Highs district. He had little envy for the people who lived there. Decades ago, Col would have been overjoyed to attend one of their famous platform parties, but now, he had little need for fancy celebration. Col had plenty fun in the night without money or glittering minerals. The only things that mattered to him were his three serfs and his Master.

Col’s mind was slowly shifting back to his reflective malady when he realized that the traffic light ahead had turned red and that the white-striped-yellow car of a police officer still followed him. His better judgment prevailing, Col slowed and stopped and waited impatiently to be allowed to continue.

‘No need to get in any trouble tonight,’ he thought. He cast a lazy glance at a station wagon rumbling grimly beside him.

It was a rust colored bucket, the fenders and hubcaps were corroded, the tires all but bald. Even so, it appeared solid as a tank, and nearly as large. Col noted the driver had more than half of his face hidden beneath a velvety hood. The driver waved a shrouded hand at him, then laid the hand on a bulk of the same black material lying in the passenger seat. A red smile glimmered beneath the hood.

There was a sudden spark of contact like static shock against his forehead. Col blinked, then the world dimmed around him. The station wagon transformed to a great castle high upon a rain-swept bluff. There were no growing things upon that dark cliff. There was nothing beyond its edge but air and shadow.

A dark figure, clad in a robe and chest armor, appeared on the lawn outside the castle’s walls. There then appeared a nude human. The dark figure smiled a crimson smile then sprang to action. It slew the human with glee.

More humans flitted into the vision, appearing with the unexplainable swiftness of dreams. Scenes of horrific violence flashed before the castle. Carrion tumbled into a heap, or was dragged there by the figure in black. The rain turned to blood as the bodies piled high, nigh unto the highest tower. When the pile had surpassed castle, the figure began to climb. It reached the pinnacle of the flesh mountain, lifted its arms to the b****y sky and laughed the laugh of madmen. The hood slipped from its head.

It was the Master- no doubt about it. There was his time-worn face, long and creased at the corners of the mouth; the same dark, and notably unstyled, lustrous hair; the same crimson smile.

The scene jumped from the dismal castle to a room full of shadow. A dark coffin carved with swirling symbols sat in the center, amidst a complex organization of bones and branded hunks of leather. The shadows darkened until they were completely void. A hand reached out and smashed the adorned coffin to splinters. The blackness spit into a grin and filled the space with the color of spilled blood.

A loud honk woke Col from his terrible vision. His hands moved swiftly to the clutch and he revved-up without thinking. His bike accelerated over the limit.

A siren blared directly behind him. He found himself racing through a collection of glass-walled strip-malls. The stores were pressed tight against the sidewalks in Theyeark fashion, with parking lots behind or below. Early whispers of the sun caused the shadows cast by neon signs to shimmer and fade.

Col glanced at the screaming vehicle behind him. A dark haired man stared back at him through deeply-green lensed shades (cop standard night vision lenses), his face a flushed grimace.

Col tried vainly to lose him through the twilit city streets, but couldn't. Fed up with running, Col turned into a vacant garage and brought his bike to a screeching halt. The tires skidded then stopped. He pushed hard from the seat, soared over a red and white barrier and landed in the lowest lot.

The garage spiraled up in dingy white platforms. A dozen pillars splayed shadows in wide arcs. Col jogged to a shadow and crouched there. His eyes instantly adjusted to the black. He scanned the emptiness for places to duck and hide, planning his escape.

‘The officer is alone, so will call for backup before persuing,’ thought Col, ‘but I can't leave my bike where it is. I'll have to sneak up on him before the others get here.'

The siren’s wails grew closer then cut out. A car door opened, closed. Footsteps echoed meekly across the concrete. Col frowned. He had at first planned to hide until the Cop had worked his way deeper into the garage. But now, with the haze of premonition still hot on his mind, and considering the officer’s odd determination to apprehend him alone, Col was curious.

In his contemplation, Col gave way to worries about his Master. Before the vision hit him, the creature in the black robe had made sure that Col made note of what was in his passenger seat. Then, in the vision, a hand of shadow had crushed his Master’s coffin. And so Col asked himself, whose hand was it that dared strike the vampire lord of Theyeark? Who had strength enough to face the Master in his own home, where he was strongest?

Col reached out, as his Master had shown him to do oh-so-long ago, grasped a corner of shadow, then drew it over himself like an evanescent screen. Swathed and hidden in shadow, he waited for the cop to pass.

Officer Konner made his way to the center of the lot. He looked around, then decided to search the next level. He made it halfway to the staircase before he was grabbed around the neck.

The cop’s flesh was warm for only a second. Then it was suddenly stale, stiff, and cold. Surprised, Col released his prey, and pushed him away.

The Officer whipped about. The cop’s eyes were now dead and lifeless. Its mouth was open impossibly wide and full of sharp teeth. It raised its wirey hands toward Col then lunged.

Col ducked beneath its reach and grabbed the g*n off of its belt. As the creature turned, Col realized that the clicking sound coming from the g*n meant it was empty.

He grimaced, stepped back and dodged to avoid another lunge, pulled a pistol from inside his jacket and fired twice. The creature fell to the ground.

“Lunger ghoul…. takes a really old vamp to make one of these,” he thought aloud. Col put his g*n back into its holster.

Every explanation that came to his mind was impossible. His Master would never create such an abominable thing as a Lunger ghoul- there would be no point- and no other vampire Lord could exist in the same Theyeark as did the Master.

Could the master be testing him? Vampires were well known for playing games to slake the boredom of eternity, often at the expense of others. Perhaps this was one of the Master's many annoying games.

Col started to leave the garage then stopped. He decided that he should wait and see if anyone came to the cop's aide; to see who else might be tied into this game.

Col frowned at the body of the cop. The same sinister magic that had originally concealed its nature had restored itself, and so it once again appeared to be a normal human body. He knew that the Master would never create such a dangerous creature in a city full of humans, but wasn't yet ready to discard the possibility.

The only other possibility was that another vampire lord had made it and set it loose on Col specifically. That was part of the point of making a lunger ghoul. It could sneak up on almost anything with its magical disguise, even creatures with heightened senses. Col had been listening to its heart beat from the moment it lefts its squad car. Its normal, human heartbeat.

Col rolled his bike to a splash of shadow, pulled the darkness over it, then turned and climbed the garage stairs. He perched in the shadow on the rim of the concrete guard wall on the highest level.

He shook his head to the night and let out a single snort of laughter. Putting all the pieces together, he could only concluded that there was another vampire in Theyeark, and that he had captured the Master.

“The Master a prisoner?” He laughed, unable to hold it in. Neither he nor the Master's three serfs could guess the Master's true age or strength. Col had never known him to show weakness. He had seen some of the fabled scheming in the old-guy in various games and tests. But still, to let loose a device of death such as the Lunger ghoul was both an unnecessarily easy task to overcome and needlessly dangerous to their existence. The Master like to play, was not one to act with recklessness.

Col frowned. There were stories the Master had told to no one, though Col tried time and again to hear even a word of them. "

"Those would be dark tales," his master had said, "unfit for one who'd known a mother's love or the warmth of summer afternoons."

His brow creased. He was no closer to an answer than before, but now he was sure that he and the Master were not the only vampires in Theyeark.

Below, a pair of wailing sirens pulled up to the entryway of the garage and stopped. A quartet of officers stopped and searched around the abandoned squad car. Col wondered if these too would be ghouls, or serfs or something. Whatever they were, he decided, he still had a bit of time before they would find him.

He felt excited, and then realized that there was a lot of unused energy stored in pockets of his body. He recalled Kandais, how sweet her essence tasted; how strong it made him feel, even now.

He took off his coat then tied it around his waist by its sleeves. He focused on his shoulder blades, and a pair of small, shadowy wings tore through his t-shirt. Col stretched one out and frowned jokingly at its size; barely larger than his hand. It had taken a whole year for it to grow just that length. Col sighed and let the wing fall relaxed behind him. “Nine years more to go.”

He focused on moving some of his blood-energy to his back and into the shadow-clad wings. They slowly began to grow, then all at once they spread out in an expanse of black. Col ground his teeth against the pain, but could not help crying out as spikes emerged along the bones. Exhausted and surprised, Col knelt on the pavement and reflexively gasped for breath. He mopped his face as if he could sweat naturally, bade his lungs to still, and listened for the cops. Surely they should have heard his screaming; it had sounded loud enough in his own head. His wings hung heavy now. His energy was all but spent.

Col had a moment to appraise them. Just as he'd imagined, they were smooth-leather and tensile like those of a bat. Judging by their weight he assumed them to be strong enough to use. He leaned over the guard-wall, seeing below one of the police officers watching over the vehicles. A rhythmic beat of hunger pulsed in his temples and neck, in sync with the officer's own arterial time.

Col leaped and spread his wings. He dipped low then righted, almost, but flapped his wings out of unison and pitched to either side. Cursing and struggling, he brought himself level. Col circled down toward the officer awkwardly, and with great strain. His shoulders ached more and more, then suddenly they gave out altogether. The wings buckled, and he plummeted. The Cop looked up instinctively and fired several shots. Col landed upon him and they tumbled to the pavement.

Col pinned the Cop down. He drank only enough of his grimy essence to slake his thirst, and left him unconscious on the ground. His own trance passed in a quick mist of red. He brushed dust and filth from his clothes then donned his trench coat. The wings folded neatly into his back and were gone. Col jumped onto his bike, checked his reflection with a grimace, then sped off.