Blood and Lace: Chapter 3 (Patreon)

So this is where Linden bought it.

Nicholas had still been waiting for permission to enter the townhouse when they’d brought the body bag out. It had been gingerly handled by two hunters, their heads bowed either out of respect or sadness.

Linden was in section three and Nicholas hadn’t known him well, but he’d been a veteran hunter entrusted with one of the stakers. Now…just another name on a memorial that would never get built. At least he’d taken out the leech that punched his ticket.

Rest in peace, Linden.

It was Nicholas’s job to clean up the other half of the fight.

He stepped carefully over the small puddle of blood and into the room beyond. What was left of the attacker was sprawled across an overturned loveseat. Before he could help it, Nicholas felt his gorge rise. He stumbled to a corner, trying to keep his breathing steady.

You will not throw up. You. Will. Not.

The grisly sight replayed itself against the back of his eyelids. The staker had punched clear through the ghoul’s chest at close range, delivering every spike in its arsenal. The thing’s heart and ribs had been obliterated, and decay had set in immediately. At least it won't be too heavy to carry. Nicholas dry heaved at the semi-hysterical thought.

It took a few minutes for his stomach to settle—it felt like the Compound-G was jumping up and down in there. He swallowed, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He had no excuse to act this way. This was one of the safest assignments in a hunt, and he would perform it flawlessly. Reaching into a back pocket, he pulled out a folded “bone bag” and shook it open. Then, breathing through his mouth, he began to pick up the…chunks…and deposit them into the plastic lining. When he was done he set it out in the hall.

It would take three back-to-back showers to feel clean again, but for now Nicholas settled for half-a-bottle of hand sanitizer. After rubbing his fingers dry he straightened up and surveyed the room one last time. Empty. He turned to go—and froze.

Nicholas stood there for a second, trying to figure out what his instincts had spotted. Something out of place…something white. He slowly walked back to the upended loveseat and its damp patch of gore. There. The thing that didn't belong. A sliver of white lace. His heart began to pound inexplicably. He reached out, surprised to see his hand trembling. Gripping one scuffed wooden leg, he eased the loveseat up and over.

Below it was a woman in a wedding dress.

Nicholas gasped in shock. She was facedown, revealing only a sleek form and long curly hair, it's tresses so dark brown they were almost black. One arm was flung outward, and he glimpsed pale slender fingers splayed against the filthy floor. She was absolutely motionless.

Nicholas kneeled down, this time using two hands to gently turn her over. He recoiled with a cry.

Vampire!

The woman had skin the color of bone china and a face of arresting beauty. Her defined cheekbones and arched eyebrows were softened by a delicate rounded nose and full parted lips, but Nicholas could make out the points of two sharp fangs concealed behind them. This otherworldly creature was no mere ghoul, but a full-fledged leech. Far more dangerous.

His mind flew into a state of feverish planning. A jumble of guild directives and checklists fought for dominance, assaulting him with multiple steps, all of which had to be done right now. He struggled to prioritize. Would the Compound-G in his blood still be enough to protect him? What about the airborne version they had pumped in? Was she unconscious or faking? Already staked?

He blinked. Oh God, you didn't even check! He looked down wildly. Nothing but plain alabaster skin above a hint of cleavage. He felt an embarrassing twinge of arousal that was immediately flushed by the rising panic. No stake!

Nicholas fumbled at his belt items. He unsnapped a loop and brought out the thin extendable spike that every hunter carried. He quickly pulled it to full length and twisted to lock it. From the other side of his belt he unfastened the compact hammer.

Remember your training. Hurry!

Nicholas leaned over the woman to set the stake. He had to keep re-positioning due to his trembling hands. He cursed, fighting the rising torrent of fear. All those lessons about vampires, all the information he had absorbed, had turned against him in this moment, making him acutely aware of his vulnerability.

But finally—finally—the spike was in place. He felt a savage joy as a single drop of blood welled up where the narrow tip had settled against the breast bone. He took a deep breath, and raised the hammer for a single, decisive strike.

My first kill.

He froze. The thought had come unbidden, and for some reason it made him hesitate. Poised on the edge of a carefully directed death blow, Nicholas was perversely compelled to look up. To study the face of his enemy one last time.

She was crying.

It was…blood. Actual tears of blood. The delicate drops beaded as they escaped her long, dark lashes and rolled down smooth cheeks rouged by rust-red streaks. She had been crying, he realized. He’d missed the tear tracks in his mad scramble to follow procedure.

Vampires can cry. The shocking revelation skimmed across the surface of his mind over and over. Vampires can cry. Vampires can cry.

It was easier to keep marveling at that than examine the deeper—and more problematic—implications that emerged as a result. Those implications…those feelings had to be shoved away. Ignored. This was not the time or place for mercy or compassion. It didn’t matter. It was probably just a side effect of the gas. This was a vampire. A monster. He raised the hammer high. She was evil. A parasite that fed on humanity. She was…

She was a crying woman wearing a wedding dress.

Nicholas closed his eyes. After several seconds he felt the hammer come to a gentle rest on the floor next to the woman’s shoulder. It was too much. This whole bizarre tableau possessed too many emotional touchstones. Her tears may have been red, but the rest of it was so fundamentally…human.

Self-loathing and sour humor bubbled up at the thought. Nicholas was distantly aware of making a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. His mother had been right all along. He was too weak to be a hunter. He opened his eyes.

The woman was staring at him. Her irises were pale blue, lovely and remote as diamonds. And they met his gaze without blinking.

Gods, how much longer would this go on? Incompetent sheep!

In the interminable time Della had spent on the floor, sprawled on her belly while the dripping entrails of the feral pat-pat-patted on her back, she’d come to fully appreciate the scope of Drus’s cruelty.

At first the wedding dress had seemed juvenile, the act of a child fancying himself clever. But as the minutes dragged on and the hunters had done nothing save remove the body of their brethren, Della had been forced to contemplate what was coming. To imagine it. The inevitable moment when the blind but diligent little humans uncovered her.

Drus was right when he said they would kill her quickly. But what about after? Ah…there was Drus’s real triumph. He had provided her ample time to dwell on after. How do you hurt someone who no longer fears death? Destroy their legacy. There wasn't much legacy remaining to Della after what he and the others had done, but there was enough: her dignity.

After her end the humans would talk. Share stories. Tell tales. A vampire in a wedding dress would surely become the seed of a legend. Told and retold with boisterous, mocking laughter. And Drus would make sure her own kind heard it too, no doubt with his own cruel embellishments. This was how you unwound a life of centuries. Della would die humiliated and embarrassed, mocked even beyond her final rest.

She cursed the tears when they started to flow again, her precious blood draining away even as she felt gnawing hunger. She cursed them and her own foolish weakness. When she tried to reach up and swipe them away, only a single finger trembled.

Della had smelled the hunter before she heard his cautious steps into the room. The scent of sweat and exertion overlaying fear and a darker, beguiling smell she couldn’t identify. First there was a lot of rustling plastic. More spatter from the decaying feral soaking the lace at her back. Then he had shifted the loveseat.

She heard his sharp indrawn breath and stumbling feet, the feel of his fingers gently—how strange it should be gently—pulling Della onto her back. Next came the satisfying spark of pain as the stake bit into her breastbone. The ordeal would soon be over.

I hope I don’t see you in Hell, Drus. I pray they plunge you far deeper than me, where the fires burn hottest, once-beloved.

Seconds passed, too many. She could feel a thread of tension began to wind tight within her. The anticipation was maddening. Do it. But he didn't. Instead came the sound of a heavy object hitting the floor near her head. What? Had that been the hammer?

Della opened her eyes. The hunter kneeled over her, staring at the stake in his hand. She could see his muscular forearm trembling. As she watched, a bead of sweat escaped from his golden-brown hair and rolled down his forehead. This one wasn’t masked. She instinctively liked his earnest face and surprisingly complex smell. In another time he would have made an excellent meal.

The human closed his eyes and turned towards Della’s face, as if preparing. When he opened them his brown eyes widened in surprise to see her returning his gaze. His body language grew even stiffer, rigid with new fear. He took in a long quavering breath, but remained still. Unusual. Perhaps he was new to this life. Or perhaps the universe had granted a small kindness, sending a hunter with gentle hands and stricken eyes. Like a mourner at a funeral.

“Do it,” she whispered. The words came out slurred through numb lips.

The hunter swallowed. He looked back at the stake. She could feel the point every time her heart beat, a slow drum to the rapid patter of the human’s above her. Time seemed to slow, even still for one sublime instant…before he looked back to her. He shook his head, a tiny movement almost like a shudder, and then lifted the stake and set it down on the floor. A look came into his eyes so distraught that she felt an alien flutter of sympathy.

He’s cursing his hesitation. Furious at his weakness. Della felt her lips curve up ever so slightly. The irony was too perfect. She and this hunter were more alike than it would seem possible. She wondered if his friends would turn on him when they found out.

The human stared at her, his expression shifting as if he were fighting a sharp internal struggle. She waited to speak to the victor.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, then looked down. The insanity of the words were obvious to everyone present. Della felt her lips lift into a genuine smile before the paralysis dragged them back down.

“No, sweet sheep,” she replied, her raspy voice shocking to her own ears. “I’m here to die.”

“Why are you in a…wedding dress?” There was a soothing depth to his voice. It seemed out-of-place coming from a man whose insect-uniform was stiff with dried blood.

“Because some of us…are true monsters.”

His bemused gaze stayed on her until she felt self-conscious. It was those cursed eyes. Most humans had eyes like puddles, but these were introspective and intelligent. Della didn’t want that gaze sizing her up.

“Stop…staring.”

He averted the look, then ran a nervous hand through his hair. “What can I do?” he finally asked, then gave a shaky laugh. She wasn’t the only one to find this horrible and absurd.

What can I do?

Was this hunter truly offering to help her? Perhaps she had lived long enough to see the world spin off its axis. For a few seconds she even considered the bizarre offer—if that's what it was. But no…his friends would not let him carry her out. Even now she could hear them moving on the floors below, sniffing and poking like scavengers.

And if he could get her out, what then? Dawn was close and she had no reliable sanctuary. No, this poor fool’s kindness would get him killed soon enough without Della speeding it along. But perhaps there was one thing.

“I have…a request.”

His expression turned somber. After a moment he nodded.

“Your friends…don’t let them see me…like this.”

His brow furrowed, and then she saw the understanding dawn. Smart little rabbit. He nodded again, then rose to his feet.

“I’ll be back.”

Della heard him go to a different upstairs room and rummage around. He returned carrying…a body? No, it was a tight coil of plain carpet covered in ancient stains. She watched as he unrolled it with a snapping gesture. A cloud of dust flew up and he coughed, but then quickly spread it out on the open floor.

Again she felt his gentle hands, this time behind her knees and shoulders. She was being lifted up. The light fixture swooped past her vision, leaving spots, and then she was being lowered onto the edge of the carpet. The hunter leaned back over her.

“I’m going to roll you up in this, okay? I’ll throw it on the pyre. No one will see.”

She managed the barest of nods, feeling a pathetic sense of gratitude towards this strange hunter. Definitely too strange to live for long. It’s a shame the world refused to abide oddities like them. But at least she had thwarted Drus in one small way.

“Shut your eyes.”

It was a relief to let them flutter closed. She was so hungry and so tired of being trapped in this body. Perhaps the flames would release her spirit to wander the night, free and unafraid. Della felt a small sensation on her cheek. She pictured the hunter wiping away a tear with his thumb. The gesture pulled at something sad and tattered within her.

Then she was being rolled, over and over, into the cheap carpet. She had expected to be afraid, but instead it felt like an embrace. The hunter cocooned her deep within the scrap, another cast-off ready for disposal. But now she wouldn’t be a spectacle.

Her kind didn’t have to breathe to get oxygen, but deep inside the carpet, surrounded by the smell of synthetic fibers and time, Della suddenly felt lightheaded. Dawn was still an hour away, but the profound desire to sleep came early and she surrendered herself to it, body and soul.

Another kindness.