“What did she say?” I asked.
“I called for two reasons,” Calaphase said into the phone. “To apologize, and to ensure that there will be no repercussions-you know what we’ve been negotiating. I wanted you to know sooner, rather than-I see. I see. That’s magnanimous of-I see. Thank you, my Lad-”
He took the phone away from his ear and stared at it, then sat down on the bed.
“Well,” he said, hanging up the phone and scowling. “That’s done, and done.”
I struggled to remember what had happened. I remembered his wonderful voice telling me what to do. I recalled him leading me somewhere, light drumming against my eyelids, a flash of the bathroom, a flash of wonder. What had he planned for me now? A warm bath, a slow massage? I had actually giggled in the shower, when I swayed to one side and cold tile had touched my breast. Then he’d turned the water on.
But before that, nothing. Nothing before the blast of icy water but scattered images and a feeling of great contentment and affection for Calaphase, stretching back… until he had bit me.
“Oh, God,” I said, feeling my neck gingerly. “Calaphase. You hypnotized me-”
“Not precisely,” Calaphase said, still scowling. “Certainly not intentionally-but, yes I did.” He sighed. “Forming a link is like a reflex. It’s hard to stop once started.”
“You bit me,” I said fearfully, the implications finally starting to hit home. “ You bit me! Do I need to use holy water-”
“There’s a garlic derivative,” Calaphase said. “The Lady Saffron is checking for me-”
“Fuck her! She didn’t need to know about this!” I said. “ Why did you call her? ”
“Dakota, I had to,” Calaphase said firmly. “You were completely under. The sex and the bite were establishing a link-in lay terms, you were becoming my human servant. You were minutes away from imprinting completely on me and I couldn’t stop it.”
I started shivering. His voice now sounded different, yet strangely familiar-deeper, reverberating, echoing through my head, calling up intoxicating memories from my stupor. Even the wound on my neck tingling in time with his words. He was right. He’d had me under his thrall, my aura merging with his, and he couldn’t stop it. And I hadn’t wanted him to.
“This the real reason they used to kill vampires on sight. Not because we drink blood-but because we can enslave minds,” he said. “I never wanted to do that to you-but I had no one to turn to. My master is dead, Revenance is gone, Demophage is gone-but one of the best vampirologists in the world was one phone call away. Who else could have helped me?”
“No, no, you’re right,” I said, still rubbing my neck. “You did the right thing.”
“Thank you, Dakota,” he said, sitting down heavily on an ottoman on the side of the room. The hiss of an air conditioner starting up sounded in the distance, and Calaphase glanced up briefly before looking back at me. “Believe me, I am sorry. I had no intention-”
“I know, I know,” I said. “Unless you’re the world’s master at reverse psychology.”
“Most of my-” and Calaphase frowned “-my prey are shrinking violets, desperate for me to take the initiative. I didn’t expect you to be so, ah, forward. ”
I laughed, but the laugh quickly died. As disturbing as all this was, there was another question I had, based on a curious little choice of words Calaphase had used when talking to Saffron. I struggled for a moment, figuring out how to ask it, and then just gave up.
“What are you negotiating for me, Calaphase?” I asked simply.
Calaphase looked away. “For the Lady Saffron to take you back under her protection.”
“Fuck her,” I said. “She threw my collar away, just like she did our relationship.”
“You need her,” Calaphase said, cocking his head, then focusing on me. “Dakota, the Oakdale Clan-we’re punks. We’re a bunch of punks with a security service that’s little more than a protection racket. The Lady Saffron is the de facto mistress of the city.”
“You are not a punk,” I said. “And I thought Lord Delancaster was in charge of the city.”
“Only in his mind,” Calaphase said. “And on TV. No-one cares about him, holed away in his mansion. He has no more significance than the Queen of England. Saffron’s the one who attends the Atlanta City Council meetings, meets with the Mayor, brokers deals. Delancaster gave her power, and she’s used it. I do not want to be on her bad side. Neither should you.”
The hiss sounded again, closer. Now I could tell it was not an air conditioner. It was more like a snake; it was even followed by a sinister rattling. “Did you hear that?”
Calaphase sat up straighter. “Yes. What is that? I’ve heard it for the last few minutes.”
The rattle sounded again, followed by another sharp hiss, and I recognized it. “Oh my God,” I said. “It’s a spray can.”
I leapt out of bed, out of the room, and snagged my leather jeans, slipping them on like I’d been born in them. I hit the light for the hall and ran forward, grabbing my sportsbra, painfully wrenching it on, scooping up my top, and running towards my coat. At the end of the hall I looked back and saw Calaphase appear at the bedroom doorway.
“Calaphase!” I shouted, slipping on my top and vest so fast they seemed to flap around me. “The fuckers burned down the whole werehouse! We gotta go!”
Calaphase scooped up some clothing and sprinted down the hall towards me, long legs closing the distance seemingly instantly. Something tumbled over in the carport, and I flinched. Calaphase slipped on his shirt, then he held out his hand for me to stay back.
“ Fuck that,” I whispered. “They’re experts in anti-vampire magic. We do this together.”
Calaphase nodded, holding up his hand for silence. Then, slowly, we crept up the stairs side by side, rising until we could see the kitchen door.
Something stood between the door and my car.
At first I couldn’t understand what I was seeing. Then the figure resolved to a huge, floppy hat, almost an upside-down pyramid of felt-the same dumpy Seussical hat I’d seen on the grinning spectator to Revenance’s death. Beneath it was a wide, olive face, shrouded in darkness-except for two glowing white eyes and a broad, evil grin that split the face open ear to ear with a jagged zipper of pebbly white teeth. A giant zipper tab hung from one ear, completing the effect.
“What the hell is that?” Calaphase said.
It was the tagger from Oakland Cemetery, but-”He’s not human,” I said.
“No matter,” Calaphase said, slipping his jacket back on. “I’m a vampire-”
“He’s not human, and he’s not moving,” I said, desperate to communicate something, but not sure what it was. “And he has to know you’re a vampire.”
“I don’t care,” he snarled, crouching, preparing to spring. “I’ll tear his throat-”
“He knows you’re a vampire,” I said, “and he’s sprayed the door. ”
At that Calaphase finally froze, seeing the slight lines of paint sprayed on the glass-lines that looked like spray paint, but slowly shifted and moved, sinuous, hungry.
“Oh, fuck,” Calaphase said, and Zippermouth reached up and pulled the zipper tab across its face, the metal tabs I had thought were teeth splitting wide open in zigzag, hissing grin, a long snakelike tongue sliding out of his mouth. “Oh, fuck me! What is that?”
“Tell me you didn’t brick up the back door,” I whispered.
Calaphase began backing down the stairs, and I mirrored him. We turned to face each other, only for a second, then ran. Calaphase flew past the red flickering light flooding out of the bedroom and cut to the left, hurling himself at the outer door and splintering it off its hinges before I could even begin to say ‘wait, let’s see what we’re getting into’.
No need to wait, though. Fast on his heels, I found out immediately.
Technicolor tentacles of graffiti wire whipped out around us, catching us like a net and jerking us aside like horizontal bungees. We screamed, both of us, the big bad vampire and his skindancer squeeze, as thorns erupted and dug into our flesh as we swung through the air.