Guilty Pleasures

I walked in front of her. Theresa’s boots clicked sharp echoes from the hallway. Maybe it was only my fear talking, but I felt her staring at me, like an ice cube sliding down my spine.

Chapter 11

The room was huge, like a warehouse, but the walls were solid, massive stone. I kept waiting for Bela Lugosi to sweep around the corner in his cape. What was sitting against one wall was almost as good.

She had been about twelve or thirteen when she died. Small, half-formed breasts showed under a long flimsy dress. It was pale blue and looked warm against the total whiteness of her skin. She had been pale when alive; as a vampire she was ghostly. Her hair was that shining white-blonde that some children have before their hair darkens to brown. This hair would never grow dark.

Nikolaos sat in a carved wooden chair. Her feet did not quite touch the floor.

A male vampire moved to lean on the chair arm. His skin was a strange shade of brownish ivory. He leaned over and whispered in Nikolaos’s ear.

She laughed, and it was the sound of chimes or bells. A lovely, calculated sound. Theresa went to the girl in the chair, and stood behind it, hands trailing in the long white-blonde hair.

A human male came to stand to the right of her chair. Back against the wall, hands clasped at his side. He stared straight ahead, face blank, spine rigid. He was nearly perfectly bald, face narrow, eyes dark. Most men don’t look good without hair. This one did. He was handsome but had the air of a man who didn’t care much about that. I wanted to call him a soldier, though I didn’t know why.

Another man came to lean against Theresa. His hair was a sandy blond, cut short. His face was strange, not good looking, but not ugly, a face you would remember. A face that might become lovely if you looked at it long enough. His eyes were a pale greenish color.

He wasn’t a vampire, but I might have been hasty calling him human.

Jean-Claude came last to stand to the left of the chair. He touched no one, and even standing with them, he was apart from them.

“Well,” I said, “all we need is the theme from Dracula, Prince of Darkness, and we’ll be all set.”

Her voice was like her laugh, high and harmless. Pla

I shrugged. “It comes and goes.”

She smiled at me. No fang showed. She looked so human, eyes sparkling with humor, face rounded and pleasant. See how harmless I am, just a pretty child. Right.

The black vampire whispered in her ear again. She laughed, so high and clear you could have bottled it.

“Do you practice the laugh, or is it natural talent? Naw, I’m betting you practice.”

Jean-Claude’s face twisted. I wasn’t sure if he was trying not to laugh, or not to frown. Maybe both. I affected some people that way.

The laughter seeped out of her face, very human, until only her eyes sparkled. There was nothing fu

Her voice lilted at the end of each word, a Shirley Temple affectation. “You are either very brave, or very stupid.”

“You really need at least one dimple to go with the voice.”

Jean-Claude said softly, “I’m betting on stupid.”

I glanced at him and then back at the ghoulie pack. “What I am is tired, hurt, angry, and scared. I would very much like to get the show over with, and get down to business.”

“I am begi

“Do you know how old I am?”

I stared at her and shook my head.

“I thought you said she was good, Jean-Claude.” She said his name like she was angry with him.

“She is good.”

“Tell me how old I am.” Her voice was cold, an angry grownup’s voice.

“I can’t. I don’t know why, but I can’t.”

“How old is Theresa?”

I stared at the dark-haired vampire, remembering the weight of her in my mind. She was laughing at me. “A hundred, maybe hundred and fifty, no more.”

Her face was unreadable, carved marble, as she asked, “Why, no more?”

“That’s how old she feels.”

“Feels?”

“In my head, she feels a certain…degree of power.” I always hated to explain this part aloud. It always sounded mystical. It wasn’t. I knew vampires the way some people knew horses, or cars. It was a knack. It was practice. I didn’t think Nikolaos would enjoy being compared to a horse, or car, so I kept my mouth shut. See, not stupid after all.

“Look at me, human. Look into my eyes.” Her voice was still bland, with none of that commanding power that Jean-Claude had.

Geez, look into my eyes. You’d think the city’s master vampire could be more original. But I didn’t say it out loud. Her eyes were blue, or grey, or both. Her gaze was like a weight pressing against my skin. If I put my hands up, I almost expected to be able to push something away. I had never felt any vampire’s gaze like that.

But I could meet her eyes. Somehow, I knew that wasn’t supposed to happen.

The soldier standing to her right was looking at me, as if I’d finally done something interesting.

Nikolaos stood. She moved a little in front of her entourage. She would only come to my collarbone, which made her short. She stood there for a moment, looking ethereal and lovely like a painting. No sense of life but a thing of lovely lines and careful color.

She stood there without moving and opened her mind to me. It felt like she had opened a door that had been locked. Her mind crashed against mine, and I staggered. Thoughts ripped into me like knives, steel-edged dreams. Fleeting bits of her mind danced in my head; where they touched I was numbed, hurt.

I was on my knees, and I didn’t remember falling. I was cold, so cold. There was nothing for me. I was an insignificant thing, beside that mind. How could I think to call myself an equal? How could I do anything but crawl to her and beg to be forgiven? My insolence was intolerable.

I began to crawl to her, on hands and knees. It seemed like the right thing to do. I had to beg her forgiveness. I needed to be forgiven. How else did you approach a goddess but on bended knee?

No. Something was wrong. But what? I should ask the goddess to forgive me. I should worship her, do anything she asked. No. No.

“No.” I whispered it. “No.”

“Come to me, my child.” Her voice was like spring after a long winter. It opened me up inside. It made me feel warm and welcome.

She held out pale arms to me. The goddess would let me embrace her. Wondrous. Why was I cowering on the floor? Why didn’t I run to her?

“No.” I slammed my hands into the stone. It stung, but not enough. “No!” I smashed my fist into the floor. My whole arm tingled and went numb. “NO!” I pounded my fists into the rock over and over until they bled. Pain was sharp, real, mine. I screamed, “Get out of my mind! You bitch!”

I crouched on the floor, panting, cradling my hands against my stomach. My pulse was jumping in my throat. I couldn’t breathe past it. Anger washed through me, clean and sharp-edged. It chased the last shadow of Nikolaos’s mind away.

I glared up at her. Anger, and behind that terror. Nikolaos had washed over my mind like the ocean in a seashell, filled me up and emptied me out. She might have to drive me crazy to break me, but she could do it if she wanted to. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to protect myself.

She stared down at me and laughed, that wondrous wind chime of a laugh. “Oh, we have found something the animator fears. Yes, we have.” Her voice was lilting and pleasant. A child bride again.

Nikolaos knelt in front of me, sweeping the sky-blue dress under her knees. Ladylike. She bent at the waist so she could look me in the eyes. “How old am I, animator?”