THE VOID CITY HOWLERS
My to-do list was a mile long. I needed to look up Magbidion’s number and get him to take a look at the silver bullet I’d dug out of the werewolf skull over at Orchard Lake. Roger might appreciate it if I found a way to tell him I’d accidentally whacked his buddy Brian. Werewolves were apparently out for my blood. If I had half a brain, I would be out there now, looking for a way to get them off my ass.
With that same half a brain, I should have turned around, walked back into my bedroom, and told Tabitha that it was over. Since I apparently wasn’t going to do that, I needed to put Rachel in a cab and send her home. Yes, there were a lot of things I should have been doing.
Instead, I was going to a hockey game. C’mon—front row, center ice. Who could turn that down? Believe me when I say that, up to the last minute, I tried.
“I can’t go to the game, Roger.”
“What are you even talking about? You know you’re going. Brian already stood me up. I’m not getting stood up by you too.”
Ah, guilt. “Yeah, sorry about Brian.”
“It’s not your fault the guy turned out to be a flake,” Roger spat. “Screw him.”
He trailed after me from the front door of the Demon Heart to the Pollux. Rachel was waiting just inside the door. She’d changed into hip huggers and a crop top. When I was born, seeing a girl in her bloomers was indecent. Now, my girlfriend and most of the women I knew were strippers. You might say that I’ve changed with the times. Even so, I stared at Rachel’s pelvic bone. A hint of her thong peeked out over her hip huggers and the only thing that stopped me from attacking her on the spot was Roger’s hand on my shoulder.
“If she’s why you can’t go to the hockey game, you have my blessing,” Roger whispered.
“Hockey?” Rachel perked up. “I love hockey.”
Roger bit his lip. “Brian’s a no-show, so we do have an extra ticket.” He’d bought one for Brian and one for me, so he wasn’t just giving me Brian’s unused seat. I suddenly felt better about having accepted.
“I thought you liked high society gals,” I teased.
“Just because you like orchids,” Roger said, taking Rachel’s hand, “doesn’t mean you ignore the wildflowers.” She blushed when he kissed her hand. The light in the room took on a crimson tinge and Roger backed off.
“Don’t go all flashy-eyes at me, buddy.” He held up both hands in supplication. “I was just being friendly.”
I counted to ten in my head and reminded myself that Roger was my best friend. Slowly, the red receded. Rachel looked on with a bemused pout. I didn’t like the look of accomplishment that I saw blazing in her eyes. At least with Roger, we’d have a chaperone along.
Ishould have sent Rachel home and invited Tabitha to the hockey game, but there just wasn’t time. We’d miss the whole first half arguing. So I went to the hockey game with Roger and Rachel.
The Void City Howlers weren’t all that good, but they were the home team and they could usually be counted on for a fight. They didn’t win very often, but when they took to the ice someone always got hurt, and that’s all I wanted to see anyway. My favorite player was Sparky Parker, the Howlers’ power forward. Without fail, he always started a fight in the last seven minutes of the game. He used to do it at five minutes until the NHL screwed it up with all those crappy penalties. Even so, he was the king of the Gordie Howe hat trick, pulling off the goal, assist, fight trio in most matches to the exclusion of all else, even winning.
Roger led us down to the front row, where the cold from the rink seeps up through the floor. Rachel was already freezing when we got to our seats, and the souvenir jersey that I’d bought her wasn’t helping much. I took off the jacket I always wore to hockey games and hung it on her shoulders.
“Thanks.” She touched my hand and the world went black, white, and red. It can happen when the bloodlust gets bad. Thing is, I didn’t think I was hungry enough to justify it. Before I had time to give it much thought, Rachel whispered, “Later,” in my ear and snuggled up under my arm, a warm little cinnamon-scented angel. Her proximity, the sheer physical closeness, should have made things worse, but color slowly bled back into my vision. That was weird.
“How did you—” I began to ask, but Roger cut me off.
“So, does Tabitha know about your new girlfriend yet?” asked Roger.
“No.” I looked down at Rachel. “She’s not my…look, just drop it.”
Roger just smiled and scanned the crowd.
“Looking for someone?” I asked.
“Something like that.” He waved at a blond guy who was dressed to the nines. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty. The blond came over, carrying two boxes carefully in his arms. He handed the boxes to Roger with a curt nod.
“With Lady Gabriella’s compliments, Lord Roger.”
“New boyfriend?” I asked Roger.
“Yeah, yeah. Go screw yourself.” Roger slipped him five one-hundred-dollar bills, holding on to his hand when the boy accepted. Five hundred dollars and Roger didn’t even flinch. Must not have been his own money. I wondered if I checked the receipts back at work, whether I’d find a five-hundred-dollar payout with Roger’s name on it. “And, Dennis, the other thing?”
“It’s been arranged, Lord Roger,” Dennis responded. “If there will be nothing else?”
Roger barely noticed him. He had released Dennis’s hand and was busy opening one of the boxes. “Huh? Oh, yeah, we’re good. Run on.”
“Seriously,” I continued, “you pitching or catching, Rodge? I bet you’re catching.”
“Shut up.” Roger pulled a dark bottle out of the box and handed it to me. It saidHorace Gibson—1922—AB negative on the label. “If you keep giving me the business, I won’t share.”
“Giving you the business? Who the hell says that anymore?”
“I’m serious, Eric.”
“Fine.” I handed the bottle back. “I can get my own blood. I don’t need to have it delivered.”
“Yeah, but can you ferment yours?” He broke the seal and popped the cork.
“What?”
“Blood booze.” He took a swig from the bottle, shuddered, and then coughed. “Smooth.”
“How does it taste?” I asked.
“Like blood,” he admitted, “but with a serious kick.”
“Can I try it?” asked Rachel.
Roger agreed and I disagreed in unison.
“She doesn’t need to start drinking blood, Roger.”
“Oh, like that won’t be part of this evening’s festivities for you two.” Roger handed the bottle back to me. “Blood is the only bodily fluid we’ve got.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Eric. What do you think it tastes like when I kiss you?”
“Fine.” I handed her the bottle. She took two small sips and passed it back to me.
“Not bad,” Roger told her, “but save the rest for the vampires, if you please. It cost me more than you know. They don’t just sell this stuff at the local liquor store.”
“Where’d your boyfriend get it?” I asked. Roger’s eyes lit up from within, a dull orange pinpoint encompassed by his pupils. The fading brown pigment in his irises set it off nicely. He normally wore contacts to conceal the fade. Plenty of vamps do. Vamp irises typically lose their hue with age, resulting in a washed-out shade of the original color.
Talbot once told me that truly ancient vampires have red irises, and sometimes even the whites of their eyes go permanently crimson. Mine hadn’t faded at all, but most Vlads have weird traits that set them apart, like my ability to turn into a white cat instead of a black one. My guess was that my blue eyes were like that. I once heard a rumor about a Vlad who can eat hamburgers. I’d have rather had the hamburgers and worn contacts.
“Well?” asked Roger.
“I drifted off there for a second,” I told him. “I was thinking about hamburgers.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. “You could drive a saint to murder, you know that?”
“Game’s starting,” I answered. “Are we going to fight or watch the game?”
The row behind us was enthralled by our conversation. I looked at the fat guy behind me and bared my fangs. “Don’t mind us,” I told him. “We’re vampires.”
“My son plays that game,” he replied. “Aren’t you guys a little old?”
I turned my attention to the start of the game without answering him. Halfway through the first period I took a swig of the fermented blood. My taste buds couldn’t tell the difference. Maybe they had all died, or perhaps my palate is unrefined. I enjoyed the kick, though. It burned going down my throat and every swallow sent a dagger of heat into my heart, like heartburn would feel if it involved real fire.
“Good?” Roger asked.
“It’s different,” I shrugged. “Anything different…” I yawned. “When are they going to start playing?” I asked.
“They are playing,” said Roger.
“Not that I can see.”
“It’s not that bad,” Roger said.
“Which game are you watching?” I took another pull off of the bottle and realized that it was empty. Roger opened the other box and handed me a second bottle.
“This is total crap. Sparky hasn’t even cross-checked anybody.”
“You can tell him about it after the game.” Roger smirked. “I have a friend who knows the owner. We’ve got permission to go and talk with the team.”
“Cool.” I offered Roger a drink from bottle number two. It had a red label on it withUnidentified Female—1982—O positive written on it in bold black letters. If anything, the burn was worse with the second bottle, but there was a taste to it, acidic and bitter.
Sparky Parker played like he was more intent on ice skating than cross-checking anybody. In the second period, Fordman, the Howlers’ left winger, had about as much chance of scoring as a hippo in a full-body condom. They weren’t even trying. Halfway through the third period, I finished the bottle.
“Let’s just go,” I told Roger.
“What about meeting the team?”
“Screw ‘em.” My tongue felt heavy and things were a little blurry. I was completely wasted.
“Please, can we stay and meet the team?” Rachel asked.
“Fine.” I cupped her breast. She didn’t seem to mind. “Anything you want.” We kissed and time rolled away. She moved onto my lap, grinding against me. Some parts of my body became more engorged with blood than others. The little voice in my head that normally would have thought twice and worried about consequences had passed out in the middle of that first bottle of blood booze. In his place was a horny little voice that I hadn’t heard since college. He didn’t care if we got caught or if security threw us out. All that mattered to him was getting inside Rachel’s jeans.
The world blurred around us like time-lapse photography. Only Rachel and I were still, cocooned in cinnamon bliss. I wondered if it was some kind of magic or just the booze, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
“Guys?” Roger whistled in my ear, then thumped me in the forehead.
The game was over, the crowd all gone. It was just the three of us. Rachel got to her feet, blushing sweetly as she straightened her outfit. What the hell had happened? Without her to hold on to, I fell backward and began sliding off the bleachers. Maybe blood booze had been a bad idea. Roger pulled me to my feet.
“Jesus, you are totally crocked,” Roger told me. “Let’s go meet the team.”
Resting one arm on Rachel and the other on Roger, I stumbled in the direction that they led me. “You’re my best friend, Roger,” I slurred. He didn’t answer.