The Hunger Page 3

  Lucinda turned down a smaller side street, then stopped and stared at the headlines displayed in the newspaper machine by the wall of the bank. Man found dead in alley, drained of blood, screamed the headline, while the story below right said Vampire in Tampa? She felt a rage come over her at that moment. If blood had still pumped through her veins, she knew that her heart would be pounding. If she still had body heat her face would be hot. But instead all she had was the cognitive sensation of rage.

  The fools, she thought. Don’t they know that I’m doing this for them? This would bring the others here to hound her. The tabloid writers, the supernatural experts, the law, the church and all of the others that sought to destroy her. Now things would become more dangerous for her.

  But she didn’t know how else to kill the scum that were her targets. Sure, she could kill them in a way unrelated to her state. She could push them off a building, crush them under a car, shoot or knife them. But she had to feed, every night. And they were the source of her food. If not them, then who? The innocents that she was trying to protect?

  She looked up finally after wandering many blocks. She was in a seedier part of the city, off of the main thoroughfares. The buildings were mostly two to three story brick low rises, some with boarded up windows. The people were shabbier as well. Crack addicts stared at her from the steps in front of the buildings, sizing her up in their need for the money to buy still more drugs. One young man, tall, gaunt and feral, tried to stare her down. One glare from her deep blue eyes, reflecting red from the sunlight, turned his face away. He recognizes a predator when he sees one, she thought.

  She turned down another street and made her way back toward the business district. He’s why I do this? she thought. Not just for the respectable people who lost sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, grandsons and granddaughters to the dark side of the city. But to the direct victims of the scourge. The addicts and hookers who fed the beast as their lives went from bad to disaster. The old people, living in poor housing on small pensions, while worrying each night that their lives might be threatened, their meager belongings stolen by the desperate souls seeking to relieve their hunger.

  She looked up and down the busy street as she came back to the more prosperous section of town. A young businessman in an expensive suit whistled at her, winked her way, and followed her with his eyes as he walked by her. She looked back, feeling a smile tug at her lips. The smile turned down in a frown as she turned and continued to walk down the sidewalk.

  I never thought I would miss sex, she thought. The touch of a gentle hand, the breath on the hot spots on my neck, the sigh as I let the feeling take me. She had thought that the years of selling herself on the street, the shame and the guilt of using her body to get money from sick people to feed her own sickness, would have made her revolted at the thought of the hands of another on her body. But having death as a constant companion had made her yearn for the life-affirming act that other people took for granted.

  How would he feel once he smelled breath as musty as the grave? Hands as cold as ice? Didn’t feel a heart beating in my breast? Could he stand the gaze of a hungry predator staring at him?

  She shook her head as she walked down the street. She couldn’t get that close to any mortal. She would be endangering them, and she would be putting herself at risk. She couldn’t do that to anyone, or to herself. She had a mission, she couldn’t let her personal feelings or desires get in its way.

  Before she knew it she was back at the alleyway that led down to her world, the world of darkness. The afternoon had passed faster that she had realized, and the sun was down behind the big buildings. She could feel that it was touching the horizon now, and would soon disappear. She waited for that moment patiently, leaning against the wall of a building.

  Lucinda could feel it happening, the last sliver of the sun disappearing around the curve of the world. She could feel the strength suffusing her muscles; the dark shadows could no longer hide what they covered from her vision. Quiet conversations on the street came clear to her ears. She could smell the aftershave on a man on the other side of the major thoroughfare. She could smell the stench of urine and feces blocks away in the seedier section of town. She could smell lust and anger and fear. She relished the least feeling, a feeling she would raise to terror in some lucky mortal tonight. And the smell of fear brought just a little bit of the feeling that she dreaded, the hunger that she must quench before the night was over.

  With a thought she triggered the change. Mist began to form around her, as she felt her own body begin to fade, becoming mist itself. The mist billowed, filling the alleyway thick as it rose above the first floors of the surrounding buildings. Then it started to thin as suddenly as it had filled the alley. It flew through the tiny openings of the manhole, gathering in the storm drain below, which filled with white moisture as the alley became clear again.

  The mist swirled down the storm drain, making its way from junction to junction, until it reached the opening of the unused access chamber that Lucinda had made her own. The fog poured through the tunnel into the access room, twisting into a vortex of mist that got thicker toward the center. The mist condensed in the center as it thinned at the edges. And then it was gone as a human figure stood in the center of the room.

  Lucinda felt a shiver course down her spine as she reveled in her power, the abilities of a super heroine. Then she shuddered in revulsion as she thought about where her powers actually came from. They were a gift from Satan, bestowed upon her that she might bring hell on earth. But he is not my master, she thought. He might get my soul when I die. But until then it is my soul.

  Lucinda dressed for the night, dark clothing that would look normal on the street, but blend into the night when she wanted it to. Black shirt, black skirt, and black stockings into black boots. She attached the sheath with the large dull knife to the back of her throat collar, hanging the sheath down the back of her shirt. With a thought she changed her physical appearance, red hair lengthening as it flowed down her back to cover the bulge of the knife. Her face rounded, her eyes darkened to hazel and her lips became fuller.

  With another thought she began the transformation back to mist, flowing out of the room and down the storm drain. She flowed quickly down the miles of drain until she came to another chamber that she had scouted the night before. The mist turned up as it flowed through the holes of another manhole cover. Filling the alley it rose into the air and settled on the rooftop of a three story low rise. There it began to once again coalesce, forming into the human shape, until Lucinda stood on the rooftop, looking over the bright lights of the city of Tampa.

  * * *

  Marcus’ eyes opened as the sun went over the horizon. He had felt no need to wake this day. The odds of finding her in the city during the day, when all of his infernal abilities were inactive, were remote to say the least. So he had slept through the daylight to make sure that he was at his strongest this night.

  Marcus sat up in the marble sarcophagus and let his gaze settle on the quartet of naked thralls kneeling beside his resting place, their foreheads to the floor. Two large men and two petite women, they guarded him in his sleep. And provided food when he wished to hide his presence from the world. Marcus climbed from the coffin and onto the floor, allowing his thralls to continue to grovel for a moment. He savored the rank smell of their fear, for it was a sure indication that they would continue to serve him to the best of their abilities.

  “You may rise,” he said in his deep resonant voice. The thralls came to their feet, their wide eyes locked on his face.

  “Any news of the quarry?”

  “Yes, master,” said the large black male, Frederick, handing Marcus the newspaper he had been holding.

  Marcus snatched the paper from his hand. His lips curled back to bare his fangs as he read the headlines and the story beneath.

  She has again given us away to the mortals, he thought. So far the idiots, or most of them at least, think it is nothing
but a human playing at vampire. But how long before they begin to believe? And begin to seek us out and destroy us?

  “Frederick. You are to continue monitoring the media for news of the quarry. Matthew,” he ordered of the muscular blond man standing next to Frederick. “I want you to shadow the dealers and the pimps of the city, so I may know their daily movements.

  “Tonya, Gloria,” he said, turning to the shrinking females. “I will need to feed at nights end. If I don’t find a source tonight in the city…”

  He knew what they were shivering about as he made the statement. They would provide his food tonight if he didn’t think it was safe to make a kill. They knew that he would not kill them. He would bring them to the brink of death, and then let them heal for several days, building up their blood levels and life force for his use again.

  Marcus turned away from the mortals, sure that they would follow his wishes to the letter. He walked from the room with the heavy draperies to one that overlooked the bright night sky of the city, thinking of where the quarry might go tonight. To one of the high crime districts, he was sure. But there were many in every city, and he must guess correctly if he was to find her. Not the neighborhood she had frequented the night before. Of that he was sure. She would worry about police patrols staking out the streets, and the other hunters she had attracted.

  He looked at the map of Tampa tacked to the wall, a red pin showing where she had hunted last night. There were nine other areas outlined in red marker. The high crime districts of the port city. The places where drugs were dealt, women were sold, and life was cheap.

  So much like the cities of my time, he thought. Despite the superficial changes in technology. Still the scum of the empire congregate on its streets, while the rich dwell in their guarded enclaves and ignore the problem, as long as it doesn’t land on their doorsteps.

  Tonya and Gloria came into the room with his clothes for the evening. Marcus raised his arms over his head and allowed the thralls to undress him, until he stood naked before them. Gloria rubbed her hand over his tight body, and Marcus wished he would feel himself stirring physically, even as psychological lust grew in his mind.

  It is not to be. The hunt is the only thing that arouses me. Only the feeding leads to satisfaction.

  Marcus nodded and the women began to dress him. Soon he was clothed in something that would pass as normal in the warm night streets of the Florida city. Khaki slacks, boat shoes, and a green Izod shirt. Tonya handed him a silver headed cane to complete the ensemble.

  Marcus twisted the head of the cane and pulled the slender sword from its sheath, slashing it through the air to his front. Satisfied that he was prepared he pushed the blade back into the cane proper and twist locked it into place.

  Marcus walked up the stairs to the rooftop. He had rented the entire building through Matthew, so he had no worries that anyone would be on the roof. He came out into the soft night air under the full moon on the horizon. Pulling the sweet smell of crowded humanity, his cattle, into his nostrils he bared his fangs again.

  Marcus spread his arms wide and willed the transformation. He could feel his bones changing, growing smaller and changing shape, as his skin and muscles followed suit. He could feel the clothing absorbed into his skin, even the cane, as fine hair grew all over his body. He made to roar his pleasure and a hypersonic screech came from his throat as he flapped his wings in the cooling air.

  Marcus clawed the air with his fur-covered wings as he gained altitude, until he was high over the city, looking down on the streets filled with cars below. He wheeled around his building for a moment, getting oriented to the city. Then, with a strong flap of wings he headed to the northwest, reveling in the freedom of flight.

  * * *

  Julio Rodriguez cursed softly under his breath in Spanish as he watched the girl wiggle her ass as she walked up the sidewalk. I could break her fucking neck, he thought as Carla crossed the street and homed in on a John, an elderly man who was looking as Carla walked as if he wanted a little of that. She sidled up to him and ran a hand down his chest, laughing at something he said. He nodded to her question and looped his arm into hers. They turned and walked into the building he had been standing in front of. Carla’s apartment was in the building, as well as her three children.

  Julio knew that Carla was holding out on him. The whore had been one of his best producers until recently. He was sure that she still made the money she had. She took too many Johns into her apartment. Too many of them left with smiles on their faces. She was still taking in money, no matter what she had told him. So she was putting away his money and not giving it to him. That was like stealing as far as he was concerned.

  In fifteen minutes the man was out of the building, a smirk on his face. Five minutes later Carla was back on the sidewalk, her dress not mussed and new lipstick on her face. She walked up and down the sidewalk, shaking her ass and smiling at the men who walked up and down the street. She waved at a man in an expensive car who rolled down his window and called to her. The buxom woman leaned into the window and talked in accented English that Julio could hear from his station at the front of his building.

  “Julio,” called out another of his girls, as he watched the man pull the car over to a curb and get out to follow Carla back to her building.

  “What is it, Maria?. You got my money?”

  “I’m a little short, Julio,” said the short, dark skinned woman in Spanish.

  Julio glared at her, towering over her as he clenched his fists, his biceps standing out on his bare arms, his chest heaving under his wife beater shirt. They’re all holding out on me, he thought. They’re all a bunch of thieves.

  “Come inside, Maria,” he said through clenched teeth. Time to get rough, to make an example for the other girls. Maria cringed and backed up, as Julio reached out and grabbed her arm. The woman cried out as his grip tightened and he dragged her up the steps and into the building.

  Julio flung her into the living room as he slammed the door behind him. Maria fell to the floor on her hands and knees, crying as her skin burned on the rug. Julio flexed his arms, reveling in his strength, gained from hours each week in the gym. He walked heavily over to Maria, feeling a rush of adrenaline as he looked down at the frightened woman, smelling the sweat of her fear. He reached down and gripped her hair and pulled, lifting her up.

  “Please no,” she cried as tears came to her eyes. She rose up as he pulled. He had hoped to pull some of her red hair out of her head, but she was frustrating his effort by her quick scramble. His rage flared as his face grew hot. His right hand struck before he could think, slapping her hard in the left cheek. She grunted and cried as he brought his hand up over his shoulder and then backhanded her on the right side of her face.

  “Puta,” he growled. “You don’t hold out on me, you hear. What you get with your pussy is mine. You hear me.”

  “Please,” she cried as he released her hair and she fell back to her knees. “The ninos.”

  “I could care less about your brats, woman,” he hissed as he stared down into her eyes. “Your pussy is mine. What you make is mine. And you will give me all of it. You hear, whore. I’ll give you what I think you deserve. And if you don’t have enough for the ninos then you must work harder.”

  He grabbed her arm and jerked her back to her feet. He grabbed the purse from her grasp and opened it, rummaging around and pulling out a small wad of twenty-dollar bills. He quickly counted the money and shoved it into his pants pocket. Then he grabbed her arm again in a tight grip, bringing tears to her eyes that ran down the bruising flesh of her face. He then jerked the arm hard, spinning her toward the front door.

  “Now get out of here,” he yelled. “If you ever hold out on me again you’re dead, you hear me. Dead.”

  Maria fumbled at the door for a moment before pulling it open and stumbling outside. She left the door open in her haste to get away from him, and Julio cursed under his breath as he walked to it and looked at the woman walkin
g quickly up the sidewalk away from his house.

  “And close the fucking door next time,” he screamed at her back. “I’m not trying to air condition the world.”

  He slammed the door behind him as he walked down the steps and onto the street. As he looked up he met the eyes of Carla, standing by the car that was beginning to pull out into the street. Her eyes were wide with fear. Your turn next, bitch, he thought, motioning her over with a finger.

  * * *

  Lucinda stared down at the giant of a man who was crooking a finger at one of his girls, while another of them stumbled down the street with tears streaming from a face quickly swelling from the abuse it had received. She had listened in on everything that had gone on in Julio’s apartment. She had gripped the lip of the roof wall so tight that concrete had crumbled, wishing that she could burst into that hovel of despair and rescue the woman Maria. But she was bound by the ancient restrictions of her kind, and could not enter any dwelling for the first time uninvited.

  The prey was motioning to one of his women to come over to him. Probably so he can beat the hell out of her, Lucinda thought, feeling the rage build up in her, battling to crowd out the hunger that had been taking hold of her for the past hour. She started to turn to go to the backside of the building when a snatch of song came from the man’s pocket. She stopped and turned to watch the prey pull a cell phone from his pocket and put it up to his ear, waving the woman away. Lucinda sharpened her hearing to listen in on the conversation.

  “Yeah,” said Julio.

  “How’s things going, Julio,” said the tinny voice on the other end in Unaccented English.

  “Very good sir,” said Julio, his voice instantly losing its normal sarcastic undertone. “What can I do for you tonight, sir?”