Midnight-purple wallpaper adorned the walls. The quilt on top of the sheets was made of black and pink patches shaped like fluttering bats. In the wall sconces, purple bulbs gloomed the space, creating a feeling of being in another dimension. Actually, the room did occupy a disjointed space, along with the rest of the school.
Ravyn's undead eyes cut through what would have been murk—were she still human. Though vampire, she refused the Goth trappings of an actual coffin, to indulge herself with a canopy bed shrouded with great folds of black lace. On the floor, at the foot of the bed, sat an amp and bass guitar on a stand. She took the guitar and slid the strap over her head. The heavy bass felt natural hanging at her hip.
One corner of the room had an ivory vanity and chair, both inlayed with gilt scroll-work. An armoire huddled against a wall, doors open, and a flat screen TV sat inside, seeing little service. The school's Witch Club used magic to pull internet service in from the human world to support their club. It was a service Ravyn would have enjoyed, but her money always seemed to get devoured by other needs. A scholarship paid Ravyn's school tuition here at Darkhaven, but unfortunately, not much else. Without close relatives, except a grandmother in a nursing home, Ravyn needed cash as much as a safe refuge.
If the Academy hadn't called to her, appearing in a mysterious fog bank, she'd have been homeless these last few months, getting used to being a blood-guzzling fiend.
Blood, blood, and more blood. Oh, for the days when a pizza looked good. Damn garlic allergy!
A red LED flashed above the door. It was time for night classes to begin for the nocturnal students—but she'd be cutting night class tonight. She was dressed for action, dressed in black leather, with sensible shoes. How the slutty movie vampire babes managed to fight in stiletto heels, and not break an ankle, was more than she could imagine.
Ravyn opened a black-paned window. Mist hung just out of reach, a silver barrier to her desires. The laughter of lurking ghosts mocked her, calling her out to play, but they were not her prey. Her vengeance was specific, demanding only the monster who'd made her bleed and scream, who'd humiliated and used her, turning her into a monster in the end. No other vampire needed to suffer, unless they stood in the way of the blood she craved.
In her room, a few feet away, a wan bluish-gray light shimmered, expanded into human form. The pixelated glow congealed into a butler in a pinstripe suit, a white starched shirt, and narrow tie. The coat had long tails. The figure wore white gloves and a look of sorrow on his rather avian face. His head was cue-ball smooth, his nose hawkish. Not exactly a ghost; he was Darkhaven—the life and awareness of the school; a magical program created by the Darkhaven family that had founded the school for the education of preternaturals and to assist in their acclamation to human society.
The three-dimensional icon spoke in a voice smooth as river-rock, in a tone lacking inflection. "Where are you going, Ravyn?"
Shrugging, she adjusted the wide leather strap of her bass, its neck pointing down. The glossy black body had quite a few dents and scratches. The thick strings bore hints of blood in the fine grooves. She had forgotten to clean the bass after her last outing. Ravyn's black-gloved hand caressed the neck like a gunslinger would his gun, her free hand on her hip.
She said, "I'm going trick-or-treating."
"Really?"
"My public demands my presence. I am the vampire-hero of justice, you know."
"One that doesn't play well with others. Is this hunting of yours going to help you in any way?"
"When I find my killer, I will be at peace."
And he will be in pieces.
Resolve firmed the butler's face, but did nothing for his chalky pallor. "Stay here under my protection, Ravyn. I don't want you getting hurt."
She drew another breath so she could answer. "Too late for that, don't you think? I've been hurt to death."
"Yes, but vengeance is an empty road. Let it go, Ravyn. It's like a tumor in the brain, eating away at you until a monster emerges."
"It's too late not to be a monster. Why do you care, anyway? I'm a charity case, not one of the rich brats that belong here."
"You're one of my special projects, and I don't like to fail."
"There are predators out there that take more than the blood they need to live. Someone has to end their excesses and take them down. Someone has to care." Her dark, dangerous tone went softly brittle, "Are you going to stop me?"
"I can, you know. Without me clearing it, you'll never find your way through the fog to the time and place on Earth you seek."
"Will caging help me in any way?"
The butler sighed. "Probably not. I suppose some lessons need to come from direct experience."
"I'll be back well before dawn."
"I hope so." Dropping pixels, he blurred out.
She thrust the bass guitar out the window and slid out after it. The drop to the red-brick courtyard passed in a rush. She landed in a crouch, straightened, and walked on as if stepping off a curb. A human would have broken ankles, and lain there, waiting for an ambulance.
Translucent, silvery ghosts swooped and circled, their bodies catching and tangling the diffused moonlight. Scary, scowling faces formed in the fog, elongating, distorting, and dissolving. Ravyn pressed her bass to her side and continued on, ignoring the show. "Sorry, guys, I've got places to go, questions to ask, an enemy to kill..."
Tired of their sport, the ghosts swooped off like manta rays, fusing into the mist.
She walked out onto a dirt road that ended several minutes later, becoming broken terrain. She focused on her destination, waiting for signs of modern civilization to appear.
The fog peeled away and vanished. She stood in the middle of downtown Sacramento. It was late enough along K Street for the shops to be closed. The sidewalks were nearly abandoned with the last panhandlers heading off to their regular spots to sleep. Some of the vagrants would wind up camped down at the river. None of them tempted her into a quick bite; she liked her blood without an alcohol flavor.
She circled The Plaza Mall to reach Old Sac, where the historic boardwalks and pioneer-style buildings had been preserved or reconstructed. A breeze off the river fanned her hair, spreading it like raven wings. Most of the tourists had cleared out as the shops closed, but she knew from past experience that several of the bars would still be going strong. And where humans drank themselves stupid—and vulnerable—she hoped to find an unsuspecting vamp or two. Her grip on her bass tightened. Her heart jolted, starting up with a slow beat as she slipped from street to street, hugging as many shadows as possible.
Ravyn approached a red brick building with several cars parked at the edge of the boardwalk. The gilt lettering on the windows said: GOLDEN EAGLE SALOON. She paused at the door, swung the bass behind her, pulled the brass handle, and went in. The wooden flooring was heavily weathered to give the place an authentic feel. The management provided bowls of peanuts in the shell to patrons. Broken shells littered the floor, a throwback to olden saloon days when this kept down the dust and grit blown inside.
Along the left wall, chairs bracketed huge barrels used as tables. On her right was the bar and bartender. Behind him hung the usual mirror, and shelves holding an assortment of bottles. A sign announced that twenty-five cent sarsaparilla was available, a lie actually. The bright red wallpaper with antique gold designs seared the eye. Most of the customers were in the back where the regular tables were kept. The classic rock airplay of a local station provided a backdrop of dinosaur music.
She hurried toward the back, ignoring the bartender, keeping her eyes from the mirror. She didn't want to see herself. Myth had it; vampires lacked reflections. Sadly, this wasn't true. Mirrors showed them as walking cadavers, as the monsters they were. When clouding human perceptions, Vamps avoid mirrors so the beguiled weren't shocked out of their mesmerized states. Photos were blurred by vampire magic, as were digital camera. Mirrors remained a pain in the ass.
Her steps slowed as she entered a group of tables. She scanned those present with a bold stare. Few of them looked up. One of those that did was a male, blond college student several years older than Ravyn. He had a woman with him, a cougar trolling for fresh, young meat.
Make that blood.
The woman smelled of death. Her skin was too pale, her breathing shallow, forced. Dangerous curves filled out a silk dress that fell like a cataract of blood. Under the impact of Ravyn's stare, the redhead looked up. Her black eyes warmed to ember red. She murmured to her date, stood, and closed the distance to Ravyn with a confident stride. The redhead said, "I hope you're not here to poach. I saw him first, and I intend to savor every last drop."
Every drop and he'll die, not that you care.
"I only want a little of your time," Ravyn said.
The woman cocked her head. "What's in it for me?"
"Let me surprise you."
The woman looked Ravyn over, her eyes catching the guitar. "You're a musician."
"Bass player, yeah."
The woman reached out and used a fingertip to trace Ravyn's left collar bone. The fingertip glided down between her generous breasts, stopping directly over her heart. A heart that was now racing with excitement at the prospect of imminent violence. The redhead smiled. "You say you just 'want a little?'"
Ravyn nodded curtly.
The woman said, "I'll want a little blood in return. I hope you've fed recently."
Ravyn's eyes located the ladies' room. She tossed her head. "In there. Now."
The redhead smiled wilder, showing fangs. "My, so impatient... Well, come along, dear." She sauntered off, leaving Ravyn to follow. She did. The bathroom proved small with a couple stalls, a sink, mirror, and not much else. Ravyn resisted the impulse to smash her dead face in the mirror. She turned, locked the door, and completed a circle to face her prey.
The woman stood in a casual pose, crossed arms puffing up her breasts. "Do you have a name? They call me Rose, because of my crimson hair—and my thorns."
"I'm Ravyn." She took a couple steps. Two feet separated them from each other.
Rose said, "Put yourself in my hands. I won't disappoint."
"I hope not." Ravyn hung onto her bass's neck while sliding off the strap. The weight of the guitar was meaningless to her vampire strength. Humans have one in three muscle strands firing at a time, unless adrenaline kicks in to produce superhuman strength, which is often paid for later in pain and self-injury.
Humans aren't designed to run at their full potential. Vampires don't have that problem. Our full strength is always turned on.
She could hold her guitar effortlessly for hours, but had other plans. Made of wood, it was capable of inflicting serious harm to the undead. Ravyn smiled coldly, baring her own fangs. "I'm only going to ask you once. I'm looking for a rapist. He has a black limo, a vampire driver, and is fond of killing his meals slowly—always underage girls. Tell me where I can find him."
"I don't know who you mean."
It was said too fast. Ravyn knew the woman was lying. "Tell me what I want to know."
"Why? So you can get us both killed?"
"And I asked nicely, too."
Rose pushed by, heading for the door.
Ravyn spun and chopped at the woman's neck with the body of the bass.
Rose ducked, wheeling around to face the younger vamp. "Are you crazy? You could have hit me with that."
"That was a warning."
Rose blurred, moving vampire-fast to the locked door. She fumbled with the lock, looking for the latch that had been twisted clean off.
Ravyn held up the missing bit of metal. "Looking for this?" She dropped it on the white-tiled floor where it bounced with a tink-tink.
Her back to the door, Rose faced Ravyn. "Look, it's stupid to fight. That's not going to help either of us. I'll just break open the door and we can go our separate ways."
"Move without telling me what I want to know, and it will hurt. Bad." Ravyn swung the bass up so its neck rested on her right shoulder, the way Paul Bunyan might carry an axe.
Rose's eyes brightened fiercely, red embers at full blaze. "You are psycho. I've never done anything to you."
"Your silence hurts me. The friend of my enemy is my enemy. You better pick another side. Fast."
Rose hissed in fury. Her red nails extended in an orgy of growth, giving her claws as she lunged—only to impale herself on the long neck of the guitar that Ravyn rammed through her diaphragm. With damaged tuning keys, the head of the guitar burst out of Rose' back.
"Uuuunghh!" Her eyes went wide with shock and pain. She burbled blood that dribbled down her chin.
"Last chance," Ravyn said.
Rose smashed down on the neck of the bass, shattering the wood, bending the steel support rod that hid inside. From the entry wound, wood shards poked out, as well as thick guitar strings still attached to the body of the bass in Ravyn's hands. The strings connected the two vampires.
Ravyn used the body to smash in Rose's face. There was a crunch as nose cartilage broke. Rose's head snapped back. Her whole body slammed into the door, cracking the wood with a sound like gunshot. The motion tightened the strings and pulled the guitar's hard body from Ravyn's grip. The piece banged on the floor and slid away. Blood poured out of Rose's nostrils, and from the abdominal wound. Her dress darkened, soaking up her blood, perfuming the air with a sweet metallic tang.
Rose started sliding down the door.
Ravyn blurred forward and caught her by the neck, lifting the vamp so her legs dangled. A squeeze and a shake, and Rose's neck crumpled and snapped. Ravyn slammed Rose face-first into a porcelain sink. The sink shattered. White fragments scattered across the tiles. Ravyn stared at the deep gouges in Rose's broken face. They bled freely. The fire in the woman's eyes guttering out. Her eyes went dark.
Ravyn sighed. "You should have listened. Now I'll have to buy another bass."
She turned the body and pulled the blood-slick neck of the guitar free of Rose's back. Ravyn thrust the broken shaft back in, piercing the heart. Rose died a second time, crumpling to the floor to sprawl across splinters.
Someone banged on the damaged door. "Hey! Whatcha doing in there?"
Ravyn leaped into one of the acoustic tiles of the false ceiling, her head bumping it up so she could reach into the crawlspace, pulling herself in. She wiggled past pipes, and in moments was gone. She'd failed in finding the treat, so she'd played a trick instead. She took her emptiness with her, nursing the hope she'd one day find the one she truly needed to kill.
Maybe tomorrow…