Long Fall to Forever
I heard the buzzer through a mind fog so thick you could cut it with a knife.
God...What had I done last night?
That was my first coherent thought of the day, always a bad sign. The sheet was hopelessly twisted around us, tight and deliciously warm. Us? Someone was next to me, I could feel that skin, soft and smooth and not mine. Who was that? I couldn't remember and it hurt to try and the door wouldn't stop buzzing.
I licked my lips, and the hair in my eyes was irritating. My hair felt too long, too black, and too frizzy from a long night of abuse. My scalp hurt. I had to roll over, pushing and working with my arms to free myself and I managed to get one leg out, over the edge of the bed, the mattress exposed, and then the other. I pulled the sheet, blinking at the soft, sleepy moan as my companion, whoever it was, resisted.
And the buzzer was buzzing.
I wrapped the sheet tightly around me, hugging it to my breasts and walked down the carpeted hallway, rough and tingly to my bare feet. I needed to pee, but that could wait. I was sore and tired and my head hurt from the buzzing. That had to stop. Everything else could wait.
"Shit!" I banged my toes on my purse hard, kicking it three feet down the hallway. It was a light, leather thing with a heavy, metal thing inside. It hurt and I frowned at it for a second, pressing my left foot down on my injured right toes, as if that might help.
I finally moved, although I'd just about changed my mind by then. I took a few steps, gingerly, and reached down and unsnapped my purse, feeling inside for the thing, the gun that had hurt my foot. I probably wouldn't have thought of it if I hadn't kicked it, or maybe I would have. It felt good in my hand, like a big black aspirin, my 9mm Advil ready to cure my ills. My head was pounding and I put the barrel to my temple.
"Bwoooosh..." I whispered and smiled and pushed the gun into my sheet, cold and close to my tummy.
I leaned up against the door, big and stainless and bolted and alarmed so that the lights blinked at me. Safe, they said, green and white, blinking. Buzz all you want, the lights said, you can't come in, and I looked and listened, and leaned against the door holding my gun and naked in my sheet.
"What?" my voice was soft and dry, cracking. I had my face against the intercom, eyes closed. Just breathing.
"Sister?" It was a boy's voice, a child's voice, soft and wondering and afraid of doing what it was doing. But more afraid not to. "Father Lyons sent me. I...I have a letter. Some money too."
"Julius?" I didn't mean to say it aloud, but the boy didn't answer anyway. I probably hadn't pressed the speak button.
I opened the door, pushed the buttons so the lights turned red and I wasn't safe, not anymore. The whole world could come in if it wanted, if this boy were lying. I was too tired, too wrapped up and still in my bed to care. The whole world would have been a fitting intrusion, I thought, but it was only a speck. Only the boy.
"Sister Ellen? Are you alright?" He stared at me, awkwardly and with good reason, I suppose. He dressed in black, like all good boys, starched and shiny with it, the way a cheap wool blend gets when it's been ironed too hot for too long.
I stood aside, squeezing the grip of my Beretta hard, but not the trigger. I just caressed that little bit of metal in my mind and kept my finger along the slide, straight and safe.
"Yeah," I mumbled and he got the idea, sliding past me, pressing his back to the doorway lest he touch me with the hem of his tunic.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Sister, but Father Lyons told me to keep ringing the bell until you answered," he said, talking so quickly I thought I'd throw up. "He told me to give you this. Are you..." he glanced around nervously, seeing nothing but the antiseptic white of my little foyer, "...Are you sure you're alright, Sister?"
I looked at the envelope he held in his hand and nodded. "I was sick," I told him. "I'm better now. James, right? Brother James?" I kept my arms folded in my sheet, leaving him like that, with his hand outstretched foolishly, holding the oversized envelope.
"Yes, uh, James Mayfair, Sister." He looked over my shoulder, like I wasn't even there. "Father Lyons said..."
"Your third year?" I cut him off.
"No, Sister, um, fourth. I'll be ordained next summer."
"Then it'll be Father James, will it?" I smiled, even though that hurt a lot.
"Y-Yes, Sister." He pushed the envelope out a little farther, hoping beyond hope I'd realize it was there and take it.
"Ellen? Where you at, baby? What time is it?" a voice, a deep manly voice echoed down the hall suddenly and I took the envelope, wondering why I was playing games with this boy.
"You'd better get back to your classes." I wasn't smiling anymore and James had finally found my face with his eyes.
"That...That's a man?" my wide-eyed visitor asked; whispered really.
I nodded, pulling the envelope into the folds of my sheet. I was pressing the gun between my breasts with the other hand and the sheet came loose, threatening to fall off my left shoulder and completely away. I made a little twirl with my wrist and hugged myself, more to save the boy from embarrassment than any useless sense of modesty I might have possessed.
"But you're a nun!" He sounded like he'd just fallen into a big hole.
"I'm not that kind of nun, James," I nodded, for no real reason, it certainly didn't reassure him. "Go on and tell Father Lyons I got his message."
As James left, closing the door behind him, my previous evening's guest emerged from the bedroom, dressing slowly as he walked down the hallway.
"Shit, I'm running late," his voice was muffled slightly as he pulled his sweater over his head and I wondered if I'd ever see his face. It made me smile and I almost started towards my kitchen, just so I could avoid him entirely and punish myself with doubt.
But I didn't and Cameron's great shaggy head, all blonde and rugged emerged, popping onto his wide shoulders as he pulled his sweater into place. Cameron, my hero from Boston, how could I have forgotten him.
I didn't say anything as he found his boots and sat on the floor like a 30 year old boy tugging them onto his feet. "I gotta get over to Quantico, but I'll be back in town later tonight. How about dinner?"
I nodded, still wrapped like I was going to a toga party and hiding my gun and Lyon's package.
"Good." He kissed me and I gave him a cheek, thankful he didn't have time for a hug. "Sorry about this, Ellen." He gave me a little look and a half-smile as he left, and who knows? Maybe he really was sorry, but I'd already half-forgotten him anyway.
Three minutes later I was sitting on the floor in front of my refrigerator, the sheet bunched around my hips as I sat cross legged. I had furniture of course, but I liked that spot. It was warm from the little compressor that hummed, heating the freon and pumping it around the big plastic box. It vibrated softly and made me feel safe, a little less alone maybe. The Beretta was on the table, but the envelope was open now and I pawed through its contents slowly while I drank instant coffee.
It wasn't much, just a handwritten note from Cardinal Beschi telling me I had reservations for a flight to California that afternoon. Some cash money to pay my way. A few printed pages and some photocopied faxes. After three months of sitting around, playing dead, I finally had a job. I guessed I wasn't going to make dinner with Cameron. I pursed my lips, thinking that was probably all right. He'd been a good fuck, but once was enough. He was a little too soft for my taste.
"…The Rosarium, because of its interweaving of soul and physical alchemy, was of particular interest to the psychologist Carl Jung…" Howard glanced at me as I opened the door, "…who perhaps quoted from it in his writings upon Alchemy more than any other single text."
He was my grad student, one of several, and Howie was a morning person, or so I told him. That was why he got to give my lectures after one of my rough nights. I'd paged the boy about one in the morning, while Cameron had been pressing his cock into my womb, to tell him he was taking my freshman psych class.
It was nice having tenure.
I walked past the students, most of them boys and attending the seminary, but a few others who weren't and they were easy to pick out. They were the girls. Whoever had the insane idea of opening a catholic seminary school to females was either brilliant or a supreme sadist…Or a brilliant sadist, and most likely a Jesuit.
If I'd been born with a cock I'd have been a Jesuit, most likely. I'm not sure my basic outlook on life would have changed a great deal with my gender. I'd always enjoyed being a tomboy, much more male in my instincts and interests than female, and when I'd become a nun it seemed to confirm my family's worst fears, that I was a lesbian.
That probably would have been a blessing, if it were true, because I was a lousy nun. That was a fact quickly recognized by the church after I got pregnant. It wasn't an immaculate conception, I assure you. I was something of a prodigy at that time, getting my PhD in psychology at the tender age of twenty-three and I'd been published with works on Masonic Catechism, Cabalism, and particularly the Phenomenology of Self and Jung's associations with Symbolic and Practical Alchemy.
I'd come to Cardinal Beschi's attention as a twenty-one year old grad student and in between college courses, I attended schools of a very different sort. I had the appearance, the intelligence, and most favorably of all, the morals and faith required to attend to the more mundane needs of Mother Church. I won't pretend it wasn't enjoyable. I embraced my new role fervently and the idea of committing such grievous sins as I did was like an elixir to my soul. Seduction, terrorism, murder…I had a genuine talent for those things and I enjoyed them all. I did political work for many years, which was interesting but utterly predictable, and only later was I read into the darkest heart of the church.
My position then was Professor of Psychology at Georgetown and the associated St. Thomas Seminary. I was also the Pope's Profiler, for those who enjoyed gossip and clever sobriquet. But I'd never met the Pope and it seemed pretty unlikely I ever would; a much better appellation for me would have been Rome's Troubleshooter. I consulted with the FBI and Interpol on violent crimes, particularly those involving cults or having some religious significance, but my real job was much more practical than that.
When circumstances conspired to inflict grave damage upon the church, I made sure they didn't.
I'd missed the news, of course, being fairly busy the night before, but it was all in my email anyway. I had messages from Quantico, the Violent Crimes people wanting my opinion. I ignored those until later. The Cardinal's office had sent me all the data, both condensed and raw, and I read through it slowly, drinking that crappy coffee that Chris liked, designer coffee from West Africa or something.
"You got Sex Ed, by the way," I told Chris without looking at him. He was another one of my grad students. Carolyn, my third and last, was talking on the phone.
"Freud?" Chris groaned. "Why me?"
"Cause your coffee sucks," I chuckled, rolling my chair across the thin carpet to Carolyn's desk.
"Uhh no…because…no…oh, shhh…wait…" she caught sight of me, since I was right next to her.
"Boyfriend?" I asked and she gave me a little look. Carolyn was 25 and very cute and she'd been trying to break up with this guy for two weeks. It was driving us all a little crazy.
I took the phone from her and hung it up.
"See how easy that is?" I shook my head. "You got Ethics tomorrow and…" I pursed my lips, "…Structuralism on Monday, the notes are in my desk."
"Ethics tomorrow?" Carolyn lifted her eyebrows.
"Just give ‘em something to argue about. What the hell's wrong with you guys?" I rolled back to my desk. "Bunch of whiners…Oh, and you got my schedule if I'm not back by Monday."
"What am I gonna do with it?" Carolyn asked.
"Divvy it up," I laughed at her. "There's three of you, handle it."
"Carolyn's in charge?" Chris dropped his head.
"It's a girl thing," I shooed him away.
"Slave," Carolyn giggled, sticking her tongue out at the man.
I spent an hour on my computer, drinking coffee and eating aspirin. I had the good stuff, the original reports. The two police officers had been killed with fingernails and teeth. Bite marks measured on the cop in the car matched those found on a kid up in Oregon. The guy on the roof was different.
Suspect number one, a white teenage prostitute stopped for questioning by an undercover vice cop and his partner. She's short, slight of build, with blonde hair and dressed like a prostitute. Duh, I rolled my eyes, wondering if they'd have stopped a girl scout selling cookies. Probably not. They try to detain her and she disables one cop and kills another before anyone has time to draw a weapon or call for backup.
The cop in the car, officer Jakobs with nine years on the force and two in vice, had died quickly, bleeding out from his neck as both his carotid artery and jugular vein had been severed. He had deep wounds on his chest and arms and he'd basically lost eighty percent of his blood within thirty seconds and by that time, according to the reports, the attack had been long finished. They estimated the girl had been inside the car for about 7-12 seconds total. A couple math geniuses had figured that out by determining how fast and far the car had traveled. So they could have been wrong.
The other cop, Ramirez, six years on the job and a year in vice, had sustained life threatening injuries to her left wrist. Her hand was basically severed by several sharp objects consistent in size and shape with fingernails. She fired one .38 caliber round from her service pistol, which was pretty good considering she was going into shock, and supports the timeline established, before a second assailant basically decapitated her with a single blow to the neck from behind. Again the wounds were consistent with fingers, although the coroner had no explanation.
Body evidence was found at the scene, on the sidewalk and on the unmarked police car, and it screened negative for drugs, chemicals, or anything else for that matter. It was identified as blood plasma, except it had no blood components in it. No platelets or cells. It was just raw plasma and nobody could figure where that had come from, unless the girl had been carrying an IV around with her. That seemed doubtful.
After killing Ramirez, suspect number two, described as a tall, thin, caucasian woman with blonde or brown hair, picked up her friend and ran away. End of story. Witnesses said the woman was running like "Jesse Owens on crack" to quote one of them.
"Hmmm…" I rubbed my eyes. It was pretty straightforward, I thought. California had a vampire problem.
And that made it my problem because the Catholic Church in all her wisdom does not endorse the idea that vampires exist in anything but myth and legend and bad Hollywood movies. But we knew better, meaning we very select few. Faith is a tricky thing. There is no one more fervent in belief than the newly converted and no one more bitter than those who've lost their faith.
If the existence of vampires was revealed then there would be two possible recriminations against the church, both of them bad. Either the church had no idea of their existence, and so it was fundamentally fallible, not to mention vulnerable; or the church had known all along and hadn't told anyone. That led to all kinds of possible allegations including conspiracy, which was always a favorite arrow of our enemies.
"Extension 0124 please…" I held the line until Dr. Sweeny answered, the FBI profiler on the case. "Hey Phil, it's Ellen."
"Sister Ellen." I could hear his smile and he knew why I was calling. "What do you think?"
"The fingernail thing bothers me," I told him. "I didn't see anything about broken nails…"
"Yeah, we were…"
"…I break a nail shopping for lettuce."
"…looking at that. Talked to a guy up at Hopkins, says it can't be done," Sweeny was saying. "We're thinking gloves, blades shaped like nails, something like that."
"Teeth look strange too. You guys checking dentals?"
"Every dentist from San Diego to Seattle," Sweeny chuckled wryly. "We got a lot of manpower on this. There's some guys in Frisco who can put dog teeth, like canines, into a person's mouth. They do horns too."
"Yeah, I've heard of that." I glanced at my notes. "How about that plasma, sure it's blood? Didn't come from someplace else?"
"It's blood, yeah. But it's necrotic, that's why we didn't see anything the first time through the lab. The cells are there, but they were dead. Had to eyeball it to figure that out. Stupid computers."
"That's weird." I reached for my cigarettes.
"Yeah, we're not sure what that means," Sweeny said. "Got any thoughts?"
"On the blood?" I chuckled, blowing out blue smoke. "Nope. I think we're looking for more than two though."
"Couple girls?" I twisted in my chair. "Doesn't work for me, I'd look for a boyfriend, just one probably. Three is a significant number, four's a bad one, unlucky. You know."
"We were looking at that, yeah." That was a favorite phrase with the FBI these days.
"So, my first choice is he likes to play vampire, dopes up his girls. They were on something. Sends them out to make some money on the street. Not sure about the blood. Any other connection with Oregon? Those two guys know each other? Our guy might know them; a guy on a roof isn't exactly random."
"Premeditated, yeah. We're working on it…"
We talked for about forty minutes and I was just trying to give him doubts and suspicions. I didn't need the FBI looking for vampires. They wouldn't find them and if they did more people would die. It would make a bigger mess for me to clean up. Violent Crimes looked at their database too much anyway. Sweeny was good, they all were over there, but it took a leap of faith to get to the right conclusion, and so they were playing the odds and I was just reinforcing that.
"Who's the SAC out there?" I asked finally.
"Jack Burnett, you know him?"
"Nope," I shrugged to myself. "I'm flying out this afternoon, just to sniff around. Can you get me in, save me some time?"
"Yeah, Elle, I'll tell him you're coming," he chuckled. "You dressing up for it?"
"Me? Thanks Phil." I laughed and hung up the phone.
I had a habit, my black and white nun costume, but I only wore it to mass. My usual attire was much more liberal, but I did like the colors. I wore a white silk blouse and a black leather skirt, showing off my legs because God help me, I was always vain about my legs. Some silk stockings and one inch leather heels. I didn't look like a nun, unless your idea of a nun was 5'8" tall, 120 pounds, with 34C-22-36 measurements and a cover girl face. Black hair, falling below my shoulders thick and wavy. And soft blue eyes. They were the only part of me that looked innocent; my eyes.
I'd been told by everyone from my parents, to my boyfriends, to the priests I worked with that I was far too attractive for the sisterhood. I always laughed and said that when Playboy did a 'Girls of the Catholic Church' spread I'd be the centerfold. I wasn't really joking about that though and I would have done it, even if I would've been excommunicated. Maybe. Rome could be pretty forgiving when they wanted to be. They'd just send me to do missionary work in Zaire probably.
Out of sight, out of mind. And I was so far outside the church mainstream already that anything I did mattered very little. I worked for Cardinal Beschi and he had his own agenda.
That's what those two vampires were thinking. Out of sight, out of mind. They were hiding now, waiting for the sun to go down so they could crawl back to wherever it was they'd come from. One would be older, the other younger, in vampire years I mean, and it was impossible to know which was which right now. The girl could be a thousand years old, easy. I just didn't understand the behavior, that was the weird part. What were they doing?
I got to the airport very early and checked my gun through with my luggage. It was licensed and registered and thanks to my friends at the FBI, I had the paperwork I needed to carry it anywhere in the country, except on airplanes of course. Even the ghost of Hoover couldn't have fixed that for me in these rough days of the war on terror, but guns and airplanes don't mix anyway.
"Hi, can I buy you another?" a man said, a rather handsome man, as I sat alone in the largely empty first class lounge.
"I'd like that," I smiled at him. "Thank you."
"I'm Seth." He sat down lightly, and a lot of men don't know how to sit, but he did. He offered his hand and I let him hold mine for a second.
"I'm Ellen." I glanced at the bartender as Seth ordered two martinis.
"Passing through?" he asked and I tilted my head.
"Yeah," I nodded and we had a nice conversation. The beautiful nun and the happily married lawyer from San Francisco, sitting close together and smiling, touching fingers, just a little, just enough and we had two hours before our flight boarded.
"So…" I bit my bottom lip, looking into his hazel eyes, "…can I ask you a personal question?"
"Only if you want a personal answer," Seth smiled and it was a nice one, a real knee buckler.
"If I went into the men's room, would you follow me?" I asked, standing up slowly and taking a little breath. "Or would you just wait for me here?"
I walked away, towards the restrooms and I didn't hesitate, walking into the men's room like I owned it. Thank God there wasn't an attendant, or my little fun would have really been spoiled.
I went into a stall and removed my panties quickly, stuffing them in my purse, and smoothing my skirt into place. Seth was thirty seconds behind me, which was a tease and I might have punished him, except I was feeling rather nice right then.
Seth stepped into the stall with me and I reached past him, closing the door and locking it. We had a lot of room, as it was designed for handicapped people and wheelchairs. We didn't need very much though. Seth took me into his arms and I turned my head, tilting it so that he could kiss me, gently at first, and then harder as I opened my mouth for his tongue.
I felt his hands on my back, and one of them going lower, down to my ass and Seth squeezed me, working my skirt higher as his hand moved down until I gasped softly into his mouth. His warm strong fingers on my skin, caressing my rounded ass and slipping into the crease between my cheeks. I held my hand to his neck, moaning softly and squirming while I felt my sex growing moist.
I reached down with the other, between us to find his hard cock, the lump in his trousers that he'd been pressing against me. I worked blindly to free him and we were turning as I pushed my hand into his open fly, feeling the humid air and finally the hot semi-hardness of his penis.
Seth massaged my anus briefly before finding my pussy from behind. I was slippery now and his slight penetration brought a small trickle of my juices. He pushed me against the wall and reached down, lifting my left leg with one arm while I worked his cockhead across my sex.
"You ever fucked a nun before?" I asked him, flushed and giggling with excitement.
"You're really a nun?" Seth smiled with disbelief, licking his lips.
"Oh yeah," I moaned as he thrust himself up and into me, making my entire body shudder with delight as his thickness split my tender folds.
"No…" he breathed, kissing me briefly with his cock steady inside me, just half of it, "…I never…have!" he grunted and pushed the rest of cock inside and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
"Oh God…Fuck me…Uh-huh…Good…" I was moving my ass while he held me balanced easily on one foot, my left leg lifted high and I watched his face while he moved, pushing that wonderful penis in and out of me at a nice steady pace.
I started cumming after just a few minutes, not long at all by my usual standards, and it was good. I pulled Seth's mouth to mine, crying out into his lungs, letting him breathe my rapture as my senses were momentarily stolen. Juices were spilling down my legs, over my stockings now, and I lifted my other leg, tentatively, wrapping it around the man as he took all of me in his strong arms.
Seth had me impaled on his cock now, my back against the wall, and my legs wrapped around his waist tightly while he held my ass in his hands. He'd lift me slightly, then gravity would pull me back, over and over, and he got so deep that way, his cockhead touching the very bottom of my cunt. It was a good fuck, a wonderful fuck and his staying power was beautiful.
"Like this…Turn around…" Seth was breathing hard after letting me down gently, and he removed his suit coat while I turned for him, giving him my sex from behind.
"Ahhh…" I groaned loudly and I brought my finger to my mouth, sucking them as he split my pussy once more, holding my hips and fucking me fast.
Seth pushed me over so far that I could have reached down and touch the floor, but instead I was holding the toilet seat, with my legs spread and my lungs gasping with every deep thrust. The man knew how to fuck and it seemed as if his cock was touching every little part of me, all the really good places. Being in the men's room didn't hurt either, it was always a favorite of mine; being fucked in a public toilet by a perfect stranger. It made me feel like a dirty whore. I came a third time and then a fourth before he pulled out of me slowly.
"In your ass….Okay? In your…ass…" he was asking me, being as much of a gentleman as his urgent desire allowed and I barely nodded before he was pressing his smooth wet cock to my anus.
I winced with painful pleasure as his cock pushed into my rectum, forcing my tight sphincter to open, to swallow that thick blunt head and it burned. But it was good too and I rubbed my clit while he paused, his cockhead just inside with my asshole snapped tight around him.
When he pushed I was ready and I wanted it and I rocked my hips, working my ass back onto him in small circles. He fucked me nice too, he'd done a girl's ass before, and even dry it was pretty good. It hurt a little, but I always liked that anyway. I wanted it to hurt because it made the pleasure that much better, that much more intense.
"God, you have a great ass…" Seth gave me a spanking, a little one to show he cared and I giggled weakly, sucking air into my burning body.
"I love your cock…" I looked over my shoulder at him, "...Cum in my ass…Give it to me…"
And I was cumming again when Seth finally did just that, stabbing his prick deep into my bowels and I felt his sperm erupting, filling me. It was hot and wet and it made me feel loose and dirty inside. But God help me I loved that feeling and I'd savor it all the way to San Francisco, feeling that man's sperm leaking slowly out of me while I sat in first class, drinking champagne and smiling at the flight attendants.
"Let me clean it for you," I whispered as Seth pulled slowly out of me.
"Oh yeah…Jesus…" Seth smiled as I knelt down, taking his semi-hard cock, red and wet and covered with the remains of my ass and his sperm. It was salty and slightly bitter, acrid on my tongue, but I washed his prick thoroughly, licking and taking him into my soft sucking mouth.
"Mmmm…It's good." I smiled up at him, sliding his cock over my pursed lips.
"You sure you're a nun?" Seth chuckled, stroking my head. "You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met." He didn't have to mention that I was probably the first beautiful woman, nun or otherwise, to lick her ass off his cock after he'd fucked her in a public restroom.
"I swear on the bible." I gave the tip of his cock one last kiss. It was rock hard again, but I let it go. We'd be sitting next to each other on the airplane for six hours, Seth would need his strength. Something about airplanes always made me horny.
I said goodbye to Seth just before we got to the exit gate at San Francisco. He gave me a kiss, behind the corner and out of sight, a soft one, nice and deep. Then his business card, with his private numbers already hand written on the back.
"Daddy!" I watched as his little girls, twins about four years old, ran to meet him, and his wife was there, smiling and happy.
I walked past the woman, feeling myself filled with her husband's sperm. I'd rolled my panties up and pushed them into my soaked pussy like a big soft tampon and I liked the way they felt when I walked past Seth's pretty little wife. I could still taste Seth in my mouth and I was close enough to touch her. I caught her eye and smiled gently, congratulating her silently on having such a lovely family. She smiled back and then I was gone.
I took a room at the Hyatt and decided I'd go to Sacramento in the morning. It was still early, a six hour flight going west only took two hours off the clock, and the sun had barely set. I changed my panties, washed my pussy too, because Seth had fucked me twice in the jetliner's tiny bathroom, leaving his semen inside my cunt both times. At least he'd been nice enough to ask if I was protected before he came. I used the bidet and fingered my ass, getting as much of that old semen out of me as I could, but I'd be squishy inside for awhile yet. That was alright, I liked it.
I thought I might have a chance of catching up with my two vampires in Frisco, but that would be a long shot. They wouldn't come to the Bay. I knew one of the vampires who lived there, and he was anything but a blonde. I'd talk to him though, which was always a little risky. The man had no reason not to kill me, except that all vampires knew they had to play the game if they wanted to live. Michel was special to me anyway and that was the real reason...But I pushed those thoughts away.
Survival was always dependant on information, and the church had eyes and ears everywhere on the globe. From the smallest village, to the corridors of power in the capitals of nations, there was very little that Rome didn't know, or couldn't find out about. Vampires as rule took little interests in governments, or people in general, but religion was a big deal and there were other creatures who roamed the night, not all of them friendly to either of us.
Of course knowing there's a vampire around and finding him in a city of millions were two very different things, and I didn't know Michel's boy at all, his new one. He was apparently a boy in his late teens, early twenties, and beautiful to look at, but rather temperamental as most new young vampires are. I'd gotten that tidbit from a friend in Baltimore, a cabalist who sold spells and potions to minions who had need of such things.
I did possess some skills, however, and I could sense Michel. Not as accurately as another vampire would, but I knew he was around, in the city and he'd know I was here as well. I had little doubt of that. We shared a certain affinity, the old vampire and myself, and just being there made my heart beat faster with anticipation.
At any rate, the only thing I could really do was to visit the Necropolis, one of the many Goth Theater clubs San Francisco was famous for. Most of them featured BDSM stage acts followed by Goth bands followed by the traditional midnight mass and psuedo-orgy of carnal delights, most often fed with ecstasy, crystal meth, and a lot of alcohol.
The Necropolis was very much the same, except when someone died on that stage, they were really dead. It was hard to get in, and even harder to leave if you caught someone's eye, and that was the whole point of it anyway, for those of us who were human. We wanted to catch someone's attention, whether it was so we could play the victim, or offer a service, or just find out what all the mystery was…It was a grand game and I double checked my Beretta before entering through an abandoned warehouse. This was the back door, only humans went through the front.
"I know you," a guy said, just standing there with a couple friends around a fire burning in a rusty 55 gallon drum.
They belonged to someone, or some thing perhaps, little minions who were supposed to look mean and scare away those people stupid enough to come around the back. They probably had no real idea who they were serving, but the world was most often like that. I wondered sometimes how much I really knew about myself.
"Nice to be known," I smiled, trying to place him.
"The nun, right?" Another guy looked at me; he had piercings all over his face. "What do you want?"
Guy number three was smoking and I could see he was brown, Hispanic maybe, and his face was scarred with acne. He just looked at me.
"A drink," I shrugged. "Is that gonna be a problem?"
"There's a cover charge," the first guy shrugged.
"Yeah," Three said, flicking his cigarette away. "You can handle it though."
"Oh?" I licked my lips. "What's the cover?"
"Head," Two chuckled. "Blow us, we'll let you in."
"All three of you?" I laughed. "That's kinda steep."
"Maybe the price is gonna go up some," One shrugged, smiling as he stepped towards me. "Bitch like you…A nun…You might like that though…" he laughed and so did his friends.
"Ever had a cock, slut?" Three asked me, grabbing his obvious erection through his pants.
"No," I shook my head. "Have you?"
"Shit," Two looked at his friends. "Let's bang this whore."
One was the guy who was closest and reaching for me, and I let him come, side stepping quickly and grabbing his arm, pulling him forward and off balance. I used his momentum against him, turning his arm in its socket so that we could all hear the sharp crack as it was dislocated, and I kicked him hard across his ribs, the stiff toe of my shoe hammering into his solar plexus. He dropped like a stone as his friends watched for a second, and then came at me together.
Three was bigger, and quicker too, which made my choice easy. I moved to my left so I was in front of him, his arms stretched out for me because he was stupid as well. Just as he got close enough to reach me, when he expected me to jump back, or sidestep, or maybe try and kick him in the balls…I stepped forward, into him and brought my right hand up with a blinding jab into the soft spot just above the Adam's apple.
It was a lethal blow, the second knuckles extended and my hand flat, so that I crushed his larynx, breaking the cartilage in his windpipe. The immediate result was panic as he staggered back, clasping his hands uselessly to his throat. He'd suffocate in a few minutes, and rather painfully.
Two was close, within six feet of me, but he stopped when he saw his friend in trouble. He looked at me uncertainly and I saw he had a short bladed knife in hand, like a folding Buck knife.
"What's the cover now?" I teased him, stepping back towards one, because my purse was there. I hadn't really meant to drop it, but it had slipped off my shoulder when I'd kicked the guy.
"I'm gonna cut the fuck outta you…" and he looked a little wild as I reached down, bending quickly at the knees and grabbing the strap of my purse.
He slashed at me with his knife, going for my tummy, I thought, or maybe my tits. All that did was turn him the wrong way and I avoided the blade easily. As I moved, I brought my purse around quickly, spinning my entire body so that when the heavy Beretta inside connected with the guy's head, it didn't matter that it was in a little leather purse, that was barely any cushion at all.
My purse was moving very fast and even if he could have stepped away from it, I just would have let it go at him, following it with a blow to his wrist and another to his heart. I had it all worked out a long time before he even realized he was in trouble, and as my purse struck his temple Two staggered back, dropping his knife. I kicked him in the groin hard a second later, and that put him down for good.
I left him groaning, holding his balls in a fetal position, and he had a good cut on his head with blood streaming out of it. I fixed my blouse and adjusted my skirt, picked up the knife and dropped it in the fire. I looked at my shoes, which had cost me an even two hundred and frowned. I'd scuffed the right one badly and I was lucky I hadn't broken a heel. My purse had blood on it, but otherwise it had survived.
Probably I should have just shot those guys, I told myself, but it had been a long time since I'd had a real fight. The workouts with my sensei were good, but I always knew in the back of my mind that he wouldn't really kill me. That kinda took some of the edge out of it and this bit of exercise had been a lot better for me emotionally.
I needed a confidence builder right about then.