Lewis Aleman - The Anti-Vampire

“Because if I show up without you, Roderick’s going to punish whoever he can get his hands on—he’s already got Ruby. If we don’t show up at all, you can bet he’ll think of bad things to do to her.”

Feel my voice tremble at the end. Edgar looks at me with a knowing sneer.

“Wh-why does he want me so bad anyway?” she asks.

“You mean you don’t know?” Edgar asks, turning his face to watch her reaction.

“Of course not. Had one night with a sketchy guy with long teeth—then he’s after me like a psycho. Know I’m cute but can’t be that hot.”

“It’s the new breed—he needs you for it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The new breed—the stuff—you know, the good stuff ?”

“You mean the stuff you guys did before I met up with him that night?”

“Yeah, that stuff—he said you know how to make it—that’s why he wants you.”

“He said, ‘ I know how to make it ?’ I don’t know what the hell it is. I didn’t even try it—don’t do needles.”

“Lie to me all you want, blue. He’ll get it out of you when he sees you. Gets whatever he wants from everybody.”

“No, I don’t know what that crap is—got no idea what’s in it—no clue how to make it.”

“Then what does he want you for, sweetheart? Stunning conversation? A sweet kiss?”

“I don’t know what he wants me for—that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, jackass.”

I say, “Ambrosia, it’s got something to do with your baby.”

“What? What are you talking about?” tears running from her eyes before she finishes.

“You have two heartbeats. Saw them the first time I saw you on the dance floor.”

Sniffling, “Been late. Few weeks. Been late before—never been too regular. I can’t be…just can’t.”

“It is. I saw it beating.”

She sniffles and says, “Knew it…just didn’t want to believe it…could feel something different…”

Edgar’s face looks panicked, “No, it’s about the stuff—I promise you all this is about the stuff. Roderick doesn’t care about any kid—never has.”

“It’s the same thing, Edgar. The kid is the new breed.”

As I tighten her corset around my waist, I marvel at how different Maxine looks wearing the brown wig that she had in her hand when she walked in. She truly looks like an entirely different person. I guess it’s easy to mold beauty into different shapes.

Since Maxine is so much taller than me, my clothes are tiny on her—all stretched out and doing a terrible job at covering her body.

Looking to the opened doorway and the unconscious Carvelli and Quint, she whispers to me, “Better hurry up, princess, and get yourself out of here before they wake up and see both of us in your room.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you dressing up like me?”

“I’m staying here, lying on the floor with my back to them, pretending to be you. Hopefully fool them just long enough for you to get yourself out of here.”

“They’re knocked out. Why are you staying? Why don’t we just run out of here—now?”

“There’s more vamps here than just them—they all need to think you’re still locked up in this room or you won’t have a chance.”

“But, I’ll look nothing like you.”

“You don’t have to—you just have to look enough like one of us for none of the others to notice you on your way out. There are always strangers here—girls the guys have picked up, but they all pretty much look like us, and none of them look like you. Those clothes make you look different, but not much like a vampire. Pray it’ll be enough to get you past them.”

“How’d you knock the guards out?”

“They were distracted.”

“Why was your corset undone when you came in?”

“That was the distraction.”

Little silver car jumps two lanes and cuts us off to get on the exit ramp at the last second—going about one third of the speed as us.

Slam on the brakes. Tires shriek. Feel Katrianna’s head smack the seat behind me. Edgar’s hands grab the dash. Inches from slamming into the back of the car.

Ambrosia’s body bounces with the turbulence, but she doesn’t look as though she feels any of it.

Soon at the bottom of the exit ramp—stopped behind the silver car at the traffic light. Its stereo booms—louder than its little engine, shaking the car. Heads bounce to the music. Not looking to turn right—just sitting and bouncing. No room to go around—trapped between concrete ramp railings.

Look over my shoulder at the motley company packed in the small interior. Ambrosia’s mind is no longer in the car. She stares out the window, a hand at her stomach. Edgar still licks over his filthy nails—casting glances at Ambrosia, and Katrianna taps her fingertips together, striking the nails of one hand against the other as if readying them for destruction.

“Edgar said there’s three floors. Ruby’s probably in a locked room on the second floor—only room with a door. Look-outs probably on the first floor. Mass of people in Roderick’s main room or balcony on the second floor. Third floor’s where any kind of intimate party is going on—this time of night, something’s going on up there for sure.”

Rethink plan, catch breath, continue, “Katrianna, are you sure you can get to the third floor?”

She makes a feline growl and waves her fingers, showing the edges of her knifelike nails. Can feel the rage in the tone of her voice. She’s going to be wild—savage. Hopefully it won’t ruin this and condemn us all to Roderick’s demented imaginings. Have to chance it—going to need all the help I can get.

I continue, “But if they’ve figured out we’ve picked up Edgar here, everything we know about what’s going on in there is going to be wrong—they’ll be waiting for us—know what we’re aiming for—and they’ll use what we know to trap us.”

Look over at Edgar who fluctuates from a smile to a sneer, “Edgar, you stay the hell out of the way—as soon as we park, get lost.”

“Oh, I’ll be around, but don’t worry about me.”

“Edgar, I’ll kill you—you know it.”

“We’ll see what we all know and don’t know before the night’s through,” looking back to Ambrosia, tongue to the corner of his mouth.

Light turns green. Silver car sits. Driver bounces his head in a circle.

I lay on the horn.

Single finger is raised at me. Car still sits. Heads bounce again. Finger stays in the air.

“Katrianna, when was the last time you drove a car?”

“Years.”

“Can you do it again?”

“Yeah.”

Opening my car door, “I’ll be right back.”

Shove gas pedal to the floor. Borrowed silver car jumps the curb—its little engine screaming like an angry chainsaw. Fingers squeeze the steering wheel—digging into it—cracking it—whitening my knuckles.

Seatbelt buckle bangs between the door and the seat—chiming out a warning for the disaster I’m racing toward.

Heads on the balcony turn to look in my direction. At least eight of them.

Tearing through the grass—slinging mud into the air in a shower of filth, the house looks larger and larger—closer and closer. Aim the passenger corner of the front bumper at the right column of the porch.