Charlie Huston - No Dominion

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A review by Victoria Strauss
Joe Pitt's a Vampyre. He's been infected by a Vyrus that slows aging, imparts phenomenal strength and sensory abilities, and survives by feeding off its host's blood – which forces its host to go out and drink more blood so the Vyrus can survive. There's a whole Vampyre subculture in New York City, dominated by several powerful Clans – a hidden world of power and violence unsuspected by ordinary human beings. In this secret world, Joe's what's known as a Rogue. Though he was once an enforcer for the politically-minded Society, does occasional strong-arm work for the powerful Coalition, and is the object of periodic recruitment efforts by the mysterious Enclave, he has no fixed Clan alliance.
This can be a problem when the freelance jobs dry up, and there's no money to buy the packaged blood that keeps a Vampyre from prowling the streets and ripping people's throats out. To make matters worse, Joe's worried about his girlfriend Evie, whose HIV status is deteriorating and whose medical bills are mounting. Swallowing his pride, he goes to Terry Bird, leader of the Society, and asks for work. As it happens, Terry's got something that needs looking into. There's a growing drug problem in the Vampyre community, some really bad stuff that makes users go crazy – not easy to manage for those infected with the Vyrus, which is solicitous of its hosts and cleans drugs and alcohol out of their systems almost as fast as they go in. Terry asks Joe to find out who's dealing.
A little pressure on Joe's favorite snitch turns up a middleman: a trust fund kid in a downtown loft who calls himself the Count. The drug is in bags of fresh, Vyrus-infected blood. Drinking infected blood would kill a Vampyre – but the drug isn't consumed, it's injected. The Count doesn't know what the drug is or why it works, but he does know where it comes from: Uptown, above 110th Street, the area controlled by the Vampyre Clan known as the Hood. This is enemy turf. To reach it, Joe will have to cross Coalition territory, and he's not exactly on good terms with the Coalition either. But Hood thugs and Coalition enforcers turn out to be the least of his problems. A forgotten evil waits in an Uptown mansion, along with a deadly plot that could lead to war among the Clans – unless Joe can survive long enough to figure out who's pulling the strings.
Already Dead was gritty and hip, packed with exciting action yet carefully attentive to the nuances of character. No Dominion is even better. The plot is a nonstop, explosively gory thrill-ride whose twists and reversals deliver surprises right up until the end – a true page-turner, impossible to put down. The glimpses of Vampyre culture, a bizarre nighttime world invisible to those who walk in daylight, are both fascinating and chilling, and the vicious complexities of Vampyre politics, where the smallest alteration of the balance could tip the Clans into open conflict, have plenty of real-world resonance.
As before, Charlie Huston fills the book with memorable characters – from the bigoted, relentless Vampyre matriarch Maureen Vandewater, to DJ Grave Digga, the charismatic leader of the Hood, to Terry Bird, who combines a post-Woodstock cultural ethos with a Machiavellian mastery of double dealing, to the Count, an amoral Gen-X slacker whose home life is a series of satirical references to Dracula movies ("I hate that self-aware, ironic, pop culture Vampyre shit," Joe tells him at one point). Huston has an amazing ear for dialogue, and endows each of these characters with his or her own distinctive voice. As for Joe, a tough guy's tough guy whose profane, world-weary first-person narration anchors the story, he edges close to noir stereotype, but is saved from actually becoming stereotypical by his very human doubts, and his unflinching recognition of his own moral failings.
Huston doesn't neglect the meta-story. Once again, Joe must seek help from the secretive Enclave, which is founded on the belief that the Vyrus is a spiritual force that will ultimately produce a Vampyre savior. Joe's discoveries about the drug may reflect upon that spiritual quest, and also raise disturbing questions about the origins and history of Vampyre society. Hopefully, we'll learn more in the series' next installment. I can't wait.

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He shows off his apartment and his girls again.

– Not like it’s a hard life up in here.

I look around.

– No, I can see that. Amongst all the other luxury, you got a phone?

– Sure, sure, landline’s right here.

He grabs a cordless handset from the coffee table and tosses it to me.

I point at Poncho’s room.

– OK if I use it in there?

– Sure, man.

I get up. So does The Count.

– Hey, Joe. We are cool, right? I mean, I am. I’m totally cool. I think you handled this shit straight up. Not easy getting played like that. You got nothing but respect from me.

I shrug.

– Yeah, we’re cool. All in the way of business. And hey.

I reach in my jacket and pull out the anathema.

– Got something for you.

I toss it to him.

– From the old lady’s. Fresh this morning. Terry sent it over.

He catches it.

– Oh yeah! Knew he’d come through.

He gives me a grin.

– Thought I smelled a little somethin’ somethin’ on you.

He gives it a sniff.

– It’s a little tired, but it’s good.

He turns to the girls.

– See, ladies, told you Joe is our man. Told you he knows business from personal.

Pigtails is on all fours, arching her back cat-style.

– When we gonna get personal, Joe Pitt?

She winks and hops up to help PJs get their works together.

The Count hands the bag to Poncho.

– Sure you don’t want to hang, Joe? I know you don’t indulge, but the fridge is stocked with regular, man. Have yourself a pint. Drink some booze. Get an old school buzz going.

He comes closer, puts an arm over my shoulder, points at Pigtails, kneeling on the floor with the other girls, getting the anathema ready.

– She really has taken a shine to you. And trust me, it’s freaky good. Especially after she has a skinful. She’s in another world, man.

I look at her. She catches me, blows a kiss, goes back to work.

– Maybe after my call.

He slaps my shoulder.

– That’s my man!

He joins the girls. I walk into the room made of doors.

Most of it’s taken up by a big mattress on the floor. Funky designer clothes from Lower East Side boutiques spill out of a chest of drawers. Three mobiles made of tin and colored glass dangle from the ceiling. I duck to go under one and graze it with my shoulder. It tinkles. One of the doors is paned with frosted glass. Through it I can see the ghosts of The Count and his ladies, in a circle on the floor.

I dial the phone.

He answers.

– Hello?

– It’s me.

– Hey, Joe. What’s up?

– I’ll take the job.

– Wow. Well. Good for you, man. About time you stopped being just a piece of the mosaic and started to help make it. Help make, I know how this is going to sound, but help make the world a better place.

I think about the world. I think about all the room there is for making it better than what it is. I think about the likelihood that I’m a guy who can do that.

– Yeah, let’s do that, Terry. Let’s clean it up.

– That’s the spirit. You come by tomorrow night. We’ll start talking. In earnest, I mean.

– Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow. I gotta go now. Got something to take care of.

I hang up.

I walk out through the space between two of the doors, hitting the mobile again. Hearing it chime.

Poncho and PJs are already out. Wrapped in their little coma of dreams. Seeing whatever visions it is they see. Pigtails is waiting for hers.

The Count points at the fridge.

– Sure you don’t?

I touch the blisters on my hands.

– A pint wouldn’t hurt. Or a drink.

He gets up.

– That’s the shit.

He grabs me a pint, brings it back along with a half-full bottle of Jack.

I retake my seat, open the pint, hit it.

The Count looks at me as he sets Pigtails up. He holds up the syringe.

– Want to do the honors?

Pigtails writhes on the floor.

– C’mon, Joe. Do it for me.

I finish the blood. Set the empty bag aside.

– Sure.

The Count hands me the syringe. I look at the careful measure of anathema inside. Pigtails is watching me, panting.

– C’mon, Joe.

I slip the needle into her arm. Push the plunger. She sighs, shivers, goes under. I go back to my seat, open the Jack, pour a shot down my throat. It mixes sweet with the blood.

The Count starts to fill the last syringe.

– You won’t regret staying, Joe. She is wicked crazy. Start in on her when she’s still half on the nod, she’ll do things no girl would ever think of doing.

I take another drink.

– Where’d you get them, anyway?

He looks up.

– The girls?

– Yeah.

He looks back down, focused on filling the syringe with the proper measure.

– Hell, man, I infected them. Wasn’t easy. Had to take a couple shots at it. But I followed the old lady’s plan. Made a profile. You know, looked for chicks like me. Couple of them couldn’t take the Vyrus at all, rejected it outright. Couple others just freaked out. But I had to have me the three brides. You were right about that, man. Totally cliché, but I had to have it. Like the ultimate Vampyre status symbol and all. I know it’s weak, but, like I said, spoiled rotten. That’s me.

I point at his syringe.

– Why don’t you put a little more in there?

He looks at it.

– Oh no, man. You don’t mess with this shit. Too much and you are fucked for life in the worst way.

– Yeah, that’s what Vandewater said.

He grins.

– Hey, is it true what Terry told me?

– What’s that?

– Said you dosed her. Gave her a hot shot. Said she’s hooked on the bad dose now.

– Got me. I didn’t even know she lived through it.

– That’s what he said.

– Must be true.

– Oh, man, that is the worst. She is so messed up! Bitch’s gonna be jonesin’ for the bad dose the rest of her life. That’s sooo F-ed in the A.

– That Spaz at Doc Holiday’s. That was you hooked him up, right?

He’s swabbing his arm.

– Yeah. Had to get the ball rolling. He was just a fish lost in the woods. Needed friends. Gave him a little of the needle and he was gone. I’d been haunting your background a little, looking for a good spot to open your eyes. Terry said he needed an inciting, like, agent. Whatever. I met The Spaz out back, by that take-out window they got. Gave him the needle good to go. Not a heavy dose, just enough to push him over the side. Told him to hit it in the can. Pow! That was that. I watched some of that through the window. Man, he was all over the place. Thought for a second I overdid it. But you, man, you handled that shit.

He has the tube around his arm.

I point at the syringe again.

– Yeah, so, like I said, why don’t you put a little more in there.

He’s focused on slapping a vein up.

– No joke, man, can’t mess with that. Take no chances on getting a hot shot.

I take out my piece, cock it. He looks up.

– Count, why don’t you put a little more in there.

He looks at the gun.

– Maaaan. Man, I thought you were taking all this a little too cool. I knew you were playing possum on me.

I point the gun at him.

– Yeah, surprise.

He smiles.

– Joe. I know you’re pissed right now, but what are you gonna do? Really. I’m Terry’s. I’m his guy now. You can’t fuck with me. You think you can intimidate me into taking a hot shot? How? You can’t lay a hand on me. Terry will freak. Kill me, you kill the golden goose. I mean, fuck all that spy shit, kill me, I won’t be opening my bank account to the Society. Period.

– Uh-huh. Thing is, I just bought myself a license to fuck people up. It’s gonna cost me plenty. So I need to start getting my money’s worth.

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