Dominion of the Damned (6 page)

“You’ve kept the infant in quarantine, as I asked?” he said as he approached.

“But of course.”

He nodded. “Good. I’ll be leaving tonight with the children. And the new girl.”

Esme laughed. “My dear Doctor, you’re so predictable.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please. I saw how you looked at her in the infirmary. The hunger in your eyes had nothing to do with blood.” She looked down and spotted the girl in question, sitting at a table with another young woman, casting furtive glances up at them. “She is a pretty little thing, isn’t she? With that long, dark hair and those soulful eyes… it’s no wonder she reminds you of Irina.”

She could sense the way his body tensed at the mention of his wife. “That has nothing to do with it. I simply need her to care for the infant.”

“You already have caretakers for the children.”

“Infants require full-time care. You would know that if you’d ever been a mother.”

Esme ignored the verbal slap, and smiled. “Oh, but I am a mother, my dear, sweet boy.” She reached up to caress his cheek, but he pulled away. “Don’t think that you weren’t every bit the infant in the beginning, Alek. You certainly depended on me willingly enough.”

He kept his gaze fixed on his clipboard. “I didn’t come here to discuss us.”

“No,” she said wistfully. “You never do.”

“The girl has medical training,” he continued, determined to keep their meeting all business. “I could use her in my lab.”

“She’s scheduled for collection tomorrow. You would take her tonight, denying us the extra rations?”

Alek sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow, then. I can wait.”

Esme looked back down at the girl. Many of the cattle in her herd were docile enough, recognizing the need for the care and protection that Esme provided. But there were always a few that would happily bite the hand that fed them. She could tell that the girl was the latter. She wasn’t about to let her go before enjoying the pleasure of breaking her. Nor was she about to allow her to become Alek’s special pet.

“You might as well go tonight,” she said. “The girl stays.”

“Esme—”

“We need her blood. We’re already subsisting on only a pint a day, while the rest gets shipped to the Council. Would you have us starve?”

He rolled his eyes. “One more human won’t make much of a difference there, either way.”

“And she won’t make that much of a difference at your camp, either. Do what you want with the babe. The girl stays.” She turned on her heel and walked away, ending the discussion. She could still sense Alek fuming behind her as she exited the cafeteria and headed back to the privacy of her office.

Back in the safety of the Warden’s office, Esme took off her shoes and hurled them both across the room. They crashed into a vase on the bookshelf along the far wall, shattering it with the satisfying crack and tinkle of broken glass. In her stocking feet, she trudged over to the leather sofa that sat opposite her desk, and sank down onto it. She was overdue for sleep, she was hungry, and she was in no mood for Alek’s nonsense.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember a time before his desire for her had gone cold. Those first weeks after she had bestowed her gift on him had been heavenly. He had been a reluctant student as she tried to teach him to hunt, but he’d been eager enough after the lessons were over, nursing from her breast like a baby and making love to her wherever they pleased.

But he had never wanted her more than that first night. Then, she had been his savior, his Angel of Mercy.

She saw it as if she was there. She could recall every kill from the last century in perfect detail, every client her mother had sent to her before she had received the gift, right down to their foul breath and the stench of their body odor. How vividly she could still remember the first man to take her, the high price he’d paid for a virgin not yet touched by womanhood. She could still feel the weight of him on top of her, all three hundred pounds of him, how claustrophobic and smothered she’d felt as he lay on top of her, sweating and wheezing. Thankfully, his manhood hadn’t matched the proportions of his girth, and the damage he’d done was minimal. Nevertheless, years later Esme had taken special pleasure in hunting him down and tearing through all three of his chins, feeling his hot blood pour down her throat.

With her eyes closed, she saw Alexandr lying in that alley as though it was happening for the first time. Passed out drunk in the gutter, lying in his own vomit and still clutching the bottle that had put him there, he would have likely frozen to death by morning if she had passed him by. She only stopped because he seemed like an easy meal.

She checked to make sure they were alone, her senses highly attuned to the presence of another. Satisfied that her meal wouldn’t be interrupted, she crouched beside him and hauled him up to a sitting position. She pulled a handkerchief from the inner pocket of her fur coat, which she wore merely for fashion. The cold had ceased to affect her long ago. Prying the bottle from his hands, she saw that there was still a shot or two of vodka left inside. She poured some onto the handkerchief, and used it to clean his face and neck.

As she touched him, his head lolled to one side. He whispered, “Irina.”

Esme paused. He spoke the name with such sadness that she couldn’t help but wonder who she was, and what had become of her. She resumed wiping his face, and he opened his eyes. He raised his head to look at her. She met his gaze, and saw such perfect despair in his eyes. She also saw how beautiful he was. Too beautiful to waste on a single meal.

“Are you an angel?” he asked her in slurred Czech.

“I can be,” she replied in his language. “What kind of angel would you like me to be? An angel of mercy?”

He laughed, drunkenly and bitterly. “An angel of death,” he said, “come to take me to her.”

“To Irina?” she asked. He nodded. Esme cast aside the handkerchief and caressed his face. She saw power there, and anger, hidden beneath the surface of grief and despair. “I can send you to her,” she said, “or I can make you an angel, like me. An angel of vengeance.”

“Vengeance?” His voice lost all traces of drunkenness as he repeated the word. So did his eyes, revealing the intelligence behind them. “How?”

Esme smiled. “Let me show you.”

He nodded. She opened her mouth, and he flinched, startled, as her fangs extended. But he showed no other sign of fear as she opened his coat and bared his neck. He embraced her as she bit into him, held onto her tightly as she emptied him of his life’s blood. Even near the point of death, he still clung to her, and drank hungrily as she poured her own blood back into him. Only when it was finished and he fell into transformative sleep did he finally release her.

She carried him back to her hotel, sneaked him in by way of the fire escape, and placed him in her bed, where they slept the day away. It was midnight when he finally awoke, a new creature, full of hunger and lust, with vengeance on his heart. He was glorious. And he was hers. As long as she helped him hunt down his enemies, he belonged to her willingly, following where she lead, wreaking vengeance on those who had wronged him by night, making love and feeding on each other by day.

In all the long decades that she had walked this earth, that was the only time that she had been truly happy.

A knock on the door cut through her reminiscence. Esme sat up, welcoming the distraction. “Yes?” she called.

The door opened. A red-haired beauty walked in, wearing the black uniform that their kind had adopted to set themselves apart from the humans. Her face was an ivory mask of efficiency as she held a clipboard out to Esme. “Sorry to bother you, Mistress. We’ve received the requisition order for tomorrow’s collection.”

With a sigh, Esme waved her over to the sofa and took the clipboard from her. As she looked over the order, it depressed her that this was what their race had been reduced to. A powerful race of hunters and killers, forced by the blight on humanity to fill their shoes and become administrators and bureaucrats. She pressed her lips together in mild disgust as she signed the order and handed it back to the guard. “Anything else?”

“No, Mistress.” The younger vampire’s gaze flicked to the broken glass by the bookcase. “Would you like me to send for the janitor, ma’am?”

“No, I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Celine.”

With a curt nod, the girl took her forms and left.

Esme rose from the sofa and crossed to the bookcase. There, she slid open a panel to reveal a decanter of aged Scotch. Such spirits were no match for the medicinal and intoxicating powers of fresh, warm blood, but the latter was off the menu, and the former was better than nothing. Esme removed a tumbler from the shelf and poured three fingers of the golden liquid. She drank it quickly, enjoying the burn as it traveled down her throat and settled in her stomach, then poured herself another glass.

If she was forced to work and starve like a human, then she might as well drink like one.

SIX

A long afternoon bent over a sewing machine left Hannah with a sore back and neck. She was grateful when the bell finally rang, and she put her work away and followed the crowd to the cafeteria for supper. Phyllis found her there, and Hannah let her do most of the talking while she tried to work out the kinks.

“We need to eat fast if we’re going to get a good seat in group,” Phyllis told her.

“A good seat?” asked Hannah. “Is it therapy or entertainment?”

“Yep.”

They ate quickly, and put away their trays. Others were already filing out of the cafeteria before them as Phyllis hurried Hannah toward the door. She led her to a room with about thirty folding chairs arranged in a circle, and more chairs lining the walls, many of which were already occupied. “We should sit in back,” Phyllis suggested, “otherwise they’re more likely to make you share.” She started to take a seat near the door, then seemed to reconsider. “I mean, unless you want to share your story—”

“No, this is fine,” said Hannah. “I’m really not in the mood to talk about it just yet.” She sat down in the seat closest to the door, and Phyllis took the seat next to her.

The room filled up quickly. Hannah tried to study each person that came through the door, trying to learn who her neighbors and fellow survivors were. She recognized the laundry room foreman, a few women from the morning’s shower and from the sewing room, and the rabbi who had urged them both to attend this session. Everyone else were strangers.

In moments, everyone was seated and the rabbi was calling them to attention. As he was speaking, another figure slipped into the room and stood by the door, one that Hannah recognized, conspicuous in his white lab coat amidst all of the prison orange.

“What’s he doing here?” Hannah whispered.

Phyllis followed her gaze. “Who, Dr. Creepy?” She shrugged. “I told you earlier, they like to monitor our gatherings, make sure we’re not organizing a revolt. I guess tonight was his turn.” She frowned. “Weird, though. He doesn’t usually stick around camp this long.”

As if he could sense that they were talking about him, he looked in their direction, and locked eyes with Hannah. There was nothing sinister in the look he gave her. It seemed more curious than anything, and appraising. Still, it made her uncomfortable. She tore her gaze away and fixed it on the speaker.

A skinny boy stood up, obviously several years younger than Hannah despite being nearly six feet tall. He had dark hair and freckles, and he fidgeted with the sleeves of his jumpsuit as he spoke. “H-hello. I’m… my name is Ben.”

“Hi, Ben,” the rest of the room answered in unison.

“It’s okay, Ben,” said the Rabbi reassuringly. “Tell us your story.”

Ben nodded, looked around at the faces that filled the room, and swallowed. “We were on the school bus when it happened. My little sister and me, I mean. The bus slowed down, and then it stopped, ‘cause there was a traffic jam. My sister was up at the front of the bus, with the little kids. I was sitting at the back, ‘cause that’s where the older kids always used to sit. The high schoolers, the ones who weren’t driving yet and still had to take the bus.” Again, he swallowed. “All of a sudden, the bus was surrounded by people. They were banging on the sides, rocking us, and they were all making these moaning sounds… well, you know. The little kids were screaming, and the bus driver was yelling at us all to sit down and stay calm. I tried to get up and go get my sister—I could hear her calling my name. She sounded scared. She sounded so scared—”

At this point, Ben broke down and started to cry. Rabbi Zuckerman went to him and put an arm around him. “It’s okay, son. You don’t have to keep going.”

But Ben wiped his nose and shook his head. “So the Zeds, they kept pushing on the bus, and finally they got the door open. They started piling onto the bus, and the first one in grabbed the bus driver, Mr. Callahan, and the ones behind him started to grab the little kids… my sister was screaming, and I tried to get to her, but the other kids were all rushing the back of the bus, trying to get to the emergency exit. I got out of the aisle and tried to climb over the backs of the seats, but I wasn’t fast enough. She… Mary. Her name was Mary, and she was seven.” Tears streamed down his face as he told his tale. Hannah squirmed in her seat, and thought of Noah. The thought of watching him get taken made her stomach turn.