Dancing Nitely (2 page)

Countess Delphe and Doktor
Keckhaver emerged from the wings, leading their respective humans
on chains. Delphe was a tall, statuesque vampiress with flaming red
hair sculpted into a long, flowing mohawk that hung halfway down
her back, while Keckhaver wore a mauve velvet tuxedo and a
handsomely waxed forked goatee. The audience whistled and hooted
appreciatively.

Delphe’s human, George, was
a strapping African-American with heavy scar tissue on his cheeks
and nose, and the filigreed golden chain that connected the rings
piercing his nipples and scrotum gleamed against the muscles of his
abdomen. But as impressive as George might be, Keckhaver’s Mueller
was the true center of attention.

The German’s mouth was
twisted into a permanent sneer by a scar that ran from his cheek to
where his left ear had once been. His head was shaven clean of all
hair, including his eyebrows. On closer inspection, there wasn’t a
single follicle to be seen on the massively built German’s pale
body; his oversized penis dangling like an albino python between
the pillars of his thighs. Both fighters were outfitted in leather
fighting harnesses and special razor-studded gloves.

“
Ladieees and Gentlemen! On
my left is Countess Delphe’s George! Six foot three! Two hundred
and twenty pounds! Blood type O Positive! Two fights, no
losses...obviously.” The crowd tittered at the joke. “And on my
right is none other than Doktor Keckhaver’s Muller! Six foot four
and a quarter! Two-hundred and thirty-three pounds! Type A-B
Negative! Three wins!”

Mueller lifted his razored
fists over his head, his sneer tightening even further. The
audience clapped and cheered. George glowered at the big German but
said nothing.

The Master of Ceremonies
gestured to someone off-stage and the sound of a diesel engine
added to the already considerable noise inside the club. A large
metal cage was slowly lowered from the rafters. The bars looked
rusty, but they weren’t.

The Countess and Keckhaver
removed their tethers and stepped back, surrendering the field to
their champions. The Master of Ceremonies opened the cage door and
the fighters entered. The diesel motor changed gear and began to
lift the cage high into the air, swinging it out over the packed
dance floor.

Mavrides and Smith remained
seated while Wellman clambered on top of the table in order to get
a better viewt. Only the
nouveau
were gauche enough to dance directly under the
cages. The humans suspended above the mass of eager, hungry
vampires stared coldly at one another as they gripped the
gore-flecked bars for balance.

The Master of Ceremonies
smiled, exposing his pearl-white fangs. “Let the
dance--begin!”

The taped electronic music
kicked back in, louder than before. Mueller and George surged from
their respective corners, razored fists slicing naked flesh. The
odor of adrenaline-heavy blood filled the air as Club Vlad’s
patrons lifted their voices in an ululating howl of raw
pleasure.

George landed a punch on
Mueller’s jaw, neatly slicing off most of his lower lip. The German
staggered backward, his sneer transformed into a crimson grin.
Before George could savor his coup, the bigger man grabbed the
filigreed chain that connected his opponent’s piercings and yanked.
George shrieked as the rings tore his nipples and scrotum. He
instinctively grabbed his wounded groin, allowing Mueller the
chance to smash a razor-studded fist into his unprotected face,
nearly severing his nose.

George’s eyes bugged as he
strove to keep from strangling on the wash of blood filling his
sinuses. The spectators below laughed and jeered as they jostled
one another for a position beneath the cage, their heads thrown
back and mouths open wide. George was losing and he knew it. He
grabbed at Mueller’s hairless crotch. The German tried to sidestep
him, but there wasn’t enough room to maneuver. The big man bellowed
like a bull in a gelding stall. The crowd screamed its delight as
the German’s sex landed on the dance floor. There was a minor
scuffle as some of the vampires fought to retrieve the
tidbit.

Maddened by pain, Mueller
pounded George’s face unmercifully; slicing open his eyes and
gouging huge ruts along his forehead and scarred cheekbones. Blood
fell from the dangling cage in a crimson shower, splashing the
wildly dancing vampires below.

Blinded and mortally
wounded, George offered Mueller his throat. The killing blow was
swift and—compared to what had gone before—relatively painless.
George dropped to the wire-mesh floor of the cage, his life pumping
from his severed jugular onto the dancers below.

“
See? What did I tell you?”
Smith crowed. “Keckhaver’s stable is the best in the city—if not
the entire Northwest Sector! I trust you got that all on tape,
Wellman.”

“
Every second,” he replied,
patting the mini-cam. Wellman was justifiably proud of his private
library of atrocity footage. Even Mavrides had to admit to being
impressed by his companion’s personal archive.

“
Well, it doesn’t look like
he’ll be breeding any further champions from
this
one,” Mavrides remarked drily as
the cage was lowered to the stage. Doktor Keckhaver stood waiting
to claim his winner, the veterinarian for his stable beside
him.

Now that the killing lust
had fled, Mueller was feeling the effects of his emasculation. He
collapsed across George’s body, his eyes glazing as he gripped his
cooling flesh. The shivers caused by the oncoming shock made it
look as if he was grieving for his fallen opponent. The vet hurried
into the cage and squatted next to the fallen giant. He glanced at
Keckhaver and shook his head. Either way, this would be Mueller’s
last fight.

The Master of Ceremonies
stepped forward, waving the chattering crowd into silence. “Well,
ladies and gentlemen; what shall it be for our brave contestant? Is
it ‘yea’ or ‘nay’?”

There was quiet for a
second, and then the audience answered in unison, their voices
joined in a primitive singsong: “One of
us
! One of
us!
One of
us!
”

The Master of Ceremonies
nodded his approval and turned to look at Keckhaver. “So, Doktor?
What will it be?”

The tall, moon-faced
vampire paused to stroke his goatee, lost in thought as he stared
at his dying champion, then nodded. A ragged cheer burst from the
spectators. The veterinarian pocketed his stethoscope and returned
the pre-mixed lethal injection to his little black bag.

“
Do it,” Keckhaver
ordered.

The veterinarian nodded his
understand and then sank his fangs into Mueller’s neck, rewarding
the fighter with the prize every champion that enters the cage
strives for: immortality.

Mavrides looked away,
already bored. Wellman climbed back down from his vantage point
atop of the table. “I
think
I got it,” he muttered aloud. “But we’re too far
from the stage to tell for sure.”

“
So, what did you think?”
grinned Smith.

Mavrides glanced back at
the stage; Mueller’s body was being carefully removed from the cage
and placed in a portable coffin. In three days’ time the fighter
would rise from the dead and take his place amongst vampire
society. George’s mutilated carcass, on the other hand, was being
dragged away by its heels and would be used to boost the protein
levels of the club’s cellar.

“
I imagine he’s not going to
appreciate coming back minus his dick,” he replied with a
shrug.

“
Ain’t
that
the truth!” Smith
guffawed.

A glimpse of red mane and
black satin caught Mavrides’ attention. It was Countess Delphe,
looking a bit miffed as she shouldered her way to the
bar.

“
Excuse me a moment, would
you, Smith?” Mavrides muttered.

The Countess was standing
to a trembling, watery-eyed junkie whose milk-white body crawled
with gooseflesh. Mavrides wondered if it was the effect of the drug
or the intensity of the Countess’s expression that made the human
shiver.

“
I’m sorry your fighter
lost,” he said.

Delphe glanced at him as
she drew a double shot from the junkie’s shunt. “It
happens.”

Mavrides shifted his
weight, suddenly feeling awkward. “Yeah, well...Could I buy you a
drink?”

She looked at him again,
this time a little longer. “You’re not
nouveau
, are you.” It wasn’t a
question. “You’re one of Smith’s protégés, am I right?”

“
Yeah. I was converted in
‘69.”

She smiled, exposing the
curve of her fangs against her full lower lip. “
Nineteen
Sixty-Nine? Then you’re
still young. Not as immature as these yahoos, though.” She waved
disparagingly to the others
dressed in
their opera capes and Elvira wigs. “But that’s okay.” Her smile
widened. “I like them young.”

Mavrides didn’t bother to
tell Smith or Wellman where he was going. They were used to his
sudden disappearances by now. Although Wellman envied Mavrides’
luck with the females of the species, Smith had long since evolved
beyond sexuality. Blood and power games were the only things that
held the elder vampire’s interest.

“
You have a car?” Delphe
asked as they prepared to leave.

“
I don’t
drive…cars.”

“
We’ll take mine,
then.”

Her vehicle was waiting for
her in the parking lot. A human dressed in a dove-gray chauffeur’s
livery opened the door of the vintage Duisenberg as they
approached.

“
I meant what I said about
your fighter,” Mavrides reiterated. “He should have
won.”

Delphe shrugged. “The world
is full of humans.”

A prepubescent girl pressed
herself against the opposite door as they climbed into the back
seat. “Come-come, Sherri!” Delphe said as he caressed the child’s
pale cheek. “You shouldn’t be afraid of my friends.”

***

They ended up at his
place.

The Countess ordered her
chauffeur to wait until she returned. The human nodded and said
nothing as they took Sherri with them to Mavrides’ apartment. The
girl whimpered when Delphe ordered her to leave the car, but that
was the only protest she made. Mavrides admired the power the
Countess wielded over her thralls.

Vampires, at least
physically, are impotent and sterile. They have no need for
primitive mammalian means of replicating themselves. But all undead
were once living beings, and the drive to procreate is a strong
one. Because of that, it is the last of the human instincts to fade
from vampire personalities. Mavrides could not imagine a time when
sex would be meaningless to him, but there had also been a time
when he could not imagine never seeing the sun or his own
reflection again.

He escorted the Countess
and Sherri into the room he kept for one-night stands, with the
black tapers burning in candelabra set at the head and foot of a
specially-designed double-width coffin. Delphe seemed suitably
impressed.

He climbed inside, fully
dressed, and motioned for her to follow. Delphe laughed quietly and
herded the frightened Sherri ahead of her.

“
There’s nothing to be
afraid of, my dear,” Delphe whispered soothingly. “All we want to
do is love you. Isn’t that right?”

Mavrides smiled to
encourage the child, opening his arms wide to embrace her. “Yes. We
just want to share our love with you.”

The girl glanced nervously
at Delphe as she climbed into the coffin, then Mavrides grabbed her
and pulled her close. She gasped as his cold, dry hands tightened
on her wrists, pinning her against him. Delphe slid in after her,
trapping the girl between their bodies. Sherri started to cry, but
Delphe quieted her sobs by stroking her hair and muttering
meaningless endearments.

Mavrides was surprised at
how much warmth the child radiated. She felt like a hot coal
pressed against his flesh. He reached around the human and wrapped
his arms around Delphe, pulling her closer. She did the same,
squeezing the girl-child between them as if she might lend her heat
to their ice-cold flesh.

Mavrides’ eyes met and held
Delphe’s for a long moment. He could dimly remember when the sex
act had been different, but he could not recall if it had been
better.

Their fangs sank into
Sherri’s throat at the same time, uniting the vampires in a moment
of mutual sharing; the greatest intimacy possible amongst the
undead. Sherri cried out as they punctured her, then fell silent.
They fed two more times before dawn called a halt to the night’s
performance. By the third feeding, Sherri’s eyes had rolled back in
their sockets and her lips were blue.

It was the best sex
Mavrides had ever known.

***

He woke up that evening to
find himself alone in the coffin.

That wasn’t exactly true:
Delphe hadn’t bothered to take Sherri’s corpse with her when she
left.