Bite Me (16 page)

The little man smiled and nodded, pointing to the dollar sign. He went to his workbench, opened a wooden box, and held up a handful of bills. “Yes,” he said.

“Okay, then, I guess you’re buying me an outfit.”

“Yes,” he said.

She made a drinking gesture, then nodded. He nodded and held up the knife again.

“No, you can’t afford it. Animal.” She thought about making a piggy sound, but wasn’t sure that might not give him the wrong idea, so she drew a stickman on the sketch pad, then Xed it out and drew a first-grade stick piggy, a stick sheep, and a Jesus fish. He nodded.

“Yes,” he said.

“If you bring me a Christian petting zoo I’m going to be disappointed, Mr.—uh—” Well, this was embarrassing. “Well, you’re not the first guy I’ve ever woken up with whose name I don’t remember.” Then she stopped herself and patted his arm. “I’m sounding really slutty, I know, but the truth is I used to be afraid to sleep alone.” She looked around the little apartment, at the meticulously arranged tools on the workbench, the one pair of little shoes, and the white silk kimono he had wrapped her in.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said.

“My name is Jody,” she said, pointing to herself. She pointed to him, wondering if that might not be rude in his culture. But he had already seen her nude and burned up, so perhaps they were past formality. He seemed okay with it.

“Okata,” he said.

“Okata,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, with a big smile.

His gums were receded, which made him look like he had big horse teeth, but then Jody touched her tongue to her fangs, which it seemed were not retracting in her new, dried-up state, and she realized that she should probably be less judgmental.

“Go, okay?” She pointed to the sketch pad.

“Okay,” he said. He gathered up his things, put on his stupid hat, and was ready to leave, when she called to him.

“Okata?”

“Yes.”

She made a face-washing gesture and pointed to him. He went to the little mirror over the sink, looked at himself covered with blood, and laughed, his eyes crinkled into high smiles themselves. He looked over his shoulder at her, laughed again, then scrubbed his face with a cloth until he was clean and went to the door.

“Jody,” he said. He pointed to the stairs outside. “No. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

When he was gone, she crawled from the futon and stumbled from there to the workbench, where she rested before trying to move farther, to look at Okata’s work. Wood block prints, some finished, some with only two or three of the colors on them, proofs perhaps. They were a series, the progression of a black, skeletal monster against a yellow futon, then the gradual filling in of the figure. The care, wrapping her in the kimono, feeding her his blood. The last print was still in the sketch stage. He must have been working on it when she awoke. A sketch on thin rice paper had been glued to the wood block and he was carving away the material for the outline—the black ink in the other prints. They were beautiful, and precise, and simple, and sad. She felt a tear rise and turned so as not to drip blood on the print.

How would she tell him? Would she point at the first sketch, the one where the figure looked like a medieval woodcut of Death himself, and point to his frail chest?

“The first thing I noticed when I saw you was the life aura around you, and it was black. That’s why I wouldn’t let you give me your blood, Okata. You are dying.”

“Okay,” he would say. “Thank you,” he would say, with his newly found grin.

M
y heart has been torn asunder, and I am faced with the revelation that my most awesome-haired mad scientist of passion may in fact be an uncaring assbag who has sullied my innocence and whatnot and then cruelly cast me aside. So, that sucks.

’Kayso, like it says in the Bible, “with great power, comes great responsibility,” which I totally learned by pushing my vamp abilities too far in trying to show off for Foo by diving through our boarded-up windows. So I was “doh,” and I passed out—real passed out, like head-injury passed out, not vampyre passed out. But in my unconsciousness, Foo and Jared gave me blood, and I healed, so when I woke up in the bedroom, I came leaping out into the living area, my claws ready to rend flesh and kick ass.

And I was all, “Rawr!”

And who do I see there but the vampyre Flood, my
most recently escaped master gone mad, who has never even seen me in this outfit, let alone as a vamp.

So I was all, “Rawr!” hoping my fangs were showing.

And he was all, “Hi, Abby.”

And I was all, “Rawr! Fear me!”

And he was all, “That’s not a thing. Saying
rawr
is not a vampyre thing.”

And I’m like, “It is too. I’m totally showing my animal power and fierceness.”

And he’s like, “No, you’re not, you’re just saying
rawr
in a big voice. It’s not a thing.”

“It
could
be a thing,” I go, in my defense.

And Jared is like, “I don’t think it’s a thing, Abs.”

And I’m like, “Well then how about I drain you until you’re dust and put you in the cat box, Jared? Is that a vampyre thing?”

And he was all, “’Kay. I’m sorry.
Rawr
is totally a thing.”

So I looked at Flood with pity, having humiliated him on the field of battle. But it is in the gentler monster that humanity is revealed, so I’m like, “It’s a thing for some of us. So, check it, I’m nossssss-feratu. Like you, only, you know, not fashion retarded. Speaking of, why do you look like the window at Banana Republic?” Flood was always sort of jeans and flannel before, like he was caught in some ’90s grunge vortex, but now he was like linen and tan leather.

And Flood’s like, “I was running around the streets naked until a few hours ago.”

And I was like, “’Kay. My bad.”

So he’s all, “Abby, we need to go. I need to find Jody and I need your help.”

And then Foo, who has been doing science stuff in the kitchen, comes over and he’s like, “Abby, I can switch you back. I can switch you both back. I already have Tommy’s serum made from before.”

And I’m like, “You are
très
cute when you’re threatened.” And I jump over there and kiss him deeply—like I can hear a couple of his vertebrae crack. But then I go to slap him, so he won’t think I’m a slut, and Tommy catches my hand.

And he’s all, “Abby, you have to stop doing that. You could kill him.”

I’m like, “Really?”

He’s all nodding. And Foo’s all mouthing “thank you” to him, like I don’t have vampyre hearing and don’t know that he’s being a total little bitch about it. So I, like, turn on Foo and go, “Rawr.”

I don’t care what Tommy says, Foo trembled in fear.

And Tommy’s like, “Let’s go, Abby.” Like Foo hasn’t said a word.

And I grab my
Pirate Bunny
messenger bag and start to pack in my laptop and charger, and Flood is all, “Leave that here.”

And I’m like, “How will I express my angst and dark inspirations and whatnot?”

And Flood is like, “I thought we’d go suck the blood out of some people.”

And I was like, “’Kay, but I’m still taking my laptop. I have to do my blog. I have subscribers.” I do. Well,
a
subscriber.

And he’s like, “If we have to go to mist you’ll lose it.”

And I’m like, “You don’t know how to do that.”

And he’s all, “I do now.”

And I’m all, “Teach me. I didn’t go to ancient evil vampyre school like you.”

And he’s like, “I’m nineteen, remember? I went to public school. In Indiana.”

And Foo’s like, “You’re only nineteen? You’re not even old enough to drink?”

And Jared is like, “Shut up. He’s her dark lord. Our dark lord.”

And Foo’s like, “Fine. Go. Be careful. Text me. I’ll be here trying to save the world.”

And Tommy’s all, “I’m just going to try to save the woman I love, and that’s as good as the world to me.”

And I was like—nothing. I just looked at Tommy. But I would have done him on a bed of carpet tacks right then.

S
o outside the love lair, which is technically not mine and Foo’s anymore, now that the rightful owners are not imprisoned in bronze, I go, “So, where do we start?”

And Flood is all, “We start by finding a safe place to sleep during the day.”

And I’m all, “The love lair. Foo and Jared will be our minions and whatnot.”

And he’s like, “The last time I went out there I woke up inside a statue, and the last time you were up there your love ninja gave you blood with a sedative.”

And I’m all, “No.”

And he’s all, “Yeah.”

And I’m all, “Foo, you crapacious little geek! Can I go slap him around a little?”

And Flood is all, “He was going to change you back. To save you.”

And I go, “Without even asking? I think not, noble vamptard. As soon as we find the Countess I’m coming back. There will be screaming.”

And Flood’s like, “You don’t have any confrontation issues, do you?”

And I’m all, “No, I’m very insecure, actually, but I have found that if you roll up screaming like a madwoman, hair on fire, guns blazing, no one is going to mention the zit on your forehead.” Which is totally true.

“Okey dokey,” goes the vampyre Flood. “We’ll look for someplace low or high. Low is probably safest, we can look for maintenance closets in the BART tunnels, but that keeps us out of the north end of the City, because there’s no subway there. High, harder to find a place, but it gives us more choice, and it’s less obvious, if Rivera and Cavuto are looking for us. There are a lot of utility sheds and meter shelters on roofs.”

So I’m like, “Are we going to sleep together?”

And Flood’s like, “No, but we’ll be dead in the same space.”

And I was thinking, “How romantic,” but I go, “Let’s get high.”

And Tommy’s all, “I think that’s a good idea. Jody lived in the north end of the City and so did I. It makes sense that’s where she’d go. We need to get into the upper floors of a tall building and look down on other roofs, look for a shed or something. Climbing up won’t be a problem. You can tell if there’s people in it by looking for heat. You know you can see heat now, right?”

And I’m like, “I was figuring that it was that or that every lightbulb was leaking into the sky. But how do you know all this other stuff?”

And Tommy’s like, “I have no idea.”

And I was like, “If we find a roof shack with a pigeon coop by it we’ll have snacks when we wake up.” I know, perky. I must resist the perky. Must resist the perky.

S
o, like, an hour later we’ve found our sweet roof grave on a building in the financial district, and Flood and I are walking up Powell Street, toward California and the Fairmont, where the Countess was last seen. And we are totally alive with the night. There’s like two cities in the City. I didn’t see it before. There’s like the indoor city, the daytime city, with people inside of apartments and restaurants and offices, and they have, like, no fucking clue about the outside city. And there’s the outside city people, who are in the streets all the time, and who know every hiding place,
and every tree, and where it’s dangerous, and where it’s just creepy. The outside city people live on, like, a different plane of existence, like they don’t even see the inside people either. But when you’re a vampyre, the two cities are all lit up. You can hear the people talking and eating and watching TV in their houses, and you can see and feel the people in the streets, behind the garbage cans, under the stairs. All these auras show, sometimes right through walls. Like life, glowing. Some bright pink, like Foo’s, some sort of brown, or gray, like on the AIDS vet panhandling at the corner of Powell and Post. And I’m totally losing my ability to appear bored, because it’s fucking awesome. I’m trying to be chill for Flood, but I want to know.

So I’m like, “What’s with the pink ring around people?”

And he’s like, “It’s their life force. You can tell how healthy they are by it. You’ll be able to smell if they’re dying, too, but you won’t know that right away.”

I know, whoa. So I’m like, “Whoa.”

And he’s all, “You see it for a reason.”

And I’m like, “’Splain,
s’il vous plaît
.”

And he’s all, “Because you’re only supposed to take the sick, the dying. It’s part of our predator nature. I didn’t know that before I—I was lost, but I know it now.”

I know, whoa. So I’m like, “Okay, how do you turn to mist?”

And he’s like, “It’s mental. Completely. You can’t think about it, you just have to
be
.”

And I’m like, “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

And he’s all, “No, if you think, it doesn’t work. You have
to just be. Words get in the way. I think that’s why the cats do it instinctively. That’s the key. Instinct. I don’t function well on instinct. I’m a word guy.”

And I’m all, “I’m a word guy, too,” like a total dwee-bosaurus. I know. How is it that I, acting Mistress of the Greater Bay Area darkness, can be reduced to spewing nano-brained beauty-queen dialog when I should be enjoying the heady power of my vamp immortality? Simple, I am a romance slut, and there’s nothing I can do about it. If a guy does or says something romantic, I’m all, “Oh, please excuse me, kind, sir, let me dial down my IQ and oh, if it would please sir, may I offer you this moist, yet helpless va-jay-jay that seems to have lost its way.” I was clearly born in the wrong time. I should have been born in
Wuthering Heights
times. Although if I was Cathy, I would have hunted down that Heathcliff guy and beat him with a riding crop like a sado-hooker with his Black Card on file. Just sayin’.

So there’s nothing at the Fairmont. We talk to the bellman and the guy at the concierge desk, who talks to the front-desk guy who says that he’s not at liberty to talk about guests, when I whip a hundred-dollar bill on him and he says “the redhead” never showed up again after the day the cops came around asking for her. He said the cops took a cooler from her room.

And Tommy’s like, “She just vanished.”

And I’m all, “Do you want to get coffee? I have a bag of blood and ten thousand dollars in my messenger.” The nosferatu can totally drink lattes as long as they put some blood in it, unless they’re lactose intolerant.

And he stops and looks at me. He’s like, “Really, ten thousand? Think that will be enough?”

And I’m like, “Well, you’ll have to drink the cheap stuff, but I like to drink my lattes directly out of the veins of a toddler, and those little fuckers aren’t cheap.”

And he’s like, “Okay, you just completely creeped me out.”

So I’m all, “You suck at this. Let’s go get coffee and do some vamp stuff, like beat up some pimps and whatnot.”

“Since when is beating up pimps a vampyre thing?”

“Since I was looking for the Countess and they kept trying to recruit me because I’m am so awesome sexy that desperate losers will totally pay to do me, which is flattering and whatnot, but I still kind of feel like they would have taken advantage of me because of my youth and naivety.”

“So you want to go beat them up.”

“I want to try that kung-fu thing where you tear their heart out and show it to them while it’s still beating.
Très
macabre,
non
? Plus, I’ll bet the look of surprise on their faces will be worth it. Did you do that when you were out slaughtering people with Chet?”

“I don’t remember any of that. I don’t remember slaughtering people.”

“That’s why the pimps were trying to recruit me. You and Chet ate all their hos.”

“You make it sound so sordid.”

“Okay, you make eating hos sound pretty. Talk poetry to me, writer boy.”

And he looks all heartbroken and whatnot. And he’s like, “That’s what Jody calls me.”

And I’m like, “Sorry. Where do you want to look for her now?”

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

And I look at the watch that the Countess gave me, and I’m all, “A little after one,” in my
I am total poop on a stick
voice.

“Polk Street.”

And I’m all, “Why Polk Street?”

He’s like, “Because I’m out of ideas and we need to resort to magic.”

And I’m like, “Sweet! Let’s rock the dark magic!” I was tempted to do a booty dance of total dark magic celebration, but I thought it might reveal my secret.

’K
ayso, we roll into this coffee shop on Polk Street, and it’s all full of hippies and hipsters and couples on dates and drunks sobering up and whatnot. And everyone turns and looks at us. I’m about to chuck a spaz, because I realize that I haven’t fixed my makeup since I bounced my face off the plywood in the love lair.

So I’m all, “Tommy, psssssst, do I look like a cannibal corpse on crack?”

And he stops and looks at me for a second, and he’s like, “No more than usual.”

And I’m all, “Do I have raccoon eyes?”

And he’s like, “You’ve kind of taken your broken clown look to the next level, with the crusted blood around your mouth. You look cute.”

Flood can be very sweet for a doofus from Indiana. I felt like I had made the right decision to choose him to be my Dark Lord, even if he was only nineteen instead of five hundred.

So I feel like I should say something nice back, so I’m like, “You’re not as pathetic in those clothes.” Then I realize that didn’t sound as nice as I liked, so I’m all, “I want a triple soy latte with type O in it while we’re waiting for magic and whatnot.”

And Flood is all, “She’s here.”

I know. I’m like, “Whaaaa?”

’Kayso, Flood sends me for coffees and says he’ll meet me at a table in the back, so when I show up, he’s sitting with this ginormously fat gay guy, wearing a purple silk wizard robe with silver stars and moons on it, and his head is shaved and there’s a pentagram tattooed on it, just like I drew on Ronnie’s head with a Magic Marker. I know! And he has a crystal ball on his table on a stand made out of dragons, and a sign that says
MADAME NATASHA, FORTUNES TOLD $5.00, ALL PROCEEDS GO TO AIDS RESEARCH.