Bite Me (7 page)

“Whoa,” said Drew.

“Whoa,” repeated the others.

“Okay, that
is
different,” said Troy Lee.

“My friends all over the City are missing,” the Emperor said. “Street people. They’re gone. Just their clothes and gray dust,” the Emperor said. “The cats are killing everything in their way.”

“That is fucked up,” said Jeff.

“Deeply, deeply fucked up,” said Barry, dragging one of the heavy wooden order dividers off the register and brandishing it like a club.

“Lock the fucking door, Lash!” Clint screamed.

“Jesus hates it when you use the
f
-word,” said Gustavo, the Mexican porter, who was Catholic and liked to remind Clint when his Jesus was slipping.

The fog washed against the window and claw marks etched the Plexiglas instantly to frost, as if it had all been sanded. The noise was like, well, it was like a thousand vampire cats clawing on Plexiglas—it made their teeth hurt.

“Did anyone bring weapons?” Troy Lee asked.

“I brought some weed,” Drew said.

A cat’s claw of fog crept under the door and raked the toe of Lash’s sneaker. He snapped the lock shut, pulled out the key, and backed away.

“Okay, break time,” he said. “Crew meeting in the walk-in.”

JARED

Across town, in the bedroom of a fashionable loft, in the fashionable SOMA neighborhood, aspiring rat-shagger, Jared Whitewolf, looked up from rubbing his sore ankle to see a completely naked redhead walk into the room. Her hair hung to her waist in a great curling cape, framing her figure, which was perfect and as white as a marble statue. She held Jared’s double-edged dagger in her right hand.

Jared backed up onto the bed in a reverse crab walk. “I, I, I, it, it, it—Abby made me—”

“Chill, Scissorhands,” Jody said. “You’d better find some of those blood bags of Steve’s fast, unless you’d like to finish high school as a pile of greasy dust. Countess is thirsty.”

D
o the condemned in hell know the suffering that is a whole day of mom-guilt heaped like steaming piles of bat guano upon my spiky magenta coif? (I went with magenta spikes with electric violet tips to express my outrage at being dragged from my home and imprisoned with the cruel Mombot and my crapacious little sister, Ronnie.) Evidently, Mother feels that we were too young to move in together only a week after meeting, and live in a stolen apartment with two of the undead and their stupid amounts of cash. Although she doesn’t really know about the undead or the cash parts, but she made her point.

’Kayso, I had like put on my red tartan wedding gown with the black veil and resolved myself to an all-day power-pout in the corner of the living room, coming up only to text Foo messages of my agony of missing him and change
the channel and whatnot, when Jared called from the land-line at the love lair.

So I’m all, “Speak, corpse-fluffer.”

And Jared is all, “OMFG! The Countess is out, and she was naked, but now she’s not, and she totally got blood all over your leather corset, and you have to come right now because the rats are freaking out and we need a hacksaw and a file.”

And I’m all, “Uh-oh.”

And Jared is all, “I know. I know. OMG! OMG!”

And I’m all, “Is she pissed?” Sounding way more chill than I felt.

And Jared pauses for a second like he’s thinking it over, then he’s all, “She’s wearing your clothes and there’s blood running all down the front of her and she’s nodding and showing her fangs and shit.”

So I’m like getting some perspective now—like when you’re a kid and you think it sucks that you have to eat hydrogenated peanut butter on your PBJ, and then you see one of those starving commercial kids with the flies in their eyes, who don’t even have a sandwich—and you’re all, “Well, that sucks.” ’Kayso, I’m thinking that maybe being under restriction in the mother unit’s Fillmore stronghold isn’t so bad when compared to having the Countess busting out her wrath on you for imprisoning her in bronze.

So I’m like, “Sucks to be you, Jared. Byez.” And I offed my phone.

So like five minutes go by, which I spend in my corner
going, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” and whatnot, and the land-line rings. And Ronnie is all, “Are you going to get that?” from her room.

And I’m all, “I didn’t even know it was hooked up.”

And she was all, “It’s probably Mom checking up on you, so you might as well get it.”

And I’m all, “Ronnie, answer it or I will murder you in your sleep and dump your body in the Bay.”

And she’s all, “’Kay.”

Then, “It’s for you. It’s some girl named Jody.” And Ronnie is all standing there with her shaved head and her nonexistent hip thrown out, like “So there, ho.”

And I’m all, “Fucksocks!” And I take the phone and I’m like, “Hi, I have amnesia and don’t remember anything for the last two months!” Because what do you say to someone who you had bronzed?

And the Countess is all, “Abby, I’m not angry.”

Which was a total lie, because I could hear that she was angry. She had that “I’m not angry” mom voice, even though she’s only, like, twenty-six in real years.

“So you’re not going to kill me?”

“We’ll talk. Right now I need you to get a power drill and a hacksaw with extra blades and come to the loft.”

And I’m all, “I don’t know where to get stuff like that, and Foo’s at work, and I’m on restriction, and I have to go to school tomorrow. I have a test, so I totally can’t cut class, and besides, what do you need that stuff for?”

And she’s all, “Find the tools and come now. Tommy is stuck in the statue and we need to get him out.”

And I’m thinking, Oops. But I’m chill and I’m like, “Can’t he get out the same way you did?”

And the Countess is all, “Tommy doesn’t know how to turn to mist. That’s how I escaped, but Tommy has been trapped in there for—how long, Abby?”

“Oh, like a couple of days. It’s all so foggy, after the head trauma.”

Then I hear her saying, like, “Jared, come over here. I want Abby to hear your neck snap.”

“Okay, like five weeks. Fuck, Countess, overreact much?”

“Come now, Abby.”

And she just clicks off.

So I text Foo: COUNTESS OUT, NEED HACKSAW PWRDRILL NOW

And he’s all: WTF? WTF? WTF? OUT? WTF? ACE HARDWARE, CASTRO ST

(I know. Four WTFs! Foo has deep intellectual curiosity. Last week he quizzed me for twenty minutes on what it was like to have a clitoris. I just kept saying “nice.” I know, I’m such a tard, I couldn’t think of anything else. I
so
have to learn French. They have like thirty-seven words for clitoris. They’re like snow to Eskimos, only you know, harder to build an igloo out of.)

’Kayso, I text him: KTXBYE <3

And I tell Ronnie to tell Mom that I think I got some anthrax on my toothbrush and I have to go to Walgreens to get a new one so I’ll be right back. Then I put on my jacket with the sun warts, in case of vampyre kitties and whatnot,
and I take the F car up to Castro Street and go to Ace Hardware. And I’m totally feeling the animosity coming off the Builder Bob guy in the red apron, and I’m like, “What? You’ve never seen a wedding dress?”

And he’s all, “No, I love the dress, the jacket, the whole ensem is fabulous.”

And I’m like, “Really? Thanks. Your apron rocks. I need a hacksaw and a power drill.”

And he’s all, “What’s it for?”

And I’m all, “You want a note from my mom? A fucking hacksaw and a power drill. I’m on a schedule.”

And he’s all, “I asked because we have over thirty different kinds of power drills.”

And I’m like, “Oh. I need to release my Dark Lord from the bronze shell in which I imprisoned him.”

And he’s, “Oh, you should have said so.” And he leads me to the drill boutique and I picked out a red and black one that matched my dress, and Bob picked out a hacksaw which totally clashed, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I said it was
très beau,
which is French for sweet.

’Kayso, as I’m paying for my stuff, I go, “So, why are you guys still open at midnight?”

And Bob goes, “Well, you know how it is, you never know when someone is going to need to free their dark lord in the middle of the night, or tie him up.”

And I’m all, “Ewww.” Because I do not go for that shit. I am only into S&M and bondage as it applies to wardrobe. I tried cutting myself to express my heartbreak over Tommy
(Lord Flood) rejecting me, but OMFG it hurts like flaming fuck. I mean, I’m into self-mutilations as much as the next person—I have eight piercings and five tattoos, some that hurt like double flaming fuck to get, but that was professional, and you can blame someone. In fact, I know a guy in the Haight who will tattoo you for free if you’re a girl and you keep yelling at him the whole time, which, it turns out, isn’t that hard to do when someone is poking you with an electric needle. When he did my bat wings I screamed at him so much I lost my voice for two days.

’Kayso, I took the F car across town and the three blocks from Market to the loft, but like holding the button on my sun wart jacket in case I got ambushed by Chet and his vampyre kitty pals, because I totally can’t run in my wedding dress because the buckles of my motocross platforms get caught in the lace, so it’s like, stand and fight or die, bitches! But no vamp kitties came.

Anyway, I make it to the loft and I come in all, “Hey Countess, here’s your drill!” All Carebear-on-crack-perky, although that might have been a mistake, because it’s a proven fact that it’s easier to murder the perky. And I’m sort of,
WTF vampyress
? Because she’s not her normal self, which is like hemophiliac hawt, but she’s like printer-paper pale. And I totally ignore the fact that she’s wearing one of my long skirts and my black bustier without even asking, and it’s bustiering her way more than it does me, which is kind of rude. And I’m all, “Countess, are you okay? You look kind of pale.”

And Jared is all, “You should have seen her before she drank those blood bags.”

And I’m suddenly feeling all poop on a stick, because it’s obvious that she’s all gone snowflake because she’s been locked up without feeding. So I’m like, “Sorry. I just wanted you guys to be together for eternity, and it didn’t sound like that’s how it was going to happen.”

And she’s like, “Later, Abby.” And she just takes the tools from me and goes over to the statue and starts drilling and sawing and whatnot.

So I’m like, “How did you get out?”

And she’s all, “Rat boy was dancing and nicked the casting with his dagger.”

And Jared’s all, “I wasn’t dancing. I had some espresso and I was telling them my novel and I lost my balance on your stupid boots.”

And I’m all, “You can’t give him caffeine, Countess. His aunt gave him a hundred-dollar Starbucks card for Christmas and we had to have an intervention.”

And Jody pauses and looks back at me, her eyes looking all emerald-like, because except for her hair, she has no color in her face and she’s like, “Tommy didn’t know how to turn to mist, Abby. I never had a chance to teach him before you bronzed us. He’s been trapped in here, fully conscious, for five weeks.”

And I’m like backing away, because I’ve seen the Countess pissed off before, like when the Animals kidnapped Tommy and she had to kick their asses to get him back, but now she’s
all jaw tightened like she’s keeping herself from tearing my arms off or something. So I sort of feel for the button on the cuff of my sun jacket. Not like I was going to fry the Countess, because I wouldn’t do that, but just for security.

And she just snaps her hand out and before I can move she’s pulled the battery out of my inside pocket and ripped off the wire leads. I mean like faster than you can blink.

So I’m like, “I wasn’t going to light it up.”

And she’s all, “Just to be safe.”

But I’m not feeling safe. And I can tell that Jared isn’t feeling safe because he’s sort of sniffling like he’s going to start crying.

And Jody is sawing on the bronze like a crazy person—on the side where she used to be, so she doesn’t cut Tommy—and finally she has, like, enough sawed away that she can pull a piece away and look in.

And she’s all, “Tommy, we’re going to get you out of there. I have to be careful, but I’ll get you out of there soon.”

And Jared is like, “Do you need a flashlight?”

And Jody is like, “No, I can see.”

And Jared is all, “Is he dead?”

And right then Jody snaps a hacksaw blade and goes, “Well of course he’s dead, he’s a vampyre.”

And I’m all, “Duh? Tard.” As I hand Jody another blade.

I have to say, that for someone with super powers and immortality, the Countess kind of sucks ass with tools. I guess the dark gift doesn’t include home improvement skills.

’Kayso, after about an hour the Countess pulls a big piece off the statue, revealing Tommy’s face and torso and whatnot, and he’s just stuck there, not moving, not opening his eyes, and even whiter than the Countess, kind of a light bruise-blue color.

And Jared is all, “He dead?”

And Jody is like kind of between a scream and a sob, and she’s like, “Get me another blood bag, Jared. And Abby, where the fuck are my clothes?” And a little blood tear runs down her cheek.

And I’m like, “Uh-oh.” Because now I realize why she’s wearing my clothes. When Foo and I moved in we put all of Tommy and Jody’s clothes in vacuum bags under the bed. So I’m like, “What do you want to wear, Countess? I’ll get it. I mean, you can wear my stuff any time you want, because I am your faithful minion, but you have been endowed by your creator with significantly more boobage and junk in the trunk than me, no offense, and my stuff doesn’t exactly fit you. No offense.”

And Jared is all, “She had your Emily hoody on over that but it got blood all over it.” Not helping at all. “Hey, who wants a latte?”

And the Countess snarled at Jared, full frontal fangs and all. And Jared jumped back and turned his ankle. And I’m like, “Oh shit!”

And she barks, “Blood!”

And Jared and I are all, “Coming right up. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.”

And I bring her the bag of blood and she tears it open with her teeth and just pours it over his lips and in his mouth and nothing happens. And Jody is crying and getting louder and Jared and I are getting more and more freaked out and even all the rats in their little boxes are freaking out and running around in circles and whatnot. And finally Tommy’s eyes pop open, and they’re like crystal blue, like ice, not like eyes, and he screams, and I swear to fucking zombie Jebus, the whole wall of windows in the loft just shattered in the frames.

So Jared and I are all bent over in the corner, covering our ears, and Tommy comes flying out of the statue. You can hear his leg bones cracking like pretzels as he pulls them out, but he scurries on his hands, knocking rats and furniture every which way, coming right at me, fangs first.

And I go to reach for the button on my sleeve, but he’s on me, biting my neck. He’s so strong it’s like trying to fight a statue, and I can hear Jody screaming, and the skin on my neck tearing in shreds. And my vision is like tunneling down to dark, and I’m thinking,
I’m fucking dying? What the fuck’s up with that?

Then there’s this loud clang, like a bell, and I feel Tommy pulled off me. And light sort of comes back on. I can see the Countess standing there, holding Foo’s stainless-steel floor lamp like it’s a lance, and she’s obviously just smacked Tommy with it hard enough to knock him off of me. But instead of going at her, he comes scurrying right back at me, smearing blood all over the floor and everything.

And the Countess catches him by the neck from behind and swings him around and out through the broken windows, and the metal frames and everything go with him.

So there’s the scream again, and I’m holding my neck, and I sort of crawl to the big hole that used to be the front wall of the loft, and Tommy is in the middle of the street below, naked, in a big splash of metal and glass, and he’s like crawling up the side of a car to his feet.

And Jody’s beside me. And she’s all, “Tommy! Tommy!”

But he’s limping off down the alley across the street, walking like his legs are still broken, but maybe healing or something as he goes, but hurting like holy-fuck.