It was around one in the morning when Michael returned to Blacksburg from another bout of sparring with Solomon. Although mid-week in December, there was still a fair amount of life in town; the hump day crowd still milling about until last call.
Michael had Solomon drop him off at the front door of the newly finished Squire Student Center. There was a light snow falling, but Michael paid it little heed. He sniffed the air and then headed inside. Although the restaurants and bowling alley were now closed, there were still a few students milling about the public areas. He knew one student would be among them.
Kris was sitting alone, surrounded by books, reading one of them. When Michael walked over, she perked up and set her book aside.
“Evening, mi’lord.”
“Good to see you, Kris. How are things?”
“Studying for finals.” She closed a book abruptly. “Have you come to give me a distraction?” She said seductively.
Michael smiled. Kris was his first and favorite thrall. In just the last few months, she had changed a lot. She still dressed in stereotypical hippie/Bohemian style that she always had, but her attitude had changed considerably. Gone was the self-doubting wall-flower that Michael had first seduced. In her place was the sexually bold and almost hyper confident young woman he saw before him now.
“Perhaps, but first, a question. How are my investments doing?”
“Ah.” She said, somewhat disappointed. “I’m sorry to say there’s been a small problem.”
“Oh?”
“The worm has been compromised. Someone’s gotten in and altered it and now the flow of cash is siphoning to someone else’s account. I have neither been able to pin down the source of the alteration or where the money is now going. Nor have I have been able to restore the original program.”
Once Michael had enthralled Kris, he began using her and several other CS students at Tech to try to hack the local banks’ computers. His efforts paid off when Kris was able to penetrate the system at First Union in Roanoke and plant a virus-like subroutine in their programs. The subroutine was designed to siphon off all the fractions of a penny that occurred when the computers calculated interest on every account in the system. One quarter, two-thirds, or half of a penny was not much by itself, but when it came in multiples of several hundred each week, it added up and provided a nice, if not substantial, form of income for Michael.
“So the hacker got hacked herself.”
“I’m sorry, mi’lord. This should never have happened. But this hacker, whoever he or she is, is better than I am.”
“No need to apologize. There’s always a bigger fish. Question is, who? He’d make a nice addition to our team.”
Kris looked at Michael nervously, as if he’d just threatened to put her aside. “Oh, come now,” he reassured her. “For one thing, he could teach you a thing or two. And two, do you honestly think I get rid of you after all we’ve been through.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be jealous.” She admitted.
“So what can I do to convince you?” Michael knelt down before her as a penitent before the altar.
“You could eat my pussy.” She teased.
Michael grabbed the hem of her skirt and gave it a somewhat dramatic snap, exposing her legs to mid-thigh.
“Here?” she said incredulously.
“Why not?” said Michael, diving in.
----
The last few bars of Cheap Trick’s Surrender finished playing. Michael made his way around his keyboard to the front of the stage, to the center mic where Deborah had just finished singing.
“Good evening, Blacksburg!” said Michael cheerfully to the crowd. “We are Krushed Prophet, that’s ‘Krushed’ with a ‘K.’ We are a cover band, and by the way, we spell cover with a ‘k’ too. We’re a cover band which means we play other people’s songs and we play a little bit of everything from classic rock to goth to grunge to the Billboard chart toppers. The only thing we don’t play is country, because it sucks, and rap, because I am far too white to do it well.”
The last comment elicited a few chuckles from the crowd. A few months of practice and Michael’s latent talents with music had blossomed, enough that Deborah had put together a band with a few of her thralls and had booked a few gigs. Tonight, it was South Main Café in Blacksburg, opening for a band from Charlottesville.
Michael’s role, his shtick as it were, was to introduce the band, the songs, and tell a few not-so-funny self-deprecating jokes along the way. While their comedy lacked, Krushed Prophet made up for in the proficiency of their music. Deborah had found solid musicians to fill in the band and, as she had stated, her voice was solid. Michael did some singing and his keyboarding, while proficient, was probably the band’s one weak link. But he was learning fast.
“I’m Michael, singer and keyboardist.” He said to the crowd. “To my right hand here is other singer and guitarist, the lovely Deborah. By the way, guys, she’s available.” That garnered a few hoots from the crowd. “Next to her is our bassist, Bob!!!!”
“Please don’t call me Bob.” Shot Bob back with a faux British accent. Bob was a man in his mid-50s, older by far that the rest of the band. He was dressed in black slacks and a poofy shirt. From his appearance, any fan would note that Bob was trying to imitate Robert Smith of the Cure, hence the “Bob” joke and the fake accent.
“Just ignore him. Bob’s so old he knew dirt when it was mud. That makes him cranky. On drums is the every blazing Blaze.” A young man with a pink Mohawk stood up and swung his drum sticks around to whip up the crowd.
“I think that’s our cue. One…Two…Three…Four!”
The set continued with, as promised, a wide variety of different songs from different bands: Journey, Ministry, The Cure, Motley Crue, and so forth. Sometimes, Michael would sing, other times Deborah took the mike. But after about an hour, they left the stage to allow the main attraction to set up and play their set.
Michael walked over and sat down next to Kris. Mitch and Boar were there also. “So, you think they’re fired up enough?”
“Dave Matthews will find you a tough act to follow.” Said Mitch.
“Nah,” said Michael, “all we’re doing is copying what better songwriters and performers have done before. He, at least, plays his own stuff.”
“Be interesting to see how he does.” Added Kris. “I’ve heard he scored a record deal.”
“He’ll go far.” Admitted Michael.
“So might you guys.” Interjected a stranger at the bar, sitting a few seats down from Kris. He was older, maybe early to mid 30s.
Michael shook his head in disbelief. “Nah, we’re just a cover band. Never be much more than that.”
“Well, count me as one who can appreciate that the old music hasn’t died out completely yet. I graduated high school in ’78 and most of what you played tonight was what we called college radio back then.” He offered his hand to Michael. “Nolan Baranski.”
“You seem a little out of place here, Dr. Baranski.” Said Mitch. There was a familiarity in his tone that implied they knew one another.
“I’m not that old, James.” Retorted Nolan. “It’s good to see you again. You hang out with this crowd now?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, I guess you’re finding your way in the world.” There was a disappointed tone to his voice. “You were a far better student than you gave yourself credit. I hope to see you in my class again someday. But, I have played the night away for too long tonight. I have papers to grade and….”
Baranski did not finish his line because a new figure walked into the bar. Michael felt a cold chill wash over him.
“Makes an entrance, doesn’t he?” said Nolan. He put on his coat and headed for the door, passing the Djinn as he did so.
“Yeah.” Said Michael, locking eyes with The Djinn as he passed by, heading directly to Deborah’s table.
“Who is that?” muttered Kris, visibly disturbed. Michael did not answer her.
The Djinn sat down at Deborah’s table, causing her “admirers” to excuse themselves. “You chased off my dinner.” Complained Deborah. She seemed unfazed by the presence of Prince Mathias’ bodyguard.
“My apologies.” Came the reply. The Djinn’s voice was a basement deep bass that reminded one of James Earl Jones, Geoffrey Holder, and Tony Todd all rolled into one. “But this is a matter of some importance.”
“What does your boss want?”
“Your childe. The Prince wishes to converse with him about…spiritual matters.”
“His usual.” Said Deborah flippantly. “Seeking another convert for the cause.”
“Our Lord did call for us to make disciples. What is true for his mortal followers is true for us as well.”
“Tell me something, Youssef. Why do follow him? Prince Mathias, that is. I find it hard to believe a 12th century Moorish warrior would find much common cause with a creature that claims to be a barely remembered disciple of Jesus.”
“It is complicated.” Evaded the Djinn.
“It must be, given what a hypocritical pervert he is.” Retorted Deborah. “And yet for all this strange loyalty you show him, how are you repaid? You could be a Prince in any city in this nation, and you play content to be here in this backwater, a mere servant.”
“Not all of us aspire to power.” Replied the Djinn, “you may find the acquisition of it is dangerous and possession of it a curse.”
“How poetic. Say what you wish to me, but that does not change the fact that Sophia, Andreas, and I were given the privilege to progeny over you.” She paused. “After all these decades of service, that’s got to sting.”
Clearly it did. The Djinn stood up abruptly. “Your childe will be summoned tomorrow night.” He said coldly. “Make sure he is ready.” With that, he exited.
The Djinn passed out onto the street, and headed for his car. Baranski watched from a nearby alcove, stepping out once The Djinn had departed. He lit up a cigarette and took a long drag from it.
“Dr. Baranski?” came a voice.
“Ah, Darren. What brings you out this evening?” Nolan turned to greet the young man who approached.
“Come to see Dave Matthews. You?”
“Just checking up on our young charge. We should have been more diligent. He’s chosen very poor friends.”
“Not an uncommon fate for college dropouts.”
“Not like this.” Said Nolan. “Enjoy the show, but keep your wits about you. South Main Café is crawling with them tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Nolan tossed his cigarette away.
“Yes, sir.”
Baranski stepped away from the building, paused to make sure no one else was watching, and then vanished into thin air.
----
“I wouldn’t have thought your kind could eat like that.” Offered Mitch as he watched Michael wolf down a plate of spaghetti.
“All part of being able to fit in.” replied Michael after he swallowed. “Leaves them no reason to suspect I’m anything other than an ordinary human being.”
“We’ve been around Deborah for nearly a year and there’s still a lot we don’t know.” Said Boar.
“And that’s probably for the better.” Said Michael. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to talk about this sort of thing openly.”
Boar shrugged. “No one can hear us in a noisy restaurant.”
It was that. The three of them were together at the Roanoke Olive Garden restaurant. This had become something of a bi-weekly ritual of theirs. Visit Roanoke, eat out at a semi-fancy restaurant (something at least better than Taco Bell or the dining halls on campus), and do some shopping. Usually, they didn’t buy much, maybe a role-playing book or a video. The real purpose of the trip was to have something to do outside Blacksburg.
“So whereto from here tonight?” asked Boar.
“To the mall.” Said Michael. “I should find something for Deb for Christmas.”
Boar found that funny and he laughed. “Kindred giving Christmas gifts to kindred. I hate to see what your Santa Claus would look like.”
“Come on, both you guys got her something too. I know it.”
The two of them grudgingly conceded that they had. “If I were you, I’d be more interested in getting something nice for Kris instead of Deborah.” Interjected Mitch.
“I suppose I could, but why do you say that?”
“She’s awfully devoted to you, regardless of what you truly are.”
“Yeah, but…” Michael was about to mention the artificial bond he’d imposed on Kris, but then thought better of it. After all, did Mitch and Boar know they had a similar one imposed on them or was that one of those things they didn’t know about Deborah?
“But what?” prompted Mitch.
“It’s complicated.”
“You’re a vampire. I’d expect it would be.” Replied Boar. “Does she know? What you are, that is.”
“Kris? No, I’ve not told her. Not yet.”
“I’ll bet that’s not a fun conversation.” Added Mitch.
“How did Deb break it to you two?”
“She just kinda told us.” Said Mitch.
“It didn’t seem that big of a deal.” Boar admitted. “Now that I think about it, that’s a bit odd in of itself. I mean, you spend your whole life being told that monsters aren’t real and then when you find out they are, it doesn’t come as a shock.” He seemed a bit confused.
“Well, the world can be a pretty nasty place.” Said Michael. “Maybe all these old folktales about vampires, wizards, werewolves, and other monsters were told because they made the world and all of its evils and nastiness make sense. Science may have done us a disservice by convincing us all that the ugliness of the world is merely meaningless bad luck.” Michael paused to see if his friends were following his point. “So, when we’re told that the old folktales are what’s true and the science we’ve been raised on is inaccurate or incomplete, everything we’ve witnessed about the brutality of life makes sense again. It all falls into place.”
“Never thought of it like that.” Admitted Boar. “But you’re right. But I’m not sure which is worse: Knowing that your life could be brutally cut short by mere rotten luck or that it could be cut short because something nameless in the dark is going to eat you.”
“You know, I’m getting pretty fucking depressed talking about this.” Interjected Mitch. “I’d much rather go on thinking I’m immortal, and that life is more than just a timer running down to zero.”
“Well, you can think it all you want. Doesn’t make it true.”
Mitch frowned. “I think I liked you better before you died.”
“Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home.” Said Michael, identifying the quote. “Some things haven’t changed. I may be kindred now, but I still love gaming, can quote geek with the best of them, and know my way around a computer system. I’m still me, just more so.”
“Bearing that in mind,” said Mitch. “Why’d she turn you and not us? I know she’s got some sort of plan against some kind of enemy, but wouldn’t three vampires be of more use than just one?”
“There’s a law.” Explained Michael. “A vampire can only make another when they’re given permission by the ruler of the territory. From what Deb’s told me, that permission doesn’t come very often.” He said nothing of Boar’s odd blood.
“Another killjoy.” Said Boar. “You’re just not going to be any fun tonight, are you?”
“Sorry. Even as a vampire, I’m beholden to others and to the laws that govern my kind.”
“And if you break those laws?”
“You answer to me.” Said a voice. It seemed to come out of nowhere. The chair next to Michael slid back and The Djinn appeared out of thin air within it.
“Sweet Jesus!” Mitch nearly jumped out of the seat. “Don’t do that.”
Michael noticed none of the other patrons in the restaurant reacted at all to The Djinn’s sudden appearing act. “How did you…”
“It’s not hard to appear and disappear when no one is watching. In fact, I hardly needed to use my powers, so engrossed were the three of you in your conversation. A dangerous conversation, I might add.” His tone was cold and direct. “In such a public place.”
“As you said yourself, no one’s watching. They aren’t listening either.” Said Michael.
“Reckless of you, childe. And it is my judgment of the risks you pose that truly matters.”
“You’ll not take my head, for the very same reason you’d rather we converse about other things.” Said Michael boldly. "We're rather public here."
“True,” replied The Djinn. He grabbed Michael’s chin and turned his head to face him. “but you’re not always so out in the open and you’ve already learned how comfortable I am in the shadows.”
“Do you have a purpose in coming here or do you just enjoy spooking my friends and me?”
“Mathias wants to see you. You will come with me.”
Michael turned back to Mitch and Boar. “I think you’ll have to go on without me for the rest of the night. As I said, I’m beholden to others.”
Act One Chapter Nine
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