Blood in the Mouth

Elliot huddled into his seat, wary now of the other patrons. Here in the VIP lounge, waiters wandered from table to table taking drink orders so no one had to go to the bar themselves. One of the waiters had noticed them in the corner and his eyes were fixed on the pair. He hoped the man hadn’t heard any of their conversation. He downed the rest of his own cocktail and tried to look calm. How could he though? Now every time he looked at someone, he half expected them to pull out a gun and off him right there.

            The pounding music was setting him on edge, and as the alcohol seeped into his system, the bass started thundering on his senses. Through the glass wall, he could see the dancers moving, alternating between a calm sea of limbs waving, brushing against his senses, and then suddenly being whipped to a roiling tempest as they crashed against one another. Amelia was saying something, but he couldn’t focus on her. The waiters moved inordinately slowly around the room, only to pick up speed without warning. His seat was vibrating slightly from the music and it was buzzing up to his skull like a swarm of insects.

            The waiter who had been watching them made his move. Their two empty glasses now sat on the low table between them, and he saw a chance for a tip. Elliot watched him get closer and closer, his steps not seeming to follow the movement of his body, and then he was there asking something before he could even register it. He saw the man’s lips moving, but couldn’t understand the words. His vision flashed and all he could see were the veins in his lips, his face, his head. Tiny blood capillaries filling and emptying with each beat and push of his heart. A new rhythm flooded out the music; a steady double beat, calling out with a ‘Now, now!’ urgency.

            He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and grabbing his waist so he fell across the chair. His neck was exposed and Elliot’s eyes were filled with his throbbing pulse just under the skin. He dropped his mouth to his neck. Somehow, he had to have that beat inside him. He felt a dull pain in his gums and his tongue darted out to taste the man’s salty skin, aromas of alcohol and aftershave filling his nostrils and then—

            Amelia’s hand was clasped over his mouth, holding his neck up and preventing him from lowering his mouth the final distance. She shoved his head back and pulled the waiter free, blowing wisps of pink mist into his face to placate him. He sat on the edge of her arm-rest, shaken, but subdued. Her mists were fast at work calming him and making him confused about what had just happened. She grabbed Elliot’s hand and pulled him away, apologizing to the waiter for her drunken friend and pushed him towards the door.

            She held on to Elliot’s hand firmly and once they were out of the VIP lounge and back into the main room, she ruthlessly shouldered people out of her way, keeping him in check and fast at her side. He was led past the bar to an inconspicuous metal door set in the wall. She knocked and a panel slid open. Elliot’s vision was still distorted as the ground rocked around him and the dancers moved in an energetic frenzy. The panel slid shut again and the door swung inwards, granting them entry.

            He almost lost his footing as they moved from the bright club into the inky darkness. His eyes slowly adjusted until he could make out a red glow lighting the floor and emanating strongly from down the hall. There was no sound what-so-ever from the club outside, and Amelia hissed at him in the darkness.

            ‘What the hell were you thinking? You almost bit him!’ She didn’t give him time to answer, not that he could of. He was mute as he stumbled after her. ‘When was the last time you ate?’

            He grunted, then realized he hadn’t managed to vocalize his thoughts, and tried again. ‘I had breakfast this morning… but then I threw up at your den.’

            She stopped and pulled him around so they were face to face, and looked deep into his eyes. Her own eyes glowed strangely in the darkness, as if they were sucking up what little of the red light seeped from around the corner ahead, and magnified it until her irises glowed like rubies.

            ‘Jesus Christ. No wonder.’ She started pulling him forwards again, muttering to herself. ‘Aker only gave you enough to wake you, and then you threw that up too. And on an empty stomach, that alcohol must have acted as a catalyst.’

            The hall opened up into a second bar, dimly lit with red lights from an overhead chandelier and individual crimson lamps at each table in the room. No one danced here. Groups of people had taken over most of the tables and booths, and more peered down from the second-story balcony that ringed the room. Amelia pushed him forwards towards an empty booth and told him fiercely to sit and stay. She went to the bar and slipped something across the counter to the bartender, a dark-haired woman in a leather vest. She took whatever it was, and then reached under the counter. He watched as she produced two large glasses of some liquid. Amelia collected them and moved to where he sat, trying to make out the other people in the dark.

            His seat was made of red, crushed velvet that felt cool and glossy under his skin, and the table was a rich mahogany. She set the two cups on the table and slid in opposite him. ‘Drink this, and don’t go anywhere.’ She took a gulp of her own drink and then sat back deeper in the shadows, nursing the glass.

            He looked at his own. Another crimson drink. He sniffed it and then wrinkled his nose, setting it down with a thud. ‘I’m not drinking this,’ he spat.

            ‘You will, or I’m going to have to carry out my legal duties.’ She kicked him under the table and he jerked, knocking his knee into the wood and dealing a double blow.

            ‘But it’s blood!’

            ‘And you’re a vampire. Get used to it. I’m not coddling you anymore.’ She leaned forwards over the table and caught his collar with a snap. He gulped as she pulled him close to her face. He could see her fangs glinting in the light from the lamp. ‘We don’t bite humans. That’s the law.’

            He looked at her, brows furrowed, wincing slightly as the edge of the table bit into his belly.

            She pressed the glass to his lips and tilted it so that the still-warm blood sloshed against his mouth. She tilted it higher and his eyes widened, and then his jaw forced open to keep it from spilling over the sides and across his face. It made his throat tighten and he spluttered into the cup, spraying the sides with red flecks. She raised it again, and this time he opened his mouth, bracing himself for the iron tang. It flowed down his throat like syrup, making his stomach churn. Warmth started to build in his chest, moving outwards from his throat and belly. It felt as if a fire had been lit deep inside him and every mouthful of the viscous liquid stoked it further.

            Over the rim of the glass, Elliot watched as her features became clearer in the gloom. The whole bar looked sharper and he found his eyes drifting to the fiber in the velvet seat behind her, and then to the grain of the wooden frame. The red lamps no longer seemed impractical to his eyes. White lights would have been too bright to bear. He felt heady and more drunk than if he’d had several cocktails.

            She lowered the glass finally, once it had drained into his mouth. He licked his lips clean, and allowed himself a shudder, half of pleasure, half in horror. Amelia’s hands snapped out across the table and pinned his own to the wooden surface. ‘Listen to me closely Elliot,’ she hissed, and then continued once she was sure she had his attention. ‘You’ll be drunk on the blood for a few minutes, but your head will clear. You’ll get used to it eventually, at it will affect you less.’ She dug her nails into his skin until he winced and tried to pull away. ‘We don’t bite humans, or any other thing. The parasite can infect through the saliva, so to control our population, the government outlawed the biting of anything living without license.’

            His mouth had filled with saliva that mixed with the blood, creating a thick paste that welded his mouth closed. He tried to speak, and instead heard his voice echoing in his head. But where does the blood come from?

            Somehow she heard him and replied, likewise without vocalizing. The government has Blood Plants set up all over the world. They farm humans sustained in vegetative states for their blood, keeping them alive. You can find blood in any Bloodbar. Most cities have at least one. LA happens to have several.

            His eyes found her in the darkness, and he felt his head start to slowly clear. How are we speaking?

            She smiled. Through Duat. The parasite lets us communicate through the web.

            He looked startled. I’m connected right now? He hadn’t even noticed the switch.

            No. I started listening in on your mind when you went silent, in case you were trying to speak to me. The physical connection helps.

            He looked down at her hands. His jaw finally unlocked. ‘We’re touching, but I didn’t feel the switch into Duat. Why not?’

            ‘Sometimes the drunkenness can keep you from connecting. It clogs up your senses while the parasite feeds on the blood.’

            The more she talked about it, the more he felt as if vampirism was a thing inside him. Like a separate entity that he shared his body with. And then it hit him. It was a parasite in a very literal way. He was merely the host body for this…thing. A vessel for its power.

            ‘What is this?’

            She finally released his hands. ‘A gift. A curse. Whatever you want it to be. Just don’t let it go to your head. You’re not invincible.’ She giggled and smiled again for the first time since the outer bar. ‘But you’re pretty kick-ass now.’

            His eyes moved to the empty glass on the table, crimson residue still clinging to the bottom of it. He couldn’t help but grimace.

            ‘You’ll get used to it. Maybe not. Some people never do.’ She suddenly looked away, searching for a presence. ‘It’s time to go. Aker is done. He’s coming back now.’ He looked in the direction here eyes had fixed, and saw a door open up on the balcony level, and Aker emerged. He moved around the second level to the stairs, descending gracefully. Some of those he passed nodded their respect. He made a bee-line for their table, and Elliot saw his eyes dart from the empty glass to him, and then to Amelia. She nodded discretely, and he held out his hand for her.

            She rose, slipping into his arm so their sides pressed together. She stood on tip-toe to reach his ear and whispered, ‘I love you, but I’m not a fucking babysitter.’

            He simply laughed and jerked his head towards the door.

            Elliot got the signal and rose, as did the rest of his family. From all around the bar, they rose to their feet, and fell into line behind Aker. He led them back through the dim hall, which didn’t seem so dark as before, and then out into the club. Elliot even spotted someone standing in the deepest shadows by the door—probably the one who looked out of the slot earlier—as they passed through. The club was a swirl of brilliant colors, smells and sounds. People pressed against him as he moved through the crowd, but this time he didn’t feel the rising desire, or hear their thundering pulses inside his head. For now at least, the thirst seemed to have been quenched.

            Out on the street, Aker spoke to Amelia silently. Let him pull his own weight this time. If he falls behind, then he can’t run with us.

            He led them back into the alleyway, and then leapt into the air, catching a windowsill above and then hurling his body upwards. The others followed suite, grabbing any projecting surface or leaping from wall to wall in their ascent. Elliot tried the same and managed to take only one leap before he had to reach desperately for the fire-escape ladder and scamper up it.

            At the top though, he bunched his arm muscles and catapulted himself upwards. He caught the next level breathlessly and then reached for the roof ledge. His arm ached like he’d pulled a tendon, but he kept going. He was still with the group for now. They seemed to have pulled all the stops this time though. They dazzled him with their balance and technique, rebounding and flipping off of every surface, but still maintaining a break-neck speed. They’d traveled maybe a block, with him managing to keep pace, before he lost them.

            The edge of their current rooftop obscured his view ahead, so while they collectively vaulted over the edge only to rebound again off the opposing building surface, or catch ledges and drop down, Elliot misjudged the leap. He careened through the air and smashed into the brick wall, his momentum carrying him through, shattering wood and plaster. He finally came to a halt, gasping for breath and coughing blood.

            It was like this that Justin and Alyssa finally found him. She spotted the hole in the wall before he did, and caught his attention. He could see others running off in the distance, leaving the boy behind without a thought. He sprinted and then leapt across the gap, drawing out blades from the tops of his wrists as he passed through the air. He jammed them into the brick when he hit the wall, slowing is fall as they ground through the red stone. He heard a thud and a similar grinding noise, and knew that Alyssa was doing likewise. When he reached the hole, he pulled his hands free and caught the edge, tossing himself inside.

            Elliot was pinned against the wall by a shattered wooden beam. It protruded from his stomach like a gruesome tree-limb. He was still coughing blood, and his arms kept trying pitifully to push himself from the wall and off of the beam.

            ‘Oh God Elliot… What have they done to you?’ Justin hissed under his breath as he moved closer. He heard Alyssa drop down behind him and let out a sharp gasp. He gripped Elliot’s sides and grit his teeth, pulling him slowly forwards.

            Elliot gurgled a scream and his body went rigid against the pain.

            ‘Get behind him and push him from there. We need to get him off this.’ He instructed over his shoulder.

            Alyssa slipped into the gap he’d created between the boy’s body and the wall and helped to slide him off. He screamed again, and then thankfully blacked out, lulling listlessly. Together, they laid him on the floor, staring at the gaping wound. He sent out a screaming message to Byron for help, and then pressed his hands over the wound, trying to hold some meager amount of blood in still.

            When Byron and the others arrived, they used the door and stairs of the building, rather than the hole. He pushed Justin and Alyssa aside roughly and dove his hands into the wound. He reached around and then pulled them out again, stained red, but gripping a shard of splintered wood. Elliot stopped breathing.

            He cursed, and then bit into his wrists, one after the other, tearing deep gouges with his teeth. He held his hands over Elliot’s belly, letting his blood pour in. His own flesh mended so quickly, he had to bite into his wrists twice more, letting crimson tide flow out again. But it was working. His blood set to work in seconds, weaving, mending, patching, and healing. Elliot’s organs slid back into place and the gashes sliced into them by the beam seeped together and fused. The skin at the edges of the wound crawled inwards like an encroaching army, sealing off his innards from the air. The new skin rippled like liquid, and then Elliot took a sharp intake of breath. Byron sat back, sucking on his wrists, one after the other, helping them close faster.

            ‘Let’s take him home.’ He said finally, rising to his feet and dusting the plaster off of his clothes. ‘He’ll need a few days to recover.’