Vampire$

L-shaped living room and there, at the far end of the huge room, in the dim light from the downtown high rises, were Cat and Adam, crossbows in their fists, crouched down next to the open french doors.

Felix almost laughed. He almost shouted out to them.

But he didn’t. Instead he looked to see what they were seeing.

It was easy. There was another set of french doors by the front entrance, right next to him, also blowing hot the diaphanous curtains, also pale against the lights from the towering downtown buildings, also open to the terrace where, less than thirty feet away, closer to Felix than Cat and Adam or the safety of the fire stairs sat Jack Crow.

On a stone bench.

Talking to a vampire.

Felix stepped closer and felt the disgust welling up, swelling up and through his eyes and out the top of his head. By God! but it was beautiful.

He had forgotten how beautiful they were.

It was young and thin and blond and tall, lazing confidently and casually against the four-foot walled railing, the lights from some glass tower delicately illuminating his stark yet smooth and precious features. White shirt and black pants and black leather boots. Not the same outfit as the little god in Cleburne. But close enough. The same grimy elegance.

The same shoddy, sexy, decadent, beautiful…

Fuck you, little god. Fuck you and all the rest of you.

And fuck you, too, Jack Crow, for talking to it.

Talking to it. Like it was human. Like it was only half bad. Like it was misunderstood or “two-sides-to-everything” and not a crushed, smeared, cockroached soul.

And then he saw the crossbow Jack had hidden.

It was down behind the bench on which he sat, propped up against some huge potted terrace tree, and Felix really did almost laugh this time, at the puny, pitiful, all-destructive self-deception of it all.

Felix read it all, now. Saw it all. The whole sad script.

What was Crow going to do? Just wait up here with arms flung open, yelling “Bite me!” into the night? Oh, no. Gotta at least pretend you’re going down nobly, don’t you, Warrior Jack? Gotta make believe this is a Something, right? A Something, a last ‘bold thrust’ instead of the seamy suicide it really is.

And he almost left right then. He almost left Jack Crow to his paltry, sickening, disgusting little Passion Play.

Ha!

But what about the Two Stooges? All crouched down and ready to rush up and save him and ensure that three, rather than just one, get swept to ugly, ugly hell. Can’t leave the Two Stooges, can I?.

Especially since I’m the goddamn third one?

Out of control.

He heard his heart and he could see his pulse, throbbing through the thumb wrapped death-grip tight around the Browning.

Madness.

But a lovely night, he thought. If a trifle warm.

Then he crossed his hands, with the Browning, behind his back and kicked the french doors open all the way and stepped out onto the terrace just as loudly as he knew how.

“Hey, you! Little god! Is it true your dick doesn’t work anymore?”

Silence. Then surprise from those piercing eyes, then understanding of what was said.

Anger flashing his way.

“Felix!” shouted Jack. “Felix, no! What are you doing?”

“It’s not just him!” popped Cat, stepping out onto the other end of the terrace.

“Cat!” yelled Jack, stricken.

“It’s all of us,” added Father Adam, joining Cat.

“No!” whispered Jack weakly. “No… no…”

“What is this?” flashed the monster. “Am I to be trapped here?”

And then he smiled that cocky, beautiful smile.

“Hey!” snapped Felix with his own smile. “Tell me about your dick.” And then, in a conspiratorial tone: “Can’t get it up, right?”

And the smile vanished and the evil sneer spread out to him.

“Puny little man… How I will enjoy your crushing, bleeding, death cries and your—”

“Sure, sure, sure,” replied Felix calmly. “But let’s face it. You can turn ’em on pretty good. But when it gets down to it…” And he held the fingers of his left hand out in front of his loins and dangled them limply. “When it gets down to it, it’s floppity-floppity. Right?”

Its burst of loathing, even from fifteen feet away, all but staggered Felix backward. The eyes went black, then red. The mouth slit itself wide as it stepped toward him.

“Welcome, puny mutt-man, to the… yolk…” and the fangs sprung out wide “… of the egg…”

And the laughter was a spear.

But Felix just laughed back and shot it right between those fucking fangs.

“Heeachaaaahhh!”

And it hissed and shook and the black gob spat out with the pain and surprise and… the hatred — And Felix shot it again, through the chest. And it staggered back, off-balance and reeling, and the backs of its legs bounced against the walled railing and…

It almost went over the edge!

And that gleaming thought, that wish, that insane hope… It stalled Felix for just an instant, just long enough for the monster to right itself and warp open its full monster’s face to the Gunman and Felix heard a crossbow go off… but so did the beast.

And it caught it. It did catch it in the air, goddammit!

Felix shot it again, in the shoulder of the hand that snatched the bolt.

The shoulder warped and shivered and there was more hissing and more black bile spat and Felix shot it again as it jerked toward him and the second crossbow — Adam’s? Jack’s? — tore through the air and crunched loudly through the center of its chest and out against the city lights.

Ungodly, unholy screams filled the night and the city and their heads and the monster’s frenzy was a blur of pain and horror and fury as it bounced and twitched and grabbed at the spit and there was another thong and another bolt pierced its chest from the side, splitting it neatly in the center, and the monster splattered black bile and rocked backward and bit the wall again and reeled, losing its balance and…

Yes! Yes! Go over, you prick! Fall! Fall!

And Felix fired again and again but the shots had so little effect next to the wooden stakes piercing it and there! From the side, motion rushing forward! Jack coming on!

And Felix wanted to shout “No!” but he could not, he could not. It was their only chance and he fired again and again, fired the Browning empty to keep it off balance and then Jack was there running full speed into it but at the last second…

At the last second it saw Jack.

And held up its hand.

And stopped him, all two hundred plus pounds at breakneck speed.

Stopped him. Caught him. Held him, ignoring its own pain and hissing:

“You foolish little…”

Before Father Adam appeared and slammed point-blank into the two of them…

The three went over the edge.

Just like that.

And quiet. So quiet, suddenly. Only the breeze and a far distant car horn and his own breath heaving and…

And Cat beside him, staring wide-mouthed at the wall.