PART THREE 

Hide in plain sight is the best advice in this kind of emergency.  So as I ran I considered my options.  Closer to the Metro, tunnels and overpasses offered prime hiding places.  But I was too far away from the nearest station.  Carjacking might get me somewhere if the driver didn’t put up too much of a fight and I could think of somewhere to stash the vehicle and myself in fifteen minutes or less.  Praha 5 was a bit out of my neighborhood and the obvious shelter for a vampire in need was one with an open door policy, like, just for example, the hospital behind me.    

I had to figure Tung’s minion caught my act at the riot scene and would deduce my eventual destination.  No doubt, magical trackers and scent hunters were already on their way.  I started the brief incantation for a Sumerian Cleansing Spell to cover my tracks and loped straight across the lot toward a wooded area, dodging around parked cars.  Once in the woods, I set down an obvious trail bearing left and kept going until I hit tarmac again.  

Every instinct clamored for me to double back on my tracks at that point to throw off my pursuers.  It was the smart thing to do and on any other night I would have done it.  But Tung was consistently outplaying me in the brash and clever department.  I figured it was about time I did something phenomenally stupid.  

So, against all sound judgment, I kept on the same heading and circled the building looking for the most obvious point of entry.    The staff-parking garage caught my eye; it sprouted off the main building like a growth.  It was heavily fortified, gated against illegal parking and human thieves, but the defenses were no match for a vampire in need.  If I’d been feeling fresher I would have vaulted the fence but damaged arms and knees being what they were, I simply forced the rivets from the wall at one corner and eased past the chain link. 

Cars and people were trickling in and out of the garage.  It had to be close to a shift change.  Which could work to my advantage.  Common sense told me to seal up the fence and blend with the crowd.  Maybe I could get indoors and find a nice dark hiding place.  I told common sense to bugger off.   

What had it done for me lately? 

After buttoning and tucking my shirt, I stepped out of the shadows.  No one screamed.  No one pointed.  It was business as usual on this side of the building.  Most people going to or from work are oblivious to their surroundings and I was wearing a recognized uniform, which, generally speaking, equals invisible.  My unique personal appearance, however, was likely to draw unwelcome attention.  Still, I'd have to brass it out; there was nothing to be done about my bare feet, black nails or white hair.  I tried my best to look Doktora-like as I walked between the rows of parked cars, surreptitiously reading the “RESERVED FOR” names on each slot. 

It took a good 20 minutes and a change of levels before I found the right car.  Hatchbacks were standard issue but no use to me.  I needed a boot, what you Yanks would call a trunk.  I also needed a cold engine.  The feminine name on the space, Doubravka Forman, Maternity Nurse, was a bonus. As I strolled casually on, waiting for my opportunity, I wondered if Ms. Forman's friends called her Dobinka.  I decided I would call her that if she turned out to be pretty.  If she turned out to be plain, I could just call her dinner. 

Early morning light was lancing in from all sides by the time the level cleared of foot and vehicle traffic.  But, finally, all was still and I hustled back to Dobinka's car.  Thankfully, the garage's security measures consisted of strategically placed fisheye mirrors and random patrols.  There were no pesky cameras to record my exploits and the car was an older model with no alarm system.  Dobinka, bless her, had those pre-Revolution connections.  She owned a lovingly cared for 1982 Skoda Estelle with a rear engine and a side-hinged boot in front.  

I needed less than 10 seconds to pop the trunk catch, sling her spare tire under the car across the way and squeeze in alongside the road tools.  It was a tight fit but not when I compared it to fitting in an urn. Very gently, I worked the locking mechanism back into place.  Such caution might not have been needed if the trunk was in the back of the vehicle but resting under the driver's eye I didn't want to take chances.  With luck Dobinka wouldn't notice the damage while I was in residence. 

I was lucky.  And about bloody time, too.  Ninety minutes into my vigil, I heard a light step approach the car.  The driver's door opened, someone got in and we headed out.  They stopped the car at the gate.  I listened to two deep voices speak in warning, official tones and then heard a light, sweet but obviously weary voice answering.  There was a crunch of boots on gravel as someone walked by the front of the car.  I tensed for confrontation but within a minute or two the gate grated open and we were moving again.  I can't say I breathed easier but I did start to relax once we hit the highway. 

I wish I could tell you all about Dobinka but sadly our association was brief.  She drove into Prague, parked her car in Myslbekova Street and entered an unknown apartment building with the sun shining blissfully down on her. I, on the other hand, remained undercover until well after dark.  Around 11:00 p.m., I peeked out of my haven, found the street deserted and casually took my leave.  

I'd had a lot of time to think while I hibernated.  I spent a good deal of it worrying about Drusilla.  I was pretty sure Tung had her somewhere in the city but I had no idea where he would hole up.  All I was certain of was Dru wasn't dead.  My kind feels the line break when we lose family.  Something like a sire bond is bound to make an impression when it's severed.  But, so far, no twinge.  Which told me my Dark Beauty wasn't dust but precious little else.  I was gnawing myself up inside with the need to find her but I was in no condition to take on a sixth level wizard.  Frankly, I was in no condition to take on a meter maid. 

If I meant to save Dru and introduce Tung to new concepts of pain management, I needed feeding.  I needed rest.  And, while I generally hate to admit it, I needed help. 

I walked down Myslbekova Street, for a time, uncertain of my direction until a break in the buildings to my left let me look east toward the gardens of the Castle.  I was in Stresovice or close enough it made no difference.  It was a quiet suburb, not my patch.  The Mala Strana was more my speed.  Old town stretched out below my position, filled to the brim with healthy tourists.  It was where I wanted to go but it offered no refuge.  I had to be patient, if I meant to get Dru back safe.  Luckily, Stresovice provided plenty of cover and I knew of the perfect place to lay low.  I quickened my pace moving steadily south toward the plains.   

Twenty minutes later, I stood at the edge of an expanse of pavement stretching toward the massive Strahov Stadium.  Prague is home to an abundance of marvelous architecture but the Stadium, while amazing in its capacity, isn’t exactly a work of art.  It is a utilitarian structure but still the largest stadium in the world and, as such, full of places for a light sensitive person to avoid the sun.  

My only concern was crossing the open areas of tarmac on the way to my sanctuary.  The police would be looking for me and I wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous with my white hair and stolen uniform blaring out my identity; a lone figure under the arc lights.  Feeling terribly exposed, I broke cover, moving at a brisk but not panicky pace.  Again, my luck held.  I was maybe 16 meters from the structure when I saw the security vehicle, a modified golf-cart, parked in the shadow of the bleachers.  I froze. 

Nothing happened. 

After a moment or two, I shifted a bit.  More nothing.  And then less of it, as my straining ears picked up the faintest of moans.  I took a step to the right, cocking my head to listen, and the sound of breathing came to me, harsh and quick, accompanied by a wet noise I knew very well.  I smiled. 

A few more meters of skulking and my eyes confirmed the evidence of my ears.  On the far side of his cart, Stadium Security was shirking his duty in exchange for a blowjob.   

This, I felt was the proper post-Revolutionary spirit.  It made me almost happy I was sparing the man his untimely death.  Under different circumstances, I would have killed him outright and taken my time with the girl.  Even as things stood, his cart was a terrible temptation.  I could travel a bit before sunup.  But Dru was my priority and both a trail of bodies and a traceable vehicle lack subtlety.  I needed to lay low and the "Mouth Organ of the Law" had a schedule to keep.  If I slaughtered him, sooner or later there would be questions and too many people searching for meaningful answers.  

Still, a bloke's got to eat, and while Security might be missed, his accommodating woman was another matter.  Hoping she had a vehicle stashed, I found a cozy niche in the wall nearby and waited out the entertainment part of the dinner theatre.  My admiration for the anonymous whore increased as she eased Pop'n'Cop up and down the scale of stimulation for a good fifteen minutes before allowing him to shoot the wad.  There was groaning and cursing and a taking of the Lord's name in vain. By the time he was ready to put junior to bed, I was ready for a wax job of my own.  

I knew Dru wouldn't mind me having it off with the skirt.  She was generous that way.  She liked to see me happy. But it still didn't seem right, me wasting time on my own pleasures with my Sire in immortal peril and all.  So, I kept my appetites in check, waiting for Rent-a-Cop to zip up, pay up and mount up.  

Finally, he took his leave.  From the lady's language, I gathered Officer Git wasn't much of a tipper.  He reminded her she was getting off easy on a trespassing charge.  She reminded him she'd seen bigger equipment on toy poodles.  And they parted company.  I watched her watch him putt away.  When his cart reached the far corner of the stands, I stepped out of the shadows. 

"God, what a Stifler," I commented, in casual Czech. 

"Fuck me," she yelped, whipping around, fists raised. 

"Not sure I have the cash for that, Pet," I smiled, holding up both hands palms toward her, all innocent surrender.  "I was just hoping to bum a ride back to town…maybe use your phone." 

She gave me the eye, checking out my uniform.  "What are you? A fireman?" 

I glanced down at my costume and laughed, shaking my head at her silly notion. "No," I assured, edging closer.  "It's fancy dress.  For a party.  Must've got faced. Last thing I remember, was talking to this bright lad from the New Town.  Gave me some lovely pink pills. Woke up in there," I said, tilting my head to indicate the stadium, "about an hour ago with no shoes, no wallet and worst of all no cigarettes." 

"Why you hiding?" she asked, still suspicious but melting slightly under my warm stare.  "Security could help you.  Call the cops?  Take you home to your English girlfriend, maybe?" 

I didn't bother asking how she knew I was English.  My Czech is good but I do have an accent and working with tourists was part of her business.  "Who says I have a girlfriend?" I purred, inches away from her ear. Up close she wasn't as young as I first thought, lean bodied but pushing 40.   

"You a gay boy, then?"  

I laughed in the back of my throat and then shrugged, saying, "Not tonight." 

She laughed too and nodded, taking me for someone in the same trade.  She stepped in boldly and ran an appraising hand over my ass, before slapping it a bit too hard.  "I don't need any competition," she said, her voice brittle.   

"I'm just passing through," I assured, "heading for Dresden.  But if you got a room I could use a place to sleep and a phone in the morning.  Once I call my sister I'll be out of your hair, I promise." 

"Get your own room," she snapped, turning away. "I got work to do." She was obviously still huffy at the thought of my tight, hot little body taking money from her rightful marks.  

"What? At this hour?" I asked, in surprise, looking up at the moon even as I placed a softly restraining hand on her arm. "You missed the posh fuck didn't ya?  All you'll get is some drunken slog what can't manage to keep it up more than 20 seconds at a clip and blames it on you." 

She looked off into the middle distance, debating.  She could probably turn one more trick after last call at some downtown pub.  I was right about the state of any likely custom, though.  Drunk and disorderly most like.  She might roll a winner but she could just as easily be roughed up and lose a few days work.  Course, either alternative was better than dying but in all fairness she hadn't any choice about that.  If she turned me down I'd kill her quick.  If she took me home, at least she'd die happy. 

I gave her another one of my reassuring smiles.  She was dressed young in a faux leather skirt, fishnet hose and halter top.  No bra, obviously, and no panties either, I'd have wagered.  She smelled of other people's joy juice but I could tell it had been sometime since she'd had any satisfaction of her own.  I knew her.  I spent a good part of the past century with her sort.  They were my rightful prey: the whore, the drunkard and the homeless wanderer, the forgotten elder and the reckless teen.  People society never got around to missing. 

"Oh, come on girl," I urged. "Why not have a bit of fun while you're still young?"  

The last line tipped the scales in my favor and she grinned, her face lighting up in a way that was nearly pretty.  She shrugged, "Sure…why not?"  

I draped a companionable arm around her shoulder but she pushed me away, warning, "But this is just for tonight.  I share a place, see, with two other girls and my so…" she corrected herself, "little brother, Lojza.  We got no money and no room so you can't hang about in the morning." I nodded my agreement with those terms as she went on, "And I got a man comes around sometimes…if he's there it's no go, you understand?" 

"I'll be in and out before you know it," I promised.  Sliding my tongue along my teeth, I leered, "Or before anyone else knows it, least ways." 

I pushed back up against her, this time leading with my hips and giving her a preview of the merchandise.  She dropped her hand between us, taking a firm hold on me, like a housewife sampling plums.  I pressed into her palm, wrapped my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her into a deep kiss, letting my tongue do the rest of my bargaining.  She flinched not used to such intimacy but she soon relaxed.  It's not that whores won't kiss, you know; it's that most Johns don't give a shit about foreplay.  Her grip on my jewels loosened as her body took the measure of my skills.  I could tell she wanted a bit of her own back in the groveling department.  She wanted me on my knees and I made it clear I'd be happy to oblige…for a price.  

"You're freezing," she remarked, when I freed her mouth. 

"You'll warm me up quick," I murmured, with complete honesty.  I licked the curve of her throat and she giggled like a little girl.

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Unhappily, my new friend had no car.  She’d picked up her last trick at the tram stop and used the stadium seating for his thrill.  Both Security and her mark got off and she got bus fare home.  Unfortunately, the buses weren’t running at this hour.  We walked the ten blocks to her dormitory-style apartment complex.   

The revolution hadn’t changed things in her neighborhood.  The Communist constructed cinderblock buildings were still darkly brooding and lacking whimsy, one very like another.  I felt their embarrassment as they lurked on the outskirts of ornate Mala Strana.  There were slinking dogs and cannibalized cars in the street.  And when we reached her front stoop a heavy steel door with no lock ineffectively barred the way.  We tumbled inside, petting and kissing.  There wasn't an elevator, so we took the stairs.  By the time we reached her floor I was shirtless and she was ready for just about anything. 

I waited until we were at her apartment, before making my move.  Grabbing her wrist as she reached for the doorknob, I yanked her around to face me.  I shoved her into the wall, sliding my free hand down to fumble up her skirt.  She arched up into my palm as my fingers worked a little magic in her wet heat.  I kissed her hard before pulling away and busying myself with the fastenings of my pants. 

"What are you doing?" she hissed, sounding more like a shocked matron than a ten-shilling tart.  

I kept my head down but cast my eyes up and favored her with a wicked smile.  She knew very well what I was doing.  It was part of her life…sex in awkward positions and near public places…but I knew it wasn't what she'd choose for herself.  She laid one restraining hand on my forearm and said the words I needed her to say,  "Wait, let's go inside first." 

"Okay, Pet," I purred, leaving my pants zipped and motioning her toward the door like a gentleman, "if you insist." 

She keyed open the door and softly entered, motioning me to follow.  We crept in, quietly, so as not to disturb.  In the dim illumination from an open window, I assessed the scene.  Her two-room apartment was both cluttered and bare.  There was a minimum of furnishings.  A floor lamp, a sofa bed, and a dining table with mismatched chairs dominated the main room, one corner of which was curtained off.  In the other room there was a bed and wardrobe, visible through the open door.  Dirty dishes were piled on the table and in the sink.  There were heaps of clothing on the floor and a loaded wash line was strung across the kitchenette from one cabinet to another.  

Someone stirred on the sofabed, muttering.  I tilted my head and considered the sleeper for a moment as my companion crossed to enter the other room.  I moved closer to the sofa, my dark-adapted eye easily isolating the figure of a woman from the random bed sheets.  This one was young, 19 or 20, her cherub cheeks plumb and juicy.  She had long lashes, a shocking thatch of bright blue hair with dark blond roots, a nose ring, an arrow-shaped brow stud and several ear-piercings.  Black fatigues and heavy combat boots were jumbled on the floor beside her bed.   

"Tough baby," I thought and wondered briefly about the missing girl.  Where she was and where she slept when she was home. 

A mumble of voices in the other room attracted my attention.  My hostess appeared, herding a boy of about 13 ahead of her.  He was in his skivvies and barely awake but he gave me a hostile glare from the edge of dreamland as he stumbled to the curtained corner.  Not a fan of mine, I gathered. He pushed aside the veil to reveal a folding cot with a marmalade-colored cat curled up on it.  He shoved the cat off and flopped face down, falling immediately back to sleep.  His mother, or older sister as she'd have it, motioned at me and I joined her in the private room. 

I shut the door behind me and went to my repast.  I let her guide me out of my clothes and she commented softly on my battered condition.  I asked for a cigarette and she found me one but I set it aside without lighting up.  With practiced efficiency, she stripped off her skirt and top, revealing tanned skin, garter belt and nothing else.  I tutted as she bent to unclip her stockings and she stopped short, glancing up at me.  

"I like stiletto heels," I whispered, going for the sexy intensity.  She frowned, not buying it, so I added, "They make you look...sweet." 

"Sweet?" she echoed, incredulously. 

"Good enough to eat," I grinned.  She glared and I shrugged, sighing, "Reminds me of my best girl…but…if you'd rather not…"   

She succumbed to my fatal charm. Straightening up and leaving her fishnet rigging in place, she instructed, "You just do me like you'd do her." Sitting on the edge of the bed, she spread her legs wide to accommodate me as I nodded my agreement. 

We got down to particulars and I endeavored to give satisfaction. The bed linen wasn't clean and neither was the lady but I had seen a lot worse in my time.  Romantic notions aside, hygiene in the late 19^th century left a lot to be desired.  By comparison, once a week whore baths left a woman practically pristine.  And happily, germs and other tiny living things give the undead a wide berth.   

For all her age and experience, I could tell my hostess hadn't seen enough gentility and so I gave her my complete attention right up to the moment she died.  She barely struggled when I bit into her throat, too sick of life to fight for it.  Which generally speaking, I consider a bad sign.  Apathy isn't something I appreciate in my prey.  I like a strong survival instinct and in other circumstances I would have killed her outright for her passiveness.  But I was in no position to be finicky, so I pressed ahead.   

She came for the third time as I drained her life away.  Her breathless gasping faded to a death rattle and I pulled back, lifting her gently to my breast.  I spilled into her as a man would, moaning my pleasure as she began to suckle from the slit I'd opened in my flesh.  I breathed for her and let her share in my strength.  Her eyes glazed over and her grip slackened as my demon entered her system, snuffing out the last flicker of her life. 

Just for a second or two, I loved her completely.  The siring opened my eyes and I saw the beauty in her frail, used body.  I felt the tragedy of her battered spirit and it mattered to me.  Siring someone is a wondrous thing, especially, I think, for a male.  Women, mothers anyway, know the profound joy of sharing their bodies, creating something new out of their very being.  But men are denied the sense of overwhelming power that comes from having another person hang in the balance between life and death, totally dependent on them for existence.  In those few magic moments, when one demon becomes two, there is unconditional acceptance of all sin and the sire bond is cemented.   

I let the whore’s lifeless body slump back on the bed and closed her eyes so she appeared asleep.  Then I sat up to digest, feeling warm and satisfied.  I perched, naked, on the edge of the bed, smoking and considering my next move.  The door latch clicked, softly, and I glanced in that direction.  The boy slipped into the room and froze, watching me.  I studied him, dispassionately, through a haze of blue smoke.  He was gangly as a foal, with strawberry blond hair, pale blue eyes and a world-weary _expression.  I patted the bed beside me as if encouraging a dog but he was too wary to approach.  I smiled. 

"Your name Lojza?" I asked, like it didn't matter to me in the slightest. 

He shrugged.  Time passed and I finished my cigarette.  I looked around for an ashtray. He shifted, pointing.  I followed the direction of his finger to a small glass dish full of butts.  I ground out my smoke and went back to ignoring the boy.  He was quiet as a wraith.  When I looked again he was closer, near the foot of the bed, staring down at his mother's corpse.  I watched the sense of death wash over him.  He took in breath to scream and I sprang, reaching him before he could utter a sound.  Covering his mouth, I lifted him off the ground.  He squirmed and bit, his heels and elbows banging into me, until I choked off his air with my forearm. 

I could have killed him, easily, but I stopped short, releasing my hold as soon as he slumped into a faint.  Carrying him with me, I checked on the sleeper in the living room.  She was snoring gently and there was still no sign of the third girl.  I went back to the bed.  Tearing a sheet into strips, I bound and gagged the boy and placed him next to his mother.  She would be hungry when she woke.  Then, I went to deal with the other lady of the house.  

She was full of furious life.  Very much to my taste but I got the feeling I wasn't to hers.   

I stuffed a sock in her mouth at the start but she still made a racket, thrashing about beneath me.  She fought like a demon, nearly escaping me twice, before I wrestled her into position.  But finally, I had my way with her, ushering her into a darker existence than she'd ever dreamed possible.  Her blood was fresh, unpolluted by drugs or infection.  Not an addict or a hooker, I suspected, or at least not the latter for long.  As she fed from me, I sampled her wares, confirming my suspicions.  She was tight as a virgin, but not nearly so shy.  I figured her for a kept woman, despite her Butch persona, enjoying the favors of la femme while she worked through her youthful issues.  

When we'd finished, I got up and made my slow way to the window.  Siring two offspring in one night was a bit of a strain on the healthiest vampire.  I had a full belly but I needed some rest.  The cat hissed at me from a countertop and I snarled back.  I pulled the corner curtain down and draped it over the apartment's only window, sealing out the light.  Then I carried a kitchen chair to the front door, tipped it under the knob and curled up on the floor nearby.  When la femme came home I wanted to welcome her personally. 

She arrived an hour before dawn, falling down drunk and making enough noise to wake the dead.  She rattled the doorknob and then banged loudly.  I removed the chair and stood to one side as she staggered in, cursing.  It took her a few minutes to even notice me, then she laughed bitterly and started shouting, calling me an assortment of colorful names.  The neighbors ignored the commotion, no doubt used to it by now.  She was tall, willowy, and very attractive, but obviously not happy with any of it.  Her voice was shrill and I stood about thirty seconds of it before I snapped her neck.