Undesirable Chapter 7
TITLE: Undesirable (A vampire novel)
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)
GENRE: Porn with plot -- heavy on the plot. Action/adventure, some black humor, some romance.
PAIRINGS: George x everyone. Mostly Slash, some het, three and moresomes. Vampire sex.
WARNINGS: (this chapter) none.
WORD COUNT: 4246
Chapter 7
I was having Jimmy Weaver day.
God, I hadn't thought about that kid for years, but all through that bus ride from Chicago to Kansas City, I couldn't help but feel a sense of deja 'vu, like an echo of the slow sinking horror I felt back then. The main difference was that back then, in my youthful callowness, it only seemed like the drama was all about me. This time it really was.
Jimmy was my closest friend for eight years, not because I liked him the most -- I had cooler friends, funnier friends, smarter friends -- but Jimmy was the there friend. You know, the guy you hang with because he's just five doors down and it's easier to get together with him than anyone else. Didn't matter if it was seven in the morning or eight pm, if I was bored, it was just a thirty second walk to his front door. We were inseparable.
When I was fifteen, he died. Bang. Gone.
He was riding his bike down a fairly narrow stretch of road trying to get to the 7 Eleven one Saturday morning when a Town and Country minivan clipped his back tire and sent him flying head first into a cement lined drainage ditch. Jimmy's mom had to call me from the hospital to cancel the plans we had to meet at the pool that afternoon. From then on I was in the loop, and instead of swimming, I found myself spending the whole hot, still summer day by that phone, listening to the drama go down from the aching stillness of the living room couch.
With every call I just felt sicker. I wanted Jimmy to annoy me with his stupid fucking jokes again. I wanted to listen to him drone about football. I wanted to hear him just say "hi" again to me. All I got was bad news. Then worse. Then finally, at eleven pm, just as I was considering bed, the last call came. Mrs. Weaver was sobbing. Jimmy was dead. It was over but for pulling the plug.
I was in shock. Just like that, there was no Jimmy anymore.
Life went on, but it wasn't the same life. It wasn't just that Jimmy was gone - it was that everything connected with Jimmy was gone. I knew Mrs. Weaver so well she was practically a second mom. But after the funeral I only saw her from time to time in the grocery store. Jimmy's sister was a sort of sibling to me as well. She used to tease me and plan tricks on me with her friends. I thought we were close -- until he died, and then she walked past me in the school halls with no more than a polite "hi." It was largely my own damn fault. They had their own pain to deal with, without taking care of the mopey neighbor kid as well. The upshot was, I let this whole second family of mine drift away. Without Jimmy there just was no reason to walk the five houses down and knock on their door anymore.
No one filled Jimmy's place, either. All my smart, funny, cool friends were just as busy as they were before Jimmy died. Where once I could count on a day of adventure and childhood bullshitting, I could now count on a day spent alone in my room.
Yeah, yeah. Like I said, everything was all about me back then. I was an egotistical, immature brat of a teen. Realistically, the worst that happened to me was some loneliness, which sorted itself out in a couple of years down the line. Still, when I look back at it, it was the single most life changing experience I'd ever been through.
That is, until now.
I was probably reminded of Jimmy because of all the damn phone calls. Wally had left 18 text messages on my phone since I missed my flight. The first three were variations on Hey, G, what's your flight number? Message 4 was did you miss your flight?. Five through ten were simple call me's. And then there was a long space when presumably Wally had fallen asleep. Message eleven came at nine am and signaled a change in attitude from concern to alarm. Call me or I'm going to start checking up on hospitals. Then: You better not be dead. Message thirteen to seventeen were various threats of what he'd do to my stuff if I didn't call him, but it was the last that got me scared: I talked with your boss and he's getting ready to call the cops.
I needed to call Wally. Right away.
Only problem was that I was stuffed on an overcrowded bus with a greasy looking guy snuggled cozily against my side, trying to read my phone. I made one of those subtle get-the-fuck-out-of-my-business shrugs and tried to point the tiny screen away from him. He didn't seem to get the message.
There was absolutely no way I could have a real conversation with Wally with the entire bus of busybodies listening in. I didn't want them looking at me and speculating about my call up, and I definitely didn't want them knowing I was running away. I simply didn't trust my fellow passengers not to fuck me over. But I couldn't not talk to Wally either. The absolute last thing I needed was the Chicago police looking for me.
So I texted back: I'm fine. Talk to you 2 hours. DON’T DO ANYTHING. Then I turned the phone off again to conserve the battery. Who knows when I'd be able to charge it again.
I spent the next few minutes sitting tensely, half-dreading the idea that a cop car would come up beside the bus and pull it over. The jig would be up. But then the Suburbs abruptly ended with one last row of low-rise apartment buildings. There was a conspicuous, high cement wall encrusted with ivy forming a barrier between back yards and young soy crops. Out ahead, farmland stretched for miles. A moment later the bus drove past a large brown sign with tall block white letters saying NOW LEAVING CHICAGO PROTECTORATE and in smaller letters TRAVEL PERMISSIONS REQUIRED BY LAW. There was a dusty turn around just past that, which the bus trundled past without even slowing down. A moment later it drove under a thick ugly metal archway that encompassed all 4 lanes and the wide central median of I55. Somewhere in the steel structure a device read a signal coming from the bus and recorded its passing. And then the bus was truly out of Chicago, and there was nothing ahead but miles and miles of countryside.
I'd expected to feel a wave of relief knowing I was out of Jeffrey's territory, but instead I just felt my insides clamp down like a cold vise. It struck me like a hammer to my middle: I'd just broken a major law. I was a criminal. Fuck.
We had our first layover in Bloomington. The bus pulled off of I55, made a quick left into nowheresville, and came to a stop to the side of a large parking lot. A couple of minutes later I followed the moving column of people out onto the pavement. There were a couple of forlorn looking benches tucked up in narrow cement-floored rain shelter -- inadequate for the passengers and instantly filled. Most of my fellow travelers took to milling about awkwardly, prevented from truly stretching their legs by the cumbersome onus of their luggage. The lucky ones set off across the sea of asphalt to find their rides, the long journey over for them.
Needing privacy, I ducked off to a narrow ribbon of green separating one parking lot from the next. With forty feet between me and the next nosy person, I thoughtlessly sat down on the curb, earning myself a good oil and soot stain on my slacks, and flipped open my phone.
Wally picked up on the third ring. "'Geo, where the fuck are you?"
"I'm in Bloomington," I replied. "I'm fine. No need to freak."
"Why are you in Bloomington?" He didn't sound appeased. Wally has a bit of a booming voice that completely belies his intrinsically gentle, shy nature. He's a six foot tall, broad-chested, handsome guy with a fire-fighters build and full head of Nordic blond hair. But under that strong brow and chiseled chin lies the soft, tender soul of a nerd who spends what little time he isn't on the computer collecting schoolgirl figurines and lesbian fan comics from his favorite anime series. In the time I've been his roommate, I've had two actual girlfriends - and Wally has been out on a date twice. It's really a perfect example of how looks can be deceiving.
"Ah, God, it's a long story, Wally. Listen I need you to do me a huge favor. I only got five minutes before the bus goes again, I need you to look up the number for Chauncey Towers."
"What… What?"
"Please, Wally. It's really fucking important."
"Geo, what the hell is going on? What happened to you? You missed your flight and now you are in Bloomington? What the hell is in Bloomington? And why did you take so long to call me back? I left you a bajillion messages."
I winced. There was nothing for it. Wally wasn't going to cooperate until I'd appeased his curiosity. "Nothing's in Bloomington, Wally. I … I got called up to Serve last night. That's what happened."
"Serve what?" There was a pause. "Oh -- Serve." Long pause. "Jesus. You okay?"
"I'm fine, Wally, I just really want to get home--" I started.
"--I thought you tasted like puke."
It was my turn to pause and try to assemble my thoughts. "Yeah, uh, about that. Maybe not so much."
There was a pause again. I could see the people starting to line up to board the bus again. Shit that ten minutes had gone way too fast.
"Oh! Oh -- Fuck Geo," said Wally suddenly. The whole tone of his voice had changed. "What the fucking hell did you do?"
"What?"
"I'm looking at your fucking Bloodtrust file. You are fucking white man. What the hell happened?" I couldn't say anything before Wally went on. "Ah, man, you hacked your file didn't you. You fucking hacked it. Jesus, man, I know you hate vampires, but you can't hack your file. They can torture you for that."
"I didn't," I protested. "No one hacked my file. Everything happened the way I told you, except Lady Dingaling didn't actually taste me. She wrote that in my file. I didn't bring it to anyone's attention because I didn't want her mad at me."
"Lady Dingaling?"
I shook my head. "Darlene. Lady Darlene Strobel."
"Oh…. Her. Fuck," said Wally. "That's not good."
"Yeah. I know."
"Oh, man," moaned Wally, with genuine grief in his voice. "Oh, fuck, you realize what this means? I'm not going to see you again - ever! You are gone. Shit, man, what are we going to do? This sucks."
"I'm coming home, Wally," I said dryly. "Don't go maudlin on me. I'll be back in two days. Now, I need that number--"
"You can't come back, Geo. You belong to Lord Jeffery - wait, you are in Bloomington aren't you?"
"Yeah, I'm in Bloomington, I gotta go though, my bus is loading."
"Geo," Wally's voice was deceptively calm. "Please don't tell me you ran away."
"I ran away."
"Geo… you're insane!"
"Lord Chauncey Towers, Wally," I insisted. "I need that goddamn number. I'll call you again when I reach Springfield." I hung up and turned off the phone. Scrambling my stuff together I managed to get to the bus in time to be last in line.
Springfield had a nicer station, but it was still out the hell in nowhere - I had over an hour to burn, and literally no place within walking distance I could go. I was reminded yet again why hated bus travel and promised never to do it again. I ended up on a grassy berm overlooking the freeway, because it was pretty much the only place I could count on people not hovering over me. I looked retarded sitting in my business suit on the ground, and now I was adding grass stains to the earlier pavement grime, but at this point, I really didn't care so much about looks. I needed some privacy.
I was unreasonably tired after only four hours of travel and I hadn't even left the bloody state. It was going to be a long, long, long two days.
I turned my phone on again and checked for messages. Wally had sent me two. No phone. Email or PO box. read the first. The second was Turn your fucking phone back on NOW.
"Don't ride my ass, Wally, I'm trying to conserve battery here," I said to him when he answered. "I gotta make it last the trip. Also, this isn't something I want to talk about with sixty strangers listening in. I'll give you a call on the layovers."
"Geo, George, you have no idea what kind of trouble you are in." Wally sounded freaked out, which in turn made my stomach flip. Calm, I urged myself. The situation hadn't changed.
"Actually," I said, coolly. "I've got a pretty good idea what kind of trouble." Traveling without authorization is five years in jail and a ten-thousand dollar fine if they prosecute me. Yeah. Not exactly small stuff.
"No man, you don't, or you'd be turning around now and going back to Chicago."
"Wally, I don't live in Chicago. I don't know anyone in Chicago. I've got a life, family, friends, a job and none of them are in Chicago. If I go back there, I really will be Lord Jeffery's. Right now, I figure, I'm no ones. And I think if I gotta be stuck in one place and not travel anymore, I'd rather it be home. I'm going to try to get to the Portland Protectorate quietly and hopefully Lord Chauncey will claim me again."
I could almost hear Wally smacking his palm against his forehead. "Man, I used to think you were ridiculously paranoid about Vampires. I mean you were Undesirable, and you get twitchy at the thought of a vampire being in the same stadium as you. Honestly, I thought maybe you were a bit too full of yourself, thinking they'd give a fuck. But now I see you weren't nearly paranoid enough."
"Yeah, yeah."
"I've been doing some research on the web, Geo. Tell me, be truthful, did anyone at any time use the word 'commodity' to describe you? This is unbelievably important."
I searched my admittedly somewhat hazy recollection of the night before. There was a hell of a lot going on that demanded my attention, but I did seem to recall that word being used a couple of times. "… Um… Yeah." I said cautiously. "Is that a problem?"
"A huge problem. It means Jeffrey is not going to give you up without a fight. Worse - if any of the Vampires anywhere along your route get wind of you, they are going to be on your ass, too."
"Oh for fucks sake, why?" My mind reeled. I was having a hard enough time dealing with the unwanted attention of one vampire. This fed my paranoia way too well.
"Because you are worth something to them. You are rare and good enough that other vampires will pay favors to have you for a night. Like going to a fancy exclusive restaurant. I'm staring at your numbers, and they are unique. It's not like Lord Jeffrey can replace you."
My stomach clenched. "Fuck. Man, Wally, you gotta help me, I don't want to become some prostitute for vampires. Last night was bad enough."
"Last night," repeated Wally thoughtfully. "Are you really okay? Did Jeffrey treat you gently - he didn't, you know, whip you or anything, did he?"
"No." I shuddered. "Nothing like that. He did have me sour at the start, but that's when he thought I tasted like puke. After that it was, well, you know… sex. Man, it's going to sound so lame - I mean, most people would leap at the idea of a four hot looking people all over them, but I --"
"Four?"
"Yeah."
"Four vampires?"
"No only two vampires. The other two were supposed to be the meal, but they did me, too. My ass still aches when I walk- " I suddenly realized what I was saying and blushed. "Jesus, I'm TMIing you, dude. Sorry." Wally never talked about his own encounters, doubtless he was feeling pretty creeped out by me talking about mine.
"No, I asked for it," said Wally, pragmatically. "But if it was two vampires it's still not good. That means that it's in the gossip chain. Jeffrey might have kept quiet about you being on the loose, but this other vampire isn't likely to. Okay, wait, I'm thinking, Geo. Does anyone on the bus know?"
"Hell no. That's why I've waited until I could get some privacy to call you. I figure I have until tonight before they realize I'm gone."
"Yeah, no, I wouldn't count on that. Maybe if you were just an ordinary part of the harem, but not a commodity. I'm surprised they didn't give you a chaperone."
I thought about how I'd managed to get out of the feeding room and the building without encountering anyone but the lowest level help. If it hadn't been for the maid, I wouldn't have been able to go anywhere. Perhaps that's what they were counting on - me being stuck there, imprisoned in that feeding room until they got around to bothering with me again. Well wasn't that peachy. The whole idea was depressing and suffocating. "I don't want to be chaperoned. I don't want to be treated like a kid or like property. I'm twenty-three years old. Wally, I can't live like that."
"I'm here, man," said Wally. "I'll help you."
I stood up and, ignoring a momentary spell of dizziness, I started pacing. "I need to get in touch with Fancy Trousers, but I don't have wi-fi here, and my phone fucking sucks at internet."
"That's what you get for using a dinosaur, you cheap-ass. What is that, six years old now? I'm surprised it still even works."
"You've convinced me," I snapped. "When I get home I'll buy an iphone. Can we talk about getting me some help now?"
"Listen, all I have is an email address. Literally. I can't find a phone number or nothing for him. I can barely even find a record that he exists. Are you sure you want to be his? He could be awful."
"Well, it's not like I have a choice, is there? I mean, Fancy Trousers was my patron. I figure if he knows I'm worth something, maybe he'd be willing to go to bat for me."
"Or Fancy Trousers - now you've got me saying that, sheesh - Chauncey Towers might just not bother claiming you. I mean, after all he foisted you off on Lady Darlene before."
"We won't know unless we try. Please, Wally, if you'll just email him on my behalf, I'll owe you big."
"I'll try," he said reluctantly.
"I can't," Wally said two hours later.
I leaned my head against the wall, and tried not to notice the graffiti.
The St. Louis Bus terminal was a ponderously huge turd of a building with an air of seedy history about it. On the inside there were brief glimpses on a much more majestic past: the ceiling of the main plaza was absolutely gorgeous, intricately patterned, with stunningly carved columns. But as you scanned down the walls the grossness rose up like some high water mark. By the time you got down to human level the original marble had been rather jarringly replaced with what looked like bathroom tile, and the seating was molded plastic bolted in rows to the floor. The place smelled like garbage, and the only thing that made me feel at all safe was the strategic presence of armed guards around the doors and near the shop.
It appeared to be some kind of major bus hub because everyone and their mom was hanging out in the waiting area for their bus. I had forty-five minutes to kill. I considered venturing out into the darkened streets but if the inside looked unsafe, the outside looked much worse. I got the distinct feeling this wasn't the good side of town, and a skinny little white guy in a suit would look pretty muggable.
So instead I whispered, trying to keep my voice down. "Why not?"
"It's just one of those things you don't do," said Wally. He tsked. "It would look wrong for me to be contacting a vampire other than my patron. It's kind of like cheating."
"Who the hell is going to know?" I hissed.
"My patron."
"How?"
"Next time I get called up she might ask me. You can't lie to vampires. It's impossible."
I knocked my head against the wall tile. "Oh for fucks sake, Wally."
"You can always ask your parents," Wally came back. "They are too old for their patron to care."
Oh yeah, there are a lot of things you don't want to discuss with your parents - ever - and being on the run from a Vampire who'd spent the previous night fucking you senseless is pretty high on the list. I had this horrible vision of my mom asking if Jeffrey whipped me and … no. The mere idea made me taste vomit. If at all possible my parents were never going to learn about this.
"I can't do that," I said. "It would terrify them."
"Then email him yourself. You've got a phone - it's not any harder than text messaging and I know you can do that. Christ, what the hell good is that degree in IT for if you can't navigate a flipping phone."
"It's not just the navigating," I admitted. "It's the wording. My head is spinning, I think I'm coming down with something, and I'm not sure I can word it in a persuasive way. You create websites for businesses. Persuasive writing is easy for you."
"Don't tell me this is stage fright. You're a teacher!"
"Wally, please? I'm surrounded here. I don't have a clue what to say, and if anyone finds out I'm cooked."
"And if I fuck it up, you'll never forgive me. Ah, Geo, no. I really can't. It's just, my patron… I'm due to get called up, you know, and she's just not - not one to piss off."
Wuss, I uncharitably thought. Here I was openly defying a Lord, and he was afraid of appearing possibly disloyal. Of course, Wally did have a whole lot better idea of what dealing with Vampires is like. And if I'm going to be truthful, this was my problem not his.
So I ended up spending about fifteen minutes of my layover laboriously typing and retyping a plea to a vampire I'd never met in the hopes that he'd somehow come to my rescue. No matter how I worded it, it still looked both whiny and uppity at the same time.
You don't know who I am, but you were my Patron Vampire until last night. I got called to Serve while I was traveling and now another vampire says I'm his. Please, I beg that you claim me again so I can come home. I don't want another Patron Vampire. Everything I know is in the Portland Protectorate. I don't want to move. I'm really motivated to stay with you.
God that sucked, but I realized it wasn't going to get any better. I hit the send button with reluctance.
I looked up and people were checking me out. Breathing deeply, I realized I'd broken out in a cold sweat, and probably looked ill. No one likes to sit next a sick person on a long stuffy journey. I recognized a number of my fellow bus mates watching me with a mixture of annoyance and suspicion.
The phone rang. I flipped it open and put it to my ear without looking at the number.
"Okay, I sent the message, Wally," I said with a bit of a growl in my voice so he'd know that I was still rather unjustly put out with him.
"Is this George Handle, the BreezeSoft consultant?" a light male voice that very much wasn't Wally's came back.
I was completely thrown and I nearly laughed at getting a mundane work related call. What with all the phoning back and forth, I had just assumed Wally'd be the only one trying to reach me. But I actually do use this phone for business, and it's not unusual to have a client call, especially after a workshop. Though the voice wasn't familiar, that didn't automatically trigger any caution. I must have handed out over two hundred business cards over the week.
"Excuse me! I was expecting another call. Yes, this is George Handle. How may I help you?"
But it wasn't a business related call after all.
"Oh, my little Mouse. I'm pretty sure you know what I want."
My heart stopped.
Forward to Chapter 8
back to Chapter 6
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)
GENRE: Porn with plot -- heavy on the plot. Action/adventure, some black humor, some romance.
PAIRINGS: George x everyone. Mostly Slash, some het, three and moresomes. Vampire sex.
WARNINGS: (this chapter) none.
WORD COUNT: 4246
Chapter 7
I was having Jimmy Weaver day.
God, I hadn't thought about that kid for years, but all through that bus ride from Chicago to Kansas City, I couldn't help but feel a sense of deja 'vu, like an echo of the slow sinking horror I felt back then. The main difference was that back then, in my youthful callowness, it only seemed like the drama was all about me. This time it really was.
Jimmy was my closest friend for eight years, not because I liked him the most -- I had cooler friends, funnier friends, smarter friends -- but Jimmy was the there friend. You know, the guy you hang with because he's just five doors down and it's easier to get together with him than anyone else. Didn't matter if it was seven in the morning or eight pm, if I was bored, it was just a thirty second walk to his front door. We were inseparable.
When I was fifteen, he died. Bang. Gone.
He was riding his bike down a fairly narrow stretch of road trying to get to the 7 Eleven one Saturday morning when a Town and Country minivan clipped his back tire and sent him flying head first into a cement lined drainage ditch. Jimmy's mom had to call me from the hospital to cancel the plans we had to meet at the pool that afternoon. From then on I was in the loop, and instead of swimming, I found myself spending the whole hot, still summer day by that phone, listening to the drama go down from the aching stillness of the living room couch.
With every call I just felt sicker. I wanted Jimmy to annoy me with his stupid fucking jokes again. I wanted to listen to him drone about football. I wanted to hear him just say "hi" again to me. All I got was bad news. Then worse. Then finally, at eleven pm, just as I was considering bed, the last call came. Mrs. Weaver was sobbing. Jimmy was dead. It was over but for pulling the plug.
I was in shock. Just like that, there was no Jimmy anymore.
Life went on, but it wasn't the same life. It wasn't just that Jimmy was gone - it was that everything connected with Jimmy was gone. I knew Mrs. Weaver so well she was practically a second mom. But after the funeral I only saw her from time to time in the grocery store. Jimmy's sister was a sort of sibling to me as well. She used to tease me and plan tricks on me with her friends. I thought we were close -- until he died, and then she walked past me in the school halls with no more than a polite "hi." It was largely my own damn fault. They had their own pain to deal with, without taking care of the mopey neighbor kid as well. The upshot was, I let this whole second family of mine drift away. Without Jimmy there just was no reason to walk the five houses down and knock on their door anymore.
No one filled Jimmy's place, either. All my smart, funny, cool friends were just as busy as they were before Jimmy died. Where once I could count on a day of adventure and childhood bullshitting, I could now count on a day spent alone in my room.
Yeah, yeah. Like I said, everything was all about me back then. I was an egotistical, immature brat of a teen. Realistically, the worst that happened to me was some loneliness, which sorted itself out in a couple of years down the line. Still, when I look back at it, it was the single most life changing experience I'd ever been through.
That is, until now.
I was probably reminded of Jimmy because of all the damn phone calls. Wally had left 18 text messages on my phone since I missed my flight. The first three were variations on Hey, G, what's your flight number? Message 4 was did you miss your flight?. Five through ten were simple call me's. And then there was a long space when presumably Wally had fallen asleep. Message eleven came at nine am and signaled a change in attitude from concern to alarm. Call me or I'm going to start checking up on hospitals. Then: You better not be dead. Message thirteen to seventeen were various threats of what he'd do to my stuff if I didn't call him, but it was the last that got me scared: I talked with your boss and he's getting ready to call the cops.
I needed to call Wally. Right away.
Only problem was that I was stuffed on an overcrowded bus with a greasy looking guy snuggled cozily against my side, trying to read my phone. I made one of those subtle get-the-fuck-out-of-my-business shrugs and tried to point the tiny screen away from him. He didn't seem to get the message.
There was absolutely no way I could have a real conversation with Wally with the entire bus of busybodies listening in. I didn't want them looking at me and speculating about my call up, and I definitely didn't want them knowing I was running away. I simply didn't trust my fellow passengers not to fuck me over. But I couldn't not talk to Wally either. The absolute last thing I needed was the Chicago police looking for me.
So I texted back: I'm fine. Talk to you 2 hours. DON’T DO ANYTHING. Then I turned the phone off again to conserve the battery. Who knows when I'd be able to charge it again.
I spent the next few minutes sitting tensely, half-dreading the idea that a cop car would come up beside the bus and pull it over. The jig would be up. But then the Suburbs abruptly ended with one last row of low-rise apartment buildings. There was a conspicuous, high cement wall encrusted with ivy forming a barrier between back yards and young soy crops. Out ahead, farmland stretched for miles. A moment later the bus drove past a large brown sign with tall block white letters saying NOW LEAVING CHICAGO PROTECTORATE and in smaller letters TRAVEL PERMISSIONS REQUIRED BY LAW. There was a dusty turn around just past that, which the bus trundled past without even slowing down. A moment later it drove under a thick ugly metal archway that encompassed all 4 lanes and the wide central median of I55. Somewhere in the steel structure a device read a signal coming from the bus and recorded its passing. And then the bus was truly out of Chicago, and there was nothing ahead but miles and miles of countryside.
I'd expected to feel a wave of relief knowing I was out of Jeffrey's territory, but instead I just felt my insides clamp down like a cold vise. It struck me like a hammer to my middle: I'd just broken a major law. I was a criminal. Fuck.
We had our first layover in Bloomington. The bus pulled off of I55, made a quick left into nowheresville, and came to a stop to the side of a large parking lot. A couple of minutes later I followed the moving column of people out onto the pavement. There were a couple of forlorn looking benches tucked up in narrow cement-floored rain shelter -- inadequate for the passengers and instantly filled. Most of my fellow travelers took to milling about awkwardly, prevented from truly stretching their legs by the cumbersome onus of their luggage. The lucky ones set off across the sea of asphalt to find their rides, the long journey over for them.
Needing privacy, I ducked off to a narrow ribbon of green separating one parking lot from the next. With forty feet between me and the next nosy person, I thoughtlessly sat down on the curb, earning myself a good oil and soot stain on my slacks, and flipped open my phone.
Wally picked up on the third ring. "'Geo, where the fuck are you?"
"I'm in Bloomington," I replied. "I'm fine. No need to freak."
"Why are you in Bloomington?" He didn't sound appeased. Wally has a bit of a booming voice that completely belies his intrinsically gentle, shy nature. He's a six foot tall, broad-chested, handsome guy with a fire-fighters build and full head of Nordic blond hair. But under that strong brow and chiseled chin lies the soft, tender soul of a nerd who spends what little time he isn't on the computer collecting schoolgirl figurines and lesbian fan comics from his favorite anime series. In the time I've been his roommate, I've had two actual girlfriends - and Wally has been out on a date twice. It's really a perfect example of how looks can be deceiving.
"Ah, God, it's a long story, Wally. Listen I need you to do me a huge favor. I only got five minutes before the bus goes again, I need you to look up the number for Chauncey Towers."
"What… What?"
"Please, Wally. It's really fucking important."
"Geo, what the hell is going on? What happened to you? You missed your flight and now you are in Bloomington? What the hell is in Bloomington? And why did you take so long to call me back? I left you a bajillion messages."
I winced. There was nothing for it. Wally wasn't going to cooperate until I'd appeased his curiosity. "Nothing's in Bloomington, Wally. I … I got called up to Serve last night. That's what happened."
"Serve what?" There was a pause. "Oh -- Serve." Long pause. "Jesus. You okay?"
"I'm fine, Wally, I just really want to get home--" I started.
"--I thought you tasted like puke."
It was my turn to pause and try to assemble my thoughts. "Yeah, uh, about that. Maybe not so much."
There was a pause again. I could see the people starting to line up to board the bus again. Shit that ten minutes had gone way too fast.
"Oh! Oh -- Fuck Geo," said Wally suddenly. The whole tone of his voice had changed. "What the fucking hell did you do?"
"What?"
"I'm looking at your fucking Bloodtrust file. You are fucking white man. What the hell happened?" I couldn't say anything before Wally went on. "Ah, man, you hacked your file didn't you. You fucking hacked it. Jesus, man, I know you hate vampires, but you can't hack your file. They can torture you for that."
"I didn't," I protested. "No one hacked my file. Everything happened the way I told you, except Lady Dingaling didn't actually taste me. She wrote that in my file. I didn't bring it to anyone's attention because I didn't want her mad at me."
"Lady Dingaling?"
I shook my head. "Darlene. Lady Darlene Strobel."
"Oh…. Her. Fuck," said Wally. "That's not good."
"Yeah. I know."
"Oh, man," moaned Wally, with genuine grief in his voice. "Oh, fuck, you realize what this means? I'm not going to see you again - ever! You are gone. Shit, man, what are we going to do? This sucks."
"I'm coming home, Wally," I said dryly. "Don't go maudlin on me. I'll be back in two days. Now, I need that number--"
"You can't come back, Geo. You belong to Lord Jeffery - wait, you are in Bloomington aren't you?"
"Yeah, I'm in Bloomington, I gotta go though, my bus is loading."
"Geo," Wally's voice was deceptively calm. "Please don't tell me you ran away."
"I ran away."
"Geo… you're insane!"
"Lord Chauncey Towers, Wally," I insisted. "I need that goddamn number. I'll call you again when I reach Springfield." I hung up and turned off the phone. Scrambling my stuff together I managed to get to the bus in time to be last in line.
Springfield had a nicer station, but it was still out the hell in nowhere - I had over an hour to burn, and literally no place within walking distance I could go. I was reminded yet again why hated bus travel and promised never to do it again. I ended up on a grassy berm overlooking the freeway, because it was pretty much the only place I could count on people not hovering over me. I looked retarded sitting in my business suit on the ground, and now I was adding grass stains to the earlier pavement grime, but at this point, I really didn't care so much about looks. I needed some privacy.
I was unreasonably tired after only four hours of travel and I hadn't even left the bloody state. It was going to be a long, long, long two days.
I turned my phone on again and checked for messages. Wally had sent me two. No phone. Email or PO box. read the first. The second was Turn your fucking phone back on NOW.
"Don't ride my ass, Wally, I'm trying to conserve battery here," I said to him when he answered. "I gotta make it last the trip. Also, this isn't something I want to talk about with sixty strangers listening in. I'll give you a call on the layovers."
"Geo, George, you have no idea what kind of trouble you are in." Wally sounded freaked out, which in turn made my stomach flip. Calm, I urged myself. The situation hadn't changed.
"Actually," I said, coolly. "I've got a pretty good idea what kind of trouble." Traveling without authorization is five years in jail and a ten-thousand dollar fine if they prosecute me. Yeah. Not exactly small stuff.
"No man, you don't, or you'd be turning around now and going back to Chicago."
"Wally, I don't live in Chicago. I don't know anyone in Chicago. I've got a life, family, friends, a job and none of them are in Chicago. If I go back there, I really will be Lord Jeffery's. Right now, I figure, I'm no ones. And I think if I gotta be stuck in one place and not travel anymore, I'd rather it be home. I'm going to try to get to the Portland Protectorate quietly and hopefully Lord Chauncey will claim me again."
I could almost hear Wally smacking his palm against his forehead. "Man, I used to think you were ridiculously paranoid about Vampires. I mean you were Undesirable, and you get twitchy at the thought of a vampire being in the same stadium as you. Honestly, I thought maybe you were a bit too full of yourself, thinking they'd give a fuck. But now I see you weren't nearly paranoid enough."
"Yeah, yeah."
"I've been doing some research on the web, Geo. Tell me, be truthful, did anyone at any time use the word 'commodity' to describe you? This is unbelievably important."
I searched my admittedly somewhat hazy recollection of the night before. There was a hell of a lot going on that demanded my attention, but I did seem to recall that word being used a couple of times. "… Um… Yeah." I said cautiously. "Is that a problem?"
"A huge problem. It means Jeffrey is not going to give you up without a fight. Worse - if any of the Vampires anywhere along your route get wind of you, they are going to be on your ass, too."
"Oh for fucks sake, why?" My mind reeled. I was having a hard enough time dealing with the unwanted attention of one vampire. This fed my paranoia way too well.
"Because you are worth something to them. You are rare and good enough that other vampires will pay favors to have you for a night. Like going to a fancy exclusive restaurant. I'm staring at your numbers, and they are unique. It's not like Lord Jeffrey can replace you."
My stomach clenched. "Fuck. Man, Wally, you gotta help me, I don't want to become some prostitute for vampires. Last night was bad enough."
"Last night," repeated Wally thoughtfully. "Are you really okay? Did Jeffrey treat you gently - he didn't, you know, whip you or anything, did he?"
"No." I shuddered. "Nothing like that. He did have me sour at the start, but that's when he thought I tasted like puke. After that it was, well, you know… sex. Man, it's going to sound so lame - I mean, most people would leap at the idea of a four hot looking people all over them, but I --"
"Four?"
"Yeah."
"Four vampires?"
"No only two vampires. The other two were supposed to be the meal, but they did me, too. My ass still aches when I walk- " I suddenly realized what I was saying and blushed. "Jesus, I'm TMIing you, dude. Sorry." Wally never talked about his own encounters, doubtless he was feeling pretty creeped out by me talking about mine.
"No, I asked for it," said Wally, pragmatically. "But if it was two vampires it's still not good. That means that it's in the gossip chain. Jeffrey might have kept quiet about you being on the loose, but this other vampire isn't likely to. Okay, wait, I'm thinking, Geo. Does anyone on the bus know?"
"Hell no. That's why I've waited until I could get some privacy to call you. I figure I have until tonight before they realize I'm gone."
"Yeah, no, I wouldn't count on that. Maybe if you were just an ordinary part of the harem, but not a commodity. I'm surprised they didn't give you a chaperone."
I thought about how I'd managed to get out of the feeding room and the building without encountering anyone but the lowest level help. If it hadn't been for the maid, I wouldn't have been able to go anywhere. Perhaps that's what they were counting on - me being stuck there, imprisoned in that feeding room until they got around to bothering with me again. Well wasn't that peachy. The whole idea was depressing and suffocating. "I don't want to be chaperoned. I don't want to be treated like a kid or like property. I'm twenty-three years old. Wally, I can't live like that."
"I'm here, man," said Wally. "I'll help you."
I stood up and, ignoring a momentary spell of dizziness, I started pacing. "I need to get in touch with Fancy Trousers, but I don't have wi-fi here, and my phone fucking sucks at internet."
"That's what you get for using a dinosaur, you cheap-ass. What is that, six years old now? I'm surprised it still even works."
"You've convinced me," I snapped. "When I get home I'll buy an iphone. Can we talk about getting me some help now?"
"Listen, all I have is an email address. Literally. I can't find a phone number or nothing for him. I can barely even find a record that he exists. Are you sure you want to be his? He could be awful."
"Well, it's not like I have a choice, is there? I mean, Fancy Trousers was my patron. I figure if he knows I'm worth something, maybe he'd be willing to go to bat for me."
"Or Fancy Trousers - now you've got me saying that, sheesh - Chauncey Towers might just not bother claiming you. I mean, after all he foisted you off on Lady Darlene before."
"We won't know unless we try. Please, Wally, if you'll just email him on my behalf, I'll owe you big."
"I'll try," he said reluctantly.
"I can't," Wally said two hours later.
I leaned my head against the wall, and tried not to notice the graffiti.
The St. Louis Bus terminal was a ponderously huge turd of a building with an air of seedy history about it. On the inside there were brief glimpses on a much more majestic past: the ceiling of the main plaza was absolutely gorgeous, intricately patterned, with stunningly carved columns. But as you scanned down the walls the grossness rose up like some high water mark. By the time you got down to human level the original marble had been rather jarringly replaced with what looked like bathroom tile, and the seating was molded plastic bolted in rows to the floor. The place smelled like garbage, and the only thing that made me feel at all safe was the strategic presence of armed guards around the doors and near the shop.
It appeared to be some kind of major bus hub because everyone and their mom was hanging out in the waiting area for their bus. I had forty-five minutes to kill. I considered venturing out into the darkened streets but if the inside looked unsafe, the outside looked much worse. I got the distinct feeling this wasn't the good side of town, and a skinny little white guy in a suit would look pretty muggable.
So instead I whispered, trying to keep my voice down. "Why not?"
"It's just one of those things you don't do," said Wally. He tsked. "It would look wrong for me to be contacting a vampire other than my patron. It's kind of like cheating."
"Who the hell is going to know?" I hissed.
"My patron."
"How?"
"Next time I get called up she might ask me. You can't lie to vampires. It's impossible."
I knocked my head against the wall tile. "Oh for fucks sake, Wally."
"You can always ask your parents," Wally came back. "They are too old for their patron to care."
Oh yeah, there are a lot of things you don't want to discuss with your parents - ever - and being on the run from a Vampire who'd spent the previous night fucking you senseless is pretty high on the list. I had this horrible vision of my mom asking if Jeffrey whipped me and … no. The mere idea made me taste vomit. If at all possible my parents were never going to learn about this.
"I can't do that," I said. "It would terrify them."
"Then email him yourself. You've got a phone - it's not any harder than text messaging and I know you can do that. Christ, what the hell good is that degree in IT for if you can't navigate a flipping phone."
"It's not just the navigating," I admitted. "It's the wording. My head is spinning, I think I'm coming down with something, and I'm not sure I can word it in a persuasive way. You create websites for businesses. Persuasive writing is easy for you."
"Don't tell me this is stage fright. You're a teacher!"
"Wally, please? I'm surrounded here. I don't have a clue what to say, and if anyone finds out I'm cooked."
"And if I fuck it up, you'll never forgive me. Ah, Geo, no. I really can't. It's just, my patron… I'm due to get called up, you know, and she's just not - not one to piss off."
Wuss, I uncharitably thought. Here I was openly defying a Lord, and he was afraid of appearing possibly disloyal. Of course, Wally did have a whole lot better idea of what dealing with Vampires is like. And if I'm going to be truthful, this was my problem not his.
So I ended up spending about fifteen minutes of my layover laboriously typing and retyping a plea to a vampire I'd never met in the hopes that he'd somehow come to my rescue. No matter how I worded it, it still looked both whiny and uppity at the same time.
You don't know who I am, but you were my Patron Vampire until last night. I got called to Serve while I was traveling and now another vampire says I'm his. Please, I beg that you claim me again so I can come home. I don't want another Patron Vampire. Everything I know is in the Portland Protectorate. I don't want to move. I'm really motivated to stay with you.
God that sucked, but I realized it wasn't going to get any better. I hit the send button with reluctance.
I looked up and people were checking me out. Breathing deeply, I realized I'd broken out in a cold sweat, and probably looked ill. No one likes to sit next a sick person on a long stuffy journey. I recognized a number of my fellow bus mates watching me with a mixture of annoyance and suspicion.
The phone rang. I flipped it open and put it to my ear without looking at the number.
"Okay, I sent the message, Wally," I said with a bit of a growl in my voice so he'd know that I was still rather unjustly put out with him.
"Is this George Handle, the BreezeSoft consultant?" a light male voice that very much wasn't Wally's came back.
I was completely thrown and I nearly laughed at getting a mundane work related call. What with all the phoning back and forth, I had just assumed Wally'd be the only one trying to reach me. But I actually do use this phone for business, and it's not unusual to have a client call, especially after a workshop. Though the voice wasn't familiar, that didn't automatically trigger any caution. I must have handed out over two hundred business cards over the week.
"Excuse me! I was expecting another call. Yes, this is George Handle. How may I help you?"
But it wasn't a business related call after all.
"Oh, my little Mouse. I'm pretty sure you know what I want."
My heart stopped.
Forward to Chapter 8
back to Chapter 6