Fresh Blood

The drink, Jiang decided as he sipped and smacked his lips, tongue running over his fangs, was excellent. A vintage rice wine from the viceroy's own personal stores, near thirty years old. It had been flavored and colored a bright pink with drops of human blood. “Exquisite,” Jiang said. He held the tiny glass up to the lamps, turning it slowly in his clawed hands. “A young female, if I'm not mistaken?”

“Seventeen.” Fat Cho lifted his glass and downed it in one, sighing as he did. “Sweet young thing. Tastes of sunshine and nectar, of sweat and lust and sugar and smoke, all the spices of this decadent south.”

“A pity we could not keep her,” Zixin said. He steepled his hands together, tips of his manicured claws tapping together. The scent of perfume wafted off him in gentle waves. “But it would not do to have city police asking about her should she have disappeared. So we took from her what we could, and a little does go a long way.”

“Here, here.” Cho raised his empty glass and smiled, his plump cheeks stretching. He poured himself another finger of wine, squeezed in a few drops of blood from a crystal dropper, and settled back in his chair. The dim lanterns set a dusty reddish light upon the room, and the dark, polished wood floor and table drank it up. Jiang took another sip of his drink, closing his eyes as he savored the confluence of flavors dancing over his tongue. The girl's blood was truly wonderful. Ah, how it sang of innocence and sweetness! It sang of her life. The blood and wine burned as it slithered down his throat and into his stomach, like liquid fire, like life made drink. “I assume everything is going well with your assignment?” Cho asked once Jiang had opened his eyes.

Jiang considered for a moment. “It is too early to know. I have spoken to the police we own and to various minor businessmen in the northern districts. Words and bared fangs are well and good but it is their actions that will speak. And with the fashi doing all they can to oppose us...” Jiang pulled a face. “No, I cannot say.”

A soft whispering of parting silk curtains announced a new arrival. Jiang turned around to see a footman in a dark waistcoat and trousers standing before the curtains, a small scroll clutched in his hands. “Jiang,” he said with a shallow bow. Head still lowered, he held out the scroll with both hands. “From the viceroy.”

Jiang accepted the scroll and unfurled it, careful not to tear the thin paper or deface the viceroy's perfect handwriting. The message, written in shining black ink, was brief. Abner Clayburn has threatened going to the police and city superheroes. We cannot lose his business. Do what you must.

“New orders?” Zixin asked, one thin eyebrow raised.

“Indeed.” Jiang tucked the scroll into his jacket pocket. “I believe I shall have to leave you two to deal with this.”

“Alas,” Zixin moaned, eyelids fluttering. He topped off his glass and raised it, the silver and ruby ring at his finger flashing. “We'll drink for you.”

“How thoughtful,” said Jiang. Zixin smiled. Jiang left them to their drink and enjoyment. Business first. The viceroy's will was not to be questioned.

It was, thankfully, night, so Jiang eschewed the dark glasses and umbrella, but he donned a tall-crowned fedora, settling it between his ears. He stepped out of the viceroy's manor and into the city. Even after so many years of living in Revival, the brightness of the nights still surprised him. Back home in the Cradle of Night, the nights were painted in black and silver, illuminated only by the moon. In Revival, the nights were almost as bright as the day, alive with lights from automobiles, storefronts, traffic lights, businesses and streetlamps. The artificial lights did not burn, at least, but they proved hard to look at for too long. People milled about in tight clumps, out for drinks or walking home or going to and from the theater. Most of them gave Jiang a wide berth when they saw him. There were a few other vampires out and about, too. A rough-looking male with a scraggly beard leaned against the doorway of a bar, cigarette in one hand and a glass of blood-tainted liquor in the other. A burning eye was tattooed onto the membrane of his right wing. He regarded Jiang with bleary yellow eyes. Two females in tight-fitting dresses waved to Jiang from outside a dance hall. One of them winked at him with a heavily made-up eye, and Jiang lifted his lips, offering them a glimpse of fang. They tittered.

He walked until he left the glittering heart of the city. The northern sections of the city were older, more languid in design. Streets wound back and forth without proper plan or function. Buildings were more spaced apart, their designs grander than those lining the main thoroughfare. It was quieter, too, and darker without the glitzy lights of businesses and cars. This was where the wealthier inhabitants of the city resided, the old money that had built the old kingdom of Rallaway with their own hands. The old blood.

The streets were far less crowded, though here and there policemen or mages patrolled the streets. Jiang made note of them and avoided them. He could deal with them, but the less conflict and interactions, the better. He only needed to see one person tonight.

It was easy to find Clayburn House. The place was massive, so opulent that it looked suffocated amongst the other buildings. The manor was painted all white, three stories tall with a columned front porch. It belonged on a sprawling lawn in the middle of a lonely country somewhere in Xima or perhaps the provincial sections of Rallaway. The single willow tree on the front lawn only emphasized how undersized the lawn was compared to the house. High iron gates ringed the property, and a guard stood behind the front gate. No weapon was visible, not even a baton or sword, so he had to be a mage. Jiang approached the gate, hands in his trouser pockets.

“State your business,” the guard said. He was Jiang's height, a square-faced man with short, dark hair and a thin moustache. His eyes had an odd twinkle to them. Mage, Jiang decided.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Clayburn,” Jiang said. A lie, but surely Abner wouldn't refuse a meeting with his benefactor's representatives. Or he wouldn't if he knew what was good for him.

“Mr. Clayburn ain't seeing anybody.”

“I really think he'll have time for me.”

“He ain't seeing anybody.” The guard's expression hardened. A good show of bravado, but Jiang could tell that he was afraid of something. Abner Clayburn must be wound tight about something.

“Is that so?”

“It is. So git.”

Jiang sneered, enough to expose his fangs. By way of response the guard clenched his fist. Light seeped out from between his fingers, and its gentle touch on Jiang's skin felt cold. They both stood there for a few seconds, threatening each other in the best ways that they could. Then Jiang closed his mouth and gave the guard an even look. This pissing contest would go nowhere, or at least nowhere productive. “Very well. Then I shall be going.” Jiang inclined his head in a shallow bow, the smallest courtesy he could show, turned and left. He walked until he was out of sight of the guard and on a darkened part of the street where the lamplight did not touch him. Glancing left, then right, and seeing no one, he darted beneath a roadside tree and scrambled up it, claws digging into the soft bark. His shoes scrabbled on the trunk, and he wished for a moment that he had kicked them off to make this easier. In seconds he reached the first branch, and he pulled himself up and up to the crown of the tree. A car drove by, headlights turning the night harsh and yellow for a moment, but if the drivers noticed a dark form wriggling in the tree, they did nothing about it.

From the top of the tree it proved easy to leap over to the roof of a nearby building. Jiang kept low, wary of someone looking up and saying, Now what's a vampire doing on the roofs at this time of night? But the few people on the streets didn't look up. No one did in the city.

It didn't take long to get close to Clayburn House again. Perched on the edge of the roof of a nearby house, Jiang squinted across into the manor grounds. The guard was still at the gate, staring dutifully out onto the street. The rest of the yard was empty, and only the light in a few windows showed the presence of other people. One of them had to Clayburn.

Getting in was another matter. From where he crouched on the nearby roof, Jiang was about level with Clayburn House's second story and far enough away that it would have taken several seconds to run to the house.

Fortunately, vampires had other methods of transportation.

Jiang pulled his shoes off (scuffed from his climb and run, anyway), placed them side-by-side on the rooftop, removed his hat, then struggled out of his custom-made jacket and shirt. He tore at the buttons with impatient claws, then tossed the shirt aside into a heap. He'd get a new one, later. Tilting his head back to the light-smudged sky, Jiang stretched his arms out and unfolded his wings. Skin stretched and thrummed as joints in his fingers cracked. Moonlight washed against his wings, the sensation electric. Jiang sighed. Keeping one's wings constricted in a suit jacket was a terrible sensation. It was so rare that he got the chance to fly anymore. Stepping to the edge of the roof, toes curled around the end of the tiles, Jiang tensed, lifted his wings, and jumped. For a second he was suspended in the air, weightless. Then he fell. The wind howled in his ears, and it would have been a very short fall indeed if not for the wind billowing up in his wings, sail-like, and with a leathery snap he leveled out and soared forward. The wind pricked at his eyes and he narrowed them. Jiang flapped his wings, once, a powerful thrumming as he pushed up against the air. The air felt solid for a second as he propelled himself upward. In the dark he circled Clayburn House, pushing himself higher and higher. This was what vampires were made for. The thrill of the hunt.

He was now level with the third floor of the manor. He aimed for a darkened window, bringing his wings up and flapping them to slow his flight as he reached out with his feet to grasp at the window ledge. Straining, he hauled himself up until he was standing on the ledge. He wrapped his claws under the pane and hoisted up. It was unlocked. He slipped inside. The room was empty, fortunately. It was a small room, perhaps a guest bedroom of some sort, but no less lavish for that. The wallpaper was stylish in an old way, the curtains a light linen embroidered with elaborate patterns. An old oil painting hung on the wall. Jiang left the room and slipped into the hallway, which also proved to be empty. Most of Clayburn House must be asleep at this hour, but Jiang heard the low sounds of conversation a floor down along with the tinkle of glass and the sound of knife and fork grinding together. The stifled gasps of two people in the middle of lovemaking filtered up from some distant room. The unbidden thoughts of how their blood would taste arrested Jiang's movement. It would be sweet, overwhelmingly strong and full of high emotions, lust and maybe even love. Such a rare spice. So easy to get drunk off of. Their fear would only make it better, their sweat-slick skin salty and their blood pumping hot and fevered...

He shook his head. There was only one person that he needed to see tonight. A single previous meeting told Jiang that Abner Clayburn's office was on the third floor, in a large room overlooking the front grounds. By his best guess, Jiang was closer to the back of the house. He made his way down the halls, ears erect and alert for any sounds of approaching people. All it would take would be for someone to scream upon seeing a half-naked vampire creeping around, and the jig, as they said, would be up. But all the doors here were closed, and the lights dimmed or off. He heard and saw no one.

As he rounded a corner the sounds of voices grew louder. Someone was nearby. Before Jiang had a chance to react a door opened and a woman stepped out. She was older, greying hair caught up in a bun, dress down to her ankles. Jiang froze. The woman's back was to him and she did not see him. On the balls of his bare feet he crept forward, hands extended towards her. His mouth was dry. Mere feet from her he stepped on a creaking floorboard. The sound was sudden and vulgar in the quiet. Jiang flinched as the woman turned. Her eyes grew wide, and she opened her mouth, but Jiang flung himself at her and clapped a hand over her mouth, shoving her up against the wall. His nails dug into her cheeks.

“Don't make a sound,” he hissed at her. She nodded. “If you make a sound I'll kill you.” He could feel her heartbeat through his hands, fluttering high and fast. “Is Abner Clayburn in his office?” Another nod. “Good.” He removed his hand from her mouth. Slowly he backed away from her. She remained pinned against wall, breathing hard and not moving. Paralyzed with fright. Good. Jiang slipped away and dashed down the hall towards the decorated doorway that led to the promised office. Jiang put his hand on the doorknob and twisted. It was unlocked. He flung the door open. Abner Clayburn sat behind a large wooden desk, neat folders of papers stacked before him. He looked up at the sound of the disturbance. Shock and then anger registered on his broad face.

“Good evening, Mr. Clayburn.”

Clayburn fumbled for something in a desk drawer. “How the hell did you get here?”

“Insignificant.”

“Get out. Get out before my mages rip you apart.”

“I come here representing the viceroy.” An utterly unnecessary statement. Why else would a vampire wearing tailored trousers show up unannounced? “And his will shall be met.”

Clayburn pulled out from the drawer a ring containing an eight-pointed star and a hollowed-out X in the center, all wrought in silver: the emblem of the One True God and his Holy Avatar. “Stay back, fuckin' vamp!” He brandished the emblem like a weapon.

Jiang rolled his eyes. “Are you done yet?”

Clayburn wasn't done. “By the light of god and the Avatar I banish thee from my home!”

Jiang stepped right up to the desk, directly in front of Clayburn. The businessman shoved the emblem into Jiang's face. Most dramatically, nothing happened. “Silver and faith. Myths. Your god has no righteous power over us.” Jiang leapt across the desk, grabbing the lapels of Clayburn's fine white jacket and shoving him backwards. Clayburn let the emblem fall from his hands. “Now. Word on the streets is you've been backing out on your deals.”

“Go to hell,” Clayburn spat. His arms shook, as if considering whether he should push Jiang away.

“A deal's a deal, Mr. Clayburn.” Jiang pushed himself closer to the aging gentleman, shaking him a little. Let him get afraid. He'd crack. “We protect your business investments, the legal and the less than legal. Every product sold to market or to friends under the table, all the precious jewelry, and the whores too. And now you're getting cold feet all of a sudden. Why could that be?”

To his credit, Clayburn didn't falter when he responded. “I'm rich and powerful enough to protect my own interests now. I don't need you blood-sucking sons of bitches taking my money and breathing down my neck.”

Jiang laughed quietly. “We'll do more than that, Mr. Clayburn.”

Clayburn moved faster than Jiang would have expected. His hand flew to his waist and came back up with a hunting knife. The blade flashed in the room's light. Jiang hissed and moved to knock the knife out of the man's hand, but Clayburn lunged forward, snarling, and caught Jiang in the right shoulder with the knife. Pain made itself known, bone-deep and hot as the sun's kiss. “Hssss!” Jiang extended his right wing, the skin and bone filling half the room and knocking Clayburn's offending arm aside. With his left hand Jiang shoved Clayburn in the chest, pushing as hard as he could. The man tumbled onto his back, the knife skittering from his hand across the office floor. Jiang was on Clayburn before he could get up. He pinned the man's limbs to the ground.

“Avatar's light,” Clayburn moaned.

“Now, you'll retain our protections and services, won't you, Mr. Clayburn? Because if you don't make your monthly deposits or go running off to the police, you'll find that your business empire will come tumbling down. The viceroy will make sure of it.”

“Alright, alright! Just get off me!” Clayburn's pink face had gone pale, and he squirmed under Jiang's grasp. He was strong for a human, but Jiang wasn't letting go.

“Then we understand each other.” Blood dribbled down from the injury on Jiang's shoulder, thick and dark. A spot of it splattered onto Clayburn's jacket. “But first, I think I owe you something.” Jiang opened his mouth as wide as it would go, which was very wide indeed. The joints in his jaw cracked. He plunged down onto Clayburn's neck and clamped his mouth shut. Fangs and sharp teeth sank into flesh. Clayburn gasped, then screamed as Jiang yanked his head to the side. Blood ran from the open wound and Jiang fell to lapping at the fresh, hot drink. Exquisite as the girl's blood in the wine had been, blood straight from the source was all the better, even if Abner Clayburn's was too fatty and somewhat stale. Zixin would not have approved. But blood called for blood. Jiang restrained himself, and gave the wound one last lick. The saliva would numb the injury and help it to heal. Mr. Clayburn might be left with an ugly bruise for a few days, but he would recover.

Jiang stood, sighing theatrically and running a tongue over his lips to clean off the last of his meal. “That will be all.” He bowed to the prone form of Abner Clayburn, and turned to leave.

“They'll catch up to you eventually!” Clayburn shouted. His voice was weak. “The mages'll get you and all the rest of the fuckin' vamps!”

Jiang said nothing, just smiled at Clayburn with bloody teeth, and left the office.