Now he had…
Rafael tried to remember a time when he’d had dreams of grandeur, too. A time when he’d been human and had wanted to leave his mark on the world.
And just like him, Jeff’s dreams were about to get the boy killed. “Have you shown this to anyone else?”
Damn, but Jeff reminded Rafael of a cocker spaniel puppy wanting someone to pet his head even though he’d just unknowingly pissed all over his owner’s best shoes. “Not yet, why?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Rafael said, stretching the words out and trying to mitigate some of the sarcasm in his tone. “I’m thinking the Night-Searcher series you’re starting might be a really bad idea.”
Jeff’s face fell instantly. “You didn’t like the story?”
“Not a question of liking it really. More a question of getting your ass kicked for spilling our secrets.”
Jeff furrowed his brow, and by his baffled look it was obvious the boy had no idea what Rafael was talking about. “How do you mean?”
This time there was no way to keep the venom out of his voice. “I know they say to write what you know, but damn, Jeff… Ralph St. James? Night-Searchers? You’ve written the whole Dark-Hunter/Apollite vampire legend, and I really resent your making me a Taye Diggs clone. Nothing against the man, but other than the occasional bald head, the color of our skin, and a diamond stud in the left ear, we have nothing in common.”
Jeff took the magazine from Raphael’s hands, flipped to his story, and skimmed a few lines. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Rafael. This isn’t about you or the Dark-Hunters. The only thing they have in common is that the Night-Searchers hunt down cursed vampires like the Dark-Hunters do. That’s it.”
Uh-huh. Rafael looked back at the story again, and even with the magazine upside down his eyes fell straight to the scene. “What about this, where the Taye Diggs look-alike Dark-Hunter is confronting a Daimon who’s just stolen a human soul to elongate his life?”
Jeff made a sound of disgust. “That’s a Night-Searcher who found a vampire to kill. It has nothing to do with the Dark-Hunters.”
Yeah, right. “A vampire who just happens to steal human souls to elongate his life as opposed to the normal Hollywood variety where they live forever on blood?”
“Well, that’s just cliché. It’s so much better to have vampires who have really short lives and are then compelled, against their wills, and by a hatred fired by envy, to lash out at the human race. Makes it so much more interesting, don’t you think?”
Not really. Especially since he was one of the people caught up in that battle. “That is also the reality we live in, Jeff. What you just described is a Daimon, not a vampire.”
“Well maybe I borrowed from the Daimons a little, but the rest is all mine.”
Rafael flipped to the next page. “Let’s see. What about the cursed Tyber race that pissed off the Norse god Odin and is now damned to live only twenty-seven years unless they turn vampire and steal human souls. Substitute ‘Apollite’ for ‘Tyber’ and ‘Apollo’ for ‘Odin’ and again you have the story of the Apollite race who turn Daimon.”
Sighing, Jeff crossed his arms over his chest. He shook his head in denial.
“And what about this part here where the Night-Searchers sell their souls to the Norse goddess Freya, who is a vibrant redheaded femme fatale dressed all in white, to get revenge on whoever caused them to die?”
“No one is going to figure out that Artemis is Freya.”
Rafael growled at him. “For the record, unlike Artemis, Freya happens to be a strawberry blonde. But you were right about one thing. She is gorgeous and highly seductive. Definitely hard to say no to her.”
“Oh.” Deepening his scowl, Jeff looked up. “How do you know all that?”
Rafael grew quiet as he remembered the night he’d met the Norse goddess and she had tempted him well. That had definitely been one hell of a day… “Freya’s the goddess who hand selects warriors for Valhalla. Or in the case of myself, she wanted to take me off with her to her own hall and add me to her harem.”
Jeff gaped. “And you chose to fight for Artemis instead, what kind of stupid are you?”
There were times when the kid could be eerily astute. “Yeah, well, in retrospect it was a bad bargain on my part. But at the time, Artemis was offering me vengeance on my enemies it seemed so much more appealing than being Freya’s love slave… which gets back to Freya being Artemis in your story.”
“But you just said she’s not Artemis and she comes after warriors, too. So it could happen. She could make a bargain like the one I wrote about in my story.”
And icicles could grow on the sun. Freya collected warriors, she didn’t send them back to the mortal plane to fight Daimons/vampires. Artemis did that. But not willing to argue the point anymore when it was obvious Jeff didn’t see it, Rafael moved on to the next similarity. “And what about this? Ralph – Jesus, boy, couldn’t you come up with something better than a bodily function to name me – was a Caribbean pirate, son of an Ethiopian slave and Brazilian merchant…” He glanced down to read the description. “At six six, Ralph was one to intimidate anyone who saw him. With his shaved head that was tattooed with African tribal symbols given to him by a shaman he’d met in his travels, he walked the earth as if he owned it. But more than that, the black tattoos blended at times with his dark brown flesh, making the two of them seem indistinguishable from each other as if he bore some kind of alien skin.”
Unable to read another word of the description that was so eerily close to himself that it made him want to choke his Squire, Rafael let out a disgusted breath. “While I’m both flattered and highly offended, I can assure you, this won’t win you a Hugo or Nebula nomination.”
Jeff pulled the magazine out of his hands again in a high-handed manner. “I resent that. It’s a great story. And you don’t exactly have those tattoos, either, now do you?”
Rafael’s right eye started twitching from the aggravation. “I have intricate scroll work tattooed up my neck to the base of my skull and like Ralph” – he growled the word – “I have them on both arms. They’re close enough to what you describe. No matter how you disguise this trite bullshit, it’s my life, Jeff. Penned in an awkward manner. It’s things I didn’t want to see in black-and-white print. You’re lucky after three hundred years that I’ve mellowed. In my human days, I’d have slit your throat, pulled your tongue through the opening, and left you tied to a tree for the wolves to eat.”
“Ew!”
“Yes,” he said, taking a step toward the overgrown adolescent, “and effective. Trust me, no one betrayed me twice.”
“What about the guy who killed you?”
Rafael’s eyes flared as he fought his urge to kill the boy. It was a damn good thing that he liked Jeff’s father and the man had served him well for over twenty years. Otherwise Jeff would be meeting with an “accident” right about… oh, now.
Taking a deep breath, Rafael asked in a tone that belied his anger, “I only have one more question. What’s the circulation on this rag?”
Jeff shrugged. “I don’t know. About one hundred and fifty thousand worldwide, I think.”
“You are so dead.”
“Oh, come on,” Jeff said, dismissing the very real danger he was facing. “You’re overreacting. No one is going to care.” The best place to hide is out in the open. Haven’t you ever heard that? Step out of the Dark Ages, Rafe. Everywhere you look there are vampires and a whole counterculture dedicated to them. Open your mouth to a woman, show her your fangs, and she’ll beg you to bite her. Trust me. I have a fake set I wear to parties and use frequently. Nowadays being undead doesn’t get you killed. It just makes it easier to get laid.”
Rafael shook his head. “Your argument has reached a whole new level of lame.”
“Please, spare me that, old wise one. There’s a whole new school of thought going around about how best to protect and hide you guys. If we start telling people about the Dark-Hunters, but make them think it’s a book series or some urban fantasy thing, when they actually meet one of you, they’ll just think you’re either actors or roleplayers. Or at the very worst, they’ll think you’re insane, but never will they believe you’re real.”
He was seriously considering getting Jeff a CAT scan to make sure the kid still had a brain. “What Einstein came up with this?”
“Well… originally it was Nick Gautier.”
“And the poor man is now dead. Shouldn’t you guys be following someone else’s ideas?”
“No. It makes perfect sense. Get out of the basement, Rafe, and hang with the new generation. We know the 911.”
Rafael snorted. “It’s 411, Jeff, and you don’t know shit. But you are going to need 911 once the Council learns about this.”
“I’ll be fine, trust me. Nick and I aren’t the only ones who think like this these days.”
Those words had no sooner left his mouth than Rafael’s cell phone started ringing. He checked the ID to see “Ephani.” An ancient Amazon who’d crossed over almost three thousand years ago, she was definitely an acquired taste. But even so, he liked her a great deal. Pulling the phone off his belt, he answered it.
“What’s up, Amazon?” he asked, stepping away from Jeff while his Squire continued to admire his story in the magazine.
The kid had no sense of self-preservation.
“Hey, Rafe. I… um… I’m not sure how to break this to you, but do you know what your Squire’s been up to lately?”
Deciding to play it cool, Rafael cut a glare at Jeff. “Writing the great American novel, what else?”
“Uh-huh. Have you ever read one of those novels he’s been working on?”