Bomber sat astride his bike, watching the kids across the street, at the goth club called “The Edge”. They stood around smoking something that could be cigarettes, but probably were not. His mind was wondering, questioning.
Lorenco had explained something called “Blood Dolls.” These were humans who searched out people who could give them the ecstasy of the Kiss. Bomber wondered if this meant a herd. And if that was so, then maybe these bite mark tattoos with dripping blood was a brand of a sort.
Which meant to him that they belonged to someone else.
Did that mean there was another Prince somewhere? This was Skyway City, far away from Cromwell’s Carnival. He needed to speak to the owner. Maybe he would know, or even be the Prince.
Finally, he kicked himself off the bike. He might as well go see the owner and get whatever punishment he was supposed to have for coming into his domain. The bouncer with the steel sticking out of him looked him over. “You, again?”
“I want to speak to the owner.”
The bouncer smirked. “Bad experience last night?”
“Not at all.”
He grunted, and touched a button at his collar, holding it to his mouth. “Some guy wants the boss.”
There was a pause. Bomber looked up to see a small red light in the wall – a camera was trained on him. “Send him in,” came a man’s voice.
Bomber walked into the club and faced the entryway. There was a small door to his left, and a man in a suit stood in front of it. “You want the boss?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“What for?”
“To complement him on the club.”
“Her,” he said with a slight snarl. “Come in here.”
He followed the man past the door. The door slammed shut – it was reinforced metal on this side. “Give me your jacket, wallet, any weapons, and your belt.” Bomber blinked, and did as he was told. “Against the wall.”
“Don’t you think you’re going to extremes here?” he asked, assuming the position.
“You wouldn’t believe the assholes that try to get past here.” He frisked him, none too gently. Bomber’s hands curled into fists. He checked his crotch – thoroughly.
“Hey,” Bomber growled, and turned around.
The guy glared. “Quite a package there.”
He barely kept the Beast in check. “So I’ve been told. Now, if you’re finished…”
“Follow me.” Bomber could tell the man’s anger was coming off him in waves. His own Beast clawed at his consciousness, wanting to punish the man for these transgressions against him. They went down a hall. Bomber could hear the thump of music through the walls. In the back were assorted cleaning supplies, electrical generators and storage for beverages. He led him up a set of stairs to a second floor, and then knocked on another steel-reinforced door.
The door swung open on its own accord. The man stood aside and let Bomber go in first.
Bomber smelled incense, sweet and flowery. He adjusted to the relatively brighter light in here and saw a woman dressed in a clinging light blue gown that showed everything, her dark hair cascading straight down her back. She wore a medieval tiara like a crown and had long nails, colored the same as her gown.
“Greetings, Kindred,” she said, and walked to him with a swing of her hips. “I am called Anilia.”
With something like that coming toward him, he should have felt some sort of arousal. Or awe. Or something. He felt, if anything, confused and wary. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Anilia caressed his face with her long nails, gently scratching his jaw. “Don’t think I can’t tell.”
He wondered if she was like Lorenco a thin-blood caitiff, a damphir. She came up close to him, and tilted her head. She had the tattoo also. “Go ahead, drink your fill.”
His fangs dropped. So what if Anilia knew what he was – he bent and did as she suggested. At the first taste, he knew she wasn’t Kindred, but human. This time, though, he stopped himself before she would have passed out. He didn’t only want his hunger satisfied, but his curiosity as well.
He gently led her to the chair behind her desk and sat her down. She had a small smile on her face and sighed with utter pleasure. “Oh, it’s been so long…”
“What’s going on here?”
She looked up at him, blinking. “What? You mean Jacmes didn’t send you?”
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She focused. “Oh. Oh.” Anilia put her hands on the desk and righted herself. “I, uh, oh.” She didn’t look at him.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
She bit her lip and focused on him. He sat down in a chair across from her. “Jacmes Heliot was my boyfriend. He was Kindred. He told me all about the war between the Camarilla and the Sabbat. He wanted this club to be a Rack for the Kindred.”
Bomber sat back. Now he understood the term fully. “Where is Jacmes now?”
“I don’t know. He disappeared about five months ago. We were blood bonded. I haven’t felt him.”
“Maybe he’s met Final Death.”
She said nothing.
“So those tattoos must be, like marks to show who’s a Rack and who isn’t.”
She nodded. “Most of them I’ve hand picked, but some of them…well, word gets around.”
He stared at her. “You’ve broken the Masquerade?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, no. The word is that there’s a special drug that makes you high and happy without any side effects. It’s transmitted through bodily fluids. Since a lot of these customers don’t mind blood, they enjoy it.”
“And the cops haven’t shut you down?”
She snorted. “Oh, they tried. But I know people.”
He sat back. “How many people know about this? With the markings.”
“I officially know of thirty.”
“Thirty?!”
“We were meant for the Camarilla in Skyway, and any who happened to visit.” She looked up at him defiantly. “I wanted to make sure that we had a good stock.”
He shook his head a little. “So what’s happened to the Camarilla?”
“All the Camarilla seem to have disappeared over the last year or so.”
“And the Prince?”
“We haven’t seen him for about a year, maybe longer.” Bomber looked thoughtful as she continued, “Jacmes thinks that they went underground because there’s so many Sabbat.”
Gears were working in Bomber’s head. If it was known that the Rack was back in business, he could draw out the Kindred from the underground. Not just the Camarilla, but the Sabbat as well. And if he could get the Sabbat out, he could possibly find out more about Lorenco’s fathers. “Were you partners?”
“Business partners? Yes.”
“How is business?”
“We’re slightly in the red, but nothing that can’t be corrected with a little more advertising and different DJ’s. Jacmes picked the DJ’s. He had a love for music.”
“Let me guess, Toreador.”
Anilia smiled slightly. “Yes.”
He stood up and pulled out his wallet, taking out a pile of bills and setting them on the desk. “There’s five hundred dollars. I can get you more. I want to buy rights into this club.”
“Interest,” she said. “You want to buy interest.”
“Whatever. I’d like to continue the idea of a Rack, but I want to be sure that I can come in here whenever I want. To have access to the…stock.”
She bit her lip again. “I don’t know.”
“Why let this stock go to waste? Why make them wait for something that might never come? Give the customers what they want, isn’t that the golden rule?”
“Jacmes had to equip the bouncers.”
“Equip?”
“Ghoul.”
“Oh.” He couldn’t believe this. This was so blatant. “How can you keep the Masquerade?”
“Jacmes would take care of any breaches. The bouncers were devoted to him. A lot of us did anything he said.”
Blood Bound. He blood bound half the club. It was only five months gone. There wasn’t any guarantee that he could bond them all – What the hell am I thinking? I’d be bone dry in one night. But Lorenco said he had elder blood, which was more potent. And he knew from experience that time and distance eased the blood bond considerably, depending on the one bonded. First things first, however. He motioned to the money. “I want 50% interest in The Edge. I’m prepared to pay for it.”
“Twenty-five percent. In case Jacmes comes back.”
“You really think he’s going to come back?”
Again, Anilia bit her lip, thoughtful for a long time. Then she reached for his arm.
He pulled his arm back. “You know what’ll happen if you do that.”
She nodded. “You’re right, Jacmes isn’t coming back. I want to forget about him.”
“I know what it’s like, Anilia. I don’t want you to go through that.”
“Please.”
He stared at her. She actually wanted to be blood bonded. She wanted him to be her master. It would be no different than if she asked him to put a collar and a leash on her, or asked him to order her around. Some people liked that. He was going to have to start getting used to these strange kinks.
He gave her what she wanted. She drank deeply from his wrist, chewing on his arm with strangely sharp teeth. Finally, he pulled his arm back, and she almost fell forward to try and keep a hold of it. He looked closely at her mouth – although bloody right now, she had filed her eye teeth down to fine points.
She gazed at him, and smiled. She climbed over the desk, that gown still clinging to her, and she reached for his belt. He said, “Sorry, that’s reserved.”
Anilia felt him up anyway, then looked at him, a little surprised. “How big is it?”
“Never you mind.” He picked her up and pulled her the rest of the way across the desk. “I’ll bring the money tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about the money. I’ll draw up the papers. Come back tomorrow night?”
“Count on it.”
She put her head on his chest. “I’ll want more.”
He sighed. He pushed her away gently. “If that’s what you want.”
She smiled, and kissed him full on the lips. He didn’t receive her. “I’m committed, Anilia.”
She looked down. “James will be happy to hear that.”
“James? The guy outside?”
“Yes. We’ve been lovers since Jacmes left.”
He picked up her head. “Oh, and better advertise for some new DJ’s. You’ll have to pick ‘em out cuz I have a tin ear.”
She laughed. “All right.”
He started to leave.
“What name do I put on the lease?”
He thought for a minute. “Will you need me to be there?”
“No, I have a Notary paid off.”
“Bruce Bombardier, then.” He knew Anilia wasn’t her real name, so he thought he might as well give a fake one too.
He opened the door, and then went downstairs. He found James at the opposite end of the hallway. He held out his hand for his things. James handed him a paper bag, and Bomber looked inside it to make sure they were his things.
“Oh, by the way,” he said, “Anilia’s all yours.”
He glared at Bomber. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.” He went out into the club, getting nearly smacked in the face by the music. As he went outside, he started laughing.
Bruce Michaelaine, vampire pimp.
Comments: Based on input from He Who Knows The Rules (Stature)