Buffalo Vampires By Jesse Smith http://slicer69.tripod.com I tighten my bathrobe's sash and throw a glance at the tea kettle. The saying is true, but the darn thing never boils whether you watch it or not. I grab a spoon from the drawer- There's a knock at the door. This early in the morning? Then I correct myself. It's early by my standards, the rest of the world considers this mid-morning. The soft knock is repeated. "Coming," I mutter and shuffle to the door. There is a small lad, dressed in faded jeans and a white t-shirt in the hallway. His eyes are downcast and he mumbles as he talks. "Excuse me, mister, but may I come in and use your phone? I got locked out of my mom's apartment." The little fellow looks to be the right size for a ten or eleven year old and I step to one side. "Sure, come in," I wave my arm in a welcoming gesture. Then I turn and head back to the kitchen. "I'm making tea, would you care for some tea or," I take down two cups, "something?" I grab the tea pot from the counter and pour into one of the cups, "Or perhaps some juice?" I pick up my full cup and turn to face the young lad. A change has come over the boy, and while it's hard to put my finger on it, I think his shoulders are less hunched and his eyes, which I can now see, since he's staring at me, are bright red. He smiles and his pointed eye teeth tell me all I need to know: this kid is trouble. He chuckles, a soft, hissing sound. With a jerk of my hand, I toss the liquid from my cup into his face. At first the little fellow looks confused, then angry. Thin wisps of smoke rise from his face. "Argh!" he screams, shakes his head, turns and runs straight into my wall. "Argh!" he screams again, falls back a pace and then throws himself, face first, into the wall again. "Argh!" he runs into the wall once more and falls to the floor, banging his head into the hardwood at my feet. Dark smoke rises through his hair. I grab the boy's shirt collar and the waist of his jeans and carry him into the livingroom. There I toss him into an easychair. He tries to look up at me through pain-squinted eyes. His left cheek is badly burned and his nose is blackened. "That," I say in a harsh whisper, "was holy water. And, so help me, if your screaming woke Tiffany, I'll force feed you another cup. Understand?" My girlfriend thinks I'm retired. I did too, but this little creep showing up at my door after sunrise suggests otherwise. I stalk back to the kitchen, where the kettle is making soft whistling sounds. I drop a tea bag into the second cup, pour hot water in after the bag and take my tea back into the livingroom. The little vampire is still in the chair where I left him. "It's well passed sunrise," I observe casually, "how'd you get inside this apartment building?" The little fellow shrugs and I punch him square on his burned cheek. "Did you hide in the basement or do you have an apartment here?" Another shrug. Another punch. I take a sip of tea, "Why did you knock on my door of all doors?" The mini-vampire is mute, I might as well be asking myself these questions. I put my cup down on the coffee table, walk backward to the window and open it. The vampire looks up at me with his one good eye. I stroll back to where he slumps in my chair, lift him up by the shoulders and toss him out the window. Screams and the smell of burning popcorn fill the air as I return to my tea cup. It wouldn't do to let Tiffany see me leaving cups on the coffee table without using a coaster. Mid-afternoon finds me at the police station in the Special Night department. Despite the name, the entire -- cluttered -- department was well lit. People who regularly deal with things that go "bump" in the night don't like to be left in the dark. The receptionist waves me through and I immediately head to the office in the back. I knock. "Come in," a firm, feminine voice calls. "Good afternoon, Miss Loren," I greet the figure half-hidden behind boxes and stacks of paper. "Anne," she corrects me, not yet looking up from her desk. "Anne," I agree, "may I take a moment of your time?" She glances up, "Clear yourself a seat," Special Night Detective Loren offers. I move some items from the closest chair to the floor and plop into the cushion. "What brings you down here, Jim?" Anne's blue eyes search my face, taking in observations, probably cataloging clues without conscience thought. "I had a close encounter with a vampire this morning," I start. "Ah. This morning?" "Yes, after sunrise, which struck me as odd." Anne nods, flips open a notepad, "Young or old 'pire?" "Probably young," I offer, "certainly not into his strength." "No," Anne says, "I mean the host. Young or old?" I pause, "Young, probably around ten. What made you ask?" Anne removes her glasses and tosses them onto a pile of paperwork, "We've had reports of three vampire incidents in the past three weeks which indicated the vampire was five feet tall or less. We got visual reports from two of those which described the creatures as child-like." I raise an eyebrow, "You're saying there's a group of child vampires running about the-" "I'm not saying anything for sure, but it is an interesting possibility. And a disturbing one." "But who lets their little kids wander about at night unsupervised?" I ask, "There are curfews and-" "You said you encountered this one during the morning," Anne observes, "maybe the kids are also taken during the day." I shutter. The idea of vampires walking about in the daylight isn't something I am prepared to accept. "Any leads?" I ask. It was Anne's turn to raise an eyebrow, "I thought you were retired, Jim?" "I'm taking a special interest." "In that case, I'll pass along whatever I can. I hope you'll do the same." She pauses, waiting for my confirmation. "Of course." "In that case, about all I can tell you at this point is all three attacks happened downtown. Two of them on the west end..." Little children showing up as vampires, at least three of them, if Detective Loren is to be believed, and she usually is. The law of conservation of bodies tells me that at least three children must have been taken and turned. Possibly more. I'd asked Anne if any missing person reports had been linked to the children. All she could tell me was they were looking into it. When one wants information from a company, one goes to the receptionist. When one wants to know what's happening on the streets there are two places to go. I selected a downtown drinking establishment -- a good bartender hears everything. I enter the Lucky Buffalo in the early evening, the sun still dancing across the city's skyscrapers. I walk down the stairs into the dimly, but not darkly, lit bar room. There are few customers at this early hour, a few playing pool, another talking with the bartender. Meet Ted, a man who loves bars and always has. Since the age of fourteen, Ted has frequented the pubs, watering holes, stripper clubs and dives of our fair city. The sign over the door held no sway over Ted, but the freely flowing flood of alcohol did. Ted spent most of his evenings as a customer of one drinking establishment or another from fourteen to twenty-nine. Then, rough and wild, he fell into a trap -- or rather into love. Ted fell head over heels for a straight laced office worker and turned himself around. He cleaned himself up, found a nicer apartment and took on a steady job -- as a bartender. He jumped the counter, one might say, and never looked back. That was six years ago, and, except for a few nasty habits, Ted has stayed clean. Those habits tend to include things like growing extra hair and getting a little aggressive during the full moon. Which is how I met him. That first meeting may be what's going through Ted's mind when he spots me walking from the stairway toward him and that might explain why his first reaction is to excuse himself from the conversation with his customer and back away a step from the counter. "Evening, Ted," I greet him. "Hey stranger, can I get you a drink?" Ted asks in a hopeful sounding voice. "How about a club soda?" I may be leaving soon and I'd rather not have to leave a drink behind. Besides, this is business. Ted puts a glass down in front of me and fills it. "Thank you," I glance around automatically for the coaster which probably doesn't exist in a place like this. To cover up, I take a bill out of my pocket and put it on the counter. "I haven't seen you for a while," Ted observes. "That's true. Well, you know: no rest for the wicked," I chuckle at my cliche. Ted nods uneasily, "And," I add, "I was hoping we could talk a little. Catch up on old times." Ted glances about the room, senses sharp. His eyes dart back to me. "If you can spare a minute?" "Sure," Ted gestures with his head toward a far, unoccupied corner, "I'd be happy to find out what you're up to these days." We walk to the corner, which is unoccupied save for a Marilyn Monroe poster. "So," Ted turns to face me, "I heard you got all respectable, settled down, got a day job." I give him a tight lipped smile, "Two out of three," I reply, "What else have you heard?" Ted looks nervous. I decide to let him off the hook, a little. "I've heard that mini-vampires have been attacking people in the downtown area," I say. "Really?" I nod. "Mini-vampires?" "Little ones, were children when they were turned." Ted's face contorts like he's tasted something awful. "I'd heard of an attack a few weeks ago," Ted offers, "word is that the vampire was small. Could be the same one, but I didn't get any details." "Did it happen during the day or at night?" I press. Ted looks surprised, "Night, of course." "Of course," I echo. "What would-" Ted stops as my stare bores into him. I'm the one asking questions. "Anything else?" Ted pauses, "Nothing vampire related." "But?" "But, there were a couple of kids in here last weekend. University students, regulars. Two of them were wizards." "Wizards? University student wizards?" my eyes narrow. "I know what you're thinking and I'm thinking it too, but I know the difference between real magic and cheap tricks." He's probably right on that score. "Where would a university student get their hands on a lore book? It's not like they're just lying around the library." Ted shrugs, "Search me," he thinks better of the idea, "Maybe one of them has a rich daddy or a wizard for an uncle?" "The kid wouldn't likely be in school then and sure wouldn't be showing off. Not for long." Daddy or whoever would yank them home in a heart beat if someone outside of the order was doing tricks in a common pub. "Thanks, Ted," I turn to go, stop and pull a bill out of my pocket. I hand it to him, "Good to see you again." "You too," Ted lies and slips the money out of sight. During my working days, or rather nights, I would have immediately left for the university on a wild wizard hunt. Instead, I decide to walk home. A smart man knows when to go home and recharge his batteries. A wise man also knows when to return home to prevent his girlfriend from getting upset. Tiffany would not be impressed to learn that I was effectively back in business. I pause. Yes, I realize, I'm acting like I am back on the job. Blast, only retired for six months and already I'm back into the game. "Where have you been?" Tiffany asks as I walk through our apartment door. "I was catching up with some of my work buddies." "Work buddies?" "Yeah, we just grabbed a few drinks downtown. Talked about the bad ol' days." "Is that why you smell like stale beer?" "Yeah," I shrug, "I'm going to grab a shower." Tiffany smiles, "Going to get that other-woman smell off you?" she jokes. "Exactly," I walk toward the bathroom, "How was your day?" "Fine, but I had a weird experience this morning." I freeze halfway down the hall and come back. "I thought I heard screaming. It woke me up." Think fast. "There was a drunk outside our window this morning. He was sort of yelling and talking to himself." "That's annoying." "Yeah, I yelled at him -- think I interrupted his monologe. Sorry, sweetie." "No biggie." I nod and walk back to the bathroom. The ringing phone pulls me from the grip of sleep. Thanks goodness as it is nearly 5am already. "Hello?" I croak. "Hello Jimmy. How are you?" "Asleep, Mom." "But it's after eight in the morning, dear." "On your side of the country, Mom, not on mine." "Oh, I'm sorry dear." I sigh and sit up, "What's up, Mom?" "Have you talked to your sister recently?" There are cobwebs dangling in my memory, "I don't think so. Why?" "Her wedding is this weekend, remember?" "Right, the wedding." "You forgot your sisters wedding?" "No, no." "She's only getting married once, you know." "We can only hope," I mutter. "What's that?" "Nothing, Mom. I'll give her a call this morning." "Good." "Who's that?" Tiffany sits up. "Is there someone there?" Mom asks. "No. Well, yes. At the door. I've got to go." "But-" "Talk to you later. Bye." Breakfast consists of cold coffee -- from yesterday -- and Tiffany's warm pancakes. It mixes in my stomach like bubbling cement. I chew thoughtfully, staring off into the part of space I hope holds answers. "Where are you?" Tiffany asks me. "Right here." "Your mind sure isn't." "There's a lot on it." "Such as?" "I need a suit for this weekend, and a gift for my sister. Oh, and one of my buddies told me last night that there have been some nasty attacks downtown. Don't stay out too late, okay? And I want to stop by the library today-" Tiffany smiles, "Anything I can do to help?" "Can you think of something I can give my sister as a wedding present?" "But I've only met your sister once." "And after the wedding, I promise you won't have to do it again." Later that morning I head for the university, dressed in casual clothes that look like they came from the Salvation Army's bargin bin. Actually, these clothes did come from the Salvation Army. It's about noon when I arrive on campus. Now what? I can't just wander around, asking people if they know a wizard. I'd have as much luck asking where I could score drugs. I decide to the visit the library. A few minutes of questioning the librarian and wandering around the various sections reveals nothing. A big zip. I look at the posters in the hall ways; no magic shows, no old books for sale, not even a bunny from Hatville to be found. I break for a late lunch. I've never attended university, but my cafeteria lunch proves one thing: the food hasn't improved. Maybe university students aren't poor, maybe they starve themselves to avoid the chicken lasagna surprise. Never the less, I'm hungry and I'm not going to be picky about what I- What's that crunchy thing? Whatever it was, I wash it down with chocolate milk. After finishing most of the lasagna without finding anymore surprises, I head for the exit. There doesn't appear to be anything to find here, at least without a warrent, which I can't get. I drop off my tray at the cafeteria door, half-considering taking it to the biology lab instead. Something catches my eye behind the garbage can. It's a piece of crumpled paper, which I pick up and turn to toss in the trash. But some letters on the page catch my eye and I stop. Either a student is taking ancient Greek or- I uncrumple the paper. The letters are oddly shaped, and look like a cross between Greek and Norse. I carefully scan the page, looking for a name, a date, a room number, initials inside a heart. Nothing. But the runes, written in black pen, at least give me a starting point -- even if I don't know where that is. My first stop is the police station, Special Night department. "You again?" Anne asks, looking up from her computer. "Me again," I confirm. "What brings you by this time?" Anne takes off her glasses. I take the paper from my pocket and put it on her desk, "Any idea what this is?" "Sure, I do." "Really? What is it?" I ask. "Squiggle, box, `x', `x', half-circle-with-a-line-through-it, big `L'-with-x-and-an-open-box," Anne replies as she looks over the sheet in front of her. I smile, "Funny, Anne, funny. But not useful." "Honestly, I've got no idea. Where'd you get it?" "I found it." "Where?" I think about it for a moment. Anne's trustworthy, but my whereabouts today is likely to raise questions I don't want to answer. "I was looking around downtown for clues about the mini-vampires and I found this next to a trash can," I reply. Maybe she believes me, maybe not, but Anne decides to take my answer at face value. "And you think this is important somehow?" "Maybe, I dunno. But would you make a copy and pass it around?" I request, "see if you can dig up anything on that thing," I gesture to the computer on her desk. "Not willing to join us in the new millennium?" Anne teases as she carries the paper to her office photocopier. "They're good tools," I answer, "but just tools. They should be put away after use, not be used in every aspect of our lives." "I'll ask around. There are guys in this office that are into all sorts of things. And I'll look on the net too," Anne offers. Her photocopy procedure complete, she hands the original back to me. "Thanks Anne, I owe you one." The Practically Perfect Poet is a used book store just on the edge of downtown. It's an old, small building that always looks as if it might fall over in the next wind storm. It smells of dust, spider sex and books. Especially of books. They're stacked everywhere, at every angle. The store is rarely open and has customers less. In fact, I've never seen a sale take place. But the owner, Stewart, is of the age of retirement and keeps the store open, as he once said, "for something to do". Some people ride bikes, some people dance and Stewart reads and catalogs books. "Stewart?" I call to the stacks of tomes, "You here?" I hear muffled words coming from the rear of the store. Looking at the shelves, I wonder what the odds are of being buried alive under a book avalanche. Stewart pops his head around the door frame and blinks at me. He looks dusty, he always looks dusty. "'ello" he says with a smile. "Hey, Stewart," I greet him, looking for a place to sit, "how's business?" "Wonderful," he walks into the front of the shop, "I just got a collection of Shakespeare sonnets yesterday. Probably copies from the mid seventeenth century and still in decent condition. I've been sorting-" "That's nice," I interrupt, "have you sold anything of late?" Stewart pauses in his tracks, "Well, no, not as such." I nod. "Well, actually, I did sell a copy of Whinnie The Pooh to a nice chap over the weekend. He said it was for his grand-daughter. I refused to take full price for the item as it was a bit dog-eared." "Of course," if Stewart can tell I'm teasing him, he doesn't let on. I take out the paper with the unusual symbols on it. "What have you got there?" Steward is immediately interested in anything on paper. "I found it in the trash," he wrinkles his nose, "well, near the trash. I think someone tried to throw it away... Anyway, it's got these odd symbols on it and I was wondering if you recognize them?" Stewart takes the offered paper and dons a pair of reading glasses. He scans it twice carefully before looking up at me. "No." "No?" "No." "Just no?" "Well, James, it could be something, but if it is, I don't recognize it. It could be doodles-" "But-" "Yes, but, if they are just doodles, they're precise in a way, yes?" "Yes." "I'll take a look. Maybe I can find a match with a early European alphabet." That's probably the best I'm going to get, "Thanks, Stewart. Please give me a call if you find anything relevant," I've long ago learned not to say "interesting" to a man who owns a used book store. Steward assures me that he'll ring me up the minute he makes a discovery, if one is made, and I exit the Poet. It's supper time when I arrive home -- good timing on my part. I can smell fresh omelet when I enter and- "Did you call your sister?" Tiffany asks before I have both feet in the door. "You have lovely ears, dear," I reply, "sharp as a bat's." "Your mother called back this morning," Tiffany says and she expertly flips the omelet, "and asked me to make sure you talked to your sister. Did you?" "Not yet," I kick my shoes into the closet. "Your mom seemed surprised I was here, does she know about me?" I shrug, "She does now. Is that done?" I point at the pan. "Almost. Now go wash up, you're smelly." I give Tiffany a quick kiss, "You have been talking to my mother." "And call your sister!" Tiffany calls after me. "Amanda?" I tentatively ask the phone. "Jim! Hey, how are you doing? Are you still with Tiffany? She's a doll. I'm so excited about the wedding, but I have so much to do! You wouldn't believe! I've got some final touches to do on the decorations and then there are flower arrangements to double-check and the flower girl is sick, so I have to find a replacement in case she can't come. She's so cute and I really hope she's feeling better in time, but just in case. So, how have you been? I haven't heard from you in weeks now. Are you feeling okay? Because I read this study a while ago that said 87% of people get sick right after they retire. It's reverse stress or something." "Amanda?" I try again. "Yes?" "I just wanted to ask if there is something I could do to help you out. With the wedding, I mean. Is there?" "Oh," there is a pause. For a moment, my sister is blissfully speechless. "Also," I decide to fish for information, "I want to confirm the time of the wedding." "It's still on for 4pm," Amanda replies. "On-?" "Saturday, you big goof! Honestly, I can't believe you find your own kitchen in the morning. It's a good thing Tiff is there to keep an eye on you. Goodness knows where you'd end up otherwise." "Indeed," I jot notes. Saturday. 4pm. "I'm looking forward to seeing you all dressed up. Is Zak getting nervous?" "Why," Amanda asks, "would Zak be nervous? He asked me to marry him." "Right. Well. Some people get nervous when they're," I see Tiffany making stop signals at me, "... they're in love. You know, like when you first fall in love and you're all nervous and constantly day dreaming... You know?" "Oh, right!" she giggles, "well, he's being really good about it. I got him to try on this tux yesterday. I know we already picked them all out, but I saw this one and I thought, like, it would look so perfect with the bride's maids dresses. And he's been so great about letting me pick stuff out and design the invitations. It's like he totally trusts me and I love that about him and-" "That's great, sis. Well, I'll see you there, on Saturday. I'm really proud of you-" "Aww, Jim, you're so sweet. And-" "So, try to rest up. You'll have to save some energy for dancing on Saturday." "Dancing," another giggle, "you're so you, Jimmy." Yes, I am. I hang up. The next morning is Wednesday. I greet the dawn by rolling over and giving Mr. Sun the cold shoulder. I'm in no mood to rise and anything. Tonight I plan to go hunting for clues. I'm vaguely aware that Tiffany has already left -- she's probably going to work. I make a point of staying in bed until noon and then eat a giant breakfast and lunch combination. I ponder what to give my sister for the wedding. Typically, I haven't gone shopping yet. It's on my to-do list. I check the weather report, decide I can survive without a jacket and head out. I buy a local newspaper and scan the first couple of pages. Nothing of particular interest. No mention of missing children. Something, actually several things, don't feel right. For example, vampires almost always feed on the underdogs of society, namely homeless people. Very few citizens notice if a wandering bum disappears, so they make ideal targets. Vampires know that feeding on children will bring investigation and the wrath of the Special Night forces. This means that a vampire feeding on children is either crazy and borderline suicidal or considers himself very powerful. But powerful vampires, of the Dracula variety, are very rare. On the other hand, magic using university students are supposed to be rare too. A magic using vampire would be a powerful foe. Okay, I'm speculating too much here. Time to review the few facts I have. Fact: children are being turned into vampires. Very few parents are neglectful enough to let their children outside at night. These reports are all close together, so chances are it's not just bad parents. I stop for a sandwhich and a bottle of chocolate milk. Could it be that a vampire is getting inside homes and taking the children? But then it would be reported, wouldn't it? Maybe he's getting the children to come to him somehow? But how? Again, too much speculation and not nearly enough facts. Simple answers, I think, as I wander the downtown, it's almost always the simplest answer. As I have said before, there are two places to go when one wants information about what's happening on the street. I decide to visit the second one tonight: Whores Corners. This small part of the downtown is populated by strip clubs, no-entrance-fee bars and a small restaurant that never seems to have customers and yet has stayed in business for years. This is where one goes to engage in the world's oldest profession. "Hey, handsome," one of the ladies greets me. "Evening, miss," I reply. The girl looks me over, "Wanna date, tonight?" Her closest companion steps up behind her and gets a look at me, "No, sweetie, he's not looking for a date. He's looking for information." "Hi Candice," I greet the other girl. "What kind of information?" the first girl, a blonde, asks. I give them both a quick summary of recent events. "Eww," the blonde observes. I shrug and look at Candice. I'm starting to regret not bringing a jacket. It's only 9pm and already there is a chill in the air. "You mentioned a couple of university guys?" Candice asks. I nod. "I think I know who you mean," she offers, "I worked with two university guys a few weeks ago. Greg and," she snaps her fingers, "Tim. I think the second guy was Tim. I don't have last names." "And you think they could do magic?" I ask. "I was in the bathroom before we got started and when I was coming out I thought I saw a hovering beer bottle. It sort of floated from one guy to the other. At the time I figured it was my eyes playin' tricks, but it could have been real." "Okay, how about a description of these guys?" Candice gives me a quick run down. The blonde girl suddenly takes an interest, "Did they have a red car. A Toyota?" she asks. "It was red, I don't remember if it was a Toyota." "Greg's last name is Jefferson, I remember 'cause it reminded me of Thomas Jefferson," the blonde smiles. "Wait, wait," I hold up my hands, "A couple of college boys have the cash to drive around town, hang in bars and rent... engage your services? And, maybe, they can do magic?" "Trust fund?" the blonde suggests. "Maybe," I concede. I take four twenties our of my pocket and hand them over. "Pleasure doing business with you," Candice winks at me. She's not my type, but darn if she isn't a charmer. I return home around 10:30pm, tired, confused, frustrated -- like a highschool cheerleader who has just lost her virginity. The apartment door is unlocked. I walk inside to find Tiffany holding two tea cups and a stranger standing in my livingroom. There are a few things about vampires that give them away to the trained observer. One is the smell. A vampire generally has a stale and coppery smell that some try to cover up with strong cologne or perfume. Another is their stance. Our blood sucking counter parts tend to act on their animal instincts more than humans, which causes them to walk among humans like a wolf through sheep. Even before as he turns around, I know the figure in my livingroom is a vampire. Tiffany hands him a cup of tea, which he accepts, as his eyes lock on mine. My stomach growls. I hope his is not doing the same. "Tea, honey?" Tiffany asks. "Yes, please," I answer, not taking my eyes off his face. He's tall, probably over six and a half feet in height, slender, with short, oily black hair and dark gray eyes. He speaks first, breaking our staring match, "Pardon my intrusion," he says in a smooth, deep voice, "but I think I may be of some help to you." "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've met, Mr...?" "Smith. John Smith. We've never met before directly, but I know of your reputation through work." I take the offered tea cup from Tiffany, "I'm retired now." John smiles, "So I'd heard, but I am also aware you've been asking certain questions around town." I shoot a look at Tiffany and she raises her eyebrows at me. I'll have to explain later. "I am doing some research," I agree, "What sort of help are you offering?" He takes a step closer, "A friend of mine recognizes the symbols you were asking about and he'd be willing to meet with you, if you'd like." "When and where?" I ask. "Tomorrow night, at 9pm at the Broken Boot," he looks me in the eyes again, "Will you come?" The Broken Boot is on the east side of town and is not a recommended tourist destination. Unless, of course, your a tourist that hates the sun. "How will I know your friend?" John takes a sip of tea, "I'll meet you outside the front door and introduce the two of you." "Fair enough," I agree, my tea still untouched. "If you'll excuse me?" John walks around me to the door. He turns and nods to Tiffany, "Thank you so much, m'lady," and with that, he's gone out the door. Tiffany smiles at the closed door, "He was a charming, if somewhat odd fellow," she observes. "Yes," I lock the door and drink the tea, "Did you let him in?" "Of course," she replies. I nod to myself. Of course. Two vampires in my apartment in one week. And I'm retired! Tiffany kisses me awake in the morning and requests I go shopping for groceries today. When I stumble into the kitchen I discover why. Our fridge would make Old Mother Hubbert feel right at home. But I'm a practical man and breakfast is an important part of the daily routine. I head to Wendy's Waffle & Pancake House down the street. Wendy, or whoever works in the kitchen, does not make fluffy pancakes that melt in your mouth. No, Wendy's is a place where the pancakes can stop bullets. After stuffing myself with fried batter, butter, syrup and salty eggs, I venture to the nearest grocery store. It's Senior's Thurday and the place is packed wall to wall with old people. Old people who have coupons, no where to be and accompanying grandchildren who are high on candy, Ritalin and anarchy. I escape the crowd and quickly head for home, my arms weighed down with fresh produce. When I enter the apartment I can tell right away that something is amiss. I put the grocery bags down on the floor and peer around. Nothing appears to have moved, but there is an odd smell in the air -- something that reeks of smoke. I glance down the hall toward the bedroom -- nothing there -- then tip-toe into the kitchen. Something catches my eye and I turn my head to look into the livingroom. There is someone in my chair. My easychair. No, I think, not another one! I take a step into the livingroom and the floor squeaks. The figure turns its head and catches my eye. "Jimmy! How'ya doing old man?" the figure in my chair greets me. I have mixed feelings as I recognize the face, "Hi, Zak." "Hey, what up?" "You're, ah, here." "Yeah," he grins. "You got in..." Zak holds up a keychain, "Amanda gave me a copy." And that's the last time I get my sister to house sit. "Ah," I acknowledge, "So, what brings you by?" "Dude," Zak stands up, "You didn't get back to me." I don't like being called "dude", "Right, sorry. I-" "So, are you coming to my bachelor party tonight?" "Oh, yeah. Of course. I tried to call yesterday and confirm where it's going to be, but your line was busy." Zak gives me a look of confusion. I'm not sure if he's trying to figure out when his line (with call waiting) would be busy or if I stumped him with "confirm". Either way, he shrugs it off. "It's at Dusty's," Zak gives me a big grin. Dusty's, for you out of towners, is a strip club. "Great." "The boys are headin' down there at ten and then-" he pauses, "We're gonna party it up all night long!" "Well, I guess I can be fashionably late." Zak chuckles and I think he may have caught the joke. "Cool, man. See you to-night," Zak turns to the door. "Hey, Zak?" "Yeah?" "Amanda's mom is staying with you guys this weekend, right?" "Yeah." "Cool, just wanted to make sure. Wouldn't want her out in the street." "No problem, man. You just gotta pick her up at the airport." Which I'd forgotten. "Right, later." "Later," Zak says and lets himself out. Most major cities in North American have areas known as China Town or Little Italy or the Greek Corner. Our city has a similar situation, but we have something many cities do not have: a section of town known for its non-human residents. It's four blocks up from the river on the east end of downtown. In the Special Night department we call it the Shades. It's smaller than the local China Town, but everyone knows where it is. When the section started to develop a decade ago many people were not happy. However, the Mayor and the Special Night department made a strong effort to pacify the nay-sayers. Better to have all of your vampires in one place than scattered all over the city. I've rarely entered the Shades unless I have good reason and I've never before gone there at night. Until now. Now I find myself heading north through the Shades toward the Broken Boot. I travel at a quick walk with my head high. This is not an area where you want to look like prey. I make it a point to arrive at the Boot no sooner than 9pm as I don't want to stand around in the street, nor to I wish to venture inside alone. John is waiting by the entrance as promised -- a good sign. "Right on time," John observes, "come on," he turns toward the entrance. Music blares from the open door. "Just a moment," I interrupt. He turns to face me again, "Yes?" "Before I go in there, I'd like to know something." John folds his arms across his chest, "What's that?" "Why are you helping me?" Vampires see humans as prey and an oppressive majority. Neither lends itself to doing favors. John glances over his shoulder as a patron of the Boot steps onto the street, then returns his gaze to my face. He takes a step closer. "Do remember Rebecca Topper?" he asks so softly I can barely hear him over the music. I don't have to think long to summon the name from memory. The case of Rebecca Topper had looked to be a simple open and shut event. Two police officers had responded to a report near the Shades. They arrived at a small apartment on the fifth floor. Entering the unlocked dwelling had revealed a vampire, Rebecca Topper, kneeling over a body, or, rather, what was left of a body. It had been torn open in a manner which suggested heart surgery in progress. Rebecca had blood on her hands and face. The police had arrested her on the spot and charged her with "Murder with Intent to Feed". I had taken an interest in the case when it first hit the media and I appeared at the trial as an expert witness -- for the defense. I took the stand and started blowing holes in the case. Vampires, I reminded the court do not feed on stale blood unless they're starving. Rebecca did not appear to be starving, but the autopsy revealed the victim to have been dead for about twelve hours before discovery. There was no known motive for straight out murder and the police had failed to obtain a stomach sample from the accused to prove she'd fed on the victim. I told the court that, in my opinion, Rebecca had smelled blood and investigated the source and there was no evidence to counter it. The judge agreed. The case was dismissed and many of my friends in the department had given me the cold shoulder. Protesters had picketed the office for weeks and I had been forced to hide inside until they grew weary. I received a pile of hate mail from family and friends of the victim. But something else had happened. The community of the Shades had given me grudging respect. I was still the enemy, but they acknowledged I was an honest enemy; I was safe to walk through the Shades alone. John clears his throat, bringing me out of my thoughts, "Rebecca has been my partner for twenty years. The last five I owe to you." It's the closest thing I've received to a thank-you for my part in the events of that court case. We enter the Boot and John leads me straight to the bar. The establishment is oddly full for a Thursday night. Not packed, but certainly there are more people here than I would have expected. It's not all vampires and other creatures who go bump in the night. Quite the opposite actually. In each city which allows (or tolerates) their own version of the Shades, an interesting thing happens. Prey -- for that's what vampires call us -- gather to the vampire community. Some are drawn by the risk of death, others for the dark image. Some, I think, are attracted by the sense of protection -- no one will attack a human in the Shades for fear of angering a protective vampire. And tonight the Boot is filled with willing little prey*. "Gerald?" John taps a fellow at the bar on his shoulder, "this is the man who was asking about the symbols." Gerald turns around. He's tall, like John, but has blond hair and more rounded features. He looks me up and down and nods silent acceptance. "You know what the symbols mean?" I ask hopefully. "I understand most of them," is the reply. His voice is deep, thick. "Can you tell me about them?" "In general terms," Gerald replies, "they're instructions or observations on a process." "What sort of process? "The process of turning a human into a sucker," he uses the derogatory slang word for vampire. A few bar patrons cast dark glances our way. I swallow. "Then why write it in those odd letters?" I ask. Gerald's mouth twitches as though he's about to smile, "Think of it as a recipe," he says, "with measurements and timing laid out in a specific format." "A recipe? Then someone is trying to lay out instructions for making s- vampires?" He nods. "I thought that was only possible with blood-to-blood infections?" "Maybe," Gerald answers, "but someone with access to a rune book thinks otherwise." "I see," I sigh, "is there anything else?" "No. Wait," Gerald holds up a hand, "there is one more thing." "What's that?" He's silent. Still. Staring right at me. No, right at... my neck! Blast! My highschool classes on surviving a vampire attack leap into my mind unbidden and are forced out just as quickly. There is nothing in any training manual about getting out of the Boot alive at night. I try to match his intense stare. Suddenly Gerald breaks into laughter. John soon follows and they slap each other on their backs. "Sorry," Gerald apologies, laying his hand on my shoulder in a friendly manner, "I always wanted to do that to one of you Special Night types." I breathe slowly, trying to still my noisy heart. I can smell him now; he smells old. Not old for a human, but for a vampire. "There is one thing, though," Gerald adds, "I want you to ask yourself something." "Sure." "Why would a prey want more predators around?" He's got a point, "I'll think about it," I answer. "Good." I walk from the Boot to Rusty's, on the other end of downtown. It's raining by the time I arrive. Zak and his buddies are already there, doing a fine job of finding the bottoms of their shot glasses. "Jimmy!" Zak calls to me, full of drunken happiness, "come here!" I sit down next to him and the waitress brings me a shot. "First one's on the house," she winks at me. I gather Zak's friends tip well. Heck, who am I kidding? They're probably regulars. For the next two hours I listen to toasts and speechs about how bored Zak is going to be while having sex with my sister, how much more bored he'll be once they stop having sex and how much his friends will miss him. Shortly after midnight, I bid the crowd good-night, buy Zak a shot to calm his insisting that I must stay and make my exit. It's still raining and I make my way home in the cold and wet. It's after 1:00am when I return home. The apartment is quiet, but the bedroom light is on. "Hello?" I call. "Jim?" I follow the light into the bedroom where Tiffany is sitting up in bed. She looks nervous and tired. I can see she's holding something in her hand. "Tiff? Why are you still up?" Lightning flashes outside, casting weird shadows about the room. "Jim," she holds out her arms for a hug. I sit on the edge of the bed and squeeze her. "Jim, it was awful." "What's that?" "I saw the attack downtown this evening." This is news to me, "The attack?" I ask. She's crying now and I find myself patting her hair. Her face on my shoulder. "It was awful," she repeats softly. "Tell me," this is worse than explaining why I smell of sex, cigars and beer. "I was at the mall and... and I heard this scream behind me. I turned around and there was this woman running down the hall, through the mall. She was crying and running and there was this little," she takes a steadying breath, "kid running after her. He was calling, `Mommy, Mommy, come back! I'm hungry!' but she kept going. Right... right into a store and she pushed the glass door shut behind her. The child ran right through it. And he... he kept going like he didn't notice all the glass and he jumped on her. Like, tackled her right there and started biting her legs and- Oh, Jimmy, it was terrible." "He was biting her?" I ask. I feel Tiffany nod against my shoulder, "A security guard and another woman were trying to pull him off. I ran over and tried to help them. We had to literally rip him off her. He was crazed. And... and then he bit me and started screaming and crying-" "He bit you?" I interrupt. I feel her nod again. Another flash of lightning fills the sky. "Let me see." "It's okay," she holds up her left arm, "I already washed it and put a bandage on." "Let me see." Tiffany looks at me puzzled. I sigh, I'm not going to win an argument of words at this hour of the night. I go to the closet and take out of First Aid kit. "Would you take that bandage off, please?" I ask and open the kit. Tiffany puts down the thing in her hand, a cylinder of holy pepper spray, and removes the bandage. The exposed skin reveals twin puncture marks just above the wrist. "You're not thinking he was a vampire, are you?" Tiffany asks, "He was just a little kid." "Well, if he was just a kid, he's missing his top baby teeth and has an over-bite that'll put Bugs Bunny to shame." I take out some chemicals and unscrew the lids, "This'll sting," I warn her. Tiffany nods and closes her eyes as the foul smelling liquid hits her skin. It bubbles for a second and then... nothing. "I don't think you're infected." Tiffany opens her eyes, "In that case, thank you so much for giving me chemical burn." I kiss her cheek, "You're welcome." I'm next to a lake. The air is cool; fall is coming. All around me are wandering ducks. Brown ducks, orange ones, red ones and green ones. I grab a duck and set it down, reach for another duck and place it next to the first one. I grab a third duck and the first two start to walk away. I herd them back together and add the third duck to the line. A fourth duck, this one bright green, brushes past my back. I turn to retrieve him and the original three make a run for it. I sigh and reach my arms out to corral them. "What'cha doin'?" a man asks. I turn to my left. "Hi, Dad, I'm kinda busy right now." "I don't understand, Son." "I'm trying to get all my ducks in a row!" I awake to bright sun light piercing through the bedroom window. I glance at the clock. There isn't much left of Friday morning. Stumbling to the kitchen, I'm happy to see no unexpected guests. There is, however, a note from Tiffany. The note claims she's fine and has gone out to run errands. Breakfast, I'm lead to believe, is in the fridge. Said breakfast turns out to be a healthy mixture of nuts and yogurt. Not the waffles of my daydreams, but at least it's pre-made. As I slurp down the crunchy, creamy mixture, I decide I need to do two things today: take a shower and visit the university again. I spend about thirty minutes on campus asking for Greg Jefferson before I find his room. University people can be very helpful. They tend to be trusting and energetic. Some of them even leave their doors unlocked. Greg does not, but one doesn't work in the Special Night department without picking up a few tricks. Greg's room, which he shares with someone, is messy. It smells of pizza, beer and sour milk. Clothes cover the floor and the beds are not made. I begin my search. In short order I have uncovered several ripped out pages of a phone book, three phone numbers on scraps of paper, a binder on European History, a slice of old pizza, three beer bottles and a pile of dirty underware. A little more searching would likely turn up evidence on who killed Kennedy, Prince Charles' charisma, the diary of Jesus and the perfect cup of tea. But I don't want those. Actually, I'm not sure what I'm looking for. There is a computer on the desk and I turn it on. I reach for the keyboard and realize there is a piece of paper under it. Picking up the paper reveals a rough draft of a map with some odd symbols underneath. This excites me until I realize there is no address and the map could be of any place. There are other pages, ads, sitting around the computer. One is for Big Brothers & Big Sisters, another is for Children's Tours and Education and a third is for a Youth Workshop. There is something very strange about a fellow who spends his time in seedy bars (sorry, Ted), rents prostitutes and volunteers his spare time with kids. I examine the papers again. Each advertisement has the same address along the bottom -- somewhere in the north part of the city. Time for a change of plan. I turn off the computer, take the map and copy the common address. I'm on the bus, heading north, before the thought strikes me, "I'm acting like the investigator I no longer am." I get off the bus a few blocks early and head for a pay phone across the street. My fingers remember the number. "Hello?" "Anne, it's Jim." A brief pause, then, "What can I do for you, Jim?" "I'd like a favour. An unofficial sort of favour." "Such as?" I can hear the wheels turning in her mind. "I think I've figured out some of the symbols I was showing you. And... a few other things. I'm up in the north end and I was hoping you could send someone by. Just to be in the neighbourhood." "It sounds like you're getting yourself into trouble, Jim. You're retired, remember?" I shift uncomfortably while I consider her words. But, I remind myself, this is important. "Where are you?" Anne asks. I give her the address. "Someone will pop by for a visit," she says and the line goes dead. I wait around outside the address on the paper. It's a quiet part of town, just a few small convenience stores and restaurants nearby. My destination is a block made up of two parts. The first is a green playground a bit smaller than a soccor field. A swing, teeter-totters, slide and mini-obstacle course are neatly arranged around the grassy field. Behind the playground is a blocky building of gray bricks. Small, square windows give the structure give the impression it was once a warehouse. A car pulls up behind me and I turn away from the building. The driver waves me over. "Hi, Jim." I don't recognize this fellow, "Um, hello. Mr...?" "Officer," he corrects. "Officer...?" "I'm just taking a drive around the neighbourhood, thought I'd stop and say hi." "Ah." "Anyway, I'll be back this way in about twenty minutes," he reaches down and pulls out a pistol. He hands it to me, "Present from Anne. She asked me to remind you that she did not give that to you." I take it and slip it under my jacket, "Thanks. Didn't give me what?" The officer smiles and drives off. I get the idea I've been given just enough rope to hang myself, or, in this case, the opportunity to shoot myself in the foot. But, to Anne's credit, she did send an officer to the area and supply me with a gun that I assume is loaded with- I check my thoughts and take the gun out to examine it. One of the first things that Special Night training drilled into my head was not to assume anything. The gun, I confirm, is loaded. I open the door to the gray building. It's dim, but temperate inside. There appears to be a second level about twenty feet up and- Something drops to the floor in front of me. My eyes are still adjusting as my hand pulls free the gun from under my jacket. The fallen object is a child, or at least looks like a child. And, except for the red eyes which reflect the low illumination, he looks normal. He stares at me with an intensity that makes my insides go cold. I cock the pistol. As if triggered by the sound, the little vampire is on me in a flash, his weight slamming into me throws us both to the floor. He's on top and I hammer away at the side of his head with the pistol. But vampires, unlike most people, do not give in to pain when they frenzy. His mouth is close to my neck, I can smell his stale breath. I grab his right arm and push, he shifts his weight to snap at my hand and I roll over and on top of him. My left arm locks in under his neck and I put the gun against his head. He doesn't appear to notice it and starts to push himself up into a sitting position. He's strong, much too strong for such a little body. I pull the trigger. The noise is loud and echoes in the building and vampire paste splatters on the floor. Movement catches my eye and I look up. There is a middle aged man, by the look of him, standing at the railing of the level above me. He's clean shaven with short salt and pepper hair. A dark red -- perhaps brown -- robe covers him from head to toe. He looks at me intently for a moment, then speaks. "Come on up, I'll get you some tea." He turns away and I'm left staring dumbly after him. Then I glance down at the body. It probably isn't going to get up again, but I decide to make sure. I open the door and pull the remains out into the sun before heading up the internal stairs. The top half of the building is divided into two parts. The section I stand in with the older man is designed to look, it appears, like a studio apartment. One large room with a table, some chairs, a mini-kitchen and a sofa. The floor is a mettle grate, which means I can see parts of the floor below me. It gives me a slightly off-balance feeling. "Glad to see you arrived early," the man says and pours himself a cup of tea. He holds up a second cup. I shake my head, "I was afraid I'd be running late." "No," he smiles, "you're not late, yet." "Good, so you've been expecting me Mr...?" "Doctor. Dr. Roberts. Of course." Blast! He waves toward the chairs, "Have a seat, please." We sit. It's comfortable enough physically, but too much seems wrong about this place. It smells weird in here. "It's quite the place you have here," I observe. "It's quaint, I know," he replies, "but now that the kinks are mostly worked out, we can look at expanding. The money you've brought should help make a second tank and then we can put out some more S.V.Ps." "The money I-" I stop myself. Too late. He's on his feet in blur which belies his age. Piercing blue eyes stare down at me. "You didn't bring the money?" he demands softly. I shake my head, "I just came by to check on your progress... With the S.V.Ps." He relaxes a bit and swings his right arm in a encompassing gesture, "I'm back on schedule, if that's what you mean. You can put that in your report." He remains standing, but reaches for his tea cup. "You said you wanted to make a second tank?" I prompt. He nods, "Yes." "For what?" He looks at me puzzled, "You have to keep the blood somewhere, don't you?" The little hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, "Yes, I suppose you do." "If you don't keep it fresh, after all, the virus dies," he says as if to remind me. "Of course." "Don't worry," he says soothingly, "by this time next month, the only thing slowing this project will be the rate at which my boys can find children of naive parents." "I see. Do you forsee any problems?" I ask, settling into the interview. "I know we had some early set backs," he admits, becoming introspective, "but I think those are sorted out. The blood remains fresh, the small vampire people wake up in frenzy. Time and," he looks pointedly at me, "money are our only limits right now." "Great," I swallow against a dry throat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I should check on the newest subject. Please tell your boss that the tax payers are certainly getting their money's worth," he chuckles. "The tax-" I whisper. Roberts looks down at me, frowning. His eyes lock onto mine and it feels like time has stopped. "You are not from the government," he obverses with a firm steel in his voice. "Not quite," I try to smile, "I'm with law enforcement." He glares at me, "No, you're not." Think fast, I order my brain. I stand up, "Sir, you're under arrest for-" "I'm hungry," the statement is made quietly, but the voice cuts through every other sound in the room. We both turn to see the source, a small child who has just stepped around the level's partition. A tube, like an IV, trails from his arm. I stand, eyes fixed on the new-comer. He steps closer. "Hungry," he repeats. "I have some candy here," I reach into my pocket, "try to catch it," I bring my hand out. He opens his mouth wide, showing twin fangs. I immediately draw my gun and fire two rapid shots into the vampire's head. He crumples to the floor as the echos re-vibrate through the building. Beside me, Roberts is livid, clenching his fists and nearly hoping in place. "Will you stop doing that!" he shouts. I shift direction to aim my pistol at his head, "You're under arrest," I repeat my earlier claim. His eyes go wide and then a smile creeps onto his face. "You don't have the authority," he accuses. "No, but I do," a voice floats up from the floor below us. We look down to see the officer who gave me the gun. He's on the stairs already, climbing. "Well, this is going to be a set back," Roberts mutters. "Why," I ask, "Why would the government fund creating," I wave my hand at the corpse, "little vampires?" In my head, Gerald's words repeat, "Why would a prey want more predators around?" He glares back at me, "Sod off. Figure it out for youself." In the animal kingdom if there are more predators around then it stands to reason that the herd would thin. The ones remaining would be stronger, faster, maybe smarter. Was the government trying to make us evolve or adapt? But things about the experiment felt out of place with such an outcome. Why use children? Why use this rune reading man and some university students? The officer has reached where we are standing. He glances at the gun in my hand. "I'll take it from here," he suggests firmly. I put the gun away and he takes out a set of handcuffs. "Where I am struck down," Roberts declares, "more will be funded in my place." Certainly a battle cry for modern times. "But," Roberts continues to the officer, "at least you'll have job security." The officer looks puzzled, "Save it for the trial," he advises. And just like that, it hits me. Children disappearing, followed by a rise in vampire population would mean a lot of things. People would stay inside even more after dark. The Shades would grow. There wouldn't be enough little prey* and homeless to fill the void and violent crime would rise. And more vampires would be created. People would demand stricter laws, more police. More police would patrol while most people stayed inside, fearful. Solutions would be over-funded and under-effective. We would be facing a population that would willing stay inside most of the time and look to laws and law enforcement for help. "Population control," I say out loud. Dr. Roberts looks over his shoulder at me as he's lead away and smiles. I just stand there for several minutes, wrestling with the implications of what this might mean. Then I pick up a chair and walk into the other half of the level. There is a bed, a large fish tank of blood being stirred, with air bubbles breaking to the surface. Various tubes, needles and bottles clutter three tables. I lift the chair and bring it crashing down amongst the bottles, glass goes flying. Smash! A collection of tubes clatter to the floor. Smash! The tank breaks and blood spills onto the floor and through the grate to the level below. I drop the chair and stalk from the building. It's late afternoon when I return home, possibility the earliest I've made it to my apartment all week. Tiffany is in the kitchen humming and poking at something in a pot. "Hi, Jim," she smiles at me. I'm in a weird mental place and I smile back. "Jim?" I hear another voice call from down the hall. "Yes?" "Jim!" my mother comes around the corner, "There you are. I was starting to think you were going to stay out all night." Mom! I'd completely forgotten she was flying in today. "So, you've met Tiffany," I observe nervously. Mom hugs me, "I certainly have. She picked me up at the airport and took me for a little tour around town. Why didn't you tell me about this girl, Jim? You should have told me how sweet she is." "Yes, I should have," I admit. "Makes me think there might be another wedding coming up," Mom pokes my ribs. I glance at Tiffany and she covers a smile and looks away. The wedding is tomorrow! "Jim," Tiffany speaks up from the kitchen, "Your suit is back from the dry cleaners. I left your sister's present in the left pocket so you wouldn't forget it." Tiffany is too nice to point out that I owe her thrice, and then some, for picking up my mother, buying a wedding gift and picking up my suit. "You know, Mom, you may be right," I agree. [*] The term "little prey" is a pet name, given by vampires to humans who willingly give themselves -- or, more specifically, their blood -- as food. The origin of the term may be similar to calling a loved one "little one" or "baby". Alternatively it may be a play on the idea of throwing back small fish (in order to catch them again) rather than killing them. Author's note: The word "buffalo" has, to my knowledge, three possible definitions. Buffalo can refer to a type of North American animal similar to a large cow. It is also the name of a city in the United States. The third definition is "to intimidate or overawe". (This makes the sentence, "Buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo" an oddly gammarically correct sentence. It means "Bison from the city of Buffalo intimidate other bison from the city of Buffalo.") The first usage of Buffalo is common in western North American areas when naming places. One might find local businesses named "Buffalo Inn", or "Buffalo Motors". The name for this short piece is a play on words using this naming convention (Buffalo Vampires are vampires in western North America) and it also describes what the main character previously did for work -- intimidating vampires in a law enforcement context.