My entry for Amon360's vampire contest. Rated R for violence.
All critiques are welcome, especially since the deadline is coming up.
The Big Leagues
Benjy Young winced as Zane’s heavy hand landed on his back, shoving him forward with too much enthusiasm. Zane unleashed a boisterous laugh and clapped Benjy on the back again.
He ducked out of the way of Zane’s next “friendly pat”, but it didn’t matter since Zane had begun talking. “Great job, kiddo. Never could have imagined it…premium slayer after only a year…”
“It’s not that great,” mumbled Benjy, his face reddening. “I mean, you were younger than me when you got your premium license, weren’t you?”
“So? That’s just ‘cause I started slaying early,” said Zane. “Still took me five years to get premium status. C’mon, kid, you’ve got every reason to be proud of yourself.”
Benjy supposed he did, but couldn’t summon up any sense of accomplishment through the disbelief still clouding his emotions, making him wonder if this wasn’t all a dream. Any smugness was overwhelmed by the childish excitement rising in his stomach like a freed bird as he followed Zane down the halls of the Vampire Slayer HQ building. He’d been to the building many times before when he’d been a student slayer under Zane, but never had he gone to its highest floors—home of the premium slayers. These halls were wide and paneled in oak, with walls bearing framed photographs of famed slayers from decades past. And they were relatively empty, too; the only people Benjy had seen so far were a couple of secretaries. Quite unlike the hustle and bustle of the first few floors where regular slayers registered their kills.
Benjy still couldn’t believe he was here—here in the premium halls only a year after obtaining his license. Only nineteen years old, and already in the same league as the established great slayers like the Florez family, Venna Norix, and his own mentor, Zane Canelli.
“I only got as far as I did ‘cause I had great teachers,” said Benjy, grinning at Zane. In the three years since he’d parted from Zane, he’d grown six inches, and now towered over the stout, dark-haired man. It discomfited Benjy a bit since his image of the older slayer was that of an imposing teacher.
Zane laughed. “That you have.”
“So…um…where are we going anyway?” said Benjy. In his call to Benjy that morning, Zane had only told him to come to the slayer HQ, but not why.
“To meet some friends of mine,” said Zane with a wink. “And also—we’ve got a real treat for you. Just yesterday, we captured a pureblood…”
“A pureblood?” Benjy’s pulse quickened. Most vampires—the kind that he hunted on a nightly basis—were made vampires: monstrous, bloodthirsty brutes who had formerly been human and now had degenerated so far the only merciful way to deal with them was kill them. He knew, though, that made vampires all served the bidding of their pureblood lords—mysterious vampires who could match humans in cunning and were rumored to possess supernatural powers. Only premium slayers and above were allowed to hunt purebloods.
“Yep—pretty low ranking, but still,” said Zane. “Al Florez caught him trying to sneak into his house last night. The vamp put up one hell of a fight, but Al managed to subdue him in the end.”
“Err…is it going to be safe?” Benjy automatically reached inside his suit jacket, feeling for his silver-plated gun. Zane laughed and clapped him painfully on the shoulder.
“No need to worry, Benjy. We’ve got him perfectly secured, and anyway, there’ll be twenty highly trained premiums in the room. You won’t be in any danger.”
Benjy flushed. Of course…he should just let himself enjoy the moment, enjoy his success…
Zane stopped in front of a pair of highly-polished wooden doors. He flashed Benjy a rough grin before pushing them open.
Benjy stumbled after Zane into a cacophony of sound and sensation. For a wild moment he lost Zane in a crush of people, and he was thrown back to the morning jams in the subways—except the people around him weren’t the dull-eyed, shoving city residents he rode beside, but men and women in elegant suits, sipping glasses of champagne.
A hand closed around his forearm with familiar strength—Zane. “Hey everyone!” called the slayer, his voice rising above the general buzz of conversation. “Everyone—look who’s here!”
Benjy flushed deep and scarlet as twenty pairs of eyes landed on him. He wanted to shrink back, but Zane was pressing his other hand into Benjy’s back, pushing him forward. He felt like a prisoner in front of a firing squad.
“This is the guy I was telling you about,” said Zane, sounding supremely self-satisfied. “Benjy Young, one of my students.”
“Er, hi, everyone,” Benjy croaked through a constricted throat, even offering a half-hearted wave. Laughter rippled through the crowd.
“Hey, big guy,” said one man energetically in response—a tall, tousle-headed Hispanic man whose temple was prominently bandaged. “You don’t look anything like Zane…’
“Of course he wouldn’t,” said an elegant, auburn-haired woman, folding her arms in disapproval. “They aren’t related.”
Benjy goggled at them both: if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d just been addressed by Alvaro Florez, scion of one of the greatest slayer families, and Venna Norix, host of a popular talk show as well as an accomplished slayer.
Little flurries of conversation had begun breaking out around the room, and people were crowding close to him and Zane, showering him with questions like hailstones. Benjy felt like he was drowning under the acclaim.
“How’s it feel, buddy, you’re a premium now—”
“After only one year, gotta be a genius—”
“Has a tall, good-lookin’ guy like you got a girlfriend yet?”
“Told you,” whispered Zane into Benjy’s ear. “You’re something special, all right.”
Benjy didn’t know what to say to this; he just let the crowd carry him away with them, cram champagne glasses in his hand, thump him on the back and shoulder and assault him with questions. After a while, he found it easy to let his nerves dwindle and join in, glowing with their praise. Before, the only one who’d ever bothered praising him was Zane, but now…now he was real slayer, a premium slayer, equal to everyone here…
And quite suddenly he found himself in front of a cage.
It was box-shaped, suspended from the ground by groaning silver chains. The cage’s thick bars were made of gleaming silver as well, and it was large enough to fit a standing man Zane’s height. And crouched in the corner…was a young man.
No…not a young man. A boy, a boy who couldn’t be older than seventeen. He was slimly built and pale, glaring at the assembled slayers through a curtain of tangled whitish hair. His eyes were sharp and cold as glacier ice. To Benjy’s shock, he was completely naked, revealing the myriad injuries on his body: livid bruises, multiple oozing cuts, and most noticeable and horrifying, burns everywhere—some sickly-red and fresh, others already blistered over, all standing out ugly as graffiti against his pale skin. Around his wrists and ankles were silver chains, which left the skin beneath them red and peeling as if they were burning hot.
The boy was, Benjy realized with a sick flash, a vampire.
A pureblood vampire—he had to be. He didn’t look a thing like the pasty-faced, blood-spattered monsters Benjy knew was vampires. The only vampiric aspects to him were his deathly pallor, the claws tipping his long fingers, and the slit pupils of his eyes. When he saw Benjy, his mouth curled into a snarl, exposing needle-like fangs.
Benjy stood still, heart frozen. He hadn’t—hadn’t been expecting this. Such a beautiful young boy. He’d always known that purebloods were more human in appearance than made vampires, but supposed that meant cackling madmen in long cloaks. This boy…Benjy could have passed him every day on the street.
“Like him?” said Al, bobbing by Benjy’s shoulder. “Little bastard gave me—this.” He pointed to the bandage on his temple.
Benjy couldn’t choke anything out of his constricted throat, but was saved from replying when the boy—vampire—spoke.
“What is it this time? Why are you all staring at me now?”
He…he talks, thought Benjy, his knees trembling. He’d never known a vampire to make a noise more intelligible than a roar or grunt before, yet here was this vampire, speaking in a calm but icy tone. Sounding almost…normal.
“Aww, shut up, vamp,” said Zane languidly, reaching for a silver-tipped stake leaning against the cage. “You’ve gotten a bit…uppity, haven’t you?”
The vampire snarled, an uncomfortably familiar sound to Benjy—but why should it be uncomfortable when it was the sound all vampires made, who cared how human this one looked and acted?
Zane responded swiftly—he reached out with the stake and rammed it hard into the vampire’s thin shoulder. The vampire hissed as his skin bubbled and reddened beneath the silver.
A collective cheer rose in the crowd. Benjy felt like his knees had turned to water; he swayed, bile rising in his throat.
The vampire snarled again when Zane pulled the stake away, smirking. He tried rising, but the chains clanked around him and dragged him back. Someone laughed, incensing the vampire further.
“You—you pathetic humans, you animals, you meat, I will show you just how idiotic this venture is—aagh!”
Venna Norix had tossed the contents of her glass at him, revealing that it was not champagne but holy water. The vampire doubled over, hissing, dark scabby burns spreading across his back. More cheers and laughter erupted around.
“This is the best,” said Zane, manic and wild-eyed in joy. “The absolute best. When they think they can fight back but really can’t.”
Benjy watched with his insides seizing as the slayers continued tormenting the vampire, some dousing him in holy water, others prodding him with silver-tipped stakes, and still others hurling various silver trinkets at him. He roared and struggled in his bindings like a wounded animal, sputtering curses and gasped protests all the while.
Benjy watched Zane, the man who had mentored him through his childhood, descend into a maniacally-grinning monster eagerly twirling his stake; watched Al Florez become a giggling loon; watched Venna Norix, her face a mask of savage delight, hurl fistfuls of silver coins at the vampire that raised peppery red burns on his pale skin. Watched slayers he’d long admired, the cream of the crop, torment the vampire like children bullying an injured bird.
The vampire had ceased his snarled threats, instead curling to a tiny protective ball in the corner of the cage, covering his face in a vain effort to escape. His voice had become ragged, his words desperate pleas. “Please…stop…I’m begging you…stop…”
“That’s right!” roared Zane, cracking the stake so hard over the vampire’s head that it snapped in two. “Beg and whine all you want, little monster—”
“Hey!” A hand squeezed Benjy’s elbow with surprising force; he looked and saw a foot beneath him, Al Florez’s grinning face. “Benjy, my man—today’s your day, wouldn’t want you to miss out on the fun!”
Al’s words swam senselessly through the numb jelly of Benjy’s mind, not meaning anything until someone shoved a stake into his hand. Benjy stared at it, trying to fight the urge to vomit.
Then he was shoved directly in front of the cage, clutching a silver-tipped stake in trembling hands. The vampire cowered in the corner of the cage, face behind his arms. Behind him, all the slayers fell silent, their expectant eyes burning holes into Benjy’s back.
“Go for it, Benjy,” said Zane with a delirious laugh. “Teach the vamp who’s boss.”
The vampire lifted his head a fraction, cracking his eyes open—and Benjy’s heart stopped. He stared into the vampire’s eyes, wide and glimmering with tears, tears that dusted white eyelashes like dewdrops and ran in glistening trails down his face.
Benjy’s stomach curled in on itself and tried to force its way out of his throat. He almost stepped back, but the combined expectations of twenty slayers kept him glued in place. His hands shook crazily.
This is insane, he thought. Absolutely insane. I can’t—I can’t hurt him, he didn’t do anything to me…how can I, how can I…
But he didn’t want to let down Zane. Not after the man had taken him in and mentored him for ten years…and he didn’t want the premium slayers, his new comrades, to think less of him…
His hands were slick with sweat, his limbs cold but that tight spot in his chest burning like a small sun. He stared at the miserable vampire, felt the gazes of the other slayers.
“Well?” said Venna cuttingly. “We haven’t got all morning.”
“C’mon, Benjy,” said Al a little more encouragingly. “Whatcha waiting for?”
The vampire stared at him, wide-eyed and silent, tears still dripping down his burned face.
Clatter.
Benjy was aware of a lessening of weight in his hands, of a collective gasp rising behind him. He didn’t realize what had happened, though, until he looked down and saw the stake lying on the carpet like a felled tree. He bent, his knees creaking in protest, to pick it up again…
But was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Benjy whirled around—Zane was smiling at him.
“It’s all right, Benjy,” he said, squeezing. “Hell, I understand—lots of people freeze up at first. You’ll get used to it soon.”
You’ll get used to it. The words echoed dully in Benjy’s ears, making him feel sick. What if—what if he didn’t want to?
Zane began leading him away from the cage, through a crowd that parted like the Red Sea around them. Benjy was always aware of the vampire’s wide-eyed, astonished gaze on him, though. Blood thundered in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. The slayers dispersed and began chattering again, almost as if nothing had happened.
Someone slipped a glass of champagne into his hand; he tightened his grip around its stem, shaking, but sloshed half its contents out anyway when Zane thumped him on his already-aching back. “Don’t be so down, Benjy. C’mon, you’re part of the big leagues now!”
Right, thought Benjy, throwing one last glance at cage, at the vampire trembling behind its bars. The big leagues. Wonderful.
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Right...my biggest concern is that the story doesn't focus enough on vampires (it's more about slayers than vampires...), but it's already the third story I've written for this contest, so...*shrug*. We'll see.
Fire away with those critiques. ^^
