Spring-Heel - Chapter 1, Part Two

It wasn't strictly a robbery, Scott decided.

They weren't stealing anything, really; Jack just had to eat. It was hardly a justifiable reason to break into a museum, but Scott had decided long ago that his brother was a special case.

These thoughts silently crept through his mind as he slunk through the door of the security office. The security guard was silhouetted by the haunting light of the screens around him, broadcasting every inch of the museum. That was a problem, and Scott was the solution.

The solution just so happened to involve a brick that night, and soon the security guard was passed out on the floor. "Takes care of the eye in the sky," Scott muttered. Any other night patrolmen, Jack could easily avoid.

Taking out his walkie talkie, he held the button and whispered into the mouthpiece. "We're good to go, Jack." He thought he could hear a giddy yip from his older brother on the other end.

Taking a length of rope from his pack, Scott set to work binding the guard. Tying off the last knot, he glanced at the security cameras briefly, which were now showing a black-clad figure skulking through the halls. 

He made no move to turn them off, knowing that the footage would quickly be seized as evidence. And Jack would become a wanted criminal. In other words, famous.

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Jack swept through the hall like a whisper of dust, just beneath the eyes of the watchful patrolmen. Swooping behind a corner, he pulled his cape tighter around him. A dizzying excitement pervaded the fear, and he was tempted to let them notice him, just to make it more interesting.

But no, you have to focus on the mission. Jack could almost hear Scott lecturing him, even though the hallway was dead silent. A ray of light descended to his left, and he quickly rolled to escape detection.

Right. Focus. Jack flew down the hall, his feet not making a sound. Dodging the sweeping beams of  the guards' flashlights, he made his way to the target.

The Egyptian exhibit. The world of amazing architecture and atrocious art loomed over him, whispering threats of curses in his ear. The thought of it only widened his grin further.

Stealing into the exhibit, he began to tiptoe through the halls, occasionally taking time to admire paintings. Apparently, the Egyptians were fond of dung beetles.

Smothering a snicker, Jack ghosted his way to his meal of the night, reaching his target. He licked his lips as he grinned up at his golden supper. "Tonight, I feast on a pharaoh's blood."

The sarcophagus loomed over him, carved eyes staring blankly forward. Ornate azure hieroglyphs tattooed the sides, spiraling around the gold coffin as if to seal it shut. It was a masterwork - the mark of a worthy meal. 

Jack rubbed his hands together, and pried the lid open, ripping at the sarcophagus. The tomb groaned in protest as it pulled ajar, the giant slab rumbling off. When he was done, he stepped back, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and opened his mouth.

He could feel the fangs growing, protruding from his gums, ripping out from beneath his flesh. He leaned forward, his lips seeking the sustenance of the victim before him.

The pharaoh wasn't much to look at: just skin and bones bundled up in linen. Completely dry from blood. Admittedly, Jack didn't even know his name.

But many other people did; that was the point. They believed in him, and his spirit lived on, and that would be what Jack would draw from him tonight. In an Egyptian king, there had to be enough "aether," as Father had called it, to last him a month. A year, perhaps, if Jack were willing to drain him completely.

Suppose I'm just sentimental, Jack mused as his fangs sunk into the mummy's neck. Instantly, he felt a burgeoning pull from his lips, as his teeth began to extract the king's essence. The feeling gripped him, enveloped him, as he drank the pharaoh's life force away. It blustered in his chest, like a storm of rose petals twisting his soul.

He staggered, his eyes widening with pleasure. The jolts of energy came like roaring waves, each soaking over him, overwhelming his soul. The sheer rapture lit a bestial desire within him, and that was more: more blood, more aether, more pleasure, because he was hungry. He stepped into the coffin, forcefully gripping at the mummy's body. He was going to drain this pharaoh dry.

His mind was crushed beneath pure gluttony, his lips were wet with the succulent taste of aether, and he wanted more. The life force that bound all creatures; their aether, their "spirit"...it was absolutely delicious. Aether, his father had said. You'll find nothing in this world more satisfying...or more dangerous

Shock hitting home, Jack jerked his head back, severing the link completely. The corpse slumped back into the sarcophagus, to spend the rest of its days a legend. His father's words echoed in his ears. "Nothing more satisfying...nothing more dangerous."

Panting, he wiped the saliva from his lips, bracing himself against the side of the coffin. His stomach clenched at the thought of his father, but...he was right. Aether was dangerous, and not in the way guns or knives were. This danger came from within. It was deadly, because he loved it.

Even now, he gazed lustfully at the mummy, eyes transfixed on the shoulder where he had first bitten in. Quickly shaking his head, he decided against it. He'd already taken too much.

Grabbing the lid, he hastily hauled the sarcophagus shut. Resting against the side, he apologized weakly to the pharaoh. "Thanks for the meal," he added offhandedly.

Leaning against the wall, he collapsed to the floor, sighing, his good cheer escaping with his breath. A voice fizzed over the radio in his pocket. "Jack, you okay there?" Scott crackled.

Smiling weakly, Jack raised the walkie-talkie to his ear. "Yeah. Just...got a bad aftertaste."

"Ew. Remind me never to eat Egyptian food." Scott chuckled lightly at his own joke, but Jack could offer nothing.

"Hey, Scott," he said, "Let's just skip the grand escape tonight, alright? I'm...not in the mood."

"Jack?" Even over the radio, Scott could sense his voice riddled with depression. He was silent before he spoke again. "Is it Dad?"

"Yeah," Jack confided, blowing air out from his cheeks. "I keep hearing that bastard's voice in my head, instructing me, teaching me...being useful." His teeth clenched, grinding against each other.

"There's nothing wrong with-"

"Screw this," Jack interrupted, releasing hot breath from his lungs. "Screw this mission, screw this power, screw Dad, screw everything."

"Jack," Scott said cautiously. "That's the aether talking. You've taken too much. You're unstable-"

"What're you talking about?" Jack laughed bitterly. "Of course I've taken too much. I never wanted this power in the first place!"

"Jack," Scott repeated, keeping his voice even. "Just calm down."

"You don't get to tell me to calm down, Scott," Jack hissed into the mouthpiece. "I'm not a lucky little bastard like you, getting to live a normal life-"

"Shut up." Scott's voice was an arctic frost. "Shut the bloody hell up right now."

Jack was shocked into silence, staring at the walkie talkie in his hand.

Scott continued, his voice growing in intensity. "Just shut your damned mouth for once and actually think about other people! You are a damned vampire, you have superpowers, and suddenly you're complaining? You don't get to complain, Jack," he seethed. "That honor is reserved for disgraces like me."

"I eat people!" Jack roared. "I eat people, Scott, you hear me? I suck the aether from their bodies just to survive. Forget disgrace, Scott," he said, his eyes trained on the camera focusing on him. "This entire family should burn."

"You selfish brat."

Jack gave a humorless chuckle. "Better a brat than a murderer, right? Or do you just want to forget about dear old Dad!" he screamed.

Scott kept his voice flat, but there was a forceful edge to it, cutting deep. "I know, Jack. Everything you're telling me, I know. Now, are you going to stand up and be a superhero, or is the world going to see a tape of you sobbing in a corner?"

"You deserve death," Jack hissed into the radio.

"I'll say the same."

An icy silence extended between them, slowly forcing a dagger into Jack's chest.

"Wait." Jack dried his eyes as Scott scrabbled at the desk. "Jack!" he exclaimed. "Guards converging on your-"

Blam! A bullet buried itself in the floor beside Jack's foot. "Don't move!" The burning flashlights illuminated the hall, blinding in their intensity.

"Now, put your hands in the air. You're surrounded." The voices were angry, frightened, and ready to shoot. Strangely, Jack could relate.

Shading his eyes with his hand, he rose from his hiding place, into the spotlight of the guards' flashlights.

"Show me your face," the night guard growled. Jack sighed. He hadn't intended to do this part, but there was no option now.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, gentlemen." Keeping his movements lithe, he stood defiantly before the night watch. Even now, his fingers flexed and curled, his heart pounding in anticipation.

"I said show me!" the guard thundered, stamping forward. Jack could see his hands reaching out...

Poof. Jack vanished into a cloud of thick smog. The guard's hands closed around smoky air. Jack slipped quickly from the nightguard's clutches, and appeared again, this time behind his opponent. He grinned, allowing his wicked teeth to shine in the blinding light.

The patrolmen's flashlights dropped in shock, the beams slashing along the floor. Slowly, terribly, Jack removed the hand from his face...and let them gaze into his glowing, blood-red eyes.

Screams pierced the night as Jack doubled up, laughing, pretending to revel in their fear. "And for my next trick..."

Jack breathed out forcefully, expelling a cloud of raging fire into the air. As the terrified guards cowered before the inferno blossoming into plumes of crimson, Jack fled down the hall, a silhouette in the darkness.

As he ran, he felt his stomach rumble once again. He thought briefly of punching it, but wisely decided against that plan. "Damn it," he muttered as a drop of water rolled from his eye.

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Scott watched the shadowy figure disappear into the night, then leaned back, deflating into the chair. He'd already fixed the footage, so the media could come to collect it in the morning. And see Jack.

His gut clenched at the thought of his older brother. "Spoiled brat," he mumbled, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

Rubbing the moisture away, he tapped his fingers on the chair arm. Why had he gotten so angry? Jack was just under too much aether, but he...

His fingernails dug into the tough leather. Of course he had a reason. Jack was about to let their family slip into oblivion. He was about to throw away everything they'd worked for. 

Scott nodded. He wouldn't have let their legacies slip away. He'd fight as hard as it took to cut their way into the annals of history. If it were him, he would have been perfect.

But it wasn't.

Not really wanting to do anything at the moment, Scott slowly spun around in the computer chair. As he turned, he saw the monitors rotating around him, each showing the vampire that was to become infamous in the London streets.

He gritted his teeth, spinning faster. Everywhere he looked, it was always going to be Jack. The monitors blurred into murky ripples as he whirled, propelling himself with his feet. Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack. A shadowy figure standing before him, with its arm raised and a club in its hand.

Then night.