The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Potatoes is one of the most significant words in the English language. It’s up there with llama and My God, what have you done to my begonias? There is so much emotion you can put into the word potatoes. Go ahead, try it. Scream “Potatoes!” with a bit of a sob, or some serious fury. You’ll feel so much better. Now you can do the same with llama and My God, what have you done to my begonias? too. Potatoes is clearly a much more heart wrenching term. It’s also a very effective threat. For instance, I told my brother the other day to leave me alone and let me finish my homework, or I’d potatoes his favorite teddy bear. He laughed me in the face, but I could tell he was really scared, you know, deep down.

Secondly, potatoes have eyes. Seriously! What other food is cool enough to have eyes? Like, can you see your steak smiling up at you? Didn’t think so. But potatoes, God, they’re just so sexy. Every time I see one, I just want to cuddle with it.

Keely



“I’m sorry about this, Kee. I really am,” he told me. Guessing at his identity was driving me crazy. I could tell the voice was mechanically altered somehow. Would he please just take off the mask?

As if he’d heard my thoughts, he pulled the ski mask off his head. I instantly regretted my wish. Oh. My. God. Staring at me with an unwavering glare was Ryan Miller. He pulled out a knife and unbound me, muttering something about sparing me the indignity of being killed while tied up. I was starved and half-dead from exhaustion and thirst, and I lacked the strength to get to my feet. I shot him my best death glare, but the tears neutralized it completely. There was just no way….

In one quick movement he’d grabbed my arms and pinned me to the ground. I jerked to the side as hard as I could, whimpering into the filthy cloth in my mouth. I snapped out my leg as hard as I could, nailing him where it hurts. Turning around, I dragged myself toward the wall and leaned against it. Looking down, I could see my leg was bleeding. Jesus. He’d actually cut me with that damn blade. Determination flashed across his eyes as he lunged for me again, this time drawing a gun. Adrenaline surged through my veins and I finally pulled myself to my feet and tried to run, stumbling every few seconds. I turned and he pulled the trigger. A flash, a split second, and it hit me. I couldn’t breathe as I collapsed to the ground. I still had a chance. It was only my side, just my side. Not a kill shot. But I couldn’t run anymore. Couldn’t even fight. Pain flooded through me. Too much to handle. Ryan walked up in a manner that suggested he was taking an evening stroll. A rush of pain, emotional pain, crossed through my chest. He leaned over me and aimed the gun at my head. Right between the eyes. I didn’t even have it in me to say anything. I just looked up at him, blue eyes desperate and pleading. They said it all. I would do anything in the world for him to just walk away and save me. I struggled to ignore the tears that I couldn’t hold back. He bit his lip and I realized he, at least in part, didn’t want to do this.

Ryan swallowed and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. I found myself longing for him to stop torturing me with suspense and just get it over with. There’s no feeling in the world like coming to the realization that in a few seconds, you will cease to exist. I shut my eyes and tried playing back the happiest scenes of my life, and all I saw was Ryan. Me and Ryan. That kiss we snuck in the stench of the dumpsters behind the Pizza Hut. Laughing while running around in bathing suits in the rain, right there in public. Him trying to teach me to paddle a canoe and me steering us straight into a patch of stinging nettle.

Ryan opened his eyes and readjusted his aim. I watched him mouth the words “I’m sorry” as he fired the gun. One shot, and then nothing. It was over.









Ryan



As much as I despise admitting this, it hurt me to kill her. I know it was necessary. But before the End of Lies clan had found me and lit my path, I had been so in love with this girl. They kept telling me it was wrong; my soul mate was here in the clan. And I trusted them. I knew my feelings for Keely were wrong. So I put them aside and did what I had to.

It would seem that my dreams do tell an occasional lie after all. Or maybe I have the power to alter the path of time after all. No, she was not who I thought she was. She was always much more than that, much better than that. But there’s only one way to change the future, and I knew: by killing her, we had a chance. I took a breath, shut down the computer and turned around to face a new day, a new life, without Keely Grace Branch.

The winter winds send daggers of ice into each of my pores. Pulling my coat close to my suffering flesh, I darted in the dim doorway of the Mail House. I twisted the two locks on my box and the door clicked open, revealing a small package. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, I began to tear at the paper, but was distracted by the chime of the Mail House door. I tucked the box into my inner coat pocket and ducked out before my face was seen.

Outside, snow had begun to fall. I crossed the few blocks to the shack my family was permitted for being citizens of the Sixteen Quarters, quarters in this case meaning a place to live, sixteen referring to the number of blocks across and the same number down. A smooth, 200-foot tall, 20-foot thick wall of steel surrounded Sixteen Quarters, the single entrance highly guarded and only accessible to a select few with the right paperwork.

The moment I entered our tiny cabin, I climbed the ladder to the loft that served as my room and pulled the sheets off my mattress. I tucked the box into the hole I’d cut in my mattress and filled in the extra space with cotton balls before redoing the bed-sheets. I examined it, decided it wouldn’t be noticed, and took the box out again to open it. In the padding lay a small silver vial-pendant on a chain. I pulled it out and hung it around my neck as I read the words on the note that had been underneath it.

Dearest Sara, it began.

You have not met me yet, though they claim it shan’t be long. The vial is full, so drink it as soon as you find the courage. You shall not be harmed by its contents, I assure you, but rather greatly benefited. The walls of Sixteen Quarters shall no longer confine you like a caged bird. And wings of a bird you shall have, dear Sara, my sole apprentice. Change soon will come to Sixteen Quarters, and at the heart of it all will be you, and you they shall blame. Many of your most beloved shall turn on you, but not I, Sara, and not the one other who would give his life for you. The Chancellor has asked me not to name names, and so I shan’t, but when you meet the one ready to die for you, you will know.

Anyway, I shan’t ramble any longer. If you decide you are ready to accept your fate and become my apprentice, drink away. If not… well, let me say this world is depending on you and the twelve others right now. We need every single one of you.

With all care and hope,

Artemis.



Artemis. Of course. I would get a creepy letter and a poison vial from someone named Artemis. Just my luck. I glanced down at the vial and unscrewed the lid. A yellowy liquid lurked inside, seeming as if it intended to take form and strangle me. I swallowed back my fear and poured it into my mouth, desperately curious. The stuff burned slightly, like spicy cuisine, but also tasted sweet and made me crave more. I blink my eyes, feeling the first effects of adrenaline mixed with whatever I had just tasted. I became aware of my breathing slowing down quite a bit as well as my heart rate. Sounds heightened to the point where anything sounded loud and echo-y. All my other senses slowly dulled, and finally sound followed. My vision lingered ever so slightly until the very end, when I became encased by blackness. I was not unconscious. I could not move or hear or see or smell or taste, nor was I breathing. I did not sense that my heart was beating either. But my mind was awake and wondering, panicking. Could I be dead? No, surely not. Of that I was certain. As these thoughts came to me, my senses oh-so-slowly began to return. Finally they were back to normal and I sat up. They did not stop heightening. The world became flawlessly etched and colored to my eyes, the darkest corners clear as day. I heard the neighbor whispering softly to her whimpering dog, smelled the cheese from the stand down the street. And then a totally new sensation swept through my body. I felt empowered. Suddenly very much as if I could do absolutely anything. On a whim, I slipped outside and pulled a berry from the bush outside. One of these could kill ten men, I knew. And yet it would not kill me. I popped it into my mouth and swallowed, immediately feeling my insides clench tight with agony. Unfortunately, this too, seemed as if its perceptiveness had risen. But even as I suffered, I could feel the pain diminishing, my body well ready to fight it off. I shook my head in awe.

Hot sun beat down on the dirt road. One had to squint to see against the brightness. On one side, a small patch of grass and then a tall wooden fence. On the other, a chain-link fence and beyond, a concrete complex, lacking both personnel and security cameras. Car tires over the gravelly dirt broke the silence, followed by the opening and slamming of doors. The man exiting the driver’s seat was about 6’ 2’’ and muscular, dark brown hair and tan skin suggesting a middle-eastern background. His dark eyes darted boldly up and down the road. The passenger’s side door swung open to reveal a man of slight stature and skinny bones. His bony face and pale skin contrasted with his well-built frame .

“Sure this’s where we’re supposed to be, Andrew?” the pale one demanded anxiously.

“Well this is where they said they would be, ain’t it, Mike?” Andrew replied, his tone snarky. Mike nodded, still obviously apprehensive. Andrew backhanded him to the neck. Mike straightened and feigned confidence.

The crackle of a second car pulling up the road drove Mike back to his fearful state. Andrew whispered a threat into his ear and Mike shifted uncomfortably. Two men climbed out of the second car and pulled a limp body from the backseat and held her up by her elbows.

“Would’ve put her in the trunk, but she would’ve suffocated. Tranq’d her, should be wakin’ up ‘bout now,” one of the newcomers announced. She looked to be in her early 20’s, dark hair and eyes and skin the shade of Andrew’s. Her wrists were bound with plastic cuffs, tight enough that they’d caused a little blood. Only seconds later, her eyes opened. Andrew nodded.

“Go ahead, scream,” he said, struggling to fight the sadistic urge to grin. She remained silent, fully aware it would do her no good to scream. “I said scream,” he repeated, raising a gun to her with steady aim. She spat at him. He fired three times, hitting her in the side, arm, and shoulder, careful to make none of them kill shots. She slipped to the ground, back braced against the car, gritting her teeth. He approached her and slipped the money to the second two men, who nodded and returned to their car to drive away. Andrew looked down at the pained eyes of the girl lying in the dust. He kicked her sharply in the side he’d put the bullet in, and smiled a cruel half-smile at her cry of pain.

“You don’t even recognize me, do you, my dear sister, dear Amy?”





One hour earlier



“Amy, please, I’m begging, you, go home. You’ve been working all day and tomorrow’s your birthday. I promise I can handle the shop by myself,” a slightly pudgy blond girl sighed.

“Beth, it’s okay. I don’t have to get a good sleep for my birthday.”

“You do too! It’s your twenty-first, which means you’ll be up all night tomorrow night until you pass out drunk and wake up next to some--”

“Ooookayy, Beth, I think I get the point. You’ll be there tomorrow, right?”

“Absolutely! Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Beth laughed. “Knowing your parties, this wouldn’t be worth missing for the birth of my own baby!” Amy grinned and turned away. A rush of hot June air greeted her as she pushed open the door. She paused to let her eyes adjust to the darkness and began the familiar route home. ABBA started playing from her purse and she dug around for her phone, ignoring the raised eyebrow Beth always gave her about her odd choice of ringtone.

“Hello?”

“Hey baby,” a familiar voice answered. She smiled, adjusting the phone between her shoulder and cheek to free her hand and press the crosswalk button.

“Hey Chase,” she said calmly, despite the slight adrenaline.

“Hurry up and get home, half the bed’s cold,” he teased.

“I’m on my way. I’ll take a shortcut tonight just to appease you!” she laughed.

“Not the really short route, please, baby. You promised not to go through Pine Hills anymore.”

“I won’t,” she lied. It was the quickest way home, after all, and she was excited.

Amy crossed the street quickly, the dim lights sending a shiver through her spine. The dead silence had always creeped her out, so she ignored the pain in her toes from the high heels and sped up her pace. A car crossed behind her, speeding enough that she felt a good deal of wind.

It wasn’t long before Amy entered Pine Hills, a dilapidated little neighborhood with identical buildings, dead grass, and no trees. Rusted chain link fences held back vicious dogs, slobbering and staring at her with hateful eyes and low, threatening growls. She crossed her arms and shivered, silently praying this street would be shorter than it had been in the past.

As she turned the corner away from the main, lit street, two men started heading for her. She spun around to run, but a van screeched in, blocking her only way out. She pulled off her heels and sprinted straight toward the men, hoping to run between them. They easily grabbed her and shoved her to the ground. Twisting, Amy struggled against them, scratching and biting as well as she could. A third man, who must have driven the van, calmly and slowly approached her. She fought harder, but nothing she did made the slightest difference. He took a deep drag of cigarette and tossed it to the ground, crushing it with his boot. Such a classic move, Amy thought, despite her situation. Cliché. He bent down and stuck a needle in her neck. A couple seconds later, she found her will to fight dissolving with her energy as she faded into dreamland.





“Do you know why you’re here, sis?” Andrew asked her, sneering.

“Andrew, I need a doctor…. A real doctor,” Amy said softly. Her blood had seeped through her makeshift bandages. Andrew nodded and beckoned someone from another room. A short young man with a thick Indian accent bent over her and began to tend to her wounds.

“God, Andrew, what the hell are you doing?” she said. The worn tone of her voice showed that she had already given up her fight, resigning to whatever her brother wanted from her.

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” he challenged. “July 18, 14 years ago.” Amy closed her eyes as the memories surged through her.

“I haven’t forgotten, Andrew. But what happened was out of our control,” she pleaded. He glared at her.

“That’s bull, Ames, and you know it!” he yelled, seething. “Mom chose you over me and you just went with her! You left me behind you fucking abandoned me you stupid bitch!” She winced. The brother she remembered, a sweet, polite nine-year-old, would never have spoken to her or anyone like that. He shooed the Indian man away. “Come with me, sister.” Andrew grabbed Amy roughly and dragged her down into a dark, moldy basement. He chained her still-bound wrists to a pipe on the wall with a bike lock and handed tucked the key into his shirt pocket. He squatted down and reached out, brushing her hair out of her face.

“How much do you remember from that day?” he asked her. She sighed.

“I remember everything, every detail,” she began. “I remember waking up at four in the morning to the gunshots in the living room. I remember I got up and ran to Mom’s room, and then to yours, and you were both gone. I was so scared, I went to the living room and you were both standing there in the doorway like you were in shock, and I couldn’t see what the hell had happened. And then Mom rushed forward and I saw him there on the floor, all that blood…” Amy trailed off, tears streaming down her face. Her brother kicked her sharply again and she gasped for breath, her wounds reopened and blood flowing fresh.

“I… I ran… ran for blocks, too shocked to cry, until Mrs. Bennett got me off the sidewalk and drove me home. That’s when Mom told me she couldn’t stay here anymore and she couldn’t raise two kids by herself so she took my stuff and her stuff and said we were gonna rent an apartment. I remember being too confused and upset – the world seemed so surreal – to say anything at the time, but I saw you, Andrew, I pressed my face up to the back window of that busted up Station Wagon and saw you standing there in the heat, sun lighting your tears and my heart just stopped and I knew I wouldn’t see you again. And that’s when I started crying, Drew. I loved you so much, and I never showed you that, and I wish I had, I’ve always wished I had. You’ve plagued my thoughts and dreams for 14 years and I’ve tried not to miss you but so many nights I lay awake crying, wondering if you were even still alive.”

Andrew was silent, his face showing nothing.

“He’s not.”

I wipe the blood dripping from my lips onto my sleeve, pulling in another ragged breath. I’m clutching my abdomen, which is absolutely pouring my blood. Gripping the banister that leads up the staircase behind me, I look up to him, eyes begging.

“You don’t have to kill me,” I whimper through the pain and terror.

“Hailey,” he says in a voice like sweet honey, sweet honey with a poison that can’t be smelled or tasted or seen. “You understand why I have to do this don’t you, sweetheart?” I struggle against the tears as the knife wound in my stomach causes me to grow dizzy. I’m on the verge of blacking out; if that happens, it’s all over. I refuse to give in to this.

“Mike,” I hiss, a new sense of fury overcoming me. “They’ll find you. They—the cops will kill you. You can’t possibly get away with murdering me.” That’s when it hits me. There’s no way out. I am really, truly going to die. With a sudden wave of energy in spite of the fatal scratch, I ignore the blade in his hand and lunge for him, my knee colliding with his crotch. He falls to the floor, moaning in agony. I force away the pain and grab the dagger, driving it straight into the hollow at the base of his throat without second thought. I stagger down the hall, trying to get to Alex’s room. Alexandra, my baby. Mike’s baby. I killed her father. I don’t care; I have to make sure she’s okay.

With a sharp crack, the door is broken in. Startled and scared, my heart speeds up, pushing more blood out of the stab wound. I watch as two people rush into the house, my vision blurring rapidly as I let myself slip to the floor, overwhelmed by utter pain. I refuse to die, I think. I. Will. Not. Die. I swallow back the blood trying to escape through my mouth and refocus on the people. It’s been almost ten months since I’ve seen anybody other than Mike. I can’t see who they are… can’t tell through the dizziness. Then I hear a gasp as they see me, and a voice. A voice that’s so perfectly familiar.

“Hailey,” he says. I almost give in to tears right there. I can’t imagine the pain he must feel at seeing me on the brink of death. “Oh my god, Hales….”

“Cody?” I croak. I let my eyes fall closed, too exhausted to keep them open any longer, as I feel his hand take mine.

“You’re gonna be okay. We… we’ll get you out of here. I promise you, you’ll live.”

“Alex,” I whisper. I can’t shake the thought. I open my eyes when he doesn’t reply. “Where is she?” I ask, fear hitting me all over again, spurring me back awake.

“Who? Hailey, what are you talking about?”

“He,” I begin, but decide to save the how for later. “My daughter. My baby. Save her,” I instruct him hoarsely as the whole world closes in and suffocates me.



I awake to a steady beeping noise and a sterile smell. I groan. I hate hospitals. Alex enters my mind again almost immediately, and I look up. Cody’s sitting in the room, holding her. Relief washes over me as I see she’s okay. He glances up and see’s that I’m awake. He doesn’t smile, just bites his lip and meets my eyes, and so much pity I see in his. I swallow, forcing away once again the urge to break down, and instead do my best to smile sadly to him. He hands Alex to a nurse and comes over to me. He opens his mouth, then hesitates as if he just doesn’t know what to say. Instead of saying anything, he leans down to kiss me. After a moment he turns to pull a chair so he can sit next to me and hold my hand.

“I’m so, so sorry, Hailey. I wish we could have gotten there sooner.” I shake my head. I understand.

“I called the police after I stole his cell phone. He… caught me and attacked me,” I say, still somewhat in shock.

“Alex is his child?” Cody asks. I would expect him to be uncomfortable, but he’s not. Just that same look of sorrow for me. I nod. Cody takes a breath, trying to control his anger. “I want to kill him… again,” he fumes. I look at him inquiringly.

“I shot him, Hales. Everything on TV says if you kill somebody, even if you’re a cop, it makes you upset. But, damn, it felt good to watch him die.”

“Thank you,” I tell him softly.

“Hales… how did you avoid Stockholm?” he questions me.

“I don’t know for sure. I just, like, replayed my kidnapping every night in my head, forced myself to remember my family and who I truly cared about, how cruel he was. It helped that he was so viciously sadistic.” Cody winces at that and I shut up.

“How do you feel now?”

Finally, I break a smile. “I feel good. I owe you my life, and Alex’s. I’m well aware I’ll probably have permanent psychological damage and definitely will have the scars forever, but right now I’m just happy to be alive and safe.” Cody smiles back at me and leans down, resting his head on my chest.

“I’m glad to have you alive and safe, Hailey.” And now I really smile, sure that everything’s going to be all right now. I have no more worries, because now I know I can handle whatever this life throws at me.

The first sensation I am ever aware of is hunger. A burning, desperate hunger. Gradually I tune in to the cold, stone-and-dirt walls of the structure around me. And finally, I open my eyes to pitch and impenetrable darkness. Blind. That is the word in my head. A couple more seconds and it develops into a phrase: Blind as a bat. Am I blind? Maybe it’s just dark here. Dark. The word makes me scared, introducing my body to fear, followed by curiosity and a sense of loneliness. I do not know what a human is but I know that I need human companionship. The world still seems empty. I try to straighten my thoughts. What I know of this world is limited, as I have been in existence a mere few seconds. I do not wonder how I know the things I do, just take them as truth. I can line up the facts. I know there is supposed to be light, always light, some kind of light. I know I should be able to see, to hear, to smell and taste and feel and sense. But now I can only feel. There is no prickling sensation in the back of my neck as he approaches from behind, cuffs me, throws a hood over me, and drags me out. I can feel it, all of it, but I cannot see him, hear him, smell him, even sense his presence. This must be a human. The muscles in his hands, dragging me by the arms, guiding me somewhere unknown. I don’t understand anything. The confusion is beyond overwhelming.

And then I hear it, faintly, footsteps. His, mine, his, mine, his. Mine are awkward and stumbling, his impatient and sure. My ragged breathing, slightly burning my chest inside. I lick my dry lips and I taste and smell blood at the same time. Through the hood light begins to filter in and I know I am not blind. Finally, I am thrown to the ground, uncuffed, my hood removed. He stands over me, his eyes a piercing, final grey. His hair is dark and tangled, his bones sharp and prominent. He seems to be a patchwork job of some cruel creator, all stick-bones and yellowed skin apparently tossed on and glued in awkward creases and folds across his body. I cannot tell his age. He kicks me sharply, and I gasp, realizing something quite new: pain. Severe pain, unbearable almost. Now only minutes have passed since I became aware of my own life. I pull up the rag-shirt to see scars and bruises caked in blood, and wonder passively with a certain degree of sarcasm what my skin tone is. I push my hands into the rocky soil below me to sit myself up, and my hands land in a puddle. I don’t have to wonder about this. It is blood, life force, and mine at that. I look down at my own arms and legs, now conscious of how small and fragile they are, not unlike my tormentor’s. Throbbing pain forms in my head, behind my eyes, and all of a sudden I’m struggling to breathe as I panic, I can feel, my heartbeat has become irregular.

“Sorry about that,” the man’s whisper tells me. “Your condition doesn’t react well to our meds. And I apologize, also, for the kick. I have to keep up the act, right, Annabel?” So that is my name. I am Annabel. I do not know this act he refers to so I just nod, too weary to object or even inquire. “The painkillers should kick in soon,” he continues calmly, “and once you get a little sleep we can go for it. You still ready?” Now I am most certainly unbearably curious, and my mind demands understanding.

“For what?” I ask, surprised to hear the soft, quiet voice. I know it is mine but it sounds foreign. He looks at me, and the skin between his brows wrinkles further.

“Our escape, Annabel. Getting out of this horrid prison! Don’t you remember?” I stare at him blankly. I do not know this man. He sighs, clearly troubled deeply. “I am Sala, your good friend. I live in town near you. We have both been brought here to prison on charges of treason. We have been tortured, starved, abused….” He continues, but now I am not listening. Now I am seeing flashbacks, like from a movie, not my memories but someone else’s, but they must be mine, they must. I see a pretty girl with brown, indigo-streaked hair and blue eyes to match. The men are dragging her, tearing her away from the hand she was holding. Caleb. That is his name. That boy they pulled me away from. I want to see if he is okay, suddenly I am very, very concerned with that one fact, but the memory has slipped from my grasp into the darkness again. I look up to Sala, eyes wide.

“Caleb,” I manage desperately. Pain flashes across Sala’s eyes.

“He was my friend, too,” Sala replies. That is my answer. And now that, too, comes flooding back to me. I watch them aim a gun at his head as they drag me away. His eyes meet mine, saying so much. He mouths to me, “I love you, Annabel,” then they throw that hood over me and I hear the gunshot. I don’t struggle now, don’t look back, don’t even cry. Just go numb inside. Reason is lost.

“Did you see…?” I ask him. He shakes his head and tells me he was hooded too. That he convinced them he would give them information in return for them sparing his life. And so he joined them, but only for show. He promises me he will get me out before I lose the last faint drops of my will to live. I remember something else now, too. Digging at the stone walls with my nails, blood streaming from my fingers, nails caked in dirt. I ignore it, searching. When I finally find a loose stone I smile to myself. The guard comes in to interrogate me. He moves to cuff me and I hit him sharply, the back of his head, with the rock. He is dead at my hands and I feel nothing for it. I reach for his gun and hold it to my own head. I am about to pull the trigger when Sala locks his hand around my wrist, twisting it away from my head, digging his nail into my pressure point until I drop the gun. He snatches it out of the air before it can hit the ground and fire a shot. He looks at me, concern in his eyes. He says nothing but he doesn’t need to. Caleb.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” I say. “You’ve been a good friend, I know. I don’t remember well but I can feel it.” I tell him. He nods at me, knowing what I am referring to. He informs me that I have to hold on, that we have to get back, that he has a family that needs him and I have friends who care for me. That’s right. I have no family. Shot, all of them, when I was six. Six year olds cannot be executed. You have to be nine for that. They had waited and then slaughtered them all the day my sister turned nine.

I suppose at some point I drifted into a semiconscious state of unawares, which, when awoken from, proved very refreshing. However a certain boy called Sala was gone when I woke up. Instinctively, I panicked. I was not worried for him; I did not feel that I knew him well. I was worried for me, alone here, possibly next to vanish.