ONE

“Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere.” 

                     —Mae West

     Midnight-purple wallpaper wrapped the walls.  Matching bulbs in the wall sconces muted the space, creating a feeling of being in another dimension.  The room actually was in a disjointed space, along with the rest of the school.  Ravyn’s undead eyes cut through what would have been murk were she still human.  Though a vampire, she refused the Goth trappings of an actual coffin, indulge herself with a canopy bed cocooned with great folds of black lace. 
      The quilt on top of the sheets was made of black and pink patches in the shapes of fluttering bats.  In the floor, at the foot of the bed, sat an amp and guitar on its stand.  She took the guitar and slid the strap over her head.  The heavy bass felt natural hanging at her side.
     One corner of the room had an ivory vanity and chair, both inlayed with gilt scroll-work.  An armoire huddled against a wall, doors open, and a flat screen TV sat inside, seeing little service.  The school’s Witch Club used magic to pull internet service in from the human world to support their club.  It was a service Ravyn would have enjoyed, but her money always seemed to get devoured by other needs.  A scholarship paid for Ravyn’s school tuition at Darkhaven, but unfortunately, not much else.  Without close relatives, except a grandmother in a nursing home, Ravyn needed cash as much as a safe refuge. 
     If Darkhaven Academy hadn’t called to her, appearing in a mysterious fog bank, she’d have been homeless these last few months, getting used to being a blood-sucking fiend all on her own. 
     Blood, blood, and more blood.  Oh, for the days when a pizza looked good.  Damn this garlic allergy!
     A red light bulb flashed above the door.  It was time for night classes to begin for nocturnal preternatural species—but she’d be cutting night class.  She was dressed in black leather, with sensible shoes.  How the slutty vampire babes managed to fight in stiletto heels, and not break an ankle, was more than she could imagine. 
     Ravyn opened one of the painted-black windows of her third-story room.  Silver mist hung just out of reach, a barrier to her desires.  The laughter of ghosts mocked her, calling her out to play, but they were not her prey.  Her vengeance was specific, demanding the monster who’d made her bleed and scream, who’d humiliated and used her, turning her into a monster.  No one else needed to suffer unless they denied her answers she had to have to go with the blood she craved. 
     In the air, a few feet away, a bluish-gray light shimmered, expanded into human form.  The pixelated light congealed into a butler in a pinstripe suit, a white starched shirt, and narrow tie.  The coat had long tails.  The figure wore white gloves and a look of sorrow on his rather avian face.  His head was cue-ball smooth, his nose hawkish.  Not exactly a ghost; he was Darkhaven—the life and awareness of the school; a magical program created by the Darkhaven family that had founded the school for the education of preternaturals, and to assist in their acclamation to human society.
     The three-dimensional icon spoke in a voice smooth as river-rock, in a tone lacked inflection.  “Where are you going, Ravyn?”
     Shrugging, she adjusted the wide leather strap of her bass, its neck pointing down.  The glossy black body had quite a few dents and scratches.  The thick strings bore hints of blood in the fine grooves.  Ravyn had a black-gloved hand on the neck, fingering it the way a gunslinger might caress a gun.  Her free hand rested on her hip.  “Trick or treating.”
     “Really?”
     “I am the vampire-hero of justice.”
     “So you don’t play well with others.  Is this going to help you in any way?”
     “When I find the right one, I will be at peace.”  And he will be in pieces.
     Resolve firmed the butler’s face, but did nothing for his chalky pallor.  “Stay here under my protection.  I don’t want you getting hurt.”
     She drew another breath so she could answer.  “Too late for that, don’t you think?”
     “Vengeance is an empty road.  Let it go, Ravyn.  It’s like a tumor in the brain, eating away at you until a monster emerges.”
     “Why do you care?  I’m a charity case, not one of the rich brats that belong here.”
     “You’re one of my special projects, and I don’t like to fail.”
     “There are predators out there that take more than the blood they need to live.  Someone has to take them down.  Someone has to care.”  Her dark, dangerous tone went softly brittle, “Are you going to stop me?”
     “I can, you know.  Without my program clearing it, you’ll never find your way through the fog to the time and place you seek.”
     “Will caging me help me in any way?”
     The butler sighed.  “Probably not.  I suppose some lessons only come from experience.”
     “I’ll be back well before dawn.”
     “I hope so.”  Dropping pixels, he faded out.
     She thrust the bass guitar out the window and slid out after it.  The drop to the red-brick courtyard passed in a blur.  She landed in a crouch, straightened, and walked on as if stepping off a curb.  A human would have broken ankles, and lain there, waiting for an ambulance. 
     Translucent, silvery ghosts swooped and circled, their bodies catching and tangling the diffused moonlight.  Scary, scowling faces formed in the fog, elongating, distorting, and dissolving.  Ravyn pressed her bass to her side and continued on, ignoring the show.  “Sorry, guys, I’ve got places to go, questions to ask, and enemies to kill.”
     Tired of their sport, the ghosts swooped off like manta rays, fusing into the mist.
     She walked out onto a dirt road that ended several minutes later, becoming broken terrain.  A thousand possible paths could have appeared, to points scattered across time and space.  She focused on her destination, waiting for signs of modern civilization. 
     The fog peeled away and vanished.  She stood in the middle of downtown Sacramento.  It was late enough along K Street for the shops to be closed.  The sidewalks were nearly abandoned with the last panhandlers heading off to their regular spots to sleep.  Some of the vagrants would wind up camped down at the river.  None of them tempted her into a quick bite; she liked her blood without an alcohol flavoring.
     She circled The Plaza Mall to reach Old Sac, where the historic boardwalks and pioneer-style buildings had been preserved or reconstructed.  A breeze off the river fanned her hair, spreading it like raven wings.  Most of the tourists had cleared out as the shops closed, but she knew from past experience that several of the bars would still be going strong.  And where humans drank themselves stupid—and vulnerable—she hoped to find an unsuspecting vamp or two.  Her grip on her bass tightened.  Her heart jolted, starting up with a slow beat as she slipped from street to street, hugging as many shadows as possible. 
     Ravyn approached a red brick building with several cars parked at the edge of the boardwalk.  The gilt lettering on the windows said: Golden Eagle Saloon.  She paused at the door, swung the bass behind her, pulled the brass handle, and went in.  The wooden flooring was heavily weathered to give the place an authentic feel.  The management provided bowls of peanuts in the shell to patrons.  Broken shells littered the floor, a throwback to olden saloon days when this kept down the dust and grit blown inside. 
     Along the left wall, chairs bracketed huge barrels used as tables.  On her right was the bar and bartender.  Behind him hung the usual mirror, and shelves holding an assortment of bottles.  A sign announced that twenty-five cent sarsaparilla was available, a lie actually.  The bright red wallpaper with antique gold designs seared the eye. 
     Most of the customers were in the back where the regular tables were kept.  The classic rock airplay of a local station provided a backdrop of dinosaur music.  She hurried toward the back, ignoring the bartender, keeping her eyes from the mirror.  She didn’t want to see herself.  Myth had it vampires lacked reflections.  Sadly, this wasn’t true .  Mirrors showed them as walking cadavers, as the monsters they were.  When clouding human perceptions, Vamps avoid mirrors so the beguiled aren’t shocked out of their mesmerized states. 
     Her steps slowed as she entered the field of tables, scanning those present with a bold stare. 
     Few of them looked up.  One of those that did was a male, blond college student several years older than Ravyn.  He had a woman with him, a cougar trolling for fresh, young meat.  Make that blood.  The woman smelled of death held at bay.  Her skin was too pale, her breathing shallow, forced.  Dangerous curves filled out a silk dress that fell like a cataract of blood.  Under the impact of Ravyn’s stare, the redhead looked up.  Her black eyes warmed to ember red.  She murmured to her date and stood, closing the distance to Ravyn with a confident stride. 
     The redhead said, “I hope you’re not here to poach.  I saw him first, and I intend to savor every last drop.”
     Every drop and he’ll die, not that you care. 
     “I only want a little of your time,” Ravyn said.
     The woman cocked her head.  “What’s in it for me?”
     “A night you will never forget.”
     The woman looked Ravyn over, her eyes catching the guitar.  “You’re a musician.”
     “Bass player, yeah.”
     The woman reached out and used a fingertip to trace Ravyn’s left collar bone.  The fingertip glided down between her generous breasts, stopping directly over her heart.  A heart that was now racing with excitement at the prospect of imminent violence.  The redhead smiled.  “You say you just ‘want a little?’”
     Ravyn nodded curtly.
     The woman said, “I’ll want a little blood in return.  I hope you’ve fed recently.”
     Ravyn’s eyes located the ladies room.  She tossed her head.  “In there.  Now.”
     The redhead smiled wilder, showing fangs.  “My, so impatient...  Well, come along, dear.”  She sauntered off, leaving Ravyn to follow.  She did.  The bathroom proved small with a couple stalls, a sink and mirror, and not much else.  Ravyn resisted the impulse to smash the mirror.  She turned, locked the door, and completed a circle to face her prey. 
     The woman stood in a casual pose, crossed arms puffing up her breasts.  “Do you have a name?  They call me Rose, because of my hair, and my thorns.” 
     “I’m Ravyn.”  She took a couple steps.  Two feet separated them from each other. 
     Rose said, “Put yourself in my hands.  I won’t disappoint.”
     “I hope not.”  Ravyn hung onto her bass’s neck while sliding off the strap.  The weight of the guitar was meaningless to her vampire strength.  Humans have one in three muscle strands firing at a time, unless adrenaline kicks in to produce superhuman strength, which is often paid for later in pain and self-injury. 
     Humans aren’t designed to run at their full potential.  Vampires don’t have that problem.  Our full strength is always turned on. She could hold her guitar effortlessly for hours, but had other plans: made of wood, it was capable of inflicting serious harm to the undead. 
     She smiled coldly, baring her own fangs.  “I’m only going to ask you once.  I’m looking for a rapist.  He has a black limo, a vampire driver, and is fond of killing his meals slowly—always underage girls.  Tell me where I can find him.” 
     “I don’t know who you mean.”
     It was said too fast.  Ravyn knew the woman was lying.  “Tell me what I want to know.”
    “Why?  So you can get yourself killed, and take me with you?”
     “And I asked so nicely.”
     Rose pushed by, heading for the door. 
     Ravyn spun and chopped at the woman’s neck with the body of the bass.
     Rose ducked, wheeling around to face the younger vamp.  “Are you crazy?  You could have hit me with that.”
     “That was a warning shot.” 
     Rose blurred, moving vampire-fast to the locked door.  She fumbled with the lock, looking for the latch that had been twisted clean off.
     Ravyn held up the missing bit of metal.  “Looking for this?”  She dropped it on the white-tiled floor where it bounced with a tink-tink.
     Her back to the door, Rose faced Ravyn.  “Look, it’s stupid to fight.  That’s not going to help either of us.  I’ll just break open the door and we can go our separate ways.”
     “Move without telling me what I want to know, and it will hurt.  Bad.”  Ravyn swung the bass up so its neck rested on her right shoulder, the way Paul Bunyan might carry an axe. 
     Rose’s eyes brightened fiercely, the red embers at full blaze.  “You are psycho.  I’ve never done anything to you.”
     “Your silence hurts me.  The friend of my enemy is my enemy, too.  You better pick another side.  Fast.”
     Rose hissed in fury.  Her red nails extended in an orgy of growth, giving her claws as she lunged—only to impale herself on the long neck of the guitar Ravyn rammed through her diaphragm.  The head of the guitar with damaged tuning keys burst out of Rose’ back.  “Uuuunnnghhhh!”  Her eyes went wide with shock and pain.  She burbled blood that dribbled down her chin.  
     “Last chance,” Ravyn said.
     Rose smashed down on the neck of the bass, shattering the wood, bending the steel support rod that hid inside.  From her entry wound, wood shards poked out of Rose’s stomach, as well as thick guitar strings still attached to the body of the bass in Ravyn’s hands.  The strings connected them.
     Ravyn used the body to smash in Rose’s face.  There was a crunch as nose cartilage broke.  Rose’s head snapped back.  Her whole body slammed into the door, cracking the wood with a sound like a gunshot.  The motion tightened the strings and pulled the guitar’s hard body from Ravyn’s grip.  The piece banged on the floor and slid away.  Blood poured out of Rose’s nostrils, and from the abdominal wound.  Her dress darkened, soaking up her blood, perfuming the air with a sweet metallic tang.  Rose started sliding down the door. 
     Ravyn blurred forward and caught her by the neck, lifting the vamp so her legs dangled.  A squeeze and a shake, and Rose’s neck crumpled and snapped.  Ravyn slammed Rose face-first into a porcelain sink.  The sink shattered.  White fragments scattered across the tiles.  Ravyn stared at the deep gouges in Rose’s broken face.  They bled freely.  The fire in the woman’s eyes guttering out in darkness. 
     Ravyn sighed.  “You should have listened.  Now I’ll have to buy another bass.”
     She turned the body and pulled the blood-slick neck of the guitar free of Rose’s back.  She thrust the broken shaft back in, piercing the heart.  Rose died a second time, crumpling to the floor.  She sprawled across the splintered mess.
      Someone banged on the damaged door.  “Hey!  What’s going on in there?”
      Ravyn leaped into one of the acoustic tiles of the false ceiling, her head bumping it up so she could reach into the crawlspace, pulling herself in.  She wiggle past pipes and in moments was gone.   She hadn't found her treat, so she’d played her trick.  Until she found justice, every night would be trick or treat.  Eventually, she find the right vamp.
     Maybe tomorrow night…