Chapter 6: A Bloody Feast

Trees sprouted in the landscape outside Margaret's window as the city fell away beneath the helicopter. First, the foliage appeared in small bunches, like fresh heads of broccoli, then in thick bundles of forest. Cars that swarmed like ants on the congested highway slowly thinned into a narrow stream. Margaret couldn't hear the pilot above the noise of the helicopter blades, but she nodded as he pointed to the ground and flashed one finger.

Reaching for the wrist of the woman propped in the seat beside her, Margaret checked her pulse. It was faint but still there, a dull sickly beat. Licking her lips, Margaret traced the long line of the woman’s bare neck, so vulnerable and exposed. It had been a long time since she'd had fresh blood.

She was loyal to Greer, denying herself the pleasures of a fresh kill, but occasionally, her urges got the better of her. It would be a crime to let this unexpected feast go to waste, she reasoned, catching the pilot watching her out of the corner of his eye. Baring her fangs, she dug them deep into the warm flesh.

In a flash, the pilot leaped out of the cockpit and pounced on the seat beside her. He extended the woman's wrist, sinking his fangs in her skin. The helicopter spun and dropped in the sky, the blades making a sickening thunking sound. Margaret, her teeth still buried in the woman's neck, stared at him, wide-eyed in terror. He glared back, challenging her to stop him.

An instant later, he was back in his seat, regaining control of the helicopter as though nothing had happened. Margaret drained the last drops of blood from the vein and let the body fall to the floor. She felt younger, more potent than she had in a long time. Locking eyes with the pilot again in the mirror above his head, they exchanged a satisfied grin.

As soon as the helicopter landed on the roof of SanguinX Laboratories, a sprawling glass and brick building on a heavily wooded lot, the door flew open to reveal a man in white overalls pushing a steel gurney. He glanced at Margaret and the pilot, their mouths still bloody, and scoffed; "Did you save any for me?"

"Sorry, Cristoff," Margaret said. "You’re too late. She's gone."

"Convenient," he grumbled. "There's nothing out here to hunt but deer and coyotes. It's too dangerous to take a local. It spooks people." He dragged the body onto the gurney, examining her neck. "Even if you don't kill them, these wounds are hard to disguise. It leaves a real mess. Then the rumblings of a psycho on the loose start. You can't win."

"I worry about the company moving to the city," Margaret said, following him into the building through a door marked; ‘Do Not Enter.’ "It's a small space, and some of the dark employees are already restless. They need space to roam."

Cristoff steered the gurney through a long white-tiled hallway and into a waiting elevator. The sound of Margaret's high heels echoed behind him. "How do you like the new space?" she asked, examining the polished steel walls of the elevator.

Cristoff shrugged. "Nothing much changes over the centuries. Different faces come and go, but the stories are the same." When the elevator doors opened, they steered toward a chute at the end of the corridor labeled ‘Biological Waste.’ "It's the very young ones that bother me even after all these years. It goes against nature."

"Do you get many young ones?" Margaret asked. Hunting children was generally forbidden, except in desperate circumstances. It created too much panic.

"One is too many," Cristoff said, "but we get a couple each year. I have my suspicions about who's responsible, but I know when to keep my mouth shut. For vampires who consider themselves above the rules, there's nothing more tempting than sweet, young blood."

"I don't think it's much of a mystery to anyone who the culprit is," Margaret said.

"At least he's smart enough not to leave evidence behind," Cristoff said, prying open the steel door. Margaret recoiled at the blast of heat spewing from the belly of the building like a dragon's breath. Cristoff dumped the body into the chute, letting the door slam shut. "We just got a fresh delivery of blood," he said. "Come to my office, and I'll have it loaded up for you before you go. No use wasting the trip."

Margaret nodded, following him. "We've been going through it like water. It's always that way during a move. It must be the stress."

"I’ve noticed it as well," Cristoff said, getting back into the elevator.

"Sometimes I feel like we're fighting a losing battle," Margaret said. "I'm not sure we'll ever find the cure Greer is looking for. It's hard watching him bang his head against the wall year after year. Especially when so many dark employees seem perfectly happy with the way things are. Let's face it, bagged blood doesn't have half the appeal of fresh blood, and it takes twice as much to satisfy even the mildest urge.”

"Luckily, we've tapped into a good supply already. So there's no shortage for anyone who chooses to go that route. That's one benefit of a dense population."

"True. Except it's hard to find a decent place to live."

Cristoff looked surprised as they stepped out into a large bright foyer leading to rows of offices. "I've always found the SanguinX housing allowances very generous."

"It's not that," Margaret said. "It's all the floor-to-ceiling glass and open concept layouts in Manhattan. I'm old school. I prefer dim lighting and privacy. So I finally outbid six other people for a crumbling brownstone in Soho with a cinderblock basement. It's right up my alley."

"Sounds homey," Cristoff said, offering her a seat in his office. "I'm renting a cabin in the woods on the property. There's no one around for miles. You're welcome anytime if you're looking for a little solitude. I'm pretty sure there are a few werewolves in the woods, but we give each other a wide berth."

"Did you know Greer is trying to bring the werewolves and shapeshifters in on the research?" Margaret asked Cristoff. "He thinks if we all work together, it will speed up the process."

"Have they shown any interest?" Cristoff asked, his surprise evident. "Surely Greer realizes the more people who know a secret, the less likely it is to remain one."

"Apparently, the werewolves jumped at the chance. They don't age unless they stop transforming, but it can be a desolate ending for those who choose to escape the curse. As for the shapeshifters, I think it just boils down to choice. Options are another form of power."

"Greer’s hoping for a one size fits all solution," Cristoff said. "I doubt it works that way."

"We'll see, "Margaret said. "The study of DNA has opened a lot of doors these past few decades."

Cristoff stood up, offering his hand. "I guess only time will tell. But, for now, your ride awaits. Have a safe trip back to the city."