Rude Awakening

Ch-ch-ch-chatter-chat-chat

Something was clanking together. Oh, my teeth. Maybe that's why my jaw ached. I tried to slide it back and forth and it cracked painfully. I pressed my lips together. What the hell was going on? I was shivering too. And one side of my head hurt like a bitch. Actually, my whole body ached, and my wrists were stuck. I fluttered my eyes open. What the fuck?

I was not at home, and I was not at Valentine's. The room was dark, but I could make out stone walls supported by thick wooden beams. There were implements on racks mounted to the walls: canes, whips, clamps, and sharp objects that glinted ominously in the light of the single candle that burned on a small table at the center of the room. Either I was in someone's red room of pain, or this was an actual dungeon.

I took a moment to survey myself. The reason my teeth were chattering was I'd been stripped down to the white silk and lace slip I'd been wearing under my dress. Even my shoes were gone, my feet numb from the icy cold stone under them. The ache in my back and wrists was due to the latter being bound above my head to the ceiling. When I tried to tilt my head back to get a better look, I groaned.

"She wakes." The ginger from the bar appeared in front of me, his gold-toothed smile glinting wickedly. An evil leprechaun. Who knew? And to think, I'd felt guilty for stealing his barstool.

"Thank you, Naill," a woman's voice, deep but sensual, crooned to my left." She stepped into my peripheral vision. The way my head hung, I saw her tall-booted leg first, peeking out from the slit in her dress, followed by a long waist. "At last we meet Hecate, or should I call you Grateful?" Red lips pulled back from pearly white fangs.

"Hecate is fine," I said through the pain in my jaw. "I can think of some things I'd like to call you."

"Anna. Perhaps you've heard of me." She stepped closer, as if she were inspecting my face.

I looked up into her oversized green eyes and searched my memory for the name Anna. My conversation with Gary popped into my head. "Bathory?"

"The one and only." She pushed her bouncy brown curls off her shoulder and turned to pace away from me. Bathory definitely had the Jessica Rabbit thing going on below the neck. Her black dress clung like a second skin, a leather corset boosting her major assets shamelessly.

"What do you want?" I managed.

"I want the book," she snapped. "Tell me where it is, and I will let this incarnation of you live." She closed in. The scent of blood wafted over me. Whether it was my blood or the stench of her breath, I wasn't sure.

"I don't know where it is." At least this I could be honest about. If she had any powers of observation at all, she'd have to believe me.

"Hmm." She paced again, the clack of her heels creating an ominous rhythm on the stone floor.

Or maybe it was the cold that was ominous, or the fact that the warm, wet drip making its way down my cheek seemed to be coming from a painful spot on my head. And one of my eyes was hard to keep open. Yeah, now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, I was a mess. I dangled from my bindings like a carrion treat for my vampire captor. Where was Poe? Shit, where was Rick? The events of the night came rushing back to me, and instantly the pain of my physical situation was compounded by an emotional pain that weighed down my chest.

Bathory rounded on me with a piranha smile, all teeth and a promise that her bite was worse than her bark. "I was there the day you burned at the stake. Had I known the book in Monk's arms had the power it did, I would have taken it then. As it was, when my next meal collapsed, twitching on the ground, I stepped right over my salvation and moved on to the next town. But you hear a lot as a vampire. Men talk and demons share their secrets in the night. Recently, I've learned what the book can do. I want it. And one of the last people to see it is back from the dead-you."

"I don't know where it is," I mumbled again. My right eye was officially swollen shut.

The cackle that escaped her lips made new goosebumps play leapfrog over my skin. "Perhaps Indiana can make you talk." She lifted a five foot bullwhip from somewhere I couldn't see and used both hands to make the leather snap in front of my good eye. "Have you met Indiana? I named her after Indiana Jones. Harrison Ford was a master with a whip."

Baring her teeth, she circled the whip above her head and brought the tail down across my chest. I screamed as it bit into my flesh.

"Where is the book?" she growled.

"I don't know!"

The whip sliced across my thighs. "The book?" she demanded.

"I don't know," I whimpered.

Again. This time her anger marred her aim and the tail of the whip bit into my bound hands.

My head listed forward. I heaved but nothing came out. "I don't know," I whimpered. "Why do you want it, anyway?"

"Interesting," she said. "Perhaps, you really don't remember. Allow me to enlighten you. The Book of Flesh and Bone gives the spellcaster power over life and death. Vampires, as you know, are the living dead, bound supernaturally to a certain set of laws. The book would allow me to change those laws."

"What? Like you'd be able to walk in the sunlight?" I rasped.

"The sunlight, yes. A more natural appearance without the need for illusion. The ability to taste food again. And other things. True immortality. Life in death without limits."

My head listed on my shoulders. Darkness pressed in around me, my vision a constricting tunnel. I was fighting to remain conscious. I couldn't feel my hands or feet anymore, just the ache that racked my torso from shoulders to hips. I felt like I'd been in a car accident. "There has to be limits," I rasped. "Balance."

Her mouth came close to the ear on the swollen side of my face. "I've never been one to follow the rules."

"Mistress!" The leprechaun was back, yelling and flailing his arms from the stone stairs in the back of the dungeon. "I apologize, but you are needed upstairs. It's urgent! There's a fight over a woman and the men have guns."

As if on cue the sound of breaking glass filtered down from above. The vampire growled low in her throat, then shot me an evil glare. "I'll be right there, Naill."

The ginger jogged back the way he'd come.

Bathory turned her full attention on me. "You hang around while I take care of a few things," she said with a grin. A sharp fingernail pressed into my chest and I watched a drop of blood trickle between my breasts. "Then we'll see what else we can do to jog your memory." The words held the threat of violence.

I blinked. She was gone. Or maybe I'd passed out for a few minutes. I wasn't sure. Whichever it was, I sensed someone else was in the room. Not Bathory, no. The weight of the supernatural presence was different, lighter. Someone was working at the ropes that bound my arms. Slightly behind me, I couldn't see who it was, and with my face busted up, all I could smell was my own blood.

"Rick?"

"While the pleasure of owning that name isn't mine, the compliment of your confusion doesn't escape me. Perhaps, later, you can reward me the way you would him." The voice was plush as velvet, sinful and smarmy.

"Julius." My wrists came loose and my arms fell forward, causing an intense pain to shoot through my shoulders. I screamed.

His hand clamped over my mouth and his face came into focus, dark hair, the color of melted chocolate, and too large blue eyes. "Shhh. Even with the fight I staged upstairs, Anna is a very old vampire with acute hearing. We have only moments to escape this place before she undoubtedly becomes suspicious."

I nodded. The thought that Julius wasn't rescuing me but rather scavenging me for parts, such as the rest of my blood, crossed my mind. Too bad I had no energy to fight. Remaining conscious was a moment-by-moment battle.

With no effort at all, he tossed me over his shoulder. Pain shot through me once again, ugly, hot pain that made me dry heave. I was pretty sure one of my arms was broken and maybe more. Lucky for me, the added agony pushed me over the edge and blissful unconsciousness took over.