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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #1857648
A Vampiress finds a lost boy.
Beth wiped her lips with a red napkin as she walked away from the site of her latest meal; some drug dealer who had thought that she was all his- the world wouldn’t miss him much, and would be better off without the bastard. She then wiped her tongue off and threw the paper into a trash can with disgust- she hated the taste of tainted blood. Alcohol, nicotine, and caffeine she could deal with, as it gave the blood a nice little flavor, but some of the garbage that many of her current meals had been using left more than a foul taste in her mouth. After three centuries of living, she’d seen a variety of drugs come and go, but the ones of the late 20th and early 21st centuries had been the worst- affecting most of those she’d fed off of, muggers, murderers, rapists, and others of their ilk.

She was a vampire-born, born, not created. Due to persecution in what was now Romania, Beth’s family had fled to the British Colonies of America in the early 18th century. Sometime later, she was born, and she grew up during the time that America went through its Revolution, and gained its independence from Great Britain. However, her father, who had believed in the cause of the rebel colonists, had lost his life during the fighting- not by the sun as myths that some mortals believed would kill a vampire, but by getting beheaded by a British officer on horseback armed with a saber. Thus, she’d grown up without the guidance of some elder vampire teaching her the methods needed to feed without killing her meals. Because of that, she had become something of a selective hunter- feeding off of those who wouldn't be missed.

Putting aside such thoughts, Beth looked at the rising sun and smiled as the rays warmed her cold body- which was one of the few things storytellers and moviemakers tended to get right about her species, along with the fact that she needed blood to survive- though there were a few sub-species that didn't need as much blood as she did- the amount of blood in a grown man, per day. She chuckled as she thought about this- in the past it had been considerably easier to dispose of her meals, by putting them on the outskirts of town and mutilating the body to make it look like some wild animal had done the deed. During wartime, she’d served as a spy to the US, starting during the War of 1812, and had left the bodies of enemy soldiers as presents on their commander’s doorsteps. During times of peace, she’d just drain the blood of a fresh corpse, or made due with the blood of animals. Nowadays though, she had to hide the bodies in dumpsters, and try to make it look like some random killing, or some such thing, just in case the body was discovered, which was happening more and more frequently depending on the area she was hunting in.

Just then, she heard something. She looked up the street and saw a small figure sitting crouched-up against a chain-link fence. It looked to be a young boy, around ten years of age. She focused her eyes on the figure, and noticed his clothes, covered in stains and tears. She also saw the dirt and scrapes covering his body, and the tear-trails flowing down the side of his face. A good deal of it was recent, within the last hour or so, but plenty of it was older, at least a few days. More than likely he was from a rougher side of town.

Beth then looked at her own self, looking carefully at her clothing, to make sure that she was clean of blood. To the average person, she looked a secretary in her early-thirties, as her aging had slowed down quite a bit after she’d turned twenty-five. Physically, she looked like a Plain Jane, average hair, face, eyes, nose, even her teeth- when she wasn’t feeding or about to feed anyways, as well as normal size breasts, normal waist, normal hips, legs, and everything else. Of course, that’s how she looked when she wasn’t in the mood for a mate, or a meal. When she wanted one of those, she could make herself so attractive, that even top models would want to have her body- and indeed, more than a few had asked her how she’d taken such good care of herself, to which she’d reply, “Lucky genes.”

She looked back at the boy, who was still sitting on the sidewalk, and sighed. While it wasn’t impossible for her to have children, she hadn’t found the right person whom she’d want to father her children, not that she was stranger to sex- she’d had plenty of lovers over the centuries, both men and women. She’d even played mistress to plenty of politicians, including one of the Presidents- it hadn’t been just Monica who’d been doing William when that little issue came up. However, it was the vampire who’d decide whether or not a child would come of the relationship, though most born-vampires got it from the father, as most female vampires, including herself, were very picky.

“Alright,” she muttered. “I guess I’ll check up on him.”

She walked up to the boy, and asked softly, “Are you alright?”

The boy looked up. His eyes were a raw reddish color and just like the rest of him, his face was covered with dirt and scrapes. He looked back down and shook his head.

“Are you lost?” Beth asked.

The boy nodded.

“Do you know where you live?”

The boy stayed still.

“Can you talk?”

The boy shook his head.

“Are you hungry?”

The boy looked up at Beth and nodded.

“In that case, let’s go get you something to eat,” Beth said with a chuckle. “I know of a few places open this early in the morning.”

The boy smiled.


About twenty minutes later, Beth was watching the boy walking through an “All-You-Can-Eat” buffet line, selecting whatever he wanted, mainly the meats and the sweets.

“I didn’t take you for the type who liked children, Elizabeth,” said a voice behind Beth, with a thick Russian accent.

“You sound smarter when you keep your muzzle shut, mutt-face,” Beth said as she turned to face the person. It was a woman who smelled slightly of wet dog.

“It’s good to see you to,” the woman said with a grin. “What’s it been since we last chatted, fifteen, twenty years?”

“It’s been twenty-three years since that little incident in Moscow,” Beth said with a chuckle. “I never really did thank you for helping me escape from the KGB, Georgette.”

“It was a nothing,” Georgette said with a wave of her hand. “Besides, I was bored at the time. The little brush was what I’d needed to liven up my day.”

“You werewolves never turn down a fight,” Beth said with a smile.

“That’s true,” Georgette chuckled. “By the way, what are your plans for the boy? Having one that young, as a meal, is against the Laws you know.”

“I wasn’t intending to have him as one- I’m a little full at the moment anyways,” Beth said, as she turned her head to check up on the boy, who was now picking through the various cakes and pies. “I am going to try and find his family, but he can’t talk for whatever reason.”

Georgette turned her head and sniffed. “I know who he is,” she said. “He’s got Slayer blood in him.”

“Are you sure about that?” Beth asked. “I thought that the family had all died; some rogues killed them all during that massacre that occurred at their family reunion, fourteen years ago.”

“That was the Main family,” Georgette said. “He’s either of a Bastard line or one of the cousins that split off from the rest.”

“Are there many of those?” Beth asked.

“There was one around here, but not anymore,” Georgette said with a sigh. “I’d gone to the place yesterday, personal reasons, and found nothing but blood and body parts.”

“How many are we talking about?”

“At least five bodies, two adults and three children, though I did see a picture of the family; that boy was one of theirs. I guess he escaped the carnage.”

“It explains why he isn’t in a talkative mood,” Beth said as she looked back at Georgette. “The last of his breed at that young an age.”

“You’d best keep him safe,” Georgette said as she got up. “I’m sure you know the stories- a powerful Rogue will be defeated by the last surviving Slayer.”

“I just hope he isn’t the very last Slayer then,” Beth said as she noticed the boy coming with a plate full of food. “He shouldn’t be alone for the rest of his life- we need Slayers to keep the rogues in check.”

“He won’t be alone,” Georgette chuckled. “He’ll have you to protect him, and train him. Heck, in about fifteen years, he might be the one for you.”

“He’s just a child,” Beth chuckled herself. “That sort of thing would be a little awkward, especially if I’m the one who raises him.”

“Then have him put into an orphanage, and watch him as he grows up- hopefully he won’t remember you by the time he is of age,” Georgette said, as she left the table.

“You werewolves are always weird,” Beth muttered, as the boy sat down.

Beth then sat in thought as she watched the boy eat, thinking about what she knew about Slayers. They were Mortal humans, and until they were thirteen years old, indistinguishable from the other humans. However, after age thirteen, they began to develop certain abilities, such as being able to tell vampires and werewolves from normal humans. Also, their instincts could tell a Slayer the best way to kill a vampire or werewolf, especially with practice. Of course, a vampire or werewolf could sense a Slayer from well over a hundred yards away, even when the Slayer was with other normal humans. The only reason that Beth hadn’t noticed the boy’s heritage had to deal with the fact that the child hadn’t yet come into his powers. Slayers were needed- they made sure that rogue vampires and werewolves weren’t around long. However, due to the massacre, there had been a significant increase of rogues, far more than what vampires and werewolves could deal with themselves.

Beth then looked at the boy. “You’d best eat up,” she said. “Because after this, I’m going to take you to Child Services, so that you can get taken care of.”

The boy looked at her, his eyes pleading with her.

Beth put her hand on his. “I can’t take care of you the way you need to be,” she said with a sigh. “However, I promise you this; I’ll keep an eye on you.” She then bent over the table and kissed him on the cheek. “Everything will be alright.”


Some months later, Beth was standing on the roof on an apartment across the street of the family who had taken in the boy, Stephen Lorzine- as she’d found out according to some records that had been kept in a certain location under City Hall. Beside her was Georgette.

“I put the word out,” the werewolf said. “The family will be Protected, at least until the boy is of age.”

“That’s good to hear,” Beth said.

“By the way, would you care for a bite?” Georgette asked. “I know of a place where these drug-dealers hang out- no one would miss any of them.”

Beth grinned, her fangs extending. “Now that you mention it, I am feeling slightly thirsty.”

WC 1965
Entry in the 3/12 "Short Shots: Official WDC Contest
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