Bela the Nymphomaniac Vampire Slayer

Chapter 15: “What do you mean, you just happened to have twenty kilos of Semtex 'just lying around'!?”

So here it is. The big moment. A whole shitload of vampires are going to be dusted, and right here right now, the who's who of the vamp-slaying business are refining the Plan to do so. Sydney's vamp population is going to take a major hit tomorrow night, and I'm surrounded by feral grins as this prospect is savoured again and again- there is blood in the water, the sharks are closing in, and for once it looks like it's us that are going to come out unarguably on top of the bloodsuckers.

“What do you mean, you just happened to have twenty kilos of Semtex 'just lying around'!?” screeches one of the suits that seems to have enough rank for Gareth to not tell her to get the fuck out of his place for being annoying. He's already had to do that twice, and the first one protested until one of the other suits whispered something in his ear that made him resemble a lemon jelly- a bit sour, pale, and shaky.

Gareth shrugs. “Someone owed me a favour, and someone who had connections to that kind of thing owed them a favour. What goes around comes around.” If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was laughing at her, but when I look again, all I can see is that impassive I'm-the-most-badass-person-here-and-you-better-not-forget-it scarred up Islander face he likes to put on.

There's a good reason I don't play poker with Gareth.

Or piss him off, if I can help it.

The screecher gapes, and then evidently remembers who she's talking to, and shuts up. But then another Cooperative 'crat who could be the twin of the other- same hairstyle, same grey suit, same shoes, same attitude- except that she's black, starts to argue about the deployment of the Cooperative goon- I mean 'agents'.

This kind of shit has been going on for at least the last hour or three, and I'm starting to feel my previous exhaustion return in the wake of my adrenaline-boosted attack on Taylan.

If this was a Hollywood movie, right now, someone would pull me aside, and tell me that only I had the expertise to do something important for the plan, that I had some extremely important part to play in Operation Blow Them All To Hell, and that it would be my duty to carry this out, with or without (useful) back up. Phrases like “essential to the cause” and “what are we fighting for?” and “this mission, should you choose to accept it” would no doubt be bandied about. Generally speaking, for some reason the ritual that these vamps were supposed to be doing would be aimed at triggering some kind of apocalypse, because fuck the human race, right? It's not like they might want humans to stick around as, oh I don't know, food sources or something.

All of this would have been set in New York City, or maybe Detroit or somewhere, because Australia wouldn't be deemed a relatable enough location for the American public. Matilda used to be a Brit before Hollywood got their hands on her. The themes of American patriotism would be playing as I accepted my mission, showing pride in my decision to Serve the Greater Good, Democracy, Mom's Apple Pie, and whatever else it is Yanks think they fight for.

And of course, I'd be played by the teenaged Hollywood starlet flavour of the time- silicon boobs, dyed hair, too much make up and statuesque “I could have been a model” bone structure, irrespective of the fact that I'm closer to 30 (not telling you how close), about five foot nothing and have to rely on charm, manipulation and the fact that most vamps come from a time when curvaceous ladies were considered to be the epitome of beauty... yeah. Oh, and they'd probably make me white, or use fake tan to reproduce my “definitely a gypsy or three in the unnamed Vigu fathers” skin-tone.

So yeah, this ain't a Hollywood movie. You might have noticed this at some point. Possibly about the point where you noticed that this was in text form, but also where I failed to feel anything but lust and/or annoyance towards any of the various Mr Extremely Deliciouses hanging around as opposed to falling head-over heels and riding off into the sunset on his expensive motorbike.

I'm pretty damn sure I don't give off romantic vibes, so I don't know why you would have thought I was going to play that role. I'm Bela the Nymphomaniac Vampire Slayer, not Bela the Winsome Heroine Who Just Wants To Be Loved. Unless you exchange the “Winsome” for “Sexy” and tack on an “All Night, ooooh yeeeaaah”.

Ahem. Where was I? Oh. Right. Moving right along.

So anyway, what this “not being a Hollywood flick” thing means is that right now, instead of sitting in a windowless room with a stars and stripes flag in the background, the battle plan is made sitting around the tables in Wheels, a sign saying “closed for private party” hung on the door to keep out interlopers. Instead of some anonymous aide in a business suit, it's Amelia that hands out the sustaining beverages, (and suffice to say they aren't just black coffee- biscuits, chai, cappucinos and frappacinos... black coffee might be more badass sounding, but when it comes down to it, most people are suckers for sugar,) then sits behind Gareth massaging his shoulders as he argues with what must be something like an entire wing of the local Cooperative, while the local slayers who don't spend half their life in an office pen-pushing are hanging about the place looking increasingly amused or irritated as the 'crats try to turn this into an “exercise” instead of a “fuck yeah, let's toast some vamps!”

I don't think I've seen so many people dressed in boring grey and beige suits in my life. It's an invasion of flunkies, and they all have clipboards and probably shit efficiency and budget reports. It took them about twenty minutes to show up after Gareth sent them a “courtesy call”, and apparently they wanted to be on the spot when the decisions were being made or something.

Can't imagine why. Most of them aren't being that useful, apart from this one woman with a huge scar on her face who Gareth actually hugged when she came in. “Sylvia” he called her. I don't know what her story is, but once she turned up things started to run smoother, because shit, she kicks heads harder and faster than Gareth.

Man, I want to be her when I grow up. Only without the desk job or dealing with the fucking flunkies. That part'd be balls.

Though I guess thoroughly scandalising the suits on a regular basis would be amusing... oh wait, I already do that!

Did I mention that pretty much everyone in a suit bar Sylvia keeps glancing over at me as though I'm going to either start stripping or bite someone like a rabid dog?

Judging by the distance they're all maintaining, this lot are probably either green as grass-stains after a fuck in an Irish meadow... good times, fuck I miss Siobham and Finn... or they've probably all been warned away from me by their superiors, because while a few have shot me a couple of appraising glances, (of the “what are her stats” type instead of the “how much do I want her” type,) for the most part the gameplan amongst the Suits seems to be to avoid me like the plague, via either treating me like a leper or pretending I'm not here.

In the corner I can see Tristan watching this, and I can't tell if he's itching to burst out laughing or start punching faces in. That constipated expression could be interpreted either way.

It's starting to get a little on my nerves though. People, seriously, I can do professional if I want to. Okay, so normally I can't be arsed. Whatever. It's not like these cocksuckers know that from personal experience or anything. I don't recognise any from the incident at Nana's place the other day, and I'm not sure whether to be disappointed or not. At least those guys showed me a bit of respect, and damn straight, because I saved their collective asses.

But these people wouldn't show me so much as a smile if I'd saved their mothers from getting vamped. If people like this have mothers. I have my suspicions- for all I know there's some sort of cloning program going down in the basement of the Cooperative building.

But yeah, as I'm sure I've mentioned at some point before, the Cooperative have got their knickers in a serious twist over me and my methods. I really don't see why they have such a big fucking problem, hell, I'm good at what I do, and so far I haven't caused any serious breaches of security... but whatever.

I send a glare over at a skinny clip-board bearer who's been giving me greasies, and he jumps and squeaks. No seriously. I think I've heard deeper noises from strangulated cats. I don't even bother to hide my half-incredulous smirk. This is an example of the Cooperative's best and brightest? Shit they're in trouble.

“Bela, play nice,” says Gareth without even looking around. Tristan's constipated look becomes even more constipated. I nearly give him the finger, but since I have a little self control, I refrain.

Instead, I drop the smirk and fold my arms, idly watching as the squeaky 'crat unsubtly moves away from me to stand closer to Sam. Must have noticed the fact that Sam is still pissed at me over that bullshit with his girlfriend. I wish he'd give it a rest already- it wasn't personal.

But like I give a shit what those boring-suited 'crats think about me anyway. I do what I do because I'm good at it and it makes a bit of a difference. Every time I go out and fuck (up) a vamp, that's the victim for that night, plus whoever they would have entrapped later that I've saved. I make the streets just that little bit safer, so that families don't have to find closure on bodies that either never reappear, or that seem to be random muggings.

Of course you guys all know I'm just in it for the unlimited orgasms and the adrenaline rush, but hey, if safer streets are a side effect, why should anyone want to talk me out of it?

Otherwise, pretty much everyone in this room who isn't wearing a suit is either someone I've already had sex with, or they're Gareth (honestly have never thought of him that way), Amelia (lovely, but a bit old and very straight), Aarti (one kiss, and then she decided she was definitely straight), Jezebel (Tristan is way too possessive, so for once I'm taking a hint and avoiding that clusterfuck), Georgie (too sweet), Coutt (too young and stupid) and Omar (he's our token priest, serious about it, and everytime we meet, feels obliged to tell me that I should really repent my wicked ways or I'm going to go to hell like the whore of Babylon. There's a reason you haven't met him yet- we really do avoid each other like the plague.)

Sometimes I wonder if it's a bad thing that I have enough personal experience to compare the bedroom skills of a good portion of the slayers who go through Wheels. Then I remember all the good times I've had in doing the “research” and then I decide that if I could have my life over I'd probably do most of them again.

But not Sam. He's been too much of a shit to me. Tristan I'd put on probation.

There is another reason why I'm not the lady for the job here. You want to hear a confession? Well listen up, because I'm only going to say this once.

Okay, here goes.

If everyone in here was suddenly out into some sort of cage-match, I'd probably not last five minutes. There it is. The other reason why people have a problem with me. They think it's only a matter of time before I end up on the end of one of their stakes. There was a time when I'm not sure if I would have disagreed with them. Some of these people have been training for decades to become badasses. My talents, (ironically enough, considering my persona,) lie more in subterfuge than in an out and out brawl, and considering that when I started out I had nothing more than a body I was willing to exploit, a vague plan and a lot of pure dumb luck...

I should be dead a thousand times over.

Don't ask me how the fuck I'm still around. Maybe somebody up there finds me entertaining or something. Fucked if I could explain it.

Okay, that was a lie. I win because people (and “people”) tend to underestimate me. All they see is the boobs, the outfit, and my (usually genuine) desire to have them between my thighs... and they think that's all there is to me. I distract them with fluttering eyelashes, heaving chest and an aching bedroom voice... and then they're too busy chasing me to realise I've caught them. When I'm looking for an easy lay, or drawing vamps away from far more innocent prey, I play the role, and they fall for it nearly every time, because they aren't used to dealing with predators.
This was Rutley's mistake- he thought it was only pure dumb luck that kept me alive.

Oh, you were wondering what happened to him, weren't you. Also his poor brother Taylan for that matter.

Funny story that. It's left me and Tristan a bit sheepish, let me tell you.

So after we got him to blab the plans of the local Cooperative, Gareth muttered something under his breath, and Taylan collapsed. I shit you not, it looked some serious Dune shit going on right there. I found out later that it was a simple sleep spell, that could have worked on anyone, but that's beside the point. And hell, I didn't know Gareth dabbled in magic. One of these days I'll cease to be surprised.

Gareth then got Tristan to lock Taylan in the lead-lined store cupboard. Apparently lead blocks telepathic waves, and Gareth had a suspicion he wanted to confirm. Gareth then made a few calls.

His swearing got increasingly creative. Mothers and their poor choices of lovers were brought into it, as were a few anatomically impossible feats. I was impressed.

It was then that Gareth explained. Remember last time Taylan started acting weirdly? Yeah...

Taylan had been controlled by Rutley again. And none of us idiots picked it up.

Do I feel stupid right now? You have no fucking idea.

“Seriously, you didn't notice he was acting a bit oddly?” I don't think I'd seen Gareth quite that miffed with me before.

“Oh come on Gareth, it's been a long fucking week. I'm sleep deprived and before this week I'd never met the guy. Either of the guys. How the hell was I supposed to know that insanity doesn't run in the family?” I protested.

Tristan said nothing, fuming silently. He always does that when he's extremely embarrassed. And well he should be- Taylan was supposed to be a friend of his, he should have picked up that something weird was going on. Though apparently, just his and my luck, he's extremely susceptible to mindfuckery.

Something I'm going to have to keep in mind for future reference.

Apparently all of our over-reactions over the last short while had been at least partially influenced by Rutley's mindfucking. I'll give credit where credit is due, he's got a bit of skill. I didn't even feel it that time, and that scares the shit out of me. I learned later that the only reason I'd landed any shots on Taylan was because he'd been too busy fighting Rutley's control to prevent me from injuring him. Now that was a bit of a wakeup call.

Gareth grimaced. “To be honest, I owe both of you an apology. If I'd been keeping up with my email, I would have known they'd lost track of the poor kid. His brother's always been particularly susceptible to his powers- he and Taylan used to be close, before the stress of listening to the thoughts of all and sundry sent him insane. It's a bit of a tragic case, particularly since their father is one of the higher-ups in the Cooperative, and Taylan is one of their best agents. He was the one to discover the fact that the vampires were going to have a little get together, and he was on his way to tell me about it when he got waylaid by his brother, who apparently decided that just this once, he wanted to be the one to come home the hero. He said as much in some note he left back at the asylum before he 'convinced' the nurses that they wanted to let him go away on a little holiday. His father said as much when I called him up just now, asking him what the hell was Rutley doing in Australia. Apparently their mother is on the phone to the Cooperative right now demanding why Rutley wasn't held in a lead-lined room when the Cooperative got their hands back on him...” Gareth trailed off, as though a thought had just occurred to him.

“Oh, and Bela? You now have the distinction of being the first person to land a hit on Taylan that he didn't intend to touch him in a year. It's not likely to happen again, so don't let your guard down.”

I'd rolled my eyes at Gareth. “Even brainbefucked Taylan's a better fighter than me. I know I'm one to push my luck, but contrary to popular opinion, I'm not suicidal.”

At this point, Tristan had just snorted disbelievingly, but Gareth looked at me, considering for a moment.

“I know,” he said simply, ignoring the look of surprise on Tristan's face as I smiled.

And that was that.

Soon afterwards, Cooperative agents streamed in and took Taylan off in a stretcher, some kind of device wrapped around his head to protect him from evil brother mind-beams. Poor bastard. Looks like I'm never going to enjoy that sexy body. Shame, really.
Which brings me back to the present situation, where I'm in a room full of people who either have extremely accurate stats sheets on what I've done, or they've heard enough about my kill-rate to know that I'm not the kind of opponent you ignore. I'm used to fighting with no second-chances, with my opponents on the back foot (or flat on their backs, but who's quibbling?). If I was ever taken seriously as an opponent, I would be up shit creek.

And this is why Bela doesn't pick real fights with other slayers.

I'd be fucked, and not in the good way.

Particularly right now.

All I want now is some sleep...

Come to think of it, why am I still here?

Having indirectly informed Gareth both about the extent of the Cooperative's screwing around in his territory and more specifically what retarded plans their current incarnation of higher-ups were spewing, my job here is kinda done. I don't know shit about explosives, and apparently at some point when I was zoning just now, the Cooperative declared that they will provide the clean-up team...

So I'm kinda left at a loose end.

I guess I could stick around and wait to see if anything else interesting is going to happen, but...

Screw this.I've ascertained the location and time of the attack tomorrow night, and so I decide I might as well get the fuck out of here. I don't need to be here, and nothing entertaining is happening anymore.

I stand up from my perch on the counter, and wave at Gareth, signalling that I'm going to fuck off. He nods vaguely, and gets right back to arguing about how to organise the attack so the Unaware don't get involved. Georgie's looking like she's getting right into the planning, so I figure I won't bother her, even though her offer of a bed was thoroughly appreciated. Shit, I have enough money stuffed in my bra to pay for a bed in some fleapit motel for a night, and if I set the alarm I might even wake up on time to get prime seats for the smackdown.

Actually, now that I think about it, Nana is staying over at my sister's. I insisted on it after she had her scare with Rutley- I figured she needed to stay with someone, so she decided to go and visit Heidi and Amy. I've got a spare key to her place, her bed is currently unoccupied and unlike my place, it isn't somewhere where I've ever seen vamps.

And I won't even have to spend my emergency cash on some shitty motel room that smells like cigarrette smoke, cheap booze and sex, and probably hasn't been cleaned since the '90s. Instead, I can sleep on a comfy bed, in familiar environs, and the only smells I have to worry about are those of rosemary, garlic, rum and coffee. For free.

Yeah, I'm going with option B.

I walk the few blocks to Nana's place, and twenty minutes later, I'm undressing in her room, until all I'm wearing is my tshirt and knickers. Damn it feels good to be out of those stillettoes. I knead my toes into the carpet, letting my feet get used to the idea of not being on tiptoe again, before I turn on the lamp and turn off the main light. The lampshade has crystals on it, that spread rainbows on the walls. Pretty.

Lying back on the floral doona cover, I laze for a bit, stretching, observing the patterns on the plaster ceiling. I'm half asleep already, starting to drift.

“Why hello Bela. Long time no see. Nice to see that time hasn't made you any less sexy.”

A second later I'm bolt upright, staring at the figure on the balcony.

The streetlight behind him makes him practically a silhouette, but he seems familiar. I know him.

Is that...?

Oh, no. No, no, no.

It is.

Well.

Fuck.


.........................................................
Not long to go now people. Hang in there, the next chapter's going to be a doozy :P