Bela the Nymphomaniac Vampire Slayer

Chapter 6: Why telling of prophecies will get you nowhere

Ugh, why is it that all the beautiful ones are crazy?

Well, spectacularly impractical anyway.

“I still cannot comprehend that you rifled through the remains of that vampire and pocketed her jewellery,” whined Pretty Gu... shit, he has a name now, what was it? Oh yeah, Taylan. Fuck. Now I'm going to have to remember otherwise I'll never get a piece of him.

Then again, the way this is going, that might be wishful thinking right there.

I rolled my eyes for what felt like the five hundredth time since we had left the scene of my latest staking. Only a block to go until we hit Gareth's territory.

Stopping, I inhale and decide to explain the facts to Taylan slowly and in impossible to misinterpret words.

Realising that he has gone ahead of me, he turns around, glaring at me, resembling nothing more than Tristan's tomcat Benny.

Oh for the love of a good fuck.

“Taylan,” I say, returning his glare with a cool expression, “your idealism is kinda cute in a misled kinda way, but there are several problems with your lines of argument.”

Oh great, now he's folding his arms and inclining his head for me to continue.

Condescending little fucktard.

Right, that is it.

“Number one: you can wipe that condescending look right off your mug right now or I'm dumping your dumb ass right here. I'm the senior slayer here, so you can either deal with how I roll, or you can go fuck off to whatever dust-filled fucking mothball library you sprang from.
“Number two: a woman's gotta pay the bills somehow. I don't know about you, but I am not the goddamned Batman, and I do not have any mysterious backers or deceased relatives that left me anything more than my couch and a few bags of vintage clothes.
“And last but not least. Newsflash: we are dealing with motherfucking vampires here. Now, I don't know what alternate universe you might have sprung from, or what fantasy novels you've been swallowing, but I will tell you now, trying to apply ethics to vampires is like trying to pat a pissed-off tiger. It's pointless, and it's likely to get your arm torn off.”

Taylan just stood there with what can only be called a distinctly mulish look.

Goddamnit, if he wasn't so gorgeous I'd punch him in the face, but I make a point of not destroying any works of art.

Vampires don't count, and neither do garden gnomes. I don't care if the bloody things have been hand-painted, they're still as creepy as all get-out.

He's still just standing there.

“What? Aren't you going to continue your lecture about how your ivory tower philosophies make so much more fucking sense than my practical experience on the godsbefucked front line? Or are you going to just stand there like a weeping asshole?”

His mouth purses.

Oooh here we go, the big rebuttal...

“There's no need to be so vulgar.”

...

...

I'm pretty sure I'm gaping at him right now.

Is he serious? Who in the seven hells does he think he is, Nanny Vigu?

Sonuvabitch, now that's a hilarious thought. She'd eat this prick for breakfast.

Actually, come to think of it... man I have a really really sick mind sometimes.

Ugh. You know what, fuck it, I don't even care anymore.

Throwing my hands up in the air, I clack off disgustedly, my stilletto boots making it impossible for me to stomp properly as I leave bloody Taylan in my wake.

Well that was the plan, anyway.

Bitch did not just grab my wrist.

Without thinking about it, I grab Taylan by the shirt collar and using a little aikido, flip him onto his ass, pulling out the knife from my bodice and resting it against the pulse point of his throat in the same movement.

Yeah, this guy is definitely more attractive with a bewildered look on his face. It takes a full two seconds before he figures out how he landed on the ground and from the gleam in his eye, I'm going to assume that he is somewhat miffed at his position.

I decide to be nice. Afterall, it's not his fault that he's stupid. He just needs a bit of a more practical education.

“What part of 'I'm an infamous slayer that gets up close and personal with vamps and is still alive' did not penetrate your thick skull?”

Well, nice for me, anyway.

I hear a crunch of broken glass in a nearby alley and I groan.

Great, it's the fucking cavalry.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” says Tristan in his figjam 'I-have-seen-way-too-many-movies-about-being-a-badass' voice.

The hilarious thing is that he doesn't even realise that he does it.

Goddamnit. Karma is seriously out to fuck with me tonight. Only thing that would make this more perfect would be...

“Hey! Bela!”

For fucking Coutt to show up goddamnit what the FUCK!?

Refusing to turn my attention from Mr. Stupid Asshole Wristgrabber, I silently count to ten, realise that I've pressed my knifepoint just hard enough to cause a thin trickle of blood to stain Taylan's collar, pull back a little then count ten more.

“Oh, I'm just teaching Yilmaz here about Rule Number One of our little circle.”

I don't even have to be looking at Coutt's face to know that he's about to pipe up and ask what Rule Number One is. Fortunately, Tristan knows me well enough to know when I have patience with that kind of inanity and when I don't.

Okay, so it's pretty much never, but I think times when I have a guy on the ground at knifepoint for being stupid are almost definitely the most obvious.

“'Rule Number One: You don't fuck with the slayer. The slayer fucks with you.' 'The slayer' being whoever holds seniority, which is generally judged on relative levels of previous vamp-sticking,” Tristan explains as he saunters over to a point where I both Yilmaz and I can see him without turning.

“Of course in Bela's case, the 'fuck' part is often quite literal.”

Argh! Arrogant fuck! And to think I thought he was actually being distinctly non-assholic for a moment there.

Should have bloody known better.

“Well hello to you too, fuckface.” Deciding I can't be arsed scaring Taylan Yilmaz anymore, I withdraw the knife then give him a sharp kick in the ribs.

“Next time, you don't touch me without my permission. Get it?” I growl at him.

Taylan nods, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket (who the hell carries hankies these days?) to staunch the trickle of blood from my knife-cut before accepting a hand up from Coutt, (fuck, when did he get there?!) while I turn to scowl at Tristan, the only one in this group who a) could be any sort of real threat to me, or b) that I have a modicum of respect for. He might be an utter bastard, but he can get the job done, and there aren't enough like him in our field of work.

Sheathing my knife, I stretch a little and paste a sardonic smile onto my face.

“How's stakeage?”

Tristan shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Not bad. Got one that I know of so far tonight, though I'm still waiting for Jez to get back to me on whether they got this female vamp that's been terrorizing some of the clubs on George.”

I can't help myself, I smirk.

“She wouldn't happen to have been a Spanish-looking bint with a taste for vinyl would she?” I ask him casually.

The annoyance on Tristan's face reminds me why I love what I do for a living.

Without answering me, Tristan unclips his mobile phone from his belt and speed dials Jezebel Jameson, his second, and last I checked, his current fuckbuddy. Normally I'd hope the poor thing knew what she was doing, but Jezebel's been fucking this dickbrain for at least a year, so yeah, I'd assume by now that she knows well and truly what she's doing.

And that chick would probably smash your teeth in if you called her 'a poor thing' to her face. We get along fabulous, surprisingly.

“Jez, yeah hi Baby,” Tristan says into his phone in a tone he hasn't used on me since the second time we fucked. “You can call off the stakeout... fucking Bela of course... yeah, I know it's the third time in two months she's done that. No, Uh uh... Babe! Okay, okay, Fine! I'll tell her. Shit, you didn't have to drag that into it... Okay. Bye.”

Taylan and Coutt watch with interest as Tristan runs his hands through his hair as though attempting to rip it out.

Heh, one of these days I'm going to give this guy an aneurysm, and it'll be hilarious.

Well, until Jez finds out anyway, but I can take her. She's only two feet taller than me.

“Jez told me to tell you that unless she finds you at Wheels in about twenty minutes, she's going to tell your Nan about how you keep kill-stealing.” Tristan mutters, looking as though someone just trod on his pet rabbit.

I burst out laughing.

Tristan, having met Nanny Vigu on one memorable occasion and knowing perfectly well what her reaction to such a complaint would likely be just sighs and rubs at his temples as though warding off a headache.

Taylan on the other hand just looks extremely confused, but I decide I don't really care.

“Let's not keep your lady waiting then, Crusader.” I grin at Tristan and he shudders slightly.

Heh, good to know I still have it.

After about ten minutes of walking and listening to Coutt and Taylan's separate attempts to strike up a conversation with Tristan, I am extremely relieved to reach the oasis of light on the darkened street that marks Wheels.

Apart from the fact that my feet are now killing me, if there's one thing I find boring, it's toadying, and knowing that I'm a decidedly unsympathetic ear, neither Coutt nor Taylan have bothered to say a word to me.

Then again, maybe they're being smart for a change.

I probably would have bitten their heads off, so I can't really fault their survival senses.

Pushing through the door, I notice Georgie in the corner typing away at her laptop with a supersized flat white to her left.

I check the clock up on the wall and am surprised to see that it's not yet 2am.

Huh. Apparently time drags when you're pissed off.

Or when I'm pissed off.

Anyway.

There's no sign of Gareth but I doubt he's far away. I decide to greet my bug-loving friend.

“Hey Georgie, whatcha working on?”

Georgie jumps a little, nearly losing her glasses in the process, her curly red hair bouncing adorably as though trying to escape the olive green scarf she's got it bound up in tonight.

I hear a slight choking noise, and I turn to see Coutt staring at Georgie with puppy eyes.

You had better be fucking kidding me.

“Don't even think about it,” I snarl at him. “You don't get to even look at any of my friends until you've survived in this business a month.”

I hear the sound of a throat clearing, and I turn to see Georgie giving me a “Be nice to the n00b” look.

I snort, and send her back an eloquent “fat chance”, and she rolls her eyes at me before grinning.

“Don't worry about Bela,” Georgie says to Coutt, “she didn't say 'fuck' in that sentence, so she probably won't make it a long and painful death.”

God I love Georgie. She understands.

Turning away from a swiftly paling Coutt, Georgie winks at me before saying, “To answer your earlier question, I'm working on my thesis about the mating habits of Tenodera Sinensis, or as you laypeople might term them, Chinese Praying Mantises. Fascinating little creatures, when they know they're being watched, the female tends to simply rip off the head of the copulating male mid coitus, whereas in situations where there has merely been a camera set up with no watchers that the Mantises can perceive, an elaborate courtship dance emerges, seemingly so that the male mantis can convince the female to not bite his head off.”

“I can relate,” I snicker, and Georgie quickly joins in with her infectious giggles, particularly when she sees the mixtures of singularly appalled and amused expressions on the three males present.

“Georgie, are you horrifying my customers again?” Gareth rumbles as he coasts through the back door with a large jar of biscuits on his knees.

Ooh, chocolate chip and macadamia. Definitely going to have to stea- I mean ask very very nicely for one of those before I leave.

Georgie giggles again, replying, “They're slayers. If they can't hack nature, how are they supposed to deal with Supernature?”

Frowning, Taylan murmurs something about doubting if that's a word, unwittingly drawing Gareth's attention onto himself.

Gareth likes Georgie. He thinks she brightens the place up. Most slayers tend to have a fairly cynical turn of mind, even without purposely putting on the dark and brooding persona that so many of the newbie gits seem to think is mandatory, so a little bubble of curly-headed optimism like Georgie is often one of the few things that keeps us all from becoming excrutiatingly morbid.

Oh Georgie, so bug-happy.

Gareth on the other hand...

“And just who the fuck are you?” he growls at Taylan.

“T-Taylan Yilmaz, supernatural researcher and slayer at your service, Sir. Are you Gareth Williams?”

Well, at least he was respectful.

Pity Gareth is a bit of an old prick.

Pity for Taylan, that is. Me, I love a floorshow.

“No, of course not. I'm the other Jamaican expat slayer who answers to 'Stakemaster',” Gareth grumbles, looking Taylan up and down. “I don't need your service, and I don't do autographs kid, so don't let the door hit you on your way out,” he adds dismissively as he turns to wheel himself behind the counter.

Even sour Tristan has to restrain a grin at that one.

Taylan however shows more strength of character than he has all night, and decides to ignore this.

Then again it might just be complete and utter stupidity, but hey, I'm feeling charitable.

“Wait, I have to tell you about the prophecy...”

My mistake. Definitely stupidity. That's what you get for feeling charitable, Bela.

Well, he is rather gorgeous. I can't help it if I don't want to have to break my “don't fuck stupid people” motto.

There is an audible 'slap' as Tristan conducts a facepalm.

I reiterate my previous statement. Why are the beautiful ones always stark raving bonkers?

Then again, the fact that he got Tristan to hit himself in the head was pretty entertaining, so clearly they do have a purpose.

Apparently Taylan has selective blindness, as he plows on regardless of the variety of incredulous looks in his direction.

“The original is in Sanskrit, but the most correct translation I have managed to obtain states that: 'The one whom the blood-drinkers fear the most will fall when the gibbous moon rises and the Pole Star meets with Venus.” I wish I knew the technique for speaking in italics. “Only then can the Queen of the blood-drinkers be slain with the Silver Spear'.” It makes even utter tripe like that sound vaguely significant.

I think all of us just stared at Taylan in disbelief for a full thirty seconds. Then Tristan broke and snorted a laugh, and the room was suddenly filled with guffaws.

Even Coutt joined in, though I got the feeling his laughter was more of the “infected by others around him” variety.

The dying down of the laughter ended with me on the floor, Tristan holding his sides in pain, and leaning against a nearly-crying Gareth and Georgie with her head next to her laptop, her curls shaking like a curly variety of koosh ball.

The only person who didn't have a smile on their face was Taylan, who appeared to be distinctly miffed.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Gareth looked up at Taylan's face and nearly started up again.

“Kid, that is the most I've laughed since Moscow in '86 when some annoying Ukrainian vamp who was chasing me slipped over on some black ice and managed to brain himself.” The corners of his thick lips nearly reaching his ears, Gareth turned to Coutt.

“Congratulations, you're no longer the most ridiculous thing I've seen all week.”

Coutt who, (despite the considerable amount of bagging out that he had to have received from the tracksuit and T-shirt wearing Tristan,) had only changed his outfit from the other day by leaving his gun and sunglasses behind didn't seem to know whether he should look relieved or slightly annoyed, and ended up looking like my two-year-old niece after she's just shat herself.

Idiot.

In what I could only interpret as an attempt to make an even bigger fuckknuckle of himself, Taylan stuttered something about how all the prophecies from this obscure book with a spit-gargle of a name had come true, and that he didn't get why we found a chance to defeat the Vampire Queen to be a source of hilarity.

Huh. Seems like Taylan has also discovered the secret of pronouncing capital letters. Well how about that?

It was about this point that Tristan decided to take the opportunity to be patronising, as Gareth had indicated his lack of interest in the whole affair by rolling off to make chai and coffee sometime during Taylan's almost tragic last-ditch effort to be taken seriously.

“Mate, the second rule of being a slayer is about the the same as the KISS rule: if it's not kept simple, you're being an inefficient fuck.” Tristan snorted. “Why the hell would we want to waste time trying to figure out some obscure references in some random dead guy's babblings when we can just go ahead with the default stake them then bake them? Not to mention that as far as I'm aware, the current head of the vampires was 'democratically' elected. For all we know, 'Vampire Queen' might be a reference to the vamp's sexual inclinations and the Pointy Stick of Power or whatever was lost to the ages... which still wouldn't make a goddamn bit of difference, as stakes and knives tend to work quite well enough without digging up some mystic mumbo-jumbo relic of yore.

“I'm not even going to touch the star alignment shit. Seriously, do we look like we have that kind of time to waste chasing comet tails other such bullshit?”

Taylan was looking lost and bewildered. I got the distinct impression that the conversation hadn't gone the way he had thought it would.

Somehow.

Gareth decides to put his two cents in. “I can tell you now kid, there definitely ain't no vamp Queen. They're a democratic society, because they figured out maybe 300 years ago it was the only way they could keep the peace for any amount of time. Think about it, you wouldn't want to fuck with the majority of elder vamps in the area, so what makes you think a vamp is going to play that sort of game?”

“Did you, ah, travel far to give us this information?” Tristan asked Taylan, his tone still somewhere in the realm of 'what the fuck mate, seriously'.

Head hanging and forehead creased with consternation, Taylan murmured something about travelling all the way from Ankara.

I almost felt sorry for the guy, but honestly, who the hell travels halfway across the world simply to give a musty fragment of raving to his idol?

Man, some people are fucking terrifying.

Speaking of terrifying...

It's at this point that the coffee shop door slams open and Jezebel and her partner Aarti Vaid stampede in.

They seem to be a little pissed off, I wonder what caused tha-

Oh. Shit.

Oops?

“Hey guys!” I say in an overly breezy tone of voice, “Look! Witnesses! So you can't kill me!”

Tristan immediately calls “inability to prosecute defacto spouse” whereas Gareth says, “What witnesses? I see two insane people, and I'm out the back getting more biscuits.”

Georgie on the other hand has sunk back into her thesis, and wouldn't notice if World War Three started over her head, unless of course dust fell onto her monitor.

I look towards the two women who have just entered, one a 6 foot nordic valkyrie type in bright purple mosh-pit boots, the other a normally chilled-out Indian in white jeans and crop-top.

The only thing these two really have in common in appearance is the fact that they have various weapons hidden about their persons.

Oh, and they have near-identical looks of chagrin... they just looked at each other meaningfully... for fuck's sake, I wasn't even trying to killsteal this time around!

Oh shit they're advancing on me.

Probably a good idea to back up a little.

Juuust a little bit...

Gah!

“You know, somehow this isn't what I pictured when I said I liked girl-on-girl action,” I wheeze from beneath where Jezebel and Aarti have tackled me to the ground.

Coutt starts sniggering at this, whereas Gareth and Tristan ignore the writhing heap of females in the middle of the floor.

Taylan just stares, gobsmacked.

What, hasn't he ever seen three fit ladies in a wrestling match before?

His face says no.

Poor bastard. Man, I'm starting to think fucking him might be doing him a favour.

I decide I'm bored of being squished, so I tell the girls on top of me that if they don't want me to get in first on their marks, they just have to be faster.

“Goddamnit Bela, I'm getting sick to death of this!” Aarti complains good-naturedly. “I mean, we spend three fucking nights tracking the bitch, then you just breeze in and the next thing we know she's been staked and we're getting another call from Tristan saying 'don't bother'.”

I shrug. “Yeah? I was there on the spot, you weren't. I'm sorry if I fucked up your plans, but as far as I'm concerned, so long as a vamp got staked tonight, no loss, eh?”

“Goddamnit Bela!” Jez snarls a lot less good-naturedly. “Just because you like to play your little games to get some from the fucking undead does not mean you can just sail in and spirit all our hits away for a bit of time between your thighs. It's frustrating, is what it is.”

Frustrating? I'll give them fucking frustrating.“Well next time I see a vamp, I'll just phone you up and check if you jokers are already on her tail.” Both they and I know perfectly well that 'roos will hop backwards before that happens. “I see them, I stake them. If they get lucky, I fuck them first. That's just how I go, and if you have a problem with it, you guys can go find some fresh territory, because it's worked for me so far and I promise you now I'm not going to change any time soon, and I sure as fuck am not going any fucking where.” By the end of this little tirade, I am pretty close to spitting mad, mostly because I don't see why I should have to fucking explain myself.

I watch as they remember who I am. Some of the shit I've pulled. Just how many confirmed stakings I have, and the fact that I'm still standing.

Gareth understands. Fuck, he probably understands this feeling better than me. The feeling that your colleagues are rank pretentious amateurs that are going to get themselves killed one day because they are too fucking arrogant.

We slayers hang together not because we're a nice jolly gang who go off on crazy adventures and then come home in time for tea and biscuits. We kill for a living. We're frontline veterans in a secret war, and no one outside of our little clique is ever going to know half the stuff we've done to keep the numbers of bloodsuckers down, and knowing that we share this 'life' generally enforces a certain type of camaraderie amongst us.

Sometimes I am happy about this, but I'll be damned if I'm going to take any lip from anyone, comrade or no.

Aarti takes Jez by the arm and pulls her away to the counter to order her usual chai from Gareth. She's picked up from my deathglare that they've crossed the line, and if they're smart, they'll give me space to simmer down. I like them well enough those two- I wouldn't let anyone else get away with tackling me to the ground like that without taking a knife to their throats and a stilletto to their Achilles'.

I don't mind them getting a little irritated with me- hell, I can see their side of it.

But I'm not going to take disrespect from anyone who isn't Gareth or Nanny Bela. Tao once told me about the Chinese customs of respecting elders, and I have to say, I agree entirely to a point. Anyone who has lived through more shit than I have and still kept their dignity gets my automatic seal of approval.

“Something's bothering you.”

I snapped out of my reverie, and saw that Tristan had for some reason decided that approaching me was a good idea.

“Fuck off. I'm fine. Fucking fantastic.”

Tristan raises an eyebrow at me.

Goddamnit, no, no and hell no. I'm not telling you anything prick, just because you were a good fuck, and we've known each other five years does not mean I have to tell you shit.

Oh fuck it, who else am I going to tell?

“I think I'm being stalked.” Tristan's expression becomes decidedly more perturbed.

“You think you're what?” he asks incredulously.

I sigh frustratedly. Why do I even bother?

“You heard me. I got roses and a creepy poem sent to my front doorstep this morning...”

“Bela, you do realise that in some cultures that's a sign of affection? Maybe you just fucked someone who was sentimental or something...”

“Shut the fuck up Tristan. It was addressed to 'Bela', and it was my fucking front doorstep, and you know perfectly well that I make a point of not mixing my two lives up. Do you know where I live? I know for damn sure I never showed you, but you've probably had me followed at least once.”

Tristan smiles worriedly.

“Oh come on Bela, you know I'd never...”

“The fuck you'd never Tristan,” I kick a chair next to me and it clatters to the floor. Both of us ignore it. “I know perfectly well how your paranoid little mind works, so don't try to feed me bullshit. Do you know where I live?”

Tristan's smile flattens.

“No, I don't Bela, because I don't waste my time chasing slayers when I have less discerning killers on the loose. I have more respect for you than that, surely you know that?”

Respect? Oh, that's a good one.

“Like fuck you respect me. 'The only difference between Bela and a whore is that Bela doesn't charge',” I say, mimicking his voice. “You know what? Fuck you. I don't have to answer to anyone, and no one ever complains about my results, so if you have a problem with me Tristan, you can go fuck a pole.”

I suddenly notice that the room has gone quiet, but I'm at a point where I simply don't care.

It's not like they've never heard it before- I've heard them all talking about variations of this theme.

Ugh fucking bloody hell that is it.

I'm thinking it's time I just ended today- it's been pretty fucked all round, and it doesn't look like it's going to get any better.

Without looking back, I slam out of Wheels, ignoring Gareth's rhetorical yell about what he's going to do with my latte now. I hope he throws it over Tristan.

I'm starting to feel the tiniest plip, plips of moisture. It's thinking about raining.

Five minutes later, and I know I got it wrong.

It's fucking bucketing down.

Fan-fucking-bloody-tastic.


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Greetings thrill seekers! Lovely to hear from those of you who have reviewed- always nice to know I'm not just sending my chapters out into the void.

Next chapter should be in sometime next week, but I would love some feedback:Who do you want to see more of, aka who is your favourite character and why?