Whisper

Michael's eyes adjusted to the dark much better than a human's. Everything looked sharper. He found himself watching how his arm moved. This had not interested him since his pot-smoking teenage years. Here he was, in the basement of a vampire's house, and all he could do was stare at his own body. He kept foregtting what he was.

A vampire.

He remembered why he was there. He had been hit in the chest with an arrow contaminated with vampiric blood. That had been two nights ago, when John had been hunting down Greta, another vampire who'd killed Michael's friend James. Je would never rest until Greta was destroyed.

"Stop staring at your hands. That can drive a newborn vampire mad, you know," John said from the bottom step.

Michael felt the thirst building up. John's own eyes glowed red in the dark. He'd explained that the virus that causes vampirism altered the retinas in the eyes, giving them a creepy luminance.

"When can I feed?" Michael growled. It came out sounding far more aggressive than he'd intended.

"Right now. I killed this less than five minutes ago," John replied. Michael caught the fragile carcass in his hands.

"A rabbit?"

"You'll want to start with something simple. You'll graduate to carnivores, then a human host when you learn self-control," John said.

Michael sank his teeth into the furry little body. The blood was still warm. The taste, however, didn't satisfy him. In less than a minute, he'd drained the rabbit of its blood. He wiped the excess off his lips and licked his fingers.

"I'll dispose of the body. Our kind often leave animal remains for people to stumble across. It's part of an effort to hide our existence from them. They blame UFOs and chupacabras on the mutilations," John said as he took the body from Michael.

"I bet PETA hates you," he said. John raised an eyebrow.

"They don't know I exist. I've been dead for one hundred and thirty-three years," the hunter said.

"When did you become a vampire?" Michael asked. He was on his feet, now that he felt stronger.

"In 1877," John said. There was a furnace in one corner of the basement. While he started it up, Michael got a better look at his surroundings.

John collected things. There was an old horse-drawn hearse, a black coffin with gold handles, and a suit of black clothing from the Victorian era on a mannequin. Michael was studying them when John came up behind him.

"My funeral memorabilia. I kept them out of nostalgia. The others in my coven told me to keep them away," he said," So I brought them here."

"You have a coven?"

"Yes. There's Catherine and Florence, and the one we call the Elder, who's a prophet. You'd like them. Technically, I am not in charge, but the coven bears my name," John explained.

"What is your full name?"

"John St.John, from the Van Helsing tradition of vampire hunters," John said with an elegant bow.

He led the way up the steps. Michael followed close behind. Beyond the basement, he found the house to be a fancy place. The kitchen looked normal, though a little old-fashioned. John led him into a library. The smell of old leather was foreign to Michael, who'd been drunk before his conversion into a vampire. He was more used to the stench of stale sweat, beer, and vomit that came from bars and strip clubs.

"Have a seat," John said as he gestured to an armchair.

Michael sank into the comfortable leather. He saw several oil paintings hanging from the walls. One looked to be fairly recent. John sat in a chair opposite his. He saw the painting and smiled faintly.

"The Elder painted that. I, as you can see, am in the center. The beauty on my left is Florence. Her hair is the color of a sunset. The ethereal angel with gold hair to my right is Catherine,"John said.

Michael looked at another painting. When he saw who was at its center, he bared his teeth and rose to his feet.

"What is she doing in that painting?" he demanded.

"Greta was my betrothed. I met her in Germany in 1877. I was out on my own, newly graduated in the art of vampire hunting," John recalled sadly.

"She made you into a vampire?"

"Not alone. Her master had a hand in it as well," John replied.

Michael wondered what could possibly make a man hunt down his former betrothed. Seeing his pupil's curiousity, John decided to enlighten him. He clasped his hands and closed his eyes.

"I was tracking a very old, very powerful vampire known as Vlad. he served as the inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula," he said," I'd tracked him to a Swabian village in Germany called Gailsbach."

John looked up at the painting."I met her there. She was human back then, an innkeeper's daughter. I was examining villagers who'd been lured out of their homes and bitten by Vlad. I needed a way to catch him in the act. Greta was the one who suggested I try the local cemetary. I had fallen in love with her over a matter of days. We'd become enagaged. I never questioned why she had suggested the cemetary or offered to use herself as bait."

"Greta was attacked and I fired my crossbow at Vlad. But I was a novice and Vlad was a very powerful vampire. I witnessed the end of Greta's mortal life,"John said.

"Did she die?" Michael asked.

"No. She was made into a vampire by Vlad. Since he was so old and powerful, it didn't take her as long to change as you did. I realized that she had been in league with the enemy all along. She attacked me and almost drained me of my blood, while Vlad held me in place. I would have died completely if Florence hadn't shown up. She'd been stalking Vlad on her own, one vampire hunting another. I watched as she attacked and nearly killed him. He escaped with Greta, but she saved me by making me into a vampire rather than letting me die." John concluded.

"And the moral is?" Michael asked.

"You can't ever completely know anyone, boy. I loved Greta and she betrayed me. You still want revenge for your friend's death?" John asked.

"Yes. of course I do," Michael insisted.

"Then I'll train you. You'll learn how to trail a vampire, how to stake one, and how to use the speed we have to your advantage. Greta is very clever and she knows we're on her trail. So, let's begin." John said.

* * *

Later that night, Michael was feeling the thirst creep up on him. He and John were in the woods behind the house. John had clocked him to see how many of the practice dummies he could take down in the space of three minutes.

"You're improving. But remember, Greta can turn into mist, like her master. She can literally get inside your mind and mess with your thoughts. I learned to block her a long time ago," John warned.

The sanctuary loomed behind them like a manor house atop a hill. Seventeen wood mannequins had been arranged to surround Michael from every concievable direction. He had been given free run to decapitate them, shoot arrows into them, stake them, or dismember them as he chose. He had to work fast, for though three minutes was quick by human standards, it was an eternity by vampiric ones. Anything could happen in that time.

"How can I block her from my thoughts?" Michael asked. He was bare chested and clad in only jeans.

"You have to turn your mind into a sanctuary, just as my home is a place I can physically retreat to. Unfortunately, I cannot teach you how to do this. Only Catherine can," John replied.

"Discipline's never been my strong point," Michael admitted.

John tossed him something. It was a local newspaper. The headline read,"Local Missing Boy Likely Second Victim, Three More Found Dead". A picture of Michael was on the cover. He snatched the paper from John and read the article.

"I missed James' funeral," he realized," Everyone I cared about would have been there: Todd, Wayne, Brett, Jenna..."

"Jenna was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah," Michael said, closing his eyes. She'd dumped him the same night Greta had attacked.

"Looks like Greta's killed three more people. Hmm..your friend James isn't listed as dead. That's strange," John frowned as he read the article over Michael's shoulder.

A whisper of hope filled Michael. James couldn't have survived being drained of blood, at least not as a human. John hadn't put it into words, but he must have been thinking the same thing.

"She must have contaminated his blood. He survived, John! He's out there, somewhere," Michael said. He wadded the newspaper up and threw it.

"Then's he's on her side. Did you see the police drawing of the suspect based on eyewitness accounts? Take a good, hard look," John said coldy.

Trembling, Michael picked the newspaper back up. He looked at the picture.

It was James.

"He's alone. He doesn't have anyone showing him the ropes, like you are with me," Michael said.

"I hope for your sake that you're right. This is Greta's doing. She now had her pawn, as I have mine," John said.

Michael refused to believe him. James wasn't evil, he was good. He couldn't kill anyone unless it was the thirst for blood a vampire needed. John began to pick up the remains of the dummies.

"I've taught you all I can. Tomorrow, you'll meet Catherine and Florence. They'll complete your training," he said.

"Then what?"

"We destroy Greta."