Jamaica Blue Magic: Chapter 4

Dylan doesn't know it, but things are about to get a lot weirder...

 

------

 

 

Chapter 4.

"His name is Dobson," John said, as they walked along the white sand beach. Behind them the soft tones of the band echoed in the distance. The crowd around the stage had grown considerably, making it impossible to hear, so Dylan and John had decided to take their discussion to the beach, while the others enjoyed the band and each other’s company.

"That was quick," Dylan said. "You guys haven't lost your touch. But, Dobson? He’s not using the same family name? Demons tend to reincarnate in the same family line."

Dylan stopped and pulled off his shoes and socks. Next to him, John did the same and rolled up his jeans.

"He married Beckmann’s daughter Sarah, and became headmaster after her father retired." John sank his toes into the sand. "Apparently, she wasn’t allowed to take over."

"Sexist son of a bitch." Dylan brushed his hair from his face. "Any idea why he’s here?"

"Honestly, no idea. I’m a psychologist, comic book writer, and artist, Dyl; a hacker only like a distant fourth. Tina has to keep her nose clean, she’s running for Magistrate next November." He scrubbed the back of his head with a hand. "You’ll have to ask Filipe. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dobson’s looking for financial supporters and students for his school. Lots of Americans with money come here on vacation. He can pimp all he wants here."

"This isn’t exactly the establishment where you’d find those kinds of supporters, John."

Sometimes John failed to consider the social differences between groups of people. He lumped everyone together. You were either a friend, a victim, an oppressor, or someone who didn’t give a damn.

"Social groups, man; rich people have their own circles. They don’t mess with us little folk."

"He doesn’t seem to agree with you, Dyl. Him being here says something different. I doubt he flew all the way to Jamaica to be a pain in your ass."

John made his way to the water’s edge and walked along the surf.

The younger revenant was right, which once more brought them back to why Dobson was at Alfred’s.

"He was meeting someone he didn’t want his usual crowd to know about."

"Bingo!" John snapped his fingers and turned on his heel, so the water rolled against the back of his legs. "He brought goonage with him. So whoever he’s meeting with makes him unfucking-comfortable, too."

"Maybe the entire fucking place put him on edge. Face it, John, Alfred’s is full of ghoulage and other not-vampire-or-demon types."

In the distance, Dylan could see the moon. It hovered over the sea, spreading its light over the wavelets. The Blackwells and their allies were known for their dislike of other beings, so it stood to reason that Beckmann… no, Dobson now; Dobson would be nervous anywhere there were a lot of revenants, ghouls, and other beings that weren't demons or vampires.

"Possible." John shrugged. "Crowds put me on edge in general. The restaurant makes me feel like I’m underwater, too crowded."

"He’s a demon, John, not Asperger’s."

"Whatever. Maybe demons have Asperger's, too. Hell, I’m living proof that revenants can be," John snapped. He folded his arms. "Not everyone thinks like a PC, Dyl; some of us are Mac or Linux. He’s born in a human body. You get what you drive in and take it with you into undeath."

"Okay, okay, got it."

The revenant waded into the water and let it slosh up to his ankles. It was cool and felt nice against his skin.

"I’ll make no assumptions on how his brain works, okay?"

He wanted to ask why it was important, but knew John would just launch into an argument about deducing behavior from people’s personalities and habits. How people thought was very important to John. Understanding it was how the revenant got along with others.

"Good. He’s still a fucking racist butthole. Did you notice him talking to anyone in particular?"

"Not that I remember."

Dylan thought back to when he had first noticed Dobson. The demon had stood out like a beacon, but hadn't appeared to be paying attention to anyone in particular.

"Christ, whatever happened to the Sight? Years ago, you never missed a thing, Dyl."

John kicked at the water and sent an arch of spray across the surface.

"John, you know my Sight’s been crap since I died. I’m just starting to get the psychic shit back."

"As a superpower, your goddamn Sight sucks, you know that, right?"

Up ahead, the lights from the hotel cast blue, red, and gold lights off the ocean surface. There were three hotels up ahead—two three-stars with a harbor, and one five-star beyond that. The beach wasn’t empty. People walked along the edge, some of them leaving Alfred’s, others closer to the hotels.

"It would have been nice if we could use your psychic shit to see who he met. Or better yet, see why he’s here?"

"It doesn't work like that, dude. Hell, I wish it did."

Throwing up his hands, Dylan nearly dropped a shoe into the water. Wait a minute. He did recall a couple, dressed in more expensive clothing. The woman was fae; the man was a vampire.

That should have gotten his attention right away. Fae/vampire combinations were rare, even in the aristocracy of the American League. The EuroLeague was the opposite. Fae were a commodity and, from their point of view, dangerous creatures that could only be properly controlled by being either segregated away from all mortals, or by being paired-bonded with a vampire, married to them with the vampire the dominant of the pair. According to the European traditions, this was a happy symbiosis. The fae, bonded to the vampire, was kept under control; and the vampire was strengthened by the fae blood. A vamp who regularly took fae blood could walk in daylight and eat regular food, and even get a lot stronger if they took more blood.

It was totally different in America, and even more so in New York City. American vampires avoided fae and generally chose other vampires as companions. This was mostly practicality. When the American vampires had essentially declared their independence from Europe, along with the mortal American Revolution, they’d cut themselves off from the support network, too. The "Franklin Formula" that made America’s vampire immortals was homegrown, and didn't require fae. Fae companions had been made illegal when the slave trade was ended in the eighteen-hundreds, the two being seen as essentially the same. Nowadays, the official policy with fae was don’t ask, don't tell. If the fae was close enough to human to pass, they were just treated as human. America also had a gourmet blood trade, that sort of made up for the lack of fae; although Dylan knew there was a strong black market for fae blood, often in control of families like his constant nemeses, the Blackwells.

Still, he should have noticed that.

John had gone on talking about psychic powers.

"No offense, I like the stuff in the comics better."

John’s words barely registered.

"Okay, John, I got one of those gut feelings all of a sudden."

"What kind of gut feeling? Same kind you used to get when we were about to be jumped by imps in the park?" John asked, looking over his shoulder to the beach.

"Sort of." Dylan squinted. "I saw a woman and a man. They were there for the music. She was fae, one of those leanan sidhe."

It made sense. Leanan sidhe liked music, and if the vampire wanted her satiated, he’d please her with a loud, energetic crowd and a concert before they fed for the night. Dylan’s gut tightened. Leanan sidhe fed off spirits.

" Why would Dobson care about a leanan sidhe?" John looked skeptical.

"Because," Dylan said, starting to walk faster, "they’re all-you-can-eat buffets, for a vampire or a demon."

The younger revenant’s dark eyes widened.

"Crap! We’ve gotta find her."

Without delay, both revenants sprinted up the beach, splashing up along the shoreline, past the trickle of weary humans making their way back to their hotels.

Ahead, the beach thinned. The green foliage thickened along the shore with tropical large leafed plants, twisted-branched trees and brightly colored flowers that hugged the shoreline as the tide brushed against their roots. A few figures dotted the beach ahead; some walked in the shallows, water to their ankles as they passed the groves and admired the moon shining on the ripples beyond. Some were so distant Dylan wasn’t able to make out their features, even with his night vision.

Only the man closest to them was visible. He was tall, dark haired, dressed in tan shorts, brown leather belt, and a blue silk button-up top. He wore a gold watch, and a panama hat, and a short tan knit scarf around his neck. He held his loafers in one hand as he walked, while the other hung at his side, and his gaze wandered the shore and coast ahead of him.

The man’s steely gaze focused on Dylan as he studied him tensely. He was a vampire.

Jesus, are they having a goddamn convention? No, wait… he was the vampire at Alfred’s! The thought had just cleared Dylan’s mind when something fast streaked from the brush and slammed into the vampire. The man’s hands moved, but not fast enough, as the small blonde form blurred by, in a flurry of movement even Dylan had a difficult time following.

There was a fountain of blood as claws tore across the man’s throat and his head toppled from his shoulder, eyes wide, barely registering his death in their glazed stare.

The figure stopped for an instant, as her other hand ripped the black heart from its victim’s chest. The heart crumbled in her fingers, and she giggled as the blood stains ashed away from her clothing.

She looked young, barely in her teens. Long, white-blond hair was neatly cut around a pretty, innocent, childlike face, and she was dressed in a dark pink top with short sleeves and a white wrap skirt with a bow in the back. On her head was a large white hat with a pink ribbon, a big flamingo feather and a wide brim, and she wore a jeweled choker around her neck. Her eyes were huge and wide-set; one red, the other gold, and four beating wings kept her feet from touching the ground. The girl turned in place, a hovering dragonfly, and looked in their direction.

She smiled unnervingly, a childish yet knowing expression, and shot up into the sky, leaving Dylan and John stopped in their tracks, staring.

Then she was gone, leaving only ripples, a heap of empty clothes, and a gold Rolex watch behind her.

John slowly turned his head so his incredulous gaze met Dylan’s.

"What the fuck did I just see?"