Abira Shinde

CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of drug use and drug dealing

Parvati parked her car at the side of the pitmarked road. She and Rukmini clambered out of the car. Despite the evening’s warmth, Parvati couldn’t shake her unease. 

The grand skyscraper’s shadows stretched spindly and dark over the cramped back alley. The air stank of refuse and cigarette smoke. A looming apartment cast shadows over the cramped streets and concealed the violet-gashed sky. The only person there was an older lady who begged beside a no-name gas station with flickering lights.

Pity stirred Parvati’s heart. She returned to the car for a moment, and, finding twenty bucks, approached the lady.

The woman’s olive skin was sunken. She wore a patched, loose-fitting  sweater.

“Here, Ma’am,” Parvati said, placing the money in the lady’s bin. “And, um, you probably know what you’re doing, but there’s a bigger crowd closer to the city’s heart.” 

The lady said nothing. She simply watched Parvati through deadened eyes. 

Parvati returned to Rukmini. 

“The dealer’s place is in those apartments,” Rukmini whispered.

“Got it.”  

The two walked to the apartment complex’s stairway. Two gents lingered near. Their gazes made her uncomfortable: they stared at her like she was a slab of meat.

The sisters reached the men. One of them whistled.

Rukmini stiffened, hands clenching into fists. Parvati steered her deeper into the apartment’s shadows.

“The dealer’s house is on the second story, to the left,” Rukmini said stiffly.

So, up a flight of rickety stairs the girls went. They stopped by a peeling black door.

“This is it,” Rukmini said, pocketing her phone.

She knocked sharply. The noise seemed to echo in the quiet hallway.

The door opened in a second. An absolutely massive man stared at them. His black beard was so thick it concealed the lower half of his face, but his head was sheared of hair.

Parvati fought to hold his gaze as he looked her over. 

“Girls,” he called to someone inside, voice as rasping as a smoker’s.

A feminine voice answered, and the man stepped aside, opening the door wider.

Parvati was instantly hit by the overbearing smell of floral perfume and flowery air freshener. The scent’s intensity numbed her sinuses. Her head hurt.

The entire apartment was painted a soothing cream. Lacey blue curtains fluttered in the window: mint plants and roses blossomed on a countertop. There was a little bookshelf, a tiny kitchenette, a cot, and multiple chairs clustered around a quaint wooden table. 

A plump, grandmotherly lady sat in one of those chairs, stirring sugar into a cup of lemonade. Her complexion was even rosier than Jules’: her hair fell in cotton-soft curls.

But despite this, the shrewdness of her green eyes and the almost-calculated home-ness of the apartment made Parvati’s already-racing heart pound itself ragged.

“Welcome, dears,” the grandmotherly woman called. “Have a seat. I’m Mrs. McKane, and that gentleman is my nephew, Rodrick.”

Parvati didn’t believe Rodrick was her nephew, and was skeptical about the names, but she and Rukmini awkwardly sat.

“You want lemonade?” Mrs. McKane asked. “We’ve also got water. Nothing fancy, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t think —” Parvati stammered.

“Sure, thanks,” Rukmini said, in a surprisingly easygoing way. “I’ll take some. Parv’s not usually thirsty, though.”

“Well, alrighty then,” Mrs. McKane said. “Feel free to change your mind. You two come from Bluewood high, don’t you? Here to find yourself the good stuff, I take it?” She winked charmingly.

Parvati had researched drug dealers before leaving, and went through her information now. Many people who struggled with drug addictions became dealers themselves. For some, it was the only way to etch out a living. Others just liked the money.  In most cases, such things stemmed from society instability, and a weakened economy.

In the end, the dealers brought harm down on their communities.

It was cruel in a thousand ways, and tragic in a million others.

“Thanks for the offer,” Rukmini spoke before Parvati could gather her thoughts. “But we’re here for something else. We’re Jules Dawns’ granddaughters.” 

Surprise flashed across Mrs. McKane’s face. “Jules Dawns — you’re related to that vampire hunter?” Skepticism glanced through her expression when she turned to Parvati.

“Both of you are the huntress’ granddaughters, you say?”

“Yep,” Rukmini said easily. “Our Mom was Desi. Parv takes after her.” 

“I see,” Mrs. McKane said slowly. Rodrick moved closer. 

Once again, Mrs. McKane’s toxin-green eyes fixed on Parvati. “What’s your name, girl?”

Parvati swallowed. Her throat felt dry. “Parvati Kalidas-Dawns.” 

Mrs. McKane grinned. “Your name’s been plastered all over the papers for the past two weeks. Heck, they’ve got a picture of you. A classroom photoshoot, I think. If my memory serves me, your brown eye was exposed.” 

It was uncanny that a stranger knew so much about her. Many strangers: Parvati knew her name had to have been widely spoken, given the attacks.

But then, strangers had known a lot about Parvati’s grandmother.

Not everything, whispered a voice in the back of her head.

Well, so be it. Nobody would know everything about Parvati, either. But unlike Jules, her secrets wouldn’t be about shameful failures.

So, she pulled the curtain of dark hair away from her face, exposing her coffee-dark eye. “You’re right on the money, Mrs. McKane.” 

The drug dealer in question leaned back in her chair, eyes aglow with an almost-worrying excitement. “Jules Dawns’ granddaughters. How fabulous. You must be here to investigate those vampire attacks.” 

Parvati nodded vigorously. Rukmini smiled, leaning forward.

 “You hit the nail on the head, lady. Parv and I wanted to know about this one gent who visits you —” 

“That will be five hundred dollars,” Mrs. McKane said.

Parvati choked.

“Five hundred —” Rukmini said. “Erm, what for?”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. McKane said. “Five hundred dollars is the starting price.” 

“With respect, Mrs. McKane,” Parvati said. “We’re trying to get rid of feral vampires. They are a danger to every living being in their vicinity. And — at least, according to the shopkeepers I’ve spoken with — their reign of terror is bleeding business dry.” 

“Bleeding business dry?” Mrs. McKane chuckled. “Vampire pun!”

“I didn’t mean —” 

Rukmini shot Parvati a sharp look and shook her head. You aren’t winning this one.

“Besides,” Mrs. McKane continued, “My business isn’t in any trouble. If the authorities are right, then that vampire has been captured. And if you’re right, the leader vampire is smart enough to keep her underlings in Bluewood.” 

She sipped her lemonade. “You sought me out. You can leave, with all your money, and it wouldn’t mean a thing to me. You, sweetie, need me.” 

Parvati’s blood boiled. “People are dying, Mrs. McKane.” 

“Undeniably,” Mrs. McKane said. “Let’s get to business before more people meet an early end, hm?” 

“For the love of god —”

A firm hand gripped Parvati’s shoulder.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Rukmini said. “Parv’s like a bulldog on a scent. A volcano would envy her temper. But, let’s trade. Mrs. McKane, what’s the price of your wares?”

The corner of Mrs. McKane’s mouth lifted. “That’s quite a few puns.” 

“Glad you like ‘em,” Rukmini said. “So, what’s the price?”

Mrs. McKane considered. “About a hundred for a client’s behavior,” she said. “A good thousand for a vampire sighting, at least. Though, you could hand me a billion, and still be disappointed. Around these parts, feral vampires are scarce as rain in a desert.” 

“Got it,” Rukmini said. “Just — a tiny request.” 

“You’re asking me to lower the price?”

“Three fifty for the starting price,” Rukmini said. “Seventy-five for client info.” 

“Four fifty for the starting price,” Mrs. McKane replied. “And I can’t lower client prices. Their identities need protection” 

An idea struck Parvati, then.

“Three fifty for the starting price,” she said. “One hundred for the client’s information.” 

Mrs. McKane considered. “Three seventy for the starting price,” she said. “One fifty for client information.” 

Parvati looked at Rukmini. Rukmini nodded.

“Done,” Parvati said, dreading Jules’ reaction when she discovered what her granddaughters charged her credit card.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. McKane said. “What do you girls need?”

Parvati swiftly explained the situation with Hector Blair.

“Has he been acting odd?” She finished.

Mrs. McKane considered. “Blair,” she said slowly. “He’s a nice gent, but he’s been rather anxious recently. Rather fidgety, more guilty-like over buying my wares.”

“Any guesses why?” Rukmini asked.

“I’d tell, dear, but that’s an extra fifty.”

“Make it thirty,” Parvati said sharply.

Mrs. McKane lifted a brow, then shrugged. “I’m a tad tired of bartering, if we’re being honest. I’m certain smart girls like yourselves could dig up an extra fifty for an old lady.”

Her tone allowed no protest. 

“Sure we can,” Rukmimi said, her cheery tone somewhat stiffened.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. McKane said. 

“About Mr. Blair’s motives?” Parvati asked, desperate to get this conversation back on course.

“I believe his awkwardness stems from love,” Mrs. McKane said. “Platonic love, mind you. The gent’s gone and found himself a daughter.”

“Found himself a daughter?” Parvati asked. 

“Some street girl he’s taken under his wing,” Mrs. McKane said. “She accompanies him inside sometimes.”

Parvati and Rukmini exchanged glances. 

“Does this girl wear sunglasses?” Parvati asked.

Mrs. McKane tilted her head. “Why, yes, constantly. She even wears them at nighttime. I suppose they hold some sentimental value to her.” 

“This girl,” Parvati said. “What does she look like?”

“She’s Black,” Mrs. McKane said. “Got a slight build, and a fondness for these girlish skirts. Keeps her hair in these little knots.” 

Parvati’s breath caught. An image of Noe and Rohini, distraught and miserable, flashed through her mind. The rose-pin felt burning hot.

Beside her, Rukmini gasped, her hand going to her mouth. Her eyes were dry, but fear and love spilled over her expression like tears.

Parvati drew a deep breath. She squeezed Rukmini’s shoulder, then turned to Mrs. McKane. The older woman was staring at their expressive faces with animal-like hunger.

Parvati looked the greedy woman dead in the eye. When she spoke, her voice was strong and steady.

“Has Mr. Blair introduced you to the girl? Do you know her name?”

Mrs. McKane considered. “She called herself Mira. didn’t give the last name.”

We’ve found her, Parvati thought, feelings somewhere between relief and apprehension. I’ve kept my promise to Mira’s parents.

And then: Mira has been turned into a vampire.

Her stomach rolled. If Mira was Spawn, her corpse would be rotting by now. She must be a Soldier. As for Blair…

“How much would it be for you to tell us Blair’s usual haunts?” She asked. 

“You want to know where a client lives?” Mrs. McKane said. “Honey, I haven’t got facts.”

Parvati shrugged. “We only need educated guesses.”

Mrs. McKane considered. “I’ll need three fifty dollars.”

“Done,” Parvati and Rukmini spoke as one.

“Mira mentioned seeing the Chicago skyline from Lake Michigan’s shore. Blair complained that they’d been eating too much fish.”

Relief washed through Parvati. Mira was at the Indiana Dunes. It was close to home, and not a forty minute drive from where Parvati was currently. She’d visited the exact spot Mrs. McKane was describing. 

She stood. For the first time that evening, a genuine smile graced her face. “Thank you, Mrs. McKane. This is wonderful information. I’ll go get the card.”

“Of course,” Mrs. McKane said. “Don’t be too long, or I’ll send my Rodrick to find you.”

Parvati glanced at the glowering face of the gigantic man in the corner.

“I’ll be right back, ma’am,” she swore.

It was an easily-kept promise. For starters, the sun had completely set. Light pollution cloaked the stars, and gave the inky sky a sickly green glow. Nobody was outside, either, but Parvati felt as if she was being watched.

She retrieved Jules’ card, and returned to Mrs. McKane in under a minute. Their transaction was swiftly completed, and the drug dealing senior citizen waved to the sisters as they departed. 

…

Through the drive, Rukmini begged Parvati to find Mira. 

 Parvati felt exhausted. If Jules feared Bluewood’s Sovereign, Parvati didn’t stand a chance against her.

But a good cup of coffee would cure her lethargy. So far, the Sovereign had stuck to Bluewood. Parvati doubted she’d send her underlings as far north as the Dunes.

Rukmini checked the Dunes’ hours. It closed at eleven: the sisters would arrive an hour beforehand.

Rukmini, unusually subdued, asked Parvati how Mira had gotten Blair past security. Parvati explained: a vampire could use their superhuman stealth and cunning to distract and observe their enemies and help their friends.

What if she’s with the bloodsucker Sovereign? Rukmini asked anxiously.

Unlikely, Parvati said. Mira would make a poor killer, and keeping a rebel with the capacity to kill you is a risk few Sovereigns are willing to take.

But then, this Sovereign was unusual. Jules Dawns feared her.

Parvati mulled over her thoughts for the next forty minutes. 

By then, they had reached one of the small Rust Belt towns near the Dunes, and a gas station awaited. Parvati pulled into an empty Speedway.

“If you need to use the restroom, go now,” she advised Rukmini.

“Sure thing,” Rukmini said. “My period’s killing me. You need me to get you coffee, or —?”

“I’ll get it myself,” Parvati said. “No worry.”   

Rukmini left the car, while Parvati plugged in the gas. She hadn’t caught this town’s name. With its little houses, and the ivy growing up the fences, it might have seemed quaint during the day. But in the dark of night, it became a ghost town. 

And it was quiet.

So quiet, the only thing Parvati heard was the clicking of the filling tank, and the soft patter of footsteps. 

Wait. Footsteps? There weren’t any other cars in the lot.

Parvati shot a darting look around. 

Empty darkness to her left. The silent road to her right. And behind her —

Nothing, she realized, relieved. Chiding herself for her fear, she turned back to the gas monitor.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something moved. 

Parvati’s heart jumped to her throat. She spun in the direction of the phantom movement, but nothing was there. She gave the area another quick scan.

Empty as always.

But Parvati knew she’d seen something. Few animals could move that fast, especially not ones that large. No living human could, either.

Parvati pulled a salt packet from her pocket, and shook it over her head. Her car’s tank was full, so she removed the gas, parked the car, and slipped inside the gas station. 

The gas station attendant was a pretty young woman with a large smile, and blonde-dyed hair held back in a spill of box braids. Parvati warned her, then searched for Rukmini. Her sister was still in the restroom. 

Hands trembling, Parvati started fixing herself a coffee. The young attendant joined her a moment later. Fright spoke through her dark eyes, and Parvati was certain she did not want to be alone.

But the attendant (Aisha, her nametag read) was pleasant company; the Speedway’s lights were bright, the coffee warm. 

It was almost enough to make Parvati forget the gloom outside, and the terrible fear of being followed.

Almost.

Rukmini exited the bathroom. Parvati waved her over. Rukmini’s gray eyes flickered with concern as she looked at Parvati’s face. 

“Parv, you okay?” Rukmini asked. “You look like —”

But what Parvati looked like, she didn’t get to learn. 

An agonized cry shattered the lazy night. Aisha shrieked, jumping backward into a shelf, her dark skin paling. 

Rukmini spun around, gripping the axes. “What the —?” 

“Vampire,” Parvati said, snapping back on high alert. “It probably touched the salted car hood.” 

“Are you going to fight it?” Aisha asked nervously.

“I think we should stay inside,” Rukmini started, but the truth had just hit Parvati. She cursed her failure to realize it.

“Remember what it wrote after what happened to Mira?” She said.

Horror seeped through Rukmini’s expression. 

“You think it’s after us?”

“Why would it be after you?” Aisha cried.

“It’s after everyone related to Jules Dawns,” Parvati said. 

“Then we’re in for a fight?” Rukmini asked somberly. 

Deep in her heart, Parvati knew her hope for peace stemmed from her tendency to choose the kindest option. But the kind option was not always the wise one. In that way, Parvati was very different from Jules. Now, she feared everyone would pay for it.

“Parvati?” Rukmini asked, fear snaking into her voice. 

Parvati closed her eyes, gathering herself. 

She remembered the stories of Kali, a Hindu goddess who acted as a representative of divine wrath and the inevitability of death. The goddess was as famed for her bloodlust as for her fidelity to her devotees. 

One of Kali’s most famous legends revolved around her fighting Raktabija, a demon whose spilled blood created clones of himself. Kali drank up every drop of his blood before it hit the ground, allowing him to be slain.

This tale — the slaying of supernatural, bloodbound progeny — had made Kali a favorite amongst Hindu vampire-slayers, well into the modern day. 

How appropriate then, that Parvati’s maternal line embraced the goddess as their patron. 

Protect me, Kali-Maa, she prayed, as you protected my mother and her ancestors. Lend me your strength so I may defend the innocent. 

Help me defend myself, my sister and poor Mira.

Please. 

When she opened her eyes, Parvati was calm.

“Yes,” she said, “we fight. And we will win.”