As he zipped and zapped through the tunnels, Darren recalled another time he moved fast. It was when McGregor brought him and Daniel to New York. He loved their place and wanted to start a fire in the hearth. He knelt with a box of matches in his hands and struck one up. Next thing he knew he was in the back living room perched on Daniel’s piano looking like a crazed man. Daniel laughed and hooted at the display.
McGregor informed Darren that some vampires were afraid of fire, especially young ones. Why he didn’t tell them that in Australia was anyone’s guess. Darren then watched from the kitchen as Daniel lit the fire. Daniel then relayed to him that he and his brothers had been little pyromaniacs. He gave Darren a sweet-lipped smirk when he asked what they used to burn and remained silent. Psychopath.
Though Darren was moving at rapid speed through the tunnels, everything around him was moving like Heinz ketchup. Drops of water trickling from the ceiling seemed to be hanging in suspension and he was sure he had squished a couple of rats beneath his feet. He did sincerely hope that they survived and hated that he had little time to react. One minute there wasn’t anything there and the next he heard a painful squeak.
The sounds of braying, cheers, cat calls, music, and debauchery were ringing through the tunnels as Darren neared Raw. Of course, he wasn’t the only vampire in the tunnels, but someone was close and gaining on him. The smell of lush green moss surrounded him. He was transported to a foggy countryside while around him, black swarms of shadows crept and crawled along the walls, ceiling, and floor. Abruptly he planted his feet on the dirt floor and stopped.
Beside Darren, the shadows accumulated into a swirling pillar that when it dissipated left an older British man dressed in late 1800s garb, complete with an outer coat, top hat, gloves, and a cane. On his shrewd face was a pair of round dark blue tinted sunglasses that matched his clothes’ shade of blue. Accompanying the blue of his clothing was burgundy or maroon striping. He had a beard and mustache, and his hair was deep brown. Over his glasses, he watched Darren as if he were assessing him like he did everybody.
“McGregor?” Darren frowned.
“Yes, boy, yes.” The gruff voice came out of the man’s mouth as he shifted his weight and used his cane for support.
As it was told to Darren, if a person had a disability or impairment before they were embraced, they would have it afterward. McGregor had a lame leg and used shadows as a mode of travel instead of super speed. His eyes were also sensitive to light. Permanent injuries could also be made if the vampire were harmed with silver.
Darren didn’t know how old McGregor was but judging by his choice of attire and his ability to transform his body into shadows, he reckoned he was at least two hundred. A calm came over Darren whenever he was around because of his scent. Some vampires could carry the scent of mold, decay, or earth. It was luck that McGregor had attained the scent of earth. No one knew why some vampires carried a scent and it was hypothesized that it had to do with the vampire’s nature, but nothing had been proven.
“What are you doing here?” Darren asked. “Thought you were still in Australia.”
“I get a bit of a holiday, boy,” McGregor replied. “We’re dead. Not robots and goddamned androids.”
Darren’s lips pulled to the side as he gave a slight smile.
“I came to check on my boys,” McGregor stated and nodded forward.
Looking forward, Darren saw that they were close to the doors of Raw. He could see the two hulking forms of bouncers standing at the stone steps. Party lights were flashing on the walls from the open door.
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“Thanks…I guess…” Darren started forward at a slow pace with McGregor hobbling along.
“Well, how the hell are you, Hayes? How’s Jones?” McGregor probed.
“We’re fine,” Darren replied and anyone listening knew there was shit hanging under that response.
“Fine?”
“Yeah.” Darren nodded though he didn’t meet the other man’s gaze.
“Boy, don’t shit me,” McGregor pressed. “You got dishonesty, sadness, and frustration running off of you like a drunk got piss running down his legs.” A person had to love the empathic vampire sense.
If Darren were in a better mood, he might have laughed, but he just shook his head. “Isn’t worth mentioning.”
“Goddamn kids,” McGregor grumbled. “You keep that shit bottled up and you’ll end up coarse and raw. I’m telling you, boy, shit’ll eat you alive…Well…in our case, I suppose it would be, eat you dead.”
Darren looked at McGregor for a bit and pictures of maggots crawling over his face flashed through his mind. Quickly, he looked away. That always creeped him out. They were dead but their bodies were so fresh. He always half expected to wake up one night with maggots digesting him and filling his orifices. There was another reason why Darren hated maggots. It had to do with being a little gay child in Brisbane. That thought got shoved to the back of his mind, at least for now.
“Something going on with you and Jones?” McGregor continued to pry.
“No.” Darren shook his head.
“Rubbish!” McGregor snapped and Darren jumped. “You think I don’t hear rumors about that boy taking a permanent residence at Hema every night?”
“He goes to Hema every night?”
“Yes.” McGregor examined Darren. “How the hell could you not know that?”
“Hema isn’t the only place in Rafinesque Place.”
McGregor contemplated for a bit then continued to hobble along silently and Darren followed.
“McGregor,” Darren hesitated, not sure if he wanted to ask the question, but he needed to know, or it would plague him forever. It was better to know than to keep assuming.
“Yes, boy?” McGregor questioned.
“How does one go about masking their scent?”
McGregor swiftly turned to Darren, and they stopped again. The older vampire leaned into him, his dark eyes dissecting him, but he was allowing him the privacy of his thoughts.
“What the hell kind of trouble are you getting into?” McGregor chewed.
“N-n-n-no.” Darren shook his head. “Not me. Not for me. I was just curious. If someone wanted to keep someone from detecting their scent or cover up a scent on them, how would they do it?”
“Hmph,” McGregor snorted and rested back from Darren. “Lots of ways to do it. Voodoo women and other Magic Folk sell all kinds of shit for it. Mostly a mixture of herbs. Let’s see…saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium, all mixed with goofer dust.”
“What do you do with the mixture?” Darren pressed.
“Well, some bathe in it…” McGregor watched Darren’s face with keen eyes.
“All right.” Darren calmed a bit. Perhaps Daniel wasn’t cheating because that meant he would have to bathe to use the concoction.
“Or…” McGregor continued, “you can use a hex or putsy bag. Stick it in your pocket.”
Darren tensed again. “How would I know if I see one?”
“Nothing special about them,” McGregor continued to explain. “Just a ratty arse cloth with some herbs and shit in it…I think skunk bones too…and they tie the end…Boy, what the hell are you and Jones getting into?”
“Nothing, McGregor,” Darren said with reassurance. “It’s…it’s really something personal…between me and Daniel.”
The sadness at the end of Darren’s words caused McGregor to step back and ease up on him. “Well, boy,” he started. “Whatever it is, I hope you two work it out.”
Darren just nodded.
“Now, I heard you are going to be showing at this dingy arse hole in the wall,” McGregor switched up the subject.
Looking up, Darren saw they were a few steps away from Raw. He nodded his head to McGregor.
“You watch yourself, boy,” McGregor advised. “I’ve seen too much shit happen to celebrities that have been embraced by the supernatural. Crazy shit, sad shit, stupid shit…You wouldn’t believe it.”
“I promise I’ll keep my head out of my arse,” Darren muttered.
McGregor smiled and patted Darren’s shoulder. “You take care, boy, and don’t worry, I’m sure whatever it is will blow over.”
Darren nodded and he didn’t have to look to know that McGregor was leaving. All it took was the flow of shadows and the fading scent of rainy moss. His mind surged with fast-running thoughts. He wanted to tear through Daniel’s clothes and look for magical bags of scent-masking herbs. He glanced over his shoulder at the dark path behind him and made a decision. He approached the entrance to the club only to have a solid arm block his way.