Voltana & the Rogue Vamps (The Voltana Adventures Book 1) Read online

  All this was very strange, but it was only the tip of the iceberg. Her head felt weird, much lighter than usual. She reached up to touch her hair – and realized that it was gone. Well, not completely gone, as in like, GI Jane gone, but there was a lot less of it than there had been before.

  Someone had cut off her dreads. Now, her hair barely reached her shoulders. It was gone.

  She was about ready to start having a total meltdown, when she was startled by a knock at the door. She cleared her throat, finding that it was very sore from the vamp attack. “Come in,” she managed to croak.

  The door opened, and an older man in a black suit entered the room. He was carrying a large tray filled with food, complete with a small vase of fresh-cut flowers, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning,” the man said with a pleasant smile. He had very short white hair, and a pair of small spectacles that increased the air of intelligence he radiated. Something about him put Andi immediately at ease, despite the fact that she was still raging inwardly about her hair.

  “How did you sleep?” the man asked.

  “I think it was more like being unconscious,” Andi admitted. “I don’t remember anything after . . .”

  She’d been about to say, I don’t remember anything after the vamp attack. But suddenly, she was filled with worry for her friends back at the warehouse, and she found that she couldn’t finish her statement.

  “My name is Albert,” the man said kindly, walking to the bedside table and setting down the breakfast tray. The smell of hot eggs and bacon invaded Andi’s nostrils, and she realized that she was hungry, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to bring herself to eat. Not when she was still in the dark like this. Well, she knew that Malik was dead – but what about Rocko and Tito?

  “Do you know what happened to my friends?” Andi asked the man. “Do you know if they’re all right?”

  The man – Albert – frowned deeply. Andi didn’t take that as a good sign.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” he said in a solemn voice. “Your friends were killed, Miss De Luca. You are the only one who survived.”

  No. Andi couldn’t believe it. They killed Rocko? It couldn’t be true.

  She looked desperately towards the bedside table, where she saw her switchblade and her cell phone laid out. The only two things she’d had with her last night.

  She grabbed the phone, praying it would still have some battery left. She exhaled with relief when the screen lit up, then quickly checked her missed calls, searching for Rocko’s name. Or Tito’s.

  But they weren’t there. There were eight missed calls from Iggy J, the guy who was supposed to pick up the coke last night, but that was it.

  Andi was floored. She just couldn’t wrap her head around it. Rocko was dead . . .?

  “I’m so sorry, Miss De Luca,” Albert repeated. “I truly am.”

  Andi opened her mouth to reply, but now she was the one to frown. “How do you know my name?” she inquired, feeling mildly suspicious.

  Albert smiled warmly. “You are, if I may say,” he began in explanation, “a notorious member of a gang called the Jack Street Hounds. My employer was aware of this when she brought you here. Still, she extends her goodwill, and the offer to remain here while you convalesce.”

  “And who is your employer, exactly?” Andi asked.

  “Blake Turner, CEO of Biotech Industries,” Albert replied with a faint smile. “You may have heard of her.”

  Andi’s eyes widened in shock. The Blake Turner? She was actually in Blake Turner’s house? Now, she wasn’t exactly obsessed with news and current events, but you would have had to be living under a rock not to have heard of Blake Turner. She’d revolutionized the prosthetics industry by creating artificial limbs from human tissue which enabled the wearer to actually recognize sensation in the implant. Just like a real arm or leg.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Albert went on. “In any case – are you hungry, Miss De Luca?”

  He gestured to the breakfast tray, but Andi looked at it blankly. She’d just learned that her whole crew was dead – and the last thing on her mind was eating.

  “I know you’ve been through a terrible ordeal,” Albert said sympathetically. “But it’s very important that you keep up your strength. The wounds at your neck are closed, but they still must heal. You need nourishment.”

  Andi suddenly flashed back to the night before. It was as if that crazy vampire bitch were attacking her all over again. She closed her eyes for a moment, touching her throat to feel the wounds there. They’d been bleeding profusely – but then someone touched them, and suddenly the bleeding stopped.

  Who had touched them? Who had saved her life? She had never caught a glimpse of them.

  And, what was more – what in the world was she doing in Blake Turner’s house?

  “How did I get here?” she asked. “From the warehouse, I mean. Why didn’t I end up in the hospital?”

  “Miss Turner is quite knowledgeable when it comes to matters of medicine,” Albert answered. “She had complete confidence in her ability to see you through the night. As to the rest – well, I think you shall have to wait and let her explain it to you herself.”

  “Fine then,” Andi said, her tone a little more hostile than she’d intended it to be. “But can you at least tell me what the fuck happened to my hair?”

  Albert showed another small smile, apparently not the least bit disturbed by her profanity. “It was completely matted with blood,” he replied. “The braids couldn’t be undone in order to properly wash them, so Miss Turner was forced to cut them. I apologize on her behalf for the inconvenience.”

  With that, he made Andi a slight bow and went out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. Andi quickly forgot about her hair, and was left staring at the breakfast tray, thinking about her friends. She was alone now. No crew; no one to have her back.

  The world seemed very dark and cold when you suddenly realized that you were on your own.

  ***

  At that moment, Blake Turner was in her office at Biotech Industries, looking over the design of a new prosthetic model. They were constantly upgrading their products at Biotech, trying to improve them, trying to make life better for people who had been disfigured by some kind of horrible accident.

  The company had belonged to Blake’s parents, but they died in a helicopter crash when she was fifteen, and when she came of age she took over the business. At that time, it was a basic prosthetics company, very advanced for the time but still nothing out of the ordinary. Before her parents’ deaths, she’d wanted to be a scientist, and after she graduated high school she worked hard to receive her doctorates in biology and chemistry, her main field being cell and molecular biology.

  While she was researching for her PhD, she stumbled across certain properties in human cells that led to her first invention: a prosthetic arm made from artificially-created human tissue. It was her hope that the recipient of this arm would experience the same sensations that he’d had in his natural arm, and she wasn’t disappointed.

  The man who received the arm had lost his own while working in a lumber mill, and he didn’t have insurance. He saw the ad in the paper looking for possible candidates for the arm, which would be provided free of charge, and he called right away.

  Blake had worried they’d have trouble finding a recipient, since their research was so new and there was invasive surgery involved, but John Gregson jumped at the chance to have a real arm again. He’d signed the release forms and changed into his johnny quicker than you could say “In the event of injury or permanent disfigurement, we at Biotech are officially not held liable.”

  Of course, that was just legal mumbo jumbo that Blake’s lawyers forced her to include in the forms. If the surgery had harmed Mr. Gregson in any way, she would have compensated him. Not that even a million dollars could have made the man any happier than he was when he opened his eyes after the anesthesia wore off.
He wiggled the fingers of his new arm and screamed with joy. Very loudly. A nurse even came into the room with an alarmed look, obviously wondering if she should call security, but Blake assured her that wasn’t necessary. Then she advised Mr. Gregson that, in spite of his success, perhaps he should hold off on the screaming. He’d just nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face.

  That was only five years ago, but in that space of time, Biotech had become a dominating force in the medical field. They had countless sponsors, not that they even really needed them, what with the money they made from their products. Don’t misunderstand, people of limited financial means were assisted regardless, but those who could pay were expected to do so. Handsomely.

  Blake was pleased with the new design. It combined bionic and biological elements, in order to provide the same effects when it came to feeling, but also to impart certain mechanical abilities to the wearer. It was intended to be used, mainly, for members of the armed forces.

  She had opened up the side and rear panels of the model to inspect its inner mechanisms. She was using an assortment of miniscule tools to prod and rearrange these complicated innards, her honey-golden hair tied up behind her head to keep it out of her way, her white button-down rolled all the way back to her elbows, her bright green eyes narrowed in concentration, a few beads of perspiration standing out on her forehead as she tried to grip a synthetic artery in a very small pair of tweezers.

  She was distracted from her study of the model when her phone rang. She answered on the first ring. “Blake Turner.”

  “Miss Turner,” Albert said in the same warm but deferential voice he always used when he spoke to her. He’d been her parents’ butler since before she was born, and when she moved out of the family house to purchase her own property, he accompanied her.

  “Hello, Albert,” Blake said affectionately. She was incredibly fond of the old man. In all honesty, he was her best friend.

  “Your young charge is awake,” Albert reported. “She is, as I’m sure you’re not surprised to hear, very confused, and mildly irritated about the condition of her hair.”

  Blake sighed. She’d expected as much. A woman who spent the amount of time it takes to braid dreadlocks in the first place certainly wasn’t going to be happy when she discovered they’d been lopped off while she was unconscious.

  “How is she otherwise?” Blake asked.

  “She seems to be feeling rather well,” Albert replied. “She is, however, quite distraught over the death of her friends.”

  “I have no doubt,” Blake said, her voice tinged with sympathy. “I’ll be home early tonight. Hopefully she’ll be receptive to a little chat.”

  “Indeed, though she was upset, she was not overly hostile with me,” Albert assured her. “I don’t think you’ll have very much trouble.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. Maybe it would take her mind off things to get out of the house. Give her some spending money and something decent to wear, then make the suggestion that she go shopping for new clothes. Hers were ruined last night, anyway. She’s wearing my pajamas at the moment.”

  “Splendid idea, Miss Turner,” Albert replied. “I’ll get on that straightaway.”

  “Thank you, Albert. You know how much I appreciate your help.”

  “I am ever at your service, Miss Turner,” Albert said dutifully.

  Blake ended the call, then turned on the television mounted to the wall beside the door. She usually kept it tuned to the local news, and currently they were broadcasting the story about what had happened last night on Jack Street.

  Anchorman Hal Bailey, wearing his customarily obscene blond toupée, was covering the story, standing just outside the warehouse where the attack had taken place. There was yellow police tape fastened across the open roll-up door, and dark bloodstains were visible on the concrete floor of the warehouse.

  “This is Hal Bailey, reporting from the scene of last night’s horrendous showdown on Jack Street,” the anchorman stated in a voice stuffed with an almost over-the-top amount of cheese. “Authorities have informed me that this was a violent shoot-out between two gangs over a particularly large quantity of cocaine . . .”

  “Silly fools,” Blake muttered, shaking her head at the TV screen. “Sometimes I wonder if it would be better for them to know the truth.”

  She turned off the TV and went back to her survey of the new model. It wasn’t long, though, before she was interrupted by her intercom.

  “Miss Turner,” her male secretary’s voice announced. “There’s a Julius Hall here to see you. Should I s – s –“

  The young man paused to control his stutter, then went on: “May he come in, Miss Turner?”

  “That will be fine, Chad,” Blake answered.

  “Yes, Miss Turner.”

  Blake sat back in her chair, frowning severely. What in the world was Julius Hall doing here? She hadn’t seen him in two years, and now he was just showing up at her office out of the blue? It wasn’t like him.

  Then again, considering what had happened last night . . .

  The knock wasn’t long in coming. “Come in,” she replied, still wearing that concerned frown.

  The door swung inward, and a tall, pale man appeared. His hair was black, and it hung nearly to the middle of his back. He was dressed crisply, in a neat suit and a black overcoat, his eyes showing like two ovular coals above his sharp cheekbones.

  “Miss Turner,” he said politely, inclining his head in a gesture of respect. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Of course,” Blake returned, rising from her desk and crossing the room towards him. “I must admit, I’m very curious about the reason for your visit.”

  He shut the door quietly behind him, then showed a small smile, registering Blake’s nervous expression. “Afraid of the reason for it, rather,” he said. Then his smile vanished, and his face became grave. It was clear that, whatever his errand was, it was no laughing matter.

  Blake didn’t see the need to question him. Whatever he’d come to say, he would say it in his own way.

  “There has been a recent disturbance in the vampire community,” he told her in a low voice. If possible, his expression grew even darker. “You are aware our most important law is that feeding should be performed in private, so as not to draw the attention of the humans. Someone, however, clearly does not agree with that law.”

  Blake’s frown deepened, and she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to suppress a shudder that cropped up at the word “feeding.” Some vampires subsisted on bagged or synthetic blood, but more often than not, that wasn’t the case.

  “What’s happened?” she inquired, shelving her own personal discomfort for the sake of the conversation at hand.

  “It’s unclear whether it is the work of one or more vampires,” Julius went on. “But, in any case – an unknown perpetrator is attacking humans in the nighttime streets, feeding on them, and leaving their bodies strewn in the open. So far, we have managed to keep local authorities from discovering them, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  Okay, so – she’d been right about being nervous. This was a serious problem. The vampire community worked very hard to keep itself hidden from the human population, and if humans became aware of their existence, it would be catastrophic.

  “Do you think you can help us?” Julius asked. His voice was almost desperate.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Blake answered. “I can’t promise a quick fix – but I’m also not saying that it’s completely out of the question.”

  She smiled faintly, and Julius returned the gesture. He sighed deeply, clearly trying to cast off some of his anxiety.

  “Anything you need from me,” he said, “you need only ask. Both I and my coven are entirely at your disposal.”

  Blake pursed her lips, thinking deeply. “Do you think the attack on Jack Street last night is connected with that you’ve told me?”

  Julius knitted his brows and answered, “I’m not sure, but I’m inclined
to think it’s not. There were no drugs involved in any of the other incidents. I think this is about something much more – I think this is about power.”

  Blake nodded. “Thank you, Julius,” she said. “I’ll keep you up-to-date on what I find.”

  The vampire nodded seriously, then turned to leave. Blake watched him go, thinking hard about what he’d just told her.

  But now – you might be wondering why he’d told her. What could the CEO of a prosthetics company do to assist him with the problem he’d brought her?

  Well, that’s kind of the whole point of this story. Because Blake Turner was much more than just a businesswoman and a scientist. Granted, she was very good at those things; but there was another side to her. She had a secret that was as vital to keep as that of the vampires – and it was the reason Julius had come to her.

  You might have already guessed that vampires don’t trust just anyone.

  Chapter 3

  On a cold January night three years earlier, Blake was staying late at the office. Usually, she left by seven, but tonight it was past ten and she was still at her desk. It wasn’t Biotech business that she was working on, though. She was looking over her plans for the Lazarus Lozenge one more time. Everything had to go exactly the way it was supposed to – or there could be disastrous consequences.

  Finally satisfied that she was as prepared as she was ever going to get, she gathered her materials and left her office. She looked around warily, making sure that there was no one around. But she was in the clear. The place was dead, and she was the only one still here.

  She rode the elevator down to the lab, relieved to see that the lights were off, and that it was empty. She had the place to herself, just like she’d hoped.

  She scanned her badge at the entrance to the lab, and the doors slid open silently. She walked inside, turning on the lights and making straight for the nuclear reactor, a massive cylindrical object in the center of the lab. She’d engineered the Lazarus Lozenge in her home laboratory, but she needed the reactor to activate it.