“I’d like to see them do a retro Batman,” Henry said as he and Rusty strolled up. “Like the old TV one with Adam West where the words’ pow!’ and ‘wham!’ came up on the screen like in a comic book. They had the coolest corny jokes, too. I used to love watching them on the syndicated oldies channel Saturday mornings.”
“That would be cool,” Shannon agreed. “It would appeal to nostalgia buffs and kids alike.”
“Yep. Plus they could sell toys. Make the whole thing look sixties, ya know? Cars, clothes, sets, everything.”
“Then they could do Superman the same way. That used to be a kids’ show, too. The fifties I think. Go with retro sets and the original suit and all that.”
“So, what are we watching tonight?” I asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. These guys thought I was close in age to them in the actual time span of existence sort of way. I wasn’t, though. I was much older, and those shows they talked about came out decades after my rebirth as one of the undead. It was all retro kitsch to them, but to me, it was a trip down memory lane. I could remember buying my very first television set, a tiny screened black and white model by RCA that stood on spindly wooden legs.
“Not superheroes,” I requested, afraid they’d continue down this route.” How about a comedy?”
“Okay, let’s look to see what they have,” Rusty said. “I could watch a good comedy.”
We ended up watching Big Trouble in Little China, which I hadn’t seen before. Then it was over and it was getting perilously close to the time I had to go grab my snack down at the shack. I excused myself, Rusty saying his good-byes and coming with me. Shannon decided it was time to go as well, eager to grab a shower and start reading some book his mother had sent him in a care package.
Once we were alone, Shannon having gone his own way, I said to Rusty, “I’m not healing as well as I should so they’ve arranged for me to get a boost.”
His eyes darted about. “You want me to come with?”
“Nah, I’m just letting you know because I need to go now to meet them.”
He looked relieved at my turning him down. I can’t say I blamed him, especially as he knew about feedings but had never actually witnessed one in all likelihood. It was one thing to understand something academically, but quite another to be there when it happened, especially when it came to killing someone. It was why not all of the Legacies ended up Made; it was not within everyone to kill, not even when it meant their own survival. Our bodies begin to weaken and decay, taking us into a false sense of safety. Maybe this time I won’t start to slide, or this time I can stop without killing. It doesn’t work, of course. Once we begin to pull their lifeforce out, it comes out. There’s no stopping it and we can either siphon it all or lose the rest to the ether, unlike one of the Old Ones. The outcome is the same for our victim, either way: dead as a doornail.
Then there’s the other problem; not everyone can look into the abyss and come out sane. The Making can drive one mad. The bonding thing, too, that so nearly broke me, and I’m under no illusion that it very well could have done so to someone else. It’s why usually a Legacy has to prove themselves and why designated heirs are so carefully nurtured and watched. My own Making was unusual in that I was chosen spur of the moment, a nobody who was there by mere happenstance. It was a roll of the dice that I was there and thank God, when he Made me there that very night, I came up snake eyes. I was whole of mind and spirit, just undead. A kind of vampire, really, I suppose. A lich, as the Family call it. I just hoped that when Henry’s time came, he was as lucky. No. Luckier, both he and Rusty. Made, because it was their destiny but not bonded. If I’d known what would happen in particular, and how I’d feel afterward, I’d have declined and prayed they didn’t unMake me for it.
“Okay,” Henry said. “See ya at breakfast.”
“Yeah,” I answered. “See ya.”
I slid my hands in pockets and began my trek to the boardwalk. As before, the professor was waiting for me. “You’re lucky. Tonight was a scheduled drop for our Sponsor,” he said. “We just had our guys grab another meal.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, aghast at how he made it sound like they’d sent out an Uber Eats order for two meal deals from a McDonald’s or something. Besides, earlier he had admitted they should have had a meal waiting for me to replenish myself after my bonding ordeal. It was lucky for him, really, that things had gone as smoothly as they had despite their failings.
I trudged down the stairs behind him. He had the key this time and he opened the door to the shack. I stared wide-eyed at the scene before me. Three disheveled men sat bound and gagged on the floor of the shed, their eyes wide. Arrakus was sat crosslegged on the floor before them, naked a jaybird, without even the blanket preserving his modesty.
Professor Lambert shut the door behind us.
“Eatttt nnnooooowww,” Arrakus said.
“Yes, my lord,” Lambert replied. “The boy is here now.” He looked at me. “Arrakus wanted to wait so he could share the meal with you.”
Arrakus grinned. “Shhhhhare.” He stood up and took the few steps to reach the men. He knelt down beside one, stroking his cheek with a hand. Raising the hand back, it became a sharp claw, like that of a crab. It slashed downwards and all three men reared back as best they could. It was no use. The claw laid open the man’s cheek, diagonally from the temple to across his mouth. Arrakus opened his mouth, flicking out a suddenly long and thin tongue to lick the blood that flowed. The men sobbed, the one he’d cut trying to form words as he did so, despite the gag. Arrakus hummed, then with a glance at me, shivered all over.
His body morphed, his torso and limbs becoming tentacles as they had during our bonding. The men were screaming in earnest now. He turned his distorted head to look at them, then grabbed the man next to the one he cut. He opened his mouth and it stretched into a giant maw, impossibly big, with double rows of jagged shark-like teeth. Lifting the man, he stuffed him into his mouth and bit. I closed my eyes, unable to watch.
“Go on and feed,” the professor said, nudging me. I peeked through my eyelids at him. He looked decidedly green. “Usually he just drains them,” he said. “But sometimes he feasts upon their flesh. Feed from yours to spare him from suffering anymore.”
He was right. Glancing over at the two men, their eyes were wide with terror, their bodies rigid with fright. I knelt next to the one he’d cut and placed my hands on either side of his face. “It’s okay now. I’ll make it stop,” I promised him. He looked relieved, probably hoping that I meant we would let them go now. Instead, I let my beast come out, me sclera turning pitch as night. I pulled at his life thread hard, to prevent him from being able to react. I drank him in greedily, knowing it was working. I was healing. I could feel the pain of my cracked rib knitting back together, my muscles repairing themselves, my bruising going through the final stages until they were gone. I dropped my hands then, as he had nothing left to give. Beside me, Arrakus was crawling on the floor, lapping up spilled blood. He’d finished consuming both men, clothing, bindings, and all, as I fed.
“Eeeeeat,” he said, glancing at the remains of my meal.
“Yeah, you can have my leftovers,” I told him. “Thank you.” There’d be nobody to dispose of, at least, and the dead man was beyond caring about anything.
Arrakus hugged the corpse to his body and began nibbling.
“Let’s go. He’ll be some time now that he’s mostly full,” Lambert said. He bowed. “Thank you, Lord Arrakus.”
I repeated the gesture. “Thank you, my lord.”
