Chapter 21

Arthur strolled slowly around the perimeter of the William Penn Hotel. Alicia, now wearing an elegant evening gown that fit her perfectly, walked quietly at his side. With the tragic events of the past week and the historically large memorial service earlier that day, the news media had flocked to the city like vultures to fresh carrion. Many of them had roosted here at the city's finest hotel. With his extended senses, Arthur could feel their pretentious, petulant minds teeming throughout the building, waiting hopefully for yet another tragedy to befall the city, one that could be exploited in the name of ratings. He would give it to them. After all, what better instrument could there be to bring fear to the masses than the slaughter of the fear-mongers themselves?

As they walked, Alicia asked, in a tone that was curious rather than reproachful, "Does the killing of innocents ever bother you, Master?"

Arthur let out a surprised laugh. "I am surprised to hear you ask such a question, child," he replied, "I would have thought that you, of all people, would realize that, among humanity, there is no such thing as innocence; only degrees of guilt."

She pondered his words as they walked to the entrance of the hotel. They nodded amiably as the doorman, dressed in an extravagant colonial era uniform, threw the door wide to allow them entrance. Arthur gazed appreciatively around the luxuriously appointed lobby, from the fine crystal chandeliers to the well polished marble floor. The center of the room was filled with arrangements of plush, comfortable looking furniture while the periphery was a melange of store fronts. The two areas were separated by an elegant railing topped with a deeply polished hardwood handrail.

They strode casually across the lobby to the area devoted to the hotel's administrative offices; in their expensive attire no one gave them a second look ... There, Arthur reached out with his mind to touch those of the few security guards on duty, planting suggestions to ensure that they would not take notice of the images of Arthur and his fledgling which would undoubtedly soon appear on the security monitors. The duo then walked to the elevators where Arthur contemplated the buttons for a moment before deciding to start at the bottom and work his way up. Eager anticipation coursed through him as the time of the slaughter grew nigh. As the doors slid shut, a business traveler happened to look through the shrinking gap to meet Arthur's eyes. His briefcase fell from fingers that had gone suddenly, inexplicably weak and every hair on his body stood on end.

Several floors up, the first floor with guest accommodations, Arthur and Alicia strode out of the elevator and walked to the first door in the short hallway. Arthur probed the interior of the room and then the locking mechanism with his expanded senses. Satisfied with what he had discovered, he raised his hand to the lock and focused his will, causing the pins and tumblers to fall into place.

There were two men inside, each sitting on one of the identical double beds that filled most of the room's floor space. The room was cluttered with a number of video cameras, tripods and various other tools of the trade for a professional cameraman. As the door silently opened, they looked up from the laptops on which they had been reviewing the day's footage.

The one sitting closest to the door looked at the intruders with irritation and began to speak, "I'm sorry, but I think you have..."

His voice cut off with a gurgle as Alicia grabbed him by the neck, smiling at him with malicious glee before sinking her fangs deeply into his throat. Moving swiftly across the room, Arthur broke the other man's jaw with a casual backhand to forestall any potential cry for help. Grabbing a handful of hair, Arthur bent the man's head sharply to the side and then joined his fledgling in the joy of feeding.

Several minutes later the men lay sprawled across their beds, their sightless eyes fixed and staring at the ceiling. Arthur paid them no further heed. He briefly inspected his fledgling to ensure that her attire bore no suspicious stains and then led her back out into the hall, pausing briefly to place a "Do Not Disturb" sign over the knob. They moved from room to room and from floor to floor. It did not matter if they found their victims asleep, awake, alone or in groups; it made no difference if those they encountered tried to run or stood to fight. Once the pair entered a room, they did not leave until all within were dead. There were, however, some rooms that they did not enter. There simply was not enough time to clear the entire hotel in a single night and leaving witnesses was a crucial part of the exercise. Arthur was careful to leave at least one cameraman and, occasionally, a reporter among the living on each level.

As had been the case in Sam's Tavern several nights before, the two were forced to regurgitate the blood that they had consumed after every few victims so that they might continue the feeding frenzy. In an impromptu competition, they did so in as gruesome a manner as possible in an attempt to achieve the greatest effect upon any who might view the scenes in the aftermath of the evening.

As they moved up to the higher floors of the building, they began to come across the suites, occupied by reporters who had achieved celebrity status, wealthy businessmen and a few vacationers and honeymooners. When death came to their doors, status meant nothing and wealth could buy no privileges.

It took more than a few hours after the carnage had begun for the pair to clear somewhat more than half of the nearly six hundred rooms of the large hotel, but, finally, there was only one area remaining: the presidential suite. In the hall outside the luxurious and expensive apartment, Arthur waved his hand over the door knob and watched as the indicator light for the electronic lock went from red to green. Pushing the door open, he and Alicia entered a foyer dominated by a round table of polished marble centered below a crystal chandelier. To their right was a large, elegantly appointed meeting room, to the left an identically sized room which had as its focal point a baby grand piano. All three rooms were empty.

Arthur pushed his awareness through the rooms and discovered that there were three people within; one alone in a bathroom and the other two each sleeping on their own twin bed in a room that would have been described as servant's quarters a century ago. Passing quickly through a dining room and kitchenette, Arthur entered the master bedroom with Alicia close on his heels. The bathroom and its lone occupant were on the opposite side of the only other door to the room.

Throwing that door open, he and Alicia burst into a lavishly appointed, steam filled bathroom. Inside, a woman laid semi-reclined in a large, marble whirlpool bath. Even if he had not already been sifting through her memories, Arthur would have known her on sight. Her name was Naomi Harper and she had been voted the most trusted news anchor in the country the previous year. At the moment, her adoring fans would barely recognize her as the perky blond that they so loved; a sullen glower twisted the delicate features of her face and her mind seethed with resentment over having been sent here by the network executives to cover the day's memorial service in person.

As she registered their presence, Naomi threw a hand across her breasts and hunched down to immerse herself more fully in the steaming water. Her face contorted in rage, she screamed, "Who the fuck are you? Actually, fuck that; I don't care. Just get the fuck out!" The arm not covering her breasts rose from the water to imperiously point out the way.

"Tsk, tsk, Naomi," Arthur replied in a low, condescending tone, "What would your viewers say if they heard such vulgar profanity coming from your lips?"

Ignoring the question, Naomi shrieked, "Tricia, Victor, get your asses in here!"

Almost immediately, Arthur heard rapid footsteps approaching the master bedroom. His eyes narrowed in concentration and claws again extended from his fingertips. Seconds later, Victor, Naomi's personal administrator, and Tricia, her makeup and wardrobe consultant, sprinted into the room, their hair and slight clothing in disarray from sleep.

Naomi, her composure restored by the arrival of reinforcements, commanded coldly, "Escort these intruders out of the suite and call security. I most certainly will want to press charges."

After giving Alicia a quick nod, Arthur spun and drew his clawed hand across Victor's abdomen, spraying blood and bits of viscera across the fine porcelain tiles of the bathroom wall and Naomi's face and breasts. At the same moment, Alicia threw Tricia to the floor and pounced upon the supine woman, exposing her fangs in a snarl before sinking them into Tricia's throat. The obscene sucking noises of her voracious feeding echoed through the small room.

Stepping around his feeding fledgling, Arthur walked slowly toward the stricken woman in the bathtub. "I have a job for you, Naomi," he said, "You are going to be the one who reveals our presence to the world. But that will not be possible until you understand our nature."

Arthur's words pulled Naomi from her dazed stupor. "Who the fuck are you?" she asked shrilly as she frantically wiped at the blood spatters on her face.

In a patronizing voice, Arthur replied, "I believe the proper question is 'What the fuck are we?'" Turning his head pointedly toward where Alicia still fed on the writhing, moaning make- up artist, he continued, "You were an investigative reporter before you became an anchor. Surely the answer to that question must be obvious."

Naomi stared in shock as Tricia grew still and a death rattle emanated from her ravaged throat. "You killed them," Naomi said numbly.