The Renfield Syndrome
J.A. Saare
Dedication
For my editor, friends, family and readers.
Chapter One
Rhiannon’s Law #22: You can’t lie to yourself, so don’t bother trying. Doing so only multiplies your douchebag level to the umpteenth power and confirms what others have been saying about you for years: you are an idiot.
Of course, I normally don’t fault those guilty of breaking Law #22. I was prone to doing the same from time to time, when I felt my back was to the wall.
Like now, for instance.
I looked around, still trying to wrap my head around the situation.
It couldn’t be true. I had to be dreaming.
Yet here I was—ass down on the ground in a different reality.
One minute, I had been in my apartment ready to get back to my vampire boyfriend. The next I was making a deal with a demon and getting my ass sent to the future as a part of the bargain. It couldn’t be real, but damn it, the concrete sure did feel cool and solid beneath my jeans, and my busted knee throbbed like a son of a bitch.
My gaze shifted back to the newspaper in my hand.
If the document was meant as a joke, I wasn’t laughing.
The date on the paper indicated it was October 28, 2115, and the feature article made my holy-shit-o-meter blare like a banshee. Humans were vanishing. Not as in going missing—they were ceasing to exist as a species. Homo sapiens—once the rulers of the world—were officially on the imminent extinction list due to something called the Renfield Syndrome. The Renfield vaccine, produced during the Third World War between humans and vampires, was responsible. Apparently, it had come with nasty side effects the world hadn’t known about, killing off humans one by one.
I flipped through the paper, desperate for more information.
The pages were chock-full of ads. People were offering themselves as blood slaves for immortality, money and a decent place to live among vampires. The entries were morbid and reminded me of the classifieds for unwanted puppies and kittens after irresponsible owners found themselves with a litter of animals they had no room for. Only these warm-blooded mammals weren’t pets, they were people.
The knowledge made my stomach roll, my heart race and my hands tremble.
I blew a steadying breath through pursed lips, attempting to slow the erratic beating of my heart and get a handle on things.
Panic—in this situation—wouldn’t do me any favors.
The coolness of the shade against my face as the sun dipped below the horizon got my attention, putting things in perspective.
It would be night soon. I had to find Disco.
Disco.
My heart spasmed, my chest weighed down.
If not for my feelings for the man, I never would have made the deal to sever his debt with a demon. My actions had placed me one hundred and one years in the future. I had no idea where to start or where to go. I didn’t know if I had any friends or acquaintances to turn to.
Stop. Anger surfaced, sticky and familiar. Suck it up.
As fucked up as the shit was, I had to fulfill my part of the bargain with Zagan—the demon Disco, and now I, was indebted to. Once I had the opportunity to speak with my lover, his obligation to the sadistic creature from Hell would come to an end. All I had to do was deliver one simple message, a few short words.
I didn’t want to remain indebted to a demon—no matter what year it was.
Get your shit together. Get the fuck up and move.
Groaning, I carefully made it to my feet.