Ghosts

It was a testament to how interesting Brent was that after all he had done to me, I didn't hate him. I watched him from my camera-free perch in the lookout room. The Ghosts drifted around him, walking with a distinct sense of purpose to nowhere at all, gazes fixed forward. That was typical in their resting state, during the 12 hours a day when they weren't in a virtual coma. Brent only made me spend eight hours a day in a coma now, for which I had to be moderately grateful.

He looked pretty nervous now, but that's typical when he gives a tour. It didn't help that the second-generation Vamp he was showing around kept staring at him with the direct, bemused gaze of a sociopath. His hair is all pushed up from his neurotic habit of pushing his hand back through it, and he keeps blinking too much. I think he doesn't like talking about what he does, and how the Center works, because when he relates it in plain terms to someone else there's no denying how terrible it is. I mean...creating a hundred zombie sex slaves tailored for-literally-bloodthirsty clients is...admittedly, quite an accomplishment. But it's not something to be proud of. He was a mad scientist of sorts, but he had some pangs of conscience. I was proof enough of that.

The Vamp was groping the girls, his hands roving under the generic black top of a pretty blond, who stared passively ahead. He kneaded her breasts aggressively, but seemed only half interested in the girl. His eyes kept flicking to Brent, who was looking at the floor and fidgeting, distinctly uncomfortable. The Vamp was toying with him. That was interesting.

Suddenly, the Vamp's head snapped up, and for a moment I couldn't process what was happening. I was staring straight into his black, soulless eyes. What the fuck. This was one-way glass. He should be seeing his own reflection...but clearly he had detected something. I had a moment of disorientation and looked away. No way. Surely he couldn't glamour me from here. Slowly, I stood up, and his head raised slightly, tracking me. Goosebumps pricked my skin, and I acted without thinking. I bolted out of the room.

I had nearly reached the roof by the time they caught up with me, on the last stair within reach of the door. I heard footsteps slowing on the platform below and stopped. It was pointless to go outside unless I was planning on jumping, and I wasn't planning on jumping.

"That one's not a Ghost."

I turned around slowly. Brent leaned on wall a few feet behind the camp. He looked even more nervous than before, which was understandable.

"Actually..." his eyes jerked back and forth between me and the Vamp, and I noticed how good he was at not quite making eye contact. "She is. Some subjects...don't respond well to conditioning."

The Vamp raised an eyebrow. "And it's policy to allow the defects free reign of the building? How did she even get up here?"

Brent paled. I could tell he was wondering if we were being inspected, but I doubted it. Inspectors didn't usually feel up the Ghosts, and I'd never seen a Second-generation in the building. At least, not that I could remember. No, the Vamp was still fucking with him.

"She...can't get out." He shrugged, apologetic. "But the doors within the center are generally unlocked. The girls are...conditioned to stay in the main room."

"Are there others like her? Wandering around?"

Brent looked at the floor. "No" he muttered, "she's the only one."

"So you're sentimental? You don't rent her out, because she knows what's happening to her? That's not a deterrent for everyone."

Brent shrugged. "She's been rented out before. Just not...for a while."

"You're sentimental." His tone was mocking and he was smiling slightly. Brent gritted his teeth.

The Vamp abruptly closed the distance between us, grabbing my chin and guiding my face upward. I fought every instinct to run, tried to squash down the panic rising within me. Vamps are excited by fear. "Look at me."

His eyes were the deepest black, and probably the most inhuman part of him. To my relief he didn't attempt to glamour me, just stared at me for an intense, nerve wracking moment. Finally he released me and a tension seemed to drain out of him. He leaned back against the railing and looked towards the ceiling.

"I'm in your country for three more months." His tone was conversational. "There are no willing victims. All of the Feeders-", his hand twirled in a gesture meant to indicate the center- "are caught up in the trade, and if I'm going to have a slave, I prefer one that can count to ten."

He looked at me pointedly. "Can you count to ten?"

I hesitated, then nodded dumbly.

"Fantastic." He clapped his hands together and rose to his full height, turning towards Brent. "I'll take her."