Vampyre Nation Book One: This Immortal Coil

By Steve Mandel

November. 1963. In one tragic day, eight major nations lose their leaders to magikally-enhanced assassins. Thus the stage is set for an uprising years in planning, a revolt that will see the relatively-small SuperNatural population of the world band together and overthrow all of Humanity.

Now, nearly 50 years later, the SuperNaturals have firm control over almost the entire planet. The Werewolves, Witches and Warlocks hold most of Europe. The Dragon Lords rule China, Japan and what’s left of the Pacific Rim.

And the Vampyres now command North and South America, creating the United SuperNaturalists of America, the world’s greatest super power.

Humanity has been enslaved to live out their lives either as slave labor, as stock for the Breeding Pens or simply as a food source for the Vampyres.

This is the world that Bogatyre Case was born, though fortunately for him, he was bred for one of the most influential and wealthiest families in North America.

Now seventeen and on the verge of being Turned into a full-fledge Vampyre, Bogie has everything that a boy could desire. He is the most popular kid at his prep school, envied and idolized by all. He has an unbelievably bright future guaranteed by his father’s influence and best of all, he has the perfect Vampyre girlfriend.

The only problem is Bogie Case just might not be a Vampyre.

In fact, there is a very real chance that he is the one person destined to overthrow the SuperNatural Rule and lead humanity to freedom.
After being drafted into service by the mysterious Brotherhood of Man, Bogie and his friends, which include his Vamp girlfriend Lydia and Gaunt, a teenage ghost, embark on a quest to discover his true identity.

Along the way, Bogie squares off against zombies, demons and other assorted monsters, evils old and undying and worst of all, an extremely angry girlfriend who represents everything he is destined to destroy.

Vampyre Nation is the first novel in a multi-book arc that will follow Bogie as he desperately tries to find a way to fulfill his true destiny and save humanity without destroying the Vampyre world that he has known and loved his entire life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Mandel
• Release date: Apr 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458049353

Steve Mandel

Steve Mandel is the author of Another Lost Angel, which was released from Thompson Gale/Five Star in May, 2006.His short story, Blind Man Blues, appeared in the anthology Chicago Blues, which was released by Bleak House Books in October, 2007.Steve has also written and produced literally thousands of TV and Radio commercials over the past 15 years while Creative Director for several Chicago advertising agencies.He is currently at work on his next novel and resides in the western suburbs of Chicago, with his wife, three daughters and a black lab named Jake.For more information, visit stevemandelbooks.com

Book preview

PART ONE:

THIS VAMPYRE BOY’S LIFE

CHAPTER ONE

Who is the Eighth Day? Ask yourself, Bogatyre. Ask yourself.

Bogatyre Case bolted upright in his bed, his eyelids snapping open, sweat soaking his silk pajamas, making the slick material stick to his body.

As he sat there gulping air, the wisps of his nightmare dissipating in the dull morning glow breaking around the edges of his bedroom’s drawn shades.

Oh Vlad, this was the worse one yet!

The horrific visions were like postcards slicked with soap, images filmy, out of focus and impossible to grasp. Yet even as they slid from his mind’s eye, his ears could still detect the Whispers.

They were always there, the Whispers, dying echoes of his dreams, drifting just far enough from the range of even his above-average hearing, mumbled voices urgently trying to convey some equally-urgent message. Something about eight days or something.

And while the Whispers were always faint and indistinct, the nightmares were vivid and they always stayed with him. They were seldom exactly the same, yet always variations of the same theme and always ending the same way, with Bogie being attacked by his own people, devoured and drained dry as haunting fingers of accusation jabbing angrily at him, telling him that he wasn’t Vampyre.

After a shower-through which he leaned his head against the cool porcelain tiles-Bogie threw on his school uniform, the tan trousers, the white button-down shirt, and black leather loafers and the blue blazer with gold school crest embroidered on the left breast. After cinching up his blue and white striped tie, he headed downstairs, making his way through the cavernous Case Manse.

Dusk-dawn suffused the first floor in soft blue. Every window on the second and third floors had long since been bricked over as a precaution against the EverDusk enchantment ever failing. And though his parents preferred the gloominess of the upper floors, Bogie found himself eager each and every day to make his way downstairs, where relatively copious amounts of sunlight-stricken light seeped in through the shaded windows.

As he padded across marble floors, nearing the expansive kitchen where the family took breakfast (their only informal meal), Bogie could hear the everyday cacophony of silverware on plates, the patter of the servants as they scampered timidly around the kitchen and his parents mumbling to each other between bites of food and sips of coffee.

When he arrived at the arched doorway that led into the kitchen, Bogie paused and leaned against the wall, out of his parent’s sightlines. Their voices had lifted a few levels and Bogie could tell that his father was stepping up on his soapbox.

That in turn always wound his mother up a couple notches above her standard levels of uptight-edness and the two of them would inevitably launch into a debate on the level that only two highly intellectual people like his parents could reach.

Whatever the topic, and they were many and varied, Bogie always felt the idiot whenever his mother and father began circling around an idea that one supported, the other opposed.

Long as Bogie could recall, there had never been a clear-cut winner; both were so well-read, so informed and just so Vlad-damned smart that their topic d’jour was always dissected like a formaldehyde-filled frog in Scienceology class, to such lengths that both their busy schedules precluded proper closure.

I’m just saying, it’s a slippery slope. You open up that door even a little and well, you remember Pandora and her thrice-damned Box. I’m telling you, Magda, it’s an absolutely horrendous idea.

When his mother spoke, Bogie instantly recognized the exasperation threaded through her words. His father was an extremely difficult man to knock off his perch.

I’m just saying, Lucas, that there has to be some middle ground.

Let me ask you, are you so concerned with Human Rights that you would cease feasting upon them? Should we empty the Blood Banks and doom ourselves to a steady diet of Synthetics or animal blood? Do you truly want to sup on pig for the rest of your eternal existence? And what of the Breeding? How will we ever propagate our species? We’re not like the Wolves or the Mages. If we don’t have Human young ones to Turn, we’ll stagnate and eventually be overpowered. All we spent the last forty-plus years building for ourselves will be gone in less than a lifetime. Is that what you want, Magda?

Middle ground, Lucas. That’s all I’m saying. Just because these people live to feed us, it doesn’t mean we can’t be humane. I mean, have you seen the Pens lately? Those ghettos that passes for their neighborhoods? They’re just-

"Humane? My darling, to be humane, you must be human. Which, I need not remind you, all civilities aside, we most assuredly are not."

Oh, no? Bogie could almost hear one of his mother’s sharply-lined eyebrow arching. My dearest husbands, Vampyre’s today are nothing like they were a century ago. Thanks to all the Enchanted mucking about we’ve allowed, our bodies are practically alive. We eat and digest Human food, we drink coffee, tea, wine and brandy. We actually found a way to keep our blood-lines going and we have now have souls, albeit synthetic ones. Face it, Lucas, we are practically Human ourselves.

A wave of shock skimmed over Bogie’s heart. Wha was his mother saying?

Yet before he could ponder it further, Lucas Case’s voice boomed throughout the kitchen, bouncing off the ivory-tiled walls. WE ARE NOT HUMAN!

In the silence that followed, Bogie could actually picture his mother’s face, her purplish lips pursed in a tight smile while she peered down her slender nose at her husband.

Bogie waited patiently for as long as he could before the sweet scent of honey-pancakes and maple syrup thickened the air under his nose and made his stomach command his feet to get moving.

Pushing himself off the wine-red wall, he pivoted around and through the doorway and into the dully-lit, yet richly-appointed kitchen, promptly ending his parent’s debate.

Good morning, my darling, his mother sang brightly as she sprang from her seat at the kitchen table and slid across the room towards the coffee maker. Along the way, she stopped and planted a quick kiss upon Bogie’s cheek.

With their aging forever stopped somewhere around their mid-thirties, the Cases were destined to be forever trapped with the benefits of relative youth. Fortunately, both had been blessed with the sort of looks that befitted two of such importance to the Supernatural world.

His mother, with her auburn hair styled smartly around an angelic face adorned with the most brilliantly chestnut brown eyes. His father, his body locked in youthful athleticism, his shoulders broad and a face cut from the finest stone sitting beneath a perfectly-coifed helmet of blond hair.

It was funny-and somewhat disconcerting to Bogie- to think, that due in part to the intricacies of Vampyre breeding, he was set to age more naturally (though not at all humanly)and at some point he would appear to the world to be older than both his parents.

Sleep well, son? his father asked.

Bogie lowered himself into a chair opposite his father and immediately snatched a piece of thick wheat toast from a plate being offered by the Cook’s assistant. Yeah, dad, fine, he lied, the words tumbling around a mouthful of richly-buttered bread.

Bogie had never told his parents about his nightmares. Not that he didn’t trust them to respond with nothing less than the utmost of concern, but because…well, he didn’t really know why. It seemed like it would be such a natural thing to confide to one’s parents, yet there was something holding his tongue. As it was, he could sense his mother’s curious stare, as she sensed, in that way only a mother could, that all was not well with her son, no matter what he claimed.

Which is why Bogie directed all conversation toward his father. If there was one thing that Lucas Case could be counted on, it was that his preoccupation with his ever-present history-changing and world-shaking matters would always keep him from dwelling too long on his son’s personal life.

By now, Bogie’s professional trajectory had already been mapped out by Lucas-had been, in fact, from the very day that his parents had picked their new infant boy’s birth mother from the Human Breeding Pens, even before Magda began the laborious process of Turning her newly-born son from Human to Vampyre.

There was not a shred of doubt in Lucas Case’s mind just where Bogie was going to end up professionally. All the plans had been set in motion and cultivated over the past sixteen and-a-half years of the boy’s life.

With all that set concrete, Lucas had precious little time to concern himself with the daily trivialities of his only offspring’s life.

Plans today, son? Lucas inquired, as he did every morning, absent-mindedly.

Bogie had often been tempted to reply to this daily query with news that he was quitting school to join the Human Liberation League, just to gauge just how much his father was actually listening, yet he could never quite seem to find the courage.

Um, I have Young Diplomats Club until five, then Lacrosse practice from five until six-thirty.

Reaching over for the platinum coffee urn, Magda nodded at her son. Henry will pick you up from practice at seven. You have a fitting for your Feasting Togs. Please do remember to shower this time.

Yes and Bogie, his father called out over the top of his newspaper, please remember to pick up your transcripts from Roth. The Chancellor needs them this week to complete your application.

Magda Case sipped from her coffee cup, leaving a bloody, crimson lipstick ring at the cup’s edge. I don’t see the need for all this nonsense. I mean, really, Lucas, the boy is already accepted. Why kill more trees?

Environmentalism was one of his mother’s newest passions, as was, apparently, Human Rights.

Lucas Case gulped down the last dregs of his coffee, set his cup down with a soft clatter and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. You know as well as I, Magda, that certain rituals must be observed. It never does well remind a considerably-healthy proportion of one’s constituents that they are not as fortunate. They need not a constant slap to remind them about rank and privilege.

Something familiar and hot flushed against the back of Bogie’s neck. You know, I don’t know why I spend ninety percent of my time busting my butt to make grades. Straight A’s or all F’s, it really doesn’t matter, does it? I mean, Vlad, I worked really hard and I don’t even get to have it count for anything.

A wash of silence splashed throughout the kitchen as Bogie’s parents looked upon him with a mixture of annoyance-mostly from his father-and amusement-almost exclusively from his mother.

Bogie abruptly stood, shoving his heavy iron chair out with his calves. I have to go. I’m gonna be late for school. Not that it really matters now, does it?

CHAPTER TWO

And then what did he say? Gaunt asked.

Nothing. He just stared at me with the It’s-Time-to-Shut-Up look he gets when it’s time for me to shut up.

Nothing? He actually said nothing?

Nope. Not a word.

"Dude, I know your dad is like, one of the biggest and most important Vampyre cats in the country, but he is such a tool…whiiiich is probably why he’s one of the biggest and most important Vampyre cats in the country. Or do you think the whole tool thing came later in life?"

Bogie sighed deeply, lying beneath a monstrous oak tree, his head propped up by his olive green messenger bag. With a free period followed by lunch, it was his first true moment of calm since he had jump-started his day in the wake of his now-nightly terrors.

Even the Whispers had settled into barely-noticeable hum.

The early-November air, while chilly, had yet to make the commitment towards winter and a great number of his fellow students were taking advantage of these possibly-last few tolerable outdoor days.

The sky was its usual dull gray, as it had been most every day since EverDusk had been cast nearly fifty years ago, save for those days of snow or rain, when the atmosphere would then drift towards more of a soft-black.

Gaunt was hovering a few feet off thee ground, his legs crossed under him. The dull mid-morning light sifted through the nearly-transparent boy, allowing him a couple shades of substance.

Bogie looked up at him, an eyebrow sharply raised. Yet before he could say anything, a gaggle of sophomore girls skirted around the left side across the browning lawn, a chorus of Hi, Bogie! erupting amidst a flurry of girlish giggles and a flourish of plaid skirts.

Even though he didn’t recognize any of them, he threw up a practiced, if unenthusiastic, wave.

My, my, look who’s such a big laddy with the ladies!

Bogie jerked his head to the right, his heart immediately dropping a couple dozen pounds.

Lydia Bard’s long black hair draped to her shoulders, framing a cherubic face that was dominated by a slightly crooked nose and protruding ruby-painted lips. Her skin was dusky pale as ash freshly-fallen off a fireplace log.

What up, UnDead-heads? she asked as she plopped down Indian-style next to Bogie, tossing her own messenger bag to the side, where it landed with a dull thud against the tree.

Gaunt was just telling me what a jerk my father is. Bogie shifted his head from his bag to Lydia’s lap and glanced up into her deep green eyes. He was trying to discern which side of the argument she fell on, could see that she was unsure as well.

After all, she had known his family-his father-since she had been a baby herself.

Rather than committing herself to the debate, Lydia gently plowed her black-nail tipped fingers through Bogie’s bangs. You’re dad…he’s just…he’s complicated, she finally said.

Yeah, complicatedly toolish, Gaunt relied from his post four feet above the ground.

Lydia shot Gaunt a sever look. Hey Spooky, don’t you have a house somewhere you have to haunt?

Mock hurt washed up on Gaunt’s translucent face. Guh! You really know how to wound a guy. He clasped both hands to his chest, as if his heart had just been pierced.

Oh, nothing can hurt you, you big baby! Lydia snatched a rock off the ground and tossed it at Gaunt’s midsection. It sailed through him and bounced harmlessly off the tree.

Words, my dear little Vampyre. Words can hurt. And with that he popped from sight, leaving a trace of wood smoke in the air.

I think you really hurt his feelings this time, Bogie laughed.

Lydia’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. Oh, you don’t think…? No, he was just goofing around, right? He knows I wasn’t serious…right?

I don’t know, Bogie sang. I’d keep my lights on tonight if I were you.

While Bogie didn’t truly believe that any lasting damage had been inflicted upon Gaunt’s feelings, he did know that his friend was extremely sensitive about being a ghost.

In a school filled with mostly Vampyres, a few Werewolves and a smattering of Witches and Warlocks, Gaunt was the only Ghost on the student body.

He had been a student at Southbury Prep over fifty years ago, before the Revolution, when human teenagers still filled the classrooms of the prestigious academy that had been around nearly since the time of their own Revolution against the British.

Gaunt’s entire family had been killed one frosty December evening, just three days before Christmas, when their family sedan had skidded across an ice-caked Lake Shore Drive and plummeted into the frigid waters of Lake Michigan, a million tons of Detroit metal dragging them down into the dreary depths.

According to Gaunt, he has no idea why he was the only one from his family denied access into the AfterWorlds, though he has hinted from time to time about an ugly incident when he had been an altar boy at St. Pat’s involving the sacramental wine, communion wafers and a little side business he had going involving quickie confessions to his classmates who didn’t want to spill their souls to the overly-judgmental parish priests.

Regardless, he found himself with nowhere to go, yet inexplicably drawn to his former Prep school, where he roamed the halls, comforted by being around those his own age. He also discovered that now that he wasn’t pressured by such trivialities as grades and tests, he actually enjoyed learning and began spending more and more time drifting among classroom ceilings, listening to the teachers drone on for hours and hours.

Thus Gaunt had remained hidden for years until the school reopened in the late sixties, after the War had been won and Supernatural Rule had been established.

With a decidedly-more mystical oriented student body and faculty occupying his beloved hallways, he discovered it more and more difficult to mask his presence and eventually just gave up.

He had now become a staple at Southbury, where every four years he would pick a freshman that he found most promising and would haunt that young Vampyre (it was always a Vampyre as he had a strong distaste for the Wolves and Witches) until that lad would have no choice but to accept his new best friend or be driven stark raving mad.

Bogie had been said chosen one nearly three years ago and he found that for the most part, he greatly enjoyed Gaunt’s company. And it wasn’t just because so many decades of academic exposure had made the ghost an excellent source of homework assistance. He loved the fact that Gaunt had absolutely no use for tact and while Bogie didn’t always agree with what the spook said, he always appreciated his utter candor.

There were too many people around who knew just how important Lucas Case was and figured that toadying up to the son was an excellent way into the good graces of the father.

I’m going the get my dress tonight. Ugh.

Bogie looked up at Lydia. Huh?

For the Ceremony after the Feasting. My mom said that she was going to call your mom about the guest list. She said that she wanted to make sure your mother was okay with who we were gonna invite, since our ceremonies are so close together. She didn’t want people to feel they have to-

She doesn’t have to do that, Bogie snapped, maybe a little too forcibly. Your mom can invite whoever she wants.

Vlad! Even the Bard’s, who had been best friends with Lucas and Magda for over seventy years deferred to the great and glorious Cases.

Lydia shunted out a little snort and shook her head, sending strands of her silky hair into a slow wave. Well, you know, it’s really like-I mean, it’s not a big deal. It doesn’t matter. The whole thing, it’s so…I don’t know, ostentatious. She fell silent for a few seconds, as if contemplating what she had just said. Her entire face seemed to darken, then her chin lifted and the radiance had returned to her eyes. Daddy says he thinks he can get Gif Logan and the Detectives to play. That’s not one hundred percent lame, right?

Gif Logan? He’d let a human play at his daughter’s Feasting Ceremony? No way!

"Gif Logan’s not human human. He’s a rock star! It’s different. Besides, if you said that you wanted Logan to play, I’m sure that he’d-"

That hot and familiar sensation burned its way onto the back of Bogie’s neck again. He sprang up off Lydia’s lap and pulled himself to the flats of his boots. Could we just not talk about the Vlad-damned Feasting anymore? I’m so sick of it! My mom won’t shut up about it! It’s all Feasting this and Feasting that! I mean, Vlad! I don’t see what the big deal is!

By the time Bogie shut his mouth, he was not only aware of nearly every eye on the school’s Quad staring at him, he could see the hurt building behind Lydia’s eyes.

"Not a big deal? Are you…I mean, you’re not serious, right? This is…it’s the…when we become full Vampyre. I know the whole party thing is so over the top, but you know, culture-wise, how can anything be bigger?"

Running a hand over the lower part of his jaw, Bogie desperately fought down the urge to say what he really wanted to say. Lydia’s eyes were dampening, fat tears pooling in their inside corners.

That was going a long way towards dousing the fire that had flared in his belly. He didn’t need to hurt her fee-

Bogie heard the explosion seconds before he felt the ground beneath rattle and shake. The blast was deafening and it sent huge chunks of dirt and concrete hurling through the air at deadly speed. Bogie instantly hurled himself down over Lydia, whose face was now locked between shock and hurt.

An ugly brown cloud of debris billowed from a jagged gash in the courtyard’s southern wall. The air quickly became polluted with the cacophony of students and faculty, the former screaming in terror, the latter shouting directions.

Then, above the clamor, Bogie could hear other voices. These had a different tenor. They were just as loud, just as urgent, yet they were unified, perhaps a dozen voices sounding off as one.

STOP HUMAN CULLING!

WE’RE NOT FOOD!

STOP HUMAN CULLING!

VOTE PROP 82-B!

Since Southbury was the most elite prep school in the Midwest and counted among its student body the sons and daughters of the most wealthy and influential that society had to offer, they housed a security detail that could repel most invading armies.

The small squad of Human Liberation League protesters had barely stepped foot into the courtyard when a battalion of black-armor clad Trolls came storming onto the scene, literally appearing from nothing due in part to VoidStones provided by the school’s Warlock-in-residence.

Already formidable at over seven