Queenie & The Clout Vampire
Exclusive, brand new short fiction. A leisurely lunchbreak goes awry.
The sun cracked the pavement with its brutal, midday heat. Queenie sat under a canvas awning, outside of a roadside diner, nursing a tall, icy beverage. Despite her complexion, she loved this kind of weather. Her Celtic skin tone did not agree with such solar intensity and demanded the highest level of sunscreen. But there was something about seeking shade in the middle of the working day that chimed with her sensibilities.
Queenie had been sent on a pick-up job, by her employer, with no fixed deadline. This usually meant that he was fully expecting her to slack off. From Queenie’s point of view, he was basically ordering her to do so, and who was she to disobey an order?
Her drink was an alcohol alternative that tasted of minted peas and produced a mild, blissed-out sensation that suited the lazy mood of the day. Queenie watched the world go by. The world, for the most part, ignored her.
“Look! We match!” said an excitable voice. Queenie peered over her sunglasses in the direction of the voice and saw a woman beaming at her. “What was that?” asked Queenie. The woman jabbed a finger towards her own face. “I said, ‘we match’!” the woman replied as she went on pointing at the hat on her head and then at Queenie’s. “The same colour!” she insisted.
The woman, like Queenie, appeared to be in her early twenties and was dressed in dark vest top and leggings, similar to what Queenie was wearing, but also no different from half a dozen other people within eyeshot. Queenie was wearing her signature, green cap, with the peak in reverse, to keep her neck from getting sunburned. It was nothing like the khaki bucket hat the woman was wearing. Neither were the woman’s rectangular, black shades anything like Queenie’s circular, red ones, despite the woman’s insistence.
Queenie nodded and smiled, in an affable yet please-leave-me-alone kind of way and returned her attention to her drink. She’s was only trying to be friendly, thought Queenie. The comparison thing was a bit weird, but maybe their eyes just worked differently or something.
“We should find out if we have anything else in common!” said the woman, suddenly plonking herself down in the chair opposite Queenie. “My name’s Tanni!” she said thrusting her hand towards Queenie with belligerent good humour. Queenie suppressed a sigh and shook Tanni’s hand. “Queenie,” she muttered.
“Queenie! Queenie! Queenie!” said Tanni. “I always repeat new people’s names three times. It helps you to remember. You should try it!”
“No need,” said Queenie. “I’ll remember. You’re Tanni.”
“You see!” said Tanni. “Queen-ee! Tan-ee! Both have two syllables, and the second one is the same! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
“Look, Tanni,” said Queenie, taking a big gulp from her drink. “I'm not being funny or anything. If you’re selling something I’m really not interested. I’m just on my lunch break...”
“You’re working!” said Tanni. “What do you do, Queenie? If you don’t mind me asking. I’m not selling anything. I’m just genuinely interested!”
Queenie paused and pushed her sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose. “I’m... delivering a package,” she said.
“Oh, you’re a courier!” said Tanni. “I thought you had a cyclist vibe about you!” Queenie quickly finished her drink and climbed to her feet. “Yeah, so, I’ve got to shoot,” she said, dropping some change onto the table. “Nice to meet you...”
“Tanni!” said Tanni. “Where are you taking the package, Queenie? I know this area very well. I can help you!”
“I’m picking up, not dropping off,” said Queenie. “It’s fine. Really. You stay where you are. Enjoy the sun! Bye!” She made a dash for the street and disappeared around the corner.
Ten minutes later, Queenie was lost.
The map on her phone kept losing its signal – something she had been warned might happen, given the area of the city and the fact that her tech had been convinced, by nefarious persuasion, into believing it could use the local network, despite being completely incompatible. As a precaution, her boss had written the address, and very lengthy directions onto the back of a beermat. His handwriting was irritatingly beautiful and meticulous. Ornate, while still being completely legible. Typical, thought Queenie. If only the surrounding streets had been as well composed.
The neighbourhood was arranged in layers of haphazard favelas, constructed around the remains of much more ancient ruins. There was hardly anyone around - the locals presumably enjoying a siesta. The narrow, winding roads were incredibly steep but surprisingly cycle friendly for such an old city. She wondered if the original inhabitants had had wheels instead of feet.
“Queenie!" came a shout. Queenie snapped to attention. At the far end of the street Tanni stood, waving frantically. There was no escape as Tanni hurried towards her. Strangely, in the harsh sunlight, Tanni’s hat was not even slightly khaki coloured. It was a much brighter shade of green, and the style was actually smaller than a bucket hat. It was really more of a cap.
“Are you lost,” said Tanni.
“Not really,” said Queenie.
“It can be really confusing around here,” said Tanni. “Here, let me see!” She snatched the beermat out of Queenie’s hand and scanned the instructions carefully. “Lovely handwriting,” said Tanni as she examined the beermat through her shades. Queenie noticed, now that she was closer, that Tanni’s glasses were not really square at all. They had rounded edges and were more oval, if anything, and the lenses were actually a dark reddish-brown rather than black.
“Oh, I know where this is!” said Tanni. “Follow me!” and she ducked into a side street before Queenie could protest. Queenie ground her teeth and followed.
Tanni marched ahead, up a steep concrete incline, where the shops and houses began to thin out. Eventually, the concrete receded into a dirt track that levelled off into a plateau where, on the left, a series of dwellings were set into a cliff face, whilst on the right, a sheer drop afforded a stunning view of the city.
The first dwelling in the row was the most beautiful cave Queenie had ever seen. The entrance was a huge oval, carved into a spiral pattern and painted a startling powder blue. The cave mouth gave the impression that it was a massive seashell and spilling from it was the most amazing collection of furniture, sculptures, lamps, statues, decorative art pieces and neatly arranged piles of vintage bric-a-brac. “Here we are!” said Tanni, flicking the beermat at Queenie, who caught it, awkwardly.
There was music playing somewhere deep within the cave. It was a piano piece that Queenie thought she recognised but could not place. “Helloooooo!” Tanni called in the cave. “Anyone home! Were here to pick up a package!”
“Listen; thanks Tanni,” said Queenie. “I really appreciate the help. But I can take it from here.”
A woman emerged from the cave. Her age was hard to place, somewhere in her forties, Queenie guessed. She was dressed in a neon pink salwar kameez and hijab. She wore large glasses with thick, gold frames that stood in stark relief against her deep brown skin, as did the chunky, gold nose ring that threaded through her left nostril. Her broad smile was decorated with gold lipstick. “Hello,” said the woman (Queenie felt that she could detect a touch of Scottish in her accent), “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Hi,” said Queenie. “I’m here to pick up...”
“My name’s Tanni!” said Tanni, stepping between Queenie and the woman, her hand outstretched. “This is Queenie! We’re here to pick up a package!”
“Is that right?” said the woman, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously. “And who are you that’ll be giving away names so freely, ‘Tanni’ is it?” The woman took Tanni’s hand and shook it firmly. Queenie saw the woman had chunky gold rings on every finger and gold henna tattoos covering her hands and wrists. “She’s not with me!” said Queenie, feeling a weirdly desperate need to make this fact as clear as possible.
“I didn’t think so,” said the woman, releasing Tanni’s hand. Tanni staggered backwards slightly, supressing a nervous giggle. She staggered and straightened her sunglasses. From this angle, Queenie could see Tanni’s sunglasses were square with thick, gold frames and her hat, far from being green, was actually a shade of hot pink. The very same shade as her now violently blushing skin.
“We’ve come to fetch something!” blurted Tanni. She giggled again, then burped, bringing her hands up to her face. The backs of her hands were now covered in henna tattoos that flashed pink and gold. Queenie jumped back in alarm. The woman moved forward, placing herself between Tanni and Queenie.
Whatever Tanni was, was now ballooning in size. Great, peeling layers of fabric, or possibly flesh, flapping in a sudden gust of wind, gold, pink, green, black, bellowing out from her sides. Tanni stifled another long burp as her now bulbous head rippled.
“Bitten off more than you can chew, haven’t you?” said the woman, walking towards Tanni, who continued to back away. “I’d run along just now, if I were you,” the woman went on. “Before you pop!” The thing that was Tanni pulled its hands from its face and roared. Its mouth was now a gaping, circular hole, surrounded by different coloured lenses, like glass petals of some monstrous flower. Its body was now a huge ball of flapping, vibrating fabric. “You..!” is belched, pointing four, disembodied index fingers at the woman, finally lost for words. It staggered backwards and lurched over the edge of the cliff.
Instinctively, Queenie ran forward. She watched, aghast, as the thing tumbled away. But then its folds seemed to catch the air. Its rolling form bloomed in an updraft. It seemed to unravel itself, spreading out to catch more air. Sparkling tendrils looped out behind it, transforming it further into a kind of airborne jellyfish. It shrank into the distance, before disappearing from view entirely, merging into the city’s skyline.
Queenie’s stomach churned. Whatever Tanni was had been difficult to look at. It was even more difficult for her brain to process what had just happened. In Queenie’s mind, it felt like Tanni had exploded in a weird flurry of tics and affectations. The woman in pink wandered over to the cliff’s edge. “They get cheekier every day,” she muttered, shaking her head slowly.
“What was that?” said Queenie.
“A clout vampire,” said the woman. “You ought to be more careful, Queenie.”
“It’s not my fault!” said Queenie. “I didn’t know she was a clout vampire! I don’t even know what one of those is!”
“They’re nasty little novelty-leeches,” said the woman. “Noösphere scavengers. Quasi-lifeforms that adopt aspects of more complex systems and pass them off as their own.”
“Like a… doppelgänger?” said Queenie, not really knowing what one of those were either. “If you like,” said the woman, wrinkling her nose.
“What did you do to it?” said Queenie.
“Nothing,” said the woman. “My collection was a bit too much for it is all. There’re all kinds of complex bits and bobs that would be very foolish for a clout vampire to try and emulate. You saw what happened.”
“Is she dead?” asked Queenie.
“Doubt it,” said the woman. “Strictly speaking, she wasn’t ‘alive’ in the first place. She just unravelled. She’ll have to start compiling herself again from scratch. Anyway, have a seat, Queenie. I’ll fetch your box, just now.” She disappeared inside the cave. Queenie perched herself on a red and blue, cubist chair and tried to gather her thoughts.
After a few moments, the woman returned carrying a square, silver flight case, designed to carry vinyl records. It was obvious who it belonged to. “I recognised it straight away,” said the woman. “And I cannot imagine that the guy who sold it to me came by it through legitimate means.”
“Apparently, it was bequeathed to an ex-employee,” said Queenie.
“Bequeathed?” said the woman. “Was he expecting to die?”
“Possibly,” said Queenie, with a shrug. “What do we owe you?”
The woman handed Queenie the box. It was surprisingly light. “You both own me a favour,” the woman said. “Both?” said Queenie. “Hang on; I’m just the messenger!”
“A messenger that brings a clout vampire to my door!” snapped the woman. “You’re getting off lightly, miss! Don’t worry. It won’t be anything too taxing for you and I’ll save it for a rainy day. Anyway, I suspect you’ll be quite busy for the foreseeable. I predict a dangerous quest in your future.”
“Are you a fortune teller as well now?” said Queenie. “I still don’t know your name!”
“I’m Rez,” said Rez and she gestured for Queenie to open the box. Queenie unsnapped the catches and opened the box. She peered inside.
It was empty.
Queenie sighed. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, then took out her phone to share the bad news.
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Queenie and her employer both make an appearance in my new Faction Paradox novella; Rose-Coloured Crosshairs - available now from Obverse Books