by Lily Luchesi
Michael knew enough that, when Ben was on a roll, he should not stop him with questions or concerns. “Proceed,” was all he said.
“Though it might sound questionable, like something that comes out of those ghastly novels you insist on reading, I believe we should follow her this evening, see where she goes, and confront the vampire when we see him assaulting her.”
“But that would require her possibly being fed on again, so we can be certain that the vampire is really a monster,” Michael said, aghast.
Ben gave an elegant shrug. “Hunters must, at times, do things for the greater good. Hopefully, we can save Miss Holmes, but if we cannot you must not mourn. Her loss can ensure the safety of many others.”
Michael sighed. “Love, you and I will never agree on what you deem ‘the greater good’.”
Chapter Four
Michael felt odd to be stalking a young woman, and one he was acquainted with on top of it. At least Constable Linwood would know what they were doing were they caught.
“Vampires are by nature cunning. Catching them means they are either very newly turned and therefore driven solely by their hunger, or the hunter is a surprisingly clever person,” Ben said before they had left, sounding as if he was patting himself on the back. “We must not get too close, eat anything too flavourful, or don any cologne. Wear your soft shoes, not the ones you usually wear to work. They can hear much better than any mortal creature, even werewolves.”
Miss Holmes’ shift ended at seven in the evening, and she left while whistling and behaving in a way that proper young ladies certainly weren’t supposed to. The way young ladies behaved when they were in love.
Following her was extremely easy, and the two men found themselves having to make the same tedious walk every night for four days in a row. On the fourth day, Miss Holmes did not go straight home. Instead, she went to Marylebone Park. It was dark and quite foggy. They watched her wrap her coat tighter around her small frame. The place was deserted, as even London residents who were accustomed to this type of weather were not fond of catching influenza.
“What made her come here?” Finnigan asked, confused.
Benjamin harshly shushed him. “I think this might be it!”
They stayed in the shadows of trees for more than ten minutes, getting colder by the second. They could see Miss Holmes was also nearly freezing.
“That is how you know this person for whom she waits is vitally important to her: no sane person would stand outside on a night like tonight for pleasure,” Benjamin commented. “She is either in love or under thrall. Or both.”
Out of the shadows, they watched as a male figure came closer, appearing as if by magic out of the fog. Slowly, the man came into view. Not tall, with styled black hair, black eyes, fair skin, high cheekbones, and blood-coloured lips. His pallor was exaggerated by the fog and the weak moonlight, making him look as though he was glowing. He was clad in a very posh, dove-coloured three-piece suit and looked every bit the English gentleman.
“Marietta,” he said in a lilting brogue.
The woman looked up, having not noticed his approach. “Peter!”
“Good evening, love,” he said, sidling up to her and kissing her far too deeply to be in public— whether they believed themselves alone or not. Michael wanted to look away, but they needed to keep eyes on the creature at all times. He could strike at any moment, and the second he did, they needed to act in order to save Miss Holmes’ life.
“How long are we to wait?” Michael hissed.
Benjamin did not respond, just shook his head sharply to silence his companion, eyes never leaving their intended target.
Michael turned back, noticing that the couple had begun kissing in a manner he was sometimes embarrassed to do in private. Miss Holmes’ eyes were glassed over, what Ben had told him was a sure sign of being under thrall, and as he watched, the man she had called ‘Peter’ moved down to kiss her throat. Turning his head slightly, he saw that Peter’s eyes were changing. The black pupil was taking over the iris, and the whites of his eyes were turning blood red.
He opened his mouth, revealing his fangs: all teeth were sharpened, and his canines were about three inches long. His jaw distended, opening far wider and creaking so loudly they could hear it where they were hidden behind the statue.
“Now!” Ben raced into the moonlight, firing silver bullets at the vamp. They would not kill it, but they could hurt vampires very badly and keep them from healing for longer than real bullets would.
Peter looked up, shocked, but he smiled, manoeuvring away from the bullets and taking Miss Holmes with him. In the space of a blink, he was ten feet away, a small, knowing smile on his red lips.
“Hunters,” he said, his voice a purr. “How delightful. I’d love to converse with you, but I’m afraid I’ve not yet dined this evening.”
Benjamin moved to shoot again, just as Peter held Miss Holmes in front of him.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he said, wagging a finger as if they were naughty children. “You don’t care to injure the mortal, do you?”
Michael’s heart was beating rapidly. He could not envision a way out of this predicament without Miss Holmes being killed or severely injured. Or worse, turned.
“Put her down,” Benjamin ordered. “I can shoot and not kill her, but I’d rather spare her the agony of a bullet wound and the mental torment as well.”
Peter chuckled. “Ooh, I’m quite sure you can, big bad vampire hunter,” he mocked. “But you cannot kill me with that thing.”
“No,” Michael spoke up, “but we can with this.” With an aim that was unerring, Michael threw one of the pure silver knives Benjamin had given him and hit the vampire in the throat. Peter began to choke, and he staggered, making Miss Holmes fall to the ground in a dead faint, be it from fear, shock, or thrall, they did not know.
“See to her,” Benjamin ordered.
Michael dashed over to the young woman, testing her pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief. She was alive, and had not been bitten again. He glanced over to where his lover and partner was attempting to shove the knife further into the throat of the vampire.
A gun went off, and Michael saw Ben fall away, clutching his arm. The vampire’s claws began to extend, and it was all he could do not to rush over there and possibly be killed for his recklessness.
He drew his own gun, firing three shots in quick succession. He hit Peter, causing the vampire to turn his attentions to him. In a literal blink, Michael was knocked to the ground, his side deeply scratched and bloody.
Both hunters watched in mute horror as the vampire lifted Miss Holmes into his arms and once again bared his fangs. Swiftly, like a snake catching a large rodent, he sunk them into her throat, waking her.
Her screams were wet, as her own lifeblood was coming up from her throat, staining her lips and chin. She beat fitfully against the vampire, but her weak protestations did her no good. She screamed her last as those fangs raked her throat, tearing flesh and muscle, drinking the last living drops of her blood.
He tossed her body aside like rubbish, turning back to the hunters. His face and suit were drenched in blood, and his smile was even worse: flesh was caught between his fangs, and every tooth was stained red.
He tipped an imaginary hat and said, “This has been such fun, but I must fly. Till next we meet, gentlemen.” With that, he was gone.
“Ben!” Michael called, trying to turn over on his side. He knew his wounds were not fatal, but if he tore them open any further, they could prove impossible to stitch together without extensive skin grafts.
“I am fine,” Benjamin replied. “Through and through, upper arm. Nothing to worry about.”
Michael heard footsteps and then Ben was knelt by him, blood running down one arm, the sleeve of his coat a sticky shade of maroon, thanks to the blood soaking the brown fabric. Michael could smell it, and he felt sick.
“What can I do?” Ben asked, looking in horror at Michael’s wounds. His blue eyes were luminou
s in the moonlight.
“Get Linwood to go to my practice and bring a stretcher. My wounds are not fatal, but if I move they could open further,” Michael said.
Ben looked around warily. “I do not like the idea of leaving you here alone.”
“I will be perfectly fine. You told me vampires cannot drink more than two people dry in one night without becoming ill, and I highly doubt he will come back to try and fight us both. Hurry, lest my waistcoat become no longer sufficient to work as a tourniquet.”
It seemed like eternity, as the pain finally began to hit Michael as the adrenaline wore off, but eventually Ben returned with Linwood and Mahon Quinn, the latter two carrying a stretcher.
“I had to pick your lock,” Ben said, holding his own tourniquet tight on his arm. “Forgot to take your keys from your pocket.”
“Oi, this is no time for confession,” Linwood barked. “I’ve got two officers coming to get the body, but if they see you, they will have questions none of us will care to answer.”
Michael never knew how they managed to get to his practice without being seen, but they made it, and then he had a new concern: who would stitch him up?
“I will,” the elder Mr. Quinn said smoothly when Michael posed the question.
“You...have medical training?” Michael said.
“All hunters know basic medicinal practices. I may not be active in the field, but I am far from a helpless Parliament gentleman,” Quinn said, his voice dripping condescension. “Now, there is no time to wait for an anaesthetic to set in. I am surprised you managed to keep yourself together for so long. Quite admirable.”
Michael could see nothing but his ceiling as he listened to Mahon talk to Constable Linwood in hushed voices, with the occasional bark from Benjamin to make haste.
Michael saw Mahon bend over him, a pair of shears in hand. “I am sure my brother will forgive my undressing you,” the older man said, an amused smirk on his face, even as he came to see the three deep gashes in the physician’s torso. “This will be painful.”
“It already is,” Michael said, groaning. However, he came to regret those words when the white-hot pain of needles stitching his skin back together hit his nerve endings. The needles bit through his flesh, binding the skin back together, and the sound was grisly in the silent office. Blood and cleaning solution dripped down his body, stinging the wounds, and eventually he greyed out, not in a swoon, but not really present, either, unable to handle much more agony.
When he came to his senses, he was back in his and Benjamin’s flat with no recollection as to how he came to be there.
“How long was I unconscious?” Michael asked, trying to sit up and test his stitches. Immediately, Ben lightly held him down.
“It’s too soon to be out of bed,” he said. “And you were unconscious for eighteen hours, though you needed two doses of anaesthetic to get you to stop thrashing from the pain. Is it better?”
“Just burns,” he mumbled. “Are you well?”
He nodded. “Let me get you some food. Can you handle tea and toast?”
Michael said he could, and was surprised when Ben helped him to sit up and fixed their meal. It seemed a near death experience brought out the domestic side of the man Michael had come to love.
“I cannot believe I let him go,” Ben said mid-meal. “I have never let any monster escape, not in fifteen years!”
Michael put his hand over Ben’s and said, “Don’t fret. We will catch him. It is only a matter of time.”
Chapter Five
Ten years later
“Blundering, simpering idiot!”
Michael jumped, hearing his lover’s harsh words and the door to the library slam shut one evening. “Linwood again?”
Benjamin angrily threw his coat and hat on a chair. “Yes. Still cannot find any vampiric activity. We might have a werewolf case, but nothing on the vampire.”
“Well, not nothing,” Michael corrected. “We have a name, and an occupation. Criminals, be they immortal or human, are creatures of habit. He’ll go back to where he came from someday soon.”
Mahon Quinn had checked his files for the vampire, and he had given Linwood some information the week before. It had taken this long to glean anything whatsoever on the monster who had eluded them ten years prior.
The vampire’s name was Peter Mabuz, originally from Dublin, turned in 1522. He pretended to be a junior professor at Cambridge for the night-time classes until he mysteriously disappeared in 1800, after students had been found murdered in their homes. No one knew where he could have gone, and until he resurfaced in London three months prior, neither hide nor hair of him had been seen or heard.
In the years since Mabuz had attacked, they had gotten permission from Linwood to use the local library after hours as a hub for all hunters in London and beyond, a place to share information, gain insight, and keep their files secure. Mahon Quinn ascertained that their works would not be disturbed there. As the lead hunters in London, all four men had to approve anyone new using their facility.
“How do we know he is not in Dublin, then?” Benjamin challenged.
“Your brother reached out to contacts there. He is awaiting word. He told you all of this, Ben, so calm yourself. We gain nothing by being impatient.”
“Patience is not a virtue of mine,” Benjamin pointed out.
Michael smiled. “‘Virtuous’ is not a word I would ever assign to you in any capacity.”
“Yes, particularly not in bed,” the coroner said nonchalantly, making Michael cough as he sipped his tea. They had a kettle and an oil burner in the back of the library, for their late night plotting sessions.
The two men were beginning to think that there was no news from either Mahon or Linwood when they heard the door being unlocked.
“Hello? Anyone back there?” Linwood called.
“No, we’ve got a naughty poltergeist back here,” Benjamin replied. “And it also has a penchant for imitating voices.” He cocked his head and said to Michael, “He’s got someone with him, and it is not my brother.”
It was an unspoken rule to never let other hunters into the library without them being vetted by the entire team, so just who had Linwood brought to their hideaway?
That question was answered when Linwood entered the back room, followed by a very tall young man, dressed well, with light brown hair and deep hazel eyes. Had Michael not been in love with Benjamin, it would have been deep trouble for him: the man was much more than just handsome, especially for those times.
Benjamin stood up, candlelight reflecting his eyes and making him look much more intimidating than he actually was.
“Who is this, Constable?” he asked, eyes raking over the newcomer. “I thought we were all on the same page about bringing people here.”
“We are, Quinn, believe me. Have you heard of the Price family in America?” Linwood asked him.
Benjamin puffed up a bit at such a silly question. “Of course I have! They are legendary, hailing from Italy from time uncountable, saving America from the same creatures we hunt.”
Linwood gestured to the newcomer. “Then I am sure you will understand why I brought Mr. Leander Price here without getting your permission.”
After a decade as the hunting partner, flatmate, and lover of Benjamin Quinn, Michael would have paid a large sum of money to see him stunned and speechless. At that moment, he was able to see it for free. Benjamin opened his mouth, closed it again, and opened it, but did not utter a word.
Of course, Michael had been told about how each country had their own hunters, and the Price family were legendary, their very name instilled fear in every paranormal creature alive (or Undead). They were the best of the best, and to have one of their number there with them, in London, was astounding.
Benjamin quickly collected himself and held his hand out. “What a pleasure, Mr. Price. Benjamin Quinn, county coroner and lead hunter under my brother, Mahon Quinn. This is Doctor Michael Finnigan, my partner.”
“A pleasure, gentlemen,” Mr. Price said, shaking both their hands. “I am here on a very specific mission, and I would truly appreciate the support and assistance from London’s finest hunters.”
“Of course, we will do what we can. Please, sit,” Michael said, gesturing to the table. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“Thank you,” Mr. Price said, removing his hat and putting it in his lap, crossing his long legs under the table.
Benjamin, always one to get to the point and damn any unnecessary social conventionalities, sat across from Mr. Price and said, “So, what is this mission? I assume it would have to be much more than a simple monster, because this is not your usual hunting ground, and aside, we already have things well in order here ourselves.”
“Indeed it is,” Price said. “It is the vampiress in the direct line of Augustus and Livia, the first noted vampires in history. My family has tracked her for centuries, until they lost her scent and settled in America, hunting until one of us caught wind of her again. As you can see, I am here, ready to fulfil my family’s mission: kill her, and every other vampire on Earth is weakened considerably, making them much easier targets for us.
“I received word from your brother, Mr. Quinn, that a vampiress had been spotted matching her description in the North, and so here I sit. I do hope I can count on the assistance of the hunters of London. The elder Mr. Quinn indicated that I could.”
Michael saw Benjamin shift in his seat. One thing he learned was that he hated it when his elder brother intervened in anything on his behalf. Even something he would agree to such as this. Benjamin saw it as his brother being too overprotective. And while Michael would have preferred a few less impromptu visits from the elder Quinn brother, he had to admit that Mahon’s care for his young sibling was very kind. Michael had an older sister himself, a socialite who lived in Paris and had not written to the doctor since he was a boy in secondary school.
“Yes, of course you can count on our assistance. In fact, we were just bemoaning the fact that, for the first time in my fifteen year career as a hunter, I had a vampire get the better of me,” Benjamin admitted.
