Vampire, Hunter

by Maria Arnt

  Vampire,

  Hunter

  Maria Arnt

  ISBN 978-1-7324-3712-8

  eBook ISBN 978-1-7324-3719-7

  Copyright © 2019 by Maria Arnt

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in any form, or by any mechanical or electronic means including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, in whole or in part in any form, and in any case not without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published December 2018

  DEDICATION

  To Tom H.

  Without the inspiration

  of your phenomenal storytelling skills,

  this book would not exist.

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Book

  1

  Tanya peered through her binoculars again. It was 6:30 on a balmy late August evening and Dr. Walker should be making the trek between the L station and his apartment, coming home for the weekend.

  She shifted her weight on the rusty fire escape and saw something move at the end of the alleyway. This was the most vulnerable point of his journey, a secluded shortcut through a little-used space between buildings. A quick glance in the binoculars showed shaggy dark hair, glasses, and the tan trench coat he always wore. He was even carrying something, which was a bonus. A target with his hands full was a distracted target.

  “You can do this,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve killed them before, and you can do it again. You have to. No one else will.”

  She gripped the binoculars tightly, wishing that life was more like the TV shows she watched as a kid. They made it look so easy: just cartwheel, throw a few kicks and punches, pointy bit of wood to the chest and poof. Reality couldn’t be more different.

  In fact, reality was a bitch. If she closed her eyes, she could still see Jake’s face, pale, staring, splattered with blood. It had been five years, and killing the monster responsible had gone a long way towards making it better, but it still wasn’t enough. She wasn’t sure if it would ever be enough.

  The memory of a second face assaulted her: gray eyes, greasy hair, and a vicious smile. She fought back a long-familiar wave of panic. Maybe if she could find the other one, she would have some kind of closure. She wasn’t sure anymore. But at least she was doing something about it. The rest of the world just went on pretending that vampires were only stories.

  It didn’t help that even she wasn’t sure anymore, especially where this one was concerned. She’d tailed him for over a month, and it just didn’t add up. Dr. Seth Walker, Professor of Egyptology at the Field Museum, was lanky, a bit unkempt, and looked like your average middle-aged intellectual. A little older in appearance than most of her targets, but she’d long since learned that appearances could be deceiving. He spent an inordinate amount of time in the local clubs and bars, but never looked drunk. There was never any food in his apartment trash. And the one time she’d gotten close to him, at the museum, there had been that feeling—an electric tingle like the space in front of an old cathode ray TV-screen—that she’d come to associate with powerful Master vampires.

  But there were no bodies. No disappearances. No guests to his apartment which were never seen again. It didn’t make any sense, but she had no other leads. She’d come all the way to Chicago to follow this one, and the money she’d made off her last job in July was running out, so she had to strike now.

  Another look through the binoculars showed that Dr. Walker was getting close. Setting them aside, Tanya climbed down the iron structure as quietly as she could, stopping at the top of the final ladder. There was a pile of trash bags on the first landing that blocked him from her sight, so she listened for his footsteps.

  They came crunching down the gravel, even and unhurried. About ten yards out, he paused, and she panicked a little. Had he seen her? Don’t peek, Tanya. He’s probably just checking his phone. She couldn’t risk poking her head out, even in this dim light her short red hair would look like a beacon. Sure enough, after a moment he continued on, slowly, like he was distracted. When he finally came into view, walking beneath her, she jumped down behind him.

  He startled and turned around. “Can I help you?” he asked innocently.

  Tanya had a moment of panic—she’d forgotten how much taller than her he was—but she squashed it. “Yeah,” she said, and roundhouse kicked him in the head. Whirling around, she dropped into a defensive stance, ready for his first strike.

  Instead, she saw that he had fallen onto the ground. The bag he had been carrying was torn, strewing some kind of pastry across the gravel street. She froze, confused. Then he groaned in pain, and her heart sunk into her stomach.

  “Oh my god,” Tanya breathed. She stood up, hesitating, and then ran over to him. His glasses were broken, and through the mud on his face, she thought a bruise might be forming on his temple where she had kicked him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She pulled him up so he was sitting against the brick wall. “Are you okay?”

  “I-I’m not sure...” he touched his forehead, it looked like maybe a lump was forming. He looked up at her, his pale blue eyes full of fear.

  This guy is definitely not a vampire, she thought. “Oh god, oh shit, I’m so sorry,” she rattled off nervously. “You’re not wha—who I thought you were. Please be okay?”

  Dr. Walker cleared his throat, glancing up at her apprehensively as if she might hit him again. “Who did you think I was?”

  “I... It’s a long story. We gotta get you to the hospital. I think maybe I gave you a concussion.” She glanced around the alley, for help or potential witnesses.

  “No,” he shook his head a little then winced. He moved to stand, and she offered her hand. He hesitated a moment, but at last accepted her help. The plain, solid warmth of his hand made him feel entirely too human. “I think I’m all right, and anyway my flat’s just around the corner.”

  “Okay,” she said. She didn’t really want to explain to the ER that she had kicked him in the face. “But I’m coming with you. I have to make sure you’re okay. It’s the least I can do after... after that.” She blushed.

  Dr. Walker smiled shakily, and she felt another twinge of guilt at the vulnerable expression. “All right.” He looked around for his things, blinking through the cracked lenses of his glasses. His face fell when he saw the pastries on the street.

  She cursed and dashed to retrieve the torn paper bag. “There’s still a couple inside. I am so sorry.”

  “That’s all right,” he held out a hand and took the bag. “I was thinking of having company this evening. But this should be enough for just the two of us.”

  Tanya blinked at him. “Are all British guys this ridiculously polite?”

  He chuckled, and when he smiled she felt her cheeks heat up. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” he joked.r />
  Tanya giggled nervously. Are we actually flirting? The evening had taken a distinctly surreal detour.

  She helped him to the apartment and stood by awkwardly as he fumbled to get the key in the lock. So much for effortless grace. “It’s not much,” he said as he opened the door and turned on the light, “but at least it’s tidy.”

  Tidy was a good word for it. It was a tiny studio apartment, crammed full of books, a kitchen counter barely four feet long, a small bistro-style table with two tall chairs, and a daybed that doubled as a couch. It was spotlessly clean, but there was something about it that made it feel lived-in. Maybe it was the smell of all the books—they lined every wall, and a couple sat open on the table.

  “Here,” he cleared them away, setting them reverently on the bed, and pulled out a chair. “I’ll make some tea.” The room seemed a little too small for him, his tall frame filling the space and giving it a rather intimate sense of closeness.

  “Hey, let me do that,” she offered and eased the teakettle he had grabbed out of his hands. She noticed they were long and slender, and when her fingers brushed against them, they were warm.

  “If you like.” He shrugged off his trench coat and hung it on a hook on the wall. “I’m going to clean up,” he pointed to his forehead and ducked through the bathroom door.

  Tanya shook her head and started filling the tea kettle with water. How the hell had she been so wrong? Clearly, this guy was not only not a vampire, he had to be the nicest human being alive. She set the kettle on the range and turned the dial to high. She chewed on her bottom lip, realizing she didn’t know where he kept anything. Great.

  She started peeking in cupboards, and managed to find an impressive collection of tins and strainers, but not one tea bag. She had no idea how to make loose-leaf tea. How much did you use? She took out one of the strainers and examined it, then put it back. At last, she chose a somewhat familiar tin with the title English Breakfast. She also found a cute teapot and discovered it had a little strainer built in.

  Her task completed for the moment, Tanya’s curiosity got the better of her, and she continued to snoop. In the fridge, there was milk but not much else. He must always eat at the museum where he works, she realized. There had been a cafe in the basement, maybe he could call over and order food delivered while he worked. And here she had thought the lack of food in his trash had been a dead giveaway. What an idiot she had been.

  She peeked in the freezer, too. Not much there, other than a half-eaten tub of high-end ice cream and a cold pack. Dr. Walker came back out of the bathroom at that moment, so she grabbed the cold pack and handed it to him.

  “Thank you,” he opened a drawer and pulled out a dish rag, wrapping the cold pack and placing it against the bandage he had applied to his forehead. His glasses were gone, and he looked much younger without them, probably only in his early thirties.

  Good job, Tanya. You attacked an intelligent, polite, gorgeous human being. Congratulations. Nervous, she scrambled for some way to be useful.

  “Do you have another pair of glasses, Dr. Walker?” she asked as he squinted at the tea she had picked.

  “Please call me Seth,” he said absently. “Yes. I think I left them under the lamp...” he gestured towards the bedside stand before sitting heavily in one of the chairs.

  Tanya hurried over to grab them, and put them on his face so he wouldn’t have to take off the ice pack. “There.”

  “Thank you,” he blinked and gave her a funny look.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s just... you look familiar is all,” he said, mystified.

  She blushed again and sat in the other chair. “Um, yeah. You ran into me and my mom at the museum a couple weeks ago.”

  His face lit up. “Yes! I remember now. We spoke about Nephthys, just before my lecture.”

  “I hope we didn’t make you late.”

  “No. I was happy to have the distraction. Nephthys is a favorite topic of mine, I wrote my dissertation on her.” He turned around and plucked a book off a nearby shelf, before handing it to her.

  She looked at the cover, which bore a painted image of an Egyptian girl with a funny hat, similar to the image on the museum wall that had sparked their brief and mildly terrifying conversation at the museum. However, this time she wore a very revealing sheer dress, and her hair was red and wavy instead of black. The Cult and Rituals of Nephthys, the ‘Most Excellent’ Goddess, the title read. “Cool,” she murmured, and flipped through the pages.

  “Forgive me for asking, but I simply must know who you thought I was,” he said, clearly more amused than angry. “Do I have some doppelganger running around causing mischief?”

  “Uh, no. I um...” She put down the book and chewed her bottom lip a little. It had been a very long time since she had tried to explain the existence of vampires to anyone, but she felt Dr. Walker deserved an explanation. “I want to tell you something, but you have to promise not to interrupt me, okay?”

  “All right...” he agreed.

  She took a deep breath. “My name is Tanya Cooper, and I have devoted my life to hunting vampires. I’m pretty damn good at it, too.” He frowned and opened his mouth, but she held up her hand, reminding him not to interrupt. “I know what you’re gonna say. ‘Vampires aren’t real! Go get your head checked, Tanya, there aren’t any long-fanged night-walking, cross-and-garlic-hating bloodsuckers out to get us all!’ And you know what? You’re right.”

  Tanya had meant to give him the short version, but it had been so long since she could really tell someone it all came rushing out. She didn’t even know why she was telling him, except that there was something so familiar and safe about him. She felt like she could tell him anything.

  “You see, the problem is, they look just like us. No fangs, no deathly pale skin. Some of them even wear crosses. And the really powerful ones can go out in the daytime like anyone else. The only real difference is they look really pretty—Photoshop-and-botox pretty, like nobody has a right to.” She paused in her rant, surprised by his laughter.

  “And you thought I was a vampire?” he guessed.

  It seemed so stupid now, here in his kitchen. “Well, yeah,” she mumbled.

  “Well I’m terribly flattered, then, even though I’m not what you thought I was,” he told her. “But you don’t need to convince me that they exist. I already knew that.” He glanced away at the tea kettle, which was steaming gently. “Water’s done,” he pointed out.

  Still stunned by his revelation, she turned to look. “I thought they whistled when they were done?” Her Nana’s had, if she remembered right.

  Dr. Walker smiled and stood to move the kettle himself, leaving the cold pack on the table. “Some tea kettles whistle when they boil, but by then the water is already too hot. It will make the tea bitter.”

  She frowned. Wasn’t tea bitter by definition? “How do you know about vampires?” she asked instead.

  He picked up the tea she had chosen and frowned a little. “Do you mind if I use something else? This has a little too much caffeine for this hour.”

  “Sure, if you answer my question,” Tanya argued, irritated. Was he deliberately trying to be frustrating?

  He chuckled and put the box back in the cabinet, instead selecting a glass container with what looked like short pine needles inside it. “Well, I don’t actually know about vampires,” he admitted. “I’ve been researching them for a long time, though.” As he spoke his hands moved gracefully, almost like they were dancing as he went through the motions of making tea. A spoonful of leaves in the strainer, the strainer in the teapot. A drop of honey, and then the water. Close the teapot, wrap it in a towel. Set a small egg timer to four minutes. How many thousands of times must he have done that for it to be so effortless, she wondered? When he was done, he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.

  “That’s what the book is about, actually,” he nodded to the dissertation she had been flipping through. “I hypothesized that the
Egyptians were originally trying to discover the secret to eternal life. When they failed, they settled for the burial rituals we know now. At least that’s what I published. They’d laugh me all the way back to England if I had written what I really think.”

  Tanya lifted her eyebrows. “And what is that, Dr. Walker?”

  He laughed. “I must insist you call me Seth, please. Dr. Walker makes it sound like I’m at work.”

  “Okay, Seth, what do you really think about the ancient Egyptians?” She humored him. She supposed she could understand it, she loathed it when people used her full name, Tatiana. Only her Nana had ever gotten away with it.

  Smiling like the cat that got the cream, he answered, “I think they did succeed at finding a way to make a human immortal. But maybe only one select cult knew how to do it, and the others were offering a poor imitation in the form of mummification.”

  She blinked. “So... this cult, the cult of Nephthys, made vampires?” she asked, looking at the book with newfound respect. “From scratch?”

  “Yes,” he darted forwards and opened the book, flipping through to a specific page. “This is from a temple in Sepermeru,” he tapped an illustration, depicting a person being mummified. “You see, the Egyptians had a sort of visual code, so someone reading it could tell if a person was alive or dead. This man, he is still alive.”

  She took a closer look. He certainly looked like a regular human, but it was hard to tell with the highly stylistic sideways figures. “So he’s not being mummified?”

  “No, most of the rituals are missing: the removal of the organs, the preservation in natron. They wind him in linen, alive, and put him into the temple chamber.” He flipped the page. “Nephthys comes, and she takes something away from him—it doesn’t say what—then gives it back. And then here,” he pointed to the opposite illustration, “he arises a god.”

  The egg timer went off, and he left to find some teacups. Tanya turned the page, and saw another picture, with the man-made-god at the top and a dozen tiny men underneath of him. There was a caption beneath it which read ‘His power could be conferred on to other priests of the deity’s choosing.’ Holy crap, but it makes a lot of sense.