Bat Shift Crazy: An Ex-Shifter turned Vampire Hunter Urban Fantasy (The Legend of Nyx Book 2)

by Theophilus Monroe

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  Copyright © 2021 by Theophilus Monroe.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United

  States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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

  Cover Art by J CALEB DESIGN

  For information:

  www.theophilusmonroe.com

  Contents

  Legacy Club Teaser

  Fullpage Image

  Copyright

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-One

  22. Chapter Twenty-Two

  23. Chapter Twenty-Three

  24. Chapter Twenty-Four

  25. Chapter Twenty-Five

  26. Chapter Twenty-Six

  27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

  28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

  29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

  30. Chapter Thirty

  31. Chapter Thirty-One

  32. Chapter Thirty-Two

  33. Chapter Thirty-Three

  34. Chapter Thirty-Four

  35. Chapter Thirty-Five

  36. Chapter Thirty-Six

  37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

  38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

  39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Author Notes

  FREE BOOK

  NEW VILOKAN ASYLUM SERIES

  ALSO BY THEOPHILUS MONROE

  Chapter one

  With a swift back kick, my stiletto heel pierced one vampire's heart as I fired my crossbow, striking another one in the chest with a bolt.

  Two down. Three to go.

  I pulled my foot out of my shoe, leaving the heal in the vampire's chest. I kicked off my second one. It's about impossible to maintain balance in one nine-inch heel. The sun-baked pavement of the parking lot seared the bottoms of my feet.

  Devin quickly fired flames from his fingertips into the first vampire's chest wound, charring my shoe.

  "Damnit, Devin. Those are thousand-dollar Saint Laurents!"

  "Shit," Devin said. "Sorry about that."

  "Whatever," I said. "Finish off the other one."

  Devin nodded and, running toward the other vampire's staked body, burned out his heart in like fashion.

  Another vampire, using his enhanced speed, charged Devin from behind. The bloodsucker was quick. But I was faster. I pointed my crossbow and fired, nailing the vampire through his back and into his heart.

  The vampire face-planted on the pavement.

  Devin turned. "Nice shot."

  "Thanks!" I said, smirking.

  "There were five of them," Devin said. "Where'd the other two go?"

  I shrugged. "I think they ran away."

  "Chicken shits," Devin said as he kicked the vampire over onto its back and, with his gutting knife—the same kind hunters used to remove the organs from a slain deer—opened up the vampire's chest before firing a ball of fire into the wound. Having a warlock as a boyfriend and hunting partner had its advantages. We each had our strengths. I staked 'em. Devin baked 'em.

  Devin lifted his right hand to his face and blew away the smoke from his smoldering fingertips. Then, he wiped the blood from his hand onto his jeans. "Sucks when you stake them from behind."

  "Beggars can't be choosers," I said. "Would you prefer I waited for a clean shot?"

  Devin chuckled. "No, I suppose getting a little blood on my hands is preferable to being bitten."

  "Well, at least we got that out of the way before people started showing up for the show."

  "I might have to run home and change before the show," Devin said. "I don't think blood stains are in this season."

  "Nasty vamps. Why can't they just let you stake them clean?"

  "Rude, right?" Devin chuckled.

  "More vampires from the catacombs, you think?" Devin asked.

  "I don't think so. These vamps were sloppy. Younglings, most likely. But I'd imagine they were sent by the catacomb vamps. Alice told us they'd come looking for her."

  Alice used to be one of the nightwalkers, vampires turned and used by the Order of the Morning Dawn to aid in their mission to eliminate other vampires and witches. Predictably, the Order itself had been infiltrated by another vampire, Wolfgang, who had the power of compulsion. It was an inevitability. Only a matter of time before the vamps they'd used got wise to the whole scheme and turned against them.

  The Order had kept dozens of vampires in catacombs beneath an old church used for their ceremonies. We'd unstaked several of them to cause a distraction when we were trying to take out a much older, dangerous vampire. Then, Mina, one of the Order's leaders, unstaked the rest, knowing they'd come after Alice. After all, as a nightwalker, Alice put most of them there. It took us by surprise. When I first met Mina, she was in a circle of other old ladies crocheting sweaters and blankets. But she'd been hunting vampires her whole life. Appearances can be deceiving. I underestimated her.

  Alice rallied some of the vampires we'd unstaked, those who didn't have a grudge against her and went south to New Orleans to meet up with the Vampire Council. Alice had visions of reform, recasting vampires not as monsters but as humanity's knights and protectors. The Vampire Council may entertain the idea, but she had an uphill battle convincing vampire kind in general. Most vampires look at humans the way people look at cattle. The case Alice hoped to make would fall on deaf ears as quickly as an animal rights activist trying to convince a butcher to go vegan, for the sake of allowing cattle to live fuller lives. Most vampires wouldn't bite—pun intended—on Alice's proposition. Nonetheless, her vision was laudable. Even if unachievable. Who knows. Maybe she'd prove me wrong. I hoped she would.

  We needed to get these vampire bodies inside. With their hearts burned out, the vampire corpses Devin and I took down were already starting to wither. Still, they wouldn't totally decompose before people started arriving for my nightly show. If we waited much longer, hauling them inside would be a mess—limbs falling off, organs falling out, splattering on the parking lot and sidewalk, etcetera. Body parts in the parking lot aren't generally great for business.

  We dragged the bodies into the club. One of them lost a leg on
the way, but, all in all, it wasn't as messy as it could have been. My club was called Nicky's, named after yours truly. It wasn't your run-of-the-mill nightclub. Until recently, Alice had run the place as a funeral home. When she left, she gave the me the building. Her way, I suppose, of making amends for the fact she was the one who'd attacked me, who stole my shapeshifting abilities as an elemental, and trapped me in a human form—and in a male form, no less. Still, my old resentments aside, I couldn't deny the fact she'd had a change of heart. Insofar as vampire hearts are capable of anything other than being staked and burned.

  The advantage of the situation was Nicky's still had a small crematory in the basement. Convenient for getting rid of vampire bodies. At first, we didn't bother burning out their hearts. Usually, the whole cremation process would take care of it.

  But not always. The last time we put a staked vampire body in there, the stake burned up before the flames reached the vampire's heart. He blasted through the furnace door and leaped out of it in a fiery rage. I was lucky he didn't catch the whole club on fire. Needless to say, we finished him off quickly. Still, not a mistake I was eager to repeat. Better to burn out their hearts before disposing of their bodies.

  Devin and I tossed the vampire bodies, one by one, into the furnace and turned it on. The smoke pouring out of the chimney, I hoped, wouldn't draw too much attention. If anyone asked, I'd probably reply, "Habemus Papum! We have a pope!"

  If they didn't buy it, I'd say we were burning our trash. Hopefully, no one would bother to investigate further. We usually only ran the crematory at night. Less chance of raising any unnecessary suspicions. This time, though, I had a show to get to. And as awful as vampires smell when they're still animated, they're a thousand times worse when decomposing. Bad enough the humans who came to my show would surely notice.

  For the first time since I'd taken human form, I had a place where I could perform every night. It was much better than my old gig at Leotards and Lace, a gay club downtown. I used to perform there a couple times a week. Plus, I used to work there as a janitor to earn enough money to cover my rent and motorcycle payments. Now, with my own club, I didn't need another job. I could take the stage every night if I wanted, and my show was so popular we sold out every night.

  I was rolling in the dough.

  Good thing since I had a pair of Saint Laurents to replace. Not the first time I'd ruined a pair of designer stilettos by using my heel as a stake.

  I'd have to resort to my Jimmy Choo stiletto boots for the night's show. They were my go-to pair in a pinch.

  I gave Devin a kiss on the cheek before, draping a blanket over the seat of his Subaru Impreza before getting in so he could go home to clean up. It was a thirty-minute drive each way, plus, he'd need a good half-hour to primp. He'd probably miss my opening number. But he'd be there for the finale, that's what mattered.

  Chapter two

  I needed to clean up and get fabulous. I quickly peeled my leather pants off my legs and tossed my shirt in a laundry basket I had in the corner. I was known for some pretty outlandish ensembles, but vampire's guts weren't generally something I accessorized with. Besides, tonight felt like a black dress sort of evening. A black dress, with my red Jimmy Choos. I'd knock 'em dead. Not literally. Not unless any bloodsuckers showed up to spoil my show.

  What we sometimes called the "green room," my dressing room, used to be a cry room—back when Nicky's was still a funeral home. These days, no tears. Occasional beers. A couple of queers.

  The q-word used to be derogatory. Our community reclaimed it. Now we used it with pride. It didn't just encompass gays or bisexuals. If you were out of the ordinary, anything the LGBTQ acronym might encompass, you could own your "queer" identity. Non-cis-gender persons, like me, certainly fit the bill. So did my friend Geraldo, a gay man with a drag queen alter-ego. Also, the latest act scheduled to grace the stage at Nicky's.

  Geraldo walked into the green room as I finished putting on my face. I'd hired him shortly after opening my club. Geraldo was a talented artist, a painter. I hired him to paint several masterpieces now decorating the halls of my club. His work was a throw-back to the baroque period. Clean lines, dark shadows, figures with almost photographic realism. It gave Nicky's a certain high-brow feel—not like the hole-in-the-wall clubs, like Leotards and Lace, where Geraldo and I first met as performers. At Leotards and Lace, Geraldo appeared on stage as Gina, a firecracker of a drag queen who'd been a crowd favorite. At Nick's, I was going for something different, something refined, something glamorous.

  A handsome, Hispanic gay man who tended to stay to himself, Geraldo was shy. The opposite of the rambunctious Gina. Something about putting on that dress, those heels, and caking on the makeup brought Geraldo out of his shell. A total transformation. Gina also had a fantastic voice, one that was often overshadowed by the bravado of her former act.

  Tonight was supposed to be Gina's debut. It was striking how fast Geraldo could transform into Gina. While I was still obsessing over my mascara, he moved around the green room with purpose, throwing on his dress, slipping on his heels, and started applying his makeup before finally adding the wig. I think it was the wig with blond curls of power that literally changed Geraldo into Gina. When the wig went on, the reserved Geraldo crawled into a cocoon, and the butterfly of Gina emerged in glory.

  Tonight, she was opening up for me. Still a drag queen. Still the same Gina. But this wasn't a drag show. We had something else planned. I knew my regulars would love her. Gina, alone at a baby-grand piano, with a microphone.

  "The Shallow," by Lady Gaga. She'd own it. Hell, I was a bit jealous. With a number like that and with Gina's voice, she might even give me a run for my money. Her voice wasn't as pure as mine, not as refined and haunting. But she was a powerhouse. She had the kind of voice that, when she hit the chorus, would force a crowd to its feet.

  Not that she'd ever experienced that. Her old act catered to a different audience, with different expectations. I was excited for her. For the first time, Gina would take the stage, and it would be her voice, not her ass and high-skirt, that would earn the crowd's cheers.

  Nicky's attracted an eclectic crowd. I had my following, from Leotards and Lace, who consisted mainly of Kansas City's LGBT community members. They were my most vocal and dedicated supporters. Some of them made every show. Then, since Nicky's was in the suburbs and there weren't many clubs in Lee's Summit-certainly nothing like mine—there was a good half of the crowd that turned over every night. A lot of curious newcomers. I had visions of doing a dinner theater type show. I needed more performers. I was just one girl. For now, my haunting voice was enough to enthrall a crowd.

  As one of the Neck, a peculiar elemental species, my voice was how I used to hunt humans. Lure them with my voice, and by shifting into whatever form they desired the most, before seizing them and dragging them down to my watery lair for dinner.

  I'd changed a lot since then. Now that I was, in all the ways that matter, a real girl. Of the human-ish sort.

  My diet changed. My hunting habits changed-now, I hunted vampires exclusively. And I didn't eat them. Can you say, "ew"?" I even loved a real human boy. I hadn't used the L-word with Devin yet. But we were getting there.

  The only thing about me that hadn't changed was my voice.

  The house band arrived as Gina took the stage. Their instruments were on stage. They played all my numbers enough they didn't need to rehearse for every show.

  Gina wouldn't need the band. She only had three numbers planned. All at the piano. "The Shallow" would be her finale. Before that, a couple original songs. They were incredible. But face it, crowds love to hear songs they know. Eventually, her originals would become well-known. But we chose "The Shallow" because I knew the crowd would respond to it.

  I finished putting on my face as the house band got situated in the green room. I loved that expression. Makeup wasn't, strictly speaking, my face. But I used to put on all kinds of faces that weren't my own when I was still l
iving as one of my kind. This face, makeup and all, was the only face I'd ever been able to call my face.

  And honey, I was gorgeous. Sorry ladies. It isn't my fault your husbands can't take their eyes off of me.

  I was also humble, by the way. In case you couldn't tell. The humblest bitch in all of Kansas City. Especially when I took the stage.

  The boys who played in my band weren't the best-looking fellas in town. Not ugly, by any means. Just average men. My drummer was balding. Most of them hand a paunch around the mid-section. Guys who, I supposed, probably had their hey-day playing Nirvana numbers back in the nineties and couldn't bring themselves to give up the cover band gig.

  They were talented, and I paid them well. Technically, Alice paid them for their first month. A part of her "gift," I suppose. They came with the club. But now that we were selling out every night's show, I gave them a raise and paid them from house money.

  They were chattering in the green room as Gina took the stage.

  I wanted to shush them but, rather than play the bitch, I decided to step out of the green room and watch from the back of the stage.

  The whole crowd was quiet. Another one of my employees, a high school kid named Conner with a penchant for the theater, ran my lights. I didn't have to tell him what to do. Dimming the lights, he hushed the crowd, abuzz with chatter before he gave the signal the show was about to begin.

  The spotlight was on Gina. Her nervousness was palpable. It was one thing to shake your butt on stage and parade around to the hoots and hollers of the Leotards and Laces crowd. But now, it was just Gina, a piano, and a microphone. Some of Geraldo's shyness was creeping through.

  Her fingers tickled the keys introducing her first number. Then she opened her mouth and started to sing.

  Her voice was raw. Not haunting, like mine. Gina didn't have my range—a side-effect of having gone through puberty as Geraldo. But there was something about it, the way her voice carried her emotions, her pain, and reflected her hopes and dreams. Her first song was about how as a boy in high school, he endured the mockery of his peers when he arrived at a school dance with another boy. The first verse was chock-full of pain. I hadn't heard this number rehearsed. I was taken aback when Gina shouted, heavy metal style, a chorus of defiance into the microphone.