Bloodlines (The Guardian of Empire City Book 1)

by Peter Hartog

  He said without hesitation, “You’ll have it.”

  A woman with a gaggle of three screaming kids poured out of a store to my left, and I nearly collided with them. Twisting to the side, I pirouetted around them before careening painfully off a light pole and into the street. I managed to dodge the oncoming self-driving car as its brakes squealed in protest.

  Angry shouts floated after me, but I ignored them. I patted the hood of the car with one hand and raced along the sidewalk, checking the map to see how much ground I’d lost. Marko had turned a corner, moving rapidly east along Liberty, with Deacon close behind.

  “Detective Holliday,” EVI’s calm voice announced. “You now have access to emergency traffic control.”

  Stopping at the intersection of Liberty and Nassau, I bent over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath.

  “Deacon, get ready, because the shit’s about to hit the fan,” I stated between huffs, then stood up straight, appraising the long corridor of mist-enshrouded buildings. “EVI, on the count of three, I want you to change to red all traffic signals at the next two intersections along Liberty Street east-to-west and north-to-south based on my current trajectory. Activate emergency warning sirens and holo-signs, then inform local police and emergency services of the sudden traffic malfunction. Return all traffic signals to their normal settings ten seconds after you’ve done it. Ready? One, two, three!”

  The result was immediate. A fanfare of horns exploded around me amidst the squeal of rubber tires, hydraulic brakes, and the shouts of hundreds of very angry people. The frenetic buzz of electromagnetic pulse engines spat with rage as Metro and private pods decelerated suddenly to avoid a collision. A mass of vibrant metal and technology came to a screeching halt, while a wave of humanity surged inexorably toward it like a lodestone to a magnet. Emergency sirens blared, red and orange holo-signs and voice response issued traffic warnings, and EVI informed me more uniforms were on their way. Both Deacon and Marko’s dots halted a block ahead. Confusion and noise melted the immediate cityscape into chaos, and I stumbled into action.

  “Nice job, Holliday,” Deacon proclaimed with grim satisfaction. “He’s got himself a crowd now. He ain’t going nowhere.”

  “Deacon, don’t engage,” I ordered. “I’m almost there. We’ll take him together.”

  I pressed forward, making steady progress as throngs of people milled about in confusion. My chest burned with fire. I crushed my fatigue, refusing to let up now.

  “What the fuck!” Deacon exclaimed. A wave of surprise undulated from the onlookers ahead of me. “The bastard leaped across the goddamn street!”

  Marko’s red dot shifted to the opposite street, moving steadily away. Without responding, I changed direction in a break in the crowd and crossed in time to catch Marko with Patricia still over his shoulder racing down a darkened alleyway. Deacon and I converged at its entrance, and together we pelted after them.

  We reached the bend and turned to find Marko facing us several feet away, Patricia lying in a heap at his feet. Seeing her there, so helpless and alone, filled me with rage. Vanessa Mallery must’ve looked the same several days earlier, in that other shitty alley not far from here.

  No one was there to help Vanessa then.

  I wasn’t going to let that happen to Patricia now.

  “End of the line, Marko!” I barked, drawing both badge and gun. “You’re under arrest for kidnapping, assaulting an officer, resisting arrest, conspiracy, and the murder of Vanessa Mallery.”

  The badge flared a brilliant silvery light, bathing Marko and Patricia in its radiance and illuminating the alley’s end. The young woman’s face was haggard. I couldn’t tell if she was still breathing.

  I replaced the map with the gun’s tactical display. Marko’s outline blinked at its dead center. He made no move, and I studied him in the clear light of the badge, taking note of how little expression ever crossed his pale face. Crain’s flunky tracked our movements; his cold, emotionless eyes slid slowly from side to side, betraying nothing. He wasn’t winded from the chase, or uncomfortable despite the rain and cold.

  Uncertainty gnawed at me. Something wasn’t right. Marko was already at the art store before we arrived. It made me wonder how long he’d been keeping tabs on Patricia. Why would he need to do that if Patricia’s home contained the same surveillance tech as her twin?

  Unless Marko wasn’t working for Orpheus or Rumpelstiltskin.

  I recalled our fight at Kraze, the way Marko handled himself, and how quickly he’d fled when the situation shifted our way. At one point, Marko felt the full brunt of Leyla’s frosty wrath, which deflected him aside, yet caused him no discernible harm. Even Crain had been slowed by her icy power.

  Deacon witnessed Marko leap across a city street in a single bound, carrying the unconscious girl like she was a stuffed animal. Maybe Marko was cybernetically-enhanced? The account from the cops at the murder scene reported that the suspect jumped straight up, lost in the fog. From my recollection of the alley, the fire escape was more than twenty feet high. Uniforms tried to pursue, but by the time officers reached the rooftop, the suspect was long gone, and without a trace.

  Could vampires really do that?

  Apart from old wives’ tales about night stalkers turning into bats or mist and flying away, this was all new territory for me. But this case was chock full of weird shit, and at that point, I wasn’t about to put anything past Marko.

  As I surveyed the scene, it was two against one, yet it still felt like the odds were in his favor.

  What the hell was he?

  “Holliday,” Deacon hissed. “Look at the girl!”

  Two discolored holes, each the size of my fingernails, marred Patricia’s neck.

  Marko had already fed upon her.

  Dark stains covered his mouth and lips. I watched as Patricia’s blood dissolved, devoured by his flesh.

  Enough was enough.

  With my gun trained on him, I took a few cautious steps forward. Had he tried another jump, I would’ve poured several rounds in him before he could get away.

  Yet Marko didn’t so much as flinch.

  Worry knotted the muscles of my shoulders.

  “Put your hands where I can see them,” I ordered in a harsh voice. “And move away from the girl. Now!”

  As if in response, a shimmering wave pulsed from Marko, bathing us in its wake before winking out.

  “Umm, guys,” Leyla’s tinny voice burbled in my ear from a long distance. “…interference…centered… not sure…happening…on…way—"

  Her voice cut out. The SMART gun’s tactical followed a breath later. I reached out to EVI, but there was no response. I tried for the Insight again, but it remained out of reach.

  Anxiety and dread settled like bad donuts in my gut.

  Somewhere in the distance, the mournful sound of a church bell tolled seven times.

  Seven o’clock.

  The time triggered something in my mind. According to the sign at the checkout counter, Patricia’s class started a little before six o’clock.

  Before sunset.

  That had to be all kinds of wrong. My heart clenched.

  “Uh, Deacon?” I asked, my voice uneasy. “You’re the vampire expert. How is it Marko’s at large during the day?”

  “I’ve had enough of this shit,” Deacon grated, ignoring me.

  He held the truncheon easily, body loose and ready for a fight.

  “No, seriously,” I pressed, more anxious. “Even with all this rain and fog, I thought vampires hated sunlight? Don’t they turn to ash or something?”

  “Yeah, so what?” he spat. “It’s night-time now, and there he is, so let me purge this motherfucker with righteous fire, and call it a day.”

  “That’s just it, Deacon,” I replied. “Your truncheon isn’t glowing.”

  The instant he glanced at the weapon in his hand, Marko moved.

  Crain had been fast, but Marko made him look slow. Before I could shoot, he cross
ed the distance separating us and drove his fist into Deacon’s stomach. The impact hurled the former Protector against the far wall. Deacon slid to the ground, eyes wide and tearing as he gasped for breath.

  I dropped the badge and squeezed the trigger. The gun exploded, blanketing the opposite wall with bullets, but Marko had already dodged, rushing at me with both arms extended. The slippery pavement made him lose his footing enough that I ducked before his hands smashed into the wall, sending concrete shards flying. I rolled sideways and fired again, narrowly missing him.

  Even as he moved, Marko’s expression remained unchanged. I thought he would’ve worn the same look folding his laundry. While naked. In the middle of Times Square.

  Jesus Christ, what the fuck is he?

  “Leyla!” I shouted, but there was no response.

  “EVI,” I tried via my implant. “EVI, call for backup!”

  Again, nothing.

  The silvery nimbus of the badge drowned the alleyway, cleansing it of shadows. The sounds of the bustling city were drowned and muted, like echoes from a seashell. EVI had said officers were on their way, but they were probably held up by the traffic kerfuffle I’d orchestrated. By the time they arrived, we’d be dead, and Marko long gone.

  Score two for the bad guys.

  I fired another burst. Marko evaded it easily. He came at me in a fluid dance. A backhanded slap across my face sent stars swirling in my vision. A second strike clipped my shoulder at the joint. My arm instantly went numb. The gun slipped from my nerveless fingers as Marko shoved me roughly against the wall with one hand.

  He pushed against my chest, dead eyes boring into mine.

  Slowly, inexorably, I felt my sternum giving way beneath the irresistible pressure against it. I gripped his wrist with my one good hand, pulling with all my fading strength.

  There was nothing I could do.

  “In nomine Christi cogimus!” a strident voice called out, piercing the haze of my agony. “Be rebuked and depart!”

  Deacon smashed Marko behind his right ear with a loud snap. The crushing weight against my chest receded and I collapsed to the ground, struggling to catch my breath. Marko faced Deacon. The Confederate eyed him warily. No white fire coursed along the length of the truncheon.

  Needles of pain shot up my arm as feeling returned to it. A bleary-eyed search of the wet pavement revealed the SMART gun scant inches from where I lay. I reached out with my good hand, pulling it toward me. Scrabbling along the wall, I created some distance between myself and the two combatants. I staggered upright on trembling legs and raised the gun to a firing position. I hesitated, lamenting the loss of the tactical display, and anxious I’d shoot Deacon by mistake.

  “C’mon, man, get your shit together,” I muttered. “You don’t need a computer to shoot this guy. You’re fucking Doc Holliday!”

  Deacon lashed out at Marko, delivering what should have been a debilitating onslaught against the slimmer man. Instead, Marko ignored it, maneuvering with a languid grace as he toyed with his opponent. Infuriated, Deacon redoubled his attack, but the other man was too agile and quick. A lunging feint to Marko’s left was met by a matching sweep to the right, enough that Deacon lost his balance and stumbled forward. Marko easily sidestepped, then seized Deacon by the arm and shoulder.

  With little effort, he snapped Deacon’s arm at the elbow, then drove his face against the wall. The former Protector dropped the truncheon. He slumped to the ground, blood gushing from his nose and mouth. It was the opening I desperately needed.

  I shot Marko in the side and leg just below the waist, shredding his shirt and jeans.

  But there was no blood.

  “What the fuck!” I shouted, firing again.

  Marko took several rounds to the chest, their concussive force knocking him back a few steps. He shrugged it off, and in a blur of motion rushed toward me. He grabbed my throat and lifted me off the ground as if I weighed nothing. I couldn’t breathe. My entire world wept red with pain.

  I slapped futilely at Marko with my hands, but it was like punching the moon. Darkness bled into my eyes.

  Then everything went cold.

  “Let. Him. GO!” Leyla commanded. Her young voice reverberated with power.

  Tendrils of writhing shadow arose from the ground to curl around Marko’s arms. The pressure against my throat released, and I gasped for air. The tentacles flung Marko across the alley, but he landed on his feet.

  Leyla stood beside me, her body wreathed in a blue and black nimbus of swirling energy. Her eyes where white, and while I couldn’t see the monstrous winged shadow surrounding her, I knew it was there. My body ached in places I didn’t know could hurt. I could barely move.

  “You’ll never hurt anyone again!” Leyla shrieked.

  She strode toward Marko, arms stretched wide and her fingers splayed open. Jagged, dark crystals of ice appeared in her fingers, and she hurled them at him.

  Marko danced between them, twisting his body in ways that defied logic. The ice daggers smashed into the wall behind him. Leyla swept her hands and fingers in intricate patterns, mumbling words that made my ears bleed. More tentacles rimed with ice gathered around Marko, tearing at him, but he leapt to the side and against the building wall, then pushed himself over them to plant his foot into Leyla’s chest. She fell to the ground hard, the tentacles melting into harmless wisps. Marko landed beside her and Deacon, then picked up Leyla by the arm and hurled her against the alley wall. I heard something break.

  “NO!” I raged, and trained the SMART gun on him, but I was too slow.

  He rushed at me, but Deacon swept his leg out at the last second, and Marko crashed to the ground. Gripping the truncheon in his good hand, Deacon hammered the back of Marko’s skull. There was a tremendous crack. White sparks surged from the point of impact. Suddenly, EVI’s voice was in my ear, and the gun’s tactical display came back online.

  And with a roar and a rush, the Insight was there.

  Everything slowed to a crawl. I made out individual raindrops as they scrawled down from the darkness above, each one unique with its own shape and texture. The light from my badge lying on the wet pavement became a collection of thousands of tiny dots strung together by gossamer threads of ghostly brilliance.

  Deacon rolled away from Marko, struggling to stand, his bloody face a map of scars and pain from years of physical and personal abuse. The shadowy white silhouette of a winged man surrounded him, broad yet cloudy. Unlike the black, soulless thing that enshrouded Leyla, this one radiated justice and retribution, loss and failure, and I held no fear of it.

  Before I could study Deacon further, Marko regained his feet. I observed the colorful Nexus energies swirling around him, released by the blow to his head. A powerful magic had been blended with inhuman technology to bind and power Marko, unlike anything I’d ever seen.

  Marko wasn’t a vampire.

  He was a machine.

  I admired the structure of the synthetic man before me. Fashioned by an exoskeleton of spell-forged steel, Marko was a marvel of magic, advanced robotics and bioengineering. Every part of him was crafted by a singular cunning mind to forge the appearance of both human and vampire. The engineering of his exoskeleton made him proportionally stronger and faster than his flesh-and-bone counterparts. Yet his flesh was organic, as were his hair, eyes and tongue. The intricate network of pores around his mouth, fangs, and jaw could draw away all the blood from his victim down to a cellular level, leaving no trace behind. The blood was safely stored in his lower torso. Even now, Patricia’s own swirled within, but not enough that Marko had drained it all.

  Which meant Patricia could still be alive!

  But something was wrong. Through the Insight’s clear vision, I discovered Patricia’s blood had already lost its efficacy. Whatever had made it special was gone.

  Thin, dying streams of Nexus energy trailed off from Marko and into the night. The damage to his head had disrupted the electromagnetic dampening field responsible for bl
owing up the bank cameras, shutting down my access to EVI, our link with Leyla and the SMART gun.

  Time sped up.

  I faced him, my hands steady on the gun. With a start, I realized someone else now lurked behind Marko’s eyes. One eye blue and the other red, a cold and calculating intelligence appraised me, then vanished, as if it were never there.

  The owner of the third signal.

  And the murderer of Vanessa Mallery.

  “Heavy ordnance,” I snarled.

  As Marko came at me, I let him have it, both barrels blazing, shouting with unbridled fury. The powerful explosive rounds shattered his slim form, detonating on impact. Searing heat and shrapnel showered me. I ducked, covering my head with both arms.

  The sound echoed and died. Silence crept into the alleyway like a partially-remembered dream.

  “That got him,” Deacon chuckled painfully.

  I grimaced, turning away from the wall to find tiny fragments of Marko smoldering on the ground. A small piece of glittering metal simmered in a puddle next to me. With the last vestiges of the Insight, I caught the outline of a symbol I didn’t recognize etched on its surface. I scooped up the fragment and placed it in my blazer pocket.

  My phone buzzed. Ignoring it, I rushed to Leyla, returning the gun to its shoulder rig. Blood trickled down her scalp, but she was alive. Relief washed through me as frosty tears dusted my cheeks. Despite protests from every part of my body, I picked her up with great care. Her breathing was shallow. She shivered in my arms.

  I hugged her close.

  “EVI, get the pod over here,” I ordered, heading back the way we’d come. “Also, don’t accept any incoming transmissions from anyone. Even Mahoney.”

  “Affirmative, Detective Holliday.”

  Deacon managed to carry Patricia with one arm. His other hung at his side, useless and dangling. The former Protector’s nose was broken, and both lips had been split wide open, but his blue eyes shone with a fierce fervor.

  “We need to get Patricia to safety,” I answered. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “I’ll let Saranda know to expect company.”

  “Yeah,” I replied in a grim tone. “And they might have itchy trigger fingers.”