by M. D. Massey
He paused to rub his chin as he considered the device. “I must admit, however, this cage might be my crowning achievement.”
“How’s it work?”
“Obviously, it cannot be opened from the inside. Once an individual is locked within, only an outside accomplice may set them free. That is, if they know how to defeat the wards. Even then, I’ve designed them such that only the one who initially powers the wards may defuse them without triggering a tremendous backlash of magical energy.”
“Shit. Meaning, once I lock you inside, I’ll be the only one who can set you free.”
He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Correct.”
I turned to look at him. “You’re entrusting me with an awful lot here, Jacques.”
The ancient vampire gave a grim, sad little smile. “My boy, I’ve lived on this Earth for two-and-one-half millennia. In all that time, I’ve met perhaps a handful of persons with your sense of justice and loyalty.”
I held my hands up in protest. “Whoa—I’m just a kid from the ’burbs who got mixed up with the fae against his will. Just because I’m a survivor, that doesn’t make me special.”
“‘Humility is the foundation of all the other virtues hence,’” he replied. “St. Augustine. He was African and a Berber, you know, despite how modern church iconography depicts him. A wise man, Augustine, with a deep understanding of the typifying poverty of the human soul.”
Suddenly, the weight of my responsibility for completing the task ahead settled heavily on my conscience. “What if something happens to me?” I asked. “What if I fail?”
“Then I remain incarcerated for all time, safely kept away from the many innocents who would be harmed should I remain free.” He rested a flaccid, cold hand on my shoulder. “It is a risk I am willing to take.”
I opened my mouth to reply when Saint Germain’s face contorted with pain. He gasped, clutching his chest as he fell to one knee.
“Jacques, what’s wrong?” I asked, kneeling to assist him.
He lifted his head so his eyes met mine, and they shone from within like rubies lit in firelight—or blood droplets in sunlight.
“It comes,” he croaked. “Quickly, help me up so I can show you how the locking mechanism works.” The old vampire grabbed me by the shoulders, locking me in a grip that displayed a great deal more strength than his withered frame appeared to possess. “And Colin, listen closely. Once you lock me within, do not release me until you are certain you’ve cured me—no matter what that thing might promise you!”
The last request Saint Germain made of me before he locked himself inside the sarcophagus was that I watch over Clara. “She’s not one of mine, but the circumstances of her making were my doing—or rather, my alter-ego’s. She never asked for unlife, nor does she deserve it, regardless of her rough edges. Left to her own devices, the coven will devour her whole. Please see that she’s looked after.”
“I’ll do my best, but no promises. The girl is a handful.”
He nodded and climbed into the coffin, settling into the padding as he lowered the lid over himself. I raised the bars over the top of his mobile crypt, dropping them in place and securing the locking mechanisms, which whirred and clicked for several long seconds until they slipped into their completely locked position. After checking the casket for physical integrity, I laid a hand on the lid then spoke the words that would power the wards, permanently entombing the vampire within—at least until I figured out how to help him or end him.
After I’d climbed out of the back, I slammed the doors closed, leaning on them heavily for several seconds. Then, I turned and called to the house.
“Clara, let’s go. I want to get your boss safely tucked away somewhere before his psycho stalkers find us.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hold your fucking horses, Malachi, I’m coming.”
“Pfft, like I haven’t heard that one before. You know we’re the rarest hair color, right? Like, maybe only two percent of the population.”
“Fascinating,” she replied flatly, nudging past me on her way to the front passenger side door. As Clara climbed into the cab, slamming the door behind her, I glanced around for any sign that we were being watched.
So far, so good.
It was only a short drive from Demourelles Island to Scout Island where I’d left the Druid Oak. Once there, I planned to fill Finnegas in on recent developments, then Clara and I would make the long trip to Austin, where I intended to secrete Saint Germain’s coffin inside Crowley’s tower. He lived outside Austin city limits and had his place so spelled up with obfuscation and confusion magic, there was no way anyone would be able to find Jacques there.
Of course, I could’ve asked the Oak to transport the three of us to our intended destination, but I was concerned that I’d alert Aenghus to our location by using the Oak’s transport abilities. Besides that, I doubted that the Oak would forgive me the insult of asking it to transport an ancient vampire across two states. As the master of the Grove, I could force the issue if need be, but it had become apparent to me that the Oak and Grove were sensitive to such matters. Thus, I worried that if I took advantage of my position of authority too often, it might damage our relationship—and their perception of humans.
I drove off the island down Park Island Drive, turning right on St. Bernard Avenue and then right again onto Harrison. The bridge over Bayou St. John was up ahead, and once inside City Park it’d be just a hop, skip, and a jump to Scout Island and the Oak. Easy-peasy.
But the best-laid plans and all that.
No sooner had we crossed Bayou St. John into City Park than the trouble started. As we were crossing a small bridge over a narrow section of the canal, something struck the side of the van, hard. The impact was such that it caused us to crash into the guardrail, and before I knew it the front of the van was hanging over the edge of the bridge.
“You alright?” I asked, coughing and choking on airbag dust.
“Yeah, I’m just fucking great,” Clara replied testily. “In fact, I’m getting used to having broken bones sticking out of my leg.”
I was wearing my seat belt, but Clara hadn’t been—plus she’d had her leg propped up on the dash. When we hit, she’d suffered yet another nasty compound fracture of her lower leg, courtesy of the airbag. The only good news was that Saint Germain’s coffin had been strapped in tight, so it didn’t fly out the front window and decapitate us. Cursing under my breath, I shoved the air bag out of my face, forcing it to deflate so I could further assess the situation.
It wasn’t good. The front end of the van was completely smashed, which meant that the engine would be an absolute wreck. That was the downside to driving a van—there wasn’t much up front to protect the engine and cab from damage in a front-end collision. But that wasn’t even the worst part.
What really concerned me was that we were surrounded by vamps. Five were stalking toward the van from the front, walking up Harrison from the west like they had all the time in the world. I spotted at least three more behind us in the sideview mirrors, and two more on the banks of the canal below the bridge. With Clara injured and us being outnumbered ten to two, it was easy to see we were about to be bent over and screwed without lube.
Fucking hell, do I hate vampires.
13
As the vamps closed in on us I kicked the door open, stumbling out onto the bridge. There were way too many of them for me to take on alone, magic or no. So, I contacted the Oak to ask for back up.
Send Finnegas here now and tell him we have vampire trouble.
The Oak sent back an image of a tornado picking up vampires and tossing them around like twigs. It obviously wanted to come to my rescue, but I didn’t want to risk using too much of the Oak’s magic. Besides, the old man could move quickly when he wanted to, especially when in nature. As long as I could hold out for a minute or so, he’d help me sweep these clowns up so we could get the fuck out of Dodge, once and for all.
Wait—not yet. I’ll call you if I need you. U
ntil then, just be ready to get us out of here.
The Oak sent me back an image of a hawk soaring high above, scanning the ground below for prey. Then it sent me a random image of a crow on a fence, looking on. I didn’t know what to make of that.
Alright, time to do some damage.
“Clara, hide—now!” I said, as I readied my only real crowd control spell. I counted to three to give her plenty of time to crawl in the back of the van—and to let the vamps get closer to me. Meanwhile I kept my fists balled up as I clutched my ribs, faking an injury.
A large, muscular, biker-looking vamp with a mohawk and lumberjack beard taunted me as they closed in. “What’s the matter, human? Bones don’t heal when you break them?”
“Don’t worry, it’ll all be over before you know it,” said a short brunette with a Karen haircut and a bad case of bitchy resting face. She wore a sweater and jeans ensemble that had soccer mom written all over it, likely as a ruse to make it easier to hunt tourists.
Fuck it, time to fry these munchers.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, it will.” I raised both hands high overhead, opening them as I said the trigger word for my sunlight spell. “Solas!”
For the span of five seconds, the area was bathed in bright, brilliant sunlight. Some of the vampires were already keen to my tricks, and they managed to zip under the bridge before the spell triggered. But about half of them got hit in the face with a double-dose of full-spectrum sunlight, and they had the tans to show for it when the spell’s effects dissipated.
Nobody really knows why sunlight does such a number on vamps, but the going theory is that the vampire vyrus is highly susceptible to UV light. I didn’t really care about the egghead side of it—all I needed to know was that sunlight would fuck a vampire up. When that sunlight spell hit those jokers, their eyeballs boiled and burst in their eye sockets, their hair was singed away, and every exposed surface of their skin became blistered, charred, and cracked. Simply put, unlife got very lousy for them, very quickly.
That one spell put half the vamps out of commission. What sucked was that it was pretty much a one-shot, and I still had to deal with the five that had managed to hide under the bridge. The good news was that I’d packed some treats for just such an occasion, one of them being my own special druidic version of a Willy Pete grenade.
“Willy Pete” was soldier speak for “white phosphorous,” that stuff they used in incendiary munitions. It ignites on contact with air and burns bright, hot, and for a very long time. In other words, it was the perfect weapon to use against vamps.
The other vampires were still hiding from me, likely for fear of being hit with another sunlight spell. I figured they were also probably waiting for reinforcements, so it was best that I took them out before we made a run for it. Leaning over the side of the bridge, I pulled all the heat from the water below, instantly freezing the canal’s surface for fifty feet in both directions.
The “grenade,” if it could be called that, was nothing more than a sealed baby food jar containing a lot of white phosphorous dissolved in a carbon disulfide solution... with a little magic added in, of course. While normally it’d be difficult to obtain the chemicals needed for such a device, I had my own sentient chemical factory, and the Grove was happy to oblige such needs. Once I was certain it wouldn’t sink in the water, I tossed my Willy Pete grenade under the bridge, muttering the trigger word that would ignite the device just before it hit the ice.
“Adhain!”
As soon as I spoke the trigger word the thing exploded, engulfing the entire space underneath the bridge in white-hot fire. A half-dozen vamps scattered in all directions like rats being burned out of their nest, and all of them were on fire and screaming like a bunch of sissies. I drew my pistol and began picking them off as they ran toward the unfrozen canal water east of where we’d wrecked.
The crack of the nine-millimeter pistol sounded once, twice, three times, and I was rewarded with the sight of two vamps dropping lifeless to the icy surface of the canal. The others managed to reach the water in time, submerging themselves in hopes of extinguishing the phosphorous. The water would eventually smother the stuff, but unless they dug every last speck of it from their wounds, it’d simply ignite again as soon as it dried.
I chuckled at the thought of some vamp spontaneously combusting while they slept tomorrow, then remembered Clara and headed for the van. The doors were open and she was sitting inside next to the coffin. She was wrapping her leg in a makeshift splint made from a tie-down strap and metal strut she’d torn from the wall of the van.
“You alright?” I asked.
She grimaced as she pulled the strap tight. “Amaze-fucking-balls. Already set my ankle, no thanks to you. By the way, that was probably just the first wave. Now that they’ve found us, you can expect a few dozen more to show up here anytime.” She nodded toward the casket. “Also, I think someone’s awake.”
At that moment, the casket began rattling and shaking like it was possessed. A deep, inhuman, and somewhat muffled roar came from within.
“That doesn’t sound like Saint Germain,” I said as I eyed the coffin nervously.
“Ya’ think?” Clara replied as she cinched the last knot in her splint. “Druid, meet The Butcher.”
The coffin shook even more violently, accompanied by an even louder roar than before. Then it spoke in a low, rasping, menacing voice that set my nerves on edge. “Release me, you peasants—or suffer my wrath!”
“You’d think Jacques would’ve made the damned thing soundproof,” I observed, tapping a finger on my chin. “Then again, I imagine he’d have wanted to converse with his caretakers during his more lucid moments.”
Clara’s brow furrowed as she gave me an incredulous look. “Are you for real? We’re about to be ass-deep in fully-mature vampires who want us both dead, and you’re geek-thinking Germain’s fucking coffin?”
At that, the sarcophagus shook so hard it rocked the van, threatening to tip the whole thing over the side of the bridge. “Hmm, can’t have that. Help me slide it out before the van ends up in the drink.”
Clara opened her mouth, likely to make some smart-assed remark, then stopped mid-breath and cocked her head like a dog. “Fuck! Their reinforcements are coming.”
I leaned back so I could look around the open doors of the van. “Which direction are they coming from?”
“All directions, dumbfuck!” she screamed at me.
“Okay, okay. Sheesh, no need to get personal.”
Clara let out a short, frustrated hiss between clenched teeth. “This is New Orleans, dickwad. We have the highest population of vampires per capita of any city in the country. They are every-fucking-where—and do I need to remind you that roughly half of them want to open Pandora’s box so they can kill humans at will?”
“My, what big words we use when we’re being pissy,” I said as I stepped away from the van.
I quickly cast a cantrip to enhance my senses before scanning the area. Sure enough, I saw movement in all directions—vampires. And I saw something else moving stealthily through the trees, roughly one-hundred yards to the west.
Chuckling softly, I motioned for Clara to assist me as I grabbed a handle on the end of the casket. “Undo those straps so we can get this thing out of there. Careful—don’t burn yourself on all that silver.”
“Yes, Dad,” she said, cutting the remaining straps.
With a loud grunt, I pulled on the handle and slid the coffin free. The damned thing was heavier than I’d expected, and I lost control of it on the way out of the van. With a yelp, I let go and skittered back, barely getting out of the way as the near end hit the asphalt beneath my feet.
The little punk rock vampire hobbled to the door, where she sat on the edge before swinging her legs out. Just as she did, the now front-heavy vehicle seesawed—then it nose-dived into the canal. I pulled her out of the back before it fell, again barely evading Saint Germain’s massive coffin as the other end hit the pavement with a lo
ud clunk.
“You’re awful fucking calm all of a sudden,” she observed, as she fell into my arms.
Not really enjoying the idea of being in such close proximity to the foul-mouthed pixie from hell, I gingerly disentangled myself from her before taking a step back. To be truthful I was a little nervous, as there were about two dozen vamps coming at us from nearly every direction. The only reason why they hadn’t overrun us was because they were worried about my magic.
Thing was, I wasn’t the druid they needed to worry about.
“His magic’s spent,” a female vamp yelled from within the vampire ranks. “Else he would’ve started frying us already.”
“You sure?” a male vamp asked.
“No,” the first vamp replied. “But he can’t take us all at once.”
“Druid,” Clara warned, her head swiveling left and right, “do something!”
“Wait for it,” I replied, holding a finger in the air.
The vampires began to pick up the pace, going from a jog to a trot, to a faster-than-human sprint. They’d be on us in seconds, so I spooled up a few spells just in case. Meanwhile, Clara brandished her knife and chain in the spirit of making a noble, but utterly futile, last stand. I had to hand it to the girl, though—she had spunk.
The first few vamps had advanced within twenty yards of either end of the bridge when a glowing, soccer ball-sized rock flew through their ranks at roughly fifty miles an hour. As it passed, it took the head from a male vamp wearing an 80s era neon warm-up suit and a set of classic Pumas.
I chopped my hand down, pointing to the west like an orchestra conductor signaling his musicians to begin. “And there he is, right on cue.”
