Brian Helsing: The World's Unlikeliest Vampire Hunter Box Set 1 - Missions 1-3

by Gareth K Pengelly

“It’s the supercharged one,” he told her, gulping.

  The woman nodded, slowly, a satisfied smile on her face at his words. Her teeth, he noticed for the first time, white like ivory and slightly pointed, putting him in mind of a cat, albeit a tremendously sexy one.

  “Good,” she purred, further adding to the uncomfortable illusion. “I love the noise of a supercharger. The whine. Puts one in mind of flying a Messerschmitt, don’t you think?”

  “Well, I’d say a Spitfire,” he stuttered. “But each to their own, I guess.”

  She laughed, sending a strange tingle down his spine that lingered uncomfortably somewhere about the midsection.

  “Any chance of a test-drive?” she asked.

  “Sure. Let me grab the keys.”

  Neil gave him a fist bump the instant he walked in the office.

  “You’re in there, mate. Deal in the bag.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I can see enough,” the youth whistled, looking out of the window once more at the figure that still prowled about the Mini. “She’s an actual, full-blown babe.”

  “I know,” Brian replied, nervously, fumbling through the key-cabinet for the right keys. He found them and turned back to his friend. “Back in a few.”

  “Drag it out, bud. Take her the long route. Not every day you get to ride with a ten out of ten like that. Especially you.”

  Brian paused, unsure how to take that, before nodding and making his way back out of the office. The woman was waiting, eyeing him like a cat a mouse as he strode closer, legs all-of-a-wibble. He unlocked the doors, before handing her the keys. Her fingers lightly brushed his; they were soft yet strangely cold, the mere instant of skin-to-skin contact sending a shockwave of nerves through his lanky frame.

  “Let’s, erm, take her for a spin,” he stuttered.

  “Yes,” she drawled, fixing him with a smile. “Let’s.”

  Chapter Two: A Hugh Jackman Movie

  They climbed in from either side, Brian posting his form through the door and into the passenger seat. The car was too small for him, his neck cricked as the top of his head brushed the roof. His customer had no such problem, sliding into the bucket seat with cat-like grace, before inserting the key, switching on the headlights to illuminate the morning gloom, and starting the engine. She revved it a couple of times for good measure, her eyes half-closed almost in ecstasy as she heard the turbine whine of the supercharger.

  “It’s, err, best to let the engine warm up a bit on these forced-induction cars,” he murmured, pathetically.

  “I know,” she replied with a mischievous grin. “But where’s the fun in that? Besides, does it matter if I’m going to buy it anyway?”

  “Well, I suppose not,” he admitted.

  She snicked the car into first gear and lifted the clutch, rolling them to the front of the forecourt.

  “Which way?” she asked, her luxuriant voice causing him to all but want to jump out of the car in discomfort. Her perfume was strong, sweet, flowery.

  “Right,” he told her. “Towards St Ives. We’ll turn left at the roundabout, head through Lelant to St Ives, then take the back roads to Penzance, making our way back here.”

  She smiled and nodded, before turning her attentions to the road. A gap appeared, smaller than a gnat’s tadger, but all it seemed she needed. She gave the car some throttle and dropped the clutch, the supercharger howling as the Mini lunged forwards onto the road with a squeal of tyres, snapping Brian’s head back in the process.

  “Shit,” he exclaimed.

  The woman laughed.

  “Gotta test the car how you mean to drive it day-to-day,” she told him by way of explanation.

  He had to agree, there was a certain logic to her argument. But that still didn’t stop his sphincter from tightening as she gunned the throttle once more, supercharger whining as the car thrust them past a lumbering Volvo in front. He gulped as he stared at the comically huge speedo in the centre of the dash. It was a sixty limit down here. She was doing eighty.

  “It’s your licence on the line if we get stopped,” he reminded her. “Not mine.”

  She laughed, as though finding it amusing, and once more he wondered at her cool, easy confidence. Though to be fair, he found anyone with any measure of confidence to be an enigma, for he himself was lacking quite majorly in that department.

  “Roundabout coming up,” he gulped, gesturing with a trembling finger out of the windscreen, spying a stream of headlights worming their way about it. “I’d slow down a tad.”

  Fat chance; even as they sped towards the large roundabout that led one way to St Ives, the other way up the A30 and off to England proper, she kept her foot welded to the carpet. Brian grasped the door handle with white knuckles. They were going to crash! So much traffic, the roads greasy from the drizzle night before. Lewis Hamilton wouldn’t have got this car round the corner at such speed, not in these conditions!

  “Jesus Christ!” he managed to gasp, his exclamation merely causing her to laugh once more.

  One-handed, almost casually, the lunatic woman flung the Mini onto the roundabout, the back end skidding out, tyres squealing. A disconcerting feeling he’d felt many a time on his ‘ped; that of tyres refusing to have anything to do with the road surface whatsoever,as though they’d had a heated argument and both refused to back down. But then suddenly, traction again, tyres catching and the car speeding round the corner and down the road towards Lelant and, beyond, St Ives. Brian turned to the woman, his eyes wide, mouth open but no words coming out. Beads of terror-born sweat glistened on his pasty forehead.

  “We’re going through villages now,” he finally managed to stutter. “I’d, err, slow down a bit. Y’know – kids might be running about.”

  The woman pouted like a child, before eying him mischievously out of one corner of her eye.

  “Spoil-sport,” she murmured with a smile, before dabbing the brakes.

  Slower now than before, though still faster than he was comfortable with, Brian gulped. He should say something, he knew. Should chastise her, tell her to go back to the dealership. How much commission would he get on this five grand car? Twenty-five quid? It wasn’t worth the terror. But try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to confront her; he wasn’t good with confrontation at the best of times, but there was something about this woman that made it seem pointless. She had an air about her, a distinct lack of fear, seemingly no respect for the laws of the land or the opinions of others. It was intimidating. And almost ridiculously sexual. Almost as if she could hear his thoughts, the woman turned to him, eyeing him with obvious humour in her eyes, eyes which should have been watching the road ahead.

  “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “I, err, tend to keep myself to myself,” he admitted.

  “Very few friends, I’m assuming?”

  He frowned. What an odd, personal question. Rude, in fact, and he had half a mind to tell her so. But the way she was biting her painted bottom lip caused words to die in his throat.

  “Well… yeah,” he finally told her.

  She nodded, still driving, deftly avoiding cars and pedestrians without even glancing out of the windscreen.

  “Family?” she pressed further.

  “Not anymore,” he said, shaking his head, feeling for all the world like a spider in a bath, trying desperately to climb his way out of the situation yet knowing he didn’t possess the tools to do so.

  “Well… isn’t that a shame?” Her tones implied that she felt that it was anything but.

  They’d left Lelant now, on the country road towards Carbis Bay, and suddenly, without warning, she veered the car left down a narrow back lane, so typical of this part of the country; single-track, with tall hedges perfect for hiding an errant tractor, just biding its time, waiting to leap round the corner and scare the shit out of you as you drove. She slowed the car to a halt and turned off the engine.

  “What are you…?” he managed to stutter, puzz
led.

  But before he could venture forth with any more pointless utterances, the woman unclipped her seatbelt and drew closer towards him. He gulped, at once completely dumbfounded and yet surprisingly turned on, as her sweet perfume washed over him in a soft, feminine haze.

  “I bet you dream of scenarios like this, don’t you?” she asked, a smile on her face as she licked her lips, eyeing him up and down with those hypnotic grey eyes. “Taking a beautiful woman on a test drive, before pulling into a secluded lane and having your wicked way with her, then rocking back up to work as though nothing had happened.”

  “Erm, not… not really, no.”

  “Oh, but Brian, surely you must. You crave excitement, don’t you? Something to break up the humdrum mundanity of your life?”

  “Not exactly,” he stuttered, quite honestly.

  Then he frowned; had he even introduced himself? Had he mentioned his name at all in their brief conversation, if conversation her laughs and his terrified whining could have been called? He didn’t think so. But he must have done. He was finding it hard to think, the slim, pale creature drawing closer towards him. Suddenly he felt a pressure on his crotch region, a hand there, for once not his own.

  “Oh, wow…” he gasped.

  He froze, like a rabbit before the headlights, unsure whether to bolt, whether he even had a choice. Was it still rape even if he was ridiculously turned on? He didn’t know. Did he leg it? Or did he go with the flow? Neil was right, things like this never happened to him. He wasn’t sure they ever happened to anyone.

  “No-one will know,” she purred, sidling closer still.

  He was surprised that he couldn’t feel her breath on his neck, her lips were that close. Suddenly, a figure standing in the dim light of the country road ahead and Brian gulped.

  “Erm, he might,” he told her, nodding forwards out of the window.

  The woman, her teeth already bared as though about to nibble his neck, followed his gaze. And hissed. Brian started, the sound having been venomous, bestial almost, not the kind of sound he’d have expected from such a sultry, womanly figure. He paused, unsure what to say, as the woman stared out of the window frowning at the sight of this newcomer. But it was the figure outside who broke the silence, calling out towards the car and its two occupants.

  “Cassandra!” the man shouted. “Come on out. No more feasting for you, not this day. Not ever.”

  Cassandra? What a name. Even the sound of it conjured up images in Brian’s mind. It suited her, he thought, rolling off the tongue like silk. If that name was a chocolate bar, it’d be a Galaxy. Maybe even one of those Lindt Bunnies.

  “You know him?” he enquired, his heart still beating a tattoo in his chest.

  “Oh yes,” she replied, wrinkling her pretty nose in distaste.

  Who was this man outside, Brian wondered, at once annoyed at the interruption yet also thankful for it. His life was, as Cassandra had rightly pointed out, one of boring, monotonous routine. And he liked it that way. Work, game, sleep, repeat. Random trysts with stunning women in secluded back lanes were absolutely not par for the course. He squinted into the morning gloom, the low sun still not having pierced the clouds above. The man before them was clad in very strange attire; a long, leather coat, a wide-brimmed hat. In his hand, was that… was that a crossbow? Brian blinked, suddenly and acutely aware once more of his mortality. Was this some ex-boyfriend, some jealous jilted lover, tracking her down? What if the man thought Brian was her new boyfriend? What if that crossbow was meant for him? And yet, he also thought, they’d been out on a test drive, spontaneous, a test route only used by their dealership. How could the man have tracked her down? A bug on her phone? Spy satellite? Don’t be stupid, he told himself. This was Cornwall, England’s arse end, not a James Bond movie. Nothing like that ever happened here.

  He turned to Cassandra, the woman still staring at the figure that barred the road before them.

  “Shall we… shall we get back to the dealership?” he asked with a hopeful gulp.

  She shook her head, a smile parting her pretty lips. Once more he noticed her teeth; if anything they seemed sharper now than before.

  “Let me deal with him,” she told him, before transfixing him in place once more with those grey eyes. “Then we’ll pick up right where we left off.”

  Slowly, with catlike grace and a sure confidence, she opened the door and slunk her way out of the car, striding into the gap twixt vehicle and stranger. A sudden compulsion seized Brian; he should jump over into the driver’s seat right now, he thought. Slam it in reverse and disappear in a cloud of burnt rubber, leaving all this craziness behind. But what of the woman? What if this man truly did have a vendetta? He couldn’t abandon her. Even he wasn’t that spineless. Almost, but not quite.

  “Cassandra,” the man called out once more, his face still mostly hidden from view beneath the brim of his wide hat, only a square, stubbled jaw visible. “You’ve led me on a merry chase, demon. But it ends here.”

  The woman laughed, the sound at once thrilling and terrifying.

  “That it does, Helsing. That it does.”

  Helsing, Brian thought? What the hell kind of name was that? The man didn’t sound German. He wracked his mind furiously. Hadn’t Helsing been a Hugh Jackman movie? In fact, he could even see the resemblance now, thinking about it, only older, gruffer. But what would Hugh Jackman be doing here in Cornwall? Was he caught up in some movie scene? Maybe some hidden camera prank show? Before Brian’s confused mind could ponder further, the man leapt into action, raising his crossbow and pulling the trigger in one fluid motion. Brian’s heart stopped in his chest, face pale, as that unmistakable twang filled the Cornish air. He’d just witnessed a murder! He fumbled for his phone, ready to dial 999. And yet… and yet… the woman still stood!

  Slowly, nonchalantly, Cassandra raised her hand before her, holding a shape in between finger and thumb. Brian blinked. It was the crossbow bolt… she’d snatched it out of thin air, even as it had flown at invisible speed towards her. But how? The wielder of the crossbow snarled.

  “Your tricks shan’t save you today, creature,” he spat, before discarding his weapon and reaching to his back. A flash of silver, a long, razor-edged sword now in his hand. Even as Brian watched, still unable to believe what he was seeing, the man muttered some strange prayer in an archaic tongue and the sword caught light with flickering blue flames. “I shall not rest nor die till Earth is free of your kind,” he told her, his voice low, grim and filled with violence just itching to be unleashed.

  Cassandra, to her credit, simply chuckled at his threats, before dropping the crossbow bolt to the road with a clang. And then her smile vanished, to be replaced by an angry stare, that of a hunting wolf. She growled, the sound low, loud and completely unnatural, shaking the very windows of the Mini with its bass and sending a shudder of cold primeval dread up Brian’s spine.

  “Flee,” the man named Helsing hissed towards him through the car windscreen. “I shall hold off the beast. Today is your lucky day, lad.”

  Brian sincerely doubted the man’s sentiment, but did as he was bade, shuffling over the gearstick into the driver’s seat and turning the engine back on. But before he could even slam it into reverse, the battle unfolded before him. And all he could do was watch, enraptured, in a strange mixture of horror and fascination. No-one should be able to move at the speed these two before him did; as though taking part in some grim ballet of death, the pair, the woman and the sword-wielding man, darted back and forth at eye-watering pace, casting strange shadows all about, bathed as they were in the headlights. Cassandra’s outstretched hands lashed out, her long, painted nails aiming to seize and slice, but each time the man wasn’t there. Likewise, Helsing struck out with great sweeps of his flaming blade, the sound of its passage torturing the air, but the woman ducked, dodged and weaved like Jet Li, the fiery edge always missing her by scant inches.

  Finally, after long moments of this back and forth, Helsing sli
pped on wet leaves of all things, one foot sliding out from under him and causing him to lose his balance for an instant. And an instant was all Cassandra needed; lunging forwards, she lashed out with a backhand that knocked the sword from his grasp to fly and skitter over the tarmac, its flames puttering out, before reaching with the other hand about the man’s neck and hoisting him into the air one-handed. Helsing gasped and struggled, feet kicking uselessly, his hat falling from his head to reveal long, grey hair and a lined face that turned red with strain.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this,” Cassandra chuckled, no hint of effort on her face at lifting this fifteen stone man in one hand. Before plunging the long, wickedly sharp nails of her other hand clean into the man’s chest, who screamed in pain.

  Even in the throes of his agony, the man’s eyes locked onto Brian’s own through the car windscreen.

  “Go!” he managed to choke out, blood running in a thin line from the edge of his mouth. “Go, or you’ll be next!”

  Terrified, Brian nodded, throwing the idling Mini into reverse with a crunch of rushed gears. Even as he did, Cassandra turned to him, smiling, and dropped the wounded Helsing to the earth with a crunch. Before vanishing. Eyes wide with astonishment and fear both, Brian slammed his foot on the accelerator, the Mini launching backwards. A dull thud, a bump that rocked the car and after several yards he stopped once more, confused.

  In front of him, a shape in the road he’d just reversed down. Cassandra, he realised with a start. The woman rose slowly, unsteadily to her feet. Her neck, he noticed with a shiver of horror, was contorted at a right angle.

  “For fuck’s sake,” she gasped, lifting her hands to her head and straightening her neck with a sickening click of vertebrae, before fixing him with an angry scowl. “Ever heard of mirrors? You were supposed to see me in your rear view and stop. It was supposed to be all dramatic, like in a horror film.”

  “...sorry?” he muttered.

  “You will be,” she snarled, slowly striding towards him. “I was going to gift you a bit of pleasure before having my fill. A little joy to light the last minutes of your pathetic, boring existence. Well fuck that and fuck you. No-one runs me over and gets away with it.”