by John Conroe
“That was pretty good,” she said.
“Good? It was like four seconds!” I said.
“Actually, three point two,” Arkady supplied from the sidelines. “That might be your new record.”
It really wasn’t too bad, considering that Tanya was the best, and vampire combat is fast.
“How the hell did you Cling with your back? I thought it always took hands or feet?” I asked.
“That’s what most Darkkin think, but you can project the energy from any part of your body,” she replied.
She spent the next five minutes showing me how. Then we had another bout and I surprised her by Pushing through my back to come up from the floor, kinda like Dracula rising from his coffin without touching anything. I made it just over four seconds that time. It should be tough on my ego to have a girlfriend that can kick my ass at will, but we’re not as unevenly matched as that. Fighting purely vampire style, she’ll hand me my head every time. The only two who can beat her are Elder Senka (Tanya’s grandmother) and Elder Tzao, and soon even they won’t be able to.
But that’s if I play the vampire way. If I use my power, my unique violet aura or chi, I can best her two outta three times. We usually spend the first half of a workout using just Darkkin techniques, but after that she insists I use all my abilities. Tonight with so many observers, we just stayed with vampire fu.
The workout over, I toweled the sweat and concrete chips off my head (the walls are going to need to be reinforced in a couple more workouts). Tanya was talking to a group of visiting vampires that had watched part of the workout. One vampire caught my eye. Sleek and dark, he reminded me of a vampire Antonio Banderas, all suave and cool. He was staring at Tanya intensely, like a bum looking through a bakery widow at all the pastries. I hated him on sight. Standing next to him was a short vampire who somehow managed to look ratty and shifty. Vampires have a natural attractiveness, sort of bait for their human prey. If this one looked this bad as a vampire, he must have been a real prize as a human.
“Yo Northern, you’re staring holes in the visitors. Don’t want to make them nervous, ya know,” said a peppy voice from just behind me.
“Hey Lydia. Who’s Rico Suave’ over there?” I asked.
“Why Christian Gordon, I believe you’re jealous,” she said.
“Ya know what? I am. I don’t like the way he’s looking a Tanya and I’m thinking of going over there and shoving his head thru the wall.”
“Whoa Chris! I was just messin’. You can’t go beating the crap outta the visiting Darkkin for no good reason. Where’s this sudden hostility coming from?” she asked.
She was right. A sudden wave of intense dislike had welled up from deep inside me, like a geyser bursting from the ground. Across the room, the dark, handsome vamp was pointing at Tanya’s chest and I was suddenly aware of the pooled power in my right hand, microseconds from blasting an aura spike across the room and through his slick face.
Tanya pulled her amulet from under her tee and was apparently explaining it to his politely smiling face. He held his hand out and asked a question. His words were easy to read from across the room.
“May I see it?”
My dislike ripened to hatred. Tanya shook her head no, then turned to look at me, a question on her beautiful face. She had sensed my emotions. Her eyes widened, then she smiled of all things, a knowing smile, gave me a wink and turned back to the conversation. Don Juan was looking my way as he followed her gaze and his expression was contemptuous. Go ahead, keep sneering, asshat! Watch what happens when the human (sorta) blasts you back to preschool!
Being a combination rock/movie star and royalty to the Darkkin society made Tatiana the target of many a vampire suitor. Most of those hopefuls were confused by her selection of me as her chosen mate. The ones from neighboring covens knew enough about me to be wary, while the vamps from more distant locations thought I was just a human blood donor. But the New York Coven locals wouldn’t cross me for all the blood in China. They knew that Tanya didn’t pull punches with me when sparring, they knew I had blasted a young vampire right back to being human (for a few days) and most of all, they knew the stories about Elder Fedor’s gruesome death. Of course, I had had almost a ton and a half of paranormal ursine help with him, but all that mattered was he was dead and I wasn’t.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Smarmy across the room would likely think me a pushover. Anyone watching my sparring match with Tanya might be excused for thinking that, at least until they had a round with her, themselves. Hand-to-hand matches with my vampire princess usually ended for most vamps in under two seconds.
“There, ya see? You got nothing, I repeat NOTHING to worry about,” Lydia said.
“I guess, but I don’t like him. You never did tell me his name.”
“Desiderio Reyes. He is representing one of the Central American covens. So you can’t blast him into atoms, got it?” she said.
Lydia knew me well and had as firm an understanding of my capabilities as anyone.
I nodded and headed to the shower.
Chapter 4
The Demidova household has a massive commercial grade kitchen which would seem unlikely in a vampire household, but understandable, as the daytime security was human and the Coven employment policy for all persons was to reward loyalty handsomely and punish treachery harshly. So it was not coincidence that one of the coven was a former master French chef named Remy, who still retained his love of cooking, if not his appetite for human food.
Dinner that night was escargot in garlic and butter, Romaine salad with Roquefort, walnuts and apples; and veal scallopini with Madeira shitake sauce. Pretty normal.
“In my opinion? The FN SCAR-L is bad ass. Clean, piston-driven, so it’s reliable as hell and handles great! ” Benson said, in between bites of veal.
“Where the fuck did you handle a SCAR?” Hedges asked.
“I gotta buddy at Bragg who’s been part of the test team. He got me in the last time I was down visiting,” the beefy Benson replied.
“Listen up ladies! The L version is 5.56 millimeter. Our upgrade WILL be a 7.62. We can’t afford a lack of power, ‘specially if we’re facing weres,” Deckert said.
Responsible for security during the daytime hours when vampires were sleeping, tranquilized by the ultraviolet rays of our sun, the humans had to be prepared for anything. Potential problems included weres, human vampire hunters (nicknamed Jackmans), organized crime, and other types of supernaturals.
Weres often fill the role of assassins, and Jackmans (named after Hugh Jackman, who played the lead role in the movie Van Helsing) were fanatical, quasi-religious types on self appointed missions from God. Darkkin society runs at the fringes of the human world, right next to the mob, gangs and other organized crime. The two interact enough to result in potential conflict from time to time.
But the single largest threat faced by the security team was the paparazzi and other celebrity seekers. The more private and reclusive a wealthy person is, the higher the price for photos and stories. The Demidovas were super wealthy and super private. The bids for a photo of Galina would start at a cool million. Shots of Tanya – one to two mill.
The current conversation centered on upgrading the teams urban rifle model, which was currently the venerable Fabrique Nationale FAL in hard-hitting 7.62 mm ( essentially the same as the commercial .308 Winchester round that was popular with big game hunters across the nation). Some of the team were not fans of the FAL and kept up a steady petition for a change.
“What do you think, Gordon?” Benson asked.
Everyone paused to listen to my reply, although they all have far more practical experience with modern weapons than I do. What I do have, is direct knowledge of facing weres and vamps in close quarters.
“I am familiar with FAL’s, and M-16 variants, but I’ve never handled any of the new high tech stuff. The Department uses Mini-14’s and M-4s,” I answered with a shrug.
“What would you pick?” Deckert asked.
>
“Well, I was raised on the Springfield M1A, so I’m pretty comfortable with those. My personal rifle at home, is a SOCOM 16, the 16 inch barreled version. But…..I wouldn’t go with any of those for supes.”
I took a bite of my veal, then looked up to find them all watching me expectantly.
“So, what, are ya going to make us beg? What would you use?” Deckert asked.
I gulped my food and answered.
“I like shotguns. And I’d really like to get my hands on an Auto Assault-12.”
“We have shotguns – Benellis,” Deckert said, a frown on his face.
“Yeah, well I don’t like rifles for the city. Rifles are good at a distance or maybe in the woods, and, of course, in regular urban combat they’re great,” I said. “But here in the city against weres and vamps, the ranges are gonna be short ‘cause supes are too fast. Spraying highpowered rifle bullets won’t get much done, but heavy loads of silver buckshot are great stoppers. We’ve started looking at silver flechettes – make ‘em from extruded wire.”
“So you think we should get rid of our FALs?” Benson asked.
I shook my head. “No, why would you get rid of them? There are lots of reasons to have them handy. But I just think if you’re gonna look at new weapons, a full auto shotgun with silver buck or flechettes would kick ass. Did you know they make a high explosive round for the 12 gauge now? Youtube has some videos up showing them. Really cool!”
They all froze and looked at me warily.
“Chris, full auto is illegal in New York, even with a class 3 license.” Deckert said.
“Hey, you asked what I would use and I told you,” I said.
Of course they already had full automatic weapons, but they were very careful to keep them hidden from my sight, so as to avoid any conflict with my law enforcement career. I, frankly, wasn’t gonna rat them out. They protected my lady; as far as I was concerned they should have rocket propelled grenade launchers.
My cell chose that moment to play my ringtone – Rhianna’s Disturbia.
“Hi Chris, it’s Olivia. The Inspector has called a meeting for tomorrow at 8AM. Conference room. Mandatory.”
“Okay, ‘Liv. I’ll see you there.”
“Night, Chris.” She hung up. I looked up to see the whole table of hard-ass ex-special operators looking at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Rhianna? Really?” Benson asked for all of them.
“Hey, you have to admit that song fits my wacked life.” I replied
I got a few nods at that. Deckert shook his head, then steered the conversation back to the original topic. “Gordon, you’re not gonna sit there and tell me you believe any crap about not having to aim a shotgun, shot patterns that cover a room or any of that shit are you?” he asked.
At close range, shot patterns don’t spread out much. Across a room, say under ten yards, a typical load of buck will still be in a clump.
“Of course not. But weres and vamps are really tough. Even a direct hit won’t likely stop one. Shotguns pack lots of power. I’d be just as happy with slugs as buckshot, but silver is hard to work with. I’ve thought of using modern fifty caliber muzzleloader bullets, melting the lead out of the copper jacket and repacking them with powdered silver sealed with resin. But if I’m gonna do that, I might as well go with the same bullet in a .50 Beowulf round and use a M4.”
Thompkins, an ex-SEAL, asked: “A fifty what?”
Deckert answered before I could.
“Alexander Arms in Virginia created a .500 caliber round that fits in the magazine of an M4. The upper replaces the standard 5.56 and you’ve got a modern self loader with the ballistics of a .45-70 buffalo gun. Mags hold seven to ten rounds.”
“That’s not many!” someone interjected.
Again, the human leader spoke before I could (which gave me the opportunity to get fourths of the scallopeni).
“You don’t need thirty .22’s when you’re shooting bullets the same weight as shotgun slugs with the power to crack an engine block or destroy cinderblocks. Makes body armor pointless.”
My Tanya sense flared and I automatically looked toward the door. The others noticed and having witnessed me do it enough to guess the reason, they all quieted and looked in the same direction. A moment later, she ghosted through the doorway, wearing a black dress, her night-black hair brushed out and gleaming, white gold and sapphire pendant at the hollow of her throat. I could hear the intake of breath and the change in heartbeats around the table. My own heart beat faster as well. She smiled at me, then took a moment to greet the men. She knew all their names and frequently sat with me when I shared their table. Those meals were notable for the politeness of the conversation.
“Chris, I have to play hostess tonight to the Central American delegation. Knowing your lack of enthusiasm for these things, I didn’t think you’d want to be there. Was I right?”
I paused before answering. On the one hand, she was exactly right. Having a bunch of strange vampires stare at you, while they try to figure out if you’re a meal or not, is disconcerting, to say the least. It doesn’t help that my AB positive blood makes me smell delicious to them. I normally avoid these things unless my presence is warranted. Some vampires have heard of the gifted (or cursed, depends on your viewpoint) human who believes vampires have souls. They generally want to meet me. Some have heard of the death of Elder Fedor and then my presence lends weight to Tanya’s authority.
But I wasn’t real happy about Desiderio and thinking that maybe I should stay.
The decision was made for me, quite suddenly, by the vision. My sight went black and a graphic, horror show of a video played across my mind’s eye. A demon-influenced father, terrified mother and children, a large chef’s knife.
I snapped out of it, already knowing roughly where it would happen. Tanya understood, from experience as well as her intimate connection to me, what was happening.
“How bad?” she asked.
“If I go immediately, not bad. If I delay? Bad!”
“Mr. Deckert, Chris will need a good driver.”
“No problem Young Queen. Stevens here was a Secret Service driver,” he said, pointing Stevens toward the door. “Benson and I will go with him.”
I was already drawing the vision on the back of a piece of paper that Remy had food orders listed on. Kind of a cross between psychic drawing and cartoon art, the snapshot drawn usually provides important information. Since my introduction to the vampire virus and my own unique transformation, my visions have become more useful. This one was blocked into three parts. The first showed a street sign (Eleventh Street) and an apartment building. The second showed a door, number 3B. The third showed the father threatening his wife and two small boys with a big kitchen knife. Above his head, in the left corner of the doorway behind him, a demonic face was just visible, floating in the darkness.
I had everything I needed. I gave Deckert the address, 11th Street, Brooklyn, in the 600’s. As we headed out, I called Gina Velasquez and gave her the details: a father, pushed to tragic murder by a demon. She assured me she would meet me there with the some of the Squad. A quick kiss for Tanya and we were on our way.
Chapter 5
Stevens drove the Mercedes sedan like he had stolen it, weaving through traffic without regard for the integrity of the seventy-five thousand dollar vehicle or any known traffic laws. We were on scene at least as fast as a squad car would have been, but with much less noise.
The building was a three-story brownstone in a decent part of the city. My problem was on the third floor, and once I was out of the car and after checking carefully for witnesses, I moved, clearing the stairs with inhuman speed. The father’s angry voice carried through the walls, telling me that he hadn’t been driven to slaughter his loved ones quite yet. I moved up to door 3B and listened, my eyes closed to concentrate on forming a mental picture of the scene within. He had them cornered in the living room, their rapid little hearts pounding out the rhythm of their fe
ar. His larger, thundering blood pump pinpointed his location exactly, his voice rising in a wave of rage that would crest with his rapid, violent action and end as their lives did.
The door was locked, but I was through it in a sharp snap of splintering wood, and his knife hand held firmly in my own before the sound registered in his ears. Big, six-three, well over two hundred pounds, fired by his unnatural anger, he was temporarily as strong as two men. I’m a lot stronger than that, but it made subduing him without injury difficult. So I broke his wrist (along with several hand bones..oops) and choked him out with a front carotid hold that he couldn’t break. The fact that I was holding his entire weight several inches off the ground with my choking hand didn’t go unnoticed by his wife. Gently, I set the unconscious man down and gave the small, terrified woman a finger over the lips motion for silence. I winked at the two tousled brown heads that peaked from under her arms and turned to the doorway behind the prone form of the father. Holding my left hand up, I pulled with my unique power and a noxious, greasy black lump of floating hell sputum flew from the darkened doorway and to my hand as if yanked by a giant rubber band.
It writhed and screamed its anger as I held it captive, its cries turning to fear as the black shadow hawk form of Kirby winged through the apartment walls, answering my unspoken call. I tossed, Kirby caught and it was over. The entity that I alternately think of as God’s Hawk or Satan’s Raptor, depending on my mood, popped out of our existence and back to its own, dragging its bundle of squirming excrescence with it, leaving only the foul smell of brimstone and sulfer.
Deckert and Benson were just reaching the top step of the stairwell, Sig Sauer .45s drawn. The security team was licensed for full carry anywhere in the Big Apple.
“Status?” Deckert asked, his eyes scanning for threats.
“Adult male, early thirties temporarily incapacitated. Adult female with two male children shocky but uninjured. Causative agent dispersed,” I replied.
