Demon Driven

by John Conroe

  Almost immediately my panic slid away, washed from me by a wave of determination. I would find a way to make this all work.

  Tanya looked at me in surprise as she felt my emotions change, then she reached over and touched the Tear through my shirt.

  “Wow! Is that what it does?” she asked, astonished.

  “You felt something from it?” I asked. I knew she could feel my emotions, but I was surprised she could feel the Tear.

  “Dude, I felt it from up here!” Chet said.

  “Chet, let’s drop Tanya off and then drop me at my place. I gotta call some wolves about taking a trip. I need to see my adviser! No offense to Lydia or Senka, but I will do better with Gramps.”

  Tanya nodded.

  “I think Senka might be a bit too rattled to give you the best advice. Seeing your Gramps is a really good idea, plus it’ll get you out of the city.”

  “Senka is rattled?” I asked.

  She looked at me for a moment then sighed.

  “Lydia is right. You’re smart, except when it’s about you, then you get kinda dumb,” she said, in exasperation. “Chris, how old am I…in vampire years?”

  “Huh? You’re twenty-three, same as your birth years, ‘cause you were born a vamp,” I replied.

  She nodded like I was slow witted. “And would you say I’m advanced for twenty-three, vampire wise?”

  “You’re kidding, right? You’re just about equal with the two oldest vampires on the planet!”

  “And how advanced are you, in relation to your vampire type abilities?” she asked.

  “Well not probably to your level….” I petered off, starting to get her drift.

  “Actually, I think you’ve just had a burst of growth, ‘cause you’ve been doing things that I’ve never heard of before. But how old are you….in vampire years?” she asked.

  “Well, I’m not yet a year old…if you look at it from that point of view.” Which I hadn’t.

  “So, vampires have been amazed by my progress, but they understand there is something about being a born vampire that caused it. You, my dearest, aren’t even a year old and you scare the hell out of Senka and Tzao! Well, not so much Tzao. She’s kinda proud, actually.”

  I turned this over in my head, wondering why I hadn’t ever thought it through before.

  “But if I’m not a year yet, what will I be like in five years? Or ten?” I wondered out loud, appalled by the thought.

  “Exactly! That’s what’s freaking Senka out!” she said.

  Something she had said earlier popped back into my head.

  “Wait! Why is Tzao proud?”

  “Well, that research I’ve been doing, the stuff with the German records, has indicated that there was a vampire in the camp where your grandfather was kept. A Japanese vampire.”

  “So, Tzao thinks that the viral change in my DNA came from a Japanese vamp -- one of hers?”

  She nodded. “In a way, it would make her your Great-great-great grandmother or something, at least in vampire lineage terms. That why she’s suddenly so interested in you. Plus she’s always been a little put out that I was born into Senka and Fedor’s lineage. Now you pop up!”

  “Oh, I’m a prize alright!” I snorted.

  She smacked me on the shoulder, but the corner of her mouth was fighting a grin.

  “Oh, here, I have something for you!” she said suddenly.

  She handed me a cardboard box a little smaller than a shoe box. Inside were rows of cell phones lined up like little toy soldiers. I pulled one out and noted that it was a prepaid Tracfone. They all were. She answered my unspoken question.

  “Each phone is already activated and good for a year. Each has a preprogrammed number under the contact name ‘Night Angel’. Soooo, when you want to call me, just grab a phone, hit the contact and it’ll ring through a secure line to me! Then you throw the phone away,” she said with a shy grin.

  “Actually, Dude, you should probably destroy the phone as completely as you can. The system is about as secure as can be done, but better not to leave those feddie bastards any help!” Chet said.

  “Let me guess! You designed the system? And I’ll bet you came up with the contact name ‘Night Angel’!” I said.

  He nodded, his grin proud as hell.

  “You’re not gonna give me any crap about that nickname, are you?” he asked, his voice certain.

  “Nope! That one is exactly right! Is it really safe for her if I call? I asked.

  His look was offended, but I was unabashed where her safety was concerned and he knew it.

  “Yeah, actually it is. The number each phone calls is a onetime Voice Over Internet Protocol that bounces all over the world. When I designed it I mentioned that it would be cool to get some access to the Russian server network. Did you know that Tanya’s family owns a big chunk of the Russian computer network?” His voice was incredulous.

  “Not really, but she is Russian and they own lots of stuff..” I drifted into a couple of interesting thoughts about the fact that the Coven was immensely wealthy. Globally wealthy. Hmmm.

  Chapter 29

  The Adirondack Mountains gleamed in the afternoon sun, the forests greening rapidly after a long cold winter. The Pack’s Cessna 172 purred smoothly as we winged northeast across the ancient mountain range, guided by Brett’s deft touch.

  The young Alpha had answered my call on the second ring and agreed to leave just after noon. My impression was that he had things well in line for a trip north, and was anxious to see the land next to Gramps’ farm. However, every news station in the country was carrying the story of the terrorist attacks on the schools, and the government was receiving massive kudos for its swift decisive handling of IS 341. I couldn’t help but think he had a decent idea of who the real operator had been. The fact that no one in a position of authority had offered an explanation of how the school was cleared hadn’t bothered the mainstream media pundits from pontificating on the possibilities. Delta Force and the Navy SEALs were tied for getting the credit, with the FBI Hostage Rescue Team a distant third. The actual site was under intense lockdown and the word I had received from Chet was that a microscopic examination of the school, hostages, and the terrorists was underway. The official word to the media was that a covert operation had cleared the school, but the details were top secret in order to protect the nation’s anti-terrorism capabilities.

  “Of course, all the grunts know that’s bullshit. These guys are scurrying around like frightened mice, trying to figure out how eight bearded freaks got turned into paste!” Chet had said with a snicker, over what he swore was a secure cell line.

  One of the media choppers had caught about five seconds of me on the roof of the school as I left the scene. The balaclava and bulky raid jacket had done a good job of obscuring me and the footage, while surprisingly good, was too blurry to get any detail. Thankfully, the helicopter had been swinging around on the far side of the building from where I pretended to fast rappel down the side. That particular act would not have stood up well to examination. I hadn’t been wearing a rappelling harness, which might have piqued the attention of some retired special operator acting as media consultant.

  Brett seemed excited, carrying on a steady conversation the whole trip. His girlfriend, Kelly, was seated behind me, and another young wolf, named David, was behind Brett. I had offered the shotgun position to Kelly, but she had rapidly and rather forcefully insisted that I sit up front. My honest assessment was that she didn’t want me behind her. Kelly and David were both visibly nervous in my presence, although Brett seemed okay.

  I hadn’t thought I would be willing to chat much after my gruesome morning. But I didn’t seem to be bothered by what I had done, and I surprised myself by getting into the conversation with Brett, talking about everything from high school football, to deer hunting. The property was close enough to Potsdam Airport that we were able to take a swing over it before landing. David snapped numerous shots with a sophisticated looking digital camera
and telephoto lens. Dark haired and rather somber, David had been quiet the whole trip, his eyes watching me when he didn’t think I would notice.

  * * *

  Gramps met us at the tiny airfield, his crew cab Ford pickup ready to haul the lot of us to the farm. Two other greeters were with him. One was stocky and dark, the other blond with the long legs of a runner. They both hit me at a dead run, a combined one hundred and seventy-seven pounds of excited dogs slamming into my chest. I caught and held them while they fought to wash my face with their doggy tongues. Sherm and Semp, short for Sherman (as in the tank) and Semper fi. Sherm was the younger at six years, a mix breed with a large chunk of Rottweiler in his beefy frame. Semp was mostly Golden Retriever, but not a pure breed by any means, and was the senior at eight.

  Gramps cleared his throat and I realized that holding almost two hundred pounds of squirming dogs was extremely unusual behavior if anyone was looking, so I dropped them to the ground and petted them fiercely. It’s hard to describe how important your pets can be, but the impact is greatest at reunion. My dogs never judged me, never shirked me, didn’t think I was weird or freaky, they just loved me, completely and without reservation. They didn’t like werewolves though, a fact that became apparent a few seconds later when they caught wind of Brett, Kelly and David. Erupting into a ferocious frenzy of snapping teeth and barking, it took both Gramps and I to get them under control. Brett had warned me that only dogs raised from puppies would tolerate the presence of weres, the predator scent too strong for canines to ignore.

  We got them loaded into the bed of the pickup, along with our luggage, introduced Gramps to the weres, then squeezed into the truck. I claimed shotgun, the other three packed in the crew seat, and we headed to the farm.

  Gramps’s land lies east of Potsdam, bordering a little chunk of woods named Whiskey Flats State Forest. With the state forest on one side and the six hundred acres of the old Bennington farm on the other, it creates a tract of about two thousand acres. Should be enough for a small pack of werewolves, if they’re careful.

  You would think that I would have known better, but I was still surprised by how easily Gramps got on with Brett and Kelly. David remained a dark, quiet presence, leaving the talking to his two Alphas.

  Gramps explained the boundaries and we drove the roads that surrounded the property first, giving the wolves an opportunity to get a grasp of the size and layout of the land. Most of Gramps’ land was used to grow fields, with only about fifty acres reserved for the twenty-five head of dairy and beef cattle that he maintained. Of course, the farm had supported a much greater herd in the years past, but while I would undoubtedly inherit the land, it had been obvious for years that I would never live the life of a farmer. The little herd left on the farm gave Gramps an excuse to keep his men employed and he frankly enjoyed the work.

  Our perimeter tour complete, we drove straight to the Bennington property, gave the wolves the nickel tour and then let them investigate on their own. It gave me a chance to catch my grandfather up on recent events. We occupied the front porch chairs, Sherm and Semp staying huddled at our feet. It would have been easy to tell where the junior wolf pack was at any moment, even if I didn’t have my vampire senses. The twin perked ears of the dogs swiveled to track the sounds of exploration, like radar.

  “They’re not what I expected,” Gramps allowed, referring to the young wolves.

  “Yeah, they are mostly normal, ambitious twenty-year olds, right up until they do something wolfy.”

  “They can earn a living here?” he asked.

  “From what I understand, four of the nine are computer programmers of one sort or another. One consults on video games, one is a nurse and Brett does website design and search engine maximization.

  I’m not sure about the other two, but I think one might be a mechanic. As long as they can get access to the internet, they’ll be fine. I explained about using a satellite based system for internet and television,” I shrugged. “We’ll have to see what they think.”

  He rubbed the side of his head for a moment before responding.

  “Actually, we have DSL out here now,” he finally said.

  “DSL? How the hell did that happen”

  “Well, I convinced the phone company it would be worthwhile,” he said, simply.

  I didn’t doubt that for a moment. Whether he had organized a group of local residents to all buy access packages from the phone company, paid a huge sum to get it installed or some combination of the two, Gramps would find a way.

  “Why?”

  “The dish system got spotty in bad weather, and I needed to stay connected, in case, you know….you needed me.”

  Alex Gordon would pick up soda cans by the road for the nickel deposit, and his clothes hadn’t been replaced in years, but he would spend thousands of dollars to stay connected to the internet on the off chance I might need to reach him that way. I had trouble speaking for a moment so I just kept quiet.

  After a moment he changed the subject.

  “Looks like you got out of the Big Apple at the right time, what with all these terrorists roaming around down there. Glad to see our law enforcement people put a stop to it. Course, there seems to be some mystery about that school with all the explosives. The government’s being all kinda quiet about that one!” he said, eyeing me sideways.

  I smiled, not looking at him directly.

  “Well, people shouldn’t be messing with our kids!”

  “Certainly not when north country boys are on the job!” he agreed, still watching me for reaction.

  He knew! The cagey old bastard knew I had been involved!

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  Surprisingly, I did.

  It took about twenty minutes to discuss the morning. It took another two hours to discuss the ramifications of my adventures.

  “You’re screwed!” he agreed with a nod, after hearing my tale. He relented that after seeing my bleak expression.

  “Well, not really screwed, but you’re in a pickle. Let me think about this for a time and we’ll come back to it,” he said. “Why don’t you check on your friends and then we can head to the farm. I imagine they’ll want to explore in their ‘other’ forms when it gets dark?” he asked obliquely.

  “Probably. That’s a big part of the whole thing, having the ability to run,” I answered.

  * * *

  We collected Brett, Kelly and David, interrupting a conversation about the quality of the interior. David didn’t think it was too bad, a view that Kelly vehemently opposed. Brett was carefully appeasing his mate, although I think he didn’t care much about the old farmhouse’s decorative condition so much as he did the solidity of construction. It seemed to be well built but old. Frankly I agreed with Kelly. The old seventies era wallpaper was rather sad.

  Back at Gramps farm we showed them around, introduced them to Len and got them settled in the spare room. David would sleep on the pullout couch in the family room.

  Gramps and Len threw together an excellent dinner of steak, potatoes, gravy and green beans. The three city bred guests were amazed that every bit of the dinner had been produced right on the farm, with the exception of the Sam Adams beer that we drank with it.

  After dinner, the young pack members changed forms and I gave them a quick tour of the property lines, running on two legs to their four, but keeping up easily enough.

  Satisfied that they had their bearings, I left them to run the land on their own, while I returned to the farm.

  * * *

  Both men looked up as I entered the family room. They had obviously been deep in discussion. Len looked much the same as he always did, just a bit grayer, a bit more weathered. They had served together in the Marines and I’m fairly certain they both saw action in Korea, but details had been in short supply.

  “Chris, I was filling Len in on your situation. We have a few ideas for you to think about,” Gramps said.

  I nodded, handed out the beers I had grabbed on my
way through the kitchen and sat down.

  “First, let’s talk about your situation, what the feds might know, what they might guess. Then we’ll discuss what they might do with that info. And last we’ll brainstorm about what you have to work with and what you can do to block them. Okay?” he asked.

  I nodded, sipping my beer.

  “Okay, at some level or another, the feds are well aware of vampires and weres, as well as Hellbourne and that ilk. They know you have connections to both groups. They also know you can dispel demons, run down and kill werewolves with your hands, render explosives inert, and kill heavily armed, fortified humans in seconds. They must suspect you can do many of the things that vampires can do, except you don’t drink blood, and daylight doesn’t affect you. Do they know that silver doesn’t bother you?”

  “Yeah, they would know that, ‘cause Roma knows that,” I said.

  “Alright then. They also know that you have an additional ally in the form of Okwari. They must have a pretty good idea that he can go anywhere, find anyone and is pretty much unstoppable. That he will kill anything or anyone he thinks is a threat to his only friend, right?”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “Alrighty, what else? They know you have family up here, ‘cause they’ve been snooping around, asking questions and eyeballing the farm here.”

  I must have frowned at that because Gramps hastened to reassure me.

  “Don’t worry about us. Len and I have been dealing with government types for decades. We’ve been on pretty strict security around here since all this started last October. Len sweeps the house twice a day for bugs, and we have several white noise generators to mask voices. Also, we’ve have extra heavy drapes over every window to block any vibrations that they might pick up off the glass with directional laser mikes,” he said.

  “You sweep for bugs? Directional laser mikes?” I was incredulous.

  Gramps chuckled and a quick grin slid across Len’s otherwise somber face.