Vampire Huntress

by Rosemary A Johns

  Rebel trembled, never looking away from the dagger. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You didn’t come back for us. Because you wanted us. We guessed as much. But that doesn’t change that you’re ours to guide. And love. Now you’ll need your true father and brother again.’

  Brother?

  I cast Rebel a baleful glare — yeah, we were having a quiet little chat about fibbing, if Eden didn’t cut off Rebel’s balls first — and he ducked his head.

  Da offered Star’s hilt to Rebel, but he recoiled. ‘I’ve no right.’

  ‘You have every right.’ Da glanced at Ma, and she nodded. Da gripped Rebel’s chin softly, raising his gaze. ‘Please remember, Zach, finding your father may not be what you expect. It certainly will not set everything back to how it was. Don’t fly on false hope.’

  When Rebel sheathed Eclipse, we were plunged into the pitch-black.

  Then Star burst alive in piercing bright violet. Shards of light shot out like the points of a star.

  Rap, rap, rap.

  ‘Five minutes until we play,’ Eden crooned.

  When Rebel leapt at me with the dagger, the fox brothers snarled, even though they were panting and battling to stand in the heat. Yet he only threw the scabbard at me. ‘Put it on, around your waist.’ I pulled on the scabbard, pulling my jacket down to hide it. It fitted, like it’d always meant to be there. Something stirred under my skin. A need…or a memory. I held my breath, trembling with the desire to touch Star. ‘Ages it’s been since I could give anyone a present.’ His hands were steady as he raised Star. ‘Sorry I couldn’t wrap your Christmas gift.’

  Mine, mine, mine…

  It was a reclaiming. No longer fear held within a blade. Because the top boy shank was mine.

  A knife that would burn and slice: I’d be god-like for real.

  I backed against the cobwebbed wall. ‘Don’t tempt me, bro.’

  ‘Every angel has an ancient weapon,’ Rebel pressed. I didn’t understand the anguish in his expression, as he whispered, ‘You deserve it. Not me.’

  I’d snatched the hilt from him, before I’d even made the decision.

  I gasped, and my eyes rolled back, flying on the power of the weapon. I was as baked as Rebel had been with Eclipse. I understood now: his joy.

  The power.

  After everything, it was Rebel who’d unleashed me.

  With a jolt, the land of bones, beneath the mountain of feathers, flashed as if I was back there, cracking over wing bones. When I shook my head, the vision cleared.

  But if that was tonight — our bones and our feathers in this cellar — then I needed to give Rebel a Christmas gift as well. Something just as special as Rebel’s only link to his true father.

  I scrabbled at Jade’s necklace one-handed, undoing it and holding it out in the palm of my hand. ‘Sorry I couldn’t wrap it.’

  He stared at me for a long moment. Then he lifted the necklace, placing it tenderly into the pouch around his neck, as if it was a wedding ring. ‘Thank you.’

  Awkward, I shrugged. ‘Doesn’t mean you’ve made it off my List of Asses to Kick.’

  Rap, rap, rap.

  ‘Four minutes, my lost ones,’ Eden purred.

  ‘You’re after having to wait in line,’ Rebel tried to smirk but he was tearing at his lower lip too hard with his teeth.

  ‘We’ve loved you since we were nothing but kids.’ Ma tilted her head; her smile was soft. The Deadmans were hunkered at the back of the cellar in a circle, their hands entwined. ‘We dreamed our lives away, lost in the shadow of you. You were all we needed.’

  Da pulled his family even closer; his hand passed across their mouths. ‘Now we die at your altar.’

  ‘I don’t.’ Evie’s gaze was razor-sharp; her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. ‘But love is pain, remember?’

  ‘Away with you, I won’t…can’t…’ Rebel unsheathed Eclipse. And when he turned to me, I understood.

  This was his family. And we were the hunters.

  I knelt next to the Blood Familiars, stroking their heads. They pushed hard against my palms. I wished they dared talk to me, so I could say…something…to them.

  Yet I had a feeling the familiars understood, even without me speaking, because they fought to their feet.

  I shook my head. ‘Your Keeper is ordering your arses to stay with the witches.’ At their mournful whines, I held them close, whispering, ‘And the first chance you get, I’m telling you to run, yeah?’

  Then I held Star, like absolute power in my hands, and stalked after Rebel to the foot of the stone steps.

  Rap, rap, rap.

  ‘Three minutes. If you force me to come down there, I shall be quite put out with you,’ Eden fretted. ‘Purifying can be such a painful business, if I wish it.’

  I rested my hand on Rebel’s shoulder. Our gazes met. Whatever happened with Eden, we’d have each other’s back.

  I’d never had that with a bloke before.

  We trudged up the cellar steps.

  Rebel turned back to his family; his fingertips rested on the hot iron trapdoor. ‘I never meant to be a shadow or cause you pain. And I won’t let you die on my altar. You wanted me, and I love you for that.’

  I shrugged, ‘I just hate you. But you’re his family, so…’

  Evie’s eyes were closed. She murmured, her words slurring, ‘I knew our angel would save us.’

  Da dropped to his knees, before slumping on his front, but he forced out, ‘Remember how proud I am.’

  I stumbled mid-step, grabbing Rebel’s sleeve. ‘They’ve taken something. Poison? A spell?’

  Rebel bolted down the stairs, leaping the final two and hurling away Eclipse, as he fell next to his family, who were sprawled, convulsing on the concrete floor.

  ‘Help me,’ Rebel pleaded, pressing shaking hands first to Ma, who was spasming, then to Da who was foaming at the mouth, and finally to Evie, whose legs jerked violently.

  I froze, remembering the way Da had pressed his hand across each of their mouths.

  Rebel’s family had sacrificed themselves to save him. His family were his weakness. And they’d shanked that weakness before Eden could.

  Hell, what did I know about that type of love?

  When the witches suddenly lay still, Rebel let out a sob. He lifted Evie’s lifeless body into his arms, rocking her and stroking her silken curls.

  ‘Two minutes. Witches burning, witches burning, fetch the monster, fetch the monster, fire fire, fire fire!’ Eden sang in a mocking lullaby.

  I sprang down the steps, light-headed and shaking. I seized Rebel’s shoulder. ‘They’re gone, but we’re here and still set to burn. They died to stop you from being sliced by Sir Purity, so how do we escape?’

  Rebel only groaned, nuzzling his face into Evie’s hair. His eyes were glazed: the punk was lost in his own grief.

  Yet we only had two minutes left to escape this crematorium, or just like Rebel’s witch family, who’d sacrificed themselves for their angel son, we’d be corpses in the dust.

  15

  Grief is a devourer. It consumes, until you’re hollow. A husk.

  Unless you let in the darkness, and let out the demons.

  Rebel clutched Evie, as if he was terrified someone would snatch her away from him. He hunched on the dusty concrete floor of the cellar, surrounded by the family who’d killed themselves to save him, stroking Evie’s once ruby lips like he could caress them to life.

  Despite the heat that was cooking us, trapped below ground as above the witches’ house burned, I shivered.

  ‘Bad angels are punished. Bad angels are punished…’ Rebel intoned like a Victorian school kid. His gaze was distant and lost.

  Rebel wasn’t at home anymore; the Big Bad Boss on the other side of the cellar door had murdered him along with his family.

  I shuddered at the agonising howl of Rebel’s grief that clung to me through our bond.

  I snarled, slashing Star through the bottles of wine on the wire rack.


  Smash — the glass shattered, spraying red like a fizzing slit artery, across the cellar.

  The Blood Familiars shrank back against the wall, away from the puddling burgundy and my terrified frustration.

  At last, Rebel’s head snapped up at the crash…and the gush of cold across his cheek.

  ‘Welcome back to the living.’ I wrenched his head by the hair, forcing his dazed gaze to meet mine. ‘Now how do we escape being purified?’

  Rap, rap, rap.

  ‘One minute,’ Eden called through the cellar door. ‘I shall be having words with you both when—’

  ‘Oh, stick it, bro,’ I growled, ‘you’re playing at top boy, but you’re only brave when you have soldiers at your back. I’ve no respect for blokes who don’t have the balls to fight their own battles. How about you take me on?’

  Rebel was up off the floor, shoving me against the wall, before I’d even seen him move. His heart beat wildly, but his gaze was hard.

  Alive.

  Who knew it took being pissed at me to bring him back to himself?

  ‘Not a chance, princess,’ he hissed.

  I shook my head, ‘Not your choice.’

  ‘My my, trouble in…hell.’ There was a pause, as if Eden was considering, and then he sounded almost regretful, ‘It would be fascinating to fight you. But a leader mustn’t indulge themselves. It’s the vainglorious fools, with their outdated weapons and wars, who worship combat. I’m too pure.’

  ‘You mean a coward,’ I hollered.

  Rebel pressed his hand across my mouth.

  I struggled, snapping at his palm with my teeth. My breath came in panicked snorts through my nostrils.

  Rebel just backed me carefully through the crunching glass of the shattered bottles, however, until we’d edged behind the wine rack. Then he pushed down a corner of stone, and a black hole gaped.

  A tunnel.

  I glared at Rebel.

  We’d roasted in this cellar — his family’s coffin — and all along there’d been a tunnel out of here…?

  The Blood Familiars hauled themselves up, trotting to my side.

  Eden sang out, ‘Your protection spell is dying, like the house. Maybe I shan’t feast on the witches, instead we’ll burn them in the flames. Would you like to watch?’

  Rebel shoved me into the tunnel, sealing us in a narrow dark, which was lit only by the twin points of our weapons. At last, he pulled his hand away from my mouth, flinching at the bruised imprints of my teeth.

  I twirled around, wiping my sleeve across my lips. ‘Why?’ I whispered.

  I knew he understood.

  ‘This is why they died,’ Rebel’s gaze was cast down. The light reflected on his tear tracks; they gleamed like violet pearls. ‘This priest hole. The witches have always been after helping the persecuted. They rescued Catholic Priests. Hid them here. But…’ he stumbled, unable to name his family; his grief had swallowed them. ‘They couldn’t run fast enough. Nor fight like us. The vampires would have their scent; they’re hunters, the same as us. Except, they hunt humans.’

  ‘Your family sacrificed themselves because they knew you’d never leave them behind?’

  ‘I don’t deserve it,’ he muttered.

  ‘Bastards don’t get what they deserve.’ I grabbed his arm, hauling him after me down the stone tunnel.

  When black mud tumbled from above, I was smothered in the earthy underground stench. I shook my head, frantically patting at my hair to dislodge the mud. Next to me, Rebel trembled.

  Burnt or buried alive?

  This wasn’t a day for good choices.

  The Blood Familiars dashed between my feet, tripping me. One glance at Spark’s anxious green eyes, however, and I forced myself to smile.

  Spark’s ears perked, and he barked softly.

  I listened, expecting to hear echoed footsteps behind us, but there was nothing but a smothering silence.

  Then my nose smashed into solid stone.

  Groaning, I stepped back, stretching out my fingers to test the uneven wall.

  We’d reached the end of the tunnel.

  Hell, there had to be some way out. After everything, please…

  I scrabbled against the stone, ripping my fingernails. Then Rebel’s hands were over mine, stilling them, before he shunted his shoulder against the tunnel’s ceiling.

  A hidden trapdoor. And it was stuck.

  I giggled: high and hysterical. Bastards don’t get what they deserve…

  Snap your losing it The Shining style ass out it and help your weeping angel lift the trapdoor.

  I need you, J. Please… I’m asking.

  Why didn’t you say?

  I sighed, as the familiar violet power swirled. I rolled my neck, like I was psyching up to enter a boxing ring. Then I shoved upwards next to Rebel.

  The trapdoor burst open in a shower of dirt and twigs.

  Rebel pulled himself out first, before offering me his hand.

  I stared up, through the square opening, at the sharp stars in the night-time sky and the speared tops of trees.

  And Rebel’s hand, held out to pull me to safety. I took it, allowing him to haul me into the glade. It was the same one in which we’d trained to the punk blast of the Sex Pistols: I recognised the oaks charred by our flames.

  I took deep breaths of the crisp night air. Smoke stung my nostrils, as if someone was having a bonfire.

  Then I remembered.

  Rebel leant back into the tunnel, lifting out the squirming Blood Familiars, whilst I turned to look back at the House of Rose, Wolf, and Fox, through the thin winter trees.

  At the bonfire of Rebel’s life.

  A dull, smouldering light, like the embers of a ciggie, glowed from the blackened, tumbled shell of the mansion.

  Only one section, in the middle, didn’t burn. The iron cellar, where the protection spell must still be holding out and creating a barrier around it.

  Dark shapes swarmed over the middle section, infesting their fallen enemy.

  Suddenly, I sensed Rebel at my shoulder. His gaze was blank, however, as he watched. Yet neither of us looked away.

  Until two vampires prowled into the glade.

  They wore pinstripe suits and fancy bow ties. They could’ve been bankers. Except for the claws and the fangs.

  No one spoke a word.

  The dance was brutal and short.

  Blaze and Spark launched themselves at grey pinstripe with the pink bow tie, knocking him onto his back, and then savaging his wrists. The vampire tried to scream, but I stabbed Star through his vocal chords.

  Bright light exploded from Star, an imploding sun, bursting out into points, until the vampire’s head fried.

  A quick kill.

  See, bastards don’t get what they deserve.

  I lurched over to where Rebel had golfing cufflinks and polka dot bow tie pinned to the hard ground. Rebel stabbed Eclipse in and out of the vampire like he was a voodoo doll.

  The vampire’s eyes were closed; he groaned on each thrust.

  Rebel shook: in and out, in and out…

  I didn’t know if Rebel would hear me, but I said quietly, ‘Kill him.’

  Rebel jerked, his gaze focusing. He stumbled back, swallowing convulsively. He gave a shaky nod. Then he slashed Eclipse across the bastard’s throat, before he turned to me, horrified. ‘I’m not the same as them. I’m not…’

  ‘We’re all monsters. Just call it by different names.’

  He was dazed; grief had devoured him.

  I hauled him up. ‘It’s time you follow me for a change.’

  He nodded, blinking.

  I realised then that it was Christmas morning.

  On the air was smoke and blood, and like I’d promised, I’d left behind nothing but death.

  Yeah, we were all monsters.

  I stuck out my tongue to catch the snow lizard-like.

  The snowflake melted to nothing. I stole its life.

  Soft sun, suffused through the snow cloud, stai
ned the sky.

  Rebel shielded his eyes against the light, moaning at the throbbing between his temples.

  Christmas day was born, as we staggered into Hackney Cemetery.

  We’d clambered up the locked Egyptian gates, which had been flanked by plinths carved with hieroglyphics, like we’d been seeking refuge in the Underworld.

  The Blood Familiars had slunk between the wrought iron bars. Their ears had been pressed to their heads, and they’d nudged each other forlornly, limping. I’d only then realised their paws must’ve been burnt by the heat in the cellar.

  I didn’t know why I’d dragged us here.

  Yeah, I did.

  Abney Park Cemetery, Hackney, was where, clutching nothing but a violet feather, I’d been found as a baby.

  Foundling. Orphan. Outcast.

  I’d always hoped someone would come to claim me. But now I’d witnessed the somethings that carved their way bloody through the world…?

  I was better off on my own.

  Rebel groaned, sinking down behind a stone monument of a majestic lion, which roared like Aslan risen from the dead. Rebel rested his head in its shadow, away from the dawn light.

  The punk had a migraine: I’d suffered their kiss enough to know. Yet I’d never seen him shudder with one before. He curled up on himself, amongst a bed of green wood spurge, as if he could disappear. His shoulders were shaking, although he didn’t make a sound.

  I reckoned he was sobbing.

  The soft granite gravestones, eaten away by lichen, tumbled amongst the dense woodland, feasting itself on human death.

  Here was Sleeping Beauty’s kingdom.

  I dodged around the trunk of a pale grey hornbeam, before the fox brothers settled at its base. Then I ran my fingers over the sparkling white marble of a memorial gravestone. It was carved with a powerful but sorrowful angel; I’d visited it every weekend when I was a kid.