Joshua shook his head. “So the rest of us are expendable?”
Stephen smiled. “I didn’t say that. I thought it but I didn’t say it.”
Zacharia sat on his sturdy antique chair with the red velvet seat, and it looked as if he was sitting on a thrown. His sword of choice was a magnificent weapon adorned with dragons and bats that had been forged specifically for him. It’s sleek and slender blade appeared to be right out of a fantasy or science fiction movie, but it was no prop as it had removed over a dozen vampire heads. Although he looked to be in his sixties in comparison to humans, he appeared formidable. He exuded strength and skill, and his partially gray hair didn’t take away from it. Zacharia looked like an ancient king that would have no trouble battling one of his own knights, and not the ones in shiny armour, but those in battle tested armour covered with dents and spotted with the blood of numerous victories.
Many people believed that biters had no souls, but on his knees his lilac point Siamese rested, having been animated by a piece of Zacharia’s own soul, as he hadn’t had the heart to simply let it perish of natural causes. The beautiful feline had the attitude and demeanor of a lion, which made for quite an impressive watch cat, beside the fact that it had the experience of living to be over a hundred. The cat purred and used his leg as a scratching post but then halted as it listened intently.
“You can hear them out there can’t you? Diamond, we’re going to have company.”
The cat glanced toward the open window as its ears adjusted.
Zacharia had purchased the entire top floor of the building, and had it decorated in early French style gothic. One could accomplish just about anything with sufficient wealth. It looked like the interior of a castle with solid stone architecture. Two 15 century halberds crossed one another high up on the stone wall, with the one on the left having been used to decapitate a rogue vampire that had tracked him down, four years ago to the day. Swords and shields were the main theme, with various styles hanging from the walls. A large painting of England’s Castle Rising was featured prominently over the fireplace, with its intricate donjon; he recalled spending time there almost a thousand years in the past. The fireplace was constructed with huge stones, similar to one he had observed in an Irish castle.
Five bats flew into the open window past the heavy red curtains, and quickly morphed into their preferred forms. They were immediately impressed by their surroundings, though they weren’t going to inform Zacharia of that fact. He looked up at them from his chair and wasn’t amused. His eyes narrowed slightly showing his displeasure. The Siamese was also not amused at its interrupted nap time and its muscles tensed in anticipation.
“I requested an audience with you Lord Zacharia, you refused.”
Zacharia studied the auras of the five and knew that he could kill any one of them in battle, but collectively he wasn’t so sure. He was also unsure of how their individual talents would mesh in a fight. “I refused your request and you’re sufficiently stupid to invade my dwelling?”
Stephen was neither enthralled nor overwhelmed by the ancient vampire. He studied his demeanor but didn’t know what to make of him. However, tales of his exploits throughout the centuries were quite impressive. “A few questions and we’ll be on our way.”
“We seek the location of the dagger of Hithroma,” said Matt.
Zacharia’s deep voice laughed and echoed off the walls as it would in a genuine castle, and each echo was as a slap in the face. “You seek a mythical weapon? Would you also have me bring you the goose that laid the golden eggs? It could be profitable with the price of gold these days.” And again he laughed while staring at Stephen.
Joshua looked puzzled. “It’s not real?”
Stephen attempted to make the Siamese jump out the window to its death but it refused to do so, and the cat sent an image into his mind the equivalent of a curse word, someone’s hairy ass. “I don’t believe it. The cat refused my command? How is that possible? And it insulted me.”
“Not a good sign,” said Noah.
Stephen turned away from Zacharia to think, but almost immediately turned back to face him. “They all say it’s not real because they themselves want to locate it. When I plunge it into Dracula’s chest it will turn him human as I usurp all his strength and become the new king. We know it’s buried in an old grave somewhere in England, and we know you know where.”
And again Zacharia laughed and shook his head. “It’s buried in your ass, why don’t you get your friends to dig for it?”
Matt chuckled but then quickly regained control.
The room went silent, and all muscles tensed. The cat stood up on Zacharia’s knee and hissed, ready for battle. Stephen glanced at Luke to his left as their blue eyes met, and then at Matt on his right. Zacharia slowly placed his hand on his sword and showed them all a smile that unnerved them. The uncertainty of death hung in the air. Zacharia was fully aware that he probably wouldn’t survive the battle but he was okay with that fact. He was confident that he would take some of them with him.
“I can smell it.”
“Smell what?” Luke asked.
“That horse tranquilizer that you’ve brought it an attempt to curtail my velocity.”
Luke pulled out the large syringe filled with brown murky liquid. It was his turn to smile. “Just give us its location and you live.”
“The morons want the location of a fictional object,” he said to Moon Diamond. “It’s over there, no I mean over there, no it’s right here.” He pretended to hold up an invisible object. “I should place it for sale on eBay.
“Kill him!” Stephen commanded.
Zacharia grabbed his sword as he blurred into Luke with the forced sending him flying backward into the rock wall, the syringe smashing into several pieces against it. The cat jumped into Stephen’s face and tore chunks of flesh out of it, then sank its claws into his right eye; he screamed in pain as he grabbed the animal and smashed it against the wall so hard that a piece of it dislodged and fell to the floor. The cat meowed but appeared unbowed. Stephen’s injuries healed rapidly but it hurt like the fires of hell.
With swords unsheathed, the battle commenced with a fury. Sparks flew as blades made contact. Zacharia swung his sword at Luke’s neck and he barely managed to duck in time as a tuft of hair from the top of his head fell to the stone floor. Matt swung his samurai sword with all his considerable might just as the Siamese launched and dug into his back, giving the arc of the swing enough error to enable Zacharia to avoid decapitation. The cat was turning out to be considerable trouble as it bit painfully into his back.
“Die you bastard!” Joshua screamed out in fury, but then took a magnificent slice from Zacharia which opened his chest and spewed blood all over Joshua. The pain of healing and bones reattaching made him take several steps back.
Stephen, Luke and Noah attacked simultaneously. Stephen was kicked up and into the wall with such fury that it caved in the back of his head and the pain was excruciating as the plates reformed in his skull. He grabbed a halberd as he discarded his sword, believing that the extra reach would give him the advantage. Matt was distracted with the scene and Zacharia seized his opportunity, cutting his head off and he turned to dust. His skeleton fell to the floor with not a bit of meat on it; the cat bounced off it preparing for the next victim.
“Matt! NO!” shouted Joshua. They had had a turbulent relationship but had also planned on taking a trip together to Europe when it was all over.
Everyone paused to stare at the skeleton, a brief but palpable moment of reflection. Time seemed to change as they stared at the lifelessness of it. Only seconds earlier he had been so dynamic and now they would never see his face again. Luke’s dark brown eyes blinked rapidly in anticipation. Stephen blurred and drove the halberd into Zacharia’s chest and pushed him against the wall, and then Joshua and Noah joined him for added leverage, and he was unable to move. The cat attached itself to the back of Noah’s neck and commenced to dig in, but Luke gr
abbed it by the back of its neck and held it.
“Last chance.” Stephen slowly nodded.
“Maggots.”
Stephen appreciated the moment; he released his grip as he took Noah’s sword and Zacharia was decapitated. They all noticed a brief but bright light that lit up the room, though no one knew what the hell it was. His skeleton was permitted to fall to the floor where Stephen stomped and broke several of its rib bones. Joshua took the skull and kicked it out the window like a football. Luke tossed the cat out into the night’s damp atmosphere.
CHAPTER TEN
VINCENT HAD TRACKED the two killers to a small bar on the outskirts of New York, but because of the heavy rain he had lost their trail for several hours. A scent trail wasn’t easy to pursue in rain as the water washed away the distinct odor, displacing it until it was no longer viable. A brief pause in the weather had enabled him to hear horrified screams which brought him to the general area where he could once again pick up the trail. There was a full moon up there somewhere, but the cloud cover kept it from view. The sound of the rain was almost deafening to his sensitive ears, he may as well have been standing near the thunderous roar of a waterfalls.
His gut suddenly told him that the darkness was about to cough up something nasty.
Vincent blurred up to the entrance of the bar; he stopped so abruptly that a sheet of rain left him and splattered the large window with the translucent brown curtains. The neon sign WESTERN WHISKY helped to light up the entrance, giving it a colorful ambiance. Had there been no rain there would have been tracks in blood leading away from it. He could taste the blood even through the precipitation. His stomach sank as did his mood at the thought of what awaited him inside. More nights were turning to blood than he cared to count.
“Oh, no, not tonight.”
The sheriff was a big man at just under six and a half feet tall, with rugged good looks. He wore the classic trench coat with a black Stetson leather hat. He holstered a moderately curved Katana sword and an 1878 Colt revolver. Vincent had eliminated seventeen vampires with the gun over the years with a bullet to the heart’s center, not an easy shot. The gun gave him almost as much comfort as a friend. It was often a lonely and demanding occupation. He attempted to prepare himself for what he was about to see but that never worked.
He really didn’t want to go in there although he knew it was a part of the job, the worst part.
Vincent opened the door and stepped into the carnage that awaited him. The stink of blood smashed him in the face. Eleven human bodies were strewn about, with the two bar tenders dripping blood from the surface of the bar onto the hardwood oak surface. One had his throat ripped out with his blood dripping into an upside down pretzel bowl on the floor. In a booth against the center left wall, three girlfriends were placed on top of one another; they had been almost completely drained of their blood. They looked so pale and lifeless that it made the sheriff want to cry. Only the girls had been drained completely, most of the others had their necks broken and had been tasted as in some restaurant sampler special.
It was an old western themed bar with bull horns on two walls and old fashioned but comfortably cushioned booths. The booths were engraved with lassos and western guns. Several paintings of old western towns adorned the walls. Abilene and Dodge City in Kansas were featured prominently. A mechanical horse surrounded by pads on the floor to ensure a soft landing was situated in the right corner. A colorful jukebox was silent.
In less than twenty minutes the place was surrounded by cops and several detectives. Some showed the sheriff the respect he deserved but others would rather spit on him given the opportunity. Still other law enforcement officers were both impressed and fearful of the vampire sheriff. The sky continued to show emotion with its now moderate rain. The crime scene turned out to be one of five that night.
Several hours later the place had been partially dusted and the photos taken. The recording devices for the two cameras had been smashed beyond functionality. Vincent knew who the guilty parties were and felt responsible about not being able to stop them, if it hadn’t been for that damn rain. The thought that they could perhaps elude him for months, especially if they departed the area, made his stomach churn.
Sargent Pratt was almost sixty and the years hadn’t been kind to him. He approached Vincent who was sitting on one of the patrol car bumpers. “Sheriff, we’ll keep an eye out for these two.”
“I’ll get them. Sargent, you wouldn’t know how to contact Dracula?”
A look of surprise showed on the Sargent’s face. “I assumed that all vampires would know his location. You know, that you could sense him or whatever.”
Vincent removed his hat, ran his hand through his hair and then put it back on with a bit of an adjustment. “You need to start asking everyone you know of his location. It’s imperative Sargent. Something nasty is coming that will make this massacre look like a minor event.”
“Sheriff, I can’t sleep as it is. Why the hell do you have to tell me shit like that?”
Vincent was one of the famous six red sheriffs. His fame came when the filming of a television commercial was interrupted by five miscreant vampires. They were in the process of killing when he showed up and killed all five. He had already been a legend to his fellow vampires, but when that event was shown on the news he had become famous to most. He didn’t care one damn iota about fame; he cared about justice for all.
The sheriff blurred off into the night as it started to pour.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PIERS ANTHONY AND DRACULA entered the bar on Main Street in Moncton and went around the corner and out of view of the dozen or so patrons. They entered through a secret door in the back wall where a photo from a Toronto and Montreal hockey game hung. A C5 stick-shift knob from a Corvette opened the wall to reveal the clandestine room. The room had a red carpeted floor surrounded by an ink black wall adorned by large paintings of gambling scenes. Most of the scenes were poker although there was one roulette wheel, with most of them being a look into Las Vegas, but one was from Casino New Brunswick, with a Blackjack game in progress.
Ginger tea permeated the air, as two identical twin brothers from Africa were both enjoying similar beverages from behind different tables. One had downed half his cup in one drink, with a trickle of it running down his chin. Dracula could detect the scent of brown sugar in the oversized white cups. It was amusing how their eyes dashed back and forth, checking out the poker faces, while simultaneously attempting to distract. The two individuals were relatively new to poker but had lots of cash and didn’t seem averse to losing some of it. They were also watched closely for any signs of possible cheating, although they were both down more than ten thousand dollars. But a single properly timed hand could change their luck.
It was an atmosphere of relative quiet as big money was at risk. One evening during the past week a Welsh businessman lost exactly one million dollars in the room; he flew home the next day and promptly shot his wife. It was strictly a game of cash, although one night a bar of solid gold was permitted entry onto one of the three eight-player round Honduran mahogany poker tables. Its leather black cushioned armrest was a welcome addition, and the plush green velvet-like center was a feature in many dreams and nightmares as well. Black top of the line pokers chairs with mahogany varnish surrounded the table.
At just over four feet tall, a dwarf that called himself John Smith had the habit of constantly whispering to himself, and initially was the subject of some consternation, but the rich little person lost a lot more than he won and so the muttering had become well tolerated. He once left several comely waitresses a five thousand dollar tip each on a night that he had won a large amount. He now dated the sexiest one but she was now not permitted to work on a night that he played. New players to the game were now told that they could depart if they couldn’t accept the muttering.
Inside the room three separate games of poker were evolving, with mostly well-to-do gamblers, and several appeared to be the s
eedy variety, dressed to show their robustness and their willingness to inflict pain on just about anyone that crossed their path. One guy with tattooed arms and greasy black hair would look at home on a Harley, and he stared sneeringly, a variation of his many poker faces to throw off the hounds. He only occasionally drove a bike, but he did own several dealerships. Like an actor he showed so many different facades that no one could tell what the hell he was thinking; he actually made himself laugh on occasion which confused even more. He noticed that people tended to fold when he laughed, but it wasn’t easy to feign genuine mirth.
“Are you going to take all damn night to play a card?” Buford’s smile was disingenuous and his breath reeked of alcohol and rum and butter candy sticks; he was down twenty-seven thousand. The more he lost the further his soul toppled into the debts of despair. He was going to lose his house if he didn’t win big on this night.
An RCMP off-duty police officer was risking his career by gambling at the middle table, and he had been a dirty cop in more ways than this, but it did take months for him to be allowed into the joint. Only when the owner had obtained photos of him with ladies of the evening was he permitted admission. The place had actually been moved from across the street at considerable expense as the owner had believed it was in danger from the officer. The owner had come to believe that he was an okay guy if he overlooked his profession.
Behind the bar were two bodybuilder types, both with their muscular arms crossed. They were like human bookends with their sets of blue eyes observing everything. Dracula immediately noticed upon entering that there were no biters present. He was also instantly aware of the almost basketball player tall owner Fred Young, black short hair with brown beady eyes, who was in the process of bumping up against one of the girls. He was a former boxer with cauliflower ears and a bent nose, and he was not as good looking as he believed. Fred was a notorious bully and womanizer, and felt that he was above the law in forcing himself upon his employees whenever the opportunity arose. The pay was excellent and the tips were great, which allowed him to get away with his nasty business. Dracula could sense the twisted soul of the proprietor and the woman’s distress and it annoyed him.
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