LANCELOT

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “Yeah. For a moment, Santo knew I was the real deal.”

  “I’m going to…” Devon began, and Lancelot moved.

  Devon barely wavered, before Lancelot pulled away to the side. The huge vampire had only time to glance down and see that he had been gutted – sliced from belly to rib cage. Stumbling away toward the kitchen, clutching his burning entrails, the vampire howled in pain, unable to heal. Lancelot followed. He darted in, driving the silver knife through Devon’s back, slicing through his heart with one powerful stroke. He then picked up Devon’s now empty sweatshirt and wiped the dust from his hands and knife.

  “You are a very bad man, Lancelot.” Serge laughed with delight, clapping his friend on the back. “I didn’t see the knife until you were already carving. Nice.”

  Lancelot handed the knife to Serge, handle first. “I’ve had this with me for many centuries. The first of your kind I encountered didn’t like me any more than did Devon, here. He was right. I nearly died in those battles. I found out through trial and error that your kind dies without a head, or if they’re pierced with silver or wood.”

  “Don’t forget fire. You’ve been holding out on me. Why did you never mention it before?”

  “I knew our alliance was tenuous, and we needed you and your comrades. What good could come of my bragging about dusting vampires?”

  “Good point,” Serge conceded, handling the knife without touching the blade. He handed it back. “I see you never let us know how quick you really were, either. Did… ah…oh, hello my Lady Vivian-”

  “Merlin and Arthur are fine,” Vivian’s voice from the stairwell stated, surprised that the vampire knew she was there. “Merlin had a protective spell around the building.”

  “I figured he’d take no chances,” Lancelot replied. “Does he need us?”

  “No, he says they’ll be fine. If I hadn’t been otherwise occupied last night, I would have woven a similar spell here. It doesn’t work on humans, so I figured it was a waste of time.”

  “Interesting that Merlin didn’t think it was a waste of time,” Lancelot mused. “Just old habits, I expect.”

  “He said to dust your buddy here,” Vivian informed him, grinning at Lancelot’s facial reaction. “I told him it wasn’t going to happen. Come to bed. Serge can sleep in the cellar.”

  “We’ll go over and get his coffin. He needs it. You do know where it is, don’t you, buddy?”

  “It’s in a warehouse near the Oakland Airport. They unloaded Devon, Santo, and me inside a darkened room at the very back. They had other vans inside the warehouse, along with rows of crates. I saw twelve other coffins in the room with mine. By the time they uncrated me, Devon and Santo were outside in the van waiting for me. Two humans walked me out through the warehouse to the van. I didn’t see anyone else while I was in there.”

  “Any chance of simply loading it up and leaving?” Lancelot asked.

  “Slim or none,” Serge said, grinning. “At least we came over in a van they’ll recognize. “I’ll get out, go inside, make sure my coffin is still in place, and tell whoever’s in there that you dusted my companions. It seems that they’ll probably be happy, since they failed to get your friends. You can skulk around outside until it’s safe for you to come in.”

  “I don’t skulk well.”

  “I heard the part about vampires being able to kill you,” Vivian added. “I’m going back to bed in the safe-room. Don’t get killed, Monte.”

  Vivian climbed the steps, and Serge smiled at Lancelot, his eyebrows lifted questioningly.

  “Monte? As in Monte Python and the Holy Grail?”

  “Don’t start, or you’ll end up like your two friends,” Lancelot warned. “I like your plan. Can you come back outside and tell me how many are guarding the place?”

  “I think that would be best, don’t you?”

  “You weren’t this sarcastic back in Vienna,” Lancelot remarked, walking over to the entryway closet through the debris from his front door.

  “You weren’t such an easy target back then.”

  Laughing, Lancelot donned his black windbreaker. He retrieved the front door, and carried it over to the entryway.

  “Well, don’t make me hold the door for you, Prince Charming,” Lancelot said. “Go on through, and I’ll put what’s left of my door back in place.”

  “Wait a second. Devon had the keys.” Serge hurried over to Devon’s ashes. Gingerly, he reached into the pocket of the sweat-pants and extracted the keys to the vehicle.

  “What kind of van did you guys drive over in?” Lancelot asked as Serge jogged through the doorway and Lancelot backed out in his wake, after leaning the wrecked door in place.

  “One of those SUV things.” Serge pointed at a black Cadillac Escalade parked in front. “Hey, don’t look at me like that, Monte. I’m a vampire, not a used-car salesman.”

  “Call me Monte one more time and you won’t need a coffin. We’ll be able to put you to rest in an urn. You want me to drive? I actually have a license, in case we’re stopped.”

  “Good point,” Serge replied, handing over the keys.

  “So, what’s up with you and the Lady of the Lake?” Serge asked, after Lancelot entered Serge’s directions into the GPS system, and began driving towards their destination.

  “We don’t know yet. This whole thing with Arthur, Merlin, and Vivian just came together yesterday,” Lancelot explained. “We’re assimilating. What about this imported assassin business?”

  “We’re having rough times in the old country, my friend. The cycle comes once again with a vengeance. This new fanatical craze makes me long for the Ottoman Turk horde. I had this sweet little place near Krakow. I’d accumulated enough wealth in Swiss accounts to keep me solvent indefinitely, and found a way to maintain a low profile. Guess what I had going.”

  “Blood work?”

  Serge’s face reflected his disappointment. “How do you intuitively know these things?”

  “It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out how a vampire can keep a low profile,” Lancelot replied. “Hell, the novelists make you blood-suckers into heroes now, and all of you either work in blood banks or have a source that does. Don’t you watch any TV?”

  “I have noticed the new craze. We roam around sucking blood when we want, and defiling all the women,” Serge answered. “Do you know where I can get a job like that? In reality, I run a small private enterprise where we do blood analysis and research. Unfortunately, I went on vacation in Paris. Naturally, I picked the very moment when the so-called Muslim youths decided to burn down the city. You know how much I like fire. Before I could get the hell out of there, I had a slight altercation in the streets one night.”

  “Meaning some misguided Muslim youths found out that there are consequences for their actions, once in a while?”

  “Yeah, but unfortunately, some others witnessed my little confrontation.”

  “Devon and Santo?”

  “They decided that I should join them, and…well…you saw how persuasive Devon could be. Some of us don’t have your talents. Once they knew where I came from, my options were limited, not to mention that Devon convinced me that my immediate survival was at stake. He was very convincing. I might have been able to take Santo; but Devon was another story. You don’t seem very curious about having vampires sent out to kill you.”

  “I figured you’d tell me what’s going on, all in good time. It isn’t a mystery why my joining with Merlin, Vivian, and Arthur has triggered something extraordinary. Merlin will probably be able to figure out what’s happening. Do you have any names behind this?”

  Serge shrugged. “You dusted the only names I had. I have some other bad news for you, buddy. Vampires aren’t the only things they have to throw at you.”

  “Any idea what?”

  “I heard Santo mention shape-shifters, for sure.”

  “Werewolves? Man, I haven’t run across one of those since just before I hooked up with you. I’m beginning to think all
this is related. When the Ottoman Turks were sweeping across Europe, and I was on my way to join up to fight against them, I had a year where everything tried to kill me. Nowadays, we have another Muslim attempt at taking control of the world, and the monsters all come calling again.”

  “Monsters…I think I resent that,” Serge objected. “You may be on to something. It’s really coming to a head in Europe. Any idea why the leaders of all these countries keep letting these Islamo fanatics across the border in the first place? They aren’t exactly a forgiving bunch. They’re like the Alice-in-Wonderland movie, with the queen running around shouting ‘off with their heads’.”

  “I don’t have a clue,” Lancelot replied, chuckling at the movie reference. “We’re about a block away. If you’re driving, is it a warehouse you can drive into?”

  “Pull over and get in the back. You’re right. There’s a big double-door entrance. I’ll get them to open it, and drive you right inside. I’ll hide, and you can kill all the monsters.”

  “Very funny, but since you don’t know if there’s an army in there or just a couple of guys, we’ll stick with Plan A, where I lay low in the back until you recon the warehouse.”

  “They aren’t going to let me just walk inside, pick up my coffin, and drive away with their van.”

  “I’m not the one who needs a coffin, pal,” Lancelot reminded him, climbing between the seats and into the back of the Escalade. “You have to do some of the work.”

  “What if there’s an army in there?”

  “Plan B,” Lancelot replied from where he sat between the seats, as Serge slipped behind the steering wheel.

  “And what is Plan B?” Serge asked as he drove away from the curb.

  “I wait until they dust you, and then sneak away in the Cad.”

  “I love Plan A, Monte. Let’s make it work.”

  Serge turned into the drive leading to the warehouse, and pulled up in front of a large roll-up metal door. He beeped the horn, and minutes later, a small side door opened. A security guard approached Serge’s window, his hand on the gun-butt at his side. The guard relaxed when he saw Serge’s face.

  “How did it go?” the guard asked.

  “Not too well,” Serge answered, “but I should give my report to someone in charge, shouldn’t I?”

  “You report to me. I send it up.”

  “I lost Santo and Devon,” Serge acquiesced. “We completed the mission, though.”

  “Benwick killed two vampires, including that giant?” the guard asked in disbelief.

  “Benwick had skills. Can I pull the Cad in, or should I leave it outside?”

  “Bring it in and park in the back,” the guard directed, walking away. “I’ll open up for you as soon as I make my report.”

  “Maybe we lucked out, Monte, and they just have one guard,” Serge remarked, leaning back. “Are you getting a cramp back there, or are you good to go?”

  “I’ll live,” Lancelot answered, shifting slightly for comfort in the back of the Escalade. “Lock the van, and take the keys when you get out. Remember, the Cad has remote lock, so-”

  “We have cars in the old country, Monte.” Serge cut him off with a wave of his hand.

  The door began rolling up, and Serge restarted the Escalade’s engine. He smiled as the door opened all the way, and only the guard was in sight.

  “I only see the guard, my friend. If you hear the locks pop up remotely, come out ready to rock. If I come to get you myself, I’ll unlock the door manually.”

  “I live to serve,” Lancelot replied, smiling as he heard Serge’s disgusted snort.

  Serge drove inside slowly, following the guard’s direction. The guard guided him to a spot outside the room where, Serge remembered, they had put his coffin. Serge shut off the engine, and exited the Escalade. Using the remote, he locked the doors without setting the alarm.

  “I think you can retire for the night,” the guard said, opening the door to the room that Serge thought housed his coffin.

  Five figures streaked through the doorway past the guard, and formed a semicircle around Serge. They changed, shape-shifting hideously into two werewolves, a leopard, and two cougars. Serge retreated, his face transformed to gape-mouthed, fanged horror as he worked the unlock remote on the Escalade’s doors. A split second later, Lancelot stood at his side, silver knife in hand. Lancelot gestured angrily at the leopard and cougars stalking them.

  “I thought you said it was just werewolves.”

  “I said shape-shifters,” a red-eyed Serge corrected him. “You decided on werewolves.”

  The leopard charged Lancelot, leaping straight for his throat. As blindingly fast as the leopard’s charge was, Lancelot moved faster. Ducking to the left and down, he eviscerated the leopard as it flew by him. Its scream of agony nearly deafened him. Blood sprayed everywhere, as the leopard shape shifted uncontrollably back into a human woman. Lancelot slit her throat, and moved closer to Serge. Serge shot across the gap between him and the human guard. He plunged his clawed hand through the guard’s rib cage with one powerful thrust. Serge yanked the still-beating heart from the man’s chest. His victim mouthed silent screams as he collapsed. The vampire stood next to Lancelot in the next instant, his mouth grotesquely sucking the blood from the heart in his hand. Throwing the drained heart aside, Serge gestured at the four remaining shape-shifters.

  “Who’s next?”

  In seconds, with their numbers cut by a third, the remaining shape-shifters gauged their chances, eyeing each other and their supposed prey. One of the werewolves spoke, its voice a guttural rasp not meant for the spoken word.

  “We can deal,” it offered.

  “We’re not going to just let you walk out of here, wolfy,” Lancelot said, and before the sentence ended, his knife was buried to the hilt in the werewolf’s heart.

  Ripping the knife clear, Lancelot spun away from the dying werewolf and rammed into its companion. Having witnessed what happened to the leopard, the surviving werewolf darted to the side, snapping back at the attacking Lancelot in a quick lunge. The werewolf felt a sharp burning at its neck. Lancelot had slit its throat in the split second during which the werewolf had exposed itself. As the werewolf pirouetted away from Lancelot, gushing blood and gagging, Lancelot leapt in with deadly effect. The silver-bladed knife again sliced through a werewolf’s heart.

  Both cougars charged Lancelot while he pulled free of the second werewolf. Serge caught one in midair, clamping it to him powerfully while sinking his fangs into its neck. Lancelot abandoned the knife, as the cougar’s claws raked across his shoulder and arm. With one hand, he caught the cougar’s throat with its fangs inches from his face. Using his other hand at the cougar’s belly, Lancelot threw the animal headlong into the wall behind them. The cougar’s neck snapped, and it slid down the wall twitching limply, its face a shattered mask of blood and bone. Lancelot quickly pulled his knife free of the now-human form of a man.

  Turning to Serge and the last shape-shifter, Lancelot saw the cougar pawing helplessly as Serge ravaged its neck. Lancelot hurried over to the already healing shape-shifter against the wall, and slit its throat, cutting off the horrific mewling sounds it was making. When it changed into the human form of a blonde-haired woman, and lay still, its eyes staring sightlessly, Lancelot dragged the corpse over to where the two werewolves lay dead.

  Serge ripped the heart from the cougar he had drained of blood, and tossed its now male human corpse across the other bodies. He inspected Lancelot’s wounds as his companion added the former leopard to their pile of bodies.

  “You let that slug rip you?” Serge made disparaging sounds as he shook his head in mock disappointment.

  Instantly, the silver blade was at Serge’s neck.

  “What was that again, Fang?” Lancelot whispered in Serge’s ear.

  “Uh…nice moves…buddy. Man, you…you were fast.”

  Lancelot chuckled appreciatively, releasing Serge and turning slightly. “How are the wounds? Whenever
I get magical monster wounds, my healing factor slows.”

  Pulling away the shredded windbreaker and shirt, Serge rubbed the wounds a little with his hand. When Lancelot turned, the vampire was licking his hand.

  “You are such a ghoul.”

  “Hummm, hummm, good,” Serge replied. “They’re closing, but you’ve lost some blood. Your shirt and the back of your pants are soaked, so you can bet you have some DNA mixed in around here. If they CSI this warehouse, they’ll come for you.”

  “Let’s get your coffin loaded up, and then we’ll drive one of those other panel trucks back here from the front. It’s a cold night – just the time for a bonfire.”

  “Can I wait outside with the Cad and my coffin? You know I have a fire phobia.”