“But...that’s...”
“Impossible?” Dave was grinning now. “Impossible’s what we do.”
“If you’re done coinin’ phrases, Dave,” the big man, Bill, said, “we oughta be gettin’ a move on. This part of the jungle’s vamp territory, clear and proper. We ain’t even s’posed to be here.”
Dave grimaced, but Ian could see that he agreed with Bill. He took a swig from his own canteen, then handed it to Ian, and followed Bill into the jungle. This time neither of them looked back. They trusted Ian to keep up.
“You know,” Dave said, “I’d argue we can be here. Dr. Twine called for help. Table personnel picked up his transmission. That’s a human requesting help against vampires. If that’s not our business, I don’t know what is.”
Bill shook his head and swatted at a giant mosquito. “The vamps ain’t gonna see it that way, kid, and you know it. This is their territory, whether you like it or not.”
“What should we have done, Bill? Let them kill him?”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Ian said. His voice sounded meek, even to his own ears.
Bill snorted and said nothing. “We’ll be at the river soon, and we can call the ship and be outta here before—”
A howl split the air, and Ian was surprised that he recognized this one: the hunting cry of a Brazilian Mastiff.
Bill cursed. “They got our scent. Run!” He set the example, crashing into the bush like a deer disappearing down a trail.
Dave moved to follow him, but Ian hesitated. The young man looked over his shoulder. “What’s up, Doc?”
“I just...I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Look,” Dave said, “I know you’re scared and confused, but right now, if you want to live, you need to run!” And then he was gone, leaving Ian alone with the sounds of a rapidly approaching hunting dog.
Ian ran, faster than he could remember running in his life. He slapped low-hanging branches out of the way, ignoring stinging cuts as huge predatory flies bit his arms and neck. He leaped over rocks and logs and streams, dodged roots and snakes. The jungle turned into a blur, a whirling tornado of greens and browns, accompanied by the perilous sounds of barking dogs. Three dogs, he thought, accompanied by at least four human voices shouting in English.
He was running for his kids, he reminded himself. For Ian Junior, Tommy, Miranda, and Ellie. He repeated their names to himself as he ran. Ian Junior, Tommy, Miranda, Ellie. Ian Junior, Tommy, Miranda, Ellie. With each repetition of this mantra, he felt himself getting stronger, saw the jungle moving by faster. His arms spread triumphantly, he burst out of the forest into a small clearing.
Panting, for a moment, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. But then his brain caught up and he felt his heart sink.
Dave and Bill were on their knees in the mud, facing a line of tanned men with tattered clothes and machine guns. One of them pointed his rifle at Ian and said, “Get over there and kneel. Hands over your head.”
Behind Ian four men burst out of the tree line. All of them were frightfully skinny and dressed in threadbare rags. One of them held a long-barreled hunting rifle. The other three held leases. On the other end of each leash was a beast that looked something like a bloodhound. The dogs were each about two feet tall and heavy with muscle. Their mouths hung open, revealing needle-sharp teeth. Thick, clear liquid dripped from their jaws. Like the vampires that had killed Michelle, each of their eyes were solidly, completely black. One of them strained against its lead, barking and snapping.
The man with the rifle spoke to the others. “Did you see their swords? These are knights of the Round Table.”
“Here? The Round Table is not allowed in this jungle.”
Bill arched an eyebrow at Dave. The younger man frowned and shook his head.
“What should we do with them?”
“Take their weapons for a start.”
One of the men stalked towards the prisoners. Bill kept his hands above his head as the gunman unbuckled the sword-belt around his waist and tossed it over his shoulder. Dave, though, threw a punch as the man approached. He missed and much of his body weight carried him to the muddy ground. Chupacabras howled in rage. The man cracked him across the face with the stock of his rifle. Dave hit the ground moaning. He came up a second later, though, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead, his hair hanging in his face.
“Stop,” the man who was obviously the leader of the gunmen said. “Roberto will want these two alive.”
“What about this one?” someone said, putting a rough hand on Ian’s head. “He’s no knight.”
“Roberto does not wish to be troubled with matters such as these.” The leader looked at Ian now. His eyes were a dark green, not black like the vampires’ had been, but they were nearly as devoid of emotion. A chupacabra barked. The man smiled. “Give him to the dogs.”
Ian screamed as the hounds closed in on him. Their jaws flashed and closed around his throat, but only once apiece. His clinical mind raced back to his documentary on El Chupacabra: They drained the blood from their victims through a single tiny hole in the neck. These dogs were going to suck him dry.
Ian watched for a moment as Dave and Bill were stood up, their hands still above their heads, and marched into the woods. The last thing he saw was the column of gunmen disappearing into the jungle. The last thing he heard was the snarls of a vampire-dog in his ear. The last thing he thought was his children’s names.
Chapter 2
Nine months later
The door to my apartment was unlocked.
I frowned and shifted my newly purchased case of Miller Light in my arms. I never left the house without making sure the door was locked and bolted. Even if I didn’t live in a particularly nasty section of Chelsea, Manhattan, or grown up in the South Bronx during the nineties, I’d never leave home with the door unlocked. If the last ten years had taught me anywhere, it was that you’re never as safe as you think you are. Sometimes even not in your own home.
Someone—or something—was in my apartment.
The case of beer landed on the floor with the clanking rattle of glass bottles. My right hand dropped across my body, reaching for my left hip. It grasped empty air. The muscle memory hadn’t yet caught on to the fact that I was unarmed these days. Whatever was inside my apartment, I’d have to take care of it without my sword.
I pushed the door open and stared into the dimly lit apartment. It was dark inside. Quiet. Peaceful. Seemingly empty. My palms started sweating. My heartbeat sped up. For God’s sake, I was acting like a thousand stupid teenage girls from a thousand terrible horror movies.
I wasn’t, though. Whatever else I was—and these days I honestly wasn’t sure what that was—I was not a victim. If this intruder, who-or-whatever he-or-it was, wanted a fight, I’d be more than happy to oblige.
After bending to the floor to pick up my beer, I crossed the threshold into my apartment. I dropped my unused keys on a little table near the door, making as much noise as possible. I whistled softly but with a certain bounciness as I did it. I’m not afraid of you, I tried to get the whistle to say.
It’s not a concrete sensation, the feeling that you’re being watched, but I promise you’ll know it when you feel it. I think it’s a leftover instinct from when human beings were prey animals, wandering the savannas with the gazelles and antelopes. We needed a way to know when the lions or hyenas were stalking us. Human beings still are prey animals, by the way—but most people don’t like to think about that. I could feel the slight itching on my skin, as some pair of eyes bored into me. There was an intruder in my apartment, all right. I just couldn’t see him.
My apartment was small: the combined living-room-dining-room-kitchen area took up less than a hundred square feet. The door to the bedroom and bathroom was closed, and since I could still feel the eyes on me, I figured he wasn’t in there. There was nowhere to hide in the main room, but there was no sign of him.
Invisible burglar. It wouldn’t
be the weirdest thing to ever happen to me.
Oh, hell. I hated magic. As best as I could understand, when you tossed the mystic arts into an equation two-plus-two could equal a banana cream pie with chocolate sprinkles. People who were smarter than me had explained that that wasn’t true, that there were rules to magic, just like anything else, but I didn’t understand them, and anything I didn’t understand I didn’t trust. There was none of the hungry, alien vibes that accompanied supe (sorry, that’s short for supernatural) predators like poltergeists or brollachans, so I thought that I had a human magician in my apartment, concealing himself with some sort of veil.
I left the door open behind me. Never enter a dangerous situation without leaving yourself an escape hatch. I flicked my eyes around the apartment, taking in the sights. In the six months that I’d lived there, I’d seen the apartment probably hundreds of times. It was all routine to me. The garage sale furniture hadn’t been moved. The last week’s dirty dishes were still piled in the stagnant water of the sink. Nothing unusual there. The mail on the table that served double-duty, part coffee table and part kitchen table, though, was stacked neatly with an OCD-ish precision that was uncharacteristic.
What the hell? Did I have a break-in maid?
I took another step into the apartment. A fruity smell drifted into my nostrils. I was immediately bowled over by the scent. It was warm and sweet and pleasant, and it reminded me of a summer’s evening, even though it was late March and New York City was in the last grip of winter. Strawberries, I thought.
I smiled, then, and sat down on my thirdhand couch. I kicked off my old leather biker boots and put my socked feet on the table, purposely knocking over the orderly stack of junk mail. I twisted open one of the beers from my case and said, “Hey, May.”
The air in front of my fridge shimmered, like heat lines rising off of blacktop on a hot day. My apartment rippled like that for a moment, before the lines formed into a more or less human shape. The lines solidified even more, until standing in front of my couch was the first woman I’d ever loved.
Mayena Strain smiled. (God, I’d missed that smile.) She tucked a strand of red-gold hair behind her ear. The sight of her made my heart ache. Not just because I missed her—I really, really did—but because she reminded me of my old life. The one I’d left behind in an underground pit beneath the rainforest. I had to struggle to suppress a shiver at the memory of what the vampires had done to me in Guyana.
“Hey, Dave. You look rested.”
She wore a loose flannel shirt and heavy jeans. May was as beautiful as ever, but she looked tired, too: Her hair was shorter than I’d ever seen it. Her gray eyes were wide and piercing, but there were thick purple bags underneath them. Her wide, swimmer’s shoulders were slumped. It looked like it took everything in her power to keep from collapsing into sleep. The sword at her hip, though, seemed as sharp as I remembered. A braided leather belt supported the pinky-thin rapier’s blade.
I frowned. She smiled sadly and looked at the floor. After a moment of neither of us knowing what to say, May forced a laugh. “Took you long enough to spot me.”
I snorted. “What was it, a minute?”
“Exactly.” Her voice seemed serious now. “That’s too long, Dave. If I’d really wanted to hurt you, that would have been plenty of time. You need to remember that we’re at war.”
“No,” I said. “You’re at war. I’m retired, remember?”
“And you think the vamps will be happy to let you live here in retirement? You’re not dead yet, which is what they want. You need to be careful, Dave.”
“I knew someone was here,” I said. “When I realized it was you, I knew I could relax.”
“Speaking of which—”
“The strawberries,” I said. “Your shampoo. You always used it when we got shore leave. I remembered it reminded you of home.”
She slapped the front of her leg. “Damn it. I thought I had the smell covered.”
“Hey,” I said, “I’m not knocking it. It was a damn good veil, May. If I hadn’t known you as well as I do, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it.” There was a profound look of self-anger on her face, so I hurried to change the subject. “So I heard the promotion’s all official and permanent: Captain Mayena Strain. Congratulations, May. I’m proud of you.”
She shrugged and kicked at the floor. “It should be your job, you know. Everyone knows I was Bill’s second choice.”
I had a flash memory of the last conversation I’d had with May. It had been shortly after she’d rescued Bill Foster and me from Guyana. For some reason she’d thought that I’d be in a hurry to get back to the job. I couldn’t blame her for that, really—if the roles were reversed I would have expected me to jump back in with both feet. The bites on my neck had still been bleeding, and I’d found myself screaming in May’s face. I couldn’t bear a repeat of that fight, so I just frowned and looked at the floor.
May coughed a moment later, clearing her throat. “So this is a nice place. The Table's paying the rent?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I guess it’s the least we can do after what you went through in South America.” As she looked around the room, I noticed a bright red cut on her neck. I was suddenly aware of the necklace of scar tissue around my own throat.
“What happened here?” I asked, pointing at her cut.
She touched it gingerly—it clearly still hurt her more than a little. “Oh, some teenager got the jump on me in Bucharest.” Her eyes flashed darkly. “Don’t worry—I gave as good as I got.”
It was a war wound. I should have known. For the last six months, my old employers, the Knights of the Round Table, had been fighting a war with the forces of the vampires. With her new job as the captain of the Table’s Nomads, May was the leader of the good guys’ heavy hitter squads. She must have been right there in the middle of the fighting. She’d be busy. She wouldn’t have time to check on a convalescent old boyfriend.
“What are you really doing here, May?”
Her eyes were sad, and she sighed, the way she always did right before an argument. “Bill wants you back.”
“Nope,” I said. “Not interested.”
“Dave, just hear me out. I pulled you out of that hole in Guyana. You owe me that much.”
I glowered, but she was right. If it hadn’t been for May, the Table would have left Bill and me to rot in a vampire prison. If anyone else had come to re-recruit me, I’d have thrown him out and made the door hit him in the ass. But I owed May more than that. I owed her my life. I didn’t say anything, just sat down and waved a hand in her direction. I was listening.
“Jack McCreary’s dead,” she said. “Shot outside the office.”
“Hell,” I said.
“Yeah. Bill wants you to take McCreary’s job.”
After Guyana, my old mentor Bill Foster and I had gone two separate ways. I’d left the Table completely, while Bill had gotten himself elected Pendragon of the Knights of the Round Table. He was the big boss, the head honcho.
Jack McCreary, meanwhile, had been the head of the Table’s New York division. He was one of the Table’s genuine badasses, an expert vampire hunter and a legendary warrior. If he was dead, the Knights’ chances in this war were seriously damaged.
“That means...”
“Yeah, Dave. Bill wants to make you Captain of New York.”
For the nine years I’d been with the Table, my dream had been to wear one of those little medals with the C on them. Captain was the highest field rank in the Table, and while they still technically had to answer to the Commanders Council and the Pendragon, captains had a lot of power in their jurisdictions. It was a lot of responsibility, and I’d have been lying if it didn’t call to me, at least a little.
But I couldn’t just forget about what the vampires had done to me. Three months of torture isn’t something you can just shrug off.
“A year ago,” I said, “I’d have jumped at an offer like this.”
�
��I know,” May said. “That’s what I told Bill.”
“I’m scared, May.” My inner caveman beat his chest in rage while I made this admission. Confessing to fear? And to a woman? But I knew that if I couldn’t talk to May then I couldn’t talk to anyone. I wasn’t that far gone. Not yet.
“I know you are, Dave. But a pretty smart guy once told me: ‘When you’ve seen this kind of terror, you only have three choices. You can ignore it, you can forget it, or you can fight it.’”
I nodded, recognizing the options I’d given May when I recruited her into the Table, years ago.
She continued: “I know you, Dave. You’re not the kind of guy who can just sit on the sidelines. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life spending your nights drinking beer behind a threshold. You won’t forget what’s out there. That only leaves one choice.”
Fight. The word was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t force it out. Whenever I tried to sleep I saw the cold, black eyes of a hundred vampires. I didn’t know what would happen to me if I ever saw another vamp. I didn’t want to know.
“I’m sorry, May,” I said. “I can’t.”
She bit her lower lip and squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to apologize to me, man. I told Bill it was a lot to ask. I’m gonna fill in for McCreary for a few days until Bill can find a permanent replacement. If you change your mind, or just wanna talk, you can give me a call.”
May hugged me awkwardly, kissed me on the cheek, and she was gone. Before I knew what was happening, the door was slamming shut and all that remained was the smell of her strawberry shampoo.
You stupid coward! That was your dream that just walked out that door. The prospect of defending the citizens of my hometown from the scourge of vampires was dizzying. Really, it was all I’d wanted to do for a decade. Psychologically, though, I didn’t think I was ready to go back into the world of swords and supes. I wasn’t sure I ever would be.
Dave Carver (Book 1): Thicker Than Blood Page 2
