by John Conroe
“Why?” I asked.
The shorter one answered as the tall one suddenly looked uncertain in the face of Tanya’s complete lack of response. She was in combat mode and the dangerous vibe that emanated from her presence was powerful enough to penetrate their beauty-addled brains. The oldest part of the human mind, the bit that closely resembles a reptilian brain, picks up cues that the newer evolved, ‘smarter’ sections don’t always catch. Danger cues, like the ones my uber-vampire was giving off.
“They gotta be drug addicts, the way they were all herky- jerky, just about shaking,” he said.
“Ah,” I said, remembering their earlier use of the word jittery. Weasels are high energy, even for weres, and their movements reflect that. They end up looking like a drug addict with a bad case of withdrawal. They also possess predatory eyes, the eyes of killers, which is another cue for most humans, though they assume it means the weasels are just the run-of-the-mill violent, criminal sort of addicts.
The weasels weren’t in the first class lounge so we headed for the ferry’s regular class cabin. The quicker we took the fight to them the better it would be for us and everyone on board.
Moving out of the lounge, we headed through the narrow passageway to the regular cabin, operating in silence. Our link’s bandwidth had increased to the point that I was ‘feeling’ her movements before she made them and she felt mine.
There were four doors from the auto deck up to the upper passenger area. All four led to stairwells that emptied into the two parallel passageways that bracketed the economy class cabin with its rows of airline style seating. The twin hallways then lead further forward to the premier cabin which we had just left. We both entered the standard cabin at its forward most doorway, immediately spotting three shifty, dark-eyed weasels diagonally across the cabin at the last entry on the other side. Dressed in mismatched combinations of track suits, they all had sharp pointed facial features and herky-jerky movements. All three were in the process of leaving the cabin, but the last in line noticed us and grinned, his teeth looking sharper than they should.
Tanya cut straight across the cabin, moving fast enough that her supermodel looks didn’t attract as much attention as normal. I headed back into the corridor, moving toward the stairwell to the auto deck. The ferry company and its crew had been clear that no one was allowed on the auto deck during the trip, even posting staff members to keep an eye on the stairwell doors. The crew member at the top of the nearest stairwell nodded at me as I moved past him. The next stairwell on that side of ship was unmanned; the door was unlatched and open a bit. The ship’s officer who was supposed to be watching was slumped, unconscious, in a pile on the stairwell.
As I discovered this, my bond to Tanya told me she was experiencing a similar set of circumstances in the other corridor. Separated though we were, I knew we were moving in lockstep as we descended the stairwell. And we both knew we were heading into a trap.
Most of the human security team that the Coven employs are ex-military and mostly ex-special ops types. I hang with them more than I do with vampires and I’ve listened to their discussions of small group tactics. On the topic of ambush and traps their opinions are fairly consistent. If you know the trap exists you can avoid it, take an alternative approach, or intentionally trip it. If caught in an ambush you attack. With more time we could have taken a different approach, maybe from the open rear of the auto deck or something. But time was short, Awasos was alone in our Tahoe, now surrounded by as many as six weasels, and as strong as he is he is still less than a year old. So we tripped the trap, so to speak, but we did it at speed.
Linked as one, we simultaneously rocketed through the closed doors at the bottom of the stairwell. Even sturdy ships doors weren’t meant for that kind of abuse; they both tore free from their hinges, each smashing into the closest parked car. Car alarms sounded their strident wail, but the fight was in full swing before the electronic squeal was complete. Six weasels, each fully Shifted into twisted ropes of fur, muscle and teeth, waited for us, standing on their discarded track suits. But even with their preternatural speed, they weren’t prepared for our tactics. Instead of each turning to fight the closest furred killers, we blasted straight out the doors, diving across the cavernous space, using vampire energy techniques to extend our dives and speed our flight. I leapfrogged the nearest car, which also happened to be the one to get smashed by the door. Stretching out in a forward dive I cleared the other two cars as Tanya did the same. We crossed over the parked cars, passing each other before slamming into the threesomes of corded muscle and fur that were already reacting.
The weasel facing Tanya’s stairwell was fast enough to turn completely around just as I smashed into him. Both clawed front feet raked my rib cage as his head darted toward my throat. Shocked at his speed, I managed to arrest his fang strike by the simple expedient of driving my right bladed hand, covered with an edge of hardened aura a single molecule in width, straight through his throat and neck, decapitating him instantly. Rolling forward and off the still kicking body, I dropped and spun on one knee as the other two slammed into me from either side. Fangs scored my skull on one side and my shoulder on the other, but both of my outstretched, aura-edged arms had completed their passage through the dense bodies of the weres, like helicopter blades cutting through a cloud.
I stood up meeting Tanya’s eyes as the last of her opponents slid free from the silver blade in her hand, while my last two fell apart with meaty thunks. She had killed two in her diving flight across the room, slipping silver tipped death into their brains in mid-flight. Her latest weapon was a variation of what’s known as a tactical pen. Usually made from hardened aluminum or titanium, these pointed pens are fully functional for writing, look expensive, but make excellent fighting spikes. Tanya’s were made of titanium with the spike layered in silver which in turn was covered with a peel away coating of rubber like plastic. They easily passed security in every airport we had used, but in her hands they were deadly killers. Her knife was a small solid titanium blade, inlaid with enough silver to be lethal to were-kind and vampires alike.
Blood dripped off my arms, but Tanya was barely mussed. She only needed to wipe off her three blades to be clean. My cleanup was gonna be a bitch.
“I gotta start using blades,” I muttered to her. She arched one exquisite eyebrow and pointed at the two cars whose alarms were going wild.
I channeled a burst of aura into each car, silencing the alarms and likely shorting most of the electrical systems. The actual fight had only taken a couple of seconds, so the alarms hadn’t been going off very long. Still, we hadn’t much time to clean up the scene. I started tossing chunks of weasel off the back of the ship, trusting their very density to make them sink. I did it fast, the bodies a mere blur and since I threw them into the turbulence that the high speed ferry’s jets threw up, there wasn’t much impact spray. Tanya meanwhile hosed the deck at full vampire speed with a handy firehose, then hosed me off as well. I did a rapid clothes change at the Tahoe with a pat or two for a sleepy Awasos who had missed the whole thing. Two minutes of intense activity and we were done. The damage cars and broken doors would have to be a mystery as would the driverless grey van that no one would ever claim. I felt bad for the cars owners but it could have been a blood bath with a six weasel team in a kill frenzy.
Hearing approaching footsteps, we darted forward to the other stairwells, climbed almost to where the crewmembers stood watch, then jumped up to the ceiling of the stairwell. We held ourselves above the head of the young employee that suddenly bounded down the stairs, talking excitedly on his radio. As soon as he was clear, we lowered ourselves back down, and reentered the premier cabin, reclaiming our seats. If anyone noticed my change of clothing they didn’t mention it. Likely they didn’t as my vampire claimed most of the other passengers’ attention.
Tanya curled back up and I finished my breakfast snack, while using my abnormal hearing to monitor the suddenly frantic crew who were trying to figure
out how two autos and two doors got damaged, and two crew members rendered unconscious. Anxious white uniforms appeared in the doorways checking out the passengers, while trying to remain inconspicuous. It didn’t work as a low buzz of excitement spread among our fellow travelers.
An hour and fifty minutes later, the ferry docked. The captain had us stay in the cabin till the owners of the damaged cars were found, then we were directed to drive off the ship and park near the line of police cars that met the ship at the dock. Since our car was near the front of the line we were closest to leaving, stopped only by a Michigan State Police car parked in front of us. Everyone was told they had to remain till police could question them, but we decided to speed things up. Tanya approached the closest huddle of uniformed officers, capturing their immediate attention. She spoke a couple of quick sentences to them and then they were hurrying to move the cruiser. She climbed back in the Tahoe and we drove off.
“Jedi voice tricks?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Letting us go, they were happy to be,” she replied in a perfect Yoda voice.
Chapter 7
We drove out of Muskegon, heading northeast for three hours before pulling into an economy motel. I paid with a Coven credit card, using a fake driver’s license, then drove the Tahoe around back to room 23, where I woke Tanya, grabbed our bags and let Awasos out to pee. A maintenance type driving a zero turn lawn mower paused to watch my large canine friend stretch his legs, then just shook his head and kept mowing. Back at the room I found Tanya had roused herself enough to text a detailed account of the weasel attack to Lydia. Then she hit the bed and was out cold. Seeing as it was noonish, Awasos and I split a party platter of Subway subs I had picked up on the way, then I showered, shaved, and crawled into bed next to my mate. Questions about the assassination attempt chased each other through my brain till the overworked lump of grey matter refused any further thinking and I passed out.
When I next peeled my crusty eyelids open, five hours had passed. Tanya was just coming out of the bathroom, hair wet from her shower, dressed only in French lingerie that cost as much as a new refrigerator. She paused in full view to answer a text on her iPhone, before coolly raising her eyes to meet mine.
“I’m hungry,” she said with a slight growl.
Awasos immediately padded to the door and looked at me to go out. Feeding Tanya almost always led to bedroom games and our bear-wolf was decidedly prudish about being anywhere near us when we got frisky. Which was fine with us. She let him out then launched herself the fifteen feet from the door to the bed, pinning me to the mattress, fangs fully extended. Oh darn, held down by the hottest girl on the planet. Poor me!
Quite a bit later, I finally got dressed and took my furry friend for a ride to pick up more food for him and me. As I paid the steakhouse bill of $238.15 for takeout, I reflected that it was a damned good thing the Coven paid our room and board. Feeding two metabolisms that burned over 8000 calories a day each wasn’t cheap. Luckily, calories are easy to come by in our nation of fast food and oversized portions as long as you have the dinero.
Tanya had her laptop out, hooking it to a satellite phone for security. Once we were inside and eating our very rare porterhouse steaks, she proceeded to set up for a conference call. First she suspended a fine metal mesh netting from the ceiling, dropping it over us like a big steel mosquito net. She grounded it to the room’s heating and cooling unit, then turned on the laptop. The netting acted as a Faraday cage and the attached battery powered unit gave it a field that would prevent our electronic signals from escaping, at least in theory. The huge budget of the NSA, National Security Agency or ‘No Such Agency’ as it was once called, ensured that electronic privacy was an endangered, if not impossible, concept.
The Skype call went straight through to the Citadel, the Coven’s buried fortress of a headquarters that lurks under New York City. Built in tunnels, old and new, the Citadel is so interwoven with the Big Apple’s structure, including Wall Street, that any attack would threaten the City’s infrastructure.
A female human’s face filled the laptop’s screen, her manner brusque as she passed the call higher up the food chain. I didn’t remember her name but her face was familiar, she was one of the regular communication experts that handled our calls.
Lydia appeared next, seated next to Tanya’s grandmother, Elder Senka. Galina Demidova, Tanya’s mother was on Senka’s other side. Further behind them, manning a complex computer terminal was my friend Chet Aikens, whose technical abilities had made him extremely valuable to the Coven.
“Quite a mess,” Senka said by way of greeting. Her tone was deceptively droll. Anyone who didn’t know her might bristle at her words, which would be a bad impulse to give in to. First, disrespecting her in any way could easily be lethal; second, if you knew her you understood her tone to be a cover for anger at anything that threatened her family.
“What’s the damage?” Tanya asked.
“We passed a friendly tip to DHS, who took charge of the scene. Your hasty clean up left a lot of blood behind but it was so diluted and contaminated with lake water that it will be useless as evidence. General Creek’s people were able to cover up any other evidence that was left and impounded the weasels’ van,” Lydia reported. “Insurance will cover the ship’s damage as well as payoff the passengers whose cars got beat up,” Lydia reported.
“It was Langsford!,” I said.
“Most likely, Christian, but we need something concrete if we are to accuse him,” Senka said, dark brown eyes glittering.
“We’ve got ears out,” Galina said, “Someone will eventually talk about it and we’ll know who was behind it. In the meanwhile, you’re both okay?”
“We are fine Mother. There were only six of them. It was hardly a workout,” Tanya said, matter-of-fact.
“Don’t get cocky, Tanya. Six is twice the size of the normal kill team that weasels hire out,” Senka admonished.
Tanya glanced at me, then turned back to the laptop. “I did not mean to imply condescension, Grandmother, but it was not at all difficult,” she said. “When we are linked in combat it is as if we fight with the same mind, but two bodies.”
“How do you achieve this level of bonding?” Senka asked, a slight incline of her torso indicating extreme interest.
“It just happens…automatically,” Tanya said with an exquisite shrug.
“It ramps up as the danger level increases,” I threw in. Senka gave me a little wave that obviously indicated I should expand my comment.
“When we first smelled weasel, the bond instantly jumped to a higher level, but not quite full on. Then we saw them, they ran, and we were just suddenly operating as one unit in two different bodies.”
A small nod was Senka’s only reaction as she leaned back. I was learning to read her miniscule body language and I could tell she was fascinated. Above and beyond her protective instincts for one of her line, her interest in the two of us knew no bounds. She had always considered her granddaughter to be a vital part of the future of the Darkkin race, but I added a whole other dimension to the puzzle.
Lydia watched Senka to be sure she was done for the moment, then spoke. “We’re sending a couple of Guardian teams to back track your trail and see what they can shake out. But we want you to continue with your next assignment which will move you further away from Chicago,” the tiny vampire said. “You’re going north into the Upper Peninsula.”
Chapter 8
Michigan’s Upper Pennisula or U.P. as the locals call it has well over 16,000 miles of heavily forested terrain. At one time it was one of the largest copper mining regions in the world, but that died out with the end of the 1800’s. Logging is now the major industry although tourism has gained a foothold in the beautiful wilderness.
We had been driving for hours along Route 94, through what seemed at times to be uninhabited forest. Our mission was to follow up on a series of eyewitness reports that had popped up on the internet and caught the attention o
f the Coven’s powerful computers. I hadn’t believed my ears when Lydia had told us we were to track down the elusive Dogman of Michigan. I thought back to that conversation in the motel room, draped under metal mesh.
“Ah, what?” I had asked, stunned at her words which had taken a few seconds to penetrate. Then I continued on. “You want us to chase down a folktale?” I asked.
“Most folktales and folklore have some germ of truth somewhere in them,” Galina answered. “Michigan’s vast wilderness is highly popular with the werewolf crowd and a few sightings of the real deal over the years have resulted in some of the Dogman stories. We know the source of most of those, but what has our attention this time is a new set of very credible accounts, complete with video, that showed up on a cryptozoological website.”
“Don’t the local Packs take care of this kind of thing?” Tanya asked.
“Normally, yes, but in this case the reports come from the western part of the U.P., specifically a resort in the Hiawatha National forest. That region is off limits to all the Packs and they won’t or can’t investigate. In fact, the local council of Alphas requested help from the Coven, not realizing we were already interested,” Lydia answered.
