Howling Shadows

by C. N. Owens

  “Well, get a training sword, or even better, a bokken; they’re made of bamboo. It’s not what I use, but at least you’ll learn balance with it.”

  “In order for you to teach me, you have to be here. Am I hearing you right? Are you thinking about coming home?”

  “I don’t know what I’m thinking right now, but it’s possible.”

  “I worry about my kids; they’re still young.”

  “We should all be worried. Some legends are real.”

  “Vampires.”

  “Yeah, they’re very real, and they are a threat.”

  “Is this what you do for the NSA? You keep these things in line?”

  “We don’t stand a chance against them when they are awake, so we monitor and track the movements of the larger groups, or covens. When a coven gets too big, we thin them out. When they get bloodthirsty, that’s when my group comes in and kills them all.”

  “Shit, Trent, this is a lot to take in.”

  “I know. They’re everywhere around us. You’ll notice them now; you just have to look harder. Look for an unnatural stillness. That’s what I do.”

  “So, what’s keeping them from killing us all?”

  “The same reason we wouldn’t kill off all our food; they have to sustain themselves with blood directly from the living. Once the blood has been spilled, it becomes useless to them.”

  “So, what do they want from us?”

  I shrug. “What does anyone with power want? More power.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Not as many as you would think, but their numbers are growing.”

  “And what can I do?”

  “Nothing. Pretend they don’t exist, but make sure you and your family are protected.”

  “What do I need, garlic? Crosses?”

  “No, that’s the part that is legend—wives’ tales that were passed down, nothing more.”

  “What about a stake through the heart?”

  “If you do enough damage, you will hurt them, but it’s by no means an instant kill. You have to take your mind off Buffy and think about an undead monster, a corpse preserved only by a demon that animates them. Think of it this way. Critical damage is key; enough bullets will slow them down, but you’ll still need to take their head. You need to do enough damage to outpace how fast they can recover from an injury.”

  “So, I need a sword.”

  “You look like an axe type of guy”—I smirk—“but seriously, you need to slow them down or disable them before you can get in close.”

  “Jesus, Trent. What does this mean? Are you going to bring these types to my home?”

  “God, I hope not, but you need to have a plan in case you piss off the wrong criminal one day.”

  “This has to be a joke.”

  “Keep hanging around with me—you’ll be a believer soon enough.”

  “Okay, what’s the next step?”

  “I’m not sure. I will let you know when I figure it out.”

  Nate nods and takes a step back, leaving the silence pregnant with tension. “Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Nate says, and without another word, he leaves the room.

  ***

  I pull off my shirt and sit down on the bed. Having only been up for a few hours, I’m not tired at all. It is comfortable in here, though, and as I begin to relax, I crave a drink, some kind of clear liquor, anything; I really don’t care right now. I pick up my phone and send a quick message to Cassie. Just a feeler, a simple miss you text to see if she bites. Not even seconds after I hit send, my phone rings.

  “I made love with this man last night. Everything was perfect, but I still panicked and chased him away. Would you tell me how I might win him back?”

  “Made love? Is that what you’re calling it?”

  “Trent—”

  “No, wait. Let me tell you what you could’ve done. You could have simply given him a kiss and then spent some time with your two lovers while they enjoyed a quiet dinner. That would have been a good start.”

  Cassie sighs. “I know, I ruin everything.”

  “That’s the overwhelming trend. I think Andrea has it better, though.”

  “You are awfully feisty tonight. Any other time you’re my puppy dog.”

  “Yeah, well, you have officially run me out of gas. All this time you have taken me for a fool. Well, I’m done.”

  “Please, Trent. I have been trying so hard.”

  “What a joke.”

  Cassie sighs again and goes silent for a moment. “I guess there is nothing I can do.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Move in with me and Andrea. Share our home, our bed. We can restore your house and stay there six months out of the year. Let me be your woman. You could have Andrea too. She’s beautiful.”

  I try hard to stifle a laugh. “Sounds like an offer you can’t deliver on, and I thought Andrea was a lesbian.”

  “She will deny me nothing,” Cassie says feverishly. “You can have us both. I’ll put Andrea on the phone to confirm what I’m saying. Make a baby with her if you want before I turn her, anything. I just want you two to be happy.”

  I laugh, shocked by her grandiose offer. “Cassie, I don’t know how vampires get drunk, but you need to sleep this off.”

  “Please, I’m being serious.” Her voice grows shaky in a way that I’ve never heard before.

  “No thanks, Cassie, I’m done. I need some time. If you had just offered to meet me somewhere to talk, I may have considered that, but your emotions are in knots, as usual. I hate seeing you like this, because I never know how to help you, so I’m going to go home. Let’s give it some time, and maybe hit the reset button.”

  “Okay,” she whimpers.

  My heart breaks with her response, having never heard her cry before; her defenses are usually too strong. For a fleeting moment, I debate changing my mind and telling her to come get me. The thought of another mood swing sends that idea out the door.

  “Please stay local for a little while longer. Don’t take this out on Leila.”

  “Cassie, I don’t even know what’s so special about her; as usual you are playing your elusive games. The authorities can deal with her.”

  “Trent, no.”

  “Then tell me everything, right now, and I’ll decide. I think I already know anway, just confirm it for me.”

  “I can’t risk it, not yet. Please understand.”

  “That’s what I thought. I’ve gotta go, Cassie. Maybe we can talk about this when I get home.” I hear a sniffle before I hang up the phone, having won the upper hand for the first time.

  Chapter 11

  Cassie

  I stop in front of a deserted strip mall. I have no idea what I’m going to encounter, but I still drove the M5. I only hope I don’t get too bloody. It’ll never come out of these tan leather seats.

  I check the address again: 3015 Monticello Ave., Norfolk. This is the place. I grip the steering wheel and press my head into the headrest, listening to my BMW’s V10 idle contentedly, purring me a sweet lullaby. My mind begins to wander, and I pray that I could fall into a dream, taking me away from what I’m about to do. And to think, I’m only doing this to keep up appearances with Raoul.

  I thought my charcoal cloak would be a moth-eaten rag when I pulled it out of its box… I hadn’t checked on it in over a century. Surprisingly, it was in great shape. It covers the driver’s seat in ripples of fabric, concealing the contours of my body. Intricate gold vines embroidered into the material originate in the area between my shoulder blades, spread down my arms, and climb up around my neck. It’s not something I wear by choice, but as an executioner—an assassin, a hired gun, whatever you want to call it—Raoul wants my trademark to be terrifying, as if death itself decided to pay my victims a personal visit.

  I pack my hair into the back of the cloak and pull the hood over my pale face, feeling relief in the void of darkness.


  The door buckles and swings open with a single kick. The building appears abandoned on the outside, but inside, it looks like a luxurious apartment with stucco walls and recessed lighting.

  “You must be Cassie,” a short man with a European accent says with a shaky voice.

  “I am.”

  “How do vampires walk in the day?”

  “We found a way. Where is the girl?”

  “She’s not here, but we have men looking for her right now,” he says, obviously lying.

  “Vlad?”

  “He’s with them. What does Raoul want with her? May I ask?”

  My attention shifts to a bony, dark-haired girl stepping out from a dark hallway on the other side of the room. “What is this place?” I ask, ignoring the man’s question, growing curious.

  “Nothing,” he stammers and waves the spindly girl away. She disappears, seeming to vaporize into the darkness.

  Curiosity piqued, I walk toward the hallway and find rows of doors on either side, at least twenty of them. The man follows behind me closely but recoils when I produce twin swords from my back. Like long knives, they are my weapon of choice. Handmade centuries ago, they are delicate but deadly in my hands.

  I look at the man for a moment and then kick one of the doors open, ready to disembowel whoever is inside, but stop abruptly when I find a young boy sitting on a single bed.

  “A brothel,” I whisper. “What does Raoul have to do with this place?” I turn toward the man and find a pistol aimed. He fires twice into my chest. I lose my balance and fall backward into the doorway but instantly recover. My blades become a smear through the air, and the man tumbles to the floor in pieces.

  There were only a few others watching over the place during the day and they died quickly, but it was full of children, boys and girls alike, in their teens and younger. I pull my hood off so as to not scare them and put away my sunglasses. I talk softly to them, trying my best to assure them that it’s all over, and trying in vain to keep the bloodred tears from staining my cheeks while I free them all.

  Gathering them in a back room, I take a phone from one of the men I killed and call 911. I let one of the older kids talk to the dispatcher as once again I slide my sunglasses back over my eyes and walk out to my car. Not even forty minutes has passed.

  ***

  It’s almost ten when I arrive at the wrought-iron gates to my house out in Isle of Wight County. My face stings from the sun so badly that I haven’t begun to feel the pain from the bullets still lodged in my chest. Even so, it’s a treat to see my house and land in the blinding daylight. I love the way the sun reflects off the river and glows on the deep emerald green of the grass surrounding my old Victorian home. I had the house built in 1846, and even though I sold off most of the eleven hundred acres I once owned, I couldn’t see myself living anywhere else. Despite the fact that I love the modern floor plans of today’s houses, I am most comfortable here—I love its smells, its feel… And there would be no replacing that.

  Andrea walks out and stands on the wraparound porch, then follows me over to the barn as I pull in and park.

  “You had me worried,” she says, reaching to hug me, but I recoil. She touches my chest and removes her hand, now covered in blood. “Jesus, Cassie, what the hell happened?”

  “Nothing that won’t heal,” I tell her, giving her a weak smile and a kiss before walking into the house. I stagger up the steps, peeling off clothing and dropping it on the floor until I make it to the bed and collapse face-first on top of the burgundy down comforter.

  I go silent, totally relaxed, too tired to move. The pain from my burned skin is gone, and the bullet wounds are nothing more than a bleeding annoyance that will heal by the time I rise this evening.

  Chapter 12

  Trent

  It’s early afternoon. I haven’t slept this good in a while. It could just be that sober sleep is better than passing out drunk, and as a bonus, I don’t have a hangover to deal with.

  The house is empty. Terry and Nate are at work; the kids are at daycare. I just got off the phone with my handler, Rob, a retired field agent who works as an intermediary between me and the home office, a proxy to keep me a step removed from the people actually in control.

  Rob was surprised to hear from me. I almost never call when I’m not activated, but he was interested in the activity going on in Norfolk. He didn’t approve an investigation, though, saying my evidence was too shaky. He suggested that I keep digging. However, Rob did agree to put in a request to corrupt the DVR footage at a certain hospital, from the cameras with a perspective on a certain judge’s room. There are hard copies out there, I’m sure; there might even be another digital copy, but it takes a load off my mind just a little.

  Still disappointed, I sulk at the table, sipping on a cup of coffee. This must be how Andrea constantly feels—confusing afternoon with morning.

  The front door clicks and Nathan walks in. “Good, you’re dressed. We need to go.”

  I look over to Nate from my cup. “Everything okay?”

  “Not really. I need you with me on this.” Nate’s voice is low and grating.

  Forgetting the coffee, I grab my badge, a weapon or two, and we take off for Nate’s precinct. The car is silent throughout most of the trip, aside from the sound of Nate grinding his teeth.

  “Dude, you’re killing me here,” I say to Nate from the passenger’s seat.

  “First, we have Leila; now we have a whole brothel.”

  Nate’s cryptic words get my attention. “Define have.”

  “You’ll see,” Nate says as he speeds into a parking garage.

  ***

  I flash my badge as we slink into the department, passing through rows of navy-blue cubicles, finally stopping at the door to a room labeled Conference Room 305.

  Nate takes the doorknob in his hand and looks to me. “You going to be okay?”

  “You’re really freaking me out right now.”

  Nate shakes his head, and with a sigh, we enter the room.

  The table and chairs have been removed. Several couches and a television have been set up to entertain about twenty kids, all shabbily dressed. A young woman in a T-shirt and jeans walks up to us, a clear red clipboard in her hand.

  “Only a few of them speak English,” she says to Nate.

  “Christ,” he growls. “This is Agent LaPore. LaPore, this is Donna. She’s with the Division of Children and Families.”

  I flash my badge.

  Donna squints at my badge and chuckles. “This is a group of battered and abused children. There’s nothing paranormal going on here.”

  “You would be surprised. Who speaks English?” I ask, pushing past her to look over the kids in disbelief.

  Donna rolls her eyes, and with a sigh, she turns to face the crowd of kids. “Natalie, come here, honey,” the young social worker says, and a small black-haired, blue-eyed girl stands up from the group watching television and walks over. “She’s only twelve, but out of all of them, her English is the best.”

  “Natalie, it’s nice to meet you,” I say, unable to accept that this little girl was a prostitute.

  “Hi,” she responds with a tiny voice as she stands a few feet in front of me, refusing to make eye contact.

  “Tell my friend what you saw this morning, sweetie,” Nate says.

  “They all died.” Her accent is thick, and her consonants are sharp. German is the first thought that comes to mind.

  “Who died?”

  “The men that kept us.” Her breath catches. “I hid behind a couch… saw it all happen. A girl in a black robe, she killed them all—with swords.”

  I suppress a groan. “What else can you tell me about this girl?”

  “Pale skin, brown hair. She bleeds from her eyes. We were so scared, but she was nice to us.” The girl recoils as I take a step back and run my fingers through my hair. I look away, hearing Donna comforting her, but I quickly rejoin t
hem.

  “Are you finished yet?” Donna snaps, her arm draped over the girl’s shoulders.

  “Yeah, we’re done. Thank you, Natalie,” I say. “I appreciate your help.”

  “Is she okay?” Natalie asks unexpectedly.

  “Who?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t call out a name that I’ll wind up having to explain.

  “Leila—she never came back. Have you seen her?”

  “She’s fine, honey.”

  Natalie gives me a half smile before Donna ushers her away to join the rest of the kids.

  “Well?” asks Nate.

  “A vampire did this,” I reply. The name Cassie repeats in my mind a million times, but not understanding why she would be there, I’m hesitant to say anything. “I need to call my contact again.”

  We start to walk out and stop just outside the door. Across the room, a uniformed officer is waving and pointing at two men in handcuffs. One is a massive creature, bulky and imposing, with black hair—Bento. The other is small, dwarfed by the man next to him; I have an idea who that is, too.

  Nate points to an interrogation room and the officer leads them over there.

  “Okay, now you behave yourself,” Nate mumbles to me as Vlad is led into the room first.

  “That’s funny,” I respond, and we walk toward the room.

  ***

  “Trent LaPore… I expected you to be bigger,” Vlad says when he sees my badge. His voice is scratchy, and his Russian accent is thick.

  “I hear that a lot,” I say as Nate and I enter the room and sit at the table. “I do all right.”

  “Not very impressive… killing vampires in their sleep.”

  I laugh. “A lot like mutilating defenseless girls.” I spin a chair around and straddle it. “Is that a fetish for you? Cutting off appendages?”

  Vlad laughs and cuts his beady, raven-like eyes into upside-down crescents. The room falls silent.

  As I look back at him, I imagine I can see through those dark orbs into the blackness at the back of his skull. “What’s so funny?”

  “You are dead; you and your vampire friend, you both piss away the gifts that were given to you.”