by Daley, Lysa
The other gargoyle, holding Sam in his huge clawed talons, followed. I hoped the beast was being gentle.
The trajectory of our ascent into the sky was steep. I instinctively leaned forward and held on with all of my might. But somehow, once we were in the sky, the hard bulky creatures flew with a surprising grace.
Because the winter clouds hung low, it didn’t take long before we ascended above the gray coastal mist into the wild blue yonder.
I hoped they knew where they were going, especially since we were flying so crazy fast. Stryker had been right. I never would have been able to keep up with them.
I glanced down at Sam, who hung limply from the talons of the beast. He was totally unconscious.
It was rare that humans were attacked by vampires anymore. Not with blood banks, blood slaves, and the high-tech synthetic blood that had come on the market in recent years. Attacks were generally a punishment, or some sort of retaliatory vendetta.
No regular human hospital would have been able to treat him.
I felt sick knowing that Sam was in this position because he’d tried to save me. But I was hopeful that Mr. Stroud would somehow have a solution.
It seemed we’d barely leveled off when the gargoyles began their rapid descent. It wasn’t more than a ten miles straight shot from the Venice Beach to the Downtown L.A.
We’d been in the air for less than five minutes. Passing through the clouds, I could just make out a cluster of people standing on the art deco roof of the Ironwood Building waiting for us. I only recognized Mr. Stroud in his gray suit.
The gargoyle holding Sam managed to hover a few feet above the roof while he gently set Sam on a waiting gurney. Bags of blood hung at the ready to transfuse into him.
My gargoyle landed with a rocky thud away from the group. As soon as I safely climbed down, she took off back into the sky. Her partner followed, heading back toward the west.
Mr. Stroud approached me. “Come with me, Miss McCray. We need to get your friend downstairs.”
“Can you save him?” I asked as a blast of gusting north wind almost knocked me off my feet.
Mr. Stroud looked grave as we stepped into the elevator. “I’m sorry to say the poor lad doesn’t have long if he was bitten by a full vampire.”
“There must be something you can do?”
“My dear,” he began grimly, “that is the vampire’s curse. Once bitten, a human will turn. And then, without a master, he will have to be destroyed.”
“Where are you taking him?”
“We have a holding area downstairs.”
Now I understood. They weren’t taking Sam to some specialized hospital unit where he could be cured. They were taking him someplace to destroy him if he happened to somehow pull through and live.
As the elevator descended, I was struck by the irony of this situation. I had refused to kill the vampire. I thought I was above being a killer and hadn’t used the wooden stake when I had the chance. And because of my choice, Bernardo had effectively sentenced Sam to death.
Mr. Stroud must have sensed my dilemma.
“Search your heart, Miss McCray,” he said quietly. “And decide which side you are on. The side of light or the side of darkness.”
“You make it sound so easy.” I let out a small, sad laugh. So that was the choice. Good or evil. Nice that he could make it so easy.
“You laugh.” He shook his head. “And I understand why you refuse to kill. But be clear, there is evil in this world. And if we do not destroy it, then who will? Be very sure you can live with yourself and your decision to stay out of this battle.”
We rode the rest of the way in silence. When the doors opened, we were back in the basement. I followed Mr. Stroud, expecting to end up in some makeshift hospital ward.
“But… isn’t there something that can fix this?” I asked weakly.
Mr. Stroud sighed. “You know as well as I do that there is only one way to break the vampire’s curse.”
There was one, and only one, way to save Sam from this terrible death sentence.
“We have to kill the vampire who bit him,” I said.
“Exactly. If you kill Bernardo before your friend Sam fully turns, then the curse will be lifted.”
We turned down the hallway of cells. There, inside one, Sam lay unconscious in a medical bed. Blood was dripping into his vein. A nurse fussed with equipment, taking readings.
He was a patient. He was a prisoner. And the choice was up to me. Bernardo or Sam.
“Then I guess I’m going to have to kill Bernardo.” I stated without hesitation. “And break the vampire’s curse.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
A parking ticket tucked low on the windshield of Stryker’s Range Rover fluttered in the wind as he pulled up in front of the Ironwood Building. He’d come to pick me up.
I plucked it out from under the wiper blade and handed it to him as I slid into the passenger seat. “Looks like parking in the red zone in Venice wasn’t such a good idea.”
Stryker barely glanced at it, then tore the ticket in half and threw it out the window as he pulled back into traffic.
“What are you doing?” I watched the pieces of the ticket flutter off.
“One of the perks. Agents have a sort of diplomatic immunity to the rules of the super-nothings and little people.”
“By little people, do you mean everyone else who lives and works in the city?”
He thought about my characterization for a moment. “Yup, that's what I mean.”
At the end of the block, Stryker pulled a sharp, illegal U-turn, heading back toward the freeway.
We drove in silence for a moment. I couldn’t get the image of Sam lying unconscious on that gurney out of my mind. He looked so weak and helpless.
Guilt and desperation gnawed away at my insides, and I suddenly felt ill. My thoughts swirled as I tried to make sense of everything. But something had been bugging me. Something I didn’t understand.
“What did that Xavier guy mean by rabid? He said Bernardo seemed rabid.” When the goblin mentioned this, Stryker hadn't seemed surprised. I’d heard accounts of vampires who’d ingested poisoned or tainted blood and went mad. I wondered if this had something to do with Bernardo going rogue and being shunned by his coven.
“I’m not sure,” Stryker said. “Could mean a couple different things.”
“Like what?” I pressed him.
He kept driving, looking straight out over the steering wheel. “I’d hate to speculate because I could be wrong.”
“We have to start somewhere.”
“Listen kid, in this line of work, making assumptions can be dangerous to your longevity. But…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “They say that when you try to master a demon, the demon sometimes becomes the master of you.”
“As in they take possession of you?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s more like they rot you from the inside out. Makes it appear as if you’re psychotic or sort of rabid.”
So that explained what the goblin had meant.
As he got on the 1-10 Freeway, I realized I wasn’t sure where we were headed. “Where are we going anyway?”
“San Pedro.”
“To the port?”
“That’s where the goblin said Bernardo would be.”
I’d heard about the port but had never been there. Heard that there were a lot of ghouls roaming around at night. Zombies too. The zombies didn’t bother me. Brainless slow moving creatures were easy to avoid, or incapacitate if need be.
It was the ghouls that had me concerned.
Unlike zombies, who wanted to eat your brains, ghouls were less picky. They’d eat any part of your flesh: brain, bones, skin, organs. They thought it was all delicious and didn’t discriminate.
Also, they were smart. And quick.
I pulled out my phone and looked up the Port of Los Angeles. When in doubt, I always turned to research. According to Wikipedia, it was located in working class t
own of San Pedro. The port itself sat on over 7500 acres of land, along forty-three miles of water. 1.2 billion dollars’ worth of merchandise came in and out of the port every day.
As we pulled off the freeway, I asked, “How exactly are we going to find one vampire in such a big area?”
“Don’t worry about it. I got a connection,” he assured me. “An old friend of mine happens to be a harbor cop.”
The port had its own official police department.
“What about the… other… things that come out in the port after dark?” I asked, trying to sound casual and not totally freaked out.
“You mean ghouls?” He understood what I meant. “We’re in luck. Because even the ghouls stay away from the vampires.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“Gotta look on the bright side.”
At the gates the Port of L.A., the uniformed security guard waved us in and told us where to park.
A few moments later, we were met by a heavyset guy wearing an unfamiliar police uniform. He sauntered lazily up to Stryker’s driver’s side window. This soft, red-faced cop didn’t look like he could rescue a cat out of a tree, let alone protect anyone from anything that was actually dangerous in the port.
Now I understood why Stryker called some regulars super-nothings. This guy was great big para-nothing. No magical energy at all.
“Stryker, man, good to see you,” said the cop as Stryker got out of the car. Then the men did that bro-handshake thing that cool guys do.
“Looking sharp, Jensen,” Stryker said, like the guy had lost weight or gotten in shape or something. How bad was this guy before?
“Bring your secretary?” he asked, glancing at me.
“She’s my field assistant.”
“Gotcha,” he said like he was in on the joke.
“I’d be careful if I were you, Jensen. She’s packing a crossbow with brimstone-tipped arrows.”
“Oh jeez, don’t shoot! I surrender.” He put up his hands in mock fear.
What a jackass.
Then after a good snorting laugh, he said, “Okay, brother. Why don’t you guys follow me over to the office.”
We trailed his car deeper into the port, through a sea of neatly stacked giant metal shipping containers. Thousands and thousands of the kind that fit on the back of a semi or on a railroad car. Blue cranes, like towering metal spiders, picked up the shipping containers, transferring them on and off the office building-sized cargo ships.
I hardly saw a trace of vegetation. Just concrete and metal. It made me feel weak and sluggish. Witches need nature to keep their energy levels stable. Our essence was tied to the Earth.
Stryker, probably having noticed my slump, decided to dole out a piece of advice. “You need to learn to tolerate inhospitable environments. Manage your energy. The bad guys don’t usually hole up in gardens and parks.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
This so-called police headquarters was nothing more than a fortified trailer, encircled by a chain-link fence, topped with swirling razor wire. A low-pitched buzzing indicated that the fence was electrified.
Jensen pulled out an impressive keychain with dozens of keys. He used it to unlock multiple heavy-duty locks on the outer door, finally letting us into the small compound.
The tattered trailer had bars on the small aluminum windows and on a heavy security door as well. They were trying very hard to keep something out, and it was making me nervous.
The inside of the trailer consisted of nothing more than two long countertops lined with TV monitors playing grainy black and white security camera footage and a few swiveling chairs filled with sleepy-looking cops.
“We’ve been monitoring activity along the Dominguez Channel. Think it might be your vamp and his cronies.” Jensen took a seat in front of a monitor and pulled up some old footage.
Stryker bent down to get a better look. “How are they getting inside the perimeter?”
“We think they’re using the waterway to slip in unnoticed. Looks like your buddy has a few minions, along with some blood slaves just for good measure.”
“How many?” Stryker asked.
“Somewhere in the neighborhood of a dozen.”
I decided to jump in. “What have you done to stop them?”
Jensen turned to me like I’d set my hair on fire. Then he asked Stryker, “What’s wrong with your secretary?”
“I’m not a secretary,” I replied. “But even if I were, I’d still do more than you guys. Isn’t your job to serve and protect? That’s what’s written on the side of your car. Except it looks like you lock yourselves away in here and watch TV.”
“Excuse me, missy.” He jabbed a stubby finger in my direction. “Not all of us are fancy society folks with authorization to take down a dirty vamp or a rogue troll. Some of us just keep an eye on it.”
What did he mean by “fancy society folks?”
It’s not like we were part of some high class outfit. I flashed back to my father saying that the Society of Shadows was real. Did he think we had something to do with that?
What a laugh.
“Okay, you two, calm down,” Stryker said. “Jensen, can you get us over to that Dominguez Channel?”
“Sure thing.” Jensen escorted us through the maze of narrow roads that snaked through the port. I marveled at how stunningly large the port really was. Initially, we drove past the mountain range of cargo containers. Eventually, we turned away from the water and journeyed deeper into the port.
It felt like we drove on and on forever.
Finally, the stacked metal containers gave way to a collection of metal warehouses, each identical to the others, except for the occasional sign indicating who owned each particular warehouse.
Finally, we arrived at the mouth of a dead end, where we slowed to a stop.
Standing next to our cars, Jensen pointed toward a ramshackle warehouse tucked into the far, dark corner. It edged up against a narrow waterway that snaked its way to the ocean. He told us that this was where we’re would most likely find Bernardo. Neighboring warehouses had reported strange sounds coming from the building.
“What sort of strange sounds?” Stryker asked.
Jensen made a face. “They described it as your basic exorcism kind of deal. You know… screams of terror, cries of pain.”
“That surely sounds like a solid lead.” Stryker nodded.
I was going to ask why he hadn’t reported this to someone earlier but thought better of it. What was the point?
“From here on out, you’re on your own, partner.” Jensen informed us that he would be going no further. And not he, nor any of the other port police officers, would be coming to our aid if we should require any.
Talk about a standup guy.
Still, Stryker thanked him with a firm handshake. “Appreciate the assist, amigo.”
As Jensen headed back to his car, he asked, “By the way, you coming to poker next week?”
“I’ll have my secretary put it on the calendar.” Stryker winked at me like I was the secretary. I didn’t find that funny.
After Jensen drove off, Stryker and I sat in silence, parked a safe distance away, partially hidden behind a large industrial dumpster but still able to see the front entrance of the warehouse.
“What's the plan?” I asked.
“First,” Stryker pointed at the base of the warehouse’s roofline, “we need to figure out how to get past all those wards.”
I followed his gaze and saw that indeed someone had etched wards, dark magical symbols, along the roofline. They formed a sort of the invisible fence, a magical barrier that would keep out those who couldn't undo the magic.
Even from where I sat, I could tell that it was complicated magic. I wasn't certain that I could undo it. Sure, if I had my spell book or my laptop maybe I could do a little research and figure it out.
Finally, Stryker spoke, “If I'm not mistaken those wards only keep us out if the
door remains closed. Once the door’s open, we should be able to pass through.”
I'd heard of one-way runes. Strong but limited.
“So we just wait for the doors to open?” I asked.
“No darling, we’re not waiting.” He frowned at me. “You're going to open the door.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“And how exactly am I going to —” I suddenly realized what he wanted me to do. I was going to refuse, but I thought about it from moment.
One of the limitations of this type of ward was size. It had been designed to protect against an attack from a larger, more formidable creature — for example, an ogre or a minotaur.
But a small creature could probably penetrate the barrier without being affected.
I nodded. “A mole.”
“Pardon?”
“A small mole could probably burrow under the door and get in.”
“Now you’re talking.” He clapped his hands. “How long will you need once you’re inside?”
“If all goes well… thirty seconds,” I estimated. “If it doesn’t…”
If I transformed into a mole outside of the Range Rover, then it would likely take me forever to cover the distance over to the warehouse. Instead, I could initially shift into a rat, or even a bird, and get closer. Then, as a mole, I could dig under the door.
Even if they were watching from inside, which they probably weren’t because they trusted their wards, no one would notice a small animal becoming an even smaller animal.
As I popped the passenger door open, Stryker met me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Be careful.”
“I will,” I said, touched by his words.
“I’d hate to have to go to all the trouble of finding yet another assistant.”
I shook my head and slung the backpack with my weapons, including the borrowed crossbow, over my shoulder. I closed my eyes and shrunk down to the crumbled blacktop. I was a rat. My sense of smell sharpened, making the sickly stink of garbage seem appealing.
Being a rat was definitely not my favorite.
But I was doing this for Sam. If we were going to save him and lift the vampire’s curse, I needed to get going.
