by Craig Zerf
‘Do what?’ Asked Em.
‘You know about Glamoring?’ He asked.
‘I assume that you mean the Vampire power to mentally coerce someone to do what they want, eradicate memory, control. That sort of thing?’
Sylvian nodded. ‘Exactly that sort of thing.’
‘I can’t do it,’ said Em.
‘Why so sure?’ Asked Sylvian. ‘Have you tried?’
Emily shook her head. ‘No, but what I mean is, I cannot do it. I won’t do it. It’s like mental rape. Grabbing someone’s brain and forcing to do what you want. No way, I’m disgusted enough with myself, please don’t ask me to go there.’
‘It’s not like that,’ insisted the Frenchman. ‘I’m not going to ask you to force anyone to do anything. I’m simply going to show you how to make a harmless suggestion. A feeling of belonging. It might slightly affect the Faye Folk or some humans but I need you to do it to allay the fear that the cats feel.’
‘What? Sort of like a cat-whisperer?’ Asked Tag.
Sylvian smiled. ‘Big Man, you got it. Just like a cat-whisperer.’
‘So it won’t hurt them?’ Asked Em.
‘Not even a little.’
‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘I’m in. Show me.’
‘Have you ever meditated?’ Asked Sylvian.
‘I’m a fifth dan black belt, of course I have.’
‘Good, let us start, it doesn’t take long. Now relax, breath. Find your center. Empty your mind. See only white. A mist. A fog. Impenetrable. All around you. You are free. Floating. Now, see yourself as a single dot floating freely in the mist. Concentrate on the dot. Are you there?’
‘I am,’ whispered Em.
‘What color is the dot?’
‘Red.’
‘I want you to change the color of the dot. The dot that represents you. Make it blue. But not dark blue. Light, pastel blue. Like a baby boy’s blanket. A soft, sky blue.’
Emily struggled for a while and then started to shake. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘It keeps going back to red.’
‘Do not panic,’ urged Sylvian. ‘The red is the Vampire you. It is how your inner self views what it has become. Red. Blood. Death. You must purge that from your mind. Only blue must remain. The beauty of a summer sky. The pale blue of the eyes of a newborn baby. Blue.’
The two sat still for at least ten minutes and then Emily seemed to visibly relax.
‘I can feel it,’ said Troy in a whisper.
‘Me too,’ concurred Tag.
Emily smiled.
‘You are there,’ said Sylvian. ‘Now you must maintain it. Allow the color to wash over you, to seep through you. Imagine your very blood turning light blue. Hold it. Nurture it.’ The Bloodborn stood up. ‘Well done, Emily. You are ready.’ He turned to Troy. ‘You must stay close to her. No more than six feet away. Her aura will cover you as well. The cats will no longer perceive a predator. They will see only harmony.’
‘Will she be able to keep it up?’ Asked Tag.
Sylvian shrugged in his typically Gallic way. ‘I hope so. Now all come with me, we need to tool up. I would like us to leave as soon as possible.’
‘Any chance of a short nap before we set off? ‘ Asked Tag. ‘Been awake all day and all night now.’
‘We can sleep when we are dead,’ replied Sylvian as he led them from the room. ‘What weapons did you bring?’ he asked.
‘None,’ admitted Tag. ‘Thought that we were traveling light and fast. Figured that we could set up wherever.’
‘I brought my katana,’ said Em.
‘I never carry,’ added Troy.
‘Well then I have something rather special for the Big Man,’ said Sylvian.
They walked through a large dining room with more grand masters on the walls and then into a study. Wood paneling, Persian carpets, mahogany desk. Sylvian pushed on one of the wooden panels and it slid to the side with a hiss of compressed air to reveal a walk-in safe. He placed his hand on the identification panels and a green light flickered across his palm and then the door swung open. A series of neon lights switched on. The safe was probably as large as a dressing room. Along the one wall were shelves with bricks of cash. Dollars, Pounds, Euros, Rubles, Chinese Renminbi, Indian Rupees and many more. On the floor were piles of different weight gold bars ranging from matchbox sized to flat kilobars and even the large 12.4kg standard bullion bars.
On the opposite wall were racks of weapons. Swords, spears, shields, bows and firearms. Below them, crates of ammunition, explosives and hand grenades.
Tag let out a long low whistle of appreciation. ‘Man,’ he said. ‘You got yourself some serious cash and enough weaponry to start a war.’
Sylvian shrugged. ‘We have started a war so the weapons are necessary. As for the gold and cash, I have picked lots up over time. The thing is, when you are a few hundred years old your long term investments tend to do very well. Help yourself,’ he said to Tag. ‘Grab a few bars if you want.’
Tag shook his head. ‘No, wouldn’t know what to do with it. Thanks all the same.’
‘Good. Now I have something here that I think would be perfectly suited to you.’ The Frenchman opened a smaller cabinet on the weapon wall and took out two firearms. ‘These were made for me by a man called Frikkie Bezuidenhout. A South African gunsmith who specialized in wildcat weapons. Most definitely the very best gunsmith that the world has ever known. Sadly he has passed but I have these to remember him by.’
He handed one of the firearms to Tag who hefted it appreciably. ‘Looks familiar,’ he said as he wracked the slide back.
‘It should do. It’s based on the frame from an Uzi Pistol chambered for the .41AE round. Except Frikkie beefed up the mechanism, added a compensator for recoil, replaced the barrel and bored the whole thing out so that it now shoots a .50AE. Probably the most powerful standard handgun round in the world. He also made up a twin stack extended magazine that takes twenty five rounds. Just like the original, it fires at six hundred rounds a minute or single shot. However, Frikkie added a three shot selector switch. Pull the trigger once, bang-bang-bang.’ Sylvian picked up a box of ammunition. ‘He also designed this special ammo for the weapon. High silver content slug with an expanding tip. Anything that you hit with this will tear the slug open, forming a six tipped steel flower an inch wide. It will seriously ruin any Vampires day. Here,’ Sylvian handed the second machine pistol to the Big Man. ‘Also, you will need this,’ he grabbed a custom made shoulder holster rig that accommodated the two weapons plus four extra magazines and two pouches for spare ammo.
Tag removed his jacket, slipped on the rig, slotted the pistols in and smiled so widely that it looked as though he might swallow his own ears. ‘Thanks, Frenchy,’ he said. ‘This is one seriously cool gift.’
‘Please,’ quipped Sylvian. ‘Not Frenchy.’ He shuddered.
‘Sorry… Sylvian.’
The Bloodborn nodded. ‘Good then. No time like the present.’ He grabbed a couple of bricks of Euros, a few handfuls of the smallest gold bars and crammed them into a waist bag that he strapped on under his coat. Then he picked a tactical flashlight off the wall and handed it to Tag. ‘It’s dark where we’re going. You’ll need this.’
Tag nodded, well aware that although Em, Troy and the Bloodborn could see perfectly at night, he would need extra light.
‘Let’s go,’ said Sylvian. ‘It’s follow the leader again.’ And he set off, the others trailing behind him.
The group trooped through the house to a flight of stairs that headed downwards. Three fights down they came to a steel door. There were no fancy ID Pads or scanners here. This door was locked the old fashioned way. Three huge locks and a steel bar. Sylvian took out a bunch of keys and unlocked each of the locks. Then he raised the steel bar, lay it on the floor and turned the handle. The door swung inwards on oiled hinges. The minimal light showed a narrow, spiraling flight of steps going down at a steep angle. He gestured for them to enter. Troy went first, followed by Tag a
nd then Em. Sylvian closed and locked the door behind them as Tag switched on his flashlight.
Without further ado, Troy started down.
***
‘I’m exhausted,’ mumbled Tag. ‘We keep going down much longer we gonna end up in China.’
‘Antipodes,’ said Em. ‘You’d end up in the Antipode Islands. They’re part of New Zealand. To end up in China you’d have to start going down in Argentina.’
‘How do you know these things?’ Asked Troy.
Em shrugged. ‘No idea. I told you before, I just know stuff.’
‘Not much longer,’ said Sylvian. ‘Another hour or so.’
‘Great,’ sighed Tag as they kept going down and around, deeper and deeper into the almost impenetrable darkness. The big man’s flashlight started to dim as the batteries gave out but, just before they died completely, the downward spiral ended at a door similar to the one they had entered so many hours before.
Once again Sylvian opened the locks and swung the door open.
They walked through.
And Emily gasped in wonder.
Chapter 12
Someone had torn two stout wooden doors from their hinges and propped them up against the wall of the cellar. Then they had taken the two Vampires, one male and one female, stripped them to their underwear and, using silver coated steel nails, nailed them to the doors. After that they had wrapped lengths of silver coated chain around them to ensure that there was no way that they could break loose.
The cellar was filled with the smell of burning Vampire flesh as the silver in the chains ate into their undead flesh, burning into them like branding irons.
And on a chair opposite them sat the man who had done the deeds – Sergeant Dietz Muller, a Knight of the Sedes Sacrorum, the Vampire hunting arm of the Catholic Church.
The cellar door opened and another man walked in. Bull necked, bullet shaped head and arms like other peoples legs. His name was Otto Reynaud, also known as the Blasphemer. He carried a small tray with two demitasse cups of espresso.
‘What took you so long?’ Asked Muller.
‘This Vamp has an awesome coffee machine,’ answered the large man. ‘One of those proper commercial ones, you know, with the big brass eagle on the top. Took me a while to figure out how to use it. Here,’ he offered a cup to Muller who picked it up and sniffed appreciably before he took a sip.
‘Very nice,’ he admitted. ‘Almost worth the wait.’
‘So, any joy?’ Asked Otto.
‘Not yet. Patience.’
‘We will never tell you anything,’ screamed the female Vampire. ‘You are both dead men. Dead men.’
Muller drew a pistol from a shoulder holster, aimed, shot the Vampire in the face, re-holstered the weapon and carried on sipping his coffee. ‘You didn’t put any sugar in.’
Otto shook his head. ‘I don’t like sugar.’
‘I do,’ said Muller.
Otto shrugged. ‘You didn’t say.’
‘You didn’t ask.’
‘Please, gentlemen,’ interrupted the male Vampire. ‘Why are you here? You say that you want information but you have yet to actually ask us anything. Apart from tying us up and shooting my partner in the face, what are you doing here?’
Instead of answering, Muller drew his pistol again and shot the male Vampire in his right knee.
The Vamp screeched in agony.
‘Why do you keep shooting them?’ Asked Otto.
‘Softening them up,’ answered Muller. ‘Make sure that they know that we’re serious. All of my info points to something serious going on and I simply do not have time to mess about any more. No more mister nice guy.’
‘Were you ever mister nice guy?’ Asked Otto.
‘You know what I mean.’ Muller stood up and approached the male Vampire. ‘Okay, it’s time. Now, we can do things the hard way or…’ the Knight paused. ‘No, sorry. There is no easy way – it’s all the hard way from now on in.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Sneered the Vamp. ‘Shoot me again?’
Muller shook his head, reached into his jacket and pulled out his flask. ‘Do you know what this is?’
‘Vodka? How should I know what you keep on your person?’
‘No. Not vodka. This is holy water. It has been blessed by the holy father himself.’
Both of the Vampires laughed in genuine amusement in spite of their current predicament. ‘So what?’ Jeered the male. ‘You might as well threaten us with a can of soda. Do your worst holy man.’
Muller walked over to the female. ‘You see,’ he said as he walked. ‘Mostly, holy water doesn’t work. Even though you are pure evil and this,’ he held up the flask. ‘Is pure goodness and light. But that isn’t the fault of the holy water. It is the fault of the bearer. You see, for the unfaithful it is merely a binary compound that occurs at room temperature as a clear colorless odorless tasteless liquid; freezes into ice below zero degrees centigrade and boils above one hundred degrees centigrade. But for the true believer…’ he opened the flask.
The female shrank back.
‘He’s talking rubbish, Odette,’ shouted the male. ‘It’s just water. It can’t do anything to you.’
‘As I said,’ continued Muller. ‘To the true believer it becomes a deadly weapon against all that is evil.’ He splashed some onto the female Vampires face.
Immediately her skin began to blister and burn. Smoke rose from her flesh as she screamed in agony.
‘The power of Christ compels me,’ intoned Muller as he flicked more of the liquid onto her face.
The skin began to slough off in chunks, exposing the bone. But still it continued to burn. After less than a minute the bloodsucker passed out.
The male Vampire had gone completely still, his eyes two pools of deep terror.
‘The hard way,’ said Muller softly. ‘Now, I need to know where your main chapter house is. I need to know where the head of your organization resides.’
The Vampire shook his head.
‘Muller held up the flask.
‘Please,’ begged the bloodsucker. ‘I can’t tell you.’
Muller flicked a drop of the liquid onto the male’s face where it sizzled and spat like boiling oil.
‘Please don’t,’ he screamed. ‘I literally cannot tell you.’
‘Are you saying that you don’t know?’ Questioned Muller. ‘That you have never been there? Because I do not believe you.’
‘No. I know. I have been there,’ groveled the male. ‘But I cannot tell. You see, the knowledge is in my head. If I need to go then I can get there, but I cannot divulge the information nor can I lead anyone else. After every meeting the Capo, the head of all Vampires, casts a lasting glamor over us. We literally cannot tell anyone where we have been. If we try out brains simply shut down and we cannot talk. If I tried to lead you there I would lose the ability to move. Perhaps I would even die. The true death.’
Muller held the flask up.
‘I can’t tell you,’ whispered the Vampire as he shook his head. ‘If I could then I would. Please believe me.’
Muller sighed. ‘I believe you.’ He capped the flask and put it away. Then, in one smooth movement, he drew his machete and swung, cleaving the Vampires head from his shoulders with one mighty cut. Then he walked over to the female and did the same.
‘What now?’ Asked Otto.
‘We search the house.’
‘Big house,’ commented Otto.
‘Then we had better get moving,’ answered Muller.’
‘Mind if I grab something to eat first?’ Asked the big man. ‘I’m starving.’
Muller looked at him and then shook his head. ‘You’re welcome to look in the kitchen but you won’t find anything.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Might be tea or coffee but that’s it,’ observed Miller. ‘They’re Vampires, they live off human blood. Nothing else. So, no food.’
Otto looked embarrassed. ‘Of course. Sorry, forgot.’
&n
bsp; ‘Don’t ever forget that,’ said Muller with feeling. ‘They kill to eat. They cannot survive off anything else. So always remember, every Vamp that you meet is a mass murderer. Evil to the core. That is why we exterminate them. And that is why we do it with no remorse. Now you take the top two floors, I’ll take the basement and ground floor.’
Otto nodded. ‘Got it, boss. And I won’t forget.’
Otto left the room and both he and Muller started to search for any information, pulling open cupboards, overturning chairs and tables and stripping beds.
They found noting until Muller went to the garage. One of the cars, a 1980 Ferrari, had an aftermarket SatNav. He checked the last visited addresses. Unfortunately they had been cleared from the memory but, as he drilled down, he found a list of gas stations that had been marked on route. The furthest one was close to Bologna. Up North towards Milan. It wasn’t much but if they had last used the car to travel to the main Chapter House then that meshed with the last information that Muller had gotten.
He shouted for Otto.
It was time to head North.
Chapter 13
Lights. Thousands of blue-white balls of floating plasma. Many as small as a baseball, others the size of a prize Halloween pumpkin. Some floated at street level, others bounced around the stalactites that hung from the ceiling of the humungous cavern.
Shadows skittered and skipped as the plasma balls played with the light and shade in their ever-moving dance.
The buildings where obviously ancient. Built from large granite blocks. Sturdy and timeless. None were higher than four floors. They stretched as far as the eye could see.
The cobbled streets thronged with inhabitants. Marketers sold their wares, street performers danced, juggled and proclaimed poetry. Food stalls sold kebabs, sausages and sweet meats.
And everywhere were the cats. Thousands upon thousands of them. All noticeably larger than the domesticated animals that Emily was used to. As far as she could see, there were no pure breeds but there was a massive variety of colors and markings. Ginger, black, white, spotted, striped. And the sound of their continual purring thrummed through the cavern like an electronic heartbeat, rising and falling in discernable cadence.
