The Last Vampire- Complete series Box Set

by R. A. Steffan

  Presumably, Albigard and Nigellus would keep a lid on things since they’d tacitly agreed to work together on this, but after watching Rans and Albigard sling deadly blades at each other to make a point, I wasn’t ready to bet my life on it.

  “Right. Meet us in the parking garage rather than the penthouse. The van’ll be pretty obvious when you see it.”

  I gave a quick acknowledgement and hung up. The idea that this was really about to happen started to sink in properly as I headed back to join the others in the living room. Fortunately, there wasn’t time for an emotional meltdown now that we had things to do.

  “We’re meeting Guthrie and Albigard in the parking garage under Guthrie’s building,” I announced. “The van’s all packed and ready to go.”

  Rans was strapping on his pair of iron swords, the hilts jutting out from their scabbards in an X-shape behind his shoulders. He hefted a small duffel bag containing our other weapons while I pulled my hair back and twisted it in a tight bun for fighting. The unreal nature of the scene threatened my equilibrium for a moment, but I focused on the necessity of what we were doing and didn’t let it derail me.

  “Let’s go,” Rans said, and swirled away into mist. I took a deep breath and followed, racing alongside him as we flew over the city at night.

  It took us a good few minutes to cross the distance, while travel was essentially instantaneous for Nigellus and the others. They were waiting for us when we arrived, transforming back to solidity in a shadowed corner of the underground garage.

  Guthrie had been right; the van was obvious enough. Unmarked and ancient, it practically screamed ‘sketchy.’ But with Albigard and possibly Caspian involved, the vehicle pretty much had to be old, or else we risked the electronic systems getting fried at an unfortunate moment. Still, it was a better option than trying to drag salt-encased body parts around in the back of a vintage pickup truck or something.

  With the exception of Edward, who was puttering around loading odds and ends into the back of the van, the collection of people nearby had arrayed themselves like the points of a compass. Albigard and Nigellus eyed each other warily across the distance separating them, while my father was likewise staring at Guthrie with a look of intense concentration. With a start, I realized that no one had clued him in about the small matter of Guthrie being my biological grandfather.

  “Dad,” I said, “this is Guthrie Leonides. He was Mom’s biological father, which—somewhat weirdly—makes him your father-in-law, I guess. Anyway, it was his DNA Myrial stole to get Grandma pregnant back in the day. Guthrie... Darryl Bright, my dad.”

  My father was still staring. “But, you’re...”

  “Black?” Guthrie prompted after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, raising an eyebrow.

  “Too young,” my father finished.

  I wasn’t at all sure Guthrie wanted his demon-bound status broadcast to the world. Since his undead status was pretty much out of the bag already among this group, I said, “He’s also a vampire. We don’t age.”

  Dad’s eyes settled on me, and then went back to Guthrie. “We should talk, you and I. Afterward, I mean,” he said, his expression thoughtful.

  “Sure,” Guthrie said. “Assuming we’re not dead, obviously. Speaking of which...”

  “Yes,” Nigellus agreed. “We should be on our way to whatever venue you intend to use for the battle.” His eyes remained on Albigard, openly assessing him. “Flight Commander. I assume your interest in this matter lies solely with the disposition of the Fae race-killer?”

  Rans looked sharply at the demon.

  “It does,” Albigard said. “In this respect, our current interests align. Once Caspian is dead, I offer no guarantee that will continue to be the case.”

  Nigellus gave a brisk nod in response.

  I glanced inside the van, which had a second row of seats behind the driver’s area. The cargo space in back was piled with fifty-pound salt bags of the kind sold for water softener systems, along with weapons, the promised chainsaw, a can of gasoline, rolls of duct tape, and various other items that, taken collectively, would get someone a one-way ticket to an interrogation room at the local police precinct.

  After some discussion, we’d decided to set up our ambush in a quiet part of Kennedy Forest, located south of the golf course inside Forest Park. It was about as close as you could get to a secluded spot in this part of the city, not to mention being conveniently near Guthrie’s apartment building. The park closed at ten p.m., and a bit of quiet surveillance had revealed that the entrances were guarded by park rangers and St. Louis police at night, presumably in an attempt to cut down on the prevalence of drug deals and other unsavory activity.

  Of course, you couldn’t really get much less savory than what we had planned for Myrial tonight.

  “Not enough seats for everyone, so it looks like we’re flying again,” I told Rans. “We’ll meet the rest of you at the site. Guthrie, can you handle the park security?”

  “It can’t be any more difficult than mesmerizing someone into letting you drink their blood,” Guthrie said dryly.

  “That’s the spirit, mate,” Rans approved. “Right. Let’s get where we need to be. The clock’s ticking.”

  TWELVE

  KENNEDY FOREST WAS not exactly what you’d call untamed wilderness. For one thing, in my admittedly limited experience, untamed wilderness didn’t have this many paved bike paths or picnic tables. Nevertheless, it was sixty-plus acres of dense tree cover that would—hopefully—act as a buffer between the innocent citizens of St. Louis and a supernatural battle to the death.

  Well... okay. A supernatural battle to the dismemberment, since death was off the table in Myrial’s case.

  I was still pissed off about the whole ‘demon immortality’ thing. It was totally unfair that I’d never be able to get proper revenge for all the shit that the succubus had done to my family and friends. All I could hope was that if we were somehow successful in the fight, Myrial would end up in agony from the salt packed around her various body parts, for however long the trick worked. When it came to revenge, maybe decades or centuries of physical pain would be almost as good as death.

  Rans and I swirled above the van, tracking its progress to the park entrance off Skinker Boulevard. Sure enough, a police car parked inconspicuously nearby flashed its lights as Guthrie turned onto the road entering Forest Park. Some of the various roads and entrances around the park had gates, but the main entrances were too large for that. They relied on park rangers and cops for nighttime security, instead.

  Guthrie pulled over compliantly, turning off the engine and rolling down the window. I tried not to be nervous, knowing my worry was actually displaced anxiety about Myrial’s arrival—not about the current situation. With a vampire, a Fae, and a demon of fate in the van, the unsuspecting cops didn’t stand a chance.

  Indeed, in mere seconds the officer who’d approached the van turned right back around and returned to his car. Moments later, the cruiser executed a neat three-point turn and headed for its lookout spot at the entrance as though nothing had happened. The van rumbled to life and headed further into the park, headlights off.

  It took Guthrie a couple of tries to maneuver the bulky vehicle onto one of the paved trails leading into the forest proper. The narrow strip of asphalt left only a couple inches of clearance on either side of the wheels. Branches scraped against the top and sides of the van in several places as he drove, further marring its already questionable paintjob.

  We’d scoped out an area in the northwest quadrant of the forest—eight acres that had been reclaimed as part of a savanna restoration project. There was an open meadow among the trees, populated with native grasses and wildflowers. The visibility in the clearing would be better than trying to fight in the woods, but cover was still available nearby if needed.

  In addition, Albigard had surveyed the surroundings and declared that his magic would be more effective here than in areas with a heavier human influence. There
were no lights in this part of the park, not that the darkness was a detriment for vampires. Rans and I landed next to the van as Guthrie and the others exited, only the anemic glow from the vehicle’s dome light cutting through the nighttime gloom.

  I wasn’t sure how demons and Fae fared in full darkness, but Edward and my father would need light to see properly. I hadn’t thought to make sure we had flashlights packed, though that seemed like the kind of thing Guthrie would have taken care of, with his endless well of practicality.

  In the end, it didn’t matter—Albigard snapped his fingers carelessly, and a glowing ball flickered into existence above his head. It split into two, one half floating over to hover at Edward’s shoulder, and the other next to my father’s. Dad visibly shuddered, leaning away from the manifestation of Fae magic, but Edward looked at his approvingly.

  “Very deft, Flight Commander,” he said, still examining the light with interest. “Would you perhaps care to accompany me around the perimeter? I should set the blood wards now, even if we can’t activate them until after Myrial arrives.”

  Albigard looked at the old man with mild distaste. “Demon magic?” he asked.

  “Human magic,” Edward corrected. “Though admittedly strengthened by power drawn from a demon.”

  Albigard’s expression smoothed, and he shrugged indifferent agreement. A few moments later, I smelled the faint metallic tang of human blood, as Edward opened a cut in his palm with a small blade. He and Albigard began walking around the edges of the battle site, defining the area with tiny drops of red as they went.

  Theoretically, once the spell was activated, humans would be discouraged from paying attention to anything happening in the clearing—not too different from the obfuscation spell Edward had placed on Nigellus’ house in California to keep people from noticing it, or on my house here in St. Louis to keep anyone from wanting to enter. That part of the plan wouldn’t happen until after Myrial showed up, however, since such a spell might alert the demon to the presence of a trap.

  As things stood, it was unclear if Myrial would be expecting an ambush or not. Worst-case scenario—she’d originally sent my father running here with the message that she was coming for me as part of her own trap. If that were the case, this kind of coordinated response might be exactly what she’d wanted. Rans’ presence here with me was a given. She’d probably be able to sense Guthrie’s proximity as well, since she held him in a demon bond in addition to sharing a blood-bond with me.

  Nigellus’ involvement might not be a complete shock to her, either, given that he’d intervened to protect us once before. Albigard’s presence... could be, though. I doubted she would consider Edward’s or my father’s presences worth bothering about, one way or the other. She’d already proven on multiple occasions that Edward was no match for her.

  The thing that would be making my palms sweat right now—if I could still sweat—was the idea that the succubus bitch might descend on us with other demons, or with Caspian and a flight of Fae in tow. Or with an army of controlled humans, for that matter, or...

  Or, or, or.

  Basically, there were a bunch of scenarios in which we would almost certainly end up toast, but only a handful where we prevailed. But... wasn’t that what I’d signed us up for, after all? An end to things, for better or worse?

  Somehow, until this moment I hadn’t fully appreciated the part where Rans and I would be putting other people’s lives on the line, too. Albigard had his own agenda and reason for being here, but... Guthrie. Edward. Dad. Nigellus had the same advantage of immortality Myrial did, but if he were pushed far enough, would he drain Dad and Edward to save himself? Were we using a monster to fight monsters?

  Rans appeared in front of me, jerking me out of my reverie. His eyes took in my glazed expression.

  “Whatever it is you’re thinking about, it’s too late to worry about it now, love. Strap these on.”

  I accepted the knife belt and shoulder holster, feeling like the fraudiest fraud who’d ever frauded. The belt had a sheath at each hip—one of our three salt daggers nestling in the left one in preparation for a right-handed draw, and an iron dagger in the right one for a left-handed draw.

  The shoulder holster held a nine-millimeter Makarov semi-automatic pistol loaded with iron bullets, along with two replacement clips. I was honestly less than sanguine about trying to use it with Edward and my father in the vicinity, given how little real-world fighting experience I had with firearms. But Rans had insisted I take it, given the likelihood of Caspian’s involvement.

  He was armed to the teeth as well, as was Albigard. Guthrie had once again refused an iron blade, though he’d eventually agreed to take the third salt dagger since it might be his best shot at taking out Myrial. He’d also scared up a double-barreled shotgun from somewhere, and filled a dozen twelve-gauge shells with rock salt.

  Edward had refused any weapons, claiming he was only there for the purpose of casting magical barriers. Nigellus was likewise uninterested in the arsenal we had available, but I knew better than to think that meant he was unarmed. When he needed it, he would call forth a flaming sword from the ether that would put the rest of our guns and blades to shame.

  “Dad,” I said, distracting my father from his wary examination of the glowing light at his shoulder. “You’re on van duty. Keep it parked just outside Edward’s barrier with the engine running. If we manage to overpower Myrial, get a bag of salt to us as fast as you can. And if it looks like were losing the fight, slam on the gas pedal and make a run for it with anyone still left alive.”

  All of my instructions were probably pointless, of course. If Myrial got the upper hand and wanted the mortals dead, a rusted-out van from the early nineties wasn’t going to outrun a being that could teleport at will. But... it made me feel like I was at least trying to keep my dad safe in an inherently unsafe situation. I also hoped that if he felt like he had a specific role to play during the fight, it would prevent him from doing anything stupid.

  With the van positioned, and everyone who knew how to use a weapon armed... we waited.

  “What are the chances that Myrial will be able to talk the other demons around to her side?” I asked, when the lengthening silence threatened to upend my fragile equilibrium. “You said you didn’t think she’d be successful?”

  Nigellus shifted minutely where he was resting against the lip of the van’s cargo area. “Low,” he replied. “There is always a certain amount of inertia to be overcome when attempting to change the status quo. However, if Myrial is successful in overcoming me and destroying all the vampires except for hers, that will likely change. And in the meantime, there is still the matter of her collusion with the Fae.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to me as property, demon,” Guthrie said.

  Nigellus raised an eyebrow. “I do beg your pardon. Does Myrial not own your soul, Mr. Leonides?”

  Guthrie’s lip pressed into a thin, unhappy line. “I didn’t say the statement was inaccurate. I said I didn’t appreciate it.”

  The demon tilted his chin in acknowledgement. “Yes—so you did. My apologies.”

  Rans tensed beside me. “Two people are approaching on foot from the direction of the park boundary. Zorah?”

  My lack of a heartbeat did nothing to prevent a flood of adrenaline racing through me. I reached out with all my senses, looking for anything magical.

  “Not Fae,” I said.

  “Not demon,” Nigellus added. “Merely human.”

  I saw Guthrie and my father both bristling at the ‘merely.’ Ironic, given that the description only applied to one of them now.

  “They could be controlled,” Rans said tightly. “If so, they’re likely to be armed. Look sharp.”

  I waved Dad inside the van’s cab with emphatic movements, ignoring his glare of displeasure. Only when the door closed and his silhouette disappeared into the back, protected by windowless metal, did I turn to face the potential threat. My hand rested on the
butt of the gun, ready to draw.

  Low voices approached, arguing.

  “... don’t see why we had to come all the way out here to do the deal, man.”

  “Because there’s no surveillance cameras out here, and no witnesses, asshole. You wanna buy from me, you get your punk ass out here where we can do this shit in private.”

  Next to me, Rans relaxed. The would-be drug dealer and his customer wandered into the clearing, their flashlight apps illuminating our heavily armed group gathered around an unmarked commercial van. Both men came to an abrupt stop, jaws dropping.

  “Oh, dear,” Rans drawled. “So much for park security.”

  It... might have been funny, if tonight were any other night. I focused on the feral vampiric power inside of me until I felt my eyes burning with inner light. Settling my gaze on the hapless pair, I let that same power add resonance to my voice.

  “You don’t want to be here,” I told them. “Turn around and run away as fast as you can. Forget about what you saw, and stay out of the park at night.”

  Eyes comically wide, they turned around and hared toward the tree line where they’d emerged. An instant before they would have disappeared into the shadows between the thick trunks, a new figure popped into existence, leathery wings blocking their path.

  Myrial’s battle scythe flashed out, crackling with blue energy. One of the fleeing humans fell with a gurgle, blood spurting from his neck like a fountain. Myrial grabbed the other by the back of his hoodie, spinning him around in a parody of an embrace. Her free hand gripped his chin and jerked to the side. With a dull crunch of cracking vertebrae, he slid to the ground in a lifeless heap.

  “Well, my dears,” the succubus purred. “Isn’t this quite the welcoming committee? Tell me, my pets—did you miss me while I was away in Hell?”

  THIRTEEN

  A SHOTGUN BLAST rang out in the night, followed closely by a second. Guthrie strode toward Myrial, his expression twisted into hard lines as he dropped a pair of fresh shells into the gun and snapped the barrel closed. Myrial hissed in anger like a cat as two more blasts of rock salt exploded scattershot against her torso. Thin wisps of smoke rose from the tiny wounds.