by Craig Zerf
As Em stepped forward Tag grabbed her arm. ‘Careful,’ he said. ‘Don’t kill anyone.’
The instructor laughed. ‘Don’t worry, man,’ he said. ‘We’ll be gentle.’
‘I’m not talking to you, retard,’ snapped Tag.
Em winked at the big man and grinned.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s do this.’
Em waited for the five combatants to ready themselves before she struck. It was like watching a combine harvester mow down corn. The Purebloods struck hard and fast. But when they struck, Emily was no longer there and all that they did was punch at empty space causing themselves to overextend and put themselves off balance.
Emily, however, did land her punches. Twelve blows later, all of the men were prone, clutching at various parts of their bruised and battered anatomies like survivors of a high speed car crash. She walked over, grasped the instructor by his hand and pulled him to his feet.
‘My name is Emily Hawk. You may call me Em, ma’am, miss Hawk or Emily. But if you call me princess again then I will damage you. Clear?’
The instructor nodded. ‘Crystal, miss Hawk,’ he acknowledged. ‘My name is Jacob Hunt and you can call me whatever you want to.’
The other men stood up and gathered around Em, holding out their hands for her to shake and greeting her with a respectful, ‘Miss Hawk.’
‘Can you show us how to do that?’ Asked one of them.
Em shook her head. ‘I’m going over to the shooting range but I can get Bastian to show you. He’s good. Better than me.’ She turned to Tag. ‘Could you go and call him? Tell him that he’s needed here.’
Tag nodded and jogged off.
‘Are the vamps as fast as you?’ Asked Jacob.
Em shook her head and the men looked relieved. ‘They’re faster,’ she said, dashing their briefly new-found confidence. ‘But they aren’t as strong and as long as you keep moving you can take them. Especially if you shoot them a few times first.’
The men laughed.
Emily bid her farewells and headed off to the shooting range to observe, knowing that Bastian would train the men as well, if not better than she could.
There were twelve men at the range and, as Em got closer, she was pleased to note that they were using Desert Eagle 357 magnum pistols with extended magazines. Loaded for bear.
Like she had with the combat sparring she simply stood and watched for a while and she had to admit to herself that these men were good. They went through their drills perfectly, drawing, firing, reloading with skill and efficiency.
The only problem was – they wouldn’t last three seconds in a firefight with bloodsuckers.
Finally one of the men acknowledged her.
‘Morning,’ he greeted.
Em walked over to him and offered her hand. He took it and shook firmly. A little too firmly as he expressed his dominance. Childishly, Em decided to play and she squeezed back. But she had to be careful as, whilst she did want to prove a point, she didn’t want to actually crush his hand.
The sudden rush of blood from his face and his expression of white hot agony showed that she may have overdone it a little but then, in all fairness, she was getting rather irritable with this constant flow of testosterone and one-upmanship. She had no time for it. They were at war with the vamps, not each other.
‘My name’s Emily,’ she said. ‘Emily Hawk.’
She let go of his hand and he let out a sharp breath, like a steam engine venting. ‘David,’ he managed to grunt. ‘Sergeant David Kingsman.’ He inspected his hand and then grinned. ‘Man, miss Hawk,’ he continued. ‘That’s one hell of a grip you got there. Almost crapped myself when you put the squeeze on. Good for you.’
Emily sighed. She would never understand men and their macho posturing. ‘Listen, sergeant,’ she said. ‘I’ve been watching your men perform and they are good. Very good.’
‘They’re the best of the best, ma’am,’ answered David proudly, still massaging his hand in an effort to bring it back to life.
Em nodded. ‘I’m sure. But there is a problem.’
‘What?’
‘The way they shoot. Their whole mind-set is incorrect.’
By now the rest of the men had gathered around and were listening. Eyebrows raised and disbelief on their faces.
‘I see that you use the Mozambique drill method of shooting,’ noted Em.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed the sergeant. ‘Double tap to the torso and then a third shot to the head. Guaranteed to bring anyone and anything down. Failsafe.’
Emily shook her head. ‘It might slow a vamp down. But not enough to stop it biting you. Or simply ripping your head off. You have literally got to fill those suckers with silver. One or two mags as fast as.’
The men looked skeptical.
‘Trust me,’ continued Em. ‘And another thing that you need to realize, you aren’t going to kill them with firepower alone.’ She pointed at the pistols. ‘These are to slow them down so you can get up close and personal with them and then cut their heads off. Or empty an entire mag into their face at point blank range. That normally does it.’ Em held her hand out. ‘Here, let me show you. Can I have two fully loaded Eagles?’
Two of the men handed their firearms to Em. She ejected each mag in turn and checked that they were full, then she stood in front of one of the targets. It was a simple human silhouette standing ten yards away. A standard practice distance. She took a breath, flicked off the safeties then pointed and fired.
The huge handguns hammered back at her, exhibiting massive amounts of recoil but her Shadowhunter enhanced strength ensured that they remained on target. Each extended mag held ten rounds and one up the spout. A total of twenty two shots. Emily cranked them off in just over a second. The retorts were so close together as to sound like one continuous explosion.
And every round struck the silhouette in the intended area, leaving a ragged hole the size of a side plate where the face should be.
There was a slight pause and then the men all cheered.
The sergeant walked up and saluted her. ‘Ma’am,’ he said. ‘We would be honored if you could spend a little time with us and show us just how the hell you did that.’
Em smiled and nodded.
Chapter 7
Nathan had been on a learning curve that was almost as steep as the one he was imposing on his trainee Bloodwraiths. As he had only been Nosferatu for a matter of weeks he was still learning about himself. Testing his own limits.
And it didn’t help that he was actually a totally unique entity. A cross between vampire and Shadowhunter.
Over the last few weeks he had learned that vampires could not increase their strength or speed through training. Their basic levels of power were decided solely by the brethrens’ age. Any vampire over five hundred years of age was as close to his peak as he or she might ever get. At a thousand plus they didn’t seem to get any stronger and, when the very few reached stupendous ages, such Janus, their powers shifted. They changed, becoming less physical and more cerebral.
All of the Bloodwraiths were between five hundred and one thousand years old. Except of course for Nathan who was still but a few weeks.
However, the other major lesson that Nathan had learned was the simple fact that the vampires’ natural powers were also their greatest weaknesses.
They were so vastly superior to any normal living being that they tended to rely completely on their inherent speed and power and their ability to heal. So when they came up against a well armed, motivated human, such as the Yardies, or another supernatural being such as a werewolf, they found themselves participating on an almost level playing field. And in the case of a well trained Shadowhunter, the odds were probably slightly against them. In other words, their natural advantages were nullified.
So what Nathan was concentrating on was training his Bloodwraiths in unarmed combat. Standard Shadowhunter training. A blend of karate, savate, boxing and judo. He had decided not to advance their tra
ining with bladed weapons, their talons were far stronger and easier to use. As for firearms, they were simply taboo and no Nosferatu would ever deign to use them. It was literally unthinkable.
And after a month of incredibly intensive training, Nathan was well pleased with the results.
They were not yet as good as a Shadowhunter but they were close.
‘Daniel,’ he called the one Bloodwraith. An elder who had been turned some eight hundred years before. ‘Choose five Bloodwraiths to help you. As soon as you have chosen I want you to attack me. When blood is drawn you are out of the fight.’
Daniel bowed his head. ‘Sir.’ He turned to the group of Bloodwraiths and chose another five whom he considered to be the best.
Nathan stood in the middle of the room. His shirt off. His hands by his side. Relaxed. Thus far he had never been blooded, winning every contest without a scratch. But the last time they had come close and, truth be told, he was hoping that they might beat him this once. It would at last show that his training methods were working.
The Bloodwraiths attacked.
No one held back as blows were traded. Talons fully extended, Nathan ducked and rolled and weaved back and forth, cutting and stabbing as he moved at superhuman speed, delivering up to five or six blows a second. Within moments he had dispatched three Bloodwraiths.
And then he felt a slight sting on his abdomen, just below his navel. He glanced down to see a deep red slash across his stomach and he immediately stopped.
The mêlée of combat halted about him, a frozen tableau of vampires with fangs and talons bared.
Nathan raised an eyebrow and then pointed at his wound. ‘Who?’ he asked.
Daniel nodded his head nervously.
‘Congratulations, Daniel,’ said Nathan. ‘You have just become my second. Well done.’
Daniel smiled, exposing his fangs still further.
But then he stopped and stared. Nathan noticed that all of the other Bloodwraiths were also looking at him in awe. Staring directly at his wound.
He glanced down but failed to see why they were all so enamored. The deep cut itself had already fully healed and all that was left was a wash of blood.
‘What is it, Daniel?’ He asked.
‘It’s your blood, sir,’ answered the new second.
‘What about it?’ Snapped Nathan.
‘It glows, sir. It’s beautiful. I can see the power in it.’
Nathan looked down once again but he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
‘If you say so, Bloodwraith,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s call it a day. Well done all, we are achieving great things.’
And the ex-Shadowhunter walked off, wondering what exactly it was that the rest of his brethren were seeing in his life’s-blood.
Chapter 8
‘If we catch them we can kill them,’ stated William. ‘Now, catching them piecemeal isn’t that difficult. Em and the Yardies did a good job of that. Took out quite a few of the leeches. But, invariably, overuse of the same tactic led to an ambush and ultimately, defeat.’
Em, who was once again seated at William’s right hand, felt a wave of guilt wash over her. It had been her fault. Her overweening arrogance and self-belief that had led to that ambush and the subsequent massacre of the Yardies. Of her friends.
‘We need to cut off their food supply,’ said Lucas.
‘How?’ Questioned Jack, the Alpha of Bad Moon M.C. ‘They feed on humans. We can’t kill all of the humans just to deny the vamps. It’s a bit self-defeating if you ask me.’
‘Less sarcasm and more thought,’ growled Lucas. ‘All that I’m saying is, they tend to feed at the clubs. Entice the Goths and the wannabees, lure them in. Eat them. So, hitting the vampire clubs wasn’t a bad idea. The problem was that they only hit clubs in the London area. All the vamps had to do was set an ambush at a couple of the clubs and wait. Eventually the Yardies would pitch up there and then the vamps would spring the trap. But if we formed a large number of task groups and then started to hit clubs and dens on a country-wide basis. Random strikes. London, Edinburgh, Bristol, Leeds. Then they would find it hard to fight back. You can’t ambush us if there’s no rhyme or reason to our attacks.’
William nodded. ‘You speak the truth, Alpha Lucas.’
‘I agree,’ concurred Jack. ‘Also, how can we find out where some of their dens are? It would be great if we could hit them at home a few times. That would really screw with their confidence. They wouldn’t feel safe anywhere.’
‘Right,’ said William. ‘Let’s do it. Four attack groups. We shall designate them, Charlie, Delta, Echo and Foxtrot. Each group will have five wolves and twenty five purebloods. A force that size should be capable of taking on pretty much anything.’
There was a ripple of agreement around the table.
‘Lucas,’ continued William. ‘Charlie team. London.’ Lucas nodded. William looked at Rufus Gray, Lucas’ beta. ‘You, Echo team. Edinburgh. Jack, you take Delta Team and go to Manchester. Your Beta, Mike Stable can take Foxtrot Team to Exeter. That gives us a nice even spread around the country. I’ll supply you all with cash. Stay in local hotels. One or two star only. Below the radar. I’ll also give you a bunch of burner phones to keep in touch. The numbers will be programmed in. Use once and break. Got it?’
Everyone nodded and voiced their acknowledgement.
‘I can help,’ interjected Tag. ‘I’ll give you all a list of whatever contacts I have in those cities and surrounds. These boys know the streets and clubs. They’ll give you good info on where the blood-sucker clubs are. You’ll have to pay for the info but they won’t overcharge if they know that you’re with me.’
‘Good one, Tag,’ said William. ‘Okay, Pack. Let’s do it.’
There was a general hubbub of activity as the Alphas and Betas picked their teams and sorted out their chains of command.
William took Emily to one side. ‘We’ll stay here,’ he said to her. ‘You, Tag, Bastian, Sylvian and I. Then we’ll provide roaming back up if anything goes bad with one of the teams. I’ve also got another few ideas that I’d like to put in place.’
‘Cool,’ nodded Em. ‘What ideas?’
‘There’s a guy that I’d like to get hold of. I’ll need to go and find him though, perhaps you can come along. He’s sort of an old inventor. Actually used to be an alchemist back in the day. I met him when he was working for King James the 1st. Total loon but a genuine genius. Figured that he could help us with new weapons and gadgets. It’s an off-the-wall hope but figured that anything is worth a try.’
‘You mean, sort of like Q in James Bond?’ Asked Em.
William laughed. ‘That sort of thing,’ he agreed.
‘Great, when do we go?’ Questioned Em. ‘I’m going a bit stir crazy here, so a bit of a break would be cool. Where is he and what’s his name?’
‘I think that he’s been going as Professor Albert Brownstone for the past hundred years or so. Last I heard he was a resident at Cambridge University, so we’ll start there. We’ll leave as soon as the teams have gone. Tell Tag that he must stay here. I know that he’ll be upset but it would be nice to go somewhere without the big guy dogging your every footstep.’
‘I’ll tell him,’ agreed Em.
As it happened, they only managed to leave the next day as William had to pull in some favors and spend an eye-watering quantity of money on organizing transport for the teams. The wolves all had the Harleys but the Purebloods needed motor vehicles. After making a few calls, a fleet of twenty-two miscellaneous vehicles were delivered to the property. They were all 4x4, late model and the engines were in top condition. Landrover, Toyota, Mitsubishi and Volkswagen. The place looked like a used car dealers plot, albeit a very honest dealer who only sold A-grade used vehicles.
William selected a dark blue Landrover Discovery for himself and he and Emily left at just after midday, heading for the town of Cambridge.
As they were driving off, Em looked in the rearview mirror to see Tag staring at th
em leaving; a hangdog expression on his face like his owner had just left him at the pound, never to return. But then she forced down her feelings of guilt and settled back for the three hour drive.
They entered Cambridge from the south and took the ring road to the university.
‘Last time that I saw the Prof, he was staying in rooms above the main gates to Corpus Christi College, so I reckon that’s where we start.’
‘I thought that you said he was at the university,’ said Em. ‘Not some college.’
‘The university is made up of colleges,’ explained William. ‘Corpus Christi is one of the oldest. They’re sort of a hall of residence for the scholars and staff.’ He pulled down a narrow side street and parked the Landrover. ‘We’ll walk from here,’ he said. ‘You can’t park any closer.’
So Em followed him through the cobbled streets, marveling at the ancient buildings and profusion of students and lecturers, many of them clad in traditional academic gowns, as they had so many hundreds of years before.
The massive main gates to the college loomed huge above them. Light ochre stone walls, mullioned windows and intricate stonework. William pointed to a small set of dormer windows above and to the left. ‘He used to be up there and I have no reason to believe that he’s moved. Come on.’
They walked through the gates and, as William was about to turn to the right, someone called out to him. The voice a sound of gravel under foot. Em looked around to see a man, probably late fifties, stout and dressed in a dark suit, regimental tie, white shirt and black Oxfords. On his head a bowler hat.
‘Sir William, and how are we today, young Sir?’
William smiled. ‘Henry. What an absolute pleasure to see you. All good? How’s missus Jaggard?’
‘Passed away, young Sir,’ answered Henry. ‘Weak chest, bless her soul.’
‘Sorry to hear that, Henry.’
‘And to what do we owe the pleasure, Sir William?’
‘Actually, I was looking for professor Brownstone. Wondered if he was still about.’
