“Well, in truth, Ken, you strike me as a young, rather roguish surfer dude who hates authority and makes snap decisions, making him very unpredictable.”
Ken shrugged. “Well-”
“Eyes on the road please,” the man grimaced as the Porsche veered towards oncoming traffic.
Ken twisted the wheel in a violent motion. Bright headlights zoomed closer in the rear view.
“Damn. We lost three seconds there.”
Ken breathed out slowly, forcing himself to relax. He sent up a hand to smooth out his wild, blonde hair.
“Please listen to what I am saying to you,” the Englishman enunciated clearly. “We have little time, and I certainly do not fancy coming between you and that bloody sword again. Do I have your attention?”
“Yes,” Ken sulked. He hated being told what to do.
“Well, thank the Lord. We have a major problem, my man. First let me tell you the random atrocities you have seen on Fox and CNN recently are not random at all. The odd shadow phenomenon you have heard dismissed is not an anomaly, rather it is a cause. And you, Ken Hamilton, though somewhat insubordinate and far too good looking, are rather more than you seem.”
Ken kept his eyes on the road. “Stop the bullshit Jeeves. And stop saying Ken this and Ken that. It’s annoying.”
“Vampires,” ’Jeeves’ said. “Werewolves and other species do not solely belong to the fictional realm, Ken. I ask only your indulgence, and an hour of your time, to prove it to you.”
Ken tousled his hair in frustration, and then straightened it out again almost without realizing. It was a bad habit, and drew the wrong kind of attention. Girls thought he was vain, guys thought he was a dork. He didn’t really love himself. Not too much anyway.
“And the bitch?” he pressed, jerking his head towards the rear.
“A rogue element. A secret weapon of our enemy, I fear, sent to kill you. She is not one of the Six Destroyers. I fear she is something else.”
“Like what? A vampire? Are you saying Kate was right?”
“Kate?”
“Beckinsale. You know, the Underworld babe? Mentioned some bullshit about a war going on for centuries, between vamps and werewolves.”
“Well, as much as I respect Ms Beckinsale’s work, our story is a little different.”
Ken swung around a slower car. “Sure it is, man. So where do I fit in?”
“You have a latent ability, Ken. A power, if you will. You are one of eight people who might be able to save the world.”
Ken grimaced. Listening to this crap was starting to freak him out. There was a reefer stashed away in the glove box, and Ken’s fingers were itching to make a grab for it. He gritted his teeth, trying to focus. It wouldn’t do much good zoning out at this speed, not with that bitch hot on his well-tanned ass. He risked a quick glance at the Englishman. The only reason he hadn’t broken the dude’s bald head was that he’d beaten off ‘sword-bitch’ back there.
Ken shook his head mockingly.
“Dude, after a few smokes and a crate of Bud I might buy that,” he made a quick, thoughtless decision and decided to end this. He slammed on the brakes. Cars all around him swerved and honked and flashed their lights. Oncoming traffic slewed left and right.
The Englishman’s nose ended up an inch from the glove box. “Whilst I encourage unpredictability in a student,” he said softly. “I must say that if you don’t get this vehicle moving right now and get some distance between us and that mad woman I’ll break your fucking arm.”
Ken goggled at the small man. Whoa, the dude was serious. And not just about his threat, but about everything else too. Ken could see it in his face. For the first time since they met forty minutes ago Ken felt an icy finger of fear slide down his spine. What if all his fancy words were true?
He gunned the engine. The Porsche took off like a missile, tyres squealing. The bitch came alongside them for a moment. Ken got a brief look at her, and what he saw made his fear turn into undiluted horror. The woman looked insane. Her eyes were inhumanly wide. Waves of dirty white hair framed her snarling face. She had more teeth than a Ferrari gearbox and a mouth so crooked it could probably bite off her own left ear. She gestured threateningly at him with a well-muscled arm. Rings of bone were set at every knuckle. Necklaces of small skulls jiggled around here throat.
“Man,” Ken breathed. “That bitch sure looks crazy.”
He swerved as she tried to ram their cars, narrowly missing the guard rail. He juiced the accelerator and the Porsche leapt forward. Before them a great sense of space suddenly opened out.
“Oh, man, it’s the Golden Gate,” Ken blinked rapidly, tensing with stress. “What are we gonna do?”
“Keep going. Watch the road,” the Englishman barked. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s the fucking Golden Gate, you English fruitcake,” Ken loved insulting people who thought they were in charge. “The bridge will be snarled. Do you wanna end up fighting her on the Golden Gate?”
The Englishman narrowed his eyes and turned to Ken with a wry smile. It was the first time Ken had seen the guy lighten up.
“Swords clashing on the Golden Gate Bridge?” He said dreamily. “Now there’s a vision”
“How do you know me, man?”
“Stop when you get near the bridge. I will distract her. You must drive through San Francisco to the old Hard Rock Café, the new House of Aegis. They will explain everything,” the Englishman smiled sadly. “I so wish I could have trained with you. I wish that I could have seen your power revealed.”
Ken’s mouth tasted like sand and blood. “What the crap do you mean? Spill, man. Who’s the bitch?”
“Dementia,” the answer held a tone of deep terror, as if they were talking about the Angel of Death. “She is not one of the Six Destroyers. She is a legendary demon of Satan’s top Hierarchy, someone we believed to be a kind of ‘bogeyman’ figure, dreamt up to scare vampires and lycans. My, God, why the hell would she ally herself with this World-Ender? This Gorgoroth. It makes no sense at all.”
“Fuck me! You’re telling me that this Dementia is a demon dreamt up to scare vampires?”
“Maybe a secret weapon of the enemy, and perhaps their most powerful, as Belinda is to us,” the Englishman set his jaw. “I will hold her back as long as I am able.”
“What?” Ken didn’t like the way this was going. “What are you saying? That you’re going to sacrifice yourself for me?”
“You must live, Ken. The fate of millions could depend on it.”
Ken made his decision in a millisecond. “Fuck that.”
He swung the wheel hard and wrenched at the handbrake, grimacing as the Porsche executed a squealing 360 degree turn.
In a split second they were now facing their enemies onrushing car.
“The Porsche Turbo,” Ken breathed. “Off the mark, it’s still the fastest car in the world.” His hands gripped the steering wheel until the knuckles turned white.
Ken trod heavily on the accelerator. The Porsche fired itself forward as if it had been shot out of a gun.
Headlights rushed at them. Blinding them. Dementia showed no signs of slowing down.
“It’s also the most manoeuvrable,” Ken threw the vehicle into a sideways spin at seventy miles an hour. Asphalt screeched and bits of rock and debris shot from beneath the wheels like bullets. The car arced gracefully across the blacktop. Dementia’s vehicle twitched towards them. Ken wrenched the wheel quickly in the opposite direction, executing another perfect arc.
The Porsche glided gracefully around Dementia’s car, the two deadly masses of metal and glass clearing each other by a matter of inches. Ken, holding on for dear life, got a full-face glare from the legendary mad-dog killer, and then the cars were skidding apart.
Dementia’s car hit the guard rail, then shot across to the other side of the road where it struck the other guard rail, bounced back, and rolled onto its roof. Tyres spun ineffectually at the air. Nothing moved in the wreckage.
>
Ken finessed the swerve expertly until they were facing back towards the Golden Gate. “Wow!” he said. “I know I’m cool. And, God knows, I’m pretty. But man, can I fucking drive!”
“She won’t be dead,” the Englishman looked suitably green. “But we can’t spare the time to finish her off. The police will be here soon. Ken, thank you. Now, will you please drive to the city? Let me take you to the safe house. Give me an hour to prove what I have told you.”
“Now that’s more like it,” Ken gave him the full beam smile. “You say please, you get my attention!
13
MIAMI, U.S.A.
Cleaver leapt forward. Mena Gaines danced away, leaving him flailing awkwardly. He was not a graceful fighter. He was brutal power with minimum finesse.
Gaines had retreated towards the remote. Cleaver had been hoping she would move away from it. She smiled at him, as if reading his mind.
Harsh light washed through the windows. Vaguely, he heard someone shouting his name through a bullhorn. With an effort he put it all aside, narrowing his focus until everything but Gaines faded to background noise.
This was the zone. The way of combat. Let the rest of the world die away too static.
What remained was the spring in the floorboards, the random obstacles he might use to his advantage, the way Gaines hopped from foot to foot not favouring left or right, the location of the remote, his many weapons.
Gaines came at him. Cleaver half-turned to one side, left a stiff arm for her to run into, but she slipped under it. Cleaver double-stepped instantly, delivering a hook to the small of Gaines’ back. Amazingly, it hit, sending Gaines sprawling. Cleaver watched her fall, knowing he had a millisecond to decide.
Grab the remote. Or press forward, maybe kill Gaines.
Save thirty frightened kids or risk the lives of millions.
Cleaver went for the remote as Gaines scrambled to her feet. Cleaver gritted his teeth, offered up a silent prayer, and pressed the disarm button. There was a faint click, and then nothing.
But the grin on Gaines’ face was truly evil.
Cleaver stared at her. What now?
“Oh, Marian, you have been found wanting,” she spat at him. “You had the chance to take me out. You! But you chose to save thirty not-so-innocents, and you have gambled the world. This test has shown that Aegis is weak, Marian, and my master will be pleased.”
“Test?” Cleaver said. “All this is just a test?” The pride he felt in beating Gaines, the brief flicker of hope that he might have made some small atonement for his past mistake withered and died like love betrayed.
Gaines laughed. Spittle flew from her lips. “You didn’t beat me. I analysed you! And now you will reap the whirlwind! Miami is the New Babylon and soon it will start to explode with rage and passion and death.” Gaines spread her arms wide. “You will soon wish you had all been blown to bits!”
Gaines ran. Cleaver thumbed his cell phone. Bewildered, angered, and aware that he might have made the wrong choice, he phoned in the all clear.
14
YORK, ENGLAND
My first concern after my daughter was for my best friend. As Belinda drove us out of York in her Audi A4 I reached for my mobile.
“Who you calling, honeycakes?” Belinda glanced at me briefly as she stopped at a red light.
“I’m calling Holly. Making sure she’s alright.” What the hell had she called me?
Belinda blinked at me. “Who’s Holly? Your girlfriend? Your dog?”
I ignored the snort of laughter from the back seat. Patience before pride.
I nodded at the traffic lights that had turned green. “My best friend,” I told her. “She’s helped us out…a lot. I can’t not warn her about this.”
And I’d seen movies. The bad guys always came after your friends first.
Belinda snorted as she finally started moving. “You’ve watched too many damn movies, sugarcake. But, go ahead, ring her. Christ, maybe we can make a night of it- drop by for pizza, go shopping, meet the vampire. You know, normal stuff.”
I pressed speed dial 2, trying to tune her energized chatter out for just a few seconds. She was still babbling on about slay a demon, catch an episode of Greys, crack open a crate of Bud…when Holly answered.
“Dean? Are you okay?”
The digital readout on the dash glowed 11.21 and I heard the concern in her voice. “Hey, Hol, I’m fine. Listen, are you alone?” In truth I didn’t feel okay at all, my chest was aching and my head was pounding with a combination of stress and shock.
“Very funny, Dean. Har har.”
“Holly,” Lucy said from the back seat. “You really need to listen.”
I paused in surprise. To hear Lucy speak that way was music to my ears.
I turned to grin at my daughter and saw a light in her eyes that I’d lately doubted would ever be rekindled.
Holly’s voice held a note of surprise. “Lucy? Is that you?”
“Yeah, Hol.”
I spoke quickly. “Listen, Hol, there‘s something important that I have to do,” I paused. “That we both have to do. Lucy and me. It may take a few days. I want you to stay safe, Hol. Be safe. Okay?”
“What? Has…oh, God. Has she-”
“No,” I rushed in immediately, realising that Holly meant Raychel. “Nothing like that.”
“But what about the business? What about school?”
Belinda turned into a dark, tree-lined driveway and slowed down.
“I have to go, Hol. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I snapped the phone shut, forestalling any protest. After a second I muted it as well.
Belinda smirked. “Sounded more like your mother to me, muffin.”
“She cares, that’s all.”
“Well, you sure handled it well. I guess we can rule out your special power as being the art of persuasion.”
“Shut up, smart arse,” I said. “And what’s with all the bloody cake references?”
Belinda affected a dumb blonde expression as she climbed out of the still-ticking car. “Don‘t know what you‘re talking about.”
I cracked open my own door. My rebuke had washed over her like warm summer rain. “C’mon, Luce,” I said. “The girl’s nutty.”
Belinda stood near the front of the car.
“This is his house,” Belinda said. “Don’t expect too much. It’s not a castle. He’s not Dracula. In fact, he’s just a tall white guy with cool eyes and pointy fangs. Apart from that he’s pretty normal. Gets his stakes from Asda-” she smiled at her own little joke. “Oh, and believe me, he’s definitely straight.”
I frowned, then thought: don’t even ask.
“What’s his name?” Lucy asked as we crunched our way forward towards an impressive looking portico.
“I am Ceriden,” a voice said in silky tones and both Lucy and I jumped as a dark presence materialized next to us.
“He’s a vampire,” Belinda shrugged. “You have to let him do that.”
Ceriden approached us so fast I barely saw him move. I took a step back, making sure I was beside my daughter.
“I am so pleased to meet you,” Ceriden stuck out a pasty hand. The fingers were adorned with jewellery, mostly gold rings, and the wrist hung limply.
I stared, transfixed, at my first vampire. My stomach churned with an acidic mix of stress, fright and nausea. I didn’t like how my beliefs had changed in the last few hours, and how readily I had come to accept it.
Ceriden’s gaze fell on Lucy. “Oh, what-a-darling,” he gushed, taking me completely by surprise. He bent towards her. “Oh, dear,” his eyes found her shoes. “Fashion victim. So rip-off, my dear. And so not the way to go.”
Ceriden squinted sideways at me. “Do you make her wear these outside? In the open? Bad man!”
I gulped, bewildered, unable to form words. Belinda, judging by her ear to ear grin, was enjoying herself immensely.
“And those jeans,” Ceriden tutted. “What are they?”
&nb
sp; “Top Man,” I blurted, actually feeling shame.
“Oh my God!” Ceriden turned to Belinda in absolute horror.
I just stared. Of all ways I could have pigeonholed a vampire, this was definitely not one of them.
Now Ceriden sniffed haughtily. “A little birdie tells me you are seeking proof that certain, ah, supernatural races exist. Am I right?”
I believed already, but I managed a nod. The vampire moved closer until he towered over me. The only flesh on view was bone white, making me think he’d lived his entire life in shadow. His eyes were deep, something almost hypnotic sparkled in their depths. I saw his nostrils flare, and wondered if my fear had a scent.
“Like an old Gautier cologne,” Ceriden murmured, barely moving his lips.
Had he just read my mind?
Ceriden rolled up the sleeves of his expensive sweater. “Throw me your knife, Belinda darling.”
“No,” I blurted out, getting a lurid image of Lucy’s self-inflicted wounds in my head. “No knives.”
“Very well,” Ceriden huffed. “Mr. Top Man.” His gaze conveyed power, wealth, and absolute confidence. “Come, Belinda, dear, I don’t have all night. Important people are awaiting my return. Important wealthy people,” he made eyes at me. “I know all the most powerful people, you know. Including Posh and David," to my horror he giggled.
Again, I stayed quiet.
The vampire sent a frown towards Belinda. “Your crucifix, Bee.”
She hesitated. I saw it in her face. A half second of doubt, and then it was gone. She stepped forward and dropped a little crucifix into Ceriden’s outstretched hands.
A hissing sound and a cloying, burning stench filled the air. I watched in rising horror as a thin curl of smoke twisted up from the vampire’s hands. Ceriden bore it for a few seconds then tossed the crucifix away. Belinda made no effort to retrieve it.
“Only blessed religious items affect me,” Ceriden said. His palms were raw, the wound edged with a black crust. Lucy’s hand slipped into my own and I squeezed it. Ceriden took out a black velvet handkerchief embossed with the gold Versace symbol and dabbed at the burned flesh.
Chosen (The Chosen Few Trilogy #1) Page 5
