by Declan Finn
The firebombs splashed over the vampires, and the flames consumed them as fast as the group dowsed in kerosene, turning into one bright white fireball.
Three of the men on the pikes had not followed the hint when Amanda fell back, and were burned, badly.
All that was left of the three closest to the fireball were carbonized.
Colt didn’t even hesitate long enough to call out what she was doing, merely picked up the three who were still alive and bolted. Two were under one arm, and a third under the other.
* * *
San Francisco, September 7th
The next morning, Marco took a brief jog in the post-dawn hours (he used to do predawn), through the cemetery. He went past a mausoleum, and made a double take—it was open. He stopped, turned, and closed the door tightly, locking it.
“Eh, what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing out there!” someone barked from inside. He stepped back, knowing only two types of people who’d live in someplace like this.
The door imploded as someone inside pulled it open, breaking the outside lock. The man inside glared like he wanted to tear Marco’s arms off. His ugly red hair stuck up in all directions. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans with a pair of combat boots. His eyes were dark green, which either corresponded with the contents of his skull or his soul, maybe both. His cheekbones looked so sharp they could cut through the Titanic.
“Damn bugger! What’re you doing to my home?”
“Sorry, I figured most people around here could afford their own homes. My mistake.”
“Eh? Well why don’t you come here and we’ll settle this, laddie.”
Marco raised a brow. With the level of malevolence mounting, there was only one possible reason this guy didn’t step outside and attack. “Better plan, why don’t you come here? You seem like the type who’d want to take this outside.” Catalano slipped the crucifix out of his shirt and his opponent flinched. “Unless you’d really want me to come in there and stake your undead ass…Don’t you people ever adapt to modern day speech? Even Bella Lugosi had better English!”
His faced morphed into that of a vampire. Marco sighed. “Please, I’ve seen TV shows with better makeup. Go to Jim Henson’s Creature Shop and get some improvements.”
* * *
VmpBytr1917: So, Marco, enjoying classes?
TaliesinMS911: Classes aren’t boring yet, Amanda. Met with members of Merle’s stake-out crew. They don’t seem to have recovered just yet from their friend being eaten.
VmpBytr1917: Oh dear, afraid of that. Any sign of vampires ?
TaliesinMS911: One, outside my dorm. Decided coming after me might be good idea and climbed the side of the building to window. He didn’t get far.
VmpBytr1917: (cocked eyebrow) I’m sure he didn’t.
VmpBytr1917: The locals say ‘hi’ and ‘be careful’, not in that order.
TaliesinMS911: oy…. How are the lizards and the kitty cats?
VmpBytr1917: Both gangs are doing well… sort of.
TaliesinMS911: Sort of?
VmpBytr1917: We lost three yesterday.
TaliesinMS911: How bad?
VmpBytr1917: Rodriquez, Vega, Hiaro dead. Noriega, Diego and Vaan are in the hospital. They may not be getting out, we do not know yet.
TaliesinMS911: Crap.
VmpBytr1917: Ironically, I think that was the last group. We have more or less burned out the local vampyre population.
TaliesinMS911: I guess they are playing well with you?
VmpBytr1917: Yes, but not as much as they would like, I am sure.
TaliesinMS911: `:( Indeed?
VmpBytr1917: What is `:(?
TaliesinMS911: [cocked brow, disapproving frown]
VmpBytr1917: Ah. As for the gangs, some seem to think because I am undead, I am therefore immune to STDs, therefore promiscuous. Where do they get these ideas?
TaliesinMS911: Ann Rice, Buffy, and the 101 vampire romance books.
VmpBytr1917: There are days that eating them looks like a good idea.
TaliesinMS911: Good vampire, nice vampire.
VmpBytr1917: :) Is this the point where you start stroking me?
TaliesinMS911: Only if I want to lose a hand.
VmpBytr1917: You certain?
TaliesinMS911: (blink) Um… .
VmpBytr1917: :) Loosen up, Marco. You’re in California.
TaliesinMS911: I’m not in California. I’m in a suburb, they don’t count.
VmpBytr1917: You’re in San Francisco, Marco.
TaliesinMS911: Amanda, I’m from NYC. By me, this is a suburb. Anyway, gtg see Merle now about the wonderful world of San Fran vamps. Keep me apprised of the 3 in hospital.
VmpBytr1917: OK. See you on later.
CHAPTER 11:
BANKRUPT
September 7th New York City
Amanda watched Marco sign off from the inside of her apartment. The Internet was a wonderful thing for one of her kind. Anonymity, long distance communication, and the ability to socialize with humans without constantly keeping an eye on the time.
Colt sighed to herself and sat back in the computer chair. There were times the entire human race had changed on her. Back in the Old Country, they had feared her. When they discovered she was vampyre, they would flee, wetting themselves. The situation had been intolerable until she had found the Americans on her soil. They did not know what she was, even after she explained it, and they had not cared. They only understood that she could cut a bloody swath through those trying to kill them, and could you get us out of this frozen Hellhole of a country, please, ma’am?
Now, it was almost a hundred years later, and they were trying to get into her crypt…
Or is the phrase “get into my pants?” Hmm.
Except, of course, for Marco, who just wanted to be freaking friends, dammit. He was just so frustrating.
Amanda paused, took a deep, slow breath, and let it out as calmly as she could.
Colt frowned thoughtfully, and considered what she was going to do next. She could not visit anyone in the hospital, unless the hospital had underground access. And she was more tired than she had any right to be, under the circumstances. She had survived as long as she had by being, to a certain extent, quite powerful, and if not stronger, then certainly smarter than many of her adversaries. This level of exhaustion was disproportionate to the work she had done that evening. She had fed, she had been well rested the night before, she had everything that she had always had…
Except for Marco, of course.
It was starting to become annoying. He had been gone for only a few weeks. They talked every night online – or almost every night. Between instant messaging, email and the telephone, she could probably trace Marco’s every footstep without GPS.
She sighed, then moved toward her bed. She had enough soil there for a good night’s rest, but she would have to exchange it after a while. She didn’t know if it was her own imagination, or if the soil almost wore out on her after a time.
Amanda slid under the covers, her current supply of soil freshly wrapped in Ziploc bags under her mattress.
She closed her eyes, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
* * *
San Francisco
After classes, Marco walked into Artful Krafts, figuring it was about time to check in with Merle Kraft and begin integration into Merle’s little vampire killer squad.
“Ah, customer person. Can I help you with giving us money today?”
He turned to note a Baywatch blond, whom Merle had mentioned before… Oh yes, Tiffany Whitman. His permanent smile met her semi-vacant gaze.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “It’s you! Annoying New York person! Mark O’Catty-something.”
“Marco Catalano.”
“Hey! Marco! What’s up?” came Yana’s cheery voice from the table tucked off to the side. She trotted up, a bounce in her step.
“I’m here to see Merle, actually.”
“Okey dokey.”
Okey
dokey? “So, where is the proprietor?”
“Right here.” The short Asian fellow with the deep blue eyes wore his eternal windbreaker—and given that this was San Francisco, Marco couldn’t blame him. The eternal night and fog made the clothing a must…it also made carrying weapons in daylight a must.
Marco was about to greet him, when his eye caught sight of the vampire from that morning, wearing a leather coat. What was it with these people; did they all read Anne Rice novels? Why couldn’t they even think of Bram Stoker? “Excuse me, I just need to stake a vampire.”
Yana followed his gaze and noted the vamp with the bright, flaming red hair. She turned back to say, “Oh, that’s just Rory. Don’t worry, he’s a good guy.”
Hmm…maybe he had flinched only after the sun glinted off of my crucifix. He raised a brow at Merle. “Your hiring requirements are this low?”
Kraft shrugged slightly, giving an enigmatic little smile. “He has his uses.”
“And if all else fails, you can use him for a flare. And I meant his hair.”
“I heard that!” Rory called.
Merle Kraft nodded towards the back room, which turned out to be a nice little training center—swords, knives, etc. for decoration on the wall, and a punching bag in the middle. The bag was being pounded by a tall burly fellow with dark hair and eyes—George Berkeley.
“So, anything else about this hunting club that doesn’t operate within seasonal guidelines?” Marco asked.
Merle shook his head, and murmured, letting the sounds of the punching bag cover his words. “I’ll need to introduce you, but that’s about it. No one’s going to be happy if they think of you as Sarah’s replacement. And if I tell them that I invited you into this, that’s exactly what they’ll think.”
Marco arched a brow. “And would they be wrong?” He frowned. That would be a problem. The last thing I need is for that to get in the way, not to mention dying. Dying isn’t high on my list of priorities—it’s at the bottom, below “be canonized.” Right. St. Marco the vampire slayer. “Well, I’ll think of something. I—”
“Hey, Marco!” Yana called from the front. “You want to come to an off-campus party tonight? Everyone’s invited.”
Marco glanced at Yana with incredulity. An off-campus party in vampire-plagued San Francisco, where “all are invited”—I call that a buffet.
Marco was about to say no, and Yana saw it coming and pouted…
“Um, sure.”
Merle lightly punched him on the arm. “Look at it as an opportunity.”
Ah well, I could at least ingratiate myself into the group. Though the phrase “all are invited” ensures that I’m carrying a stake up each leg, two on each side of my chest in shoulder holsters, one up each sleeve, a squirt gun at the small of my back, and a holy water atomizer on a key chain. Never in the Boy Scouts, but I like to be prepared. And I don’t like to lose… And I don’t like the Boy Scouts. I at least liked the girl scouts, but I couldn’t exactly pass the physical.
* * *
Marco entered the dance hall and almost immediately took up position in a corner, smiling an absurd little smile, and basically enjoying the entire ludicrousness of modern dancing… or foreplay, in some cases.
Call me a Puritan, but when you’re dancing consists of gliding up against each other, that’s foreplay.
“You’re not dancing?” Yana asked.
He looked over at her and smiled. “Not if I can help it…” he gestured out to those in the midst of foreplay. “At least, not like that.”
“Oh. I see.” She looked over his body. “Um… is that a stake in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” she asked awkwardly.
Marco smirked. “I’m always happy to see a pretty face.”
Yana blushed again. The music changed to the theme music from Ghost. “Unchained Melody.” It was simple and slow. Most of the floor dissipated except for a few couples who were more interested in dancing than fornicating.
He gestured to the speakers with an open left hand. “This I can dance to.”
His hand dangled a moment longer than necessary, and Yana grabbed it and moved onto the dance floor. As opposed to everyone else, he danced with Yana the old-fashioned way: one hand clasped in another, a hand respectfully at her waist, and her hand on his shoulder.
“So, why all the sharp, pointy wooden thingies?” she asked.
Marco’s ever-present smile never even flickered. “I’m from New York, ergo I am paranoid—which isn’t paranoia, if they really are out to get you. Besides, I also believe in Murphy’s Law, so I live my life ready to combat anything short of Armageddon.”
“Oh, that’s bad…I mean, that’s good, in a bad sort of way.”
He kinked a brow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you know, you can’t go out at night without….”
“The sharp, pointy wooden thingies?” he teased. “Oh, it’s not fear, it’s just a job. There are bloodsuckers out there that can give hematologists a run for their money—someone has to be ready for them.”
When the tempo picked up slightly at “Lonely rivers flow, to the sea, to the sea,” Marco smiled. He liked Yana. She was likable, and friendly. She wasn’t Amanda, but good company.
Should I even try an approach? Tempting. I don’t like her too much. She can be good company… eh. Step one, send out a feeler. “I hope your significant other isn’t the jealous type.”
“Oh, no,” she said innocently. “She’s not.”
A laugh escaped his lips. Of course she’s gay! It’s San Francisco! Ha! Murphy knows me so very well.
Yana furrowed her brows. “What?”
His smile mirrored his amusement. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I find my luck with women is somewhat lacking. For example, I’ve found a beautiful young woman, friendly and sociable, and unable to find interest in me even if I were Apollo.”
“Oh… Oh,” she said, catching his meaning. “I—”
“Don’t give it another thought; I’m the only male on the planet you can tell ‘let’s be friends’ and I’ll take you at face value. And so”—he whirled her out—“nothing has changed except I don’t make passes at you.” He pulled her back in, and, hoping to get off the topic, said, “So, who does patrols in your little monster squad?”
“Depends on the day. You wanna help?” Yana furrowed her brows and stiffened her lips to make a face that attempted to be serious, but dissolved into her soft features as she continued. “I mean, you’re big and strong, and prepared, and all that.”
In the words of the eminently quotable Darth Vader, this is all too easy. What would happen if I just jumped right in? It would be obviously too eager, even to the San Francisco flakes. But if I play hard to get…?
“You do realize that I’m insane, and neurotic, somewhat mean, vicious and out of my mind with paranoia.”
“Oh, that too,” she said casually.
Really? Are these people not used to New Yorkers, or is this just my wild imagination? “Yana, you’re sweet, you’re kind, and you’re pretty. I won’t say adorable because I hate that word. But I can’t think of why you’d need me hanging around. I’d get in the way. I’m reckless and I don’t play well with others… Including vampires with bad taste in hairstyles. And couldn’t he get a better dye job?”
She giggled. How anyone manages to stay so young in this place is beyond me. Vampires are bad enough, but this is San Francisco, where Catholics and Satanists live side-by-side. I arrive a week ago, and already she trusts me enough to stay in such close proximity? Is this the world outside New York, or is it just her? And if it’s just her, I want to move to whatever planet she’s from.
Marco gave a deep sigh, as though her offer was really such a heavy burden on him. “You know what, I’ll be happy to join, though. Just to see what happens.”
Yana froze in mid-sway. Her eyes were frozen open in fear.
“What is it?”
“It’s them,” she whispered. “The ones who killed Sarah.”
Marco didn’t look around for a moment, but tried to keep moving with a dance partner who was rotted to the floor. “How many?”
“Five.”
“I thought there was a legion of them.”
“These were the guys in front.”
He turned around, and spotted them instantly. Five men, all in black, looking like they were twenty-year veterans in their mid-twenties. “Right. Find out if the DJ has any Nightwish in the playlist. Something heavy and loud.”
Marco studied the vampires as he approached them. He did some math. He had small, airplane-serving size soda bottles on him, made of glass. Except that the bottles were filled with holy water – some with gasoline, but he wanted to hold off on those for a bit. He had more stakes on him than he knew what to do with.
The plan needed to take out the front-runners. A leader and a second in command. Then, he needed to kill the others. Unless the five of them were here to lead a massacre, they wanted to keep a low-profile – seduce, or mind control victims into a place of privacy.
Holy water the first two… Water the faces of the two farthest away…
Kill the closest near me with fire / water / stake… stake.
Stab for the head… he blocks, rips my arm out. The heart… he blocks faster, throws me across the room. Abdomen, he blocks… he attacks, I block his attack, then kill him. Three down.
Watered face #1 should still be feeling the effects. Dispatch him instantly. The second might be operational. Deal with him using fire stake.
By the time he reached the vampires, he had developed a slight, purposeful and drunken stagger. He held up two of his soda bottles with holy water in them, the caps already open.
“Drinks, guys?” he asked, slurring the words.
The vampires closest to him looked at him with disdain. The other three didn’t even look at him – too busy checking out prey.
One vampire laughed.
One of the others said, “We do not drink –”
Marco’s fists shot forward, jamming the soda bottles into their mouths, open-parts first. His hands dropped down and slammed into their chins, forcing their teeth to crush the bottles, spilling holy water everywhere.
