by Ben Reeder
“You already have me, Karl,” Father Jacob said, his voice thickly accented with some Eastern European influences. “You don’t need more sacrifices.” Karl turned and went to backhand the priest, but his arm stayed in place. He strained and ended up sliding back a couple of inches before he gave up.
“Shut up, old man,” Fedora said. “You have no idea what I need.” As they talked, I pulled the chalk out of my pocket and made a hasty circle on the floor, then pulled a lancet from the duffel bag and palmed it, then slipped one of the brass knuckles over my fingers.
“On the occult, I am an expert,” Jacob said. “I know what the spell requires. And that you have.”
“But tell me, old man, what happens if I give him too much blood?” Fedora asked.
“An even worse monster he becomes,” the priest said. “One you do not control.”
“Exactly,” Fedora cackled. “You think I’m trying to bring back my old Master so I can serve him again? He got his ass handed to him by a bunch of kids and a pack of werewolves! He doesn’t deserve my loyalty.” Other voices joined in, and I remembered what I was doing. A quick look around the room revealed six more wannabe vamps and a wire cage room festooned with crosses. Five vampires huddled inside it, none of them looking too happy with unlife at the moment. All of them had lost control over their features, and any semblance of humanity was gone. Normally, that would have made them look scary as hell, but just then, the best they were able to do was look miserable.
“While you,” the priest said after a moment, “you deserve better than him.”
“Of course I do!” Fedora spat.
“Tell me, Karl, what makes you worthy of that? Is it your own loyalty? Your dedication, helping your Master when he is at his worst? Against those who defeated him, did you fare any better? Where did you do better than your Master?”
Fedora looked down at Father Jacob and seemed to be at a loss for a moment. “I survived, old man,” he finally said. “And I found a more worthy Master to serve.”
“And now? Is this who you are, that you turn on him when he is weak? Please, my son, for your own sake, I implore you. Do not do this. Turn from this new Master, before something terrible happens.”
I took that as my cue.
I stepped forward and kicked the doors open. When the unexpected happens, there are basically two kinds of people. Folks who are like Han Solo, who don’t hesitate to start blasting away when they see a freaking Sith Lord across the room from them, and everyone else, who just stands there wide eyed and slack-jawed for a minute. I was counting on everyone in the room falling into the second category, and I wasn’t disappointed.
“Too late,” I said as I raised the paintball gun and shot the first guy in the chest. The round exploded and sent him flying back against the wall, and I pivoted and put the second round into the chest of the guy beside him before his buddy finished sliding to the floor. To my right, one of the guys drew a gun, so I shot at him, but he moved and the round ended up blowing a chunk out of the wall.
Now that another gun was in play, I took a couple of steps forward and punched Darth Fedora across the jaw. He spun and dropped in place, and then I was next to Father Jacob. Much to my surprise, so was Jerome.
“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned, and I’m not about to stop,” I said as I took a moment to turn and take aim at the guy with the pistol, but he’d ducked behind a column. His arm snaked around the corner and he started firing wildly. I aimed at the column and pulled the trigger. The explosion took part of his arm with it and sent the gun flying across the room with his hand still attached to it.
The other two were nowhere to be seen, and for a moment, the room was quiet. I fished my knife out of my pocket with my left hand and handed it to Jerome. “Get them loose, and stay close to Father Jacob here. They can’t get near him.”
“That’s great, but how are we going to get out of here?” Jerome asked as he went to work on Father Jacob’s bonds.
“You’re not,” a voice called from the far side of the room. “Your buddy only has, what, five or six shots left in the gun of his. And he still can’t kill us.” True enough, the first two I’d hit were starting to stir. Their chests were red and blistered where I’d hit them, but that was starting to fade to pink, healthy flesh.
“You’re running out of time,” the one whose hand I’d blown off taunted as he went to a red plastic ice chest near the wire cage. He kicked the top open and reached in with his good hand, coming out with a blood-filled glass vial with a cork in the top. He worked the top out with his thumb, then poured half of the vial over the stump of his arm, downing the rest in a gulp. He shuddered as he dropped the vial, and I could see bone start to grow from the wounded arm. It might take hours, but I was betting that by morning, his arm would be completely healed.
“Oh, God,” Jerome said. “How is he doing that?”
“The blood is from the vampires in the cage,” Father Jacob said as he grabbed the book and got to his feet. “The blood of several donors is mixed together to keep them from being controlled by any one of them.”
“Well, that’s convenient,” I said. Jerome had freed the girl and Father Jacob was helping untie the guy. But the way out was far from open. The two uninjured vamp groupies had stepped between us and the door.
“You didn’t think this through, did you?” the one on my right said. He stood at least six and a half feet tall, and most of that wide. Square jawed, handsome and blonde, he reminded me of Brad Duncan in all the wrong ways. Until my sophomore year, Brad had taken special delight in making my life Hell. Being turned into a werewolf in eighth grade hadn’t helped things any, but having his ass beat down and his alpha killed by my best friend had done wonders for my life. But now, I was seeing Brad from a year ago, with no bad ass warlock to curb-stomp him for me. Still, pseudo-Brad was facing me now. Part of me looked forward to the thought of going toe to toe with him.
The guy beside him just giggled and drew a jagged knife with a spiked handguard that went all the way down the handle. He ran his thumb down the blade until it drew blood, then licked the knife clean.
“Dude. You are trying way too hard,” I said as I pointed the paintball gun to my left and pulled the trigger. The ice chest exploded in a shower of plastic shards and crimson ice. Again, no one did anything for a second, but this time, the pause was a lot shorter. All six of the conscious guys ran for the mess I’d made of their vampire secret sauce. The couple ran for the door the second it was clear. I reached for Darth Fedora, and found that Father Jacob had the same idea. Together, we dragged him out of the room, and stopped right outside the door.
“We can’t…” he began, then trailed off as I turned and headed back.
“I won’t,” I said.
“You can’t do this by yourself,” he said.
“Watch me.” I stepped back into the room. The big guy and the little psycho knife guy saw me first and came at me at a run. I put two shots into the air and hit the psycho with one of them. The other made a bigger mess of the ice chest and knocked the other four groupies flying. I sent the last three rounds in the hopper at pseudo-Brad, and hit him with all three.
It barely slowed him down. But it did slow him down. By the time he’d staggered across the remaining distance between us, I’d pulled out the shock wands.
All my life, I’ve lived in fear of the telegraphed punch that big guys seem to love to wind up and throw. They put their fist back over their shoulder and wave it around as they come toward you, watching your face the whole time. After being on the receiving end of a few of those punches, and watching them do the same thing to my friends, I’d figured out what that was all about. When a big guy goes to hit you, he knows you can’t stop the punch. He’s not trying to surprise you. He’s trying to intimidate you by letting you see it coming. He wants you to anticipate how bad it’s going to hurt. Most of all, he wants to see the fear on your face as he flaunts that strength over you. But a year of hanging out with Chance taugh
t me how to handle that.
Hit first, hit fast, and hit hard. I threw the best punch I ever had, leaning my weight into it, turning my hips and my shoulders and swinging with every ounce of strength in my left arm. It connected with his jaw, but it felt like I’d just punched a building. If it hadn’t been for the brass knuckles on my left hand, I would have broken a few bones. As it was, my arm went numb, and I almost dropped the baton in that hand.
Pseudo-Brad stopped with his head turned to one side, then straightened and turned to face me. One meaty hand went up to rub at his jaw, and I saw a trickle of blood start on his lip. Yeah, there’s not a lot of strength in my left arm. Either one really. That had not gone like I’d planned. Sure, I’d stopped his punch, but aside from that, all I’d done was inconvenience him a little.
In the next split second, I found out who I really was. My right hand snapped forward and I hit his right leg with the shock baton, then followed it up with a shot to the left leg. My right arm shot up across his body and laid the baton against the inside of his left arm, then I did the same thing with my left hand to the opposite side. Small flashes of violet light erupted from the batons with each hit, and he staggered back under the onslaught of magickally enhanced impact trauma. I twisted my body to the right and brought both batons up over my right shoulder, then stepped forward and left to swing the lengths of enchanted ironwood into his chest with my full body weight, swinging for a point a foot behind his body. He went flying in a burst of violet light, then slid into the puddle of red water from the ice chest. I stood up straight and took a step back.
When things went off the rails, I was like Han fucking Solo. I could live with that.
But beating up pseudo-Brad wasn’t what I was here to do. I tucked the shock batons into the duffel bag, then grabbed the shotgun. As dangerous as vampires were on the loose, Darth Fedora and his crew had found a way to make them ten times as bad in captivity. I put the bead on the end of the shotgun’s barrel on the cross. The gun bucked and boomed in my hands, and the white symbol exploded in a shower of splinters. The wannabes looked at me in disbelief, and I took a moment to adjust my aim. Double-aught buckshot tore through the lock on the cage door, but it still held. I fired again, and the door swung slowly open. Disbelief turned to horror as the vampires surged toward the door.
I took a step back as the first four fell on the wanna-be vamps and started to take back what had been stolen from them. Over the screams, I could hear Father Jacob praying. As powerful as his faith was, I wasn’t going to take any chances, and pulled him back into the circle I’d drawn. The lancet pricked at my little finger, and the circle I’d drawn went active.
“You’ve got to do something,” Jerome cried as the last vampire walked out of the cage.
“I just did,” I said. One of the vampires turned toward us, then grimaced and pulled away. The last one out of the cage walked toward his kindred, his face sad, and slowly pulled them off their victims. When he had separated the last one from his twitching meal, he turned to us.
“I regret that you had to see that,” he said. His voice was rough, but there was still an edge of culture to it. “We strive to be more than the hunger that consumes us. But sometimes…”
“Sometimes, you are pushed beyond your limits,” Jerome said. “And you still hold on to what makes you beautiful.” He took a step forward and pulled the sleeve back from his wrist.
“You would do well not to come any closer,” the last vampire said as he took a step back.
“Jerome, I think you’d better listen to him,” I said.
He turned to face me and shook his head, his eyes bright. “No, I trust him. Aside from the good father here, I think he’s shown the most humanity of anyone in this room.” Another vampire started toward him, but got slapped aside by Jerome’s new crush. I shook my head and touched the circle to break it, letting Jerome move closer to the civilized vamp. He offered his wrist again, and this time, wasn’t refused. The vampire gently took his hand and pulled it to his mouth. Jerome winced at the first bite, then gasped and closed his eyes, his head thrown back and his mouth open. Then his eyes squeezed shut tightly and he let out a little cry. The vampire pulled his mouth away from Jerome’s wrist and took a deep, shuddering breath, his face intent. Slowly, his features shifted, becoming smooth and pale, his black eyes softening to a liquid blue. After a few moments, he stood straight, and even I had to admit he was kind of pretty. I lowered the shotgun.
“I dare not take any more,” he said to Jerome. “Yours is a beautiful soul. Thank you. Please, tell me your name.”
“Jerome.”
“I am Xander.” He pulled Jerome’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
“And they lived happily ever after,” I said as I turned away.
“You sound a little disappointed,” Father Jacob said. “Rejection, I wouldn’t think, would bother you so much.” I knelt and pulled Fedora up by one arm until I could get him over my shoulder. Jacob helped me get him in place, then pulled me to my feet.
“Not so much feeling rejected as…rebuked,” I told him as we walked toward the door.
“That you feel that way is good,” Jacob said. “But remember always this, my son. You bear different burdens than he does.” Fedora was getting heavy, so I didn’t say anything else until I got to the car and had him open the trunk. Once Darth Fedora was inside and duct taped securely, I closed the trunk and turned to him.
“With all due respect, sir,” I said slowly, “But how do you know that Jerome and I bear different burdens?”
The priest smiled and put one hand on my shoulder. “My son, on the occult, I know a great deal. The unknown, the mystical; these things I’m familiar with. But monsters? Vampires? These I am not familiar with. These past few days, I have been as frightened as I’ve ever been. My life I thought was over tonight. And then…then through the door you came; knowing what needed doing and doing it with a smile and a jest. So I think ‘Here is a young man who fights the monsters.’ I look at your friend, and I don’t think that.” He turned and looked back at the building we had just left, then back to me. “What your friend does not understand is that sometimes…the monsters wear a human face.” He turned away and went to the passenger door of the ‘Cuda. I pulled my phone out to turn the it back on, and found a text waiting for me from Dr. Corwin, asking to meet me at the store. If I hurried, I could make it.
An hour later, the strange book was hidden under the back seat of the Barracuda, Father Jacob was safely back at his church, Darth Fedora was still secure in my trunk with a double dose of knockout rounds and I had picked Chance’s brain on how to face a vampire in his own court and maybe…maybe live to tell about it. I also had a set of emails scheduled to go out and a thumb drive in an envelope on the counter with Detective Danner’s name written on it. I got back in the Barracuda and headed north, out of town.
A familiar well rounded figure was waiting for me when I pulled up to the gates of the estate that Thraxus called home. Chastity leaned over in her ever so tight silver dress and let her ample charms press against the door of the Barracuda.
“Good evening,” she purred. “My Master is expecting you.”
“Hello, Chastity,” I said. “You look good, as always.”
“Thank you,” she said, and her smile reached the blank place in her eyes. “Care to give a girl a ride?”
“To the house, certainly,” I said, mindful that word choice was important where Thraxus or anyone who worked for him was concerned.
Her smile faltered, and she leaned closer. “Don’t you like me anymore?” she asked. One hand touched my shoulder, and my body wanted me to tell her how much I still did like her, at least in certain ways. “The last time I saw you, the most coherent thing I heard from you was ‘boobs.’”
“Don’t take it personally, Chastity,” I said. “You still make my pulse race, and I’d love to give you the kind of ride you’re looking for. But it’s been a rough few months. Today’s been kind of a b
itch, too.” She straightened up and walked around the front of the car to get in the passenger door. And I enjoyed watching her do it. Her smile was back when she slid into the seat beside me and wrapped her arm around mine, which put certain parts of her full figure pressed against my arm. Even through the sleeve of the greatcoat, that felt nice. The drive up to the house was way too short all of the sudden.
She slid out and waited for me when we made it to the front door. Before I could say anything, she kissed me, a quick, soft touch of her lips against mine, then they were gone.
“Should I ask?” I said.
“Because I do like you.” I met her eyes for a moment, searching for some hint, something to help me get a handle on the moment.
“I don’t…I don’t understand,” I stammered, and she laughed for a second, then turned serious.
“You’re in serious danger right now,” she said. “And you’re the only person who’s ever treated me like I was something special. Like I was…pretty. Worth something for more than just...these,” she concluded gesturing toward her ample bosom.
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, there is that. Look, Chastity, if I do walk out of here tonight, would you, uh…I mean, if you…um…”
“Monica,” she said. “My real name is Monica. And yes. I’d love to.” The way she said it implied that what she wanted wasn’t important. And just like that, I was determined that I was going to walk out of here.
“Monica,” I said. “After I walk out of here tonight, I want to get to know you better.” I turned and headed for the door. It was time to play the game. Monica fell in step beside me.
The door opened when I was a few steps away, and a stocky vampire in a black suit barred the way. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“My name is Lucas Kale,” I said. “I have come to offer Lord Thraxus my apologies and to make amends for offending him.” I pulled the greatcoat aside to reveal the paintball gun at my side. “Shall I disarm?” I watched the thoughts play out on the guy’s face. If I was someone like Chance, I would have offered a tremendous insult if I offered to disarm and they actually took me up on it, since even naked, he was still ‘armed’ with his magick. It would look like I didn’t take Thraxus seriously, which I could then deflect on his staff. But as a cowan, a normal person, as far as they knew, I might as well be saying I wanted their boss dead, because I had no other way to threaten him or defend myself, and they had almost no way to tell if I was being sincere or not. Also, by asking instead of just disarming, I was effectively putting the decision in his servant’s hands, and taking myself out of harm’s way. If I understood the complex game that Chance had described to me right.
