The Midnight Guardian

by Sarah-Jane Stratford

  “For cleansing, of course.”

  “Cleansing?”

  “You are an artless, naïve girl. Yes, cleansing. It is never enough to scatter a people out of a country in which they do not belong. They still exist, don’t they? The earth must be properly cleansed. I have told you this many times. You have no memory.”

  “Jews. You’re going to shoot Jews.” It wasn’t a question, but she was still incredulous, and disgusted with herself for it.

  “It’s all planned. Very clean and quiet. Round them up, march them away, have them dig their grave, then finish them off. They go into the earth and will fertilize the land. A use for them at last. Mind you, I do think it’s insufficient. There are such a lot of them …”

  He kept talking, but Brigit tuned him out. She could feel the fire rising.

  No. No. No.

  The demon helpfully tamped the fire down. It sensed an interesting turn of events and wanted to be more than ready.

  “Why are you doing this?” An unfamiliar taste rose in Brigit’s throat. She suspected it was bile.

  “Don’t you want to live in a clean world?” His eyebrows were raised.

  “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word.”

  He took a long swallow of schnapps, glaring at her. A slow laugh worked its way up through him as he staggered toward her, dripping menace.

  “You couldn’t know all we know. I suppose you think you’re very clever, but you are like a little girl playing at a game. The Third Reich, we are not to be played with. It is perhaps time you learned that.”

  She wondered how long he’d known she was a spy, and what else he knew about her.

  “You owe me, I think,” he informed her as he downed the last of the schnapps.

  “Owe you what?”

  “What you haven’t given the way I want it.”

  He twisted her hair and jerked her up against the wall. Both she and the demon were too impatient to use any verbal tricks. She tore herself out of his grasp and was about to strike when he slammed the side of his pistol into the softest part of her head. It would have knocked a human unconscious, but it shouldn’t have felled her. The fact that it did made her howl with rage into the carpet, giving him ample opportunity to flip her around and tear at her clothes. Buttons went flying into corners. She stared at his deranged face, too stunned to fight back as he tore the chemise from her shoulders and struggled with her bra. What the hell was wrong, where was her power?

  Oh. Oh, Eamon. It’s the food. Of course, so simple. The food. It’s too tainted. It’s blunted us.

  A cold hate pumped through her body harder than blood. Hate for the Nazis, for Germany, for all the Germans who enjoyed the world that they were paving in other people’s blood. And hate for Gerhard, for this slimy, hungry little man so desperate for a fuck. If she were a human girl, he wouldn’t marry her, not even if she became pregnant. She wasn’t connected, had no money. He was seeing a new empire, a world of German princes and dukes and barons. He was going to be a noble and feel the adulation of the peasants. She was just a primer from which to learn, and entertainment.

  Her eyes were swimming in a red mist, but he didn’t see. He was on a different journey. His hands squeezed her breasts painfully and to her horror, she could feel something like lava oozing from her nipples. She tried to pull a cooling song into her brain, but everything in her had stopped working.

  Eamon! Eamon!

  But her mind may as well have been screaming “Demon! Demon!” because that was what responded. It had waited a long time with this petty human and was famished. Its tongue flicked through her ribs, its claws tickled her skin from behind.

  Gerhard’s scream roused her. He’d burned his hand on her breast. She couldn’t fight the demon anymore. Either it or Gerhard would win, and she trusted the demon more.

  The fangs had never emerged so slowly, each muscle seemed to creak as her face contorted and the demon broke out from under. It chortled at Gerhard’s whitening eyes, thrilled in his gasps and shakes. It reached for him, wanting to touch the terror, wanting to feel the pounding heart at which Gerhard clutched and beat. But just as the talons sank into his chest, Gerhard’s body seemed to turn liquid and slipped from Brigit’s grasp.

  She stared at Gerhard several minutes, losing all her chances in her astonishment. It was impossible, it was not fair, there was simply no way that he had died of a heart attack. True, he had been drinking, but Germans were meant to be able to hold their drink. And true, too, he hadn’t expected his little whore to be a vampire, but Nazis were meant to be made of sterner stuff. The demon pounded at Brigit’s chest, but there was nothing to be done. He was gone indeed.

  We did kill him, anyway. We frightened him to death.

  The demon was not placated, but there was no time. She was going to ransack the office for papers and make it look as though Gerhard had been working with a spy who turned on him. She wasn’t entirely sure how this would be accomplished, but she was determined to yank the confidence out of these monsters masquerading as men.

  Half an hour later, she found what she had been looking for. The location of a hangar, a small one, but more than compensated for by the large nearby factory building bombs, so many bombs. She committed it all to memory, then swept through the office like a dervish, sending every paper flying. It would take them hours to tidy it and days before they could be sure everything was accounted for. Even then, they would not rest easy, because if nothing had been taken, did that mean that all the information was safe? And if not, what on earth was to be done?

  It was late, and she should be going, but she couldn’t stop staring at Gerhard’s body. This horrible human had been a part of her life for a long time. There were humans she’d met fleetingly over the centuries and liked, usually at the theater, but this had been different. This had been something she hadn’t known since before her making. She knew he wasn’t a fair representative of the human race, but as she gave his body several unsatisfying kicks, she felt with absolute certainty that the vampires were the superior ones, no question.

  Gerhard’s death and all the troubling questions it raised were as good as front-page news in the inner circle, and Mors ate it up with glee. He was also pleased that it meant Brigit’s nights were now free to further finesse the plan. He’d learned there were only days before a serious bombing campaign was to begin, and they wanted to strike as close to the opening salvo as possible to create maximum alarm and chaos.

  Swefred found himself at a standstill as well. He’d prepared several immaculate sets of papers for their journey home, covering all possible circumstances, and had worked his own marks to their limit. He volunteered to assist Brigit in her planning, pilfering what information he could on the best means of sabotaging machinery and bombs. They worked quickly and quietly. Even meal breaks were hurried affairs. Brigit had little appetite, but focused on what SS officers she could find, reasoning that if she wouldn’t be nourished, she could at least chip steadily at Hitler’s prized forces.

  Late one night that first week in August, when darkness had settled at last, the five vampires set out on their final attempt to shake at the foundation of the Nazi establishment. Only Mors was high and excited, the others felt weighted down by their sense of failure and were apprehensive about the journey home. As they neared the target, however, the thrill of the impending chaos they were to wreak rallied them. Their plan was twofold. The planes in the small hangar would be attacked first, the rationale being that a plane took longer to build than a bomb. The factory was only about three hundred yards west, although in totally open space. And there was some worry about the fire they would create in the explosion. However, Brigit and Swefred had discovered that both a sewer line and an entrance to the U-Bahn abutted the factory’s courtyard on either side. They were thus guaranteed a quick, clean escape.

  The hangar was not under guard, and its locked doors were easy to force, but opening them even the tiny bit necessary for slipping inside made an awful ra
cket.

  “Leave them open,” Mors ordered. “It will be easier to hear anyone approaching.”

  There were barely fifty small planes in the hangar. Knowing the Luftwaffe had more than four thousand planes at their disposal, many of which were on their way to Britain now, did not raise anyone’s spirits, but something was better than nothing and they silently set about their business.

  Brigit enjoyed the mindlessness of the work, the rote opening of the engine, snipping of wires, and the rewiring that would result in explosion. They didn’t hurry, concentrating instead on getting the job done properly.

  It was nearly three in the morning by the time they were finished, which was plenty of time to tend to the factory, but Brigit still inwardly cursed the timing that meant they hadn’t been able to set out until after nine. It was monstrously unfair that the Nazis should enjoy the convenience of the long summer days when planning their attacks. If she didn’t know better, she would say they’d planned it that way on purpose.

  Mors held up a warning hand as they approached the door, but it was hardly necessary—they could smell lurking humans as easily as he. Mors signaled that there were nine men several yards from the entrance. That seemed nothing to worry about—their speed would have them halfway to the factory before the men could even shout. But they all smelled the approach of more men, could sense them on rooftops all along the route to the factory. Nachtspeere. The ignorant creatures they looked on with such derision, viewed as so impotent before their own selves, nearly every one of them, it seemed, was outside, waiting. And they had abandoned their small crossbows for much larger ones, fitted with oil-tipped arrows, ready to be dipped into fire. They even bore axes. The vampires were beside themselves, trying to wrap their minds around the incontrovertible fact that the Nachtspeere had tracked them so effectively. But then they caught the unmistakable stench of Irish hunters. Cleland and Brigit clutched each other and Meaghan swooned against Swefred.

  They know. They’ve known. Not for long, maybe, but long enough.

  There was no time for such reflection. They retreated to the center of the hangar where they were absolutely sure they couldn’t be heard.

  “I don’t give a damn how they know and not one of you had better dare ask,” Mors began. “What can we use in here that’s a weapon?”

  “We could rewire a plane and fly out,” ventured Swefred.

  “We damaged them too thoroughly,” Brigit answered, wondering if the men outside knew that, too.

  “We haven’t got the time to tunnel out, and they’ve got the perimeter surrounded,” Mors muttered more to himself than the others, who didn’t need to be told anyway.

  “I don’t smell a man who could kill a millennial,” Cleland said. “I don’t like those axes, but if we’re at top speed, and run zigzag, even a top hunter won’t have that kind of aim.”

  “And it’s still dark,” Meaghan added in a confident voice that surprised them.

  Mors glanced at the east-facing high windows at which more men with torches were stationed.

  “Not for much longer. The weakness is the entrance. There’s no way out without being seen or heard. Even at our fastest, we’re going to bottleneck at that damn door.” He drummed his fingers on his head. Brigit realized that he was panicking. She’d never seen Mors panic, and her own demon went icy. Cleland and Swefred were waiting for Mors to continue. It was only when she caught Meaghan’s eye that she saw someone who knew their only choice and was resigned to it. The two females nodded to each other grimly and Brigit spoke.

  “We have to wait. Till just before dawn. Get them as tired and tense as possible. We’ll blow clouds of confusion en masse, it should be just enough. Like Cleland said, we’ll zigzag. We know how to get there, it’s not too far, we’ll allow ourselves two minutes. They won’t expect that. We can even create an idea of decoys. Mors, you’re still strong enough for that. They’ll have been ready so long, they’ll be spent. It’s not a great chance, but it’s all we’ve got.”

  “And the bottleneck?” Swefred wondered.

  Meaghan grinned and showed their last hand. The bomb they were going to use to destroy the bomb-making factory.

  “If we blow up the door, they’ll have a harder time seeing us leave.”

  Mors chucked Meaghan under the chin.

  “Perfect. Can’t have all our hard work going to waste.”

  “So we get outside …” Cleland prompted.

  “And leg it with violent swiftness.” Meaghan finished, and there was no argument.

  A few minutes before dawn and all was deathly still and silent. The vampires could sense the exhaustion of their would-be predators and were pleased. They themselves were high with anticipation. Brigit had to acknowledge this much, that imminent action and danger provoked excitement. They’d been so careful, so steady, for so many months. Now they had to use all their strength and power. The demons were ecstatic. Brigit just wished she didn’t feel so drained. She wasn’t frightened, however. She had no fear of hunters, be they Nachtspeere or Irish, would not give them the gift of her fear, and anyway was concentrating too hard on what she had to do to feel anything even remotely like fear.

  Boldness is my friend. And Eamon’s at my back. His energy will push me faster than I’ve ever run before.

  Mors cast a pleased and loving eye around the little band of compatriots and set off the bomb. The explosion set up a screen of smoke and fire that, together with their mingled hypnotic whispers, gave them their initial shield. They bolted from the hangar and ran.

  The wind sang in Brigit’s ears and she was suddenly exhilarated, the closeness of the air around her convincing her she was actually going to run into the future at this dizzying speed. She could hear the shouts of the men, see arrows and axes whizzing by her, but she was too fast and clever for them. There was the courtyard of the factory, there was the entrance to the sewer.

  Oh no. Oh Eamon. We’re the little foxes.

  The entrance was blocked with chunks of cement and crudely nailed boards. With one eye on the fiery arrows and spinning axes the hunters continued to lob at her, she tore at the barriers. She knew without looking that Cleland was on the other side of the courtyard, doing the same. The light was pale purple, just on the edge of turning pink, but Brigit began to smile. Clearly, even the Irish hunters who had come especially for this didn’t know the strength of a millennial. The barrier came down just as Meaghan sprinted up beside her, an ax unnecessarily appropriated to bust them in to safety.

  Cleland had broken down the blockade to the U-Bahn entrance with ease. He waved at Brigit and Meaghan, then took up a fallen ax and hurled it up into the fray.

  “You’ll have to try harder with your slings and arrows than that!”

  To Brigit’s delight, she saw a man’s head bounce down into the alley.

  Mors was running leisurely, confident in the shield of his longevity, his closeness to safety, and his easy ability to outmaneuver the enemy. He caught the axes that were thrown at him and launched each one back in a graceful arc that didn’t miss a single target. The hunters were beside themselves with rage. A dead man dropped his bow and arrows, which Swefred caught. He was in the courtyard, mere feet from them, and took a rare chance. He let loose a volley of arrows at a line of men and they all fell like ninepins. Meaghan laughed and applauded and Brigit screamed with joy.

  Another set of arrows soared toward Swefred and he ran backward to catch them up and repeat his triumph, even though the sun was peeping over the horizon. Mors bounded past him and Meaghan had just opened her mouth to call Swefred back when an ax swung with unexpected strength for a human caught him just below the knee, striking the lower leg clean off.

  The humans cheered uproariously and held their fire, eager to see what the great vampire would do now. Meaghan’s screams gave them only more pleasure on which to get drunk. Mors was holding her and Brigit back, the sun was coming and it was too late.

  Swefred knew it, too, because he didn’t even try to hop
to safety.

  “Meaghan!” he yelled. “Stop screaming, don’t give them that satisfaction.”

  Meaghan fell silent instantly, her eyes locked on Swefred’s. His skin was crinkling and turning black, smoke curling from under his hair and nails, but he smiled.

  “I love you, my princess. One more for them, all right?”

  With that, he picked up his severed leg and whirled it around to get the blaze roaring. He threw it at a cluster of hunters and knocked them all down.

  The final conflagration came with blessed speed, the flames consumed him greedily and then, realizing there was nothing left to feed them, disappeared in a burst of orange smoke.

  Brigit caught Cleland’s eye. She could see him wanting to run across to them, to help them control the hysterical Meaghan, but he couldn’t move.

  A flaming arrow flew right at Brigit’s eye and Mors grabbed her arm and jerked her behind him. It gave Meaghan all the advantage she needed. With one furious twist, she was out of Mors’s grasp and in the courtyard. Mors clutched Brigit to him and they stared, helpless and fascinated.

  A long, low, weird cry emanated from somewhere deep inside Meaghan, something that had once soared down across the Scottish Highlands, penetrating the mist. It was a piercing buzz and it dazed and froze the crowd of hunters so that they stared numbly as Meaghan took up a hogshead of fuel, bust it open, and began to whirl, dousing the factory, the buildings, and all the hunters in and around them in cold gasoline. Even then, they didn’t budge. She whirled harder, her arms outspread, her eyes facing a blue sky she hadn’t looked at so openly in centuries.

  Then Brigit understood the secret of Meaghan’s demonic life and longevity, the magnet she used to draw in prey. Her emerald-green eyes, always wide and limpid, swelled and turned liquid, so that a man knew if he walked toward them they’d envelop him like a clear lake on a hot summer’s afternoon. Even Brigit was not immune. She would have moved forward to bathe in those eyes, were it not for Mors’s firm grip on her. The flames took full hold, but the eyes took on a life of their own, rising well above the fire, refusing to be swallowed. With one last, hard, fiery spin, Meaghan exploded, and the flames shot round in a perfect circle, catching the gasoline-soaked hunters and buildings.