A Venetian Vampire

by Michele Hauf

  Kyler walked over to Dante, and now he saw a teardrop spill down her cheek. She closed her eyes and shook her head subtly. King was not going to let her go. They both knew that. So Dante would instead rely on his strength and quickness. And pray the warlock took his sweet time with the preparation.

  He handed the spell over, and the paper bent and curled downward right above the salt line.

  “Right,” King said. “Pervius,” he announced in Latin. “Now you can do it. But don’t touch her.”

  Dante placed the paper on Kyler’s palm, and the shimmer of their touch sparkled through his being. She felt it, too, and her sigh hushed across his skin as if a beckoning summer breeze.

  “I’ve got you,” he said quietly. And his soul shivered. “No matter what.”

  She again shook her head subtly, but with another Latin word from King the salt circle suddenly whooshed up as an invisible wall. Kyler inhaled sharply and stepped back. Dante shook the sting from his fingers. He felt like he’d been burned and could smell burned flesh even though his skin looked unscathed. But Dante did not step back from the impermeable circle.

  Kyler turned and strode over to King. The man took the spell and looked at it, nodding.

  At that moment the warlock stepped into the cathedral. Dante felt the air grow heavy and colder. Fists formed at his sides, Boa marched forward with bare feet and head held high, eyes focused on Kyler. He had a Mohawk streaked with red, green and violet within the black hair, tied high in the back where heavy dreadlocks spilled down past his shoulders. The sides of his head revealed intricate black tattoos that Dante assumed were spell tats. Silver rings laddered down both ears, and two such rings had found their way through his lower lip. A high-waisted, belted leather girdle contained his lean yet muscled torso. Rings on his fingers glinted in the moonlight beaming through the stained glass windows. And what looked like crimson blood dripped from his fingertips.

  Dante scented the foul odor and recognized it as human—or paranormal? He had to act now or lose all chance at rescuing Kyler. He’d handed over the spell; she should be free to go. Lunging forward in an attempt to step across the circle, his foot and hands were repulsed, and he toppled backward, barely catching himself.

  “That’s the thing,” King said as he stepped over to join Kyler. “I lied. We need her as the vessel.”

  “The vessel?” Dante kept an eye on the warlock, who stood solidly at circle’s edge, eyes now going white as he began to hum in a low tone. Kyler did not protest King’s suggestion. Hadn’t he promised her eternity? Shouldn’t she be more upset to know he’d lied to her? Unless he had not. Was this all part of the gift King had promised her?

  “You don’t need her!” Dante shouted. “Let me take her away.”

  “I need something to contain the spell ingredients. She will collect the ashes of a thousand vampires,” King said. “And then I will bite her and have my eternity.”

  “Kyler, come to me.” Dante tried to reach across the salt circle, but it was as if an invisible wall blocked him.

  “I can’t cross it,” Kyler said. “It’s my fault and I got myself into this mess. I don’t love you, Dante! Run! Get out of here! Get out of Paris before the spell is enacted.”

  “I don’t need you to love me. And I’m not leaving you.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to,” King said. “You’ll miss all the fun. And you’ll provide the final pile of ash as the spell moves toward completion and focuses back toward the point of origination. Boa!”

  Still chanting, the warlock crossed his arms high over his chest and stepped over the salt line to insinuate himself into the circle. As he crossed the salt, the invisible wall crackled as if white lightning had just arced across the curve.

  At that moment, Dante stabbed a foot at the salt in an attempt to open the circle, but the salt acted as if it had been epoxied to the floor. It wouldn’t move. He pushed his toe against the line without feeling the electrical zap; then a twinge traveled through his muscles and he was again repulsed.

  King presented the spell paper to Boa, who, pausing from his chanting, read it carefully and nodded. “You are sure?” the warlock asked. “It does not discriminate.”

  “Of course,” King said. “I’ve been waiting for centuries for this. You’ll protect me, yes?”

  The warlock smiled then, as if he knew something no one else did. “I have seen the egg in which this spell was contained. Of course, this is a favor I perform for you.”

  Dante sensed the warlock’s sudden disgust. A favor? Did he not want to do this? Or maybe he wasn’t getting anything in return? He had smiled as he’d read the spell. There was something wrong with the spell. Had to be.

  Boa lifted his bloodied hand and traced a symbol onto King’s forehead while chanting some mumbo jumbo Dante did not understand. It could be voodoo, for all he knew. But he sensed the malefic presence growing in the room, radiating out from the circle like a wicked fog. A shiver traced his shoulders and up the back of his skull. He’d never before felt evil so tangibly. It clutched at his soul and warned him to run.

  King grabbed Kyler and jerked her over to stand before Boa.

  “Don’t hurt her!” Dante shouted.

  Ignoring the instinct to flee, he beat against the impenetrable wall. He needed to break it somehow. He looked around and eyed the pews lined up along the wall. He might use one of them as a battering ram.

  Boa drew the same symbol on Kyler’s forehead, then shoved her away as if she were discarded trash. She hit the invisible wall, palms out to stop her momentum, and Dante pressed his fingers against the wall, hoping to touch her. He could feel her fear, and when she turned to him he wanted to brush away her tears. To make it so that they’d never even left her eyes in the first place.

  “Wipe the symbol off,” he hissed, quietly enough that the warlock and King, who were conversing over the spell, would not hear.

  “Just let this happen,” she said. Blood dripped down onto her cheek. “You can’t get me out of here. And...” Choking gasps betrayed her forced bravery. “I’m scared.”

  “What can I do to make you feel safe? I’ll die here with you, Kyler,” he said. “But today doesn’t feel like my last day.”

  “My knight in a well-tailored suit.” She smiled, and tears again spilled down her cheeks.

  “I love you, Kitten.”

  “Y-you do?”

  He nodded. “Not like my usual love. What I feel for you is different.”

  “I know that. You’re a complicated man. Your love could never be simple. Oh.”

  “I know you lied to get me to leave. You don’t need to explain. I would have done the same. It doesn’t matter. I will always love you.”

  “Dante...I wish I could touch you.”

  “Feel me in your blood.”

  She nodded. “If only we had bonded.”

  “We’ve taken one another’s blood, which connected us in a small way. You can feel me if you focus. It might help—”

  “Bring the vampiress to the center!” Boa announced with ceremony.

  If they had bonded, would he be able to reach across the salt circle and pull her out? Or perhaps together they’d possess some powerful thrall that they could work against the warlock? He didn’t know, and it was too late to wonder and wish.

  “I’ll figure something out,” Dante said. “We’re walking out of here together. I promise.”

  King grabbed Kyler’s hand and sneered at Dante. “You’re not running yet? You are a disposable fool.”

  Yes, he was a fool. In love. And if he was going to leave this world, it would be with Kyler in his arms. He wouldn’t let her die alone. She didn’t deserve any of this. She was an innocent caught in a web. He hated that he could not stop the spell—so many vampires would die—but as soon as he felt a rift, anything, he’d be on the war
lock and King.

  Boa’s arms were outstretched to encompass the sanctuary. The blood on his fingertips continued to drip. Odd. It should have stopped—and then Dante realized the blood was dripping from his wrists. He’d cut his wrists to perform a blood spell? Wasn’t that...deadly? He eyed the doorway from which King and Boa had emerged and then noted the blood drops on the floor. So much of it, and it was the warlock’s blood.

  “Vamps and witches,” he muttered. It was an opportunity he’d hoped would arise. “Worth a shot.”

  The warlock began a deep, canorous incantation. Witches used verse and rhythm and chanting to invoke spells, a divine connection to the universe. It sounded like Latin to Dante. He knew it wasn’t the recipe for a love spell; that was for sure. And then it seemed to hum like the bees that had swarmed about the former French queen’s head. But too quickly that swarm segued into a babble of animal sounds and human voices that defied his understanding of how it was all coming from one person.

  Dante shook his head. He mustn’t lose focus and risk Kyler’s life. And yet, the warlock’s blood was on her. Please don’t let it enter her bloodstream.

  Beneath his palms he felt the invisible wall quiver, and then it cracked as if a rock had hit glass. Not ten feet away around the curve, something dark and wispy seeped through that crack. Aware the three inside the circle were not focused on him, Dante stepped around to study the crack where the entry had occurred. He touched it. It wasn’t open, but he could feel the sharp-edged fissure. The shadow that had moved through it—it had to have been vampire ash.

  The spell had begun to seek victims. Somewhere out in Paris, vampires were dying. But would it occur so slowly that they would enter one by one? He could hope. And when the ash entered the circle...the protection spell weakened to allow that deceased entity through the warded wall.

  Stepping quickly, he noted King’s eyes were closed, as were the warlock’s. Kyler followed Dante’s movements as he bent and tapped the syringe tip to a large puddle of blood on the floor. A few more drops sucked into the plastic syringe and... That should do.

  Another wavering black cloud spilled in through the open window above. It glided mournfully toward the center of the nave where the dark spell was chanted. The moment the wall cracked and the dark ash moved through it, Dante placed his hand on the invisible wall, and it moved to the other side of the salt line. And just as quickly something sealed about his wrist, making it impossible to move in farther or tug his hand out.

  He eyed Boa and King, who stood beside Kyler. Slowly, she inched herself away from the two of them. No one had noticed Dante’s position, stuck partly in the circle. The warlock continued his babble of a thousand voices.

  The next shadow arrived. Another crack in the protective circle. Dante’s arm slid in up to his elbow. He stepped up and fitted his body beside the wall, holding the syringe at the ready with his other hand. The next crack allowed him more access. He dropped the arm that was inside the circle so as not to draw attention to himself. Just a few more shadows—ashes from dead vampires—and he’d be completely inside.

  The warlock’s chants filled the cathedral with a droning, dreadful song. King tilted back his head, eyes closed and chest heaving as he spread his arms wide as if to accept whatever came to him. The blood symbol on his forehead spilled back into his hair and down his cheeks. It hadn’t dried; it remained liquid and flowing. If it entered his bloodstream, bye bye vamp. Or so Dante hoped.

  Dante had counted only seven or eight shadows so far. If they needed the ash from a thousand vamps, this was going to take all night.

  Not on his watch.

  The next shadow slipped through. As it did, so did Dante. Completely inside, he slid his hand down to clasp the stake. The syringe he tucked at his waist. If he killed King immediately, that wouldn’t stop the warlock, and he was the one he needed to worry about most. He had but one chance at surprising Boa. Then he’d have to pray to a god he’d never believed in for strength.

  Charging Boa from behind, he leaped onto the man, landing high on his back with his knees and wrapping an arm about his neck. He stabbed with the stake, feeling the sharp tip enter his chest with a powerful thump. He wasn’t sure if he had hit heart, but it didn’t matter. Any wound might slow the warlock down; yet all wounds may never kill him.

  The warlock bucked and spun, trying to shake off Dante. And the chanting was silenced abruptly, causing the walls rising up from the salt to shiver erratically.

  “No! It’s not finished!” King yelled.

  Dante noticed Kyler run to the wall and press her back up against it. A swipe of her hand took the blood from her forehead. Good. She needed to stay out of the way. And if she could slip over the salt line when the next shadow crossed, then all the better.

  Crushed up against the wall by Boa’s force, Dante’s shoulder and head suddenly moved through it, and he had the forethought to grab Boa’s head. Two newly arrived shadows moved through the wall, pushing him completely out, save for one leg. But Boa’s head was also out while the rest of his body was still inside the circle. Suspended in the awkward clutch, Dante pummeled the warlock’s head with punches as he struggled within the circle to release himself. He did not relent, focusing all his strength toward bruising, beating and ultimately knocking the warlock out cold.

  With the warlock’s slip into unconsciousness, the spell shattered. Dante saw the wall shimmer and begin to dissipate, and then his body was completely released. He and Boa dropped to the floor in a sprawl. He kicked the warlock aside and stood.

  King landed on top of Dante’s shoulders. A swing of his arm brought down the titanium stake, which pierced his upper shoulder.

  Dante yelped and managed to fling King from his back to collide with the breaking wall. He landed on the last foot of failing wall, and his spine bent awkwardly backward. Then he rolled to his stomach on the floor as the protection circle vanished.

  The warlock lay unconscious from the beating he’d taken. But for how long?

  Dante pushed up and groped for the stake in his shoulder but couldn’t reach it. He gave up on it and instead wielded the syringe before him. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “What’s that?” King asked, now holding another stake at the ready. He jumped to his feet. His eyes flickered over to Kyler, but as quickly he resumed deadly focus on Dante.

  “You’re not going to win this one,” Dante said, surprised that he had to explain this to the slayer. He thrust the syringe before the man’s greedy, power-obsessed dark eyes. “This is the warlock’s blood. I believe ancient witch’s blood might supersede any protective purposes of the broken Great Protection spell between vampires and witches. You want a taste?”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  King pointed to his forehead. “Same stuff, idiot!”

  “Yeah? Then take a taste.”

  King’s jaw pulsed.

  “You still on the warlock’s side?” Dante asked. “You were going to end up as ash, too. And he knew it.”

  “That’s not true. Boa owes me.” King thumped a fist against his blood-spattered chest.

  “Yeah? How much did you pay him?”

  King scoffed. As Dante had guessed, he hadn’t paid the warlock anything. The warlock may have owed him for some past deed, but he sensed the man preferred cash. And if he wasn’t going to get any? Then who was he to ally himself to a cheapskate?

  “I saw the truth in his eyes when he read the spell,” Dante said. “The spell is indiscriminate. It will take out any and all vampires within its range.”

  “This protects me!” King pointed to the smeared symbol on his forehead, then lunged for Dante, colliding head to chest. Both fell to the stone floor in a struggle that scattered the salt out in a spray.

  A fist to his rib cage did little but annoy Dante. He matched K
ing’s strength and was able to pull out a stake from the hunter’s weapon belt. King smashed his wrist to the floor, releasing the stake to roll away. So Dante swung up his other hand, wielding the syringe. King caught his elbow, barely stopping the needle from jabbing into his temple.

  And then Dante felt the minute intrusion into his will. A thrall? Impossible. And yet...his fingers loosened around the plastic syringe. He couldn’t drop it. It was his only weapon. Yet he wanted to. Some part of him that had tasted Kyler’s blood—that of King’s blood child—wanted to relent. So he did.

  The syringe rattled across the floor and landed at Kyler’s feet. Dante swore. King’s intrusion into his brain dissipated, but his smirk said it all. He’d won that one.

  Kyler picked up the syringe.

  “Stay back, Kyler!” Dante shouted. “Get out of the church. Just go!”

  She shook her head. Had he favored her stubborn need for challenge before?

  Boa jumped to his feet. With a flicking gesture of his bloodied hand, he sent Dante flying away from King. His shoulders hit the wall behind him, slamming the stake through his flesh until the point of it emerged four inches out of his chest before him. The vampire hunter’s aim had missed his heart. That’s all that mattered. He gripped the stake tip but realized he couldn’t pull it out. The handle at his back was thicker and the tip was slick with his blood.

  King rushed over to Boa and shook him by the shoulders. “Start the spell again! Where is that bitch? Kyler!”

  Boa gestured defiantly. “I cannot begin it again! And the other vampire is right. You would have died.”

  “What? Me? Killed, as well?”

  “The spell does not honor my malefic symbology.”

  “Then why did you even speak it?”

  A flick of Boa’s fingers sent blood droplets spattering through the air and King dodged them. “I like to kill vampires. And that gold egg in your office is worth millions. Once you were dead? Heh, heh.”

  “You bastard, we had an agreement. We’ve—I’ve done things for you!”

  “Ah? Is that so? Who is the one who has watched over Ian Grim all these years? What have you given me in return?”