Vampire Enforcer (Hidden Blood Book 1)

by Al K. Line

  They were lost to bloodlust, unable to stop themselves as their own fear of recrimination vanished. They didn't care about the repercussions, about what Oskari or the Council would do, how their own kind would react to them breaking all the rules. They were overcome with the pulsing energy and the blood that was being spilled; they wanted in on the action.

  Midnight had come and gone now, the party in full swing, no signs of it winding down. The crowds became so amped many were falling down, collapsing under the extremes of hysteria. Heart attacks, strokes, overloading of the nervous system, it was taking its toll. The vampires fell on the weak and the distracted, moving from one to the other with jittery start-stop movements, a blur between their prey.

  Even in this state they didn't kill, at least I didn't see them kill. Something inside held them back, told them that if they did such a thing all would be lost for our kind. But they fed nonetheless, took a taster of countless victims who died from their heart attacks or suddenly turned, slapping their hand to their necks, wondering what insect had bitten them and how it had made such a wound.

  We slammed fists into faces of leering men who approached with vile suggestions, all inhibitions lost, or stepped over those on the floor fighting or copulating with an urgency and violence that made me look away before I screamed.

  The goblins' machine was dense with people close, but there were limits. Some were even singled out, allowed to climb on it, shuffling their way to the head of the thing where they smiled and waved at friends then tried to stand up and ride it like it was a simple fairground attraction only to find themselves tumbling off and breaking bones. There was a pile of bodies where they had fallen, added to as more crowded onto the head then lost their balance and landed on those moaning below.

  Everyone cheered these brave souls on, daring them to stand up and wave as they rode the beast, then the crowd booed as the fool fell, and it was on to the next victim.

  Music was turned up somewhere and the night screamed with Phil Collins singing Sussudio. The reckless revelers began to sing along and dance, kissing anyone next to them, but passion turned to violence and they punched and kicked and lifted their heads to scream into the night sky, whooping and hollering and spinning in a crazed daze, lost to themselves and the throbbing of the ground and air.

  And the goblins, they were in their thousands now, crowded in dense pockets around the console and forming a ring around the machine. They were armed with weapons of all description, breaking the skulls of anyone who came close. Then, bizarrely, they handed out weapons randomly, laughing insanely as each new owner went on a smashing and cracking spree. As long as they didn't attempt to get to the machine, there was now a fifty foot no-go zone they enforced with utter dedication.

  We dove in to the carnage, no need to worry about being singled out as something worthy of attention, and battered our way to the main concentration of goblins. They were slick with sweat, make-up a mess, faces a blur of streaked color, eyes gleaming with mirth, lost to the power drawn from another place the same as everyone else. They slammed out with weapons as they laughed, they broke bones and howled like banshees, argued and spat at each other, pulled off wigs and flicked away red noses, and yet never once did they let their own madness stop them from ensuring nobody got to mess with the machine.

  It was sparkling now, shards of energy firing off it in all directions, lumps and strips of light that had found form, the ectoplasm from the direct line down to hell manifesting as something almost solid. A layer of slime covered everything, and it was solidifying as it fired off the machine, causing wounds and hammering the crowds as they slipped and slid over the machine, removing clothes and baring flesh that was quickly slick with the stuff.

  My body was on fire, the new growth still ultra sensitive. My skin rubbed against so many people and using magic I hardly had control over made the regeneration impossible to complete. Pink flesh was scrubbed away, covering me in blisters and sores as I fought the menace in my head, tried to remain sane, to resist doing anything stupid and out of character. Which was particularly difficult since I was losing any sense of what my character was.

  The goblins were stripped to their waists, fat, extended bellies hard and tight against reptilian skin. Thin biceps and oversized forearms fat with veins waved wildly, and their long fingers clutched the air as if in prayer. They rubbed against each other, writhing and fondling in truly gross ways, and I had no bloody idea what on earth any of this was about.

  Why were they bothering to do this? What was the point of it all? Was there one, or were they simply playing up, having fun at everyone else's expense? Just a party?

  It didn't matter.

  I pushed through the last of the Regulars and found myself in a no man's land. Gleaming green goblins slick with goo sneered at me.

  In unison, they cried, "Kill the witch."

  That's just not nice.

  Furry and Fast

  Something black and fast darted past me then leaped into the air, sailed over the heads of several rows of goblins, breaking their lines. From out of sight, screams rose and goblins shoved their way from behind their comrades and raced into the crowd, a crowd that would see skinny guys with running face paint, in serious need of a gym session, stripped down to their pants and flailing their arms .

  Nobody gave them much more than a cursory glance. They were focused on getting as close as they could to the ride, the machine, thinking the height of entertainment was to clamber over it and watch as others tried to tame the thing.

  They wanted to push the boundaries, go beyond their limits. Craved the pain, the rush of adrenaline, and they'd do anything to get it. More goblins broke free, and through a gap I saw glistening black fur dart this way and that, swiping with a deadly claw and chomping down with a meaty jaw on limbs and torsos before flinging them away.

  Taking advantage of the increasing chaos, I was across the divide in a flash. I tore through the goblins without a care as to who saw me, something inside still ensuring I didn't push things, didn't use magic in a showy form even though I felt my skin sizzling and multi-colored waves of magic like smoke steamed from me like my aura was visible to all.

  Goblins sneered into my face before I head-butted or punched them, and as they tore at my clothes and yanked my hair something snapped inside.

  I went ape-shit. Nobody messes with my hair, especially not goblins.

  Things Get Personal

  I've been funny about my hair for a very long time. When I was younger, and much more stupid, there was a man. I loved him. And I hated him so much. And I feel ashamed for the things I let him do, and angry with myself because why should I feel shame? He was the one doing those things, not me. Love can make you do foolish things, fear much more.

  He hurt me. He pulled my hair, that was one of his favorite things, and one of the mildest. And then he went too far and I left. He found me eventually, but by then I was a very different person. In fact, some would say I wasn't even a person at all.

  He's the only person I fed from who wasn't on the list. I don't feel bad about that and I never will.

  As a grinning goblin yanked on my locks and my head snapped back, I turned and stared into the eyes of this strange creature but all I saw was him, my past coming back to haunt me. All the repressed anger, the shame and the fucking humiliation I felt for ever letting any of that happen, it all came brimming to the surface and vented in incandescent rage.

  Ink fired under my sleeve, drawing innate power from all over my body, and I traced the patterns as they activated then came to a tumultuous crescendo when the powerful surf crashed into my hands. I closed my grip and the goblin's smile disappeared as my fingers dug deeper into flesh and my fingernails found something to lodge onto. Harder, harder still, until bone crunched and his eyeballs popped out of his head. I kept on applying pressure until his skull split and I squeezed a fistful of watery brain then wiped it on his shoulder as he fell.

  I elbowed and I kicked and I screamed and sw
ore as I batted the goblins aside, not caring about the damage I caused or the pleading I heard.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind there was a red warning, telling me to slow down, to stop this madness, and I honestly don't know if I would have if it wasn't for the sight of Persimmon in panther form limping on three legs, holding the other up carefully as she spun to face a group of goblins closing in on her.

  They were about to destroy her, their numbers too great, and if I didn't help, didn't do something and fast, then she would be history. Going nuts wouldn't be enough, I had to do something else, something smart, so I breathed deep, forced my will into the acid flowing through my tattoos, and brought forth a different kind of magic.

  Sweet beauty filled the air. The stench of goblin sweat and the taste of fear on the wind was replaced with an overwhelming urge to play, to have fun, do something harmless and innocent. Maybe even frolic. When was the last time anyone frolicked?

  A strong, almost overpowering odor of sweets was in the air, so intense people were gulping it down and grinning. I raised my arms higher and let the magic pour out of me in multitudinous colors, all pastels and soothing hues mixed with flashes of neon, swirling and dancing for joy, intermingling and creating ever more beautiful patterns above our heads. Streamers of magic poured from my hands as I crouched down so there would be no chance of Regulars witnessing where this show originated.

  The air was alive with such wondrous beautiful things and the smell grew stronger as my mind was crowded with childhood memories of running through meadows of wild flowers, sniffing bright orange daisies, and chasing bees, the warm summer sun beating down on me, my little yellow dress blowing in a gentle breeze. Then I fell down laughing in that meadow and pulled sweets out of my pockets, packs of little lozenges the same colors that were drifting from my outstretched hands, and they tasted of chalk and sugar and sweetness and freedom.

  The magic soothed my mind and soul, calmed me and brought me back to myself. Just Kate, a woman with her own set of problems, with a past she never discussed and for good reason. But I knew then, understood this beauty came from inside me. This was the magic I was destined to have. Not something destructive, but something pure and kind and healing.

  And then a goblin bent, stared into my eyes, and sneered. Then he laughed as he brought a pipe down onto my arm and the bone broke clean in two.

  The magical perfection shattered and for a moment everyone stood stock still, lost to dreams of happier times, upturned faces smiling contentedly. Others were crying, maybe from happiness, maybe because they had no good times to recall but knew what they'd been missing and that there was still beauty in the world. And hope.

  Regenerative blood magic shunted into the fracture and marrow and bone regrew. My arm snapped back into place and my fingers flexed, so, obviously, I smashed the head of the goblin in and leapt to my feet. Ta-da. A girl could get used to this, in fact I had, and that was part of the problem.

  As goblins and humans alike fell silent, and with tears streaming down their faces, mine too I was surprised to discover, I grabbed Persimmon and we passed silently through the throng as they stirred from their perfect dreams.

  I spied Dancer at the console and sped up, shoved goblins aside as they grumbled and the night was once again alive with blaring music, this time Bon Jovi, and lights strobed and smoke was heavy in the air. Goblins were on him, clawing at his face, biting at his arms and legs, and as he shook them off, flung them away with a taster of magic mild enough to go unnoticed, madness descended once again.

  Too Many

  I dropped Persimmon and she cried out, almost collapsing on her damaged leg. But Dancer was in trouble and there was no way I could do much to save him, save us all, if I was carrying her. Plus feeling her firm flesh as I held her was distracting, very distracting. Talk about a firm bottom, it was like two bowling balls wrapped in chocolate-colored silk.

  Yanking my coat off, I gave it to her and she covered herself, buttoning up the front as best she could although it wasn't sufficient, simply making her look more alluring than ever. With a nod, and as the screams reached new heights, the music blared so loud it shook the air, the ground throbbed, and the very night felt alive with madness as we battled on. The calm I'd forged vanished; I knew I couldn't bring it back.

  But I had this inside me, this power and knowledge that the magic was becoming mine and I would have my own unique ways of using it, if I ever got the chance. Goblins leered, face paint now a brown mess, drunk on the effects of their machine, seemingly having forgotten that we were trying to destroy it.

  They grew increasingly wild, delirious like they'd taken peyote or another drug I obviously know nothing about as I'm a good girl, running around whooping, and talking in strange tongues, utter gibberish. They fought amongst themselves or with anyone they came into contact with, but they were no longer the only concern.

  We punched, and I kicked, and Persimmon head-butted and we got to Dancer, who was forcing a cold fury through his hands to send a shock into anything he touched. Goblins dropped at his feet like he'd grown in stature and towered over them, a funeral director come to make his own business.

  But it was no good, and it wasn't just goblins we had to contend with now. With the remaining police running rampant, and the Regulars taking it as a personal insult that the law was trying to ruin their fun, hats were knocked off and the most affected were laying into the police as they fell under the onslaught.

  More and more officers appeared from all directions, sent to control the crowd, but instantly caught up in the frenzy of unrestrained urges, nobody taking heed of what they were doing or considering the consequences.

  I saw a few officers trying to make arrests or dragging people away to the vans, a sane few unaffected by the machine, but they were set upon. Mindless men got up in their faces and screamed at them, spittle flying as their faces turned red with rage—even those in riot gear didn't stand a chance, quickly retreating to the safety of the vans.

  We were pushed away from getting anywhere near the console as magic born of a perpetual madness linked to the eternal afterlives of those deserving punishment became all consuming.

  People clamored for the machine, swarmed over it, and hollers of delight set my nerves jangling as they rode it like a bucking bronco.

  Groups of angry men set upon anything official, smashing the police cars, kicking the tires—like that would do anything!—they even attacked lone female officers who had fared better than most until this point. Usually timid students, smoking huge joints and clouded with numbing smoke, rocked the vans while terrified officers cowered inside until a loud cheer went up as one was toppled to its side.

  "This is insanity," I shouted.

  "It's completely out of control," agreed Dancer.

  "The city will go up in flames if we don't stop the machine. We have to seal the hole or something. Can we do that?"

  Dancer shook his head. It was probably harder than just stopping the machine as the energy emanating from it was extraordinary, the weak spot between our world and the next now a true break in reality.

  I could picture the madness spreading like a nuclear explosion, us at the heart, the aftershock sweeping away everything in its wake, toppling people and buildings alike, clearing the city of everything. But I knew it wouldn't work like that. It would be no insanity cleansing the schizophrenia. It would grow like a cancer, rippling out, and as the lack of fear spread people would attack their neighbors, wake from nightmares only to be thrust into another of their own making as they dressed and stepped out into the night to seek justice for any slight or wrong they'd ever had, unafraid of the consequences.

  "I say we kill every goblin we can and get to that damn console," Persimmon grunted.

  Dancer and I exchanged a look. Persimmon was sweating badly and couldn't put her foot down; she was out of action and drawing too much attention. As if on cue, two leering men stepped in front of us, licking their lips as they eyed up Persimmon. My coat
hardly covered her chest at all, and she looked insanely hot with her body slick with the goo coating us all, her black hair disheveled, and her damn fine breasts practically bursting from the shiny leather.

  "Time for you to bow out gracefully," said Dancer as he nodded to me. We both punched out hard and fast at a guy each, not waiting for them to say anything stupid or try anything they'd surely regret when, or if, they came back to their senses.

  "No way. I can still fight, I'll... Argh!" Persimmon dropped as she tried to put weight on her leg and I knew she would have to retire from this fight whether she wanted to or not. I bent and flung her over my shoulder as she protested. Dancer shoved men and women aside and I punched any that got in my face as we moved away from the heart of the chaos to a quieter area. When it was safe to do so, I sped up and was at the car in seconds.

  "I'll tell you all about how I saved the day. Just take it easy."

  "You better smash some heads for me." Persimmon smiled as she rested against the seat. I nodded then was back at Dancer's side a moment later. She'd hate being away from the action but with her leg trashed she'd never survive this.

  I wasn't sure I would. But I knew I had to try.

  Bringing on the Magic

  I almost felt like I was in shock, maybe I was, but the strange beauty I'd conjured up had left its mark on me. A soft center where before there was a worrying hardness that had grown over the years. Now that yielding inner fortitude was back, its manifestation had brought a sublime peace of sorts. I knew that no matter the bad things I did, they'd be for the right reasons. To help people who deserved help, punish the unjust.