Briskly, she circled to the trunk, opened it, and exposed her arsenal to the harsh white lamps that stood vigil against New York’s darkness. The two drunkards glimpsed all the weapons, made slurred “whoa” sounds, and hurried away into the night.
Taylor knew that momentarily, the proprietors would notice her and take an interest in her. She outfitted herself rapidly. The idea was to get in and choose the battlefield herself before they could engage her on disadvantageous terrain.
She had already strapped a Kevlar vest on under her suit, one customized with extra protection over the heart. Now, she retrieved a modern update of the medieval gauntlet—a glove reinforced with steel and titanium that could stand up to major stress such as, for example, being jammed into the mouth of a creature with powerful jaws. She slid the gauntlet onto her left hand.
A couple of pistols loaded with silver-tipped bullets strapped onto the belt at her waist. The presence of silver nearby made her feel slightly sick but it wouldn’t kill her. She had trained herself to ignore the feeling. It would do far worse things to her main target.
Finally, she added a sword in a reinforced scabbard, which hung on her back with the hilt within easy reach. This weapon, too, was a modernization of an old classic—something of a cross between a katana and military-grade machete. Its cutting power was fearsome, and she’d sharpened it before leaving the house.
Thus armed, she examined the building. A door at the rear was almost certainly an emergency escape. She started the car and drove it directly in front of the exit to block it effectively. Satisfied, she slid out again and locked the vehicle.
Before anyone could emerge to challenge her parking, the vampire leapt and floated upward to clear the entire building and waft down onto the staircase that led to the main entrance. She knocked on the door.
Eyes appeared in the slit. Even before their owner could ask her the password, she kicked the door down.
It crashed inward, its hinges ripped loose from the concrete in a spray of debris, and the man guarding the door collapsed beneath it. She hurdled over him, confident he wouldn’t get up anytime soon, and strode down the hallway into the main floor.
The whole establishment had heard her entrance and had gone quiet. Everyone stared.
There were faces there she recognized and that recognized her in turn. Analyzing their expressions, those subtle betrayers of thought and emotion, she concluded that most of them were neutrals—they weren’t specifically her friends but neither were they in on the plot against her. They would stand aside.
In fact, most of them had already begun to inch toward the walls.
Other faces were less friendly by far. “Hey,” a rough voice behind her demanded gutturally, “listen, lady, you can’t come in here and—”
Taylor spun. In the split second before her foot landed, she saw a large man in a ridiculous pinstriped suit bearing down on her while he reached into his jacket. Her boot struck his arm, crushed it, and sent the impact through it and into his stomach. Bellowing like a frightened cow, he careened away and spewed vomit in his wake until he pounded into the back wall and slumped.
Another guy—a mob enforcer like the pinstriped asshole—appeared from behind a slot machine, already aiming a Magnum at her. The vampire moved too fast for him to even see, seized the gun, turned its barrel upward, and shoved the butt into his forehead. His grip on it released and it stayed in her hand, but before he could fall, she caught him by the shoulders and threw him onto the poker table.
The dealer and the players sat frozen in horror. Taylor strode past them, grabbed the half-conscious man again, and dragged him to his feet. She hauled him to the door in the back corner and used his head to open it.
By now, he was almost completely out of it. Hauling him like a rag doll, she stepped into the corridor, threw the door shut behind her, and shoved him forcibly through the large, loop-shaped handles. They’d have to saw through him to escape via this route.
Exactly like they’d have to smash through her car to get out the other way.
There was a T-intersection up ahead, where a single light bulb hung from the ceiling. A dark-suited mobster lunged from the side-branching hall and fired a handheld sub-machine gun. She stood her ground, took a couple of bullets to her Kevlar-protected chest, and drew one of the pistols from her hip to fire it in the same motion.
The gunman’s knee exploded with blood. He screamed—the sound high and wailing for such a burly man—and dropped, already on the verge of passing out with pain and shock. Behind her, the clientele could be heard stampeding toward the front entrance. They’d obviously wisely decided to get the hell out of there.
The vampire advanced. She took a long, floating step over the sprawled gangster. He wasn’t a lycanthrope, but a bullet to the knee—silver or not—was more than sufficient to disable a mere human.
She turned down the side hall. It ended only a few paces beyond at a room where four men had been playing poker at an expensive table. Now, their cards lay flat before them and their hands held guns which were all aimed at her.
Three of them wore charcoal-colored suits like the guy who’d tried to shoot her. The last man wore a white shirt and tie with the sleeves rolled up. All four stared intently. They, unlike their friend, were smart enough to realize that she wasn’t there to murder them all…unless they convinced her to.
The guy in the white shirt spoke for the group. “Whaddya want, lady?”
“Where is Albert?” she asked, in a calm, measured tone. “Is he with Gabriel?” She took a step forward.
These men, being poker players and all, were fairly good at hiding their reactions but not quite good enough. There was a definite trace of “Oh, shit!” in their expressions. Albert and Gabriel were her main targets, and all these men knew exactly why.
The spokesman shook his head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, ma’am. I run this establishment and my name’s Pat O’Reilly.”
“An Irishman in charge of an establishment that otherwise has clear Italian-American proclivities. That’s truly fascinating. You strike me as more the consigliere type. Why don’t you tell me where Albert is right fucking now?”
She took another step and crossed the threshold into their poker den.
A small form dropped from overhead and claws scrabbled around her neck and face. The mobsters raised their weapons as her hand jerked up to deal with the attacker. She found a small, dense arm and snapped it like a dry twig.
The gremlin howled in agony and lost his hold on the silver-plated dagger he’d intended to use. She hurled him into the wall. It cracked, and the creature, now unconscious, stuck there within the impact hole.
The four mobsters stood frozen with their fingers on the triggers of their guns.
Pat swallowed. “Don’t mind our little friend, ma’am,” he said and tried to smile while sweat rolled down his brow. “He gets a little over-excited sometimes.”
Taylor nodded. “So do I.”
She kicked the table over. Pat and one of the other men, who’d been seated on the side opposite her, were driven hard against the back wall and the edge slammed into their stomachs. The two at the head and foot stumbled back. Their gun arms raised.
The vampire had already closed on the fat guy on the right, crushed the pistol in his hand, and shoved him between her and the other man. His cohort on the left fired and the fat man took the bullet in the hip. He grunted and fell.
The last gunman standing looked about ready to piss himself in terror, but he squeezed off another shot, now aimed at her face. She swung her head aside to evade it, drew her sword, and threw it in the same motion.
The blade flashed and barely slowed before suddenly, it embedded itself in the opposite wall. Her target stared at the bloody stump where his gun hand had been and screamed, his eyes wide with shock.
Taylor leapt gracefully over him to retrieve her sword.
The two men she’d thrust the table into were recovered now. The first, another gr
ey-suited Italian, merely glared at her. She smacked him in the face hard enough that it probably put a hairline fracture in his jaw and drove his head back into the wall. He sagged and did not bother her further.
That only left Pat. He winced, and his hands trembled. Quite possibly, he had a hernia.
“Pat,” she said softly, “let me ask you one more time. Where’s Albert? And where’s Gabriel?” She flicked the sword toward his face and brought the blood-streaked point to a stop about half an inch from his eyeball.
A shudder ran through his whole body. “Goddammit.” He moaned. “Albert’s with Gabriel, yeah. You have that part right. They’re in Chappaqua. I don’t know the address—” He tensed as though expecting her to drive the blade forward. “Really, I don’t, lady. Uh, Campfire Lake. It’s near someplace called Campfire Lake. That’s all I know. I swear.”
The vampire whipped the sword aside. Pat shuddered again, this time in relief, and closed his eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, confident he’d told the truth. “Do not warn them that I’m coming or I’ll come back here after I deal with them.”
Behind her, the fat guy with the hip wound had struggled to his feet by bracing his back against the wall. “Bitch,” he gurgled. “Do you really think you can get away with treatin’ made men like this? I’m gonna—”
She spun and lashed out with the sword as she moved. Half of the fat man’s head fell away from the rest, and his one remaining eye lolled stupidly as blood leaked onto his tongue. He collapsed in a heap.
“Jesus…” someone gasped. Evidently, one of the other disabled men had regained their wits.
Taylor turned to face them. “I do not fuck around, gentlemen. I was generous in allowing your petty machinations to proceed this far. But it’s over and I will not be insulted. Don’t make me come back to this shithole again. And next time, if someone raises a hand against me, you might as well cut that hand off yourselves—or I’ll simply make chum out of you all and sell you to an aquarium.”
She sheathed her sword in total silence. Calmly, she strolled out, through the deserted casino and over the fallen door, and returned to her car. No one bothered her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chappaqua, Westchester County, New York
Her first idea had been to leave the black muscle-car in the most obvious public place she should think of—directly in front of a big-box store in the middle of town. It wasn’t the kind of locale where either preternaturals or human mercenaries would dare to try to blow it up, even at night.
However, that left the problem of how to move, on foot, all the way to Gabriel’s hide-out, heavily armed and armored, without being seen by anyone. There were some things that would have been a stretch even for her abilities.
Instead, Taylor drove around a few back roads until she found a nice stretch of woods where she could safely hide the vehicle for a couple of hours. The area around New Castle and Chappaqua was not exactly heavily patrolled by police and her vehicle had little to fear from stupid teenagers who might try to carjack it.
She parked amidst black shadows cast by tall trees. Her warhorse would be almost invisible unless someone walked up and shined a light on it. Satisfied, she pulled her phone out to check the satellite photography of the area.
Campfire Lake wasn’t far. It was almost funny—her deadliest enemy in years had his headquarters only about a twenty-five-minute drive from her own home. Officially, she could not seem to find any evidence of a vampire-worthy estate near the lake, which meant that her destination probably lay in the blank area of the map.
Satisfied that she’d found the location, she slid out and locked her car. In the silence, she paused and took a deep breath to steady her mind for the stealth and silence she’d need at first—and the violence she would commit afterward—then ran under the trees and into the deep of the night.
Soon, she sensed the lake ahead and before it, a clearing with a building. And many people and creatures around the structure.
They were expecting her.
At the first sign of a flashlight’s beam cutting through the darkness, she floated into the nearest tree, a pine, and hid amongst its branches. She looked down and expanded her consciousness to its maximum breadth.
Before her was a three-story mansion, larger than her own although newer and crasser in its design. Only one or two electric lights were on within, on the second floor. A dozen men in black paramilitary outfits prowled the grounds and swept it with their gun lights.
The vampire paused to consider her strategy. She needed to send a clear message and slaughtering everyone there would accomplish that. But getting Albert and Gabriel was the most important objective. With that in mind, the risk of failure increased with every moment she wasted. They might use the delay to slip away.
She jumped and landed like a feather before she sprinted directly toward the house.
One of the patrolling guards came too close for comfort. She deviated slightly toward him and he noticed her when she came within arm’s reach.
“What the—”
Taylor lashed out with her gauntleted left fist and punched him in the head hard enough to crack his helmet and turn him off like a light.
A few of the others seemed to hear the crunch and they moved to where their comrade had fallen, but she was already past them. She pulled the pins from a couple of grenades and dropped them behind her.
Twin explosions lit up the night with blazing orange fire, shaking the ground and burning the grass. Men shouted in alarm and rushed toward the blast and away from her.
A short jump brought her to stand before the front door of the mansion. It was locked, of course, but she kicked it down.
Wood splintered and metal screamed as the door hurtled inwards. She was already ten feet within, her sword brandished, but found no immediate adversary. The lights on the second floor indicated that Albert and Gabriel were probably there.
To her right was a staircase leading up. She ascended almost without touching the steps and could hear and smell the crowd waiting for her. Her nose gave no indication of a vampire, but Gabriel might have ways to disguise his scent.
She reached the landing and the trap sprung.
A device, halfway between a piston and a trebuchet, unleashed a powerful, spring-loaded metal arm which struck her with the force of an oncoming car. She heard her own left hip and ribs crack as she catapulted to the right and tumbled into a small, brilliantly lit room. Taylor struck the far wall and spun in time to see the mechanical door slam shut and lock.
Shit.
The piston-hammer device had only been the first half of the trap. The room itself was the second. The ceiling and walls were covered with vents, which had already opened and now discharged streams of brownish-yellow vapor that filled the chamber with a smell like a delicatessen.
“Mustard gas,” she whispered. She trembled with anger and loathing. It wouldn’t kill her but it would hurt, and the awful blisters on her skin and lungs would make it harder for her to fight if, for example, they broke the door down and came in with gas masks and guns—and stakes.
She had no intention of allowing them the time to accomplish that.
“Gabriel!” she roared. “You had your chance.” She braced herself against the far wall and used that to launch herself toward the door and pound it with both fists. The metal dented.
“Urgh!” she bellowed and drove her arms and shoulders against it again. “You know this won’t work. Come and fight.”
The door, and even the surrounding wall, made grinding and shrieking sounds as she assaulted it, and the exertion plus her furious shouts meant she drew more of the gas into her lungs. She could feel the tissues boiling, even as her regeneration capabilities strove to counteract it.
With a final, wrathful charge, she broke the door in two and the thick steel plates careened in opposite directions when she burst out into the hallway.
An armored guard rushed toward her with a crossbow. She stepped to
his side and shoved him down the stairs. Screaming, he tumbled and left cracks where he landed before he rolled out of sight.
The vampire raced toward the chamber where the lights were still on. She demolished another door and pushed through into an elongated parlor, almost a private museum filled with reproductions of Classical statues and Renaissance paintings.
It was also filled with mobsters.
“Shoot!” a voice commanded.
The very air became a cacophony of noise as ten or eleven men opened fire with rifles and SMGs.
The worst of her wounds had already healed. She snatched a six-foot statue by the elbow, whipped it around as if it were a child’s doll, and flung it into the middle of the throng. It absorbed some of the bullets and also felled the two men in front.
By the time they’d realized what was happening, she was already among them and so was her sword.
Two more men went down screaming in a spray of blood when the blade flashed through their bodies. She vaulted easily from wall to wall between strokes. Three more died in another leap as she slashed them in half at the waist.
She’d absorbed at least ten bullets, she realized. Pain seared through her and her left leg didn’t work as well as it should. She used the right leg to provide thrust to somersault over the heads of the next few gunmen and swung faster than they could shoot to slit throats and faces as she twirled back to her feet.
Three more adversaries pushed in front of her, and a fourth at the rear had ducked behind a statue in the corner. She skewered the first two with quick thrusts to either side that pierced their hearts and spines. They fell, gurgling while their guns fired uselessly over their heads.
The third man stood frozen. Taylor swept her sword diagonally upward from right hip to left shoulder, and the mobster’s body split beneath the sharp blade. Some of the blood spurted into her mouth and she swallowed it gratefully, electrified by the rush of combat and slaying and death.
No. I must not lose all self-control. There was still one man left and he smelled different than the others.
Last Ditch Effort Page 24
