God Touched - 01

by John Conroe

  Yeah right! Like I believe that. I asked my own question.

  “Doc, is Tanya like other vampires and won’t have kids, or is she different?” I glanced at her but she was looking mildly curious.

  “We aren’t certain Chris. She seems to have viable eggs, but doesn’t have a human female’s menstrual cycle. Of course, she would never be fertile with another vampire – “ she hissed in anger and he continued hurriedly “ – not that she will ever have another mate but you. But whether the two of you could have children is a very large unknown.”

  Whoa! Kids? Me and Tanya? Now there was a picture.

  Assistant creepy came into the room with a pizza box that she unceremoniously handed to me and left. It gave me a chance to think about the implications of all Dr. Singh had told me while feeding my empty stomach. But before I could get very far, we all heard the outer door to the office stairs open and footsteps head down to our level. Tanya and Lydia looked at each other after a moment and in unison said. “Senka!” Sure enough, the blonde elder came through the doorway looking like a young upscale soccer mom in designer jeans and an Oxford sweatshirt, her hair in a ponytail. I straighten up and tried to wipe the pizza grease off my face in an attempt to look a little better, but then I realized I was standing barefoot, wearing just scrub pants in a doctor’s office. It was sorta pointless. She gave us all a quick perusal before concentrating her formidable gaze on me.

  “How is our patient, Dr. Singh?” she asked, frowning slightly.

  I didn’t care to have any more vampire Elders frowning at me tonight. Fedor had been quite enough, thank you.

  “He’s in good shape, and I think the effects of the demon blood are almost worn off.” Dr. Singh said.

  “I disagree, at least about the demon blood. His aura is very dark, much darker than the other day.”

  “I don’t feel a hundred percent yet, so maybe a few hours of sleep will help.” I suggested, hoping to move her attention away from myself.

  She looked at me for a few moments longer, than changed topics.

  “I’ve been in touch with Fedor’s lieutenants in Europe, informing them of recent events. I’ll be leaving in the next few hours to head over and clean house if necessary. Galina will be going with me to help review Fedor’s finances and business arraignments. So Tanya, you’re in charge of the NY coven for the near future. It’ll be good practice for you. Lydia will, of course, be your right arm. You will need a new head of security. Any ideas?”

  Tanya looked at Lydia for a moment, than answered. “Arkady would be my first choice. He worked with Vadim for years and I’m confident of his loyalty.”

  “Excellent choice. I took the liberty of bringing him along thinking you might choose him.” She looked back at the doorway and raised her voice several levels. “Arkady?”

  Immediately, the upper door opened and heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs. The massive Russian vampire appeared in the doorway. “Lady, you called?”

  “Congratulations, Arkady, you are Tatiana’s new head of security. Any suggestions for her?”

  “Thank you.” He said, then turned and spoke to Tanya. “Young Queen, I would suggest using Nika to check the entire household for anyone who feels the same as Fedor did.”

  Lydia was nodding agreement as Tanya responded. “Good idea. Please see to it. Anything else?”

  He paused for a moment, seeming a bit unsure, but then went ahead and spoke again.

  “I think most of the New York coven will fall in line easy enough, but I would suggest having him with you at your first formal gathering.” He nodded in my direction, and everyone turned to look in my direction. I froze in place, a slice of pizza mere inches from my open mouth.

  Lydia asked the obvious question. “Why?”

  “Because rumors were already spreading about what happened to the vampire waiter that tried to stop him the other night. By now they will have linked him to the Fedor’s spectacular death. Having a sputnik jizni who is responsible at some level for the absolute destruction of Europe’s Elder can only help. They will fear him as much as you. Fear is good.”

  Senka turned to Tanya. “His points are all solid. Good first decision.” She looked at her watch.

  “Okay, by now several shipping containers of remains are sinking to the ocean floor. My jet will be ready shortly, so I will say goodbye for now. Tanya and Lydia, I will expect reports nightly. Christian, I trust I will see you when I return. Doctor, please walk me out. Goodbye.”

  With that she left, Dr. Singh following her out. I put on the scrub shirt and polished off the last piece of pizza, while Tanya spoke to Arkady. “Please have Nika start checking the Darkkin who remain at the house. We will be along after we drop Chris back at his own place, much as I would rather he came home with me,” she said.

  Chapter 21

  As we pulled up in front of my building I notice a particular truck outside and sat up.

  “Uh oh!”

  Immediately, both vampires were thoroughly alarmed.

  “What’s wrong?” Tanya asked, looking in all directions for the threat.

  I groaned. “That’s Gramps’ truck! Shit! He didn’t like my email responses and I didn’t call him back in time. I don’t believe it! He friggin’ drove all the way down here!” I said.

  “Where is he now?” Lydia asked after exchanging a glance with Tanya.

  “Most likely in my apartment. He knows where I hide the spare key.”

  I sat still for moment wondering if I could just go back to Tanya’s house and try avoid the verbal beat down that was in my immediate future. Naw, the old man would probably start calling the Sixty-eighth precinct in another hour or two if I didn’t appear. I sighed in resignation.

  “All right. I guess I better face the music. I call you later Tanya.”

  “Do you want us to go with you?” Lydia asked, puzzled by my response to my grandfather’s surprise visit.

  “No!” I said, thoroughly alarmed at that idea. “No, he might shoot someone. I need to talk to him, prepare him, before he meets the two of you. Maybe later tonight. I’ll call. Oh, Happy Birthday, Tanya.” I said. Tanya’s frown turned into a smile and she gave me a big kiss, before letting me out of the car.

  It was still very dark at four seventeen in the morning that November first. Dark and cold, although I wasn't feeling it even though I was only wearing a thin set of hospital scrubs. Dr. Singh had told me my new body temperature would most likely settle in at around one hundred and two degrees Fahrenheit, about the same as most Weres. Actually, about the same as most canines, period.

  I looked at the green Ford F One Fifty extended cab as I walked past it to the buildings front door. That truck or one much like it, had been part of my life for as long as I could remember. From twelve and a half feet away (I can't tell you how I knew that measurement, but would bet money it was right) I could feel the heat of the engine block on my skin. Gramps hadn't been here too awful long yet. Good.

  The television was on in my apartment, the volume low and I could smell fresh brewed coffee as I walked down the hallway to my door. Bracing myself mentally, I turned the key in the lock and cautiously pushed the door open. The man sitting in my leather chair looked a good ten years younger than his seventy-four years, his features clear in the pool of light from my chair side reading light, the comforting aroma of Captain Black pipe tobacco wafting from his position. The rest of the apartment was dark, except for the little light over the stove in the galley. At five foot eleven, my grandfather is an inch taller than I am, a fact he loves to remind me about. His weight has stayed a remarkably even one hundred and ninety pounds for most of the last four decades, a result of a naturally sound metabolism and a long life of hard physical labor. Dressed in Carhart pants, timberland work boots, and a green John Deere sweatshirt, his flint gray eyes studied me carefully from under a thick head of gray hair. His left hand was wrapped around a mug of coffee (which would be black, no doubt), while his right hand rested on the Smith and Wess
on short barreled forty-four magnum that was occupying the armrest. The gun had been my father's, the practical purchase of a thoughtful man, who had enjoyed introducing his young family to the Adirondack wilderness. Gramps and I both had the gun registered on our pistol permits, neither of which were valid within the boundaries of New York City. He looked me over from head to toe (the latter he could see, because I was barefoot).

  “Musta been some party you been at?” he remarked. My best guess pegged him at equal parts annoyed and concerned.

  “Gramps, you have absolutely no idea,” I said without a hint of levity in my voice. He frowned, picking up on my lack of humor. Gramps always said he went on full alert whenever I stopped being a wiseass, which is pretty much my normal state of being. He shifted slightly in the chair and asked. “You okay, boy?”

  “Yes Sir. But I am glad to see you. I tried to call you back in a timely manner, but events have conspired against me for the whole last week.”

  “You look leaner, ...and darker, like you been tannin' or some such?” he remarked.

  “Yeah, well that's part of the story. Let me get a mug of that java I smell and I'll fill you in. Take about an hour or more, so if you're tired, we can do it later?” I offered.

  “Nope, I'm fine. You look all done in, though.” He said.

  “I'll survive for a bit more, but I will have some of those Boston crème donuts that you brought.”

  He frowned again, no doubt because the pastry box wasn't visible from where I was standing and ordinary people wouldn't have smelled them like I had. Moving into the tiny kitchenette, I found the Dunkin' Donuts box on the stove top and after filling a mug with black coffee, I took the whole thing back into the room, seating myself on the futon.

  “You move different.” he accused. “More controlled. Kinda like one of those trained dancers on So You Think You Can Dance. Only not so girly.”

  That took me by surprise, because I hadn't been aware of it. I knew I was more coordinated and much faster, but the grace or control of center he was referring to had escaped my attention.

  Not knowing what else to do, I told the story chronologically, the same way I've been telling it in these pages. It took a solid fifty minutes to get through all the particulars. He listened carefully, without asking questions or interrupting, the same way he had always listened to my troubles and adventures. I finished and then went into the kitchen to get more coffee, knowing he would think it through a bit before speaking. Settling back onto my futon, I noted sadly that the donuts were long gone, five for me, one for him. He scratched the stubble on his chin, looked at me with a glint in his eye and finally spoke. “A girlfriend? You have a girlfriend?”

  “Yes Sir. You'll meet her later if you want to. I'll warn you, though, she might be a bit nervous.”

  He started at that. “You said she was the future queen of the vampires.” I nodded.

  “And she'll be nervous about meeting me?” He asked.

  “Yeah, pretty much. You’re my only family and she has heard all about you. Your opinion of her counts pretty heavy.”

  “Will I meet this Lydia too?” He asked.

  I laughed, my first since I got in. “Yeah, that's pretty much a given. And she most likely won't be nervous. She's a piece of work. You'll probably like her, although she seems to find great joy in making me nuts.”

  He grunted as he thought about meeting a pair of real vampire girls.

  “You don't seem very surprised.” I noted.

  “I always told you these things...er..beings were real. I saw enough of the world during my time with the Marines to know the truth of that. Saw a vampire in Korea, once. From a distance. Never wanted to see one again. Scary looking thing. Your girl is she....well...does she look normal?”

  I laughed again. “Not even close to normal. You know those Victoria Secret catalogs that occasionally show up in the mail and never seem to get thrown out?” He nodded, his eyes widening.

  “Well she makes those girls look sad, tired and old.”

  “Now you're just braggin' boy.” He said, in disbelief of her looks if not her nature.

  “Tell ya what, old man. I got a fifty spot here in my wallet that says you'll eat those words later this evening. Whatta ya say?” Gramps takes betting seriously, so he thought it through, nodded and pulled a crisp portrait of Ulysses Grant from his fat, worn wallet, plunking it down on top of mine in the center of the coffee table.

  “You’re on, boy.”

  I grinned and stood up to stretch. Another thought lit up in his eyes.

  “You're faster?”

  I understood. He wanted a demonstration. I motioned him up from his chair and he stood up warily. “Take out your knife.” I said, pointing at the three and a half inch hunting knife that was guaranteed to be on his person if he was wearing pants. Looking even more wary, he pulled the blade from its well-used leather sheath and held it out to me handle first. I shook my head. “Hold it point down over the floor. Whenever you're ready drop it and say 'now'.” I directed, turning my back on him. I didn't have to see him to know that a furrow would be forming between his eyes as he got ready to participate in my little exhibition.

  At his crisp “Now!” I felt everything slow down as I turned around. I found the blade dropping as if in zero gravity, leaving me plenty of time to pluck it from the air. Time resumed its normal flow as I handed it back to him handle first. He started as my abrupt motions stopped blurring. Eyes wide, he looked at the knife and then me, pausing to scratch his chin stubble before taking back his blade. “Er..yeah. That's pretty fast. And your girl...Tanya is it?” I nodded, knowing he damn well remembered her name, but was stalling for time to process what he had just witnessed. “Tanya is even faster?”

  I nodded. “Quite a bit faster, if she's really motivated.” I said, thinking of her fight with Vadim.

  He cleared his throat. “And you're stronger now, as well?”

  I didn't say anything, just reached both arms and lifted him by his armpits, like he had done to me when I was a kid. I held his one ninety pounds out at arm’s length long enough to make my point, then set him back down, gently. This time he coughed, his system agitated by the reality of what I had done.

  “Tanya is stronger as well?”

  “I could lift your truck's front end off the ground. Tanya could throw the whole damn thing. But, remember, she's unique, one of a kind. She is equal to the oldest of vampires.”

  “And that's because she's full blood, as you say?” he asked.

  “Yup.” I said, yawning heavily. Now he noted my evident tiredness.

  “Hey, you gotta get some sleep. I grabbed a nap at a truck stop on the trip down last night, so I'm good. Why don't you crash and I'll just go get a paper and do the cross word or sumthin'.” He suggested.

  “You'll be alright if I snooze?” I asked.

  “Yup, right as rain. Got a lot of food for thought. You get some shuteye.”

  “All right, but leave that cannon here, I don't want you getting picked up by some of the Sixty-Eighth boys while I'm snoozing.”

  He agreed and I racked out right where I was, the hospital scrubs making pretty good sleep wear.

  I slept till just before noon, waking from one of the soundest sleeps I'd had in forever. It might have been because of my total exhaustion, but I think it had more to do with the steadying presence of my grandfather in the apartment. I opened my eyes, looking directly at where my brain had already told me Gramps was sitting at my table. He was humming to himself, softly, while he worked his way through the New York Times, a paper that he loved to hate. A staunch conservative, like many Northern New Yorkers, he had railed against the NYT and other mainstream media sources for his whole life. My father's .44 was lying on the table in front of him, holstered with a wooden box next to it. I recognized the box as one of Gramp’s handmade ammunition boxes. Next to the box was a short, two foot black nylon case. “You goin' to war?” I asked from my nest on the futon.

  He glanced o
ver at me and smiled.

  “Actually, those are for you. Don't want you relying on that puny nine millimeter they make you carry.” He shuddered at the thought of carrying what was to him a mouse gun.

  “Well, it's not my ten millimeter, but my newest Glock is kinda special.”

  His eyes lit up with interest. Having spent his impressionable years in the Marine Corps, Gramps was a tried and true .45 caliber man, favoring John Browning's classic Model 19ll. He thoroughly respected my personal Glock model 29 in hard hitting ten millimeter, though. That gun was locked in the gun safe back at the farm. Dad's .44 was more of a woods gun, but would certainly do double duty as a personal defender. I retrieved the Glock 18 from the pistol safe under my futon and after clearing the chamber, handed it butt first to my grandfather.

  “Full auto you say?”

  He handled the gun expertly, admiring it's balance, then slipped the thirty-three round magazine into the grip and leaving the chamber empty, tested its balance some more.

  “Can you control it?” At my nod, he looked thoughtful and then handed it back.

  “Well, I'll allow as that might get the job done pretty well,” He said. “I still want to leave your dad's gun here as back up, as well as the shorty Remington. Never can have enough backups, and you seem to be knee deep in alligators, son.”

  “Gramps, I don't want to leave you short.”

  “Aww, I don't need much, and I've got my .45s, the Mossberg and the whole rest of the gun safe. Hell, if I had to, I could make do with that newfangled one centimeter Glock of yours,” He said with a sly grin.

  After a moment, I nodded. He was right, it never hurt to have extra, plus the twelve gauge Remington 870 pump shotgun that was tucked into the black case, was a terrific weapon at close quarters. The barrel was a thoroughly illegal fourteen inches long, the gun a gift from a skilled sheriff's department armorer who cared more that we had effective firepower than the letter of the law. As a NYPD officer, and particularly a member of Special Situations, I could get away with possessing the short barreled weapon.