by M. D. Massey
I kept those thoughts to myself. I needed her on my side, because there simply wasn’t anyone else I could turn to who had her skills. At least, no one I could trust.
“It’s no secret that I wish I’d never met Finnegas, or that I’d never learned of the world beneath. But I do appreciate what you did for us, Maureen, and I am—what I mean to say is, I remember it well.” I took my time after that near-stumble. One had to be careful not to thank the fae. “I know you helped us, the best way you knew how. And now, I need that help again.”
She snorted softly. “You have been slipping, to nearly indebt yourself to one of my kind in casual conversation.” More thrumming echoed in the background. “I’ll expect you at the warehouse in two hours. Be ready to sweat.”
The line went dead before I could respond. Typical Maureen. She was sweet as molasses until it came time to get things done. Then, she was all business.
The warehouse she referred to was the storage area behind Eire Imports, in my hometown a couple of hours away. I’d left there and come to Austin to put those sad memories behind me. And, to put some distance between me and my girlfriend’s ghost.
Now, it looked like I’d be revisiting old memories—and possibly stirring up spirits that were better left alone. I didn’t relish the thought of potentially disturbing Jesse’s rest. But even the slightest hope that I might hear from her again made my heart skip a beat.
I looked at her photo, on the shelf next to my door. “Shit, Colin, get it together. It’s long past time to move on.”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. Then, I busied myself with gathering my gear, trying to put the past out of my mind.
5
I’d borrowed a junker from Ed for the trip, telling him I wanted to go see Mom. My Vespa just wasn’t made for making that haul up IH-35, the deathtrap that it was. The highway, mind you—not the scooter.
I’d probably stop in to see Mom, although I didn’t intend to stay over. The last place Jesse had haunted me had been at my mom’s house. While I suspected that she was following me around full-time now, anything that triggered a powerful emotional response toward her might cause her to make contact.
Unfortunately, the more she exerted her presence in our world, the more “life energy” she used. And if she used too much before she moved on to the after-life? No more Jesse.
So, I tried to avoid triggering those memories as much as possible. Which meant meeting Maureen at the warehouse was probably a bad idea. Hopefully, she didn’t plan to train there. If so, I’d have to suggest an alternative.
Another reason to keep my visit with Mom short and sweet was that I needed to get back to Austin to start looking for Raffy. I wouldn’t confront him until I was absolutely ready, but I could at least start tracking him down. And, hopefully, keep him from killing anyone else.
During the drive, I spent time reflecting on my initial encounter with the vamp. I soon reached the conclusion that I had been damned lucky to survive. “Raffy”—which I assumed was short for Rafael—wasn’t your run-of-the-mill vamp, not by a long shot. I hoped that a few days of training with Maureen would be enough.
I drove to the warehouse with butterflies in my stomach. The old place held a ton of memories for me—mostly good, but always associated with that one fateful night. It was in what had been an industrial section of the city, not far from the recently revitalized downtown area around the courthouse square.
The building was boarded up, and the parking lot was strewn with trash and debris. It stood out as an eyesore among the transitioning neighborhoods and buildings surrounding downtown. While the neighboring buildings were slowly being converted into restaurants, boutiques, and apartment lofts and studios for up and coming professionals, Eire Imports was falling into disrepair. I felt a twinge of nostalgia for days gone by as I observed the contrasts.
Thankfully, Maureen was waiting in front of the building when I pulled up. She wore jogging tights, running shoes, and a warm-up jacket. I left my gear in the car.
“I take it we’re training outdoors today?” I asked with a smile I didn’t feel. We exchanged a quick embrace, and I noticed her eyes flicker toward the building’s interior.
“I decided it might be best to use the weather to our advantage. I thought that a little sunshine and the spring air might do you some good, what with being cooped up at that junkyard all the time.” She stepped back and examined me head to toe. “You look good, Colin. Better than I’ve seen you look in a while. Out of shape, maybe, but good.”
I patted my gut. “Too much fast food and too little swordplay, I think. Didn’t see much reason to keep my skills and conditioning up. Almost cost me my life the other night.”
She pulled her long red hair back and tied it in a ponytail with a scrunchie. “No matter. We’ll have you back in fighting shape in no time. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
She nodded and took off at a brisk pace that I struggled to match. Maureen ran us through downtown, past several old neighborhoods, and into the greenbelt and trail system that divided the town from east to west. Years ago, the city had invested in their parks system in an effort to attract Austinites to the area. It turned out to be a smart move. People in Austin loved their green spaces.
Now, the town had miles and miles of trails connecting several city parks, and it looked like Maureen intended to run them all. I followed her down a trail that took us along the river, under IH-35 and to the other side of town where the old money lived. We exited into a neighborhood of ranch-style homes and two-story mini-mansions that had just enough charm to avoid being obnoxious. We followed the broad, leaf-lined streets until we arrived at a narrow blacktop lane that trailed off into the distance. After about a mile, we finally came to a stop in a cul-de-sac below the dam.
Being part-kelpie, Maureen wasn’t even breathing hard when I caught up to her. But me? I was gasping for breath. I suspected she could have run like that all day. Kelpies were shapeshifters, and preferred to spend much of their time in horse form. As with other types of shapeshifters, she retained many of the traits of her other form when in her bipedal state; in this case, great stamina and speed.
She chuckled as she scanned the area. “It was just six miles. Time was you could have done that run in under thirty minutes.”
I held up one finger. “Just a sec. Think I might puke.” I took a few deep breaths and stood up. “No, it passed. You were saying?”
She walked to the edge of the road nearby, disappearing for a moment into the dense foliage beyond. She soon reappeared with two practice swords in her hands. She tossed me a waister in the shape of a longsword, which I barely managed to snag out of the air.
“I said, we have a lot of work to do.” She leapt at me, swinging the wooden sword in a furious series of cuts aimed at my head, hand, knee, and stomach. I managed to parry them while backpedaling in a circle, but she kept her attacks up. Within seconds, I was breathing even harder. Maureen seemed to be barely breaking a sweat.
I was keeping her at bay with skills that I’d spent endless hours honing, but my conditioning was shit. That old military adage came to mind, that fatigue makes cowards of men. I soon became acutely aware of the fact that my arms were tiring, my lungs were burning, and my legs felt like lead. Despite the economy of my movements, it was only a matter of time before one of those cuts got through. Sure, we were practicing with wooden swords—but getting hit by a fast-moving practice sword hurt.
I decided to go on the offensive. I slipped outside a thrust while redirecting it to the inside. I flipped my sword around in the same motion, turning the parry into a cut at the back of her hand. She nodded and danced out of range before I could make a follow-up attack. As tired as I was, my footwork was much slower than hers—but I decided to press the offensive just the same. I stomped forward with my front foot, gliding my back leg up as smoothly as I could manage to maintain my stance and posture. With each stomp, I cut and thrust with my blade, d
oing my best to find an opening.
For all my efforts, it was clear that Maureen was just playing with me. I overextended myself on an ill-timed thrust, and then she was just gone. I felt a wooden blade on the side of my neck and realized she’d been moving at human speed… until now.
“A vampire won’t give you time to warm-up. They’ll use their superior speed in an opening attack, and if you give them the chance, you’ll be the next item on the menu.” She dropped the blade from my neck, and I heard her take a step back. I turned to face her and she grimaced. “Your form is rough, your conditioning has gone to hell, and your reflexes have slowed by at least half a second. Are you sure you’re up to taking on this job?”
I leaned on the sword and took several ragged breaths before responding. “He killed an innocent woman—a single mom, with her kids in the next room. On my watch. I can’t let it pass, Maureen.”
She tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow. “Sure you can.”
I wiped sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “No, I can’t. If I do, he’ll kill again, and again, and again. The Circle won’t stop this guy, because they either think it’s one of Luther’s people, or they know it isn’t and they want an excuse to clear Luther’s coven out. Any hunter who’s worth a damn works for the Circle. And Luther says he’s been trying to catch him for weeks, but this vamp has stayed two steps ahead of him. It’s on me.”
Maureen scowled. “I find it hard to believe that Luther can’t catch a rogue vamp messing around in his territory. There’s something else at work here, Colin. Something you’re missing. You sure this vamp isn’t fae?”
I considered the question. It was a fair one. The first vampire I’d ever killed—the first supernatural creature I’d encountered, in fact—had been fae. He’d been one of the neamh-mairbh, the undead, and a powerful sorcerer besides. Back then, I’d had no idea how to tell a vampire from a fae from a ’thrope. Now, it was second nature—or, at least, it should’ve been.
“No idea.”
“You mean you didn’t read him?” I shrugged. “Thought never occurred to you, did it? Sloppy. You better get your head in the game, before you face this thing. Because if you can’t handle him—”
“I know, Maureen. I know what’ll happen if I slip up and my Hyde-side comes out to play.”
She leaned on the sword and planted a fist on her hip. “And you’re sure there’s no one else who might handle it?”
“None.”
She hung her head slightly, then blew a stray lock of hair out of her face.
“Then I guess we’d better get back to work.”
This time, I didn’t manage to raise my sword quickly enough to block her attack. I received a hard rap on my elbow as punishment. I made a mental note to pick up ice and some zip-lock bags on the way home. Come tomorrow morning, I was going to need them.
6
I drove back to Austin late that night, battered and bruised. Maureen had worked me over something awful. She might have looked like your typical college co-ed, but she moved like a panther and hit like a linebacker. Still, sparring with her was just what I needed right now.
I’d stopped by my mom’s place before heading home. She’d fussed over me, fed me, and mostly avoided asking about my love life. Thankfully, all my bruises were hidden—or most of them, anyway. Mom had gotten used to seeing me black and blue all the time, and rarely questioned it anymore.
When I was younger, I blamed it on roughhousing, falling out of trees, and so on. Later, my excuse was martial arts training. That one was easy, because Finnegas had required us to train in as many styles of combat as possible. It was still a ready excuse for whenever I sported a black eye or split lip.
Driving home, I considered my options for moving the case forward. I decided that I needed more info, because what I had to go on was slim. Tomorrow, I’d hit my friend Belladonna up for some intel. She worked for the Cold Iron Circle as a hunter, and had access to information I couldn’t get without committing a felony or two.
Not like the Circle didn’t commit any felonies to get their intel; it was just that they were so connected and well-funded, they never got caught. Where they got their money and who backed them was a mystery. All I knew was what Finnegas had told me—that their history went back centuries, all the way to medieval Europe. That, and every Circle member and recruit was human, one hundred percent. They were militantly anti-fae and anti-monster—no ifs, ands, or buts.
Their local commander hated my guts because of my curse. He thought it made me a danger to the local population. And, he was right. For that reason, I hated asking Belladonna to stick her neck out to help me.
Thankfully, it looked like I wouldn’t have to ask for Belladonna’s help. When I arrived back at my room, there was a manila envelope waiting for me on the other side of my door. It was sealed, had my name on the outside, and bore no other markings. I cast a cantrip to enhance my senses and scanned it for magical traps. It was free of any magical residue, but smelled like roasted coffee beans and blood. Definitely a gift from Luther.
I opened it and dumped the contents out on my makeshift desk, which was nothing more than an old wooden door that sat atop some cinder blocks. Inside sat a small stack of bills and a thumb drive. I fanned the bills with my thumb and counted fifteen hundreds.
“Shit, Luther—ever hear of small bills?” I muttered as I plugged the thumb drive into my laptop. The machine whirred to life, and I clicked to open the single folder it contained.
As I did, my phone buzzed. A text, from an unknown number.
-Luther thought you might need an advance to cover expenses. The footage is everything we could get from the night you ran into R.-
A vamp had definitely sent that text. Nobody sent texts with that kind of attention to grammar and spelling unless they were ancient. The phone buzzed again.
-If you need anything, stop by the coffee shop. Order the “special brew,” and someone will contact you to provide whatever aid you require.-
Yep, gotta be a vamp. There were three files inside the folder I’d opened. I clicked the first one. It showed the camera feeds from inside the bar. I sped the video up until it showed me walking in and stacking up empty glasses. A few minutes later, Raffy and Charlene arrived. I caught a blur of movement from Raffy when they ordered their first round of drinks, which must have been when he’d drugged her. I rewound the clip and advanced it frame by frame, but the camera was too slow to catch it.
Damn it, but he’s fast. I advanced to when I spilled the drink on him, and watched the footage a few times to see if it might reveal any clues. Nothing. I clicked on the next file, which was from the security cam in the alley. It showed me walking into the frame, then there was a blur and Raffy was standing behind me. I stabbed him; there was another blur, and then I shot him.
I backed the footage up. Something about the whole vignette didn’t seem quite right. I enlarged the footage and played it back again, advancing it a frame at a time. There. The first time I stabbed at him, my elbow went through his body. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, or that I’d missed him and stabbed through his jacket. But no, my arm passed right through his torso. I was sure of it.
Maybe Maureen’s theory was right. Maybe this thing was fae. If so, this wouldn’t be a simple stake and bake operation. Any fae vampire was double the trouble. They’d have command of all the physical attributes of a vampire, and whatever other magic they had at their disposal.
Not to mention, every fae was different. All fae had access to minor spells, such as the ability to glamour themselves to look more human. Certain kinds had innate magical talents, like the ability to shift into other forms. And higher fae often had advanced knowledge of magic. Many older fae spent centuries delving into various magical arts and practices, and they were not to be trifled with.
The Avartagh had been one such fae. He’d been a powerful sorcerer, a very old vampire—and my first kill. I’d been lucky to survive that encounter. By all righ
ts, I should have died that day. I doubted I’d be that lucky a second time, no matter how much Irish blood ran through my veins. I’d need to come prepared this time.
My command of magic was shit compared to what most older fae could do. Hell, it was shit compared to most human magic-users who were serious about their craft. I might have been trained by a druid, but I hadn’t cared much for learning magic. I’d always been more of a brawler than a magician, so my knowledge was limited to minor cantrips—spells to open locks, to help me see better in the dark, that sort of thing.
I’d always intended to go back and learn more about magic from Finnegas later, once Jesse and I had graduated from high school and were living on our own. I’d planned to do it when I had more time and all that. Only now, I couldn’t stand the sight of the man. He spent all his time getting drunk or high… or both. So, the likelihood of rapidly leveling up my magical skills was about nil right now.
Thankfully, I was very good at improvising. My magical education might have been incomplete, but that didn’t mean it was useless. I decided to rig a few surprises for my next meeting with Count Chocula. Hopefully, they’d be enough to even the odds and prevent a near-death experience that might bring out my Hyde-side.
But first, I needed a good night’s rest. I tended to my cuts and scrapes in the warehouse bathroom, washed up, and headed back to my room. I collapsed on the bed and fell asleep immediately, but my dreams were haunted by images of Charlene—her throat savaged and torn, choking on her own blood.
7
The next day, I finished some work in the yard that Ed had left for me, then headed back to the warehouse to meet Maureen again. I was feeling pretty beat up, but I didn’t feel nearly as bad as I looked. I had bruises all over my arms, legs, and torso, but they were already fading—courtesy of my genetic gifts as a born hunter. Besides a little muscle stiffness, I felt pretty good.
