by Lily Luchesi
Danny gave a disdainful snort. “I am not leader material. Even for a day.”
“She disagrees,” Bart replied. “It’s you or me, and let me tell you, no werewolf can command a company mostly filled with vampires. They’d kill me.”
“What would I need to do?” Danny asked, feeling resigned. He couldn’t abandon the PID, and he refused to abandon Angelica. She was going to see that she couldn’t shut him out of her life so easily.
“Sit in that office, and hope no one needs any important matters settled. Angelica is making sure things are taken care of for you so it will be easy for you to hold this place together till sunset. Hopefully by then the real daytime replacement will be here from London.”
“I’m no leader,” he repeated. “What I am is too loyal for my own good. Tell Angie I’ll take care of it for her.”
Bart grinned, looking wolfish even though he was not transformed. “I’ll let her know. See you at sunrise.”
Sunrise, Danny thought, leaning back on the sofa. Angie will never see another sunrise ever again. How would I feel if that happened to me? Especially in the summer, when there’s really so little darkness?
He got up, needing fresh air to think. What he should have been doing was barging in and forcing Angelica to face him, but he knew she was even more stubborn than he was. She’d never talk to him. She needed time. What was it that she need time for, though? What was she afraid of?
He went to a café that had an outdoor patio open all night, to get a coffee and some food. He had been so worried about Angelica that he hadn’t eaten a thing. He placed his cell on the table, sipped his coffee, and realized he wasn’t even hungry. He closed his eyes, sighing. How the Hell did his life get this way? Working for vampires, running a division of the FBI, killing his ex whom he had thought was already dead, witches wanting to fuck him or kill him, and some strange demon showing up to rescue said witch.
He recalled the man who had gotten Fiona out of the battle at the Valdez cabin in the woods. He had looked so familiar, but Danny couldn’t quite place him. Tall, handsome, radiating a very bad vibe…who was he?
“Thinking about me?” a smooth male voice asked.
Danny jumped and opened his eyes to find the demon he had been thinking about sitting at his table, for all of him as if they were going to have a tête-à-tête!
He fumbled at his coat, having been so shocked his hands shook. He had a vial of holy water in his pocket and consecrated silver bullets in his gun. Could he use either in such a public place?
“Don’t bother, Mancini,” the man said. “You know you can’t really attack me here.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” he asked, his phone in his hand. He wanted to call Angie, but the smartphone screen made it difficult to do so without alerting the demon as to what he was doing.
“Oh, I’m so sad you don’t recognize me. I thought you remembered everything about your past life as Jonathan Price. I guess you don’t.” He kept smirking. Danny wanted to slap him. “I’m yours…well Jonathan’s…great-great-grandfather. Leander Price.”
Chapter Three
Leander Price? Leander Price, the same hunter from the 1800s who had been a colleague of Angelica’s father, Vincent, when he had been a human? The same hunter who threatened to kill Angelica simply for being born?
Yes…that was where he had seen him before. In his vision when Angelica had shown him a tragic tale of her past, and a demon-possessed werewolf.
“You’re a…demon?” Danny asked. “Were you always a demon?”
Leander chuckled. “Of course not! I was as mortal as you are. As mortal as Vincent was before that hellion got her fangs into him.” Veronica Delarue-Cross, Angelica’s mother, had turned Vincent once she realized that half-vampire Angelica was no longer aging, taking more after the vampiric side of the family. She had thought it would make them all closer. She was very wrong.
“You were a hunter. How could you sell your soul and become a demon?” he wondered.
“Why else? For power. I had to side with the devil I didn’t know to kill the one I did,” he replied. “In this case, that evil was taken out for me. At least, two of them were. One left.” He grinned. Unlike demons in popular media, whose vessels were usually very plain, he looked ethereal. High cheekbones, skin like porcelain, eyes that habitually changed color in the light as he sat there. Then again, this wasn’t a vessel he possessed. It had always been his body, the one he was born with. “And I’m not just a demon. I am second in command of Hell.”
“So you’re Satan’s bitch,” Danny said before he could stop himself.
Leander arched a perfectly manicured, thick brow. “I see the time you’ve spent with the dhampir has rubbed off on you. You’re just as vulgar as she is.”
“Why are you hunting Angelica? She’s doing her best to keep mortals safe. Isn’t that the purpose of a hunter?” Danny asked. Detective 101: keep your perp talking. They’re less likely to kill anyone if they’re running off at the mouth.
“The purpose of a hunter, of our family legacy, is to eradicate the world of unnatural creatures like your precious Angelica. When you broke away, it brought an end to our line, and it let her agenda become law. You were a disgrace in your last life and you’re still one now.” Leander’s smooth voice was so deep, so angry, Danny was certain at any moment he’d get up and run away. He had never faced a demon, unless you counted Fiona, but she utilized her witchcraft more than her demonic powers, so she didn’t really count in his eyes. Leander had apparently been a demon since the 1800s. His very being resonated with malevolence.
“How can you kill creatures who are not killing humans? They’re not menaces. Not like Fiona. How did you get hooked up with her, huh? She was bad news before she became a demon.”
Leander leaned back in the chair. “Fiona came seeking the power she lacked. I am the one who signed her contract. I made her a demon. And if she can help me get rid of that abomination at the PID, I will gladly use her till she’s a worn out husk, devoid of magic. If she can’t, I’ll gladly kill her myself: contract be damned.”
You cold bastard, Danny thought. “How did a hunter fall so low?”
“When I realized you can trust no one; when Vincent botched our mission and married a vampire instead of killing her.” He cocked his head, his eyes going from a light hazel to pure black. “Do you want to see firsthand?”
He grabbed Danny’s wrist, and the precog was unable to stop the vision of the past that came to him like a tidal wave.
***
London, England
Spring, 1810
Leander Price was a young man, having just come to London from America on a mission: kill a powerful vampiress named Veronica Delarue. The thing was, her house was protected by warding spells and no one could find it. He needed to get spell decoders, translate them and then go on a search all over not just London, but other cities and towns in the surrounding area.
He rented a flat near the library and got started on his research. Libraries were often run by hunters, as they were never open after sunset and were places to store useful information. One thing he noticed was that London had many more paranormal creatures roaming its streets than anywhere in America did. At that point in history, the UK and Europe were a hotbed of paranormal activity, and the monsters were stronger and much more civilized than they were in America. There were less reports of “unusual deaths” in London than anywhere else in the world.
Some creatures, however, were not so careful about where they left the bodies.
He lived below a man the proprietor had told him was a factory manager in the North, one of the few men in that area to have his own horse for transportation and was a skilled intellect. The man often had business meetings in his flat, and Leander was used to hearing stamping feet above him at any given time. One evening, however, he heard much more than feet: screams echoed out of the flat, bloodcurdling and shrill. What was worse was that he heard telltale growling as well.
Either he’s got a rabid dog or there’s a werewolf up there, Leander thought, getting up, grabbing his guns and a silver knife, and dashing up the stairs. No time to knock: he kicked the door in easily and saw the carnage before him. Mangled bodies everywhere; at least four men and one woman were lying dead, with large chunks bitten out of them. One man had only half a face, the other half jaggedly bitten away. His one eye was wide open in shock and his tongue hung listlessly over his torn jaw.
The werewolf had a man in its jaws, and Leander could hear the crunching of bones as the man’s ribs were crushed between the fangs. He screamed, until he started gurgling and blood foamed at his mouth. A rib had pierced his lung, killing him slowly as he drowned in his own lifeblood.
Surprisingly, before Leander could even get a gun from his holster, a man came from around the corner and shot at the wolf. Unfortunately, the bullets were lead and not silver, so it didn’t do anything but annoy the wolf, who abandoned its prey to go after the man. He was knocked to the ground, a book from the bookshelf above falling on his head.
Leander acted quickly, shooting the wolf in the back. It turned toward him, howling in pain. As it reared up to go in for the kill, Leander shot it again, hitting the heart. It howled so loud, the glass in the windows rattled. Slowly, it turned back into human form, falling dead with blood gushing from the bullet wound.
Leander didn’t waste time. He checked the dead for any signs that they might have been turned. The man with the pierced lung and the guy with half his face chewed off were out. So were the other three men: their hearts had been eaten. The woman was still breathing, having been bitten on her arm. She was trembling as the werewolf virus spread in her body. He got his gun and put a silver bullet in her chest, stopping the transformation before it could happen.
He turned toward the man who had valiantly tried to kill the wolf. “Are you all right?” he asked, holding out his hand to help him up.
The man nodded, accepting the hand. “What the devil was that?” he asked, staring at the man who had, moments ago, been a hairy, hungry wolf. “And why did you shoot Mildred? We could have taken her to the physician!”
“No, we couldn’t have,” Leander replied. “She’d been turned. It was too late. Unless you wanted to tango with another werewolf tonight?”
The man’s eyes widened. “Werewolf? Are you mad, sir? Those things aren’t real!”
“Then how would you explain what happened here? Actually, can you tell me what happened here, from the beginning? I need it for my logs.” Leander looked around. “And I need to get someone to clean this up. Come.”
Leander led the man down the street to the library. He followed as if he were in a trance. Leander knew how seeing a werewolf attack for the first time could scar a person and make them a little skittish. He had been in shock for a while after his first encounter.
He went into the library, where two other hunters were researching. “Ben, glad you’re here. I could use some help over at my building. You see, there are six corpses in need of removal, including one werewolf and a newly turned lady, and you are the coroner.”
Ben, a tall man with sharp features, nodded. Leander quickly introduced him as Benjamin Quinn. “Certainly. We’ll be right on it. Come, Dr. Finnigan. We’ve got work to do.” He went to leave with a shorter man who wore an expensive suit.
Dr. Finnigan, the local physician, stopped before the man who had been in the middle of the attack and said, “So you saw your first werewolf, did you?”
“Doctor, what is this?” the man asked. “Someone, tell me what on Earth is going on, please.”
“No worries, Mr. Price is the best in the business. He’ll explain everything. Now, let us go clean up your apartment.” The little man tipped his hat and left, leaving Leander and the man alone.
Leander looked over the man, who was tall, only about two inches shorter than he was himself, with thick black hair pushed back from his face in waves, a sharp nose, high cheekbones, and cherry lips. His eyes were a beautiful icy blue and indeed he had an ethereal look about himself that few humans possessed.
“So, how about we start with who you are?” Leander asked.
“My name is Vincent Cross. I live in that flat. Now, who are you and can you tell me what is happening?” he asked, seating himself at the table the coroner and physician had just vacated.
“My name is Leander Price, and I live beneath you. I’m a hunter in America. Now, I do not hunt game. What I hunt, and what the physician and coroner hunt, are unnatural creatures who prey upon the human race. Creatures like that werewolf who ate your employees.”
Vincent ran a hand through his thick hair. “Look, Mr. Price, while I see you’re quite serious, I am going to take the high road and get out of here now. I am a businessman and an educated man. I cannot stand here while you talk nonsense. Take your imagination back to America.” He turned, murmuring to himself, “Perhaps that book hit me on the head and gave me a concussion…”
He went to walk away, but Leander grabbed his arm roughly. “You might be in shock now, but you need to understand what happened back there. After you have all the information you need, by all means, leave.”
Vincent crossed his arms over his bloodstained shirt and nodded, waiting for Leander to talk.
“We are not the only creatures to inhabit this world, Mr. Cross,” Leander said. “And those other creatures are not open to cohabitation. They see humans as one thing: food. You apparently had a werewolf infiltrate your company, only to feed on your employees like cattle. Had you been better informed, you could have informed Ben and Michael—that is the physician’s Christian name, yes—and it could have been taken care of before so much death had to happen.”
“You’re blaming me for my ignorance? Truly? Tell me, how many of my contemporaries have extensive knowledge of things that go bump in the night?” Vincent asked.
“More than you’d think,” Leander replied. “Now, sit down and get comfortable. I’m going to make this as brief as possible.”
Vincent was given a crash course in the history of monsters, how they were made, how they lived, how they were killed, and how Leander’s family had been hunting since the Middle Ages. Apparently Robin Hood had been real, and his gang were hunters; Sir Guy of Gisborne had been a vampire bent on turning Marian. The Price family were descended from Robin, and that was the earliest they had traced their bloodline. They claimed he had come from Italy in the twelfth century, but there was no solid evidence to support that.
Vincent sat in his chair, endeavoring to process this influx of information. There was no denying what he had seen in his apartment: a man had turned into a giant wolf, had eaten his employees, and had turned back into a human being when Leander had shot him with silver bullets.
“What can I do?”
“Hm?” Leander looked across the table at his neighbor, who had been silent for upwards of ten minutes.
“What can I do to help? These things…they are terrorizing my kin. Making the streets of London even more unsafe. Now that I know all of this, I cannot simply forget it. I must take action,” Vincent said.
Leander smirked. “Welcome to the club, Mr. Cross. Remain here with us for a bit, and we will teach you everything you ever needed to know.”
***
Leander let go of Danny’s wrist, and Danny sank back into his seat. It was so odd, seeing Vincent as a young human, good-willed and innocent. It was a far cry from the Vincent that he had known.
“Are you telling me that Vincent’s downfall was meeting you? I can’t say I’m surprised,” Danny commented.
“You are so simple, Detective,” Leander said, as if he were scolding a naughty child. “I gave Vincent a new purpose in life. He joined Ben and Michael as my underlings, hunting down a great evil who had eluded hunters for more than five hundred years.
“Meeting me was the best thing that could have happened to Vincent. He was flighty, wasting his intelligence and physical prowess in a factory, like some idioti
c novel character. I trained him in fighting, Michael taught him how to treat wounds from each different creature, and Ben taught him how to hunt without being spotted and becoming dinner.”
“Here’s what I don’t get about you hunters: why do you kill creatures who don’t hurt humans?” Danny asked. “It seems extreme, almost Nazi-like.”
Leander laughed, loud and full. Some women turned towards him and smiled, taking in his classically handsome features. “You amuse me, Detective. It really is too bad you’re not on my side.”
“I will never be on the side of demons,” Danny said.
Leander leaned forward. “I never said I was on their side, either. Just because I am one of them doesn’t mean I am sympathetic to their plight, or believe their ideals. It was an opportunity that presented itself to me, and I seized it. If I needed to sacrifice my hunter’s pride to catch your little girlfriend, so be it.”
“I can guarantee that you will never come within a hair’s breadth of Angelica, unless it’s when she slits your throat.” Danny went to stand up, actually thinking that he could leave a table when a demon wanted his attention for whatever reason. He felt his body plop back into the chair he had just vacated, and it was held there. Leander was smiling for all of him as if they were old college buddies having a nice chat.
“Sit a spell, Mancini. My story isn’t quite done yet.”
Chapter Four
London, England
Spring 1810
“This is pure madness. I still hope that I will awaken in my own bed soon, having found that this was all a dream,” Vincent commented under his breath as he, Leander, Ben, and Michael were in an alleyway, hunting a vampire.
“Trust me, I think that every time I am in this position,” Michael commented, earning him an undignified kick in the shin from Ben. Vincent had learned that the coroner had gotten the physician into this life, much in the same way as Leander had gotten Vincent into it.
