by S. L. Eaves
Uncomfortable, I turn the conversation back on her. “Who turned you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
She shifts restlessly in her seat at the question.
“No clue. About three years ago I woke up in an alley. My last memory was dancing with some friends in a nearby bar. My guess is that whoever turned me didn’t think he’d done it right or thought he’d killed me in the process and left me for dead.”
She shrugs. “I made do. Encountered this old vamp, called himself Vega. You know him?”
I shake my head. “He’s a Pureblood, right? I’ve heard of him.”
“Well, Vega confirmed what I’d already learned about my new condition, for the most part, and gave me some advice on the laws of vampirism or whatever. He invited me to join his clan. I declined. I’m not usually a team player. Haven’t seen or heard from him since.”
I resist the urge to pursue the subject further, at least for now.
A quick plane hop and a twenty-minute train ride dumps us at Amsterdam Central Station on the outskirts of the Red Light District. Besides giving me some insight into her background, the hyper, kill-hungry Quinn had also outlined her conspiracy theory—a whole crew of vampires working with werewolves to wipe out humanity plot.
I can see no reason vampires would ally themselves with wolves.
What could possibly be gained?
But Quinn believes this trip will blow her theory wide open. Perhaps a theory she’d picked up from Vega. I can’t help but wonder.
We walk past the Oude Kerk, a 13th century church and without doubt the most magnificent gothic architecture I’ve ever laid eyes on. We pause briefly to marvel at its massive stained glass windows and dramatic bell tower. It carries a strong, unmistakable air of death. A postcard forms in my mind, a colorless image of drowsy gray stones with shrouded figures lurking in its crevasses.
The presence of the impressive structure has quieted Quinn, at least until we reach the dilapidated building that serves as our destination.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Quinn stops, folding her arms in disgust. She throws her head sideways as if to spit.
The building is begging to be condemned; the type you cross the street to avoid in daylight and don’t dare approach after sunset unless you are in worse shape than the rotting walls holding it together.
The venue, we soon discover, serves as a host for wannabe rock stars and washed up has-beens. This decrepit club’s true purpose (and also why it hasn’t been converted to a pile of rubble) can be found in the floors above ground, which serve as a host for the undead to come and feed.
A blood brothel.
We enter the main door. We have to buy tickets for the show, which turns out to be a Marilyn Manson cover band. The main floor is packed and hopping with life. If you can call it that. The exposed bricks and pipes shake from the base. I follow Quinn as we make our way to the back door, where a hefty guard makes for an effective road block.
I slow my pace when we make eye contact, swallowing.
Quinn, however, shows no apprehension. One look at us and he nods, opening the door for our entrance. A simple wordless exchange. Easy. Too easy.
We ascend the stairs, Quinn taking confident strides. A regular in for her nightly fix.
Vampires dressed to play the part of Dracula sit around an open room drinking blood from wine goblets. Humans are scattered among the undead. Most are here of their own free will, voluntary enslavement for the chance at immortality; some are not. Do any make it out alive? I suppose, after a sizable donation. I strongly doubt any are ever granted their wish, assuming they abide the laws.
Quinn surveys the crowd. I should be less disgusted than I am. A crack house for demons. This dank place reeks of death, of humanity, of old blood, of the weak and ineffectual. I am already hating this assignment. No wonder Catch didn’t want to join us.
“Ugh. Let’s find this Hanson guy and get out of here.”
“Sheesh, don’t be so sensitive. They don’t have brothels in New York?”
My gaze is locked appallingly at a vampire drinking from a half-naked woman.
“Can’t say I made a practice of frequenting them.”
Unmoved by the sights before us, Quinn makes her way through the maze of plush velvet couches and sheer black drapes.
I respect her resolve but can’t help but peg her for a little on the crazy side.
We reach another stairwell. A vampire, larger and meaner looking than the one on the first floor, glowers down at us.
“We’re here to see Hanson,” Quinn states with confidence.
His expression is stoic and menacing, eyes not wavering from Quinn’s. She matches his forceful stare, cocking her head playfully.
“Hanson?” he finally concedes. “Don’t know a Hanson.”
“Well I didn’t say you would. But he knows us and we don’t want to keep him waiting.”
He doesn’t respond. She persists.
“We’re not looking for trouble. We are—” She looks at me.
“We were sent here by Alex. Hanson’s expecting us, or her rather. Alex wanted to come herself, but circumstances…” I let the words drop off.
I’ve just taken a big risk and can see by Quinn’s expression that she isn’t pleased I’ve connected us to a wolf, concurrently labeling us traitors. Like it or not, you go undercover, you got to commit.
His expression changes at the mention of Alex and his eyes dart around. Then he gives a reluctant nod.
“Jonas!”
A vampire emerges from the sea of bodies we’d just crossed.
“These vamps say they were sent by Alex.” His English is masked in a thick Slavic accent, but Jonas’s English is surprisingly American.
“Alex? Dunno an Alex.”
Great, full circle. This game gets old fast. He eyes us suspiciously.
“Sent for who?”
“Hanson. Alex said it was too risky to come herself.”
“Risky, huh?” Jonas gives a sneer. “I’ll take them to Hanson.”
The Slav nods and steps aside. Quinn shoots me a sly, victorious smile. I can’t shake the feeling we’ve just doomed ourselves.
Jonas leads us up the stairs to another long corridor lined with doors. We can still hear music from the club pulsating through the crusty walls.
He stops at a door, a dim light emitting from the floor. He holds up a hand. We stop a few feet back. He eases open the door while knocking.
“Hey Hanson, couple chicas here to see you. Say you’re expecting them.”
My skin crawls even more so than it had downstairs. Jonas gives a big disarming grin, which doesn’t help matters. He gestures toward the door.
“He’s all yours, ladies.”
With that he disappears down the hall.
We don’t have a game plan. The door stands ajar and Quinn steps into its frame. She motions for me to do the same. We peer into a draped room with padded circular couches, a more intimate version of the scene downstairs. There are two male vampires dressed lavishly in aristocrat costumes joking around with their three human female companions. All appear drunk, rolling around on the overstuffed lounges, spilling their goblets.
“Hey, if you’re not going to join us, kindly shut the door,” calls out one of the vampires. Quinn obliges by shutting the door.
“So what’s our next move? We go in there and confront him?”
“No, I was thinking something more effective.” Quinn gives a devilish grin.
“Effective how?”
“We get him to admit what he’s up to and then eliminate him in a more private setting. And by we I mean you,” Quinn jests.
“And how do you propose we—I—accomplish that exactly?”
“Did you see all those empty bottles? Hanson and the others are three sheets to the wind. And those women don’t exactly look spunky.”
She pauses as if it were obvious. The apparent tact isn’t my first choice, or even my second, so I keep up the confused expression
and make her tell me.
“Seduction. You go in and talk him up, put on a little charm, show a little skin—”
“Whoa. How come I have to do the seducing?”
“Well I wanted you to have some fun. You’re so—you’re taking this outing way too seriously.”
“I vote for a different approach. One where my clothes stay on.”
“You’re no fun. What then? We go in, pretend we work for Alex. See how long we can keep up the act before he calls our bluff. Senses our lies. Confrontation, fighting, lots of energy expended. This is his turf; the odds aren’t exactly on our side.”
Her strategy isn’t all that far-fetched. Adapting to the environment is survival 101 and blending in to get him talking makes sense in theory, it’s execution that concerns me. We’d made it this far by name dropping, why not take our chances? I weigh our options and decide to go against my instincts and give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Okay, let’s do it your way, but you can have all the fun you want with this one.”
Quinn feigns a frown then smiles playfully. “Your loss.”
She starts to open the door. “Hey, we can take him out together; two is always better than one.”
“As tempting as that sounds, that’s the kind of bonding we don’t need to be doing.” I smirk and tap my earpiece. “Take your comm out. It’ll give you away.”
She nods, handing it to me.
“I’ll keep watch.”
The door swings open and she steps inside. “Which one of you guys is Hanson?” I hear her ask as I retreat down the hall a few paces and light up a cigarette.
Before my cig is kicked, she exits, a vampire’s—presumably Hanson’s—arm around her. She winks as she passes. I casually follow them around the corner, then watch them ascend the stairs.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I mutter.
Perhaps I should have thought this through better. I debate calling into base with an update and positive ID on Hanson. Could I risk using my comm in here?
Quinn’s fortitude tells me to hang tight. I keep reassuring myself that she is fine, no one knows who we are.
A few long minutes pass. I pace the main corridor. A vampire walks by with a tray of blood goblets and I take one off his hands. Sipping the blood, trying to look casual, I am suddenly and rather uncomfortably aware of eyes on me.
At the end of the hall stands a tall vampire. He is about thirty yards from where I wait, close enough for me to catch a glimmer of yellow as our eyes meet briefly.
He quickly looks away and pretends to busy himself on his phone. But I saw his expression—it was full of distrust. Now it is his turn to act casual. He turns the corner into another hall. I follow, but stop when I get close to where he’s standing. Sensing his presence, I peer cautiously around the corner. His back turned to me, he is typing rapidly.
The suspicious and accusing expression on his face…could he somehow know who we are? Am I being paranoid?
Something is off. I panic. It is irrational, but I don’t care. I quietly set down my glass and remove the stake from my boot; an afterthought I am now grateful for bringing. I don’t want to kill a vampire. Dare to think of the repercussions if I’m misreading this situation. But I’m picking up a vibe, an energy of sorts, it’s as if I can read what he’s thinking.
But am I in my head or his? Given the circumstances…it feels like a necessary action. This vampire is definitely not on my side. Does that alone make him a traitor? Drowning in the murky gray waters I constantly tread. Maybe I do just want to kill a vampire.
The hall is momentarily empty; the coast is clear. If I’m going to take him out, I’m not going to get a better chance than this. I come up behind him and jam the stake through his back, not even sure I’m doing it right. I swiftly and forcefully pierce through what I hope it the heart. He gasps and begins to calcify before disintegrating into dust at my feet.
Wow. Yikes.
I hadn’t known quite what to expect. Thought it’d be messier. Bloodier. I look around, confirm the lack of witnesses, and push the ash around with my feet. In this dingy place I’m hoping no one will notice some dust on the ground.
I pick up his phone. Nothing on the screen. I open sent messages. The last was to Hanson.
“One of the vamps claiming to know Lex is nosing around. No coincidence them showing up here right after she turns up dead. What’s the move?”
Shit.
It was not just paranoia.
Sometimes I hate being right.
They know Alex is dead. And they clearly suspect us to have had a hand in her demise. There is a whole network thing going on here I cannot make heads nor tails out of.
It is becoming quite clear that name-dropping Alex had been a huge error on my part. Hanson had gotten word of Alex’s death and now he knows, or at least presumes, one of her assassins is standing in this very club. His club.
We are in it deep.
Quinn!
I bolt up the stairs, passing a vampire at the top.
“Hey babe, what’s your hurry?”
I ignore him, then rethinking, I turn back. “Have you seen Hanson? I was told I could find him up here.”
He grins slyly. This Hanson guy must be a real player.
“I haven’t. But if he is up here, his room’s the last on the left.”
“Thanks.”
I sprint down the hall. Security looks tight on this floor. The doors are all shut, fronting well-exercised deadbolts. Before I reach the end, the door the vampire had labeled as Hanson’s eased open. I halt. Nowhere to hide. The stake is concealed in my boot and I weigh reaching for it.
Quinn emerges, brushing dust from her jeans.
“Quinn!”
She looks up with a start.
“That was not nearly as pleasurable as I’d hoped. He was a real asshole; now he’s real dusty.”
“He know who you were?”
“No, but I told him I work with Alex. And he asked if that meant the deal was still in place. Said something about being ready to move forward. Then his phone went off and he clammed up.”
“We have to get out of here. One of his goons knows we’re here on false pretenses, chances are he’s not the only one.”
“I know. I glimpsed the message on his phone when it came through. Kinda spoiled the mood. I was hoping to have more fun with him.” She points at me. “Is this you coming to my rescue? Is that why you came up here? Aw, that’s so sweet.”
“Come on. Let’s go.”
The place doesn’t have any windows and the only clear exit is the way we came. Hurrying down the stairwell, we practically shove the guard out of our way. He doesn’t seem all that fazed. Hanson and his crew of miscreants probably have that effect on women.
The second floor proves the biggest challenge. The hallway before us crawls with vampires and most of the doorways along our path are wide open or only shielded by beaded curtains. Anyone in those rooms could spot us easily.
“Stay calm,” whispers Quinn from behind me as I force my stride to slow, trying my best to look casual. My eyes are fixed on the stairwell at the opposite end; once reached, we can disappear into the packed club below.
“That’s them,” comes Jonas’s voice from a room to our right. “They’re the ones claiming Alex sent them.”
Oh crap.
Spinning on my heels, I see Jonas’s outstretched arm pointing right at us. The man with him had been in the room with Hanson and the intoxicated humans. He looks pissed.
“Well that’d be hard given Alex is dead,” he comments to Jonas as we continue our retreat.
“Hey! Hold up. What are two really doing here?” He calls after us. There’s a chance we could sell that we’re Alex’s replacements. Maybe we can still pull this off. Play out our charade, continue acting like we’re in on the deal.
Quinn spins as he and Jonas begin approaching. “Ask your boy Hanson the traitor.”
Or not.
At that Jonas turns
and runs back in the direction of Hanson’s room.
I give her arm a tug as she starts approaching Jonas’s companion. Others begin emerging from the doorways to investigate the commotion.
My hand juts out as I hear a swoosh.
The sound accompanies an arrow, launched from the crossbow belonging to the bouncer. He stands atop the stairs. Blocking our exit. We are effectively trapped.
A sharp pain stings my palm. I wince, grinding my teeth to keep from screaming.
I’d caught the arrow inches from Quinn’s heart. She looks down at my impaled hand and up at me.
“Smooth. There’s some hope for you yet.”
More vampires, irritated by our disturbance of their wine-and-dine session, pour into the hallway, surrounding us. Quinn pulls a gun from her ankle holster.
I yank the arrow out, its head tears flesh and tendons from bone. The act drops me to my knees. It was not like ripping off a band-aid. Quinn opens fire over my head.
“You know the old adage, boys: never bring an arrow to a gun fight!”
She begins firing at no one in particular, alternating down both ends of the hall. The bouncer moves to disarm her, but she continues rapid-firing in his direction and after taking a couple shots he retreats quickly down the stairs.
Confused vampires and humans bolt to their lounges for cover. Quinn effectively clears a path for our escape. The vampires all know gunshots won’t kill them, but none seem all that eager to risk the pain of digging out bullets just to stop two manic girls from exiting their precious establishment.
We make a mad dash down the stairwell. An arrow strikes the wall by my head as we reach the club level. The bouncer again. Quinn ducks and fires. The bullet ricochets off the wall. She meets the bouncer head-on and the two fall against the door separating us from the club.
He throws her to the ground, an arrow in one hand. As he thrusts it toward her, I plunge my stake into his back before he can connect with Quinn. He cries out before exploding into a mess of ash.
I pull Quinn to her feet and we tear through the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd. Risking a glance over my shoulder, I spot Jonas and at least two others descend the stairwell as we flee into the club.
