“Bottoms up.”
Yes, he thought, raising his own glass to clink against hers, his eyes staring at her in equal parts confusion, fascination and not a little fear. Bottoms up.
Chapter Eleven:
Threeway To Hell
It was some time later, both in terms of time and alcohol consumed, that they’d found themselves in the quieter back room of the club, sat at a table, a crowd of empty glasses before them, as they both swayed and slurred their words, chatting away about everything and nothing. The girl, Scylla, her name he’d since learned, reached over and filled their glasses once more from the half-drained bottle before them. How she’d managed to talk the bottle from the barman’s care where he’d failed, Brian didn’t have a clue. Perhaps it was supernatural glamour, the same hypnotic charisma that many such creatures seemed to possess.
Or perhaps it was simply boobs and a pretty smile.
“You’re a funny man, Brian Trelawney,” she laughed, clinking her glass against his for the umpteenth time.
“Funny to look at, sure,” he replied, completely unable to take a compliment.
Like most skills, taking a compliment required practice to master and few and far between had been the compliments hurled Brian’s way over the course of his life.
“No,” she retorted, eyes twinkling. “I mean it, there’s something about you. You’re different.”
Yes, he thought. Very. As are you. Though quite what she was he couldn’t put his finger on as of yet. All signs when she’d been dancing had pointed towards Water Nymph. But now, sat before him, the pair steadily descending into the murky depths of inebriation as they conversed, he’d begun to hope that perhaps he’d been wrong in his earlier appraisal. For this girl, like so few, seemed to be friendly, willing to chat with him, flirt with him even. She seemed almost genuine. Perhaps it was merely glamour he’d been feeling every time he looked into her wide, dark, glistening eyes, feeling the thrill of attraction surge through every drunken fibre of his being. But then, wasn’t he immune to such things, what with the combination of the ring and his own mis-wired mind? The thought that swiftly followed chilled him to the bone; what if he was truly attracted to her? And yet at the same time, what if she really did turn out to be a Water Nymph? Shit. Well, that would make his job all the more difficult. As he regarded her beautiful face, lithe body, the easy smile and seemingly boundless enthusiasm, he found it hard to imagine running the flaming sword at his back through her stomach.
“So what’s your story then, Brian? What do you do for a living that affords you enough spare cash to pander to my alcoholism?” she asked.
“A bit of this, a bit of that,” he stalled, trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t result in her diving over the table and ripping his head off, thereby ruining what had so far turned out to be quite the surprisingly pleasant evening. “Used car sales, mainly,” he told her. “And erm, competitive surfing, too.”
Her eyes widened.
“Surfing?”
“Aye,” he lied. “I love the sea. Can’t get enough of it.”
“Well, aren’t you a man after my own heart?” she giggled. “I’m something of a water baby myself.” And don’t I know it, Brian thought darkly, before suddenly Scylla frowned, as though suddenly struck by something. “Are you… are you here for the competition tomorrow?”
“Why yes,” he replied, perplexed by the nerves that had suddenly entered her tone. “I am.”
“Oh.” She seemed now to ponder this, her face no longer alight with the nigh-perpetual humour of before. “I see.”
“Why? Something wrong with that? Surfers not to your tastes?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just I’ve heard the weather’s going to be bad tomorrow, the seas particularly rough. And you know how dangerous the competition can get at the best of times. Three people disappeared last year, their bodies never recovered. And I’ve heard that it stands to be even worse tomorrow…”
Brian stared at her for a moment. Was she... was she trying to warn him? Was she trying to dissuade him from entering the competition? He sat, staring into her eyes as she stared equally into his, the pair of them struck silent by their own conflicted thoughts. For Brian, it was confusion. Even… hesitation. This Nymph – for there could be no doubt about that now, following their conversation – had obviously grown fond of him, as he had of her. She was trying to steer him clear of the competition. And yet that in itself showed the Scryers to have been right in their predictions; the Nymphs were planning an attack, a feast. And no doubt Scylla was to be party to that feast… Or was she? He needed to know for sure, because if he was to kill this girl he’d have to do it sooner rather than later, get it over and done with like ripping a plaster off before he grew to like her even more. As they stared at each other in silence, he quietened his mind.
And allowed her thoughts to slowly ease their way into his, mingling and merging.
Did she narrow her eyes at the intrusion? No, it didn’t seem so; instead, she simply refilled their glasses with fresh vodka and continued chatting, as if oblivious. Images and sensations began to fill his mind’s eye; the taste of brine in his mouth, the crashing sound of the waves breaking on the shore. His vision was filled with endless green, blue, black and brown, the murkiness of unending salty seas. Suddenly, fresh images began to manifest in his mind, memories brought on no doubt by their recent conversation, stirred up like silt from the sea bed; surfers, smashed from their boards by lissom yet ferocious female shapes, their screaming forms dragged down beneath the waves, drowned, before being ripped apart like so much tissue, turning the waters red with their lifeblood. Brian shuddered with revulsion as he watched the beautiful creatures munch down chunks of man-flesh with gleeful abandon. And yet, he suddenly realised, with a start, it wasn’t his own revulsion he was feeling.
It was hers.
He shook his head, breaking the connection, clinking his freshly filled glass against hers and downing his shot of vodka in one. What had those visions, and those confusing feelings, been about, he wondered? She was clearly a Nymph, and yet it seemed she was horrified by the sight of her own sisters feasting upon hapless surfers. What was the deal there? Perplexed, Brian thought furiously how he could get the answers, without venturing once more into her alien mind and possibly arousing suspicion.
“I’m getting a bit peckish,” he ventured. “Fancy grabbing something to eat?”
“Like what?” she asked in return.
“Any good kebab shops round here?”
She shrugged.
“I wouldn’t know,” she replied. “I’m a vegan.” Brian suddenly let out a snort of relieved laughter, causing the girl-nymph-creature to frown in confusion, almost offence. “What? What’s so funny about that?”
You’re a fucking Water Nymph, he wanted to burst out; you’re a monster of the depths, evoled to kill and feast upon human flesh. And yet, there’s no way he could say that, not yet, not knowing the girl as little as he did. If he revealed his knowledge, his disguise would slip, and she would know he was Helsing and no doubt flee. And funnily enough, he didn’t want her to flee, especially not now after learning the truth.
“Nothing,” he placated her. “Come on; let’s take the bottle and get out of here. This constant music is starting to give me a headache.”
She smiled and downed her own vodka, grabbing the bottle and rising unsteadily to her feet. Her movements were slow and clumsy, as befitted someone whose blood was now four-fifths alcohol. Suddenly, XII’s words repeated themselves in Brian’s mind; if he was to take this creature out, now was the time. Get her outside, into a secluded alleyway. There he could whip out his weapon and part her head from her shoulders with one fell, incendiary swing. And yet… did he want to? He knew that his mission was to stop the Nymphs, but everything now pointed to this girl being no threat; she wasn’t a carnivore predator, intent on a surfer buffet. The only things round here that had to fear her were carrots and lettuce. Or seaweed. He had no idea
what a vegan Water Nymph would eat.
She’d already begun to stagger her way across the dance-floor, so Brian hurried himself after her, following her slim figure as she threaded her way through the sweaty, gyrating mass of dancers. His own steps were somewhat random, too, he noticed; keeping pace with the Nymph’s drinking had wrought its toll even on his lanky constitution. Perhaps even if he did decide to kill her, it wouldn’t be as easy as he’d first thought.
So intent on following the girl and not tripping over his own feet, was he, that Brian didn’t notice the figure that watched the pair leave, before finishing its wine, smiling and setting off to follow…
The cold, Winter air hit him like a slap in the chops following the cloying warmth of the club, yet Scylla didn’t seem to notice the chill. Then again, why would she, he mused, if the icy deep was her natural home?
“Have a good evening, sir,” the cueball in a suit told him as they left.
“And you enjoy spending my money,” Brian replied.
“Oh, I will.”
Scylla watched the exchange with amused eyes as Brian hurried to catch up, the pair beginning to make their way down the high street now.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“Had to bribe my way in. Didn’t like the way I’m dressed, apparently.”
“Oh? I quite like it. Makes you look all moody and mysterious.”
Brian would have blushed had the cold night air not already rendered his face ruddy red.
“Moody, maybe. Mysterious? I’m about as complex as a one-piece jigsaw.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Suddenly, she hooked her arm through his, in a way far too reminiscent of the way Gertie often did, making Brian feel suddenly quite confused. “I think you’re a man with more secrets than you let on. You wear a heart on your sleeve, but I’m not sure it’s entirely your own.”
Brian didn’t know what to say to that enigmatic statement, but he didn’t have a chance to answer anyway, as the girl suddenly tugged him from the path, hauling him into a dark park lit by the orange glow of a sole wrought-iron lamp-post, all benches and palm trees and entirely deserted by all sensible-minded folk on such a frosty eve.
“What are we doing here?”
The girl stared at him, mischievously.
“What would you like to do here, in this dark, secluded park, away from prying eyes?”
Brian pondered her words, not sure she realised the situation she’d allowed herself to be lured into, though truth be told Brian was unsure who’d been the lurer and who the luree. His Masters’ words of earlier that day kept repeating themselves in his mind; Helsing was a warrior of the night, an unseen champion. His deeds should be kept secret from the eyes of civilians. The sword, though not yet lit, burned like ice upon his back. He stared down into her challenging eyes.
Then finally, grabbing the bottle from Scylla and taking a long swig, he made his decision.
Her lips were cold as he kissed her. They tasted at once salty and sweet and, thankfully, not at all fishy. For long moments they pressed against each other, lost in their urgency, man and strange water spirit alike. When finally they broke apart, they were both gasping for air, despite one of them having no need of it at all.
“That,” the girl gasped, her face alight with a smile as she licked the vodka from her lips, “was hot.”
“Indeed it was,” came another voice from not too far away. A voice low, husky, sensual and, to Brian, at least, horribly familiar. “Room for one more?”
The two spun about, straining through the gloom to the figure that now stood, half-lit by the orange haze from the lamp. A figure that stared at the pair with eyes at once amused, aroused and filled with bloodlust, a strange combination that made Brian not sure whether he should run or hang around to see what might happen. But then the sensible side of his mind won out, for once; no infinitesimal chance of a sexy, supernatural three-way would be worth the terrifying and far more likely alternative. Scylla, however, was a creature of instinct, care-free and fearless. And pissed as a fart.
“Well, I’m not averse to girls,” she admitted with a giggle. “Particularly ones so beautiful.”
She took a step towards the silhouette, still smiling as she eyed the shapely newcomer, before glancing hungrily back at Brian as though asking his permission. He quickly shook his head. Frowning, Scylla turned back to the stranger, before pausing, hesitating in the face of his obvious caution. Suddenly, she sniffed, then again, this time deeper. And suddenly, her once-tempted eyes became filled with surprise. And not a little fear. She turned back to Brian, speaking to him, her words filled with urgency.
“Run, Brian.”
He was tempted, to be sure, knowing without doubt what they faced, simply by the sultry voice and the sweet smell of perfume that wafted over on the chill coastal breeze. But something stopped him, rooting him to the spot unable to flee. Not glamour, not fear, but something else entirely.
“No. Not without you.”
“You don’t understand,” Scylla told him, her melodious voice even more urgent now. “You must run; you don’t know what she is.”
“Oh, but my darling Water Nymph,” Cassandra laughed, as she stepped forwards into the streetlight, her cold and beautiful features now fully revealed. “He knows more than you give him credit for. After all… he is the new Helsing.”
Chapter Twelve:
Better To Have Loved And Lost…
At the vampire’s words, Scylla turned to look at Brian, her eyes wide yet unreadable. Shit, thought Brian; that revealing hadn’t gone quite as he’d planned. Then again, how long did he think he could have kept up the charade? Surely she might have started to ask questions eventually, especially when the time came for him to start exploding her sisters with guided torpedoes and bisecting their bodies with his flaming sword?
“Yeah,” Brian started. “So about that…”
“You’re the new Helsing,” Scylla whispered. “And I just… made out with you!”
Cassandra laughed behind her, the sound cold, cruel, yet somehow incredibly sensual all the same, as was her wont.
“God, girl, you’ve no idea how many Helsings I’ve attempted to seduce over the centuries. Failed every time, not for want of trying. And you, my dear, did it completely by accident. I’m almost impressed. Anyway, if there’s no chance of any carnal pleasure on the horizon, then get out of my way; I’ve a score to settle with him. He ran me over. And I don’t take kindly to that kind of thing.”
She started forwards, making to walk past the still shell-shocked Nymph. But then suddenly, Scylla glanced up.
“No.”
Cassandra raised an eyebrow, as if amused.
“No? You do realise who I am, right?”
“How could I mistake that stench of evil?”
Cassandra chuckled.
“Evil? Your sisters feed upon the cattle with even more eagerness than I do.”
“Yes. But I’m different.”
“Different, and soon to be killed if you don’t fuck off right now. One of you dies, or both of you do, I care not which. Now move.” Scylla stayed firmly put. Cassandra shrugged. “So be it.”
To Brian’s eyes, even empowered as they were by the ring, the pair seemed to blur as the battle commenced. Scylla was a Water Nymph, her body adapted to moving beneath the crushing pressure of the ocean depths. She should have been faster. Should have been stronger. But she was very drunk and her lithe opponent was no ordinary vampire, but an old and immensely powerful Progenitor. For long seconds, the two fought, the air whip-cracking at the speed of their strikes, the very concrete slabs of the park splintering beneath their movements. But within moments, it was the inebriated Scylla who soared through the air, smashing into a metal bench and buckling it beneath the impact. As she lay there, dazed, whatever mental hold she had over her own shape seemed to falter then finally fail, revealing her true form.
Funny, thought Brian. Even in this form she still looked out of his league. Thank
fully, her modesty had been preserved; her clothes were real, not another product of her shape-changing abilities.
The Nymph lay there, groaning, a thin trail of green blood now worming its way from a split lip the colour of kelp. Her black, almond-shaped eyes looked at him, imploring him to flee, to save himself and leave her to the wrath of the vampire. The look had the opposite effect, Brian reaching over his back and drawing the sword with a sigh of leather on steel, before stepping towards the vampire with a snarl.
“Oh,” Cassandra smiled, watching him. “You seem to have grown a back-bone since last we met. Still, touching though your protectiveness might be, you’re but an amateur. I killed XII and he was a veteran, so your death is but an inevitability, I’m afraid. And so, young Helsing, any last words for posterity?”
“Two,” Brian snarled.
“Aye? Do tell.”
“Ignis Veritum.”
The sword erupted into flame as Brian lunged to the attack. He should be running, he knew; Cassandra had been right, even the legendary XII had fallen afoul of her strength and speed, so how could a rank amateur such as himself succeed in beating her where such a seasoned and mighty warrior had failed? And yet even as he charged towards Cassandra’s startled eyes, Brian realised the truth; it wasn’t about him, it was about Scylla. Even after learning the truth about him, she’d still stood between him and the vampire, risking her own life that he might escape. And that meant something. Quite what it meant, he didn’t yet know, nor did he have time to ponder it; even as he lunged towards the vampire, she moved with a swiftness he could scarce believe. His flaming sword swished through empty air, the creature moving in a blur to stand beside him and whisper in his ear.
“I actually prefer you like this,” she giggled. “You’re almost… sexy when you’re angry.”
Perhaps her sensual, husky words would have rendered anyone else immobile, but Brian had been immune through his own awkwardness, even before the ring. Now, the words merely incensed him. He swung his sword about in a fiery arc, but again she’d vanished into thin air with a whistle of wind.
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