The Legacy Series (Book 1): Legacy [Sanguis]

by Ray, Timothy A.

  “Fuck you, Naomi,” Ezio said, giving her the bird.

  “In your dreams, perro. In your dreams,” she returned, the laughter dying off. “Seriously man, he’s not going to bite you. If we wanted you dead, we’d have let that vamp wife of yours sink her teeth into you. Much easier than listening to your incessant chatter about needing answers to shit you have no right to know. Just because your wife is one of them doesn’t entitle you to the secrets of the known universe.”

  Vamp?

  “There’s no such thing as vampires,” he replied automatically, his ass still trying to find a way to squeeze through the door and out of this freakshow he’d been shoved into.

  “Neither are werewolves, but it’s kind of hard to keep saying that when one is constantly trying to get into your pants, no matter how many times you whack his nose with a newspaper,” she replied in a half-humorous tone. “Down boy! I tell you one thing Hoops, he keeps peeing on the rug, I’m gonna get him fixed. Snip them bad boys and hear him howl in anguish. See how many legs he humps then?”

  Ezio made a clicking sound and waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, blow it out your ass. I don’t pee on any rugs. Unless their hers,” the man added, holding a hand up as if to hide what he was saying and giving him a slight wink. “First it’s Lassie, then it’s Jacob, now it’s Toto. When we get back, I’m putting in for a transfer. I’m done with your shit.”

  “Aww, did I hurt the puppy’s feelings?” she teased, turning to glance at them once more. “I give it an hour, maybe two, then you’ll be back to trying to hump my leg again.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Ezio remarked, turning away to look out the other window, ignoring the playful stare from his compatriot. “You can sit down. I really don’t bite.”

  “And I’m supposed to take your word for that?” he asked, slowly retaking his seat, but keeping his body turned so he could react the instant the man moved his way. “I don’t know any of you. None of this might be happening at all, I could still be in my apartment fast asleep and this is just some jacked up nightmare I’ll snap out of in any second.”

  The Humvee jerked to a stop and he banged his head on the holder for the seatbelt, causing him to cry out in surprise.

  “Worked better than a pinch,” Ezio told him with a grin. “Better that way anyhow, my nails are sharp no matter how many times I file them down. It would have hurt like a bitch. And you’re not dreaming. We’re here.”

  “We’re where?” he asked, stunned, trying not to look into the man’s eyes but finding it a near impossible feat to accomplish.

  “The carnival,” Naomi snarked as she opened her door and jumped out. “Step right up ladies and gentlemen! Tonight, we have a sight you will never forgive yourself for seeing, that of a wolf pup humping the tailpipe of our Humvee! Oh, no worries, he ain’t smart enough to wait for it to cool down first, it’ll be a short show!”

  Ezio rolled his eyes and bent over to open the door on the other side. “And the second act involves a bitch and a jackass. I’ll let you figure out which she is.”

  “Look. All you need to know is that we’re the good guys. What we do is save lives for a living. Tonight, it just happened to be yours. Now, I know it’s a lot to take in, but give it some time, you’re not as crazy as you think you are,” the driver told him, giving him a calm look, his bright green eyes soothing to look at. “I need a drink. Come on, I think I’ve got a bottle of aged bourbon in the cellar. We can drink to another successful mission.”

  “Successful?” Ezio questioned as the door opposite slid open and he began to shift his way out. “How the fuck do you call that successful? We lost her, didn’t we? Or did I miss something?”

  “We’re alive, brother,” the man returned. “Anytime we all go out and come back with no casualties, ours or civvies, is a successful mission. Now get your ass out of my Humvee before your fleas get all over the seats. Takes forever to get the fuckers out and the carwash charged me double last time.”

  “Yeah, you can eat me too,” Ezio sneered, punching the headrest on the front seat and hopping out.

  “Sorry, not my kind of diet,” the black man grinned, then turned and opened his door as well.

  What the fuck had he gotten himself into, and more importantly, how the hell did he get the out?

  Chapter 2

  I

  Stepping out of the Humvee, he took a moment to breathe in the night air, to give himself time to center and control his thoughts and feelings, to not lash out violently against his abductors. He had been railroaded into going with them with promises that the sudden resurrection of his wife would be explained. All he’d gotten in return was insulted and his inquiries pushed off—again.

  He glanced down the dirt road they were parked upon and wondered how far he’d have to walk to find his way back to sanity. He had been distracted on the drive over and he should have been paying more attention to where the hell he was.

  Always have an escape route.

  The half-moon was at its zenith, peeking at him through the scattered clouds, as if afraid to be seen. “Guess I should be glad you’re not full tonight,” he commented under his breath, a shiver running up his spine at the thought of that man’s teeth. There had just been so many of them. Cosmetic surgery could explain it, or fake teeth implanted over the top of his real ones. Maybe they came out when he wasn’t horsing around, like a set of dentures? That brought an image to mind of Dolarhyde and his grandmother’s dentures. “Gross.” One thing was for sure, he wasn’t about to ask, nor stick his fingers in there to find out.

  Had she called that guy a werewolf?

  Surely, that had to be a character trait or nickname, something brought on by the man’s furry face and dental choices? If werewolves were real, it would have been well-documented somewhere other than a horror flick or novel, it’d have a featured show on the damn Discovery Channel. Up next after Gear Dogs, werewolves and why we don’t let them breed in the wild.

  No, werewolves were like Bigfoot; they just didn’t exist.

  That goes for vampires too, you know?

  I’m talking to myself way too much tonight.

  At least I’m not doing it out loud.

  Yet.

  Doesn’t that make me just as crazy as them?

  I’m getting as bad a Deadpool.

  Chimichangas!

  As if in answer to his unspoken musings about where he was, a cool breeze passed by, making him pull his arms together and rub his hands up and down his exposed forearms. He should have worn something other than this damn undershirt out of the apartment, it could get chilly in the dead of night—and humid. He hadn’t been thinking about what he was wearing, only getting outside and tracking down his wife; he hadn’t realized he’d be whisked away to the countryside by a group of looneys with guns.

  Where was Waco again? That was too far north for such a short drive. Maybe they were out by Dayton?

  Trees lined the roadway on either side, a train was running somewhere to the south, and the stars were bright overhead. That suggested that they weren’t within Houston’s sphere of influence, as the city lights would have dimmed his ability to see as many stars. He heard a howl in the distance. Maybe Ezio was getting his game on, chasing some tail around whatever house they’d pulled up in front of.

  So fucking sticky out here, must be near a river. It was the one part of East Texas he never liked, the humidity. Sometimes it got so bad your clothes felt heavy, confining, suffocating, like you’d just stepped out of a pool fully clothed. Not to mention that the heat rashes between the thighs could be killer; making you walk like an eighty-year old bowlegged man just to keep from rubbing them the wrong way.

  His mind went back to the drive over; it was still attempting to come to terms with all that had happened and what he’d heard. They had called his wife a vampire. That had to be code for some genetic condition, some abnormal state brought on by a science experiment gone bad. There were no such things as vampires. There was a medic
al condition that could mimic certain aspects of vampirism, not to mention psychic vampires, but a full-blown Mina Harper?

  No way, uh uh, not happening.

  Keep telling yourself that. Like a mantra. Over and over. Maybe you’ll eventually get yourself to believe it.

  Didn’t he, though? There wasn’t anything that happened that couldn’t be explained logically, nothing supernatural that defied a scientific explanation. No ghost had walked through a wall, no magic had been performed. In his half-sleepy state, he’d been forced down on the bed by his wife. She had then attacked that Naomi woman, then left out the window. Even that could have just been a trick of light and his overactive imagination. He only had their word that it was anything different.

  “Here fishy fishy fishy,” a woman’s voice called.

  How long had he been standing there wool-gathering?

  “Naomi, knock it off,” another snapped. “He just saw his wife come back from the dead. Give him a moment to collect himself. You’ll have plenty of time to give him shit later, I doubt she’ll be coming back for more tonight.”

  “I hope she does. Get this shit over with so we can send lover boy back home where he belongs. I’m not a fucking babysitter.”

  “Naomi!”

  “Fine, whatever. I’m going to go hit the showers. You can stay out here and play with the mouse, like a cat with a piece of string. I’ll get Ezio to start preparing the trap. We’re gonna need a bigger boat!”

  He sighed. Why me?

  Her keys were hanging on the rack next to the living room door. How did she get in the apartment? If she broke in, why didn’t I hear it?

  Thinking back over how he’d been woken up, the noise that had snapped him awake, it had sounded like feet hitting the floor, not the opening of the door. He couldn’t remember leaving the window open, but he hadn’t thought to check it either. They were on the third floor, and the odds of someone breaking in seemed farfetched; it would take a hell of a high ladder. And that wouldn’t be conspicuous at all, either the bringing it along or the climbing up. If she had come through the window, how the hell did she get up that high? There wasn’t even a ledge to inch around on! However, if there had been a ladder there, for some odd fucking reason, it would explain how she left. These people could be lying about what happened after she fled the bedroom, making it more possible that they were the involved with her death and reappearance than his earlier considerations proposed; how could he go with them anywhere? How could he trust a thing they said?

  “Name’s Renny. My friends call me Hoops. Like reminding me of the career and life I lost is something I really need every day,” a voice spoke right next to him, making him jump. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  Now that they were out of the Humvee, he noticed just how tall the man standing next to him really was; he had nearly a foot on him. He had long brown hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail and looked completely out of place; like it was a statement of some kind. He had a square jaw and high cheekbones, his face smooth and looking freshly shaved. The broad shoulders hunched a bit as the man’s large hands adjusted something about his waist, trying to keep his posture from appearing overly threatening in order to ease the tension; that had to count for something.

  “Derek,” he answered with a short nod. “Still think you guys are full of it. For whatever reason, my wife didn’t really die, and I think you three are here to cover it up. This where I disappear into a black site somewhere, never to be heard from again, like Quantamino Bay or something.”

  “You’ve got quite the active imagination, but I don’t think your mind has caught up to what your own ears and eyes have been telling you,” Renny remarked with a soft smile. “Not saying I blame you, all things considered, but still.”

  “I work in graphic design,” he responded automatically, out of habit. He was used to be asking what he did for a living, especially when expounding out-there ideas; though the simple truth was—he was just a nerd with an overactive imagination.

  They were quiet for a moment.

  Renny leaned against the side of the Humvee. “I know it’s a lot to process, experiencing what you did. I haven’t been in this particular situation myself, but I can imagine.”

  “Oh really? You can imagine what it’s like to see your dead wife standing next to your bed? To have her jump you, hold you down, and try to do God knows what to your mind and body? To convince yourself that you’re ready for Death, even though all that is within you is screaming for you to fight? Then to have some lady with a shotgun show up as your wife jumps out a third-story window? That a common occurrence for you?”

  The other man laughed, “not quite, but close enough. I grew up in the suburbs of LA. Did my best to avoid gangs, keep my grades up, and play ball. When I got a full ride at Duke, I thought I had finally gotten out. I promised my grandmother that once I made it, I’d send for her, get her out of that shithole. She raised me after my mother died, was all the family I had. If it weren’t for her, I’d be dead by now, shot over some gang rivalry or liquor store robbery. She kept me clean, honest, and on task, and I miss her every day.”

  It would be rude to mock the man by asking if it were a werewolf or vampire that ended his grandmother’s life, so he just smiled compassionately and said he was sorry. It was an automated sense of compassion, he really didn’t know the man enough for anything else.

  Renny waved it off, “it’s okay. It’s been awhile, and it’ll hurt if I think on it too much, but those that we love that strongly we never really get over or forget.”

  A vision of himself hovering over his wife’s casket, his hand over his eyes, his body bent as he struggled to keep from falling to his knees played through his mind and he sympathized with what the man was trying to convey. “She was my soulmate, the part of me that I was destined to be joined with. We were supposed to grow old together, have kids, grandkids. Now that she’s gone, I’ve got nothing to live for.”

  “And you think she’d want you to off yourself, that it? That if she heard you say that shit, that she wouldn’t hit you upside the head for being foolish?”

  “Well, apparently she’s still alive. Why not take me back home and I can ask her?” he returned just as quickly, giving the man a sour look in response. “That’s what I thought.”

  They were silent once more, each trying to sort out their thoughts, try to find the best way forward. He had no experience with any of this, he was flying blind, so there really wasn’t much all else he could say.

  “It was a demon, you know? That killed my grandmother?” Renny finally said, bringing out a pack of cigarettes, fishing one out, and jamming it in the corner of his mouth. An afterglow was left on his retina as the lighter flashed, the flame caught, and the end of the cigarette was lit. After a couple of puffs, Renny brought his palm up to his temple, the cigarette dangling between his middle and index fingers, and he gave him a haunted look. “Want one? I can imagine that after tonight, you could use it. Afraid I don’t have anything stronger, need to keep our minds sharp in case we have to hit the road at a moment’s notice.”

  “Sure,” he said, taking an offered smoke. He didn’t do it all that much, Amanda was not a fan and would have kicked his ass, but it was hard to turn down when he was out socializing with coworkers on their smoke breaks. He coughed a bit, the nicotine hitting him hard, and Renny gave him a knowing smile. “Demon, huh? So there’s a hell?”

  “I don’t know about that, just that demons are real, and they are beyond anything that can ever be put into words,” Renny answered, taking another puff before tapping the ash off. “Our neighbor was a bruja and now and then she asked my grandmother for help with some of the girls that came to see her. Her eyes weren’t so good anymore, you know? Well, a local family brought their nine-year old son to her, pled for the bruja’s help, offered her a fortune if she could save their son; an exorcism is not something you do solo. Even the Catholics know better than that.”

  Renny paused th
en and looked off to the west. “Got to watch the alligators around here. There’s a river over yonder and they like to venture this way looking for food.”

  His head jerked in that direction, his eyes searching the underbrush, ears trying to discern any sign of life other than their own, but he found nothing. “I hate alligators.”

  “They’re probably not much of a fan of yours either,” Renny laughed. “That nine-year old boy tore my grandmother’s throat out. The father ended up putting a bullet in his own son’s head after his wife died as well. I found this out from my Aunt, but don’t know how much was embellished or true. Still, we had a closed casket at the funeral. That’s when Benji approached me, wanting an interview over what happened.”

  “I would have told him to go to hell, no offense,” he remarked, his anger under the surface of his skin, itching to be freed. “Funerals are for grieving, not investigations.”

  Renny had been inhaling at the time and he suddenly broke into laughter, which swiftly turned to a coughing fit as he hunched over and pounded his knee. “I did,” the man managed as he straightened back up, his hand tapping his chest. “I told him to get lost. Went home, ate the food the neighbors brought me, and prepared to pack up the house before returning to North Carolina to continue my basketball career. I was a senior and there were scouts coming to my next game, I was not going to miss it.”

  “I didn’t know the boy’s father was waiting for me when I went upstairs to my old room to crash for the night. He shot me three times. Once in the neck, another in my shoulder, and then the bastard blew out my damn knee with his last. Then he turned the gun on himself and blew his head off,” Renny told him in a severe tone, the harsh memory of that day resurfacing and flowing across his pained face.

  It was too emotionally evident that it was not a fictional tale; this man believed what he was saying. Still didn’t make it true though. Demon possession? Really? The mind could be convinced of anything given time, yet Renny spoke as if he knew there was no other truth to be had.