Anyone Here

by Jackie Ivie

  Anyone Here

  by Jackie Ivie

  A Vampire Assassin League Novella

  “We Kill for Profit”

  9th in series

  Copyright 2012, Jackie Ivie

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Your left! There’s one on your left! He’s going to—!”

  “Calm down, Nigel, boy. Look to your own laurels. I’ve got it well in hand. You see?”

  The answer was serious and calm, the complete opposite of the original speaker. But then the calmness got overridden by a high-five smacking celebratory sound of palm to palm as gore splattered the large screen. Even as it dissipated, more black-clothed figures joined the fight, swords swinging, limbs flying, and that got both players back to their controllers, moving buttons, pushing levers, and calling taunts toward one another.

  “There’s more than one way to skin a cat. Watch this!”

  “Skin a cat?”

  “You need to get out more, Crusader. A lot more. See?”

  “See what?”

  A figure went flying across one half of the split screen, landing in a heap that dissolved into a puddle, and then even that dried up and disappeared. Before it was gone, another landed in the exact spot, gaining hoots and cheers from both men.

  “Come on, Akron. Surely you’re not serious. You summoned me all the way from sunny California to watch The Crusader and Nigel playing a video game?”

  “Oh. It’s not just any game, Len. It’s the latest thing. Called Bellus.”

  “Bellus?”

  “Latin word. Means war. And wait. There’s a Daemon Bellus level. Nigel has about reached it.”

  “Not without me, he doesn’t,” Invaris grumbled.

  “Bellus. Hmm…interesting,” Len replied.

  “Not just interesting. Popular. Or in the current lingo – virulent. Debuted last weekend and is already gaining massive devotees. By the minute. See that little number scale on the lower left there?”

  Little was a misnomer. Since they were watching the play on a 120 inch LED screen, the numbers were almost a foot high.

  “Yes.”

  “It changes every fifteen minutes. Getting higher and higher. That’s how many players are online playing Bellus right now. As we speak. It’s the newest craze. Notice anything…else?”

  “It’s in a castle.”

  “True. Most of the activity takes place either in a castle or on the grounds directly outside. You should see the crypt and the cemetery levels. Anything else?”

  “The players are hidden. Nobody has a face.”

  “Very good. That’s only in the beginning. You need to go immortal to get a personalized avatar with recognizable features.”

  A dull throb of sound hit the speakers, sounding a bit like an old brass bell atop a belfry.

  “Oh good. Nigel has just reached immortal status. Invaris?”

  Another gong sound throbbed through the room, bouncing off the stone walls of what went for a media room in the Vampire Assassin League’s headquarters.

  “Right behind him, Sir.”

  “Just remember that, Crusader. You’re behind.”

  “By three whole players. Just look. Out of the three million-plus players, I’m number 68,308 in rankings. And I started this evening. You played all last night.”

  “You’re still behind,” Nigel fired back.

  “Just pick your avatars, gentlemen. You can fight with them on the screen. Here is where it gets interesting, Len. Watch closely now. This is why I summoned you.”

  A box opened in the center of each side of the screen, listing all sorts of immortal beings. Gargoyles. Werewolves. Demons. Vampires. Trolls. Angels. Fairies. Dragons. Aliens. As the players ran their cursers over the listings, the words lit up. Both men ended up choosing vampire. Len smirked.

  “You picking the Viking again?” Nigel asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Me too. He’s got the most power.”

  “Just for that, Nigel, you’re going to select the Rus.” Akron informed him.

  “Oh come on. A woman?”

  “She’s got a special skill-set. Rips out hearts with the flick of her wrist. As well as other body parts.”

  “I’d rather be the Hun.”

  “Pick him, then.”

  Nigel sighed loudly. “Why can’t I be Dane, too? He’s the best one.”

  “Dane?” Len choked out.

  “Starting to look a bit more familiar, is it?” Akron asked.

  “I don’t believe this,” Len replied.

  “Continue on, gentlemen. We’re waiting.”

  A thick-muscled Viking avatar lit up Invaris’s side of the screen. A large, fur-covered fellow showed up on Nigel’s, holding the distinctive backward-curving bow for which the Huns were known. A moment later both avatars were racing along a dark stone-enclosed corridor, not unlike the VAL’s own halls.

  “Doesn’t the Viking get a weapon?” Len asked.

  “Oh…he’ll pick them up as he goes. But, Nigel found the real clue to Dane’s power sometime this morning. It’s the reason they’re both so high in the statistics and moving upward with every win.”

  “How?”

  “Once the Viking avatar finds and inserts an arm into a special slit in the wall – no bigger than a slice of light – he gets to go into Berserker mode. And that’s all he really needs.”

  “What? Berserker mode?” Len was on his feet and glaring at the screen.

  “And with that comes the ability to rip limbs off, slam opponents through walls, stuff like that. Everything sent at him bounces off. I’d say he’s pretty much invincible.”

  “That’s why I wanted him, too,” Nigel complained.

  Gore splattered across the screen, a disembodied arm at the center. Then a torso. Len turned away and walked over to Akron’s desk. Sat down. Picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on his jacket. And then lifted his gaze to his boss.

  “Babycakes really owes me this time,” he said.

  “Truly?”

  “That was my idea. Mine.”

  “So…you did say this would make a good video game?”

  “Right. And that jackass went and stole it. As if he needs the money. You better tell him I’m going to want my half. Screw that. I want 75 percent and not one penny less.”

  “You don’t know anything about this?”

  “Hell no. But I’m getting more pissed the longer I do know about it.”

  “You didn’t design a video game, copyright it, and then market it?”

  “With what time? I’m on your team. I spend my time training, working out, familiarizing and then excelling at all sorts of weaponry. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be very good at my job. Video games are for the sedentary, not for guys like me.”

  “You didn’t pay someone to do it, then?”

  “I’m going to hazard a guess you’ve already checked my accounts. Does it look like I’ve recently got a massive infusion of capital?”

  “Damn it! I hate this stinkin’ Hun! He makes a lousy vampire! Always did. About the only thing he’s good for is bashing heads. And you have to get close enough for that. I get close and—shit! Look at that. Now I have to re-spawn and go back to mortality.” Nigel complained loudly, shoving back into his seat.

  “You shoul
d use the bow. That’s what it’s for.”

  “Stow it, Crusader Man. You just watch your back. Or whatever. Berserker mode only lasts three minutes, and then you’ll be just like me again.”

  “Except I’ll be above you on the charts.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Whiner.”

  “Gentlemen. Please. I’m trying to have a conversation here with our compatriot, Leonard. I’m going to be unplugging the set in a moment. And I never thought I’d say that combination of words. I sound like the father of teenagers.”

  Both men went silent and returned to flicking buttons, while their bodies followed every move. Len watched them for a moment and then turned back. “How much is Babycakes making on this?”

  “Dane is on his honeymoon. Still. He isn’t designing video games. I checked the moment Nigel found the Berserker Mode this morning. And then I called you.”

  “Don’t believe it.”

  “Trust me. Dane is in the middle of the Arctic Ocean, ice-locked for the most part. I’ve verified it. He hasn’t had contact with the real world for months. His Key West bars are even for sale. I don’t think he misses any of it.”

  “Sounds like a really nice honeymoon,” Len said in a sarcastic tone. It was completely wasted on his employer.

  “No doubt. Lots of cold, but that doesn’t worry a member of the undead. And let’s not forget. It’s dark up there…especially this time of year. Pitch dark is always good, especially for a new vampire like Evangeline.”

  “If Dane Monroe didn’t design that damn game…who did? And how did they know?”

  “Good question. But I believe he’s going by Morgan this time around.”

  “Like I care! I want names and I want them now. You have access. Get one of your boys to find me some names and addresses. I’ll handle the rest.”

  Akron was punching keys on his laptop. “Already on it. I just had to make certain you weren’t involved. Always check the simplest option before moving on. That’s the cornerstone of good puzzle-solving, you know.”

  “Me? You really think I’m stupid? I work for you - the most elite firm in the world. And I know anyone betraying V.A.L. is a dead man. A real dead man. V.A.L. can find an insect carcass in the middle of the Amazon jungle. They can find my ass.”

  “Money is a great motivator. Turns even the smartest into fools…and this little video game is making a lot of money.”

  “Money is just green paper. Honor and trust are what matter. You have mine. Still. Always.”

  “Well…you know me, Len. I had to check. There! Well hidden behind two LLCs and more than one alias, but not hidden well enough. I’ve found you, Jonas…no. Make that Jacob. Jacob Walsh. Jake. Sounds like an Irish street fighter, doesn’t he? No picture? That’s odd.”

  “Give me his address. I’ll handle his demise. Gratis.”

  “Ah! Finally! There’s a picture. From an old equity article, published when he was at MIT. Jacob Walsh appears to be the new breed – a self-made man. With lots of brains, ready cash, and reams of so-called friends. Hard to get close to. Harder to photograph. But look. He appears to like the ladies. Lots and lots of them, if this write-up is correct. I know the perfect operative. Jake? You are about to be baited, hooked, and then reeled in. And then maybe I’ll fillet you. Invaris?”

  “Sir.”

  The knight stood and dropped his controller into his chair seat, leaving his avatar standing in the midst of a melee of blood and flame. Nigel’s Hun came striding through the midst of it, and slammed the Viking backwards.

  “Call up Cassandra Braun. She’s been dormant since that riot in the 60s.”

  “On it, Sir.” The Crusader walked toward the door.

  “Check London. If I don’t miss my guess, she’s still hunting around the cemetery near Highgate.”

  “A Brit?” Len asked.

  “More than a Brit. A Victorian. You ever hear of the Industrial Revolution?” Akron asked.

  “Oh please. Do I look like I just parachuted onto this planet?”

  “Good thing I like you, Leonard. That’s all I’m going to say about your sarcasm. Cassandra is a product of her time. A Victorian woman hailing from White Chapel district. I think she might even know the real identity of Jack the Ripper, though she won’t tell.”

  “Can’t wait to meet her. When do I leave?”

  “Not yet. You’ve got another job. In Texas. Excuse me a moment, Len. Nigel! Stop that. It’s bad form.”

  “What?” Nigel’s Hun stopped stomping up and down on Invaris’s Viking, mainly due to having the fingers controlling the avatar finally stilled. Nigel stood and looked over at Akron.

  “I really wonder if you’re ever going to grow up,” Akron commented, to no one in particular. And then he disappeared.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sixty- seven. Sixty- eight. Sixty—

  Jake’s fingers touched the pad, stopping the timer. In a flash he was shoving up from the water, wiping moisture from his eyes, and grinning. Widely. That was followed by a yelp of exaltation as he slapped at the water. Outstanding! He’d bettered his time by four one-hundredths of a second and used two less strokes to do it! He’d verify with video later, but it felt and looked like he’d not only beat his personal best, but elongated his stroke as well. If he kept this up, he might try out for the Olympic team again. That should shock the hell out of everyone.

  “You stayin’ in there all night, Love?”

  Jake swiveled, putting his back against the pool edge in order to look over and then up. There was a woman poised nonchalantly at the side of his pool. A woman. In his house. Right beside his pool, for crap sake. With him wearing only sharkskin trunks for defense. He didn’t know what he paid security guards for.

  It was difficult to see her face through the nose-grazing length of black lace falling from her hat. Or what might pass for a hat if it was larger than three square inches in size. It sat atop a mass of dark red curls as if somehow holding all her coiffure from falling to her butt. Or maybe that mane was even thigh-length. She wasn’t looking at him. She was swirling the long pointed end of a slender umbrella in his pool, twirling little whirlpools into existence.

  Jake sloshed his free hand over his face again, swiping water away, before narrowing his eyes. It didn’t work. There was still a woman standing there, dressed in something more fitted to a Halloween party. He’d rank it steam-punk only it put everything he’d ever seen to shame. And she didn’t disappear.

  She turned her head and sent a glance at him. A rush of flame roared through his chest, ratcheting his heartbeat higher than his swim had. Whoa Jacob. She had intense cobalt blue eyes. Even through the black lace curtain falling from her hat, nobody could miss that color, or those eyes. And from what he could see, she was jaw-dropping gorgeous. Sinfully so. More so than the cadre of swimsuit models his friends had assembled for his party in Cabo San Lucas last month…the same party that had bored him within three days. And then disgusted. All parties anymore seemed to have the same trouble. Maybe he was getting old.

  Nah. Twenty-eight isn’t old, Jake. It’s just right. He had the world at his feet. Women were available twenty-four-seven. Clothing optional. He was just sated. Jaded. Bored. That’s why he’d gone on an abstinence diet from feminine companionship for at least a month. And then look at what happens? A babe dressed as a late Victorian-era vamp just appears. And as he’d instantly noted, she was more gorgeous than any swimsuit model. Shapelier, too. A lot shapelier. Her bosom warranted more than a glance. It looked real, too, as if no plastic surgeon was allowed to even touch, let alone tamper. Of course, that could be due to the burgundy satin bustier strapped about her without a centimeter to spare, or the effect of such a large bosom atop the tiniest waist he’d ever seen.

  Double whoa.

  Jackpot! Gorgeous. Womanly. Spectacular.

  The impression didn’t fade as he took in the wrist-length black lace gloves with the ruffled edges, the dark mark of a tattoo just above one glove edge, a jagged-edg
ed dark-violet mini-skirt fashioned in some brocade-type fabric. And then he factored in her legs. Stunning. The chick was stunning. Legs like that didn’t need the added enhancement of thigh-high black crocheted stockings, nor the ankle-high button-edged boots. That was just overkill. All-in-all, it was hard to tell which part made her the most beautiful thing in this part of the world. It was hard to decide. Hell. It was even hard to breathe. She might as well have shoved the point of her umbrella through him. Jake gulped and stuffed the reaction down.

  “Who…are you?” His voice was ragged. Choked. Shit.

  “A complication you’re about to deal with.”

  “Oh. I’m game, Baby. Complicate away.”

  The motion with her umbrella stopped. Her eyes narrowed though the blue stood out even then, still striking.

  “Oh. Bother. I’d heard you were a player. I forgot the word has more than one connotation.”

  She had a killer British accent. Everyone on security detail tonight was getting a bonus. Hell. Double bonus. “Who’d tell you such a thing?” he asked.

  “Your dossier.”

  He had a dossier. As if this was a movie set for an espionage film. Jake grinned and launched onto his butt on the edge of the pool. Settled. Silently gave kudos again for having the foresight to put in-floor heating in all his rooms. Even here. And then he looked back up and over at her.

  “If my dossier says I’m anything less than completely yours, Babe, then it’s an out-right lie.”

  The umbrella rose from the water, putting little drips onto the surface. She didn’t appear to notice.

  “I suppose you think you’re being charming,” she told him.

  “No suppose about it, hon. I am charming. And you’re gorgeous. You got a name?”

  “Cassandra.”

  Man. What a perfect name. Said in an ear-pleasing voice as hot as any Southern hemisphere beach sand. With that accent. It was going to haunt him. She’d tipped her chin to sound out her name, putting emphasis on all three syllables, just in case he couldn’t get it. That was pulse-stirring. Or maybe that came from the perfect enunciation she gave it. Her accent really was to die for.