Bring On The Night

by Sonya Clark

  The first thing he learned about vampires was every girl from junior high on up seemed to be obsessed with one in particular, who was both fictional, and sparkly. Go figure. Lestat was fabulous, but even he never sparkled. He stared at the screen for a moment, considering what he just thought to himself. I’m never repeating that to anyone. Ever. He drained his latte and ordered another, this time with a chocolate chip muffin.

  Legends and myths, fiction and fanfic—that’s what he found, nothing that any reporter outside the Bigfoot press, as he considered them, would consider a legitimate source. Even with the disparate legends, a few things seemed to be fairly consistent: a thirst for blood, aversion to sunlight, wooden stakes and decapitation. An image of the woman from last night, standing where the fanged creature had been before disappearing, with a wooden stake in her hand, came into his mind. If he was going to consider the possibility that vampires were real, he figured it made sense there would be people who knew about their existence, people who fought them, demon hunters, perhaps.

  He closed his laptop harder than he meant to. There was no such thing as vampires. But then what had he seen last night? This morning, he’d tried to find the homeless man Kirkbride identified as Mickey, but he had disappeared after being released from the emergency room. Brandon tried the shelter but a few kids told him the reverend was asleep and would be back at noon. It was now after two. He could try that avenue again.

  He finished his second latte and muffin, browsing one paranormal site after another.

  * * * *

  William Kirkbride did not want to answer further questions from any more reporters. Not that anyone would believe the answers he gave them. He considered this as he worked through the lunchtime dishes in the shelter’s kitchen. Vegetable soup and grilled cheese sandwiches didn’t make for a very exciting meal, but not too many people who lived on the streets down here turned it down. The kids, especially, needed the vegetables. He’d overheard some of them whispering quietly to each other while serving the soup, sharing rumors on the latest attack. Everybody on the streets knew Mickey. He was harmless, if a little crazier than most. He didn’t have any enemies Kirkbride knew of, and everyone seemed to hope he’d recover quickly from the gamut of injuries he was rumored to have, and happy someone had managed to somehow escape death this time. Inevitably the talk of escaping death led to the glum conclusion that death would not be so easily thwarted, and would be out hunting, hungrier than ever now. Kirkbride agreed with this, and knew he’d have to be ready.

  A few of the older kids worked at the shelter these days, as well as an older guy who was a military vet like himself. All three had wound up at the shelter because they needed a place to stay one night, and kept coming back. Kirkbride sensed they had found something more than just a safe place to sleep and a hot meal. Some sense of purpose, maybe, in helping cook meals for people who weren’t able to feed themselves, make beds for people without a home, sit and listen to them tell their stories. Sometimes they were able to track down family members, occasionally helping people find jobs, a place to live. Sometimes all they could do was walk with them to another place, another organization that might provide some kind of help. At other times all they could do was keep somebody safe for the night.

  Keeping people safe at night, that’s what he needed to concentrate on right now. Until whatever it was doing the killing got its fill and moved on, they would need to be extra vigilant. He planned on talking to the others about patrolling.

  * * * *

  As soon as it was dark enough, Jessie left the hotel and headed for the waterfront. She started at the abandoned office building from the night before. If these monsters were sloppy enough to leave behind corpses, there was no telling what other clues they might have left. She needed to find something she could use to track them.

  * * * *

  “This isn’t some gang war,” Brandon said. It was not a question. “It’s got nothing to do with drugs.”

  Reverend Kirkbride said nothing. He stood, arms crossed, looking at Brandon blankly.

  Brandon nodded. “Okay. I get no one wants to talk to me. I’m a reporter, nobody likes reporters.”

  Kirkbride shook his head. “It has nothing to do with you being a reporter. I just don’t have any information to add. I told you, I told the other reporter that. That’s all there is to it.”

  Brandon said, “What other reporter?”

  “She said her name was Lisa Taylor. I don’t remember who she said she works for, but she’s not local.”

  Brandon scribbled the name in his notebook. “When did you talk to her?”

  “Last night.”

  “What’d she look like?”

  “Why, you looking for a date?” The corner of Kirkbride’s mouth quirked.

  Brandon glared at him. “I thought ministers were supposed to be nice people.”

  Kirkbride laughed with a snort. “My last church kicked me out, remember?”

  Brandon smiled. “Yeah, I do remember, now that you mention it. So what did she look like?”

  Kirkbride uncrossed his arms and held a hand out to the middle of his chest. “Small, about so tall, black hair and green eyes.”

  Images from last night flooded Brandon’s thoughts. He’d only seen her for a moment, in the dark, but he knew he’d recognize her if he saw her again, and he was sure his mystery woman was the woman Kirkbride described. Now he had a name to search. Maybe, if it was her real name.

  “Why are you interested in her?” the reverend asked.

  Because she slays mythical monsters. “Oh, you know.” Brandon shrugged. “Good to keep an eye on the competition.” He hurried to change the subject. “What do you really think is going on here?”

  Kirkbride sighed deeply, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. “There are vulnerable people down here on this part of the waterfront, and vulnerable people are always easy prey.”

  Brandon stared at him for a moment. “Come on. If I wanted clichés, I’d talk to the police commissioner.”

  Kirkbride raised his hands and turned to walk back inside the shelter. They were standing on the sidewalk several feet from the entrance. “Look, I already—”

  “Told me absolutely nothing. There’s no way you don’t know something. You live in a back room in this shelter. These people trust you, especially the kids. They talk to you. Tell you what they’ve seen, what they’ve heard. Maybe you’ve even seen something yourself.”

  Kirkbride gave him a dark look as he started walking again. “Good night, Mr. Ellis.”

  “Why were you responding to reports of screaming with a sawed-off shotgun? Why do you even have a sawed-off shotgun?”

  “Wharf rats,” Kirkbride called out from the shelter’s entrance.

  “Wharf rats? Or something bigger?” Brandon walked to the door, forcing the minister to meet his eyes. “What’s out there, Reverend? What’s killing people?”

  “Don’t you mean, who’s killing people?” Kirkbride asked flatly.

  Brandon thought for a moment. He could end the conversation now, and no one would ever know the crazy thoughts in his head of vampires and demon hunters. He could walk away from this entire story, accept the police explanation of gang violence, and forget what he’d seen last night. But then, could he really forget? Forget the terror he’d felt when he realized the killer that had him cornered was possibly not human, the confusion and awe at seeing the monster melt away to smoke and dust? He’d never been one to believe in the supernatural. He believed in facts, evidence, what he could see, touch and verify without a doubt. This was not a line he ever intended to cross, but cross it he had, and now there was no going back. There was no denying the truth of what he had seen.

  He said to the minister, “No. I mean what.” Kirkbride gave no response, and Brandon decided if he was going off the sanity reservation, he might as well go all the way. “I mean, what kind of monster is out there killing people? Have you seen it? Is there more than one? And do you know how to kill t
hem?”

  Kirkbride regarded him intently for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. “What do you think is out there? What did you see last night?”

  Several kids crowded around the minister, all trying to talk to him at the same time. Brandon stepped back and got out of their way. He watched as Kirkbride talked with his charges, leading them inside to get something to eat. They looked like runaways, skinny, nervous and furtive. With Reverend Kirkbride they opened up and almost seemed normal, joking and laughing like they would with few adults anymore.

  As the kids made their way inside the shelter, Kirkbride motioned to him. “You want to help me get these kids fed? We’ll talk after.” Not exactly a request, but not exactly an order, either. Brandon nodded and followed him inside.

  * * * *

  The alley was full of dead smells: dead rats, rotted food and a vampire with serious hygiene issues. Also, it contained a none-too-clean kid screaming his head off, struggling in vain to fight off the vampire. Jessie stepped into the entrance of the alley, wrinkling her nose at the stench. Yeah, the king was definitely getting a great big itemized bill for this. “Hey,” she called out.

  Caught by surprise, a vampire in biker leathers and shaggy hair and his intended victim froze in mid-struggle and turned to face her. Meeting the vampire’s eyes, she said, “How about you pick on someone your own size?”

  He snarled, tossing his meal against the wall. “You don’t want to get in my way, girl.”

  She glanced at the kid. “What are you waiting for? Get the hell outta here.”

  The kid ran.

  Smelly Vamp made a point of showing his fangs. “I don’t know who you are.”

  “Well, let me tell you,” she interrupted. She took on a formal tone. “I am an emissary of the King of Vampires of the Court of Monsters. I am charged by the king with a sacred duty, which I intend to fulfill.”

  Taken aback by the formality of her words and the mention of the king, the vampire gaped at her. “So, like, what’s your sacred duty?”

  Short bus. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “To kick your dumb ass all up and down this alley and kill you all the way dead. So let’s get this party started.”

  She lunged at him.

  Chapter 4

  Five of them walked at a steady pace through the dark streets. Reverend Kirkbride led the way, shotgun more or less hidden under a loose-fitting trench coat, his cohorts spread out beside and behind him. Haywood was of medium height and muscular, with blond hair in a severe crew cut and several weapons—knives, brass knuckles, two small pistols and a pair of nun-chucks—hidden under his black clothes. Lenny was a gangly teenager, all arms and legs, with a serious demeanor belying his youthful, almost androgynously pretty face. Rowdy, also a teenager, hid her looks under a wild thatch of hair streaked turquoise and pink, as well as black lipstick and eye makeup. They had weapons hidden on them, too, and thanks to training from the two military vets knew how to use them. Brandon Ellis rounded out the group. Nervous, constantly scanning the darkness for any movement and feeling naked without any weapons, he’d never felt more out of place in his life. They’d been on patrol for an uneventful half-hour and he was also beginning to feel more than a bit ridiculous.

  He picked up his pace until he was alongside the minister. “So, uh, looks like nothing’s going on, huh?”

  “Boredom can be a good thing.” Kirkbride gave him a quick smile.

  Someone ran around the corner, crashing into them. Kirkbride caught the kid and righted him as the others hurried to surround them.

  Kirkbride asked calmly, “Are you hurt?”

  The boy shook his head, glancing back the way he came. His mouth moved but the words didn’t seem to want to come out.

  Lenny spoke up. “What is it? Did something try to hurt you?”

  The boy seemed to recognize Kirkbride now, and looked at him when he spoke. “It’s this guy, there’s something wrong with him. It’s like he’s got fangs or something. There’s a girl there now.”

  “Where?”

  He pointed. “An alley three blocks down. He’s gonna kill that girl. She told me to run, so I did. She told me to.” His body convulsed.

  Kirkbride took him by the shoulders, trying to steady him. “You did the right thing. Can you get back to the shelter by yourself?”

  “Yeah. Are you gonna help her?”

  Kirkbride nodded, face grim. “Go.”

  For a few seconds the boy seemed to hesitate then he nodded and took off.

  Kirkbride faced the reporter. “You can go with him.”

  Brandon didn’t agree. He turned to Haywood. “Can I have the nunchucks?”

  “Do you know how to use them?”

  Brandon grinned. “Nope.”

  Pulling them out from under the back of his shirt, Haywood handed them over. “Just don’t hit me with them.”

  Without another word the five of them broke into a run, following Kirkbride’s lead.

  * * * *

  Jessie broke the vampire’s arm over her knee with a satisfying crunch then threw him against the alley wall. He slumped, holding his arm and staring at her.

  “You know, I don’t like to kill my own kind. It puts me in a real existential pickle.” She swung her right leg out, connecting her boot with his jaw. Blood splattered across the concrete. She stood over him. “After I kill you, I’m gonna be whining like Louis for a whole five minutes.” Another kick. “You know what I hate the most about that?” And another. “That’s five minutes I’m never getting back.” She picked him up by collar of his dirty jacket, slamming him easily against the alley wall. “You’ve got wet dog smell all over you, you know that? It’s nasty. It tells me you’re not much for personal hygiene, and you’re running with a gang of vampires and werewolves.” She punched him in the face hard, twice in quick succession, his head snapping off the wall.

  She dropped the mocking note from her voice. “Where’s the hideout?”

  He glared at her, eyes flat with a glassy fury. “I’m not telling you anything, bitch.”

  Jessie widened her eyes, tipping her lips into a smile. “Oh, goody.” She brought her left leg up, planting her foot against the wall. Reaching inside her boot and pants, she retrieved a sheathed tanto dagger. The twelve-inch Japanese knife had been a gift from the Vampire King. He had taught her to keep it sharp enough to slice through flesh like warm butter. She backed away from him and held the knife in front of his face, wanting him to get a good look as she pulled the blade from its sheath.

  Kirkbride turned into the alley, shotgun raised, the other four running hard behind him.

  The vamp stood and reached for Jessie, swatting at her ineffectively with his good arm. He towered over her, taller and wider. She made no move to flee.

  Someone called out, “We’re here to help!”

  With a swift, clean kick Jessie knocked the vampire’s legs out from under him. He crashed to his knees. In the blink of an eye, Jessie took his head off with the tanto, his body melting away in a cloud of ash and smoke.

  Calmly, she turned to face them while she replaced the tanto into its sheath. “Thank you but I don’t need help.”

  The mortal she recognized from last night rushed to the front of the group. “It’s you! You killed that...the...last night.” She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with his scent. Yeah, much better than the nasty funk in this alley.

  Jessie said nothing, her gaze taking in the whole group, their weapons and ready-to-fight posture. Her eyes settled on Kirkbride, recognizing him as the leader, and gave him a slight half-smile.

  He aimed the shotgun at her. “I didn’t know.”

  “Know what?” She tapped the dagger against her leg, giving him her best sweet and innocent face.

  Vanilla Spice seemed to collect his wits. “That there’s another monster hunter here?”

  The minister said, “Brandon, step back behind me.”

  “Why?”

  “Haywood.”

  “Yep.” A man
with a blond crew cut and ex-military stamped on his forehead came forward and followed Kirkbride’s unspoken order, pulling Brandon to the back of the group. Two kids stepped up to flank Kirkbride, weapons ready.

  “What the hell is going on?” Brandon tried to pull away from Haywood. “She saved my life last night. What is this?”

  Jessie said to Kirkbride, “This really isn’t necessary.”

  “I’m not taking any chances,” he said.

  Brandon called out, “Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Jessie raised an eyebrow at Kirkbride, who reached into his jacket and withdrew a large wooden cross, holding it out in front of him like a shield. She knew then he’d seen just enough of her unnatural strength to give her away. “She’s a vampire.”

  “But...” Brandon stared at her, as if waiting for some sign to present itself. “She saved my life last night. She killed that other one.”

  “It’s all part of my diabolical plan to confuse you.” Jessie looked past Kirkbride to meet Brandon’s eyes. “But now the big bad demon hunters have found me out, so how about I just slink off into the night and you guys can go back to whatever it is you do for kicks.”

  She took a step forward, making it clear she intended to leave the alley without a fight. Kirkbride stopped her, keeping the cross between them. “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, come on, Reverend.” She kept her voice light and teasing. “I’m not out here looking for trouble.”

  He raised an eyebrow, mouth quirked. She thought of something to say to him that would raise the other eyebrow and something else besides, but decided not to. “Okay, so I’m looking for trouble, but not with you. I’m not your enemy.”

  “Maybe, but I want to know what you’re doing here, and what’s going on. We’re going to go have a talk in a nice safe place.”

  She sighed, tilting her head to the side and looking up at him. “Neutral ground?”

  He nodded. “There’s an abandoned church a few blocks from here.”

  “Of course there is.”

  He motioned for Haywood to lead the way, waving the cross to indicate she was to stay in front of him. She dropped the minister a wink as she started walking. “You just want to look at my ass.”