He chuckled and popped the caps on the bottles. “Oh it’s real. Not the swinging watch and melodic voice, but something more subtle and yet more concrete. Tricky business, compulsion is. It can make other people want what you want. You've got to feel it as strongly as you want them to, and after that it's all about willpower and focus. Once you get exposure to compulsion, though, you develop a kind of immunity as a hunter. I'd say in a few years vampires won't be able to whammy you anymore. And with practice, you'll be able to turn it back on them every time. All of this feeds on your power, of course.”
“So let me get this straight... you're saying I'm some kind of wizard?” I said, still trying to wrap my mind around the concepts of blood magic, compulsion and other supernatural powers.
“God no, of course not. Wizards are another brand altogether—a dangerous brand that we try very, very hard not to get involved with. Even though we’re just hunters, with our powers we stand out from the pack. There's more out there than just our clan, mind you. Even the Catholics have their own brand of monster hunter, but we don't see them a lot. They're as likely to try and take our head off as a vampire’s. Most hunters see our powers as unnatural or 'cheating' or some other jealous crap. Honestly, I think it's just evolution. To stop being hunted, become the hunter.”
I just stared at my uncle for a while. This incredibly old man who didn't look a day over forty. Vampires, werewolves and other monsters whose existence was now a simple fact, rather than superstition or legend. The vampire girl who spent five days locked in a basement with me, and all she wanted was to touch me. The things I was hearing and experiencing now ran contrary to everything I'd ever experienced. And I said so. “This is ridiculous. I mean, I know I've seen some shit here, alright, but vampires? Monsters? What's next, the boogeyman?”
My uncle stood up and walked around the counter and sat next to me. “Yeah, I'm surprised you’re taking this shit so well, but I want you to think back to when you were a kid. Monsters are everywhere. Every shadow, every bump in the night, every tapping on the glass—those are monsters, John. Even if you think it's just the house settling, or a tree branch brushing the window, or the moon hitting your chair just right, now you know it's better to be safe than sorry. Who's to say there isn't a boogeyman under your bed? When was the last time you weren’t too scared to look?”
I looked back at him, but couldn't meet his eyes. I thought back to my childhood in the foster system, where nobody came if I heard something whispering in the night. In time I had convinced myself that they were the figments of a child's imagination, not the rational fears of an adult. I forced myself to forget them until eventually I no longer noticed them. But my childhood was full of things that I couldn't explain. Ghosts walking the halls of foster homes. Shadows that took on lives of their own. In one house I would look outside at the multicolored lights floating around near the trees in the back yard, not knowing what they could be.
“I was a kid back then. I don't see that stuff anymore.”
My uncle put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Give it time, John. You'll see it all and more. But now we've got stuff to do. Tonight is going to be a big night for you, full of crazy things.”
I met his eyes with a furrowed brow. “What things?”
He grinned, biting hard on the cigar in his mouth. “Vampires don't usually hunt themselves.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The local post office was a dilapidated, barely standing building that did barely any business as far as I could tell. Nobody came or went, and the clerk behind the counter snoozed in noisy and uninterrupted fashion as my uncle led me past his desk to a room filled with mail boxes and walls covered in corkboard. We stopped in front of one particular board where the pages stapled to it were the least crumpled. Above the corkboard was taped a simple laminated strip of paper with two words in bold font.
MISSING PERSONS.
“Here we are,” my uncle said. “The number one resource for finding out who vampires have been snacking on.”
“Missing persons?” I asked. “Isn’t that a bit of a broad brush to search with? I mean, not every missing person is vamp chow.”
“Maybe not on other boards, but on this one… well, I’ve got a gal in the know who sets this board up for the local hunters. She’s a sweet girl; I called her down so I could introduce you.” My uncle said as he chewed his unlit cigar and traced over a few of the photos with his fingers.
“She cute?” I asked.
“Depends on what you mean by ‘cute.’” A feminine voice smarmed from behind me, and I hung my head for just an instant from the embarrassment before turning around to see a woman in a police uniform. She looked at me with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, her arms crossed.
“Well?” She asked.
“Well…” I countered. She was somewhat short, maybe an inch and a half under five feet tall. She wasn’t so much petite as she was bulky from the gear she was carrying, but a studious eye could tell that under the armor and equipment was a woman who knew her way around a gym better than most people. Her dark hair was tied back in a firm bun and her brown eyes twinkled as her smile widened. Her eyes, combined with her dark skin, told me she was of the Hispanic persuasion, and her posture and crossed arms told me that—with all kidding aside—she could go from playful to formidable in the blink of an eye. She wasn’t cute, and she wasn’t pretty either, but she was gorgeous in the powerful, womanly way that you sometimes see in female law enforcement. You know the type; stern, but good looking enough to make you want to flirt while they tighten the cuffs. I gulped audibly.
“I think she’s cute as a little button. Hey, Becky.”
“Fuck you, Magnus,” she said with a grin and extended her right hand to me. “Rebecca Ramirez, you can call me Becky if you want, unless we meet under different circumstances.”
I took her hand with mine and she gave it a brief shake that was neither weak nor firm, but her hand was cold and a little damp. I almost spent a second too long in analyzing that and then caught myself to finish the introduction.
“John. John Magnus. I’m, uh, this guy’s nephew.” I said.
“Didn’t know you had family,” she said as she raised an eyebrow at my uncle, and then looked back at me. “Good to meet you, John. Military man?”
“Medical discharge.” I replied automatically. The words left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“More and more of you folks are coming back like that. It’s a shame.” She gave me a pensive look and then looked back at my uncle. He nodded.
“He’s in the business.”
Becky visibly relaxed and leaned her head to one side and made a little jerking motion. I grimaced as I heard the bones in her neck crackle. “Good,” she said. “Is he literal family? Does he have the… you know?”
“You bet,” My uncle replied and then seemed to pick up on something. Probably the same thing I picked up on with the handshake. “You look nervous, Rebecca.”
“You scare the shit out of me, Magnus.” She said. I believed her; it was written all over in her body language. She hadn’t come within reach of my uncle. With his confirmation that I was “literal family,” she took a short step back from me as well. The wheels in my head caught that thought and spun it away into my Ask-Later-File.
“Price you pay for awareness, I guess,” my uncle said as he plucked down two of the fliers and folded them up. “I put down these two about a week and a half ago.”
Becky sucked her teeth and let out a sigh as she pulled two stapled sheets of paper from her pocket and unfolded them. “Damnit. Couldn’t find them in time?”
“Naw, Thanatic vamps don’t do the kidnapping thing. They just turn people. No need to keep meat fresh with that kind of hunger.”
“Well,” she began as she handed the papers to me. “Here’s one more for you. I saw this kid last night down by a park in Chula Vista. Whole fuckin’ town has been a vampire circus the last few weeks. I know you say the Thanatic vamps don’t do the whole
kidnapping deal, but you might look into this one. Directions to the park are on the second sheet.”
I handed the paper to my uncle and he briefly studied it. “Looks solid, thanks for vetting it for me, Becky.” He pulled a roll of green paper from his pocket and tossed it to her. As it flew I saw that the top bill was a fifty. If the rest followed suit, there was at least half a grand in that roll. She caught it deftly and made it disappear into one of her many pockets.
“It’s a pleasure as always,” she said. “You gonna need any extra hands tonight?”
“Nope, got the kid.” He said, gesturing to me. She nodded grimly.
“Things are getting out of hand, Magnus,” she said. “A few hunters have gone missing. Good folks. Not many people knew who they were.”
“That,” my uncle said. “Would be your job to figure out. I just kill the monsters. I don’t get involved in vanilla affairs.”
“Not fast enough, apparently.” She said. All traces of the friendly yet nervous demeanor that she’d come in with were now gone beneath the shadow of a look I knew damned well. She’d lost some people, and my uncle was somehow connected. I’d bet money that she blamed my uncle for whatever happened, but my uncle’s power kept her in check. That thought made me a little nervous. Why would this woman fear and suspect my uncle, yet help him? Even for the money, I guessed that tangling with vampires wasn’t a very long-lived or profitable enterprise. Not if it cost you your life.
“That’s gonna change, Becky. I promise.” My uncle said, his voice heavy with solemnity.
“Hope so,” she said and then turned to me and gave me a sad smile. “Don’t get dead, John.”
“Yeah, uh, you too.” I said encouragingly. Yeah, I should write a book of phrases or something.
“Becky, if you find out that those hunters met an unnatural end, let me know.” My uncle called after her as she started walking away. She lifted her hand and waved without turning around. My uncle sighed and folded up the sheets of paper she had produced.
“So, questions?” I asked.
“Wait ‘til we get back in the car,” my uncle grumbled. “I didn’t know the vamps had been that active. Been a long time since a hunter’s been taken out in this city. Someone’s playing a game, trying to get my attention.”
“Seems like they got it.” I said as we began to walk back out of the post office, passing the snoozing clerk again.
“Yeah, bud. They got my attention for damned sure.” He snarled as he pushed open the post office door and we stepped out into the afternoon light.
*****
The black 2011 Dodge Charger was not what I expected my uncle to drive. The car cruised down the street like a panther looking for a tasty station wagon. I tightened my seat belt accordingly.
“So,” I said. “Lady cop—”
“Becky.” My uncle interrupted.
“Becky,” I amended, “Seems scared.”
“Lots of hunters are. The few police in the know are mortified, as you could probably imagine. Plain folks don’t have our natural advantages, and have to make up for it with guile and specialized tools.”
“I meant that she seemed afraid of you.” I said.
“Yeah. It’s hard on ‘em, seein’ one of us use our power.” My uncle pushed in the car’s lighter and continued speaking. “It’s hard to empathize with them, cause our power comes easy as breathin’ most of the time. But think of who would look like the bigger monster if someone were to see you beating down a vampire until he was just a pile of blood and ash.”
“I see your point.” I said.
“Becky shot me twelve times the first night she saw me,” my uncle said with a chuckle. “She got jumped her when she got called in to a domestic. The abuser turned out to be a vamp tearing up some poor gal somethin’ fierce. Beck walked in, put two rounds in the vamp’s gut, and then got thrown out the house through a wall. I imagine things weren’t very clear for her after that, but I showed up immediately after that and put that vamp down. While I put it down, she emptied her magazine into my back.”
“Can’t have been that bad, you’re still breathing.”
“When we call up enough power, bullets aren’t a problem,” He said. “Call up enough power and you can be pretty scary to just about everything. She realized her mistake though, and has been hunting vampires ever since. The last hunt I needed her on ended bad. Things got rough for a minute, and I had to call down a little bit more thunder than normal.”
I struggled to keep from laughing. “You make it sound like you turn into a monster.”
He nodded. My eyes widened.
“Yeah,” he said. “Not much room left for a rational mind when you call up that kind of power, John. I want you to remember that.” The last word struck with finality as my uncle revved the engine. Streets flew by as my uncle drove us to a storage complex, dozens of units built into a series of short buildings. He pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine which growled itself to sleep, and tossed the keys into the air before catching and pocketing them.
“You must really like driving.” I said as we made our way into the maze of storage units.
“When you spend the first couple centuries of your life riding horses or walking from town to town, you learn to appreciate the swiftness of modern travel.” He said, sporting a wolfish smile.
“Why are we here?” I asked as I followed him.
“Can't keep a bunch of potentially criminal weapons at the pawn shop. The police come around a lot, looking for stolen items that might have been sold to me, not limited to weapons matching the rounds I put into walls. Sometimes I swear,” he continued as he pulled out his key ring and selected a key from it and stopped in front of a storage unit with '063' painted on the door. “The biggest obstacle to hunting monsters is people getting in the way.”
He unlocked the door and lifted the door, which slid up into tracks along the ceiling. I followed him into the darkened storage unit and squinted for a moment as the fluorescent lights blinked to life. What I saw inside looked an awful lot to me like a build-your-own-army starter kit.
Dozens of rifles and shotguns of varying calibers and applications lined the left wall. A work bench was positioned against the far wall with what looked like a half-constructed flame thrower resting on it. An array of swords, knives, machetes, even sets of spiked knuckles rested on shelves and racks placed against the right wall. Equipment for handloading ammunition, several tables laden with parts from several weapons, and a grinding wheel crowded the center of the room.
“Yeah, alright, let's see...” My uncle walked around the whole room, rubbing his chin and looking at the racks of weaponry like a connoisseur looking for the perfect bottle of wine. He stopped in front of a strange looking revolver and picked it up, examining it. “Perfect.”
“Looks a little big,” I commented. “Wouldn't you rather just bring a shotgun?”
“Ah, that's the point.” He said with a giggle in his voice. He walked over to one of the standing shelves near the loading equipment and pulled down a plain tan box and opened it. Out of it he pulled what looked like skinny shotgun shells. “This is a .410 bore shotshell. Made it myself.”
I raised an eyebrow as he stuffed five of the skinny sabot rounds into the revolver and snapped the cylinder back into place. “Hey, what about me?”
“Right, right. Let's see if I got it here...” He walked over to the work bench and pulled a cardboard box out from underneath and opened it with a flourish, gesturing for me to come over. I walked up to it honestly expecting a crossbow or sawed off shotgun to be lying at the bottom. Inside the box was neither of those things, but was a mass of folded black leather. I lifted it out of the box, and unfolded the leather jacket. I tried not to imagine myself standing on the set from Mad Max.
“Go ahead, try her on.” My uncle said, grinning over his crossed arms. I slid my arms through it and zipped it up, and was surprised when something in the jacket jabbed me in the ribs.
“What the hell
?” I exclaimed as I unzipped it and opened it to have a closer look at the lining. Leather loops and clasps had been sewn in. A few hidden pockets also had been worked into the jacket.
“Got some Kevlar worked into it, and I fitted it so you could tuck some stakes and stuff in there. We shouldn't really need guns tonight, but there's a sling holster in there too. Go ahead and put it on and take, uh...” He walked along the wall again and selected a gleaming stainless steel Colt 1911A1 from the rack. “Take this with you. When you fit everything the way you like it, go ahead and pick out a stake and a blade. I'm hoping to avoid shooting this vamp up tonight, but you can never be too careful.”
I slid the holster on and tightened the straps until they were comfortable, making sure the gun would point behind me and not at my chest. I then took the magazine out of my handgun and pulled back the slide, looking for brass. Seeing none, I checked my magazine for how many rounds were in it, and saw brass at the nine round mark. I released the slide and slapped in my magazine, placing it in my holster and snapping the restraining strap into place. I walked over to the rack holding swords and stakes and chose the stake that looked like it was whittled from a baseball bat, and a sword with a curved cross guard and heavy pommel. I drew it and took a few practice swings through the air. The metal whistled satisfyingly through the air and the oil on the double edged blade gleamed in the fluorescent light.
“Italian longsword. Not a bad choice. I stick with the old reliable though.” My uncle commented as he held aloft a bowie knife at least a foot long, and tested the edge against his thumb before sheathing it and slipping it onto his belt. “You ever used a sword before?” He asked.
“Nah.” I said as I took another practice swing. “Can’t be that hard though, right? It’s not like the other guy is gonna have one.”
“Good point, but we’ll get you some practice eventually. Using a sword like that is more about speed than finesse or brute force anyway, and that’ll come with your power. You ‘bout set, hoss?”
The Chronicles of a Vampire Hunter (Book 1): Red Ashes Page 7
