“How much do you know about Drake Matthews and the Night Stalker case?”
“I read the reports from The Boston Globe and The Boston Herald, and talked with Michael Daugherty of the Boston Police.”
“I’m sure Daugherty had some nice things to say about me.” Reese’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
“Daugherty said you were a self-proclaimed expert in the supernatural.”
“I expected as much. The police never took Drake or I seriously.” Reese shook his head. “The truth is, the police screwed up that case. They had all the evidence in front of them and couldn’t recognize it. Or refused to. Only Drake had the courage to accept reality and to act accordingly.”
“And what was the reality?”
“That the police were not dealing with a serial killer but with a vampire.”
Jessica suppressed a sigh. A part of her had hoped that Reese would offer a more valid explanation. Something she could reasonably grasp on to. Nothing she had been told up to now made any sense, unless she was willing to believe that vampires existed. She had not reached that point yet.
“As a historian, you should know there are no such things as vampires.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, for one thing, no one has ever seen a vampire.”
“No one has ever seen God. Does that mean he doesn’t exist?” Reese raised an eyebrow, pleased at his logic. He gestured toward the books lining the shelves. “Besides, the historical records are filled with references to vampires. If you look at the folklore of almost every major culture, they contain stories about the undead living off of human blood. Such legends begin in Asia and the Middle East, and track with the spread of vampires into Europe. The contemporary vampire legends from the Balkans were brought into Europe by the Mongol invasions.”
“Hold on.” Jessica tried to control her frustration. “You don’t honestly expect me to buy all this, do you?”
“Drake said pretty much the same thing. Even told me I was crazy. And I’m sure you agree.”
“I don’t mean to imply…”
“Yes, you do. And I don’t blame you.” Reese spoke with patience and understanding. “I began reading vampire legends as a morbid sidebar to my regular studies. It took years of research, but eventually the evidence became too much for me to ignore. I finally accepted that vampires exist. You don’t have to believe what I tell you. But like I told Drake, believe the evidence.”
Jessica thought about the evidence she had accumulated. An intelligent young boy who adamantly claimed he had been attacked by a monster. Three-hundred-year-old bone fragments from a corpse that had led police on a high-speed chase through Washington. If she listened to Reese’s advice, the evidence led her to a conclusion she still could not accept.
Reese sensed her trepidation. “I know it’s difficult to grasp. But that doesn’t negate the fact that vampires have lived among us for centuries. They use wars, invasions, and pandemics to migrate undetected. They feed off of the homeless, criminals, prostitutes, anyone whose absence would go unnoticed and who the police would not waste resources trying to find. God knows how many missing persons were actually a midnight snack for the undead.”
Jessica shook her head, still unconvinced. “This sounds so fantastic.”
“It’s never easy to imagine the unimaginable. You have to suspend your disbelief, accept the facts, and tell yourself vampires do exist.”
“When I think of vampires, I think of Bram Stoker and Dracula.”
Reese leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Stoker was the best thing to happen to vampires. He romanticized them, made them respectable. Thanks to him, the true horror of these creatures has been forgotten.”
“Hollywood has done a pretty good job…”
“Hollywood has aided vampires more than anyone else.” Reese spat out the sentence, showing an uncharacteristic anger. His tone, however, quickly lost its edge. “They’ve made vampires culturally acceptable. In truth, there are no vampires with souls battling evil. No underground organization of the undead controlling corporate America. No good-natured creatures of the night looking for human sympathy or a way to fit into society. Vampires are pure evil.
“Even worse, Hollywood has generated so many falsehoods about vampires that it’s almost impossible to separate myth from reality.”
“How so?”
“For one thing, vampires don’t sleep in coffins filled with soil from their homeland. They only need to stay out of the sunlight. They can’t turn into bats, wolves, or mist. They’re not repelled by religious symbols, and can enter hallowed ground like a church or cemetery. And they cast reflections in mirrors. Holy water won’t kill them, but it’ll hurt like hell and slow them down a bit. A lot of amateur vampire hunters went into battle without knowing the facts and didn’t live long enough to make it into the pros.”
“How do you know all this?”
“From the memoirs.” Reese said matter-of-factly.
“Now you’re kidding.”
“Thousands of vampires have existed over the centuries. You don’t think it’s conceivable that some of them kept diaries? There’s even rumors of a Vampyrnomicon, a Book of the Undead. Although no one has ever been able to prove its existence.”
“You have a copy of one of these diaries?”
“I wish.” Reese exhaled quickly, part chuckle, part snort. He spoke rapidly, his pace increasing as he became more excited. “I read one several years ago while visiting a monastery in France. They belonged to Andre Augustine, a minor nobleman from Avignon who was turned when vampires ravaged their way across southern France during the Black Death. It dealt with how he had been turned, how he turned others, the realities and myths surrounding vampires, everything. It’s the Bible for vampirologists.”
“Is he still alive?”
“No. Over the centuries Andre went from being a minor nobleman to a member of the aristocracy. During the French Revolution he stayed behind in Paris, hoping to use the chaos to hide his feasting. Instead, Robespierre sent him to the guillotine. Kind of ironic, though. Frances’s vampire community suffered heavily during the Reign of Terror because the Revolution developed the only form of execution that proved effective in killing vampires. Beheading. At least a dozen masters were killed during the 1790s. Almost completely eradicated the Paris coven.”
Reese’s enthusiasm was contagious. Jessica found herself growing fond of him despite his idiosyncrasies. “You enjoy this way too much.”
“I know.” Reese’s enthusiasm drained away. He became sullen and serious. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and fixed his gaze on Jessica. “I really do enjoy this. I’m enthralled by the history and the research. But my involvement has been purely theoretical. I’ve never hunted a vampire. Hell, I’ve never even seen one. Hunting them is Drake’s job, and he’s a natural at it. Him and Alison.”
“You make it sound like a calling. Like the priesthood.”
“In a way it is. Most of the original hunters were holy men. Priests. Monks. Rabbis. Mullahs. Though most of them never lasted more than a few years before being killed. Some were turned themselves and had to be killed by other hunters. I’d hate to see either of those fates befall Drake.”
“I don’t want to see him get hurt either.” Jessica meant it.
“I’m not saying you do. I just want to stress upon you how dangerous Drake’s position is. If you publish any of this, at best you’ll make his job more difficult. At worse, you’ll get him killed.”
“So what should I do?”
“That’s your decision.” Reese sat upright in his chair. “Did you have anything else you wanted to ask?”
“You gave me more than enough information.” Jessica stood and offered her hand. “Thank you for your time.”
“My pleasure.” Reese stood and took her hand, pumping it nervously. Cupping her elbow, he escorted Jessica to the door. “If you have any other questions, just give me a call.”
Once in the bas
ement corridor, Jessica made her way back upstairs and exited the building. As she headed back to the car, her mind tried to grasp everything she had just heard. As crazy as it sounded, what Reese told her had made sense. Which meant she must face the reality that vampires existed, or that she was as crazy as Drake and Reese. Irregardless, she needed to talk with one more person. When she got back to Washington, she would confront Drake Matthews one more time.
* * *
ION TRUDGED THROUGH ONE of the Washington sewer’s sanitation lines, keeping to the left-side walkway that paralleled the two-foot-deep trough containing raw sewerage. Rats scurried away, shrieking in fear as they darted from the evil that walked their lair. Only the cockroaches did not run. Several of the larger ones flew toward Ion and landed on his chest. Ion scooped one onto his index finger and raised it to eye level. Like vampires, these creatures fed off of humans, though these creatures fed off of human waste while his kind fed off of their life. And both would be around long after the humans were gone. Two nearly indestructible life forms, one created by God, the other by Satan. Lifting his finger, Ion gently blew on the cockroach, sending it fluttering down the sewer. He watched the insect until it disappeared into the darkness.
A thin shaft of sunlight cut through the dark, coming from a manhole cover atop a nearby access shaft. This was as good a place as any. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Ion withdrew a cellular phone and flipped it open. Less than half its power remained. Not that it mattered, for he only had to make one call. Having taken it from a young woman who he fed on last night, Ion knew that once the police discovered her shriveled corpse they would trace her missing cell phone. Once he made his call, he would discard the phone in the sewer miles from their row house so the police could not locate the coven.
Ion dialed the phone number for The Washington Standard. When the receptionist answered, he asked to be put through to Jessica Reynolds. The phone rang several times, then after a series of clicks began ringing again. Finally, a woman answered.
“News desk. How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Jessica Reynolds.”
“She’s not here at the moment. Do you want to leave a message?”
“Not really. I need to talk to her directly. It’s about Drake Matthews.”
“Hang on a minute.” Classical music came over the line. It lasted approximately thirty seconds before the woman came back on. “Bill Carter is working that story with Jessica. He’s at his desk. Would you like me to patch you through?”
“Thank you.”
Another series of clicks, then the phone began ringing again. This time a man answered.
“Bill Carter here.”
“Bill, I’m trying to reach Jessica.”
“Is this Dekker?”
Ion had no idea who Dekker was, but decided to play along. “No. But he asked me to call.”
“I don’t remember seeing you at the morgue.”
“I work the graveyard shift.” At least Ion now knew Dekker’s identity. “Dekker needs to talk to Jessica as soon as possible.”
“What about?”
“He didn’t say. When does Jessica get back?”
“Not until late this afternoon. Hang on a second.” A rustling of paper came across the line. “She’s free tonight. Wanna meet at the morgue at eight o’clock? Same as last time?”
“That’ll be great. Thanks.”
“See you then.” A moment’s pause, then Bill asked excitedly, “Wait a minute. I didn’t get your…”
Ion disconnected the call, hit the power button, and, as the cell phone shut down, whipped it down the darkened sewer. He heard the splash as it landed in the sewerage. Everything was arranged. Tonight the coven would deal with that annoying reporter. Once she was taken care of, then they would kill the hunters.
Turning around, Ion headed back to the row house to make the final preparations.
9.
DRAKE SAVORED THESE rare moments of downtime. Seated at an outdoor table at the Dunkin’ Donuts in Dupont Circle, he had everything he needed for a late afternoon of relaxation: a Macanudo cigar, a cup of iced coffee, and a folded-over issue of Fangoria. There were too many passersby, however, for him to concentrate on reading. Tossing the magazine onto the metal table, Drake took a long draw on his cigar and sat back to people watch. The sun already had begun to set, cooling the spring evening even further.
All things considered, Drake felt pretty positive about how events were panning out. Alison had been released from the hospital Saturday afternoon with a clean bill of health, and was recuperating faster than anticipated. In fact, she was already itching to get back into the fray. Jim had shown himself to be a ball of fire, creating an impressive arsenal designed specifically to fight vampires. Had it not been for his holy water bullets, Alison probably would have become one of them. Granted, Friday night’s fiasco definitely would not rank as their finest moment. Next time, though, the outcome would be different.
Drake took a long draw on his cigar.
“Those are bad for your health.”
Looking over his shoulder, Drake saw Jessica standing behind him.
“These? They’re the least of my problems.” He sat up, then gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Will you join me?”
“I was hoping you’d ask.” Jessica crossed to the chair and sat down. Drake noticed that tonight she wore a black business suit and pink blouse. He could easily get used to seeing her more often.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.
“No, thanks.”
“Are you sure? My treat. That’s a rare event.”
“I’m fine.” Jessica smiled. Drake wondered if the smile indicated professional courtesy or flirtation. Jessica withdrew her notepad from her pocket. “I’m curious, though. Are you just being polite? Or does this mean you’ve agreed to talk to me?”
“Both. I’m going to have to give you an interview sooner or later. You don’t seem like the type who’ll take no for an answer.”
“Damn straight.”
“Then go ahead. I’m yours.”
Again the smile. “Okay. Let’s cut right to the chase. What is it you do here in Washington?”
Drake took a long puff on his cigar, purposefully drawing out his answer. He blew the smoke into the air, picked up his iced coffee, and answered the question before drinking. “I hunt vampires.”
No response. Jessica stared at him. Her face showed no emotion. She did not even blink. After a few seconds she quietly said, “I can’t believe you admitted to that.”
“So you don’t believe me?”
“Actually, I do.” Jessica exhaled heavily. “A part of me was hoping you’d tell me something different. Something more easily explainable.”
“Sorry.” Drake drank another sip of coffee. “It’s not an easy reality to grasp.”
“How long did it take you to grasp it?”
“Too long.” Drake took another puff on the cigar. As he exhaled, he shifted in his chair to lean closer to Jessica. “Like you, I talked with Reese before my first run-in with the undead. I didn’t believe him either until we encountered our first vampire.”
“Bad?”
“Nearly fatal. The only reason Alison and I survived was because of what Reese had told me. It made me a believer.”
“How did you wind up hunting vampires down here in Washington?”
“Bad luck.”
“Seriously.”
Drake took another drink of coffee, using the time to formulate his thoughts. “Shortly after being fired from the Boston Police, I received a phone call from a man I know only as Smith. Over dinner one night, he told me that a nest had been discovered here in Washington, and said someone powerful wanted me to exterminate them.”
“And of course you said yes.”
“I had nothing on my calendar for the next few months, so I figured why not.” Drake leaned back in his chair. “That was three months ago. I’ve been hunting them ever since.”
&n
bsp; “Who’s your anonymous benefactor?”
“No idea.”
Jessica scrunched up her face, obviously not buying his answer.
“I’m serious. The only person I ever deal with is Smith. Whoever Mister X is, I’m guessing he is very powerful.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever we need gets taken care of in no time. Office space. Apartments. Vehicles. Supplies. He even bails us out no matter how much trouble we get into.”
“Which is more often that not?” Again the flirtatious smile.
“Sometimes it seems that way. I hope Mister X never loses his power and prestige, otherwise I’m going to be spending a lot of time in jail.”
“If that happens, I want dibs on your prison interview.”
“Deal.”
Jessica became serious again. “How many vampires have you killed since moving to Washington?”
“About a dozen. But no where near enough to clean out the nest.”
Jessica stared at him incredulous. “You’re joking?”
“Nope.”
“How many vampires are there to a nest?”
“The numbers vary.” Drake practically sighed the answer, for he knew better than anyone else the seeming futility of his endeavor. “Whenever a vampire feeds, its victim becomes one of the undead. Their numbers increase exponentially. Killing one a week barely makes a dent in a nest.”
“So then conceivably, if not cleaned out, a nest could eventually overrun a city?”
Drake nodded.
For the first time, Jessica seemed stunned by what she heard. An uneasy silence lapsed as Jessica processed Drake’s story.
“One thing I don’t understand,” she finally said. “You can’t want any of this revealed to the public, so why are you telling it to me?”
“You know the answer to that.” Drake took a long draw on his cigar, all the time watching Jessica for her reaction. She thought about Drake’s response, her brow furrowed in thought. Suddenly her eyes opened wide as the realization struck her.
“You bastard,” she said quietly. “You told me all this because you know damn well I’ll never be allowed to go public with it. If I go to my editor with this story, I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t transfer me to the paper’s Kiddie Korner.”
The Vampire Hunters: Book I of The Vampire Hunters Trilogy Page 18
