Love In Death

by Elizabeth Stokes

Quickly, Allison opened the back door of her car and pulled out the flamethrower. She slung it on her back and attached the barrel to the hook on the side, feeling the panicked rushing that a child does when he races up the stairs from a dark basement. Even though the flamethrower was the most effective long-range weapon, and she still had her sidearm with her which wasn’t entirely useless, she felt horribly exposed.

  Doubt crept into Allison’s mind, but she shook it off. She wasn’t even sure it was her own doubt.

  The Sieve’s words from ages ago echoed in her mind: Didn’t your boyfriend tell you that we can get inside your head?

  Allison shook it off. She would not allow self-doubt to stop her from her mission.

  Next came her grenade belts. She hung each around her neck and slung them over opposite shoulders, making sure the grenades were exposed for ease of access and none of them were trapped against her body.

  Finally, Allison grabbed the stakes and lifted them over her head. She dropped them into a makeshift quiver that Georgia had fashioned between the tanks of her flamethrower. It wasn’t the safest alteration you could do to tanks of flammable gas on your back, but it gave her quick and easy access to the traditional vampire weapons.

  Allison slowly stepped through the threshold of the house. She pulled the barrel of the flamethrower off its hook and held it forward, as if it were a shotgun she used for home security. As she stepped through the doorway, she reached back and grabbed the handle, swinging it closed behind her. The heavy door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows. A chandelier hanging in the foyer swayed softly back and forth, making the shadows wobble around her.

  It didn’t bother her to be locked in the house with what was likely a deadly pit of vampires. She was more concerned with sounds. It would only take a couple grenades going off before someone might hear it and report it to the police. The more time she had to take care of her business with the Sieve, the better.

  With the door closed, the house was suddenly eerily quiet. The sound of the wind, trees, and distant traffic outside was dampened to the point of nonexistence. It seemed almost peaceful in the foyer, but Allison knew this would likely not last.

  A staircase ascended right off the foyer, and Allison leaned into it to look upstairs. She saw nothing, but that did not mean it was abandoned. At first, Allison considered firing a warning shot from the flamethrower up the stairs, but then thought better. Not only was her fuel limited, but she didn’t want to set the house on fire before she could find the Sieve.

  Instead, Allison took several cautious steps towards the center of the house. She could see a large sitting room ahead of her, and a kitchen beyond that. Lots of doors around her. Lots of blind corners.

  Allison was at a tactical disadvantage, but she didn’t care. She knew there was a strong possibility she was walking into a trap. At the very least, she was walking into an unknown, but there was no way to avoid this.

  As she moved through the sitting room towards what appeared to be a kitchen in the back, she heard a hiss to her right. Allison spun just in time to see a newborn leap at her from the corner.

  Without hesitation, Allison raised the barrel of the flamethrower and pressed the trigger. A bright blade of fire shot out and engulfed the newborn, who immediately dropped to the ground, screaming. A foul stench, like burning tires, immediately filled the air as the newborn burned in a pillar of black smoke.

  Then Allison heard multiple footsteps above, moving towards the foyer. She turned around to face the entrance, and she heard scrambling down the stairway. Regretting her decision to not fire a warning flame up the stairs, Allison pulled two coated grenades from her belt. The pins yanked out as she removed them, and the safety levers popped off. Almost casually, she tossed both grenades into the foyer, then took cover against the wall. A moment later, she heard the grenades explode, rattling shrapnel against the other side of the wall. She heard the squealing of newborns and then their thrashing on the ground.

  There was still movement on the other side of the wall, so Allison pulled two incendiary grenades from the other belt and tossed them into the foyer, again taking refuge behind the wall.

  This time, when the grenades went off, only silence followed... well, silence and the sound of fire.

  Then there was a sudden screech to her right. Allison turned to see a newborn charging at her. It was too close to be dispatched with explosives or flame, so Allison reached behind her to whip out a stake from her quiver on the flamethrower. She managed to bring the stake down fast enough to catch the newborn squarely in the face. As the shaved-down wooden dowel plunged into the newborn’s head, it immediately went limp and collapsed on top of Allison.

  Allison then scrambled away, pushing the body off of her and quickly raising to her feet.

  “Brava,” came a voice from the corner. Allison looked towards the kitchen and saw the Sieve standing casually, his shoulder leaning on the door jamb between the sitting room and the kitchen.

  “You...” Allison seethed.

  The Sieve smiled. “That was impressive, detective Pratt,” he said. His face was still horribly scarred from her stabbing him last night.

  Allison raised the barrel of the flamethrower and pointed it at the Sieve. He lifted his hands up, playfully surrendering.

  “You don’t want to do that,” he said.

  “You have no idea what I want,” Allison replied coldly.

  “Trust me,” the Sieve said. “You’re going to want to see this.” He beckoned to her and turned to walk into the kitchen area. Allison cautiously followed. She came through the doorway to the kitchen, which was sizeable, large enough to prepare meals for a couple dozen people. Allison figured this place was once a part of the housing for the private school, or at least a classroom setting with study rooms and a small cafeteria.

  The Sieve was standing by a set of ranges, next to a large white door. He cocked his head at the door.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” he said.

  “Sure,” Allison said, stepping forward with the flamethrower barrel. “Let’s.”

  “Not so fast. It’s close quarters down there, Detective. Loose the weapons.”

  Allison did not move. She stared the Sieve down.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I’m not taking you down there loaded for bear.”

  Allison continued to stare at him. After a moment, she said, “Why don’t I just kill you now and go down there myself after you’re done burning.”

  The Sieve grinned. “Because if you did that, neither of us would get any answers.”

  He continued to stare at her. Allison did not move.

  “Listen, Detective Pratt. I’m not here to kill you. I’m here for answers. And while I’m sure you’re here for revenge – just as sore at me for what I did to your lover as I am that you burned my cover at the warehouse in the Flats – you’re also hoping for answers.”

  He paused again, but Allison did not move.

  “You’re hoping for answers, Detective,” the Sieve continued. “Answers about Xander Reese. Answers that you didn’t even know there was a question for.”

  Allison felt her face grow hot with anger. She wasn’t just mad at the Sieve for invoking Xander’s name; she was mad at herself for allowing it to visibly get to her.

  But he was right, damn it. She did want answers. She didn’t want Xander to have died in vain, to be so casually tossed aside by this monster. She wanted to know why Xander had to die.

  Allison then took a deep breath and lowered the flamethrower barrel. She reached behind her head and pulled the quiver of stakes from her back. She dropped them, and they spilled across the floor, rattling like dropped silverware.

  “That’s more like it,” the Sieve said, grinning.

  Allison slid the flamethrower off of her shoulders, looking defeated, vulnerable.

  “Don’t worry, Detective,” the Sieve added. “You haven’t lost. We will both emerge from this with the answers we want, I’m sure.”

  Alli
son set the flamethrower down and then unhooked the belt of wood-shrapnel grenades. She let that drop to the floor.

  “I hate you,” she said through clenched teeth. She unhooked the belt of incendiary grenades next.

  “Yes,” the Sieve said. “I know you do.”

  And then Allison charged. Hot tears were flowing from her eyes, and an emotional scream cracked from her throat. “I hate you!” she yelled, closing the distance between herself and the Sieve in a matter of seconds.

  The Sieve, while surprised, did not look even vaguely threatened. In fact, he looked positively giddy at her sudden burst of emotion. He even chuckled as she slammed into him.

  Allison, almost out of control, smacked him in the face with her left hand, like a child on a playground in her first fight.

  The Sieve held up a hand, easily blocking her open palm from smacking him in the face, a pathetic gesture. “Now, Detective Pratt,” the Sieve said, chuckling. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”

  And then, with a single fluid movement using her right hand, Allison wrapped the belt of incendiary grenades around the Sieve’s neck and pulled tight. She took his moment of stunned silence to reach up with her left hand and pull one of the safety pins from a grenade securely wedged between the belt and the Sieve’s neck.

  “Stop!” the Sieve yelled, panic in his voice, but it was not directed at Allison. He was looking over her shoulder, and Allison turned ever so slightly to see a group of newborns ready to charge into the kitchen.

  “Now, Seigneur,” she said, suddenly very calm. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”

  The Sieve’s eyes moved to look directly at Allison. “Well played, Detective.”

  “You know what this is?” she asked, yanking hard on the belt of grenades like a leash.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve pulled the pin from one of them against your neck. If I let go...” Allison then loosened her grip ever so slightly. She felt the belt go slack a bit, and the Sieve’s eyes got wider. She tightened her grip, holding the incendiary grenade against the back of his spine.

  “I get the idea,” the Sieve said softly.

  “We killed you once,” Allison said. “How are you still alive?”

  The Sieve paused, and Allison let the slack return to the belt a bit. He quickly answered, “I don’t know.”

  Allison looked at him, curious. She honestly hadn’t expected that answer from him.

  “What do you mean ‘I don’t know’?”

  The Sieve shrugged. “Just that. I don’t know. We don’t come with an owner’s manual.”

  Allison nodded. She remembered Xander telling her something similar to that. There was no set of rules that was handed out to anyone who became a vampire. The oldest living creatures like Anton – or Amun – had amassed information over the years, but now Allison realized that even he may not have had all the answers. Like humanity continually trying to figure out their own physiology with modern medicine, Allison realized that the vampires had no more deeper understanding of how they work either.

  “What’s downstairs?” she asked.

  “Oh, you want to go down there now?”

  Allison yanked on his grenade leash and led him to the large white door. “I’m ready now.”

  The Sieve reached forward and slowly pulled the door towards himself, which opened to a dark stairwell.

  “I wasn’t kidding when I said it was close quarters down there,” the Sieve said. “If these things around my neck go off, it will kill us both.”

  “I know,” Allison said coldly. “I’m okay with that.”

  The Sieve nodded. “I suppose you are,” he said. Then added, “So be it.”

  Allison led the Sieve forward like a vicious dog on a leash. She walked closely behind him down the stairs, holding tight on the belt of grenades. It was dark in the basement, and she could hear some noises coming from below. Most of what she heard were feet scrambling, which she assumed would be more newborns awaiting their master.

  Allison knew this was potentially a very foolish move, but she had a bit of an upper hand. If the Sieve truly did not know why or how he had survived death before, it was unlikely he would be so bold as to risk getting killed by a grenade going off against his neck.

  She grinned just a tad as they descended, realizing she had managed to recapture the element of surprise.

  As if to answer her question, the Sieve said, “Like I told you, I do not know why I came back from the dead after your lover killed me in that warehouse months ago. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been trying to figure it out. It’s not like there’s a branch of Harvard Medical School doing research on vampire physiology. It’s a bit of a do-it-yourself sort of study.”

  “You’re experimenting on your own kind?” Allison asked, disgusted.

  “Oh, let’s not get sentimental about it,” the Sieve said.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs, which opened to a large boiler room. Several formidable tanks and machines lined the walls, with pipes snaking up to the ducts that led to the rest of the house. On the far side of the room, flanked by two small groups of newborns, was a massive structure. It appeared to be an ancient metal tank with several dials and pipes growing out of it. Most of the pipes were sealed off only a few inches above the top of the tank, aside from one large spout traveling straight up against the wall. Allison assumed this was the original boiler to the building, which had long since been replaced by newer equipment. She could see that the boiler tank was open at the far end, but she could not see into it yet. They were still too far away. However, she did see four small flames dancing lightly at the end of pipes that led from smaller storage tanks under the boiler to the front of the open end. Allison realized this looked similar to – though more rustic and larger than – the design for the flamethrower she wore tonight.

  “The problem is,” the Sieve continued, “newborns don’t make good experiment subjects. And not just because they never come back to life... which they don’t. They’re unrefined... unformed.”

  The Sieve slowly led Allison to the large boiler tank. The newborns backed away cautiously, but obediently.

  “And even if I could get my hands on medical scanning equipment, it would do no good,” the Sieve continued. “If you can’t take an effective photograph of a vampire, you’re not going to do too well with a CAT scan or an MRI.”

  Allison knew this to be true. She remembered several months ago trying to take a picture of Xander with her iPhone. However, his face was blemished and marred in the photograph. Unlike legend, which said vampires could not cast a reflection, Xander explained there was something about the electrical field their bodies generate. Every creature with a nervous system generates an electric field, but it’s almost negligible. However, something unique about vampires’ nervous systems made them improperly expose photosensitive material and lenses.

  “But then,” the Sieve continued, “I found the perfect test subject.”

  The Sieve, always with a flare for the dramatic, timed this statement to he and Allison coming around to the front of boiler tank, allowing her to see what was inside.

  Allison felt her legs grow weak, and for a moment she thought she would pass out.

  It was Xander.

  And he was alive.

  He was naked, bruised, beaten, and barely conscious, chained in a spread-eagle position to the inside of the tank.

  But he was alive.

  “Xander...” Allison said.

  In the boiler tank, Xander raised his head slightly and opened his mouth to speak.

  And this is when the Sieve gained his element of surprise. He reached up and clamed a clawed hand over Allison’s which held the grenade to his neck. Then he yanked away, and she lost her grip. The Sieve, still clutching the grenade belt to his own neck, fled to the stairs. Allison turned to see him carefully remove the belt from around his neck, being sure to hold tightly on the safety latch to the trigger grenade.

  “Yes, Detective,” the Sieve said, “
Xander came back to life, too. Somehow he is alive, and I think you are the key.”

  The groups of newborns that had been flanking the boiler tank started to close in on Allison.

  “Let’s test that theory, shall we?” the Sieve said.

  Then he tossed the belt of grenades right at Allison and disappeared up the stairs.

  Allison looked into the boiler tank and locked eyes with Xander. He mouthed a single word:

  “Go!”

  Allison took her chance. She ran to the only safe place that she could get to quickly – behind the boiler tank. She barely got behind it and into a crouched position with her hands over her head when the belt of grenades exploded in a ball of heat, noise, and shrapnel.

  CHAPTER 31

  Had she not known there was a massive cushion of metal between her and the blast, Allison would have never believed it. The concussion from the explosion hit her like a massive fist, slamming her against the hard stone walls of the basement, causing her to clamp her teeth shut so hard she felt like she chipped a tooth. Her shoulder took the brunt of the impact against the wall, and a bright, searing pain shot through her arm. It was likely that she broke her arm in at least one place, but the power of the blast left her in such shock that she could hardly feel anything so specific. Numbness spread from her scalp down into her boots, yet she still managed to feel stinging knives of pain stabbing through her bones.

  The air seemed to have caught fire, and fortunately Allison had quick enough reflexes to cover her face. Her clothes were not as lucky, though as they were singed and torn. She could hear a crackling on top of her, and she immediately realized that her hair was on fire.

  With the instinctive reaction of a trained professional, Allison dropped to the ground and rolled over, patting her head with her hands, then wrenched her coat over her shoulders to smother the flames.

  A moment later, the fire in her hair had been extinguished, and the throbbing stabs of pain resumed in her arms, adrenaline receding.

  Allison stood quickly, ignoring the fact that the room surrounding her was on fire. Or rather, the flammable things in the room were. The metal, the stone, and the dirt floor were hot and sizzling, but otherwise not ablaze. Still, Allison knew she had to get out of here soon. A fire in such an enclosed space not only would produce toxic fumes that could quickly overcome her, but she also knew there was only a limited amount of oxygen down here. Spending too long in this basement would be her undoing as the fire consumed the one thing in the air keeping her alive.