Kade

by Christopher Woods

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the final players in our little drama, the Reinhumation Specialists of the Quinton Morris Group!” the Special said into the mike.

  “Fuck me running,” I said.

  “With a rusty chainsaw,” Jed finished.

  The two groups of vampires turned to face us.

  “Remind me to kick Michael in his balls when we get back to the office,” I said.

  “You’re going to have to get in line behind me to do it,” Jed replied.

  “You can leave now, mortals,” the blonde said with a slight German accent. She had occult patterns tattooed around her eyes, which had to be a bitch, because she would have had to have them redone every six months or so. Vampires heal.

  “Like, fershure, this totally doesn’t involve you,” the Hispanic said, her accent pure San Fernando Valley.

  “Jed, did I ever tell you how I feel about Valley Girls?” I asked, raising my voice.

  “No…”

  “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill ‘em,” I replied, swinging my UMP up and cratering the Valley vampire’s chest with three rounds into the fragile set of blood vessels above the heart. Sure, the pump still works, but there’s nothing connected to it for what passes as blood in a vampire to spread. On top of that, company-issue bullets are frangible silver, to which vampires have an adverse reaction.

  With that, the dance was on. The damn Special in the DJ booth at least had the good sense to put on Rammstein. Mien Teil came thundering out of the speakers as we started killing vampires. Gunny ran his M1897 Trench Gun dry in five shots, dropped it to hang by a patrol sling, and switched to his ancient, family 1911. I ran my UMP dry on Valley Vamp’s minions, then dropped the magazine and reloaded in time to dump the second full magazine into the Butch Vampire as she leaped toward the ceiling to clear the tables between us and the dance floor. As soon as Butch Vamp went down, the remaining vampires froze.

  “Glamour,” the Special called, stepping out of the booth. “I can control a lot of lesser vampires, but not until you got those two randy cunts thinking about how much they hurt.”

  “You. Fucking. Asshole,” I panted.

  Combat is cardio, I don’t care what anyone else says.

  “Yes?” he replied.

  I looked him over. He was wearing a red zoot suit—red-pegged trousers and a long red jacket with wide shoulders over the ubiquitous white peasant shirt, topped with a red, wide-brimmed hat. He even had on red-tinted glacier glasses.

  I felt his mind try to probe mine, then beamed as he bounced off.

  “My that hurt,” he replied.

  “You know, we don’t work with Michelangelo for nothing,” Jed replied. Apparently the mind probe had been general, not specific.

  I went through the messy side of the business—staking and beheading—assisted by Capdepon. Crash helped Jed sort out the normal survivors, followed by prepping the live lesser vampires for transport. The Special leaned against a wall, maintaining control of the lesser vampires until we could move them out. Once all the work was done so the cleaners could move in, and the lesser vampires were moved out of Eyelash, I stepped wearily to the Special.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “You can call me,” he paused dramatically, “Tim.”

  I kicked him in the nuts with a steel-toed boot. Even in the undead, it’s a sensitive spot.

  * * * * *

  Get “Shadow Lands” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KX8GHYX/.

  Find out more about Lloyd Behm, II and “Shadow Lands” at:

  https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/lloyd-behm-ii/.

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of The Darkness War:

  Psi-Mechs, Inc.

  ___________________

  Eric S. Brown

  Available Now from Blood Moon Press

  eBook and Paperback

  Excerpt from “Psi-Mechs, Inc.:”

  Ringer reached the bottom of the stairs and came straight at him. “Mr. Dubin?” Ringer asked.

  Frank rose to his feet, offering his hand. “Ah, Detective Ringer, I must say it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Ringer didn’t accept his proffered hand. Instead, he stared at Frank with appraising eyes.

  “I’m told you’re with the Feds. If this is about the Hangman killer case…” Ringer said.

  Frank quickly shook his head. “No, nothing like that, Detective. I merely need a few moments of your time.”

  “You picked a bad night for it, Mr. Dubin,” Ringer told him. “It’s a full moon out there this evening, and the crazies are coming out of the woodwork.”

  “Crazies?” Frank asked.

  “I just locked up a guy who thinks he’s a werewolf.” Ringer sighed. “We get a couple of them every year.”

  “And is he?” Frank asked with a grin.

  Ringer gave Frank a careful look as he said, “What do you mean is he? Of course not. There’s no such thing as werewolves, Mr. Dubin.”

  “Anything’s possible, Detective Ringer.” Frank smirked.

  “Look, I really don’t have time for this.” Ringer shook his head. “Either get on with what you’ve come to see me about, or go back to wherever you came from. I’ve got enough on my hands tonight without you.”

  “Is there somewhere a touch more private we could talk?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” Ringer answered reluctantly. “This way.”

  Ringer led Frank into a nearby office and shut the door behind them. He walked around the room’s desk and plopped into the chair there.

  “Have a seat,” Ringer instructed him, gesturing at the chair in front of the desk.

  Frank took it. He stared across the desk at Ringer.

  “Well?” Ringer urged.

  “Detective Ringer, I work for an organization that has reason to believe you have the capacity to be much more than the mere street detective you are now,” Frank started.

  “Hold on a sec.” Ringer leaned forward where he sat. “You’re here to offer me a job?”

  “Something like that.” Frank grinned.

  “I’m not interested,” Ringer said gruffly and started to get up. Frank’s next words knocked him off his feet, causing him to collapse back into his chair as if he’d been gut-punched.

  “We know about your power, Detective Ringer.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ringer said, though it was clear he was lying.

  “There’s no reason to be ashamed of your abilities, Detective,” Frank assured him, “and what the two of us are about to discuss will never leave this room.”

  “I think it’s time you left now, Mr. Dubin,” Ringer growled.

  “Far from it,” Frank said. “We’re just getting started, Detective Ringer.”

  Ringer sprung from his seat and started for the office’s door. “You can either show yourself out, or I can have one of the officers out there help you back to the street.”

  Frank left his own seat and moved to block Ringer’s path. “I have a gift myself, Detective Ringer.”

  Shaking his head, Ringer started to shove Frank aside. Frank took him by the arm.

  “My gift is that I can sense the powers of people like yourself, Detective,” Frank told him. “You can’t deny your power to me. I can see it in my mind, glowing like a bright, shining star in an otherwise dark void.”

  “You’re crazy,” Ringer snapped, shaking free of Frank’s hold.

  “You need to listen to me,” Frank warned. “I know about what happened to your parents. I mean what really happened, and how you survived.”

  Frank’s declaration stopped Ringer in his tracks.

  “You don’t know crap!” Ringer shouted as Frank continued to stare at him.

  “Vampires are very real, Detective Ringer.” Frank cocked his head to look up at Ringer as he spoke. “The organization I work for…We deal with them, and other monsters, every day.�
��

  Ringer stabbed a finger into Frank’s chest. It hurt, as Ringer thumped it repeatedly against him. “I don’t know who you are, Mr. Dubin, but I’ve had enough of your crap. Now take your crazy and get the hell out of my life. Do I make myself clear?”

  The pictures on the wall of the office vibrated as Ringer raged at Frank. Frank’s smile grew wider.

  “You’re a TK, aren’t you?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t even know what that is!” Ringer bellowed at him.

  “You can move objects with your mind, Detective Ringer. We call that TK. It’s a term that denotes you have telekinetic abilities. They’re how you saved yourself from the vampire who murdered your family when you were thirteen.”

  Ringer said nothing. He stood, shaking with fear and rage.

  “You’re not alone, Detective Ringer,” Frank told him. “There are many others in this world with powers like your own. As I’ve said, I have one myself, though it’s not as powerful or as physical in nature, as your own. I urge you to have a seat, so we can talk about this a little more. I highly doubt your captain would be as understanding of your gift as I and my employer are if it should, say, become public knowledge.”

  “Is that a threat?” Ringer snarled.

  Frank shook his head. “Certainly not. Now if you would…?” Frank gestured for Ringer to return to the chair behind the desk.

  Ringer did so, though he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

  “There’s so much to tell you, Detective Ringer; I’m afraid I don’t even know where to begin,” Frank said.

  “Then why don’t you start at the beginning, and let’s get this over with,” Ringer said with a frown.

  “Right then.” Frank chuckled. “Let’s do just that.”

  * * * * *

  Get “Psi-Mechs, Inc.” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DKCCQJZ/

  Find out more about Eric S. Brown and “The Darkness War” at:

  https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/eric-s-brown/.

  * * * * *