The next thirty seconds were a collection of screams followed by gunshots, punches, and attempts by the blood-slaves to turn back on the lights. It was futile, though, and when I flipped the switch, all six men were lying out on the ground prostrate. Even the leader, who had put up a better resistance than all of his men together, was clutching three broken ribs and looking on the verge of unconsciousness.
I picked up all their guns, sorted through them, and chose the one I liked best. The Glock 41 wasn’t a gun I swore by, but it would get the job done. I checked the ammo and noted it wasn’t orihalcum, enchanted, or even silver. No, it was plain ordinary rounds—which might as well have been papier-mâché when used against vampires.
“Well, shit,” I muttered.
You should kill them, Bloody Mary’s voice whispered in my ear. They are evil men and will threaten innocents in the future.
“Fuck off.”
One is bleeding from where he attracted friendly fire. He will die unless he is given the proper medical attention. You are not avoiding taking any more lives, Bloody Mary’s voice chided. You will need all the strength you can get to face Dracula again.
I walked over to the leader, delivered a Vibrating Palm strike to his neck, and took his cellphone. Sitting up, I said, “You guys can tell your bosses I turned out to be someone disguised as Derek Hawthorne, some guy I cast an illusion over maybe, and avoid retaliation, or you can tell them you lost me. Up to you. I’m going to be using your equipment, though, and walking out the front door. Either way, you were out of your league.”
They will betray you. Their loyalty to their masters is strong, Bloody Mary hissed.
I walked over and zip-tied their arms and legs from a box of ties on a shelf in the corner. None of them resisted, though a few were still conscious.
“Maybe,” I said, shrugging. “On the other hand, it annoys you and that’s a big plus.”
Bloody Mary was silent, but I gathered she wasn’t happy with my actions.
Good.
Lifting up my gun, I proceeded to open the door to the bathroom and saw an ordinary-looking middle-class house’s interior. The paint on the walls was an eggshell white and the carpet was a fluffy shade of dark, perhaps to hide any blood that might be tracked in. A staircase led downstairs from where I could hear a humming noise.
Dracula’s actions had left me bereft of resources, contacts, and information in what might as well have been a hostile foreign nation, for how much influence the Vampire Nation could exert. The Vampire Nation kept dozens of sub-stations across the island so they could monitor tourists and conduct business deals. They were usually filled with all manner of equipment, records, and stores of blood to accommodate their masters’ needs.
Creeping down the stairs with my gun raised, I searched for any sign of other personnel in the sub-station. Once I reached the bottom, I saw that the first floor was clean and well-maintained. It could have looked like the home of any normal suburban family if not for three facts. The first was the windows were boarded up, soundproofed, and curtained like the upstairs. The next was that all the furniture had plastic wrap around it. I suppose it was intended to show consideration for guests with messy eating habits. Third, the living room had a massive computer station set up in its center.
Dozens of cables were on the ground, hooked into sixteen separate government-grade Pantheon Corp CPUs that had been modified to work together. These were plugged into a desk that sported a collection of more than a dozen monitors. They were all wired together like a government security room, giving live feeds from businesses around the city (and a few homes).
Sitting at the desk, surrounded by a dozen empty Mountain Dew cans and with a copy of the novel Agent G: Infiltrator was a dreadlocked black man in his mid-thirties. He had a pair of headphones on from which, even from ten feet away, I could hear Coldplay’s “Hurts Like Heaven” playing. The man had a Batman t-shirt on, ripped blue jeans, and a pair of flip-flops that made him look less than intimidating.
Crouching down so he couldn’t see me approach in the monitor’s glare, I came up behind him and put my gun to the back of his head. Pulling his headphones off, I said, “All right, jackass, we’re going to have a conversation. Your answers better be good.”
That was when he turned into a werewolf.
Chapter Fifteen
Well, shit.
In the few seconds I had before the giant wolf tore my throat, I thought about the oddity of my situation. Vampires and werewolves hated each other. It was a feud stretching back centuries when Dracula’s predecessor, the Shadow Queen, had kept most of their race as mind controlled slaves. Why the hell was one working for the Vampire Nation?
It didn’t matter, though—I was screwed either way. Without the Bloodsword drawn or orichalcum ammunition, my chance of defeating one was slim. Werewolves were strong, fast, twice as durable as vampires, could change in an instant, and were capable of healing any wound no matter what form they took. Only magic could kill one forever, and I wasn’t sure I had enough in me after my slaughter of the others.
Watching the massive warg-like monster spring from its chair, I refused to buckle under its attack and grabbed its paws in midair before using my legs to boost the monster over my head. I had to throw my ki into my limbs for enough strength, the wolf weighing about three hundred pounds, but I managed to send it over my head.
The massive red-furred thing slammed against the wall behind me and let out a surprised yelp, allowing me to aim my gun at it. I didn’t hesitate to put about six rounds inside the creature’s chest, inflicting pain if not lasting damage. I was about to put more when I caught the wolf’s yellow-eyed gaze. I’d pissed it off now.
I can help you. Bloody Mary’s voice was like ice against a fever. Soothing and relieving. Just will the sword into my hands and let me drink of the monster’s blood. You have no need to worry about killing anyone you would not normally.
“You possessed me!” I hissed. “I’m not trusting you with anything.”
Is this because of your brother, Stephen?
I didn’t answer. Backing away toward the door, I continued firing, watching the werewolf change again. This time, it took a few seconds because eight or nine rounds were being forced out of its chest, but the being became a seven-foot-tall, fur-covered monstrosity that wasn’t too far removed from the creature from John Landis’s American Werewolf in London.
Realizing there was no chance of fleeing, as a werewolf could outrun some cars, I had the choice of wielding the Bloodsword again or dying. So, I made my choice.
I was nobody’s bitch.
Dropping the gun and clenching my fists, I raised them up and prepared to give as good a fight as I could. Even with magic-enhanced martial arts, I suspected it would last about five seconds, and that’s because I didn’t think the werewolf would knock my head off with the first blow. No, the snarling monster before me looked like it wanted to savor the kill. I was terrified, my knees shaking, and my breath coming in short ragged breaths, but I stood my ground.
Oh, for the Dark Mother’s sake, Bloody Mary muttered.
The demon washed over my mind, and I found myself unable to resist her commands. She animated my jaw, and words came out of my mouth I didn’t speak. “Malcolm, it’s me. I’m sorry for the shooting.”
The werewolf was just a few feet away and lifted claws the size of switchblades to tear out my throat. Then it paused before speaking in a thick, guttural growl, “Derek? Derek Hawthorne?”
What in hell? How did it recognize me?
Exactly, Bloody Mary muttered in my mind. You would do well to submit yourself to my guidance. So many unpleasant misunderstandings could be—
Shut.the.hell.up, I thought back at her.
“Uh, yeah, it’s me,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “Oops?”
The seven-foot-tall werewolf transformed back into the five-foot-five geek I’d seen before. His clothes looked unchanged, another sign of the magical heritage that allowed the
ir species to move instantly from form to form.
“Why you shoot me, D-man?” Malcolm said, rubbing his stomach. “I thought weres and the House being friends?”
“A misunderstanding.” It was a good thing I was an incredible liar. “I took care of the yokels upstairs and wanted to make sure it was you. Then you went all Warren Zevon on me.”
“I almost went a lot worse,” Malcolm said, pointing at me. “Your undercover?”
“Yes,” I said, projecting calm and authority. I also slipped in a slight bit of magic into my voice to accentuate my next words. “Your help has been appreciated through all this. You should tell me it all, so I don’t forget how much I owe you.”
“The Pact doesn’t like the House, but you kill vampires and don’t bring down the law. The Father and Mother of my pack say you good. So, I slip you names and addresses. Might as well give you the whole thing, though. This role busted. Time to take a new skin and look the part of someone else.”
I almost laughed. Malcolm here was a mole in the Vampire Nation’s organization. The Pact was an alliance of the Western Hemisphere’s shapechangers. They enforced the Truth’s suppression almost as vigorously as the House, leading the two powers to maintain an uneasy neutrality with one another. I’d actually been at the treaty renewal in Bright Falls, Michigan last year.
“Good luck with that,” I said, looking at the computers. Thankfully, they were still intact. “I need some help, though, before we head off.”
“About getting that demon out of you or finding that safety deposit box?”
“Err . . .” I trailed off.
Inside me, I swore Bloody Mary felt surprised.
“Werewolves see the other side,” Malcolm said. “You a horse for a bad spirit.”
“Yeah, I sort of noticed.” I then wrinkled my brow. “Is that a problem?”
“Possessed or not, you are killing vampires. No skin off my nose.”
“Good,” I said. “I have it under control.”
I was lying but hopefully he’d accept that. It wasn’t like Pact members cared much about what happened to House personnel. I was annoyed he recognized me, though, which meant that supernaturals were passing around my picture. James Bond being the world’s most famous secret agent in the movies meant he was terrible at his job. Then again, I wasn’t a secret agent anymore, was I?
“Gotcha. You kill a lot of leeches and make my job much easier,” Malcolm said, shrugging. “Mister Fangs be running scared.”
“Your accent is very…unique,” I said.
Malcolm shrugged. “Pack lingo, Nassau streets, blood slave impersonation, television, and MIT. You pick up the lingo where you go. No different from how you say things like ‘collateral’ and ‘sanctioning’ when you mean dead innocents and murder.”
“Point taken.” I was starting to like this guy. “I don’t suppose you know what’s going on in the Red Room right now?”
“Only an outsider’s perspective, yo. The Red Room and the Vampire Nation are both ready for war. They say you dead, which I know is wrong, and you killed the Dracula. Did you?”
“Nothing that will stick.”
“Pity. He needed killing since he was a wee tot in Transylvania.”
“Wallachia.”
“Don’t give a shit.”
I took a deep breath. “I need your help, Malcolm. I need everything you know about Christopher Hang, his wife, any abductions involving vampires, and the United National Interests and Trusts bank. The latter is where the safety deposit box is located.”
“Asked and answered. You sure you don’t want to ask your Dark Rider what’s what?”
“Very much so.”
I could feel Bloody Mary giving a Cheshire cat grin inside the back of my head. She was powerful and had the ability to influence me.
I really needed to get her out of my head.
Malcolm walked over to his computers and inserted a flash drive into the closest console. “Then I’ll tell you what I know. Christopher Hang is bad magic. He’s a cannibal of his own kind, drinking the blood of the older ones and absorbing their power. He lies, manipulates, and kills—growing ever stronger in the Vampire Nation until he was as high as a newborn can go. Then he got a little higher.”
“Sounds like him. What about Annabelle Jones?”
“Deadeye Ann?” Malcolm raised an eyebrow.
“Everybody in this town has a nickname, it seems.”
“Says the Cleaver.” Malcolm shrugged.
“What’s she like?” I needed to understand how Christopher had come to have these sorts of feelings for a woman.
“Insane,” Malcolm said, looking up at the stairs as if expecting the rest of his group to come down. “Deadeye Ann and Black Beth were the two right hands of Dracula, but the former was far more terrifying to vampires. According to legend, she ran away from Dracula after her change and lived a mortal life for decades before he tracked her down. He slew her husband, children, and everyone she knew as a lesson.”
“Sounds like Dracula all right.”
“That’s not where the story ends, though. He locked her up in a coffin for a decade, and when she got out—she exterminated every vampire in Europe.”
“That can’t be right.”
“She had the help of the Red Room and my kind, biggity. Still, the legends tell she was a powerful sorceress before she was turned and beloved of the Hebrew god. His angels led her to hundreds of resting places and turned the Old Country into a tinderbox. Bonapartists blamed English, English blamed Bonapartists, nobles blamed peasants, and peasants got screwed. Same as it always was, just the names are changed.”
I’d been raised on the Red Room’s history since I was able to walk, and I’d never heard anything about Annabelle Jones outside of some dry historical details. I was familiar with the Napoleonic Wars, however, and how said conflict served as a cover for the largest mass destruction of supernaturals in human history—at least until the Great Wars. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest to find the House had gotten creative in recording its history and edited out Annabelle Jones’s role in order to make it look like they’d carried out these purges on their own.
I wasn’t sure how a renegade vampire fit into all of this, though. “So how the hell did she end up back in the Vampire Nation?”
“No idea. Some say it was love for Elizabeth, others say it was because Dracula put her under his mind control, and others still say she renounced the God of Israel when his angels tried to stop her carnage.”
“So, a girl who doesn’t really much care for vampires.”
“Yeah,” Malcolm said, scratching the back of his neck. “I dunno what she saw in Christopher, though. Seems a mismatch made in hell.”
“What about United National?”
“You’d have an easier time breaking into Fort Knox.”
“I did, once, with Shannon. We just needed some uniforms, a few fake ID’s, and a bit of magic. We made off with a private who was infected with a kind of extra-dimensional parasite. Very Aliens.”
“This will be a little harder. United National is the piggy bank for all the Mister Fangs. Digitized magical surveillance, wards, body-heat sensors, lethal countermeasures, and a bunch of blood slaves with demon-possessed dogs. No human customers, either. All business gets done by the leeches themselves or electronically.”
“What about employees?”
“Dracula’s handpicked minions serve as the management. Bred like animals to be more susceptible to his mesmerism than others and addicted to the blood from birth. Everyone else is mesmerized to the point they need to be told to use the crapper over loudspeakers.”
“It’s increasingly apparent Christopher didn’t do me any favors assigning me this job.”
“You think, yo?”
“I don’t suppose you could give me any insights into its interior?” I asked, going for a shot in the dark.
Malcolm smiled, turning around to tap on the keyboard behind him. “You be lucky you dealing
with the master of math-magic, my friend. It take long to replace one of these poor fools as their computer guy. Took much longer to get a backdoor in there. Had to take the skins of many an employee and make it look like the vamps’ idea.”
All the monitors started showing security footage from inside a gray and colorless building. There was something oppressive about the place, even just looking at it. The guards were mean and vicious-looking, while the employees worked with blank stares on their faces. It reminded me of some of the human slavery rings I’d investigated stateside. It also gave me a rough idea about the layout, security, and how to breach it.
“Malcolm, you are a genius.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Don’t trust me. I’m a danger to us both.”
“I said something I don’t know, D.”
I smirked. “Thank you. This information will be an immeasurable help.”
“Still suicide to go in.”
“I’ve gotten into better-guarded places.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He was right not to. Every system had a weakness. As long as there were people behind them, they could be shut down or subverted. That didn’t mean I was capable of pulling it off, especially by myself with minimal resources. Subtlety might be the worst option here. A better one would be to blow a hole in the building, run in with some hired goons, and grab the material within.
No, it would never work. Argh.
It would with me. Give me your consent and I will return the box and its contents to you within the hour. All that is required is a blood sacrifice of someone who deserves to—
Go away. I gritted my teeth. Leave me alone.
Feed my hunger, warrior, or I will make you. Bloody Mary caused my right hand and the muscles in my arm to clench. In an instant, she could make me strike at Malcolm and attack him with the intent to kill. I’d either kill him quickly, the demon turning my fists into weapons that could harm a werewolf, or he’d kill me. I could see it all in my mind, shown in vivid detail by the demon’s power, with the implicit statement she was being polite for only if it suited her purposes.
Eldritch Ops Page 13
