Night 10

Kris awoke. It was a slow and gentle transition, his eyes were still shut, his mind was groggy and empty, his breath was still very slow and he was chilled. He was rested. He could feel the contentedness of his body. He took a deep breath and his lungs filled with air; refreshing, sharp air. He stretched out, his legs burning as he twisted his feet around to get the most out of it and then he rolled his shoulders and his back crackled slowly. He took another deep breath and let his lungs fill up slowly, stretching them and his eyes opened as the oxygen warmed his body. He stretched his arms, reaching out for nothing and feeling the muscles ache as the tension slowly left them. He sat up and opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the little light that was present in the room. His eyelids were still heavy and his body was still tight. He threw back the sheets and stood up on the cold floor. He stretched again, holding it, and then moving to tighten the stretch in intervals. He groaned as his muscles and bones creaked, forcing a yawn that drew in more of the night air and opened his eyes wider. He popped his neck and felt a little more awake. He braced his hands across his abs and pulled his shoulders back until he felt a satisfying pop along his spine, his lungs tingled as they opened up further. Finally, he was awake.

He walked over to a pile of his clothes and looked at them in question. Then he noticed a piece of paper. He picked it up and read the hurried scribbles:

Hey Kris,

I took the liberty of jacking your keys and went to get some of your stuff. Figured you could use a better selection. Turns out all you really had were some clothes so I got some.

Brick.

He decided he would take a shower and brush his teeth. Moments later he was under the hot water, his muscles begging for the soothing heat. He scrubbed himself, trying to clean off the nastiness of the last week or so. He tasted the salt from his sweat rolling off his forehead and then the taste of the water was clean, pure, hot water. He watched dirt and grime fall from his skin and he seemed to turn paler. He turned off the water and rested a moment before grabbing his towel and drying off. Then he found his toothbrush and razor waiting for him. He cleaned himself up and then went to the room.

He pulled on a pair of blue plaid boxers and a T-shirt. He chose a set of loose, dark jeans and then grabbed a flannel shirt. Maybe it was outdated, but it was more efficient than Brick’s printed tee’s and stylized jeans that were faded and worn to start out with. He rolled the button sleeves up to just above his elbows and adjusted the sleeves of his white V-neck tee. He ran his hands through still damp, dirty blonde hair and stared into the mirror at his ice cold blue eyes. He seemed more vicious, like the lion that was out to kill cheetahs instead of gazelles.

He looked over to his trench coat and picked it up. He fingered a bullet hole and chuckled, and then there was a knife slash that he smiled at. Claw and teeth marks marred the leather in several places and the edges were worn, especially on the belt, he had used it countless times for a tool. He laid the coat on the bed with the inside up and sprawled out so he could see the holsters.

He picked up his six shot revolver, always loaded with silver bullets, all from an outdated collection that was hidden in his apartment. He slid it into place. He picked up six sturdy oak stakes and set them into their loops along what would be the small of his back. He took out two Glock 9 millimeters and slid those into their holsters just inside the coat’s folds where they would be easy to grab. Then he picked up the old Ithaca with the beautiful scrolling designs on the barrel and the stock. He stroked the weapon, remembering how many times the flammable rounds that he used with it had saved his life from the undead. He put it in the coat. Then he picked up the black and red hilted katana with the gold stitching that had been rumored to have belonged to a great hunter from the east, designed to kill the undead. It had proved the only metal that Kris had ever seen leave a telling scar on a vampire. He had learned to trust the legend, and why not, he lived in one. He swung it and felt the blade as though it was an extension of his arm and his strength. It was a part of him. He was more comfortable with the coat and all of its interesting occupants than when Kahmir had first returned it to him. He slid the katana into its scabbard and then pulled a knife onto his leg before putting on his tennis shoes. Then he slid into the trench. He looked into the mirror. He was back.

He stepped out of the room, walked down the hall and then out into the main room. Brick was loading the old blue van with more weapons. He walked down the ladder silently. His coat only making the slightest ruffling, he moved from pile of boxes to table to behind a vehicle until he was standing right behind the new hunter. Brick was green, young, unused to the laws of the dead. Kris drew his sword and put the blade to Brick’s throat. “Just so easy, you die now. Forget the thugs, the robbers and ever the Army Rangers because you hunt the perfect killing machines. They blend into shadows, they control thoughts and emotions, people are their puppets. They were warriors and manipulators before this country was or this land hinted at. They have ruled the darkness and yet you do not even know they are in it. Tonight, you go to die.”

Brick turned slowly at the sound of Kris’ voice. He watched the hunter, ten years of experience in the most deadly of arenas, walk around him with catlike grace and a presence that was as unnerving as any of the undead that he had come across. It was unreal the way that a man could become so terrifying. Next to Kris, the blade at Brick’s throat was a mere afterthought, a flicker next to a flame. Kris took the blade away and in a slight flurry of black the sword was gone from his hand. Brick stepped back.

“So, are you ready to go after Domitius? I’m sure he’ll be having another grand party, a party we’re going to crash.”

Brick smiled, “Hell yeah, let’s do this shit.”

“Don’t forget, you’re the backup, don’t do anything stupid. Leave the real fighting to me, for now. So, what’s new in the van?”

“Not much, but there are more guns, fire rounds, and I loaded some nitroglycerine in some very nice packages. Their safe for the trip, but if you toss the shit at a bloodsucker, boom, bits and pieces. It’s not very much, all of it together wouldn’t be enough to take out a building, but for human size critters it should do wonders. Added some stuff for me, just because I figured I would be spending a lot of time in the van, wanted to make sure I didn’t die while you were getting your ass kicked.”

“Alright,” Kris checked his watch, “Ten-thirty. Let’s give it an hour, that’ll be time to collect ourselves and calm our minds, then we’ll hit the place when it’s hopping.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Brick looked up, “Hey, I’ll grab some food, want something.”

“A sandwich, a big one.”

Brick left on foot and returned shortly. When he got back he saw Kris practicing with his sword. He was moving slowly, carefully. His movements looked like the flowing of water, his arms and legs steady as stone, his face perfect calm. The blade seemed to be moving as though it were alive in his hands. Brick watched for a while before realizing that Kris’ eyes were shut. It was a good while before Kris stopped and turned to see Brick sitting, eating a Burger King feast and watching. Kris sheathed the blade and walked over to grab his Double Whopper with cheese.

Brick stopped chewing, “Hey, where’d you learn that shit?”

“A dead man taught me.”

Brick was no longer sure he wanted many answers from the best vampire hunter in the business. The fact that the guy had practically lived and loved with the undead was unnerving enough; when he mentioned it like small town news, it was downright freaky. Brick hoped that his life did not become that messed up because of the choices he was making.

After they finished their meal, they went to the van and then hit the road. Kris knew where he was headed. Large empty areas where you could make a lot of noise and a lot of trouble but no one would know. It was not long before they were outside such a place and Kris looked over to Brick with a knowing and concerned intensity.

“You know that this could get rough.”

Brick swallowed hard, looked at the large building, knowing that several floors were not in use in the basement areas, and then he looked back at Kris, “Yeah, but I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?”

“You can always leave, I wouldn’t expect anyone who was sane to stick around for what is about to happen. When I go in there, they won’t even think twice about it, once I start shit, well, let’s just say I might not be coming back and then it’s up to you.”

“If you don’t come back, I won’t be able to save this city. You know that.”

Kris looked at the building, “It’s about this time that I wish I were half vampire or some of that comic book crap.”

“You are, aren’t ya?”

Kris shook his head, “I can die just like you. They just don’t like my blood. Let’s do it.”

Kris stepped out into the cool night air and waited. Then he saw what he was looking for. Three young guys walking toward the building, decked out in modern styles like Brick. They were already flying on something, probably ecstasy and looking to get laid. They would probably end up being dinner. He fell into the shadows, stalker style. They had no idea that he was behind them as they walked in through a little used door and then started down a winding stairwell of cement steps and finally stopped three floors down at a rusting metal door. They were talking about all the ass they would get at this rave and how they were going to get the girl with the big tits and the fat ass and how they would dance with the ugly girls just to make fun and how they were going to get plastered and hit up some hard shit for cheap. Kris waited for the door to open and saw a short corridor being guarded by a huge black man in a suit and a pale, yellow haired man probably Eastern European. He rolled his eyes.

The guys went in and Kris slipped through the door before it shut. He watched the guys get patted down and then roughed up a little. Then he watched as they paid twenty-five a piece to get in. He shook his head, knowing that the guys were going to die unless he caused a big enough fuss once on the inside. He did not have Kahmir’s mind control, so he would have to kick some ass to get in through the next door. The guys went in and the door shut. The two bouncers stood and gave the basic dumb boys gonna get shot down insults.

Kris took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows. “Hey, so what do you gotta do to get into a place like this?”

The two huge men looked at him, then at each other and ran at him without even discussing it. Domitius had told them to be ready.

Kris stepped to the side and planted the heel of his foot in one man’s throat, blood and saliva splashed out of the man’s mouth and he fell back clutching his collapsed trachea. Kris saw the other move in his direction and then attacked with a flurry of hard hitting punches that left the other man unconscious. James could have done the same, Kris thought to himself. It was almost too easy.

He opened the door and a wave of sound, electronic sounding dance music, rushed over him. He hated the new shit and wished he could be walking in on some AC/DC or Aerosmith, maybe even some Godsmack. He gritted his teeth and faded into the torrents of undulating bodies. The smell of alcohol and sweat was accented by cigarette smoke, weed, and blood. The irony, bitter smell was everywhere and the sad thing was that no one gave a rat’s ass. He loved humanity, they would preach about animal rights and save the whales and eat only the things that don’t scream when you kill them but you bleed and gut one of their own and no one turns a head or bats an eyelash. They were sick, disgusting creatures, the only animals on the planet to look out for their own last. He was different; he was there to control that irony, bitter smell that permeated all the normal odors of the free fuck but no love generation.

He had to push through at first, then his eyes became cold slits and the power that he had once always walked with started to exude from his presence and people started noticing. Soon, a path was opening before him as he moved through the crowd. The kids, despite their drunken stupors and drug induced hysterias, knew that a man with a purpose was among them and that they did not want any of his business. It was different than the last time he had been to one of Domitius’s raves. He could feel the fear sobering many of them. He could see the new fledgling vampires cringe and hiss from a distance. They somehow all knew who was there and Domitius would know, too. His ancient vampiric mind would be tied to nearly every whelp bloodsucker in the place. That meant that the big boss had lackeys on the way.

He smiled at the thought. He would get to test himself. He wanted the chance to do what he did. Then he saw three people walking toward him through the crowd. He could see the gleam in their unearthly eyes, the deathly pallor of their skin. They were the spawn of hell and he was the blazing sword of Michael. He was practically growling when he came to a stop. He watched the trio approach.

One woman, black with long braided hair and a physique that was absolutely amazing. One man was obviously of an Italian background, his large belly a testimony to his stature in some ancient Sicilian family. The last was a young man who, had he not been undead since the time of the Spanish Armada, appeared to be Brick’s age. He was as Spanish as they came and his dark eyes spoke of a royal heritage and a dangerous disposition. He could tell by the way they moved that by American standards, they were ancient beings from ancient races that would be able to wield sword and pistol alike. They were the perfect defense because of their age and their experience. Kris guessed they would also be very powerful in an undead sort of way.

They surrounded him as a circle cleared. One of them could control thoughts. He did not waste any time and a shotgun blast ripped through the Sicilian. He roared and his fangs showed as he leaped at Kris with an unnatural dexterity for his size. Kris blasted again and the man dropped in front of him in a crouch. The blast should have thrown him back, but only stopped his progress. Kris felt claws raking his back and then he turned and in a flourish of leather left an oak stake in the African vampire. She dropped to the ground shrieking and tearing at the wound in her abdomen, trying to pull the stake out, but Kris had made them with burrs so they would be more difficult to remove. The stake was nowhere near her heart, but it would be painful. Then he was grabbed. He tossed the Spaniard into the Sicilian and then loaded an incendiary cartridge. The blast caught both of the male vampires and flames took hold of their clothing and flesh. That would slow them down a little more. He stepped back, holstered the shotgun and drew his sword. Finishing the two on fire was merciful and quick, but he did not have time to play with pawns when he had to put the king in check. He spun around and one movement ended the unlife of the African. He looked through the crowd and saw that only the inhuman cared, for they realized then that the stories of the mortal who killed vampires was no legend, no small town ghost story for bad little bats. Kris Bane was the real deal.

He checked his coat and saw that the claws had left only slight marks on the hard worn leather of the upper part of the trench coat. He nodded in satisfaction and then started walking. After a few steps, he grabbed a girl by the hair and twisted her toward him. He looked into her dark brown eyes and saw the fear that his icy blue eyes instilled in her. “Do you know Domitius?”

She tried to pull away, but his grip hardened on her long, dark tresses, “Answer the question and the chances you go home alive tonight increase dramatically.”

She pointed to a lounge area at the far side of the huge, writhing-body filled expanse. Kris nodded, “Thanks.” He let go of her and started walking in that direction.

The people were even more eager to part for him. They did not look at the killer. He was the fiend, the evil that they could not face and yet they destroyed themselves all around him even as he moved to protect them and save them from the very darkness that they chose to run to for solace. That was a very humorous way of thinking of it; they looked for the light by blinding themselves from the truth. He had to ignore what they wanted, like a parent looking out for a child who wanted to do their own thing. They had no idea, and those that did for the time would not in the morning.

He walked into the little lounge area set up with the leather couches and chairs and saw Domitius’s entourage. It was a beautiful sight, somewhere between orgy, drug house and a Rob Zombie video. Kris fit right in. Even Fernando was there. Kris had had enough of that Spanish prick for three lifetimes. Domitius looked at Kris with the eyes of a Roman senator from his regal, black leather chair with his little blonde sitting on his lap. Kris looked down at Domitius with the eyes of a wolf avenging his pack. “I’ll make this really simple, old man. Call off the vampires, clean up the city and do the right thing, or die.”

Domitius cocked his head to the side slightly, “You come into my house, telling me what to do. You, a dying breed in my city. You have no friends to protect you now. You have nothing, and you think you can traipse in here, while I am at my leisure and make a change.” Domitius slapped the blonde on her tight butt and she slid over to another seat. He stood to glare at Kris and motioned toward the blonde, “Beautiful, worthy of praise, but stupid. You’re an enigma, a stranger in their world and mine. You don’t belong, hero. Meanwhile, my kind has been given everything to rule over those pathetic sheep. They are food that we control like cattle, there is nothing they do that we don’t have our hands in, and even the hunters are ours to play with. You were no different and now, since you have broken your leash, it is time for you to die. You’ve served your purpose.”

Kris heard the rustle behind him. He knew that Fernando was on the move. The man was no warrior and his time was up. Kris spun, unsheathing the sword in a manner that any iaido dueler would have been proud of, separating Fernando from his age old head and turning to face Domitius again, sword in sheath. Eyes shone wide with awe all around. The legend was before them, back in all his grandeur.

“The choice is simple, I can kill all night long, or I could just kill you.”

“I’ve been part of this city since it was still New Amsterdam, you pathetic piece of shit. I’m more a part of this world than you’ll ever be.”

“No, you’re not.” Then Kris drew his shotgun and blasted at Domitius. Domitius took the shot in the chest. No flames, so it did nothing more than mar his suit. Domitius slapped the trinket out of Kris’ hands and then grabbed the mortal and flung him to the ground. Kris started to stand but Domitius pounced on him. Kris wrestled for his sword as Domitius pounded at him. Then, Kris kicked the vampire off. He drew his sword and then one of the other vampires tossed an Italian broadsword to the old Roman. Metal rang on metal as the two clashed amid the throng of dancers. Domitius forced Kris back and soon Kris was trying as hard to avoid cutting people as he was to stay alive. Domitius fought as though no one was there and dozens were paying the price for the immortal’s lack of concern for mortality. Kris tried to keep Domitius from wounding and killing the innocents but it was of no use. The crowd was moving away but Domitius fought toward them anyway. The doors were barred and no one was getting out. The fight was taking mortal lives and Kris was feeling guilty for starting the battle on Domitius’s home turf. He should have thought it through better. Then the rage kicked in and Domitius fell back under the strength of Kris’ sword blows. The katana rang out on the old steel until finally, a slash across Domitius’s face made it difficult for the vampire to see and another slash across his abdomen spilled his precious blood to the floor. Kris knocked the old Roman blade away and cut the senator’s head off. He walked toward his shotgun, hacking at any undead stupid enough to get in his way. He got to the gun and then bursts of flame started enveloping shrieking bloodsuckers. Reload and blast, blast, blast. Fire and brimstone raining down. He ran out of rounds, twenty new and useless vampires burning to nothing but charred dust and bone as the people watched the psycho mass murderer massacre and slaughter.

He holstered the weapon and looked at the floor. Too many of the dead were from Domitius’s blade and the wanton destruction of those awarded immortality without responsibility for their power. He saw the brunette that he had grabbed and he bent down. Her beautiful face had been cleaved by the Italian broadsword. He slammed his fist into the bloody floor behind her and his knuckles bled. He looked up and saw a man looking at him. His eyes were bloodshot and his teeth were grinding, he was shaking terribly. Kris shook his head, “I’m sorry, I’m…” Tears ran down his cheeks as guilt overwhelmed him. Thousands watched as the killer shrieked and wailed at the ceiling, cursing God and the angels for his gift. Someone finally had the sense to unbar the doors so the mob could fade.

Soon, only dead bodies and a sobbing vampire hunter were left. One man was standing over, watching as the stranger cried over his girlfriend. Somewhere inside, he wondered if maybe the man really regretted it, maybe he had come for a reason. Kris looked up as his eyes cleared, “Do you know her?”

“Yeah, man, she’s…she was my girl.”

“Then why aren’t you crying?” His voice was quiet but sincere and strong.

“I...I don’t…”

Kris stood up shaking his head and walked out of the building. Once in the van, he sat for a very long time. Brick knew not to ask any questions. Kris started the van and drove in silence. Then he turned to Brick at a stoplight. “Why do I even care?”

“Because, man, someone has to. Someone has to.”

They rolled down the shadowed streets slowly. Kris was not in the mood to go on, but he knew that he had to finish what he had started. Brick knew to remain silent while Kris collected himself for the next confrontation. The digital clock in the center console read twelve-thirty. Brick knew that Kris would be ready long before dawn, but he felt a little worried about whether the outcome of the last battle would be detrimental to the next.

They rolled along until Kris noticed lights in his rearview mirror. He looked into the mirror and saw several unmarked Crown Victorias behind him. “Fuck,” he let out some air and his face wrinkled in consternation. He slammed on the gas and the van picked up speed like a sport car. Kris’ eyes widened as the van took off and he started swerving to miss vehicles. The unmarked cruisers kept his pace.

Brick turned around, “What the hell, where’d they come from?”

“She knows we’re coming. That’s why the vampires usually win; it’s also why they’re never heard of. They control everything.”

“So what the hell are you going to do, I mean, shouldn’t we just pull over?”

“Yeah, great idea, wait for the brainwashed or bribed sons of bitches to walk up, put a shotgun to your face and blow your brains all over the dashboard. Maybe, while I’m playing stupid, I’ll send you in to kill Ekatarina and I’ll wait in the car.”

“Alright, I get the idea.”

They missed a Lincoln Continental by inches as the van leaned hard and then one of the police cars bumped into the side of the van and they hit the Continental anyway. The large car was slung off course and skidded off the street and onto the sidewalk. Kris fought to hold the van on a relatively straight path. Brick watched as two more police cars sped up and nudged the van. Then he heard the shotgun blast ring out and turned to see the first car to hit them run up on the curb and smash into a telephone pole. Glass rained down, twinkling in the city lights, and metal rung as it hit the ground. The crunch as the rear end dropped was the most final sound Brick thought he had ever heard. He stared back at the car until it disappeared out of his view.

Kris pulled directly in front of one car as it sped up to overtake him and the car slammed into the back as Kris pushed hard on the brake. The van leaned forward and the car behind came to a halt. Kris laid into the gas and felt the wheels slipping. He was on top of the lower sitting vehicle. Then, the other car slammed into him and rocked the van just enough for the driver side tire to get traction and with a metallic screech the van pulled free of the demolished car behind and slightly beneath it. Brick was staring at Kris, “Seems like you’ve done this before.”

“When you live for killing things tougher than you, shit happens.”

Kris looked into the rearview mirror as the car hit him again. There were more vehicles coming. He saw the size and started estimating; three Suburbans, two more cruisers and a Hummer. He knew the van was tough but it was not going to withstand the kind of beating that all those vehicles could dish out. “Hey, kid, grab that nitro.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m gonna try my hand at some fast pitch.”

Brick got up and went into the back. He was slung toward the front of the vehicle and took a bike handle to the back as one of the larger vehicles rammed them. He shook his head with wide eyes. He was starting to dislike the profession he had chosen, it was too exciting. He fought back again and then got tossed to the side and rolled back as Kris corrected from the next hit. It was like climbing the jungle gym while the schoolyard bullies were kicking your hands and head. He caught his balance and then fell straight on his face as ammo poured down on his head. “Hey, ya alright back there?” Kris yelled after that one.

“Yeah, I’m doing great.” Brick moaned at the bumps on his head.

Brick grabbed the box and then the van was hit again. He slammed to the side and held out the vials. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened as he expected to lose his grip and watch the whole world disappear in flames. Then he was steady again. He was speechless. Two near falls later he held the box out to Kris.

Kris turned to him, “You don’t look so good.”

“Fuck you.”

Kris chuckled as he took the box. “Take the wheel. The steering is kinda jerky.”

Brick took the wheel and Kris opened the box. Then he waited for a vehicle to get close and then a ball of fire and molten metal, shards of fiberglass and burning rubber filled the street. Kris focused, knowing the other vehicles would be hot on their asses. Then he saw the first one and pitched. The vial landed a few feet away and chunks of asphalt leapt into the air. The next vial hit its target and the Suburban disintegrated as flames came to life. Another explosion took out a cruiser and then the last Suburban hit the van and Kris slammed into the steering wheel as Brick was thrown onto the dash and into the floor. Kris held onto the vials but the van was swerving. He reached out with one hand and grabbed the wheel and lobbed the box over the top of the van and they were both thrown by the explosion that engulfed the nearby SUV. Kris clung to the wheel and the van spun around. Kris wrestled for control but the wheel was following the strain on the wheels. He slammed the brake and they came to a stop facing the oncoming Hummer and the rest of traffic. Kris picked up a random gun and started shooting. The rounds bounced off the Hummer’s armored plating like rain off a stone face. He dropped the machine gun and slammed on the gas. Brick got settled, he was on the verge of soiling his boxers. Then he saw that Kris was playing chicken with a vehicle that was the government equivalent of the van they were in. “Ah, shit man, what the…”

Kris slammed a hand over the boy’s mouth, “Not now.”

The van’s engine was screaming. Kris knew he was going to win the little game and he had to. The Hummer was coming straight at them and it was getting closer and closer. Brick’s eyes widened as the vehicle seemed to grow larger and larger. He started squirming in the chair and Kris could feel the panicked gusts of air the young man was gasping through the spaces between his fingers. Brick could see the cop’s face when finally the man swerved and lost control of the Hummer. It ramped off another car and hit its top, sliding along the road a few dozen feet. Kris let off the gas and let the van come down on its own before braking.

He turned the van around and they saw the three cops climbing out of the incapacitated police Hummer. Kris gave a two fingered salute like he was tipping a hat that was not there and Brick just stared at the crazy mother fucker that he was now trapped with. Brick slouched and then let out a long breath. Kris chuckled that raspy faint laugh of his and it was quite unnerving after a near death experience. Brick looked over at the road and shook his head.

After a moment, Brick turned back, “Where the hell do they come from? The vampires, I mean.”

Kris took a deep breath. “No one really knows, not even they really know. They have a lot of legends, just like we have religions. Some say they are descendants of Lilith, the legendary first woman in Hebrew lore that wouldn’t have sex with Adam so God kicked her out of the Garden to be the eternal tempter of men. There’s the theory that a demon inhabited a body and kept it alive by drinking blood. Some say that certain diseases make you come back. Others think that an untimely death can allow you to take on a more spiritual form so you can come back. I’ve heard that some think it’s a virus or something that’s transmitted by bite, but then you’d have millions of the creatures running around and no daylight folk. There are a few who think it all started back when Egypt was a fledgling kingdom with a guy who wanted to be immortal, then there are those who think that it’s the next step in evolution. Then again, these critters have been around for a while. There are legends in nearly every part of the world of flesh eaters, blood suckers, walking dead, and blood sacrificing. Of course you’ve also always had gothic types who pretend and cults that believe that eating blood is fine and well, let’s not forget people who get off on getting hurt, which, if ya think about, sounds pretty damn vampiric to me. There’s a lot of shit out there, but I am no closer to knowing that answer than you are; or ever will be most likely.”

“So, you think we have a chance?”

“There’s always a chance. It’s just really slim.”

“Where do their, you know, powers come from?”

“There are as many guesses to that as the ideas behind their creation. Magic, demonic treaties, some kind of equalizer for not ever seeing the sun, but the one thing that they know is the power is tied to the blood. The more blood they have the stronger, faster and tougher they are. If they freshly feed, even a whelp can be almost impossible to kill. An ancient that is surviving on the last few drops in their system is practically mortal. Problem is, as they age, they find more places to keep it and can go a lot longer on what was once just enough for a day or two. It’s also got something to do with determination. A really strong mortal will be a stronger vampire and it shows. A loner in life is more likely to be able to hide in shadows and last longer on less blood. A social type will have a far easier time controlling people. The different types of vampire affect it, too. A Nosferatu will always be a stronger, more animalistic creature and a ghoul will always be a piece of vampiric shit. Now that’s not saying that a ghoul can never become powerful. There are stories of ghouls who were as powerful as any other vampire. But the key is the blood.”

“Do you think that Kunzul is right, I mean about the Egyptian priests and the curse and your skill.”

“It sounds good, and the blood in my veins has kept me from becoming a vampire and they can’t stand the touch of it. I’ve known that nearly as long as I’ve been hunting and in ten years you notice when things work for you that don’t for others. But I don’t like to trust in things when there isn’t any proof.”

He stopped the van and got out. He looked over to Brick while holding the door open, “Sit tight, and be careful. She can be a real bitch.” He slammed the door and walked off.

Brick watched the people walk by. He wondered why more cops had not come for them and realized that it was probably in Octavia’s designs. He was still paranoid and kept looking around for anyone that seemed suspicious. The streets were empty but for a few late night stragglers. In the eyes of millions, it was the city that never slept, but those that lived there knew that there were always more people out during the day. Brick chuckled; anyone who knew what he was doing that night could not be stupid enough to come out at night. Then again, he knew exactly what he was doing and he was afraid to be caught asleep while the sun was down.

Kris walked into the large building and hurried upstairs. His feet took him to the right floor. It was a visit he had made several times and one he knew all too well. He would never forget his meetings with Octavia, they were always interesting. She was old, over two millennia and that made her the third oldest bloodsucker in the city. Kahmir and Arthur were older and Arthur only by decades. She was small, thin and easily overlooked thanks to her vampiric skills. Truth was she was a remarkably beautiful Mediterranean woman with sharp features and long dark hair like smooth silk. She had big brown eyes that held a gleam of intellect and power that would put the strongest Don and the wildest gangster in their place. She talked with a soothing, soft and commanding tone that showed off her talent for leadership and those few she could not lead, she could seduce. It was a disconcerting combination of sultry power and commanding sexuality that made Octavia, or Angela Medicci, the most dangerous criminal mastermind in Gotham.

He stepped out of the standard white walled, black railed stairwell and into a sea of office space that he knew was only a fourth of the floor. He walked to the back of the open area and to a large door. He did not try the knob because he knew that the door was locked from within. He looked up to the small hole in the ceiling above the door where he knew the high quality security camera was looking down at his face. He glared with his icy blues at the hole and waited.

A moment later a young Asian woman with her hair pinned up with a long stick opened the door. Her make-up was tasteful, accenting her almond shaped eyes and her small but full lips. She was pretty in a quiet calm manner that made Kris feel like he should be more comfortable. She was wearing a business suit, such a dark gray it was almost black, that fit her firm, athletic body well. “Please, follow me, Mister Bane.” Her voice was velvety and cool; there was absolutely no accent of any kind.

Kris followed, watching the gentle, practiced sway of her hips as she led him down the hall. His eyes appeared to be focused, but he saw every shadow flickering at the edge of his vision. He noticed every breeze and every sound. He could hear the woman breathing and knew she was not a vampire. She would probably be trained well enough to give him a run for his money, but she would be no real threat alone. It was the armed guards that he knew he was close to meeting again that made him wonder if he would get to see Octavia.

The woman led him to the end of the corridor and through a metal door that required a keypad code to open. He hated all this techno-babble bullshit that the modern world fed to him through a straw. Why was it you could not just walk in, stake the bastards, cart their unrighteous asses out to the playground, wait for dawn and warm your eggs over a bat barbeque? That would take the fun out of it, would it not? He hated the way technology always seemed to work in their favor, then again, they had the money, the resources, the people and the companies that made the things. Strangely, you could count on Octavia to have things the Army and Navy had on their Christmas wish list.

Once through the door, Kris saw them. The mugs were a collection. A Japanese man, with a finely chiseled physique, a too calm to be alive exterior and mirror-like black eyes stood staring at him wearing a black suit that seemed darker than everything in the room save the man’s hair. A large man with a belly, his icy and pale features spoke of the Slavic north, stood with a hand on a gun that Kris knew was large enough to put a sizable hole in Kahmir despite the fact that all he could make out was the bulge against the man’s coat. A black man, built like a pro body builder stood in gang colors like a badass out of an overpriced and overly censored rap video, his blood red bandana and perfect, dark denim outfit rang out of money.

The large man with the blonde hair looked at the Asian woman. “Who the hell is this?”

Kris chuckled; the guy was obviously new and unaware that he was insulting someone so deadly. Or he was just a complete idiot who had neglected his boss’s warnings.

“This is Kristian Bane; he is here to speak with the boss.”

“Ha, this guy looks like a cop.”

Kris took a step forward and his guide’s smooth arm was across his chest ready to attempt to hold him back. “No, he is no cop. He is far more influential than any police officer. He has business proposals that Miss Medicci needs to hear.”

The African American licked the inside of a large, dark lip and Kris could see the condescending glare in his eyes. The burly Slav cracked his neck and then nodded. The Asian woman led Kris through the next door and into a world of criminal erotica.

It was a land of large sofas peopled with drunken and drugged people who were oblivious to their surroundings. The rooms were dark and lighted by tall lamps with thick covers that directed the light into pools at the bases of the lamps and kept the ceilings dark. The furniture was black and maroon and candles were placed on the black glass tables so that mirror images of the flames danced fitfully against a backdrop of darkness. Kris recoiled at the new environ. He wondered what could possibly possess people to act that way. He knew that Domitius and Octavia had run the city along with a few other powerful vampires who believed that people could be controlled through drugs and violence before Arthur and Kahmir tried to change the city. The other ancients were killed and Domitius and Octavia controlled by the introduction of a sixteen year old boy who was practically invincible to their dark gifts. Domitius was gone and his small bit of the criminal empire had probably already been absorbed by Octavia. She had been known for her intricate contingency plans and swift operations for centuries before she journeyed to the New World.

Kris followed the woman to a large mahogany door. She stopped him with a raised hand and then opened the door slightly and slid her thin form through the opening and into the darkness. Kris decided it would be best to wait patiently and silently. He looked back at the people behind him occasionally. He could feel their eyes on him and he did not like it. He knew that he could clear the room with a couple of shotgun blasts, but he did not like to make such unpleasant shows and so he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the staring druggies as he waited to be admitted beyond the mahogany door.

He waited a long time before the woman came back. When she did, she pulled the large door open and then admitted him with a sweeping gesture and a bow. Kris cocked an eyebrow at the display. He stepped in and as soon as he was outside the arc of the door she shut it behind them. The room he stood in was the same one he had always met with Octavia in, but it had been altered. The room was dark and there were strange plants lining the walls. Instead of a large desk, there was a large bed and several throw pillows on the thickly carpeted floor. Kris felt a little out of place.

“She will be with you in a moment, Mister Bane,” the Asian said and then left through a door to one side that he had forgotten was there after seeing the remarkable changes to the room.

Kris took some time to look around and take in the new furnishings. There was a large sofa to one side and a pile of pillows and cushions in one corner. Kris thought about sitting after a while and decided it would be unprofessional. Then, she came in. She was naked, completely naked. Kris was surprised and caught off guard. “What is it with you people, all the sudden you don’t like clothing?”

The small Italian woman was thin, with ample firm breasts and a solid muscularity that had developed in a time when people where more active. Her skin had faded slightly but still held the olive tinted darkness that was attributed to those of Mediterranean stock. Her dark eyes were slightly slanted and her lips were dark and full. Her long dark hair hung thick and silky down her back and the peak of her shoulder blades moved in perfect rhythm with the sway of her slender hips. She turned and gave him a half smile that was as dangerous as it was friendly. “Always the nobleman, Kristian. Does clothing really matter?”

“For someone like you, yes.”

“I think you should look into finding a woman, it’s not hard for a man like you. They can smell adventure, power, strength and self assuredness just the same as they, we can smell fear.”

“I’m fine on my own.”

“No, no you’re not. I know loneliness, I lived with it for years before becoming what I am and have lived with complete loneliness ever since. No one is fine on their own. Certainly there is someone that you could learn to love or at least lust over.”

“I’m not here to talk about my love life. I’m here to talk to you about this city.”

“What about it, Arthur and Kahmir are missing, probably dead, Tyler disappeared, you killed Domitius and that leaves me as the head of the city. I quite enjoy what you’ve done with my little town.”

“I didn’t do it so you could rule. Let’s face it, those women that Domitius brought from the Old World, they’re too dangerous for our great city and they’ve upset the balance. I need you to control the vampires, they fear you.”

“They fear you more. Why ask me to do your bidding?”

“Because you are one of them. They look up to you, you guide them. I need them to stop acting like they own the city.”

“How will that help me?”

“Simple, eighteen million pissed off mortals will be a lot worse to deal with than say one vampire hunter. These people don’t play games; they kill people who try to control them. They’ll do the same to monsters and they all know the stories and legends. Maybe they’ve seen too many movies, but they’ll clear the Blade and Buffy bullshit out real fuckin’ fast and then it’s going to be war, war on you and the numbers and the technology and the few that are strong will all be stacked against you. Those aren’t exactly good odds and you should know that very well. You saw the Inquisition.”

“Yes and Anya was the one responsible for it and nearly every other effort to destroy our kind, it was the way the older ones decided to deal with the younger ones. Personally, I don’t feel like hiding until I get bored to death. Mortals are not a threat to us.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t have me.”

“You can be dealt with, you’re just another mortal to a mortal and all you do is take away our powers, a good swordsman, marksman or special ops team would be able to beat you.”

“Are we getting hostile and are we forgetting that no one has been able to beat me yet.”

“Only because that old piece of rotting shit protects you and the Celt thinks you’re going to do great things. You no longer have a backing, your funds are gone, your friends are gone and all you have left is a little boy who doesn’t know the first fucking thing about us. You’re done.”

“Not until the day I die.”

“That could be arranged.”

“Even without me, they’ll be a threat, alive and well. They are essential to your lives. You can’t live on sheep and cattle; they don’t cut it for you. I’ve seen your kind try to survive off of livestock and it’s pretty ugly; a long rot and a slow withering, only to end up falling into a sleep of pain and agony, their power diminished for ages. That means they will fight you for ages and find ways to put an end to your rule. Domitius’s plan was a dud from the beginning.”

“Maybe, but we would be free.”

“And what about now? Yeah, you can’t have a bloodbath every night like good ole Erzebet Bathory or impale a few hundred Turkish or Hungarian soldiers anymore, but look at how you live. This decadence could not be provided if all you had were oppressed slaves, not now that people know what freedom is. You can’t take it away and not expect a fight. That’s why I propose you put a reign on the vampires in the city, pull out your men, the thugs, the cops and tell your little bloodsucker buddies to whip the younger ones into shape. At least give me time to go after Ekatarina and her little brood.”

She walked over to the bed and sat down. Her dark eyes measured him; her cool power was paused by the words he spoke. “You’re mad.”

Kris stepped forward, “I’ve gotta do something.”

She shook her head and her eyes dropped to the floor. She looked back up. “You’re seriously going after a creature that killed Kahmir and Arthur like they were insects. You’re good, you’re damn good, but she’s a… She’s one of the oldest, strongest, deadliest, most twisted beings to have ever existed. I did not agree to Domitius summoning her here, but he insisted. I wanted what he wanted, but I had no idea that he was going to find one of the old night gods.”

“One of the what?”

“That’s what they were called in the days of the Roman Empire by the things called vampires. They are older, stronger, and able to withstand anything. Some said they were true immortals, save for daylight and there was a story about creatures that would die and be reborn to continue the battle. Those were tales from the dark continent. Why?”

“Hmm, good shit. I’m starting to know a lot more than I ever imagined.”

“You really think you can beat her, don’t you?”

“I have a sword that can cut a vampire like normal steel cuts mortal creatures. I have learned to burn things to death that can not drown, or suffocate, or bleed to death or die of disease. I have seen things survive shit that would kill elephants and whales. I have talked to a man who was alive in the day when a pharaoh ruled the world. I have seen walking corpses and seen blood burn flesh and crosses still the moving. I have seen way too much to believe I don’t stand a chance.”

“There is a reason we called them gods. You are not as strong as they are; your little magic trick won’t work on them.”

“I almost beat her the first time, I fell.”

“It’s not the same.” She was imploring. She looked away. She pulled up the blanket and wrapped it around herself. She felt ashamed that she was naked in front of him. She was not as strong as she thought. “You’ll die.” Her voice was weak. She remembered all the times that she told Domitius not to send men after Kris. Domitius had thought it was because she was afraid that Kahmir would kill him over the death of the mortal. She had done it because he was the only mortal that she knew that survived and was noble. She knew that if the blood in her would have been warm, her heart would race when she saw him and her body would warm. She missed those feelings; she regretted knowing what they were like. She wished she could grow old enough to forget, but there were things that a vampire could not forget; the last sunset, the last meal, the last chill, the last time they made love, those were ingrained in them like the hunger that drove them to kill. She pulled the blanket close.

“Shit happens.”

“That’s it, shit happens. That’s all you have to say.”

“What do you want, a speech? I’m just a man doing my duty as I’ve chosen. If I don’t come back, I don’t come back.”

“This city will turn back to the way it was without you.”

“It was on its way up before I got here.”

“I’m not Kahmir, I don’t have his power and I’ve never met anyone who could bring the vampires of a city together like Arthur. They respected and feared the two of them. They were unstoppable, at least compared to the young ones. The older ones were not like those two. They were the oldest after you helped them clean up, now I am, and I have only control, I don’t have the power to do anything without using a group of highly trained vampires. Kahmir and Arthur were their own muscle and brains. I can do a lot, but I don’t change into shadow, rip apart superhuman creatures and command emotions. I can tell people what to do and they do it, unless they have a strong will. I can’t keep this city going.”

“You’re the crime kingpin of the city. You can hold the vampires for a few days and all I need is one night. Then, I either die, or I can help you keep the city together. I can be your muscle.”

Her eyes went to his cool blue ones. Those big brown eyes seemed like the eyes of a woman for the first time that Kris could recall. She was fighting with something, though. He could see the confusion, the battle that was raging behind eyes that looked at him, telling him to stay and not to try to fight. He could feel the raging emotions swelling and swirling and twisting. She looked away again and he could see the frailty, the weakness, the true strength of a woman in her. She was no longer the great criminal mastermind and network organizer. She was the girl who was watching a friend go off to war. A tear streaked her dark skin, a red tear that left a sticky, cool, blood red line down the gentle curve of her two thousand year old cheek. Kris wanted to wipe it away but could not bring himself to move toward her. She was still an enemy, maybe an uneasy ally using him if she believed what he said. “Please, don’t.”

“I have to.”

“Then go,” she let out a deep breath, “I’ll try to keep things peaceful, but I can’t promise anything.”

Kris wondered how long it took her to relearn how to sigh. “I believe you can.”

“I’m an elder not a lord, it’s like asking your grandmother to tell her grown children how to live and what to do.” She stood and looked around; there was sadness in her eyes. She had grown used to Kris being a part of the city and was not sure what New York would turn into without him to watch over it.

“I know you can handle them.” He knew that she did not like using power, but she could go to battle with the strongest and meanest if she really had to, and would probably win.

“There are a lot more now. In the last few weeks, the number of vampires has exploded. It’s almost as bad as it was in the eighties. They all want to be like the vampires in the movies. How do you expect me to keep them all under control?” She was becoming more matter of fact.

“You’ll find a way, you always do.” He turned and his coat flapped.

She moved so fast he could not have seen if he had been looking at her. She placed a cold hand on his shoulder and she could feel the lean muscle and his warmth, she could feel the beat of his heart and the heaving of his chest as he breathed. He turned and saw her large eyes looking up at him. “They’re at Arthur’s mansion. Be careful, the city needs you.”

“Then why did you try to kill me?”

She looked shocked, “I didn’t, I couldn’t.” Her eyes widened with understanding, “That bitch. I’ll…”

“You’ll what, kill a god?”

She tugged on the lapels of his coat, cinching them together, “Kill her, Kris. Take back this city, you have to.” The blanket was open and showed her bare body in a darkly shadowed relief in the dimly lit room.

“That’s the plan; I just need you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“I’ll do my best.” Her arms fell away and she pulled the blanket around her again.

He turned and walked to the door.

“Kris,” she said.

He stopped to listen.

“I wish things had been different for you, you were an innocent. You could have lived your entire life and never known.”

He breathed deeply and then walked out the door. He walked past all the people and vampires and they stared at him. They knew who he was and they knew he was on the war path. His rage and his wrath were legendary. He ignored them. He showed himself out and noticed that the thugs were staring at his back. He walked on, knowing they would do nothing to him. He stepped out into the night air.

Brick looked at him standing there. His shaggy dirty blonde hair was blowing in the wind. His icy blue eyes peered out into the night like the deadly gaze of a hunting hawk. His lips were frozen in an emotionless line on his face. He stood like stone against the backdrop of business empires and technology, his long black coat flapping wildly, dancing around his legs and occasionally showing one of the weapons that was hidden beneath. He stood that way for a few minutes, long enough for Brick to see how even the dead could fear him. He looked like the angel of death sent by God to do his wrathful bidding on earth, swinging a blazing sword and baptizing the unholy in fire.

James woke up, his eyes burning. He had no idea what time it was. He was in a room, laying on a cold floor with a carpet or rug laid down. He could see very little in the darkness and he heard moaning. His eyes adjusted and he could make out a form on the floor several feet away. His body ached and he winced when he tried to move. He was tied down with chains and shackles that rattled when he moved.

A dim light flickered to life and he saw Jessica writhing on the floor. Her face was pale and her lips lacked color. Her eyes were shut tight and her face contorted with pain. Something was very wrong with her and James wanted to put an end to it. He struggled against the chains but it was useless. He was weaker than Jessica. Suddenly she went slack. His eyes widened.

She rolled over on her side and went into spasms. Then she vomited. She wretched onto the floor and James could smell the acridity of the bile and the food. He felt his stomach twist. She dry heaved for a moment and then vomited up thick bile and water that smelled even stronger than the partially digested food. She spasmed again and again, went into dry heaves and then vomited up little bits and tiny spurts. The cycle continued until she was left heaving over and over, her throat rasping and scratching, her muscles straining in her neck. She clenched her agonizing stomach, it was burning and stinging. Her eyes were filled with tears as she finally wretched up blood from her stripped and mutilated innards.

She fell back and her long dark hair sprawled on the floor. She passed out. James wanted to die or be able to stop the pain she was enduring. He could not believe that Ekatarina was enjoying the torture he was going through. He wanted to know what had happened to her, what was happening to her. A moment passed, or maybe it was an hour. He could not tell between the lack of stimuli and the constant pains in his muscles and his head.

Then he heard her moan again. It was not what he wanted to break the silence but it was what he got. He did not want to know what was next. He tried to keep his eyes shut, but that was not enough to keep the smell of the feces from wafting to his nose and making his gorge rise again. He knew what was happening. She was expelling all the waste from her body. Her urine ran freely and her body shook with the force of her bowel movements. The body was dying and cleansing itself all at once. The process was so painful that she was crying tears and her throat was so ravaged by her screams that little more than rasps of air came from her.

Finally, she fell exhausted and wasted, back into silence. She was left to wallow in her own disgusting excrement and vomit. She laid perfectly still. James felt tears burning in his eyes. He wanted her to die a respectable death. He wanted to kill the vampire bitches responsible. He pulled against the chains until he, too, passed out.

When he awoke again, she was still lying there. She was no longer breathing. She had passed away. He shook his head and it throbbed. He winced. He looked around and then back to the body. He had failed again. His eyelids felt heavy as the tears tried to fight forth. Then he saw it, barely visible. It was her standing over her own body as if trying to walk away. Something was holding the form he saw to the body, some strands of darkness that glistened in the pale light. Then, her body shook and the form above it was pulled down and then her eyes opened wide and she gasped through her mutilated lungs for air she did not need. She sat up and gasped and then grabbed her throat like it was aching terribly. She looked perfectly alive, thinner, tired, almost anorexic, but alive. She looked at her hands, at some point in her wailing and convulsions she had ripped her nails out, clawing and scratching against the pain. Trails of blood poured from scratches all over her body. Then she saw him. Her eyes lit up and she bared her teeth.

James swallowed a huge lump and started backing up as he saw those eyes widen and her lips peel back like those of a rabid animal. He watched as her gums started to bleed and her canines elongated. She was hungry, she wanted blood. She wanted his blood. She knew, instinctively, that the blood in his veins would make her pain go away. That was the cruel joke that Ekatarina wanted for him. She wanted him to die at the hands of the woman he thought he could learn to love. He was truly trapped.

She started crawling toward him, her fangs dripping the remainder of her saliva to the floor. He scurried away and then felt the chains catch and hold tight. He could not move away any further and she was free to come toward him. She drug herself with her bleeding fingers. She snarled like a mad dog. He could hear the low growl as the animal in her rose to the surface. He could not believe that he had survived so many run ins with the undead just to be killed by the newest addition to their depraved family, a whelp.

Then a door slammed open and they both looked at the bright light that poured in. In the midst of the blinding white was the silhouette of a woman. She stepped forward and her Asian features became apparent. “Heel, bitch. Now.” Jessica scurried over to the woman and attempted to crouch and hide behind the woman’s leg like a dog trained to go to its master. James could not believe his eyes. “You don’t want his nasty blood on your lips. He’s dirty and diseased. Come.” The woman turned and Jessica followed her out. The door slammed shut. James could not believe his eyes.

He tried to collect himself, but against what he had just seen, his faculties were failing. He wanted to pass out and wake up and realize it had all been a dream, but he knew that it had been real. He was trembling with anger, fear, and despair. He could not take much more of the mind games that Ekatarina was playing with him and she had just used something that he thought was truly held deep within, his worst fear, against him. He was weak and tired and still too pissed to fall into a peaceful slumber for what seemed an eternity. After a long time, he just blacked out.

When he awoke the room still smelled of the drying excrement and vomit that was sitting on the floor. He felt his stomach twist and bile rise in his throat. He looked at the chains and followed them to the wall. Luckily, only his arms were bound. He looked around; the room was empty save for himself, his chains and the piles of nastiness that sat in the floor. He could not believe what he was going through.

He still felt tired. He had not eaten enough to overcome the disgust and the lack of food, and then he had regurgitated most of it moments later. His dinner was gone before he had awoken the first time. He wanted to know what was next but at the same time dreaded the idea. Ekatarina was capable of nearly anything and he was not in the mood. His curiosity was overwhelming; he hoped that eventually she would mess up. He had to keep up hope.

Then the door opened and the Asian was standing in the doorway holding a dog chain. James let his eyes drop away. He could see in his mind what was about to happen. He backed against the wall and waited.

“Your girlfriend wants to tell you something.”

James glared at the vampire. She smiled. He wanted to fight, he wanted to kill. He wanted to watch the bitch burn in the morning light. He was trembling with anger.

The Asian stepped fully into the room and then Jessica came crawling in. She was cleaned up, dressed and still as feral as he could have ever imagined. She was growling and pawing at the ground. Her long dark hair was wet and hung in strands across her face and her blue eyes gleamed with a deadly cunning. Her lips peeled back and she snarled, baring her long, glinting fangs. She was a vampire.

“You know, we all go through this stage. It lasts until we feed and the hunger abates for the first time. Then we regain a bit of our humanity, not that it matters. You see, after you die, you’re never quite the same. Now, what do you say? We let the girl remember what it’s like to be human and you just roll over and give up. Or do you want to fight like an imbecile and die a painful death?”

“You act like I have a choice,” James growled through tightly clenched teeth.

“If you were the vampire hunter I heard about, you should.” She gave a smug grin.

“I’m a hunter, not a supernatural killer.” He rattled the chains.

“What a pity, looks like you die then.”

The Asian unleashed Jessica and walked out. Jessica ran at him and he fell onto his back and kicked her in the chest. Jessica flew back. She rolled to a crouching position and her eyes narrowed. He opened up his arms and waited. She rushed him again and he twisted to the side and wrapped the chains around her. She started thrashing wildly against the restraints that he held around her. He felt his muscles straining so much that they burned as they stretched and twisted against her aggressive raging. His wrists burned as the shackles ripped into his flesh and then the chains snapped.

He threw himself back and ran out the door, slamming it behind him. Once in the hall he spun around to assess which way to go. He chose to go to the right and darted down the hall. He tripped over something that mewed loudly, almost a screech of pain. He stumbled but kept running. Then, he made a left and saw a window at the end of the hall. He ran to it as fast as he could and then skidded to a stop as the stench flooded his nostrils. He knew that scent; it was the pungent, sweet smell of rotting flesh. It was overpowering. He walked slowly to the window and looked out over the forest outside. His eyes widened at the sight before him. He was up against a real monster.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” the sultry, cool voice asked.

He turned slowly. He saw the tall blonde with the feline features. She was wearing a long captain’s coat like something out of a pirate movie with a perfectly white silk blouse that looked like a fencing shirt with tight leather pants and high riding boots with the tops turned down. At her side was a rapier sword as elegant as she was. Her eyes were filled with sly deceit and a catlike curiosity that spoke volumes. He was a moth in her eyes, some plaything granted by God, only to be toyed with.

He stood up straight and looked back over his shoulder. The stench no longer seemed so potent. Her power was immense, a presence that was so great that his senses faded from all else so they could be filled with her. It was a vampire thing and he knew it. He hated those supernatural skills that a mortal was almost hopeless against. Fighting her commands was one thing, being overpowered by emotions that she designed and deigned appropriate for him was something totally different.

She stepped forward and her back arched, pressing her breasts outward and his eyes were drawn to them. He shook his head, “You bitch.” She was trying to fuck with his morals again. She won once and she was coming back for seconds. He gritted his teeth and ran at her. Then his legs went limp and he fell on his face. He did not know if he was out of juice or just under the bitch’s sway once more. He tried to push himself up but his arms and back felt empty, no burning, no resistance; only numbness. He wondered if that helplessness he was experiencing was anything like that of a mouse held by its tail.

She kneeled before him and turned her head slightly to one side. Again, he was reminded of a cat. His eyes narrowed. He was beginning to wonder who was worse, the Asian or the cat woman. He fought against his limp, numb body and finally he could feel something, a sensation of existence. Her face contorted and he knew that his resolve, his own will was breaking her ungodly confines. The invisible prison was bending and breaking, but it was sapping him of what little he had left after the fight and run. He felt like a cornered deer. God, he wanted to be back in California.

She fought a little longer and then he saw her small, bony fist coming toward his face. The pain was only there for an instant, and then there was darkness.

The night hawk floated outside her window. Angela walked over to it and saw the gleaming eyes of an undead behind the all seeing gaze of the nocturnal hunting fowl. She stepped back and felt a chill rush through her. Nonsense, she thought, a vampire afraid of dying. Then she realized why. The creature she was staring at was one of the truly ancients.

She felt the world fall away. She was only thought, emotion, passion and pain. Despair and torture and regret flooded into the places of texture, sight and sound. Then the thoughts changed, the passions altered and her head reeled. She felt dizzy and nauseous, things she had not known for two thousand years. Then she felt cold, freezing emptiness. There was nothing, no thought, no passion. Her heart lurched as if she had just drank and it was filled with beating life again. Then it pained and ceased. The world faded back in and the hawk hung in the air outside her window.

She turned and walked to a phone. She spoke softly. She spoke sternly. She spoke to the underworld of New York as only Angela Medicci could. “Bring me Kristian Bane’s head. Kill the boy.” It was all she needed to say, and just as the kings of old, her word was like that of God.

Kris felt the change in the wind while he stood there. Darkness was sweeping down from on high like Lucifer falling to earth and his luck was changing. He darted to the van and was locking the door in an instant. They were driving down the road and the initial swerve out of the parking spot left three cars stopped in their tracks with screeching and steaming tires. Kris did not give a shit about anybody else. He was the one who needed to be alive for the upcoming fight or every one of the not quite so innocent people of good ole Gotham would live to regret it. Losing a few was worth it.

Brick was learning to like it.

Then Kris turned to him, “You know, if you’re a bad guy, I’m going to torture you to death right?”

Brick was genuinely shocked. Then Kris smiled, “I don’t think I have to worry about that, though.” Brick relaxed and let out the breath he was holding.

They were flying down the road. The van could go. “Where we going in such a hurry?”

“Harlem, there’s an old Voodoo motha fucka I need to have a little chat with up in the middle of I hate whitey land.”

“So, you like charging to your death, huh?”

“Nope, trying to get there before Octavia fucks us over. I think that the old bitch is meddling in my affairs and that I’m being played.”

“Why’s that?”

“I always pictured Octavia as a fighter, not a lover; and besides, she hates too much to ever have a soft spot for anybody. Then again, I never could read a woman.” He drove in silence, “And I got this feeling like all hell’s about to break loose.”

Brick reached out and grabbed the dashboard. They both stared into the dark streets as they neared Kris’ destination.

The streets seemed to become bleak and deserted. Kris slowed down and drove the way he walked most of the time, slow and deliberate, like mother nature herself could not make him change direction. The buildings seemed to loom in on them like the rotting stench of freed blood that has sat for a few days. It felt like they were on enemy ground and the sad thing was, the real enemies were things that bullets and knives could not drop. If one of the bad ass brothers tried to fuck up a critter the likes of which Kris killed almost nightly, they could plan on a closed casket ceremony and a quick burial, if anything was really left.

There were still a few young men and dangerous women hanging on corners and stoops. The shops were all shut up and locked tight. It seemed like the few that were out, were packing and looking for victims. They were like wolves, prowling their cement and glass wilderness, hunting lost Wall Street Kingpins like deer with broken legs. Brick felt like he was in a demilitarized zone and knew that it was an attitude brought on by Octavia.

“Wow, man, I never noticed how creepy this place is.”

“No one notices how creepy anything is, at least not until they realize that they are not the top of the food chain. That’s when your bad asses and bitches start acting like two year old toddlers and old men start wising up.”

“So, what exactly is at the top of the food chain?”

“Usually, death, but for now, it’s me.”

The cold assuredness and wrathful tone was enough to make Brick think that if death came for Kris, Kris might just turn around and kick the Grim Reaper’s ass.

Kris took a turn and they were in an alley. There were homeless types covered in newspapers and wearing too many clothes for the warm weather, but those clothes looked like they were better suited to feeding moth larvae than wearing. There was a gentle breeze between the buildings. Kris continued driving to the end of the alley. It split off, but no car could continue down the small byways that led behind the buildings.

Kris got out and checked his coat, inspecting his guns and verifying the edge of his blade. Then he locked and shut the door. Brick stepped out and checked a couple of machine guns. He thought that a hail of lead would be better than the well placed big booms that would be more appropriate for the undead. Kris started off to the left and Brick followed.

The small alley was long and the shadows covered everything. The occasional scurrying of a rat, darting of a cat or stirring of a resting bird would startle and unnerve nearly anyone brave enough to walk the lonely path between the old buildings. Brick could only imagine how many people had been murdered, beat, raped, and mugged in places like that throughout the city and he was a lily white boy walking in territory that no God fearing white man worth his salt in New York would traipse into in the middle of the night. Then again, he was with a guy that the already dead feared.

The walk seemed to take forever and then he saw someone standing in the shadows. The man wore something that looked like a long, loose fitting dress and his hair was long and in honey matted dreadlocks. Brick was amazed at how quickly his eyes adjusted to the dark after only a few weeks of really working in the dark, and the last few nights were a real eye opener.

The man had his back to them. Kris stopped and held out his arm in a gesture to stop Brick. Kris could see the brightly colored robes of the old Hoodoo witch doctor. The dreadlocks had small bits of bone in them and he was wearing wooden slippers on his gnarled, cracked and whitening feet. The man held his hands out to either side and spread his fingers then wiggled them. He bowed his head and his dreads bounced. His head came back up slowly and Kris knew that the dark brown eyes had rolled up and all that was showing was the whites of the black man’s eyes.

“Why you here, Ju-Ju man, what you done?”

Brick looked at Kris and whispered, “You know this guy?”

Kris put his index finger to his lip and shushed Brick, “Anis, you know I haven’t done anything, yet.”

“You always doin’ something, Ju-Ju man. Why you comin’ round my house, what you want?”

Kris looked at Brick and said in a very low voice, “He’s one of Ty’s old friends, or something. He knows about zombies.” Then he turned to face Anis, “I want to ask a favor on part of an old friend who is, well, incapacitated at the moment.”

“Who be hurtin’, who?”

“Tyler, he’s missing and it’s got to do with the you know what.”

Anis turned and his sharp, dark features were eerie in the half light of the abandoned alleyway. His eyes rolled down and the age and wisdom in those burning brown eyes was enough to make Brick take a step back. “If day be anyting I can be doin’ to help my brother…”

“Zombies, Anis, we’ve got zombies.”

“An you be needin’ a way to put an end to da walkin’ dead. I be seein’, man.” Anis’ arms went down to his sides and a look of cool hatred filled those ancient and wise eyes. Brick knew then why he should respect his elders; their age and knowledge was power.

“So, you’ll help?” Kris asked to finalize the deal.

“For Ty, I be doin’ whatever you be needin’.” He turned and bent over and rummaged through a box. When he came up he was holding the most wicked, twisting, curved blade that Brick had ever seen. It looked like an all in one Swiss Army torture device. “I be knowin’ how to end an undeath, too, Ju-Ju man.”

“Thanks, I owe ya one, Anis.”

“If it be for Ty, you be owin’ nobody, man.”

Kris turned to walk away. The walk back down the alley seemed far less frightening and a lot shorter to Brick. The night seemed to be looking up. At least Kris seemed to be in better spirits. “Hey, he didn’t have a, well, a Jamaican accent.”

“He was born in the Cayman Islands and was sent to the states at a young age by his parents. When Ty noticed him, Anis already could see the dead. Ty just taught Anis to use his gift. Truth is Anis is about as American as a man can be, and despite the stereotypical black man attitude, he’s all heart and passion. That’s the thing about Voodoo, the good guys are really fucking good and the bad guys, well, they all need to die.”

They stepped out of the alley and started toward the van. Then Kris stopped. Brick was getting annoyed with the deer hunter bullshit. Kris looked out to the street. “Just as I thought. We’ve got company. Ready to play?”

Brick raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to one side as he grabbed the guns that hung to his sides.

Kris squared himself to the entrance to the alley and started walking, his blue eyes piercing through the shadows. He pointed up and Brick aimed toward the tops of the buildings. His eye was not nearly as good as Kris’ and he knew it, but if he could hold off an ambush he would do his best.

Kris stepped out of the alleyway and turned toward a long, sleek, black Cadillac. The windows were tinted almost solid black. He stopped. The doors opened and five men got out. The first four wore black suits and perfectly pressed white shirts. The fifth was a large man with short, spiked blonde hair who was wearing black sunglasses, a black wife beater, black cargo pants and black combat boots. His skin was almost a perfect white. They were Octavia’s first line of defense, her own personal bodyguards and they were out to kill.

Kris reached for his shotgun and started walking. The men pulled out machine guns and bullets started whizzing by Kris. He walked forward fearlessly, aiming the shotgun only enough to hit each man. One shot from the Ithaca and a leg and blood filled the space beneath one. The second shot blasted one man’s shoulder to pieces and the gun fell from the limp hand. Three, a head was taken off and the body dropped. Kris thought lucky shot and then the fourth round caught the other suit dead in the chest. It blew him back. Those three were back up and healing by the time he was focusing on the tall blonde with the muscles. Kris snarled as the machineguns flared again.

He stopped dead in his tracks, dropped to one knee and reloaded his shotgun. He stood and a bullet flew past his ear, he could feel the heat. He fired and flames spewed from the barrel of the stylized gun in his hands. The blazing fire caught on the clothes of the vampires and they dropped their weapons to deal with the pain. One burst into flames and began rolling on the sidewalk. Kris saw a glint in the hand of the blonde and stepped to the side, barely missing the small knife that was meant for his face. He knew that any ordinary man would have been dead before the small glimmer registered in their brain.

Kris ducked down and tossed the expended gun to the side. He saw one vampire run at him and take a leap. It was changing, it’s jaw elongating, it’s body covered in fur and then he was firing with his two nine millimeters. The bullets found their target. One, two, three, four, five, he counted as the small wounds opened in the beast’s chest. He had fired enough to kill several humans when he rolled to one side in a flair of black leather and worn out Nikes. Then he was reaching for his sword. He stood and flicked another knife out of the air before it hit him and in the same stroke the wolf that was turning slowly, fighting against the pain of thirty bullet wounds, split in half across its abdomen and blood fell out in an almost unrealistic waterfall of red to stain the gray sidewalk.

He then turned to the last suit. He was holding guns and firing. Kris had not even noticed. He pulled a stake from his coat and hurled it, knowing that it had been weighted for him to throw if necessary. The oak hit true and the vampire went wide-eyed with surprise, and then fell to the ground, immobilized. Kris walked over, and stopped just short of being hit in the temple with yet another throwing knife. He was getting pissed. He separated the vampire with the stake in its chest from its head and then turned to the blonde. “Alright, Percival, time for you to die.”

The blonde dove into the car and rolled out the other side holding two long fighting knives, knowing that Kris would have to get close with his katana. Kris shook his head. The two squared off and a few late-night bystanders watched the surreal show. What the hell were two white boys doing trying to hack each other to death with swords in the middle of Harlem? Kris dropped into a ready stance, his feet apart for balance, both hands on the hilt, sword held behind his head and pointing toward his prey, the blade shimmering in the pale lamplight in front of his narrowed eyes. He looked as deadly as any killer. Percival, the old Brit, was standing there twirling one of the eighteen inch knives and holding the other ready to catch Kris’ first strike.

They circled and then Kris stepped forward, his blade making a slight swoosh as it cut the air and then clinging against a knife. Percival was strong, but there was no supernatural strength to back it and Kris moved fluidly into his next strike. Percival was used to also having the speed advantage, a talent that any knife fighter prized, but he lacked his vampiric speed as well. Kris moved from strike to strike as if he were in training instead of a fight, but against two blades, keeping the defender occupied was only biding time. Once Kris tired, something that Percival would not do, he would be in danger.

Kris swung and swung, focusing on his breathing. Controlling his breathing would help prevent him from fatiguing quickly and would be essential to winning a melee battle against something that did not breathe or have a heart rate. Then Percival caught the sword with both of his knives to pin it and Kris planted his foot in the vampire’s chest as hard as he could. When the undead recoiled, Kris shoved his weight onto the katana and slid it forward, slicing into the pretty boy’s face.

Percival stepped back and shook his head. Blood flew from the wound. It was cold and sticky, but it still sprayed with the movement of the fighter’s head. Kris saw it as a sign of hope. Percival was one of the best fighters in the city, maybe as good as Arthur or Ty and he would have to bleed the fucker to death or make him lose his head.

The vampire came forward with renewed vigor, his blades twirling and swinging. Kris used everything he had to block the amazingly quick blows. A man using one weapon was always at a disadvantage against someone using two blades. Kris was pushed back until he felt a wall behind him. He was caught between a flurry of maddened steel and a hard place. He made a hard, fast, frantic upstroke with the blade and it pushed the two knives back just long enough for him to plant one foot on the wall and kick his left foot up, out and into the vampire’s face hard enough to push the undead back and propel himself forward. The surprised Percival was unprepared for the following down stroke that opened his chest and the sweeping motion that severed the ligaments of his arm. Kris landed and snarled.

Percival healed the wounds and Kris caught his breath. Brick rounded the corner to see the two start at it again. The blades glimmered in the light; three, spinning, arching, glinting death bringers, moving so fast that all he could see were the movements of the fighters, the sweat beading on Kris’ face and the blood still dripping from the knife fighter’s. It was as if the two were locked in some great battle, surrounded by the shining aura of brightly polished, dangerously fast moving steel. The ting, ting clanging of the weapons was rhythmic and pure. It was the sound of clean, honorable combat between two who had learned to use true skill to kill.

Then Kris started to wear down. He was getting tired and he had not even begun to really hurt the undead warrior. Then, he caught one of the short blades and felt the blade of his katana catch in the hilt and he wrenched the knife from Percival. He smiled as the small blade clanked on the ground thirty feet away. Percival grabbed the hilt of the remaining blade with both hands. Kris stepped forward. Percival started walking backwards and Kris paced him, step for step. Then small throwing knives started coming through the air at Kris. He knocked each to the side with his sword like a pro baseball player knocking Frisbees out of the air. When Percival ran out, he stopped moving back. Kris walked up to him and swung. Percival parried but Kris pushed the blade to the side and the second strike cut into the vampire’s arm, then he stepped back, ducked Percival’s swing and used one arm to drag the katana, stepping forward, into the vampire’s abdomen. Blood poured to the ground. Kris grabbed the back of Percival’s wife beater and then pulled the sword free of the muscle it was embedded in. Percival looked at him and said, “Orders.” Kris shook his head like a father reprimanding his son, then Percival’s head fell to the ground and his blade hit the concrete with a resounding ting that made everyone watching shudder. Then the dull thud of the body hitting the sidewalk marked the end of the battle.

Kris waited, and then straightened from his follow through position. He took a deep breath and turned to see a man picking up the ornate shotgun. He pointed at the man with the katana and started walking toward him with that calm, powerful stride that marked the hunter. The man dropped the shotgun and ran. Kris dropped his katana and then gathered his weapons and put them back in their places in his coat. He went back to the katana and wiped it off on the dead blonde vampire and then looked over the blade. He could see the new nicks on the blade and the freshly revealed folds of the ancient weapon. He tore a piece of cloth off of one of the bodies that had not been stained with blood or ruined by fire and began to polish it until it gleamed. He inspected it one last time before sheathing it.

He looked at Brick. Brick tucked the guns he had away, “Holy shit, where’d you learn to do that shit?”

“I told you, a dead man taught me. Ty and Arthur taught me to fight. It comes in handy. Let’s get the hell outta here before we get more company.”

“Too late, mother fucker.” The deep, powerful voice that echoed down the street was another of Octavia’s lackeys.

Kris snarled and popped his neck. He knew what he was going to see, a huge, burley, muscle-bound Russian with the dark hair and multiple scars who was the real backbone of the Russian Mafioso, a vampire as ruthless and deadly as any Red Army general. Kris turned to face the vampire, he was still tired. “What the hell did I do to you people?”

“Octavia wants your head. I’m going to give it to her.”

“No, you won’t.” The voice was Angela’s. Kris stepped back.

Brick watched as shadows rolled away and Angela stepped forward. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans, little gray sneakers and a white tee with a black leather jacket. It was plain, manageable and designed for the rare occasion that the baddest of New York’s bitches would come out to kick some ass. Not something she had to do often. She bared her teeth and her polished fingernails became long claws.

The huge Korsgraad ripped off his button up shirt and got into a wrestling stance, his eyes burned red and his teeth became feral and jagged like a wolf’s. Brick could see the thick hair of the vampire stand on end and then it began to grow. He was getting bigger, more muscular and his face was elongating, his ears moved, his nose was changing, blending into those teeth. His hair became a dark gray and then silver. His fingers seemed to outgrow his hands and in a few short seconds, Brick was staring at a huge creature that was a combination of human and wolf features. The head was a large, sleek, regal wolf’s but the body was mostly human and a large, furry tail helped balance the hunched form. The hands were massive, designed for use as long knives with three inch claws. If it was not nine feet tall and snarling like it was rabid, it would have been a beautiful creature, a mighty, majestic thing.

“Hey, I don’t remember anything about werewolves.” Brick said.

Kris looked at him, “There aren’t any, the stories come from vampires like Korsgraad and Arthur who can take on a half-wolf form. It’s a secret of ancient northern vampires, those that lived in the cold woods and tundra.”

“Question, how the hell does a five foot three inch Italian girl, fight nine foot of wolf?”

“Watch.”

Angela, or Octavia, seemed to get larger without actually getting any bigger. Her eyes flared with an unholy light and then the beast lunged at her. She sidestepped the swing and the battle began. It looked like a housecat and a German Shepherd going at it. Their movements were so fast that Brick could barely make out the slashes and the bites. He could not believe that he was watching a woman try to tear into a werewolf thing with her teeth. Normally, the vampire bite thing would have been kind of sexy, but in its context at that moment, it was nothing short of a cat defending its territory. It was disturbing.

The raking and slashing of Korsgraad was very animalistic, but it fit him. When Angela would claw at the white furred creature, it looked like a girl trying to scratch an attacker in futility and yet rivulets of red would stain the white and clumps of black and grunge appeared in the hair as the blood clotted and dirt collected near the wounds. But, then the wounds would close up almost as if by magic, healing over and reforming in seconds or minutes. Angela was also getting ripped up and then her flesh would mend. It was sickening to watch so much blood pour from such a small woman and she barely notice. Puddles of red and spatters and sprinkles of the crimson, sticky fluid covered their little arena. They howled and snarled and yelped like beasts. The moon glistened, staring down between the buildings on the feral battle of the damned.

Kris looked entertained as he watched. Personally, he had always wanted to see the two go at it. He knew that they were nearly evenly matched and that both were capable of all kinds of nasty behavior. He would have put his money on Korsgraad, but the ferocity in Angela was amazing. She would never admit to being able to fight like that, but Kris had always known she was more than capable.

Angela caught Korsgraad’s massive paw in her dainty hand and squeezed. The wolf bit her shoulder, or rather into her entire torso, leaving gaping wounds as blood poured out. Angela slashed across the monster’s wrist and his jaw clamped down. Her brown eyes grew huge as the pain seared through her dead body. She grabbed his throat and sunk her claws into the fur, then through flesh and pinched the muscles until the jaw loosened and she slid out of the pincer grip. Korsgraad roared into the night and the people scattered. By morning they would remember none of what had happened.

Angela scratched across the wolf’s stomach and stepped behind the huge beast as its guts poured out onto the ground in a bloody splatter. The creature looked down and then snipped the hanging intestines with its own claw. What good were organs to the dead? It swung a huge paw behind and Angela’s face opened in four slits and she was flung back over twenty feet through the air. She hit the pavement with a thud and stood up. The wounds sealed, leaving blood on her beautiful face. She ran at the thing and jumped. It slashed with both hands and swatted her out of the air. She reached out from the ground and grabbed the creature’s hamstring and ripped it out. The wolf fell back and she leaped onto it, tearing into its meaty chest with her delicate hands.

Brick heard the bones crunching as she dug and then he saw the thing bear hug her. She did not stop reaching into the bleeding wound. She was looking for something. She was being crushed, slowly as a child by two anacondas. After a few moments the creature roared and she stood up, blood arched out over the body and splattered on the pavement in a nearly solid stream with splashes coming off of it like red water out of a water hose when it is first turned on. In her hand was the thing’s heart. She threw it to the ground and then started slashing at the creature’s throat, over and over until the head was no longer attached.

It was gruesome. Kris nodded at Brick. Brick looked at the scene, then to Kris, “What the hell?”

“Nothing like seeing a good old fashioned fight between the damned.”

Angela turned to the two of them. Her dark eyes were filled with pain. She had done too many things that she regretted in one night. She would lose her place among the dead of New York. She would indeed still be feared, but the level of respect she had would be gone. She had done things before that went against what she had said, but that was far too much. She gave her word to protect someone, then ordered them killed and then killed the one she sent to do the job. It was a sign of weakness to not go through with what you said you would do.

Kris started walking toward her, “What the hell’s going on?”

She looked down and started shaking her head, her strength had faded, “A hawk came, it was in my head and it wasn’t. You know how things work in my world. She made me do it. I didn’t want to, I swear, I was going to keep my word. After I realized what I did, I came to help you. I had to; I knew that without you we wouldn’t stand a chance against her. She’s too strong for us, she killed Kahmir and Arthur. Ty is dying, too. There’s a mortal woman that I saw when she was in my head, a brunette, she went through the Red Baptism and now she is hunting a man at the elder’s whim. You have to go, you have to win. I had to make sure you got there and now…” She collapsed and started crying. Kris had seen more emotions in the criminal kingpin in one night than in ten years. He was surprised.

“So it was Ekatarina.” Kris said kneeling beside the blood soaked immortal.

She looked up, brown eyes begging for consolation and peace. She shook her head slowly, no. Kris looked away and then back at her. “I think it was another one like her. I think there are two of them. Not just another of her spawn. I don’t know how powerful the other is. We’re…” she fell into Kris’ chest and sobbed. Kris knew that bloody tears dripped from those dark eyes with the painful longing in them.

Kris looked up at Brick, “We’re screwed if they’re on the same side. We kill Ekatarina, try to get the city on its feet and then we’ll worry about the new threat. Tomorrow goes down as planned, I don’t give a shit if Jesus comes back while we’re asleep, we’re killing that bitch tomorrow.”

Brick just shook his head in agreement.

After a while Angela composed herself and stood. Kris stood up, looking down at the woman. She brushed her dark hair back and straightened her leather jacket. She looked around and then wiped her eyes. Blood had dried along her cheeks and made her look even more frightening than she was when she had been fighting.

Kris said.

“There was a time when I really was a woman. There was a time when I cared for an empire and mothered a man who was nearly a god. I had to have morals once; I remember those just like I remember the other things, Kris. I know what it is to be alive and to rely on other people and the truth is, I still feel for them, despite the fact that they are less than I am now. That is the real curse, to know what it is to be one of many and then be one of few in the presence of those many. You know it, but they do not feel you the way they do the dead. We are cold to the touch and far too predatory for them to feel comfortable around us for long. In the end, I had to choose you. You are their hope, and the only way I’m guaranteed a meal.” She attempted to smile but it shattered and she looked like she was about to cry again.

“You should go now. Oh, and thanks, I wasn’t sure I could take him.”

“Are you joking, I’ve seen you fight. You would have probably done better than me.”

“Then why’d you come?”

“Because it was my fault he came.”

“No it wasn’t, like you said, I know how your world works. That vampire in the form of the hawk used you. It’s like rape.”

“But I still felt like…”

“Shh, go. I’ve got it from here, you just hold up your end of our bargain. Got it?”

“Yeah,” she turned and faded into the shadows.

Kris looked at Brick. Brick shook his head in wonder. “You’re fuckin’ crazy; you know that, fuckin’ crazy.”

“Sometimes you got to be.”

They started walking back to the van. Brick looked over, “Hey, what’s the Red Baptism?”

“That’s what they call it, the change, the becoming, whatever it is. It makes sense. They are in a sense, born again as a new creature, truly in the blood.”

Brick thought that it was a ghastly and overly religious connotation. It fit perfectly for creatures that knew they were damned. He climbed into the van and they drove off. Kris stopped and went into a diner and in a few minutes brought out some burgers. He tossed one at Brick when he got in. “Eat up. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”

They went back to the warehouse and locked up tight. Kris did not want to take any chances even during the day and started setting up mirrors so that there was no room to move without being touched by a beam of sunlight. He sat and waited for the sun to begin to rise. The minutes went by slowly, agonizingly so. He was tired and he wanted to fall asleep so he decided to shower. Each moment seemed an eternity. Brick was out and Kris did not want to let something get in while it was still dark. He started checking the floors, the piping, everything to make certain that there were no ways to get in save the doors and he aimed sunlight at anything that opened to the sewers, drains, anywhere that something might try to mist, drip, or slide in. He hated the fact that they could turn to shadow, mist, blood, small rodents, insects, and various other things to get into rooms that were otherwise inaccessible. It made making any place safe a pain.

Finally, he saw the first rays of sunlight glinting on the mirrors and he went to his room and took off his shirt and crawled into bed. As soon as he laid down, he seemed to be awake. Sleep evaded him for what seemed like an eternity. And then came sweet darkness.

Night 11

Kris woke up and wiped the gunk from his eyes. He grinned slightly as he realized that he had survived another uneventful day. He pulled back the sheets and then grabbed a towel and showered. As the water ran over him he thought about what he was going to do. He had thought about the city and the places that Ekatarina would hide. She was an elitist snob who craved a challenge. She would be the type to revel in a victory over a great warrior and definitely not the type to live in a sewer. Most likely, Octavia was right. She would be at Arthur’s manor in the woods north of the city. He would have to pay a visit.

He stepped out and toweled himself off. He looked at his knuckles. The scars were so numerous he could barely tell one from another. His hands were soft, smooth. They had always healed quickly. He looked in the mirror and stared at the bullet wounds and the five long scars that were the origin of his vampire hunting lifestyle. He ruffled his wet hair and it stood on end. He stared into the reflection, looking into the blue eyes that stared right back at him. He knew that the man was whole; finally, he was his own person. He liked that feeling.

He walked to the room he had slept in and pulled on a pair of boxers, dark blue jeans and a black tee shirt. He pulled a black and gray plaid flannel over it and then pulled on socks and his black Nikes. He checked all the weapons in his coat and pulled it on. He made sure the hood was attached and then walked to the room that Brick slept in.

He kicked open the door and Brick sat up and rolled, falling onto the floor in a flurry of sheets, blankets and pillows. “Ahh, what the hell, man?” He sat on the floor looking at Kris, breathing hard. Kris just chuckled silently and then turned away.

Brick got up, threw the sheets and blankets down and grabbed a tee with a picture of a Dodge Charger on the front and slipped into some faded jeans and black Lugz. He grabbed his blue sunglasses and then grabbed a blue button up to accent the writing on his shirt. He walked down to the garage and saw Kris loading up the van with incendiary rounds and gasoline.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I may have to end it in a really big boom. Don’t want to, but ya never know.” He hefted a gas can into the back. The Harley was sitting by the other vehicles.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Time is something that I’m not sure we have anymore. There might be two of these things out there and that means the quicker we deal with Ekatarina, the quicker we get to meet the other one.”

“Sure you’re not in too much of a hurry, I mean, you don’t know where to find Ekatarina. Do you?”

“If Octavia’s right, she’s probably living in a house designed for the most powerful man in New York. Arthur’s mansion in the woods. That’s where we’re headed tonight. If not, well, guess we’re screwed.”

Kris hefted a can into the back of the van.

“So, this is it then?” Brick’s dark eyes implored.

“Sometimes, a man lives his entire life for one moment. Sometimes, heroism is a consequence of your actions. Every once in while, a man has to succeed or die.”

“And sometimes a man lives his entire life for nothing. Sometimes, being wrong is the only path and most die thinking they haven’t done shit in life.”

Kris shook his head, “This isn’t a job where you should be a pessimist. Trust me.”

“So, I guess you’re going into this cool and calm, huh?”

“As cool as a coal and calm as a hurricane. Fear is not something to be ignored. It is the best advantage we have over them. They forget, like Domitius, that a mortal can kick ass. Then they refuse to use their abilities or get sloppy. Then you get a good hit in and it’s all over for their undead ass. Fear is something that when tempered, makes you faster, stronger, tougher. You’ll see someday.”

“I’m hungry.”

“So am I, we’ll get something to eat on the way. It’s a long trip to Arthur’s place. Get in.”

They climbed in and pulled out onto the still busy streets of the Big Apple. They stopped and picked up some fast food. They ate it as they left the lights behind and cruised up I-87 toward Albany. Kris watched as he traced his footsteps back to the wooded lands that few people could imagine being so close to New York City unless they actually saw it. Time passed and they left the interstate and started out back roads that grew smaller and smaller until they were going down a one lane paved road.

Brick looked over. “Wow, not exactly what I imagined. You know, the whole wooded and secluded thing. I figured her for a city girl.”

Kris kept his eyes on the road, “And how many white city girls do you think there were in western Europe, oh, some five thousand years ago.”

“Alright, so you got a point.” Brick shrugged.

“Hey, you smell something?”

“What?”

Kris asked again, “Do you smell something?”

Brick sniffed, “Nah, why?”

“Never mind, must be imagining it.”

They drove a little longer and then the smell hit them both. They recognized it immediately. It was sweet, pungent and fruity. Brick associated the smell with the buzzing of flies. Kris knew that it was the smell of death. There was rotting flesh out there and they were driving straight into it. Brick started looking around at the trees and the shrubs along the road. He peered into the dark places between the foliage and could see nothing. Kris knew that they would see it, she wanted them to.

They drove for a little longer and then the iron gates came into view and Brick could make out shapes hanging from the top of the gates. There were three shapes, long and mangled was all he could see in the darkness. As they got closer, he could make out the shapes. They were dogs or wolves.

Kris slowed the van to a stop and got out. Brick stepped out and looked up at the animals that hung from the iron pikes that were part of the gate. Kris walked up to one and touched the fur. He felt the stiffness and then pushed on the dangling leg with one finger. The rigidity of the body told him that rigor mortis had set in long ago and the cool feel of the flesh told him that the body had been there for a good while. He shook his head and turned away. “Disgusting.”

Brick stepped away and turned into the bushes. He started retching. Kris watched and waited. He could smell the acid and the food. So much for dinner, or breakfast, or whatever it was that a person ate when they woke up at night. He walked over when he thought Brick was finished and put hand on his back, “You alright?”

Brick wiped his mouth on his arm and looked up. His eyes were watering, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure you can do this?”

“If I don’t, I’ll never be able to deal with this stuff.”

“It wouldn’t make you less of a man. Some people…” Brick stopped him with a glance that cut like steel. Kris nodded once and then walked back to the gate.

He looked up at the wolf that hung from the middle of the gate. To open it, he would have to either rip the wolf in half or take the wolf off by hand. He would do it by hand. He grabbed the lupine form and hefted. It was heavy. He pushed up and the animal slipped up the iron bar and then there was a sucking sound indicating that it was coming off the gate. He pushed a little more and the wolf fell to the ground with a thud. The swollen, blue tongue hung out rigidly between the yellowed fangs of the beast. Kris drug it to the side of the road. He took one last look at the dead animal and saw that its throat had been slit and the fur was matted with blood. He looked around. The smell was too potent to come from just the three wolves. Then he used his key in the base of the lion statue to make the electronically guided gates swing open.

He looked to Brick. The kid was standing there glaring at the road that led off into the shadowy woods. Kris arched an eyebrow and waited for his young apprentice to cope with the dread that had set in. He was dealing with it well. Kris walked to the van and waited until Brick finally climbed in.

Kris drove down the road slowly. Brick listened to the wind blow and the leaves brush against each other in the breeze. The tires made popping noises as stray stones were pushed out of the way. The headlights showed a narrow path ahead and the stuff at the edges seemed to have a life all its own. Brick kept looking back and forth, from one movement to another. He was getting more paranoid the closer they got. The young man’s brown eyes were filled with a mixture of fright and curiosity.

After a few minutes at the aggravatingly slow pace, they saw the pikes with the wolf bodies dangling from them. They were in two rows that followed parallel to the road. Kris slowed to a stop. The headlamps showed off the entrails that rested in bloody puddles at the edges of the road. Brick was taken aback by the scene. There had to be hundreds of wolves and dogs, mostly German Shepherds, Great Danes, Labradors and other large retrievers. Brick looked over to Kris.

Kris answered even before Brick gathered his thoughts to ask, “She hates dogs. Imagine if you were a little girl living in the woods in a time when only knives and pitchforks could save you. She must have had the fear ever since she was mortal. We might be able to use it.”

Brick took a deep, exasperated breath through his nose and twisted away to look at the road. He tried not to focus on the bodies, but they were posted every few feet. It was like the road to Rome lined with the bodies of the Christians. Brick figured that that was exactly what the ancient bitch was trying to get at. Kris started driving again, even more slowly.

They pulled around a corner and Brick saw the mansion. It was huge, three floors high at least and it had towers and huge parts built out away and connected by stone walks with stone overheads held by granite columns. It was truly gothic, with large arched windows and graceful arches between buttresses and walls. The glass in many of the windows was thick lead glass, tinted bright colors depicting beautiful country backdrops or magnificent scenes of events in Biblical history. Several walls had large bas-reliefs carved into them showing almost fairytale like moments. One was a man kissing a woman’s hand. Then he saw the drops from the woman’s wrist and he understood its significance to the man who had lived in that place.

Kris pulled up and stopped. Brick stepped out. Kris walked up to Brick and looked at the young man before him. “Look, this is it. Last chance. When we go in, we probably won’t be coming out, and if we do, we may not be the same. I’ll understand if you want to take the van and go. This is more than most hunters ever see. No sane man would do this, at least not without a damn good reason.”

Brick looked over and asked, “What’s your reason?”

Kris looked up to the mansion’s towers, knowing that it had once been a Scottish castle deep in the highlands and housed more things that could be turned on him than he could imagine. He knew that the castle was haunted. “I let a girl down once. I killed one bloodsucker, but the elder came for her. I can’t let any one else…” The words faded into the wind and the shadows. Kris went ice cold. He was ready for war.

Brick shook his head and looked up at what seemed to him more like a cursed cathedral than a home. “I’m with you, man, I’m with you.”

Kris turned around and looked over the trees. The wind blew hard and the leaves turned over. He could just see the lighter green. He held out a hand and waited. Brick watched him intently, “What?”

Kris felt a large droplet of water hit his hand and looked up. “How poetic.”

“What?” Brick had time to say before the rain started pelting down.

Kris turned and walked up to the large oak doors and pushed. They did not budge. He stepped back and looked. He took out his Ithaca and aimed at the large iron lock that was set into the right door. He fired and then fired again. Then, he kicked the doors open and they slid across a polished hardwood floor. Brick looked confused. All that castle and the inside looked like a modern house. Kris smiled over his shoulder. He knew that Arthur used the modern parts of the house for his living guests, however rare they may be.

Kris stepped in and Brick followed behind. Brick had armed himself with two nine millimeters, a machete, several fighting knives, and a shotgun in addition to the two machine guns. He carried a high powered rifle with a laser sight and tracer rounds that had been modified to explode on contact. He felt a total lack of preparation for where they were. He followed Kris closely.

Kris thought of Autumn. Where was she now? What had happened to her? Was she alive? Was she being forced to do things to foil his plans? Maybe she was bat food. Kris looked from side to side along the dark hall that they walked down slowly. He did not think that Ekatarina would pull anything here, but one could never be too careful. Not to mention, it would be the perfect place to try to throw him off by sending Autumn out to greet and meet them.

They walked back through the darkness and nothing happened. It was deathly quiet and the patter of the rain outside seemed to echo through the shadows that surrounded them. Kris stopped and his left hand went up in a fist in front of Brick’s face. Brick stopped. Kris saw something move in the gray of a shadow and noticed that the shadow seemed darker close to the floor.

Kris walked forward and hunched down. He aimed at the dark spot and kept looking away in quick glances, trying to make sure that nothing caught him from the sides. He was practically creeping toward the object when it bolted, fast as lightning across the floor and then jumped on top of a polished wooden stand and sent several porcelain pieces falling to the floor. They shattered and the thing slid and pounced from the table to the floor some seven feet away as it meowed loudly.

“Damned cat,” Kris said under his breath.

Brick shook his head and Kris motioned for him to follow. Kris walked up to a door. It was already cracked open and the lights in the room were off. Kris leaned around to peek in stealthily and saw nothing in the impenetrable darkness. He tapped the bottom of the wooden door with his foot and it opened a bit more. There was still no light going into the room. He ran his left hand up the side of the wall and over the light switch. The lights came on and there was nothing. It was a room of furniture and paintings and nothing of interest to Kris. He clicked the light off and started down the hall again.

Brick felt relieved at the revelation that the room was unoccupied. He was completely prepared to find out that the whole manor was the in the same state of abandon. Then the cat hissed at him and he jumped back. His breath caught and his eyes widened. The cat walked toward him, baring its tiny pointed teeth like a maddened miniature panther. Brick fumbled with his shotgun and aimed and then the cat stepped back and seemed to disappear into the shadows. When he started breathing again, his breathes were heavy and uneven. Kris looked back and smiled, then did that funny looking silent chuckle that you could see all over his face, especially in his blue eyes, but not hear.

Then, Kris turned around and kept walking. He went to another door. That room was silent and lifeless as well. He followed the path of the hallway, checking each room in turn and listening to Brick’s heart rate and breathing peak at the point when the doors moved and receding when he found them empty. He remembered being younger and learning the same way. Then, he turned into a stairwell and went upstairs. Brick paused before following, and making creaking noises the entire way up the stairwell.

Kris waited at the top for the clumsy oaf, at least by a ten year veteran’s standards. He figured that Ekatarina knew they were there already, but Brick was not helping them out in the least. He turned a disappointed look on the new hunter. Brick looked up and his face was filled with the feeling of inadequacy that flooded him as Kris looked at him like that.

Kris looked away and then leaned into the second floor hall. He looked around and then started towards the office where he had often found Arthur. Brick followed through the darkness, half walking and half stumbling in the near complete blackness. Then, they turned into the study and saw the absolute blackness grow darker. Kris did not turn on the lights before walking in. He waited until Brick had found his way in and then he flicked on the light. The room was covered in blood. Everything was red splattered, caked with sticky blackness, or cluttered with thick crimson grime.

Brick’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, man. What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think I want to.” Kris walked up to the large mahogany desk and looked over it. A puddle of black, dried blood sat under the chair behind it. He looked around to all the books and the plants, everything seemed to have a least a few drops of blood on it. It was amazing how much blood there was and yet no sign of a significant struggle. His eyes seemed to focus on something much further away than the walls as he pondered the scene. Brick watched, wondering what thoughts were going through that dark and shadowed mind of the hunter. He was curious what it was like, perhaps he was tracing the murderer’s steps or trying to picture what the butcher was thinking. He wanted to know so he could try the same thing. Kris looked at him, “Arthur, he’s really dead. They brought him here and finished him. They had fun doing it, too. They brought him to his little sanctuary, his room and they bled him and beat the unlife out of him. They enjoyed it, like a pack of ravenous dogs playing with a wounded stray cat.” Kris’ eyes narrowed and went deathly cold. The room seemed to grow colder and the mood went from one of fear and caution to icy rage and stony vengeance. Brick was afraid of Kris for a moment. Then Kris bolted past and into the hall.

Brick walked behind the vengeful hunter into the dark passage and then through a large oak door that creaked on iron hinges. They stepped into the castle part of the manor. Candelabras shed light on the balcony that clung to the wall around the large square chamber that was decorated in huge red and blue tapestries and had large paintings hanging from the granite stone walls. Two stairwells curved from the balcony on either side down to the floor, seeming to frame the ornate chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Kris was walking rapidly toward the right stairway, one hand on the stone banister and the other holding his Ithaca.

Brick walked over the rich, plush red carpet but was uncomfortable with Kris’ pace. He watched the hunter walk down the stone stairs. His coat flared out behind him as he descended to the gallery below. Brick got to the edge of the stairs and saw Kris standing in front of three large, peaked stone arches that were part of the wall over which they had entered. In those arches were huge wooden doors that had been sealed shut with iron bars in large clasps. He was looking at another set of doors, doors that led into the inner workings of Arthur’s domain and into a world ruled by the undead. The light from the candelabras and the massive crystal chandelier flickered over everything giving it a surreal, ethereal quality. Brick truly felt as if he was standing with one foot in the land of the living and one in the land of the dead. He had no idea how right he was, for even in good old Scotland, the castle had been haunted.

Brick walked down the stairs to where Kris was and turned to face the doors that led into the castle. They were in the antechamber, a place that was used for greeting and meeting and taking coats, or cloaks as the case may have been some seven or eight hundred years earlier. Brick felt as if the people in the portraits were watching him. It was odd enough seeing the old canvas set in gilded gold frames and feeling like he was in a museum, he did not need to be thinking that he was being watched by creatures in the walls. Then he saw the amber orbs of the cat’s eyes staring at him and he realized that they were being watched.

The cat bolted like black lightning and jumped. It went through the air, hissing, fur standing on end and then it faded into a shadow. Its dark coat disappeared and then the amber eyes blinked out of existence and a mist flowed out of the shadows across the floor and beneath the door. Kris saw Brick’s eyes change from worry to absolute disbelief and true terror, the kind that makes someone stare blankly at something they know is about to kill them. Kris looked back at the door. “Alright, so she’s got a lot of tricks. No problem. Let’s go.”

Brick grabbed Kris’ coat to stop him as he stepped toward the door, “Do you know what you’re doing, what’s back there?”

“Truthfully, I have no fucking idea what’s back there because I’m not sure exactly how long those four bitches have been playing house in Arthur’s home. Truth is, we’re standing here and they know it and if we turn tail and run, they’ll know just how afraid we are. Truth is Kahmir, Autumn, James, and who the hell knows who might still be alive or at least unalive behind that door and the only chance they have is us. So, it doesn’t really fucking matter if I know anything. All that matters is that we go back there, we kick a little ass, and do our best. And if we fail, then God be damned.” He ripped away from Brick’s frail, trembling grip and kicked the door in.

Behind the door was a room very similar to the one in which they stood. The gold plated candelabras were the only light and the flames seemed to only illuminate enough to make everything visible. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling, old wooden and iron things with glass over the large candles and held by two inch thick ropes that were tied to stylized iron bars on the walls. It was far longer then the last room and there were large oak doors on both levels that led to the rooms of the keep. Blue tapestries with gold emblazoned lions standing and pawing the air hung on the walls and stone lions stood watch in front of doors. The handles on the doors were lions’ faces that seemed too long, almost as if stretched out by the iron maker. Pikes, awls, oversized battleaxes with double bit blades, bastard swords, long swords and shields decorated the walls between huge landscape paintings of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. There were large glass displays showing blades that would have fetched a hefty price from any collector, armor that was polished to a bright gleam even in the sparse, flickering candlelight. There were tartans and beautiful English dresses, pressed under glass and hung like portraits. There were vases and porcelain plates, along with the iron tableware of the old Europeans. Brick’s mouth dropped open when he stepped behind Kris and looked on the room. He thought he was in an old British palace; he was almost right.

Kris stepped in and looked around. Brick followed behind. The room was cooler than the part of the manor they had just left. Kris took a deep breath of the fresh, chilly air and it bit his lungs as they stretched. He rolled his shoulders and his back popped lightly. Brick looked at him and then to the floor. There was a plush red carpet that led down the center of the room and to each door that was lined in gold tassels that had been laid out perfectly. The rest was bare stone, polished and well kept. Brick looked up again, “Wow.”

“Yeah, I know, kinda like a video game, isn’t it?”

“You played those things?”

“I’m twenty-six, of course I played a couple of ‘em. Only difference is, we only get one life.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

They started walking and then Kris stopped in the middle of the room. He started turning around in a circle slowly. His eyebrows furled as he looked up and down the walls. Brick watched, slightly puzzled. Kris was looking for something, trying to think through things. He was working over something in his head. He was putting his memories to good use and trying to think of where to start. He had no clue.

Finally, Kris shrugged and started walking toward a door. Brick shrugged and followed behind. Kris stopped suddenly. He turned and his blue eyes caught on something, his gaze became a glare and then he squinted. Brick turned and saw that what Kris was looking at. It was one of the glass cases. “What?”

Kris walked over to the case and bent down. His head bent from one side to the other. Brick looked at it. The case had three shelves, the top one held an elegant long sword with a golden tinted hilt with a red tassel. The second held a gorgeous German broadsword with exquisite blade work and a thin rope wound about the hilt. The third held a double edged Celtic short sword that had Celtic knot work all along the blade. Kris tapped the glass, “The rapier is gone. It was a French fighting blade, not much different from the long sword, but it was lighter and shorter with an ornate hand guard over the hilt and a blue tassel. The sheath was done in the same blue rope as the tassel and had a gold tip. The belt was thin leather. It would be perfect for a woman; small, lithe, and pretty.”

Brick could see the imprint in the red silk that the swords rested on. There had been a blade there and it was indeed missing. “So, what does that mean?”

“My guess is that Ekatarina has her own shit. The Asian is a hell of a fighter from what you say, so she probably has her own stuff, too. I don’t know about the red head, but that blonde girl, she’s new to the undead thing. Looks like they wanted her to be ready for me. It’s gonna be a fun one.” He stood and walked to the closest door. He reached to the latch and opened the door. He stepped in.

The corridor before them led a good thirty feet before ending at another hall. Kris started walking, his feet making soundless steps on the carpet. Brick tried to copy the effect and yet he could still hear his own footsteps. It aggravated him that he was not as capable as Kris. Kris stopped at the corner and peeked around, only exposing enough of his head and face to see down either direction of the hall. Brick waited behind him.

Kris stepped out, shotgun at the ready. He spun around and his coat flared out. His hands moved and he was holding the shotgun out in his right hand and he had a Glock in his left. He was looking back and forth and waiting for something to happen. Then he raised his Glock toward the ceiling and turned toward Brick and whispered, “Alright, let’s go.”

He took the right path. It only led a few dozen feet before turning right and back to the main room they had just left. Kris put his back to the left wall and slid along, focusing his shotgun on something and Brick followed his lead, clumsily aiming in the same general direction. Brick seemed to sound like a hurricane behind Kris, yet Kris never looked his way. Then, Brick noticed that Kris was focused on a door. He slid around to the other side and inspected it from a distance. He holstered the Glock and reached out for the latch slowly and cautiously. He raised the latch, listening to the faint click and gritting his teeth together as he did. Then he pushed the door open slowly. It squeaked.

Brick could see nothing but darkness within. Kris was looking from side to side again. He looked like an overcautious cop in a movie. Brick realized that no matter how cautious the policeman, his life was in danger and in his own situation, would have probably already shit his pants. He figured that Kris knew exactly what he was doing.

Meanwhile, Kris was pondering what the afterlife just might be like. He thought it would suck if he came back as a ghost. He might end up like that black guy, just a helper hoping to get some other street tough mo-fo through to his next fight so he just might be able to save the night one more time before some bloodsucking fiend got the best of him. He did not want to linger around any longer than he had to. Least of all, if his job was going to be the same. The edges of the stairs were barely visible in the darkness, even to his highly trained and well adjusted eyesight. He knew that the chance of surviving was slim, but he did not want to push the envelope too far, not this early in the game. Then again, he thought, how early was it? He stepped toward the open door.

The darkness that looked back up at him was almost perfect. It was as if he was staring into the abyss itself. He steeled himself for the descent and then began down the stairs to the underground parts of the house. His shotgun was aimed down the stairs, but after every third step he would point it up, as if expecting something from above. It seemed like he stopped on each step forever before moving to the next one. It was a torturing climb downward. Brick could feel the air growing colder, thicker. He could smell earth and stone and something more sweet. Finally, Kris stepped and did not go down any further. Brick was relieved to see the seasoned hunter hit bottom. He knew the rest of the night would be more of the same. Kris walked a little way and a flame flickered to life in his hand. The light danced around them in loose circles, barely able to illuminate the few feet around them. Brick thought he heard something and then Kris looked around, holding the lighter out to see if anything was within the edges of the light. After discovering nothing, he walked briskly back past Brick and the stairwell and lit something. It was a candle. He lit several more and then turned around to face Brick.

Kris’ eyes widened and he raised his shotgun. Brick gasped and hit the floor. Kris started firing blast after blast and then reloading. After a while, he dropped the shotgun and it clanked on the floor. Then, he pulled the Glocks and started shooting. The only sounds that Brick could hear were the gun-blasts and the strange, raspy wails of creatures behind him. It sounded like someone was trying to scream but did not have the air to be able to. Brick looked back and saw the things. They were more or less human, save for the fact they each looked to be in different stages of rotting away. He could see completely through some and others showed off nearly mummified organs. Tatters of clothing clung to them and they moved mindlessly. Shot after shot hit head after head and the bodies dropped. Then, after the splatter of congealed blood or bone chips or gray matter and the thud of the lifeless body hitting the ground, they would clamor back up and start walking toward them again. Brick scurried to where Kris was and turned and unleashed with his machine guns. The zombies started falling. But it was not enough, they just got back up. They were not like the ones he had seen earlier, they were far stronger.

The last one, an old and decayed thing with a few green knotted muscles and skin that was dry and cracked, refused to drop and stay down. It kept coming at them, parts of it refitting and growing back, but still it was little more than a dried mummy. Kris reloaded as Brick continued to blast, and still the one figure in the back walked on. It was like it was not even being hit. Kris started firing again as the thing came closer and then he saw that it was not rotted, it was not a corpse, or at least not one that could be distinguished as such a nasty, dirt covered, smelly, mindless thing as a zombie. A moment ago it was a wretched and disgusting thing but now it, she was gorgeous. Her long black hair shone in the candlelight like dark satin and her almond shaped eyes were warm and alluring. She wore a long, sleeveless dress that was perfectly amazing in its simplicity. Her arms were delicate and smooth and her shoulders were a creamy white that belied her obvious Asian heritage. Kris cocked his head to one side.

Brick started walking backwards as he continued to blast away. The bullets passed through it. The dress was being shredded and bloodstained and yet the thing did not even move as the bullets passed through it and out of it, pulling the dress tight as they pierced through the cloth on the other side of her body. Brick started screaming and Kris started shaking his head with a disappointed look on his face. The woman stopped and let the machine guns stop blazing before she leapt into the air and seemed to split into a thousand tiny facets of darkness that disappeared into the shadows on the ceiling.

Kris turned around and punched Brick to get him to stop his screaming. The blow to his stomach made Brick feel like vomiting. “Shush, moron. You can’t lose your cool. It’s the only thing you’ve got.” He looked up at the ceiling and started moving around, looking for something up there in the shadows. He had seen a lot of tricks and he was wondering what the girl had in store. “I love this part, waiting for the really weird shit they pull that you’ve never seen even though you do battle with the nasties on a nightly basis. It’s so much fun.” There was sarcasm in every word.

Brick stopped clenching his gut and stood up straight just in time to feel something drop onto his neck. He swatted it and a tiny black fleck hit the floor. Kris looked and saw the eight legged critter skitter to the shadows. His face fell as the revelation came over him, “This is gonna suck.” Then a cloud of spiders on thin, glistening webs fell from the shadows overhead. He started swatting; knowing that guns would do no good and flames would not help in close proximity, the weakness of fire was it hurt if it got too close to you.

They were running, but the spiders could jump like their Asian beauty counterpart. There were several on Kris as he turned to look back for Brick. He saw the kid running with spiders all over his shoulders and then the spiders blended together and black, decayed hands formed. In a grisly display of reverse rotting, the tiny creepy crawlers became a blackened, drowned corpse that reverted into the woman. Her peeled back lips came together in a full, pink, warm smile as the transformation took place. The waterlogged, white, bloated eyes became those gorgeous orbs of dark brown. Then she pulled back and drug Brick into the shadows. He was gone with a scream and Kris could see the bitch sinking her teeth into his neck and the trails of blood on his pale skin as he faded into shadow.

“Damn, damn, damn. You fucking bitch.” He said as he stomped several of the black spiders into goopy piles of shattered exoskeleton and white-green mini-guts with his black Nikes.

He turned around in a circle and then ran down the wide hall to a door on the left. It opened into a makeshift laboratory that would suit any meddler’s or science teacher’s interest, if they did not mind a little dust, using ancient beakers, tubes and wooden stands. It was archaic by the modern scientific standards, but Newton or Franklin would have been at home. He lit several lights, revealing the disaster before him. It looked like someone had fought and left everything in disarray. Glass shards lay everywhere and old papers were strewn about. Nothing appeared to be in working order. If Arthur was still around, he was going to be pissed.

Kris walked around looking for clues of what had happened. There was not so much as a drop of blood, or a hair to indicate that anyone had been there. Suddenly, a vial flew through the air past Kris’ head and smashed on a wall. Kris looked to the sound of the smashing glass and then a small, wooden test tube stand was picked up and pitched over-handed at him by nothing, or something he could not see. He ducked the wood and looked over his shoulder. He was not quite sure where to look for the culprit. He had seen a lot of strange things, but he had never met an undead capable of throwing anything without being able to actually touch it somehow. If it was invisible, that would be something new as well.

He reached for his shotgun and realized that it was still down the hall. “Fuck,” he whispered. He took out his katana. The gleaming steel blade was nicked but deadly to the undead. A nice little toy from the east, he thought appropriate at the moment, seeing as how Ekatarina had her own Oriental magic around. Another vial flew through the air and he knocked it away, a blast of glass shards twinkling to the ground from the melodic collision of the perfect steel and the thick glass. Then a broken chair was flung at him, he kicked it out of the air and it clacked on a table several yards away. “Alright, I don’t know who you think you’re fucking with, but you better freakin’ stop unless you plan to find out what death is supposed to be like. Got it?”

The room grew cold. That was something familiar. Then the lights started flickering. The candles acted as if someone or something was trying to blow them out. As the candles went out, one by one, in different places around the room, a mist began to fill the floor. Kris dropped to a fighting stance and started moving in a slow circle where he stood, katana held out, pointing toward the unseen enemies that seemed to be all around him. His lips peeled back from his teeth and then the room went dark and silent. He could see absolutely nothing. He heard the door shut and the locking-bolt slide home. He was still circling, relying on memory to see where everything was. His feet were getting cold. Then he felt something, it was not a touch or breeze, it was just there. There were several of the things that he could sense in the room, they were all around him. His eyes were beginning to hurt and he closed them so they would stop straining to see.

A moment passed, cold, quiet, dark. Then he heard the shrieks. He felt a rush of cold air and then he started swinging and dancing around the fallen chairs and the tables that were invisible in the darkness. He heard the screams and moans of the things in the utter black as he hacked at where they should have been and he felt no resistance from the slashes he made. He was under attack, he had no doubt, and yet he was unable to hit anything in the dark. He was surprised, not even a vampire could have avoided his sword blows in such total blackness. Then, their was a loud, ear piercing shriek and he dropped to the ground on his knees, holding his ears against the painful blast of high pitched sound, his sword clanged on the floor but the noise could not pierce through that ghastly, ethereal scream. And then, there was silence in the dark.

Kris kneeled for a long time. His ears rang and his head throbbed. He could see nothing and his whole body was cold, not burning cold, but a frigid, slowing cold that made him wish he was at home wrapped in a warm blanket. A thought that brought back images of Rachel in his apartment. He shook the thoughts off and pulled his hands away from his ears. He shook his head, but that just made his headache worse. He winced. When he opened his eyes on the empty darkness, his ears still rang. He groped for his katana in the dark and felt over shards of broken glass and splintered wood. It seemed like an eternity before he felt the hilt and picked up the blade. It was comforting, but he still longed for someone to touch him and remind him he was alive. He was cold, he was in pain and he was tired from the experience. He was alone.

There had been James, Brick, Anya, Kunzul, Kahmir, Arthur and Ty. He remembered when there were ten other hunters in the city besides him. They were all missing or dead. There was Jessica who had tried to help him remember who he was, Autumn who was Arthur’s servant, and Rachel the red haired woman he had helped. Some girl had been abducted and who knew who else had disappeared. He was the only one left.

He stood slowly. He became colder. He put his emotions inside and let the heat of them seep out little by little to warm him. He controlled the power of his fear and his anger. The tears that he would not let come were the strength that would give him the edge in the upcoming battle. It was up to him. He could only imagine what New York would be like if vampires ruled the people in the open. He had visions of a dark and boding place where no man could walk without the shadow of death encroaching so closely that no one could be free. He would not live and let that happen. He adjusted his grip on the katana and opened his blue eyes. He was stone cold. The epitome of frigid revenge. He was the hand of God on earth. That first step was like the pounding of a drum, the reverberations going out. Pure anger, gripped, held and wielded with the skill of the greatest of warriors.

He strode out of the room and walked back to the place he had seen the Asian. He knelt and picked up his shotgun. He slid it into its holster in his coat and then turned to go back down the hall. He did not want to be caught off guard again. He heard a small sound; a padded footstep. He spun, his coat flying out around him like a halo of darkness wavering on the wind. The tip of the mirror-like blade stopped a hair in front of that little black cat with the amber eyes.

Kris looked into those eyes and those huge amber orbs stared back. The room seemed to fade into the shadows and he felt like he should know those eyes. “I know you.” He swung the blade again and the cat disappeared into the darkness, leaving trails of white fog. He stood and popped his back. “Your time’ll come. Don’t worry about that, cat.”

He continued down the hall, walking from pool of flickering light to pool of flickering light. The stones in the floor were worn more than those in other places in the mansion. His feet moved silently in the long ago broken in sneakers. He held the katana at the ready. He wanted to feel the blood pour out of the next undead piece of shit to come his way. His teeth were clenched and he wanted to kill Ekatarina and her brood. He wanted one of them to leap at him and meet the ancient sword and the anger behind it. He wanted to spill blood.

He moved like the wolf that had learned to survive with no pack. He was out to take down the beast that had put down the others. He was the alpha male who was left with the task of rebuilding, and yet it was the need to kill the threat that truly drove him. He was fueled by rage, tormented by sadness, beleaguered by the silence of unity. It was nothing new to the one who was always hailed as the one, the loner. He needed no one, no woman, no partner, no friends; yet he was intrinsically tied to those around him. It was that tie that drove him to loneliness and the suicidal drive to destroy a greater power that was responsible for the curse of a more complete loneliness. He was wrath.

He stalked to the next door. He knew what was behind it and the possibilities. It was a butchering room. It was cold and had every known implement used for skinning, chopping, boning and slicing. He touched the wrought iron handle and felt the chill of the room through the metal. His thumb pushed down the slightly curved latching mechanism atop the curved handle. The wooden door grated on the floor and a gust of chilly air blew out. It was a real, temperature based cold and Kris knew the difference. He could also feel the anxiety build as the door revealed the dark internals of the room.

He could see nothing but there was the sound of something rough rubbing against something coarse. He turned and went to the nearest candelabra. He wrenched it from the wall and the flames wavered like flags of light blown by a strong gust of wind, casting dancing shadows everywhere. Kris thought he saw one shadow that was spinning slightly. He turned to the door and walked toward it. He let out a long, used up breath.

He came up to the threshold and the candles cast an eerie half light over the tables before him. He saw three bodies dangling behind the two tables, spinning in the chilled air. They were shriveled and the features were sunken and filled with black shadow. The skin was tight over thin muscle and the bones protruded at the joints. The shadows and light seemed to swirl as the bodies undulated back and forth on the slightly grating ropes. Everywhere, blades and hooks glinted on the walls and on tables lining the walls and there were scraps of dead flesh all over everything along with deeper shadows in the dark that Kris knew were blood stains.

He stepped forward to take a better look and his eyes were drawn to the tables even though he had realized what the figures were when he first shone light on the room. He looked at Kahmir’s body. It looked the same as usual; the dry, mummified corpse with the brown, rough, leathery skin pulled taught and the mass of fangs that sprouted in every direction from the bony jaws that were revealed by the dried and receded mouth. The hair was hanging back, even more sparse than before. The black eyes held no gleam and there was a stake jutting up from where his heart would have been. There were slashes all over the body and they were dry. There was not a single drop of blood.

The other table held a mangled, hacked female body that looked in the same state as those that hung from the ceiling. Kris walked to it and looked over the bloodless, dried corpse. His lips pursed together and he sat his sword down beside the decimated remains. He touched the flesh, the dark brown, smooth flesh. He looked back at Kahmir’s lifeless, truly empty corpse, and closed his eyes. He knew the fate of the two. They would be together forever if she did not move on to another body.

He sat down the candelabra and walked to Kahmir’s body. He grabbed the ash stake with one hand and placed his other firmly on the rough, leathery chest of the Nosferatu. He pulled and the dry flesh crumbled around the stake as he pulled with all his strength. It had been made with a barb to hold it in place. The wood came out, dragging out brittle, shattered organ bits with it. He laid the stake down and then pulled the rose pendant from his neck and laid it on Kunzul’s chest. He took the candelabra and the sword and turned away.

He saw something in the shadows outside the doorway. It was short, not extremely short, but short for a man, or a tall, lithe blonde. He stepped forward and the eyes gleamed blue and the hair seemed to glimmer red in the shimmering, wavering light of the candelabra. He walked toward her and he saw that the woman stood, seeming to wait and then she rushed off down the hall the way he had come.

He ran after her and back up the stairs and followed her winding path through the shadows. He saw the shadows dancing as he took each stride. They seemed to follow him as if they were alive and every hall was a dark path to oblivion, lighted faintly for a mere few seconds as he passed, that any dark devil could have come from. He followed the girl, his feet pounding as quickly as he could raise and lower them. His heart was beating wildly and yet his breathing was still controlled and slow. He ignored the obvious dangers of open doors and a tiring body. He did not know why, but he wanted that girl dead.

He came to a dead end and slid to a stop. His feet kept sliding in something and he fell. He hit his rump hard and the candelabra dropped to the stone floor and the flames blinked out. He was in darkness again and had no idea where the girl had gone. She had just disappeared.

He picked himself up and then found the candelabra and used his lighter to light the candles. He looked around, tracing the stones of the walls with his fingers until he found cracks in the mortar. His eyes shut and he breathed deeply, and then let out a long sigh. She could be anywhere that a mist, darkness or whatever she turned into could go.

He turned down the hall and started walking. He took the next right and followed the long hall. He had lost track of where he was. He figured he would find something familiar, but in the faint candle light, the whole place seemed different. Arthur had had the entire place wired for electrical lighting once and it had always gone out everywhere but in the modernized parts of the mansion. Kris was so used to not even going back there that it was only the faintest of memories that showed him the way or brought back what was behind a particular door. He wondered where the red head had gone. He took another turn and then walked into a large suite furnished in dark blue and white. It was well lit by dozens of candles on dressers, the washstand, sitting on top of the full size, stand-alone mirrors and the multitude of mirror-backed, blue glass shaded oil lamps that hung high on the walls and from the ceiling.

He walked in and sat down his candelabra. He looked around and the door blew shut on a gust of wind that rustled the varied wall hangings, the delicate silks of the bed and on the chairs and even the thick curtains that covered the ten foot, peak arched windows to either side of the huge canopied bed. He turned at what seemed to be a flicker of independent motion at the edge of his field of vision.

The thin blonde stood there in an elegant blue dress that accented every curve of her youthful body. Her long blonde hair framed her sharp, sensuous features perfectly. She was not feline like Ekatarina, but her features were still angular. Her eyes were blue, not the gleaming green of the ancient. She stood with her hands behind her back. Her body was still slightly tanned. She was new to the world of the dead and so Kris guessed she had gone through the Red Baptism only recently.

“Allison, I presume.”

“Kristian, I guess,” she said with a sultry and alluring smile.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He arched an eyebrow for a split second.

“I’ve been waiting to taste you.”

Kris chuckled under his breath, “Go right ahead, see what happens.”

“I think I will.” She started sauntering toward him and then pulled the rapier that had been stolen from behind her. She smiled.

“Mommy should have taught you better. That’s a good way to end up really dead.” Kris started walking toward her, his katana in his right hand and pointed out to the side as the coat flared behind him. He looked like the angel of death sweeping down from on high.

The two swords came together in the candle lit room and sounded like chimes ringing. She was moving so fast until she got close and then, it was like she was mortal again. He could see the fear in her wide blue eyes. She was already used to being faster, stronger and tougher than her mortal counterparts. He wanted to see that look in the eyes of Ekatarina.

She was fighting in a sloppy style that was reminiscent of standard fencing and Kris moved against it like an oncoming storm toward a shore. Her movements were as easy to read as a child’s honesty. He slipped his lighter, stronger blade among her blows with ease, but her footwork was astounding for someone so unacquainted with swordplay. She had to have been in dance or gymnastics to have learned to move so fluidly and the ancient blood was still helping her, yet it seemed weaker to Kris than it should be for one of Ekatarina’s children. Then he nodded, she was still learning, it would be far different if he had to fight the Asian on similar grounds. He ducked a clumsy blow that passed too high and slipped behind her and cut from in front to behind in a huge downward arc with a high overhead follow-through swing as he spun to face her.

He stopped ready to deal a deadly blow, only to find that his cut had not hit its mark and she was still up, facing away, no blood, no wound. Then she grabbed the front of the dress and pulled it away. The wound was healing, slowly by vampiric standards, but it was sealed well enough to not bleed and it was only along the small of her back. She spun around, clothed only in a silk bra and thong. She was smiling wildly.

“Come on, what is this? Are you all just fucking sluts or what?”

She rushed him and he parried. He caught the blade and she pushed against it with all her might and he felt his strength failing against her. He kneed her in the ribs and she buckled and he threw her back. She stood and looked at him wide eyed and he walked toward her slowly waiting for a trick or some strange power. Nothing but placid acceptance of her doom and then, when he was close enough to take her head, she reached out and grabbed his hand and clawed it. He dropped the sword, but she jerked away, her fingers singeing from the blood from his wounds. She kicked the blade away and he did a backward roundhouse and she landed on the canopied bed.

She sat up in a lithe, alluring movement and he ran to his sword. She walked to hers and threw it at him. He heard the warbling of the blade in the wind and rolled to one side and hit a hardwood dresser halfway. The blade missed him by less than an inch, embedding itself in the wall vice his arm or chest as if she knew he was going to roll exactly that way. That was unnerving.

He turned back and she was gone. He walked toward where she had been with his katana at the ready. He did not like that trick. He looked everywhere, focusing on shadows in the ceiling and patterns on the walls and floor. Then, she stepped out of the air before him and grabbed his throat. He kicked her as hard as he could and she let go. She slapped him and he fell from the blow, dropping the katana. She kicked him and he spun, feet out, tripping her. He got to his feet from the spin in a single, perfect motion and she was waiting for him. She punched and he reeled back. She ran forward and pinned him to the wall and head butted him. He kneed her in the gut and then pivoted his hips and kicked, his right leg went out to his left between them and he planted his foot in her ribs, pushing her to the side. He spun around and followed through with a roundhouse and ended with his leg still straight out as he watched her slam into a mirror nearby, the shards looked like electrical sparks but sounded like chimes raining down. She slid, cutting her back to shreds, to the floor. Then she grabbed a shard so hard it cut into her hand.

Kris walked to his katana, picked it up and turned to see her running at him with the seven inches of bloody glass raised to stab. He cut her arm off with a flick of his wrist and sidestepped her onrush, the follow-through sliced the back of her calf and she dropped to the ground. He walked up behind her as she kneeled and grabbed her by the hair. He yanked her head back and forced her to look at him. “Do you know why I’m killing you?” he whispered into her ear.

She tried to bite him and he jerked her head around, “Do you?” he asked more assertively.

“Because I’m better than you.”

“No, because you will be just like her, a pain in the ass of humanity. Get it. Population control, evening things out so the ignorant innocent people of the world never have to know about you and others like you can live in peace. That’s the best reason. But the real truth is I’m not that hunter any more. I kill you because even the good vampires are monsters, all of them. They are not part of my society and will never fit into it. How many have you killed?”

“I don’t know, I can’t remember,” she said defiantly.

“That is why you die.” He stepped back and made one final cut that let her head drop to the ground with a gentle plop and a splash of blood. Her body tumbled over after.

He looked around and felt the adrenaline fade. One down, three to go. He turned and left the room. There were more vampires to kill. He started wandering around, the halls seeming to become longer and darker as he wandered. Then he saw the cathedral. It was separate from the house, but he could get there. He went down and turned a few times in the strange halls. Then he came to a large door. He opened it and walked out into the night air and the down-pouring rain. .

He looked from side to side and saw more pikes with dogs and wolves hanging from them. There had to be hundreds in all. He shook off the eerie feeling he got from the impaled lupines in the light of the moon. The smell of wet fur mixed with the scent of death and made it even more pungent. He saw the cathedral, it was behind the mansion and there were other buildings built around it and interconnecting walls so that it would be difficult to see what it really was. He walked to it. He pulled open the doors and walked in.

The large stone church was furnished with hardwood pews and seats. There were stands with candles lit on them and large, old Bibles with aged and wrinkled pages sitting on tables. The whole place was lit softly by candelabra and a massive crucifix sat above the pulpit. The cross was of oak and the Christ that hung from it was supposed to be bronze but did not look right. What should have been metallic was lifelike with soft curves and a trembling movement. Kris ran to it immediately.

He looked up in horror at the sight before him. The red hair hung, sweat soaked and dirty, over the face. The body was bare save for a rag of a shirt and soiled boxers. The pale skin was dirty, traced with muddy sweat. The ankles and wrists had been tied to the wooden cross. She hung some twenty feet above him. All he said, through trembling lips, was, “Rachel.”

“Yes,” a sultry feminine voice said from behind.

Kris turned slowly. He saw the tall, feline blonde. He felt the rage build up. Her eyes were amber and the pupils were slit like cat eyes. She was wearing a long, brown leather riding coat, a thin white blouse with bloused cuffs and collar. Her pants were tight black leather and she wore high brown riding boots. A long sword with a hand guard of meticulous artwork hung at her side and her fingers ended in long claws, not fingernails. She was the sexiest, sultriest, most beautiful monster he had ever seen. He wanted to make that demon die, that devil feel pain. She was smiling playfully.

She was before him instantly and he barely caught the sword. It glinted by his eye and he could see his reflection in the flawless steel. Her amber eyes gleamed with delight. She was a cat playing with an insect. At least until he pushed back and she had to struggle against the mortal to stay so close. He noticed that there was no breath on his face, no heartbeat or pulsing in her. She was as still as death. He shoved and she stepped back. She pushed forward and Kris was overcome by the power in the vampire. He was going backwards. He sidestepped and her sword clanged on the floor, digging into the stone. He swung and she was not there. He circled quickly and blocked another blow from someplace that he only felt. The jolt hurt his arms. She was proud of herself.

He fell back and rolled and she stepped forward. He stood and slashed. She bent back just enough for the blade to miss her. He slashed again and she faded to mist, the sword passed through the vapor and she reformed. He swung again and the sword hit hers. Her grin widened as she watched Kris lose his confidence.

She pushed and he fell back three steps. He caught her next blow and then he saw the eyes staring from the shadows. There were hundreds of glinting cat eyes in the shadows. He twisted his sword and the blade slid across her wrist. She dropped her sword and Kris kicked it away. She clenched the red slit in her flesh and had to focus to make it close up. She looked confused, her head tilting back and forth slowly like a cat watching a moth try to escape its paw. Kris slashed and she caught his arms. The blood from his wound seared against hers, but she held on and twisted. He felt his wrists near breaking and tried to resist but eventually his fingers opened and the katana fell to the polished marble floor with a resounding clang. She flung him across the room and he watched the floor go by. Then he hit a pew, wood splintering and raining down around him in a wood-on-stone clatter.

He grabbed his throbbing shoulder and then rolled over. He sat and pulled his shotgun. She was on top of him and grabbed the gun in a flurry of movement he could barely make out. His hands hurt. Then he was yanked up on his feet and she ripped the coat back from his shoulders like a woman mad with lust tearing a shirt off of her lover. She threw the tattered coat across the room and grabbed Kris by his black tee. She drug him along. He pulled back and then hit her in the ribs with an open hand. She winced and dropped him.

He hit his knees on the cool, hard stone floor. Then he swept her legs from beneath her with a swift kick. She fell back, her hair flaring out, waves of golden silk glistening in candlelight. She hit the ground and he grabbed her throat with both hands, trying to strangle her. The blood burned her slowly and she hissed. She could not move. His touch was necessary to keep her weak. She focused, her hissing faded, she kicked with both feet and he felt something in his chest feel like it gave way. He landed yards away, near the coat. He reached into it and grabbed the first thing he touched, his revolver.

He turned right into her slashing claws and blood splattered from his hand as the gun soared through the air, crashing through a window and then she grabbed him with both hands, slamming him against a podium with candles on it. Hot wax splashed onto his back and neck, searing even through the two shirts for an instant. He slammed his hands together on either side of her head and she collapsed to her knees. He kneed her in the face and blood splashed from her fine features, features that were not even bruised by the time she looked up to him. He was already running toward his sword.

He grabbed the katana, turned, slashing and saw that he had cut through mist, a thick, white fog that seemed to congeal into Ekatarina even as he finished the wasted blow. She grabbed him by the throat and using her entire body, to muster every drop of unnatural strength, flung him up into the air. He crashed through one of the high stained glass windows. The two inch thick lead glass shattered and he felt the air being knocked out of him as his clothes ripped to shreds and nicks and cuts opened all over. Then he hit the muddy ground, shards twinkling down through the rain and the darkness all around him. He passed out, half buried in the mud. Pain had scorched away his consciousness.

Kahmir felt the stake leave his numb, dead body. It was like the tingling sensation when he would feed after exhausting the blood in his body. It almost hurt. He was close to never waking. Then he felt them, the beautiful denizens of his underworld, the rats. They were coming to him, and they were bringing their dark master a drink.

The dead body was still warm that was bleeding into his mouth. It was small and furry, but it was warm blood, enough to start. Then another was placed over the bed of tangled fangs that was the corpse’s mouth. Three, then four, then he could see through the eyes of his small friends. They were everywhere. He saw that they were bringing him cats. Then he saw the dead body in the bedchamber that long ago would have been occupied by Arthur’s most loyal woman friend. He sat up and the rats piled into the back of the butchery, under the dangling corpses. He looked over and saw Kunzul’s expended body and roared into the darkness, his eyes small red coals in the black void.

Then the gleaming eyes in the doorway caught the elder vampire’s attention. He would have been smiling if he had the lips to smile with. The cats came and the rats rushed over the mewling, pathetic housecats. He turned to shadow and rolled over the massacre sucking up the blood, growing little by little. His eyes were everywhere and the cats were being killed by the large sewer rats. He whisked through the shadows, candlelight winking out as his dark shadow passed, toward the bedchamber. Then he fed on the dead vampire’s blood. The girl did not have much, but it was potent.

He could see the place where they held Tyler. He was staked to the dirt floor of a chamber filled with ghouls. They were weary of the vampire, not knowing whether to feed or leave it. Kahmir rushed through the halls, a shadow deeper than darkness, inky and black, pulsating with cold unlife. It swallowed sound and the insects and mice and cats that were in his way were no more than a small offering to a dark god, their small skeletons and shells left behind as if a giant spider had walked the halls.

He poured through the door and into the lowest chambers of the castle. He saw his young ally and the waiting ghouls. They turned to the inky blackness that seeped into the room, coating everything in perpetual shadow. There were seven of the flesh eating vampires. Then the shadow wrapped around them and their shrieks echoed into nothingness as the sound was swallowed by the silence that seemed to emanate from the shadow. The shadows swirled together in the center of where they had been standing to reveal six dry corpses, one mummified vampire and a wriggling, chattering ghoul dangling from the mummified vampire’s hand.

Kahmir walked over to Ty and used his free hand to pull the stake out. Then, he slashed the ghoul’s neck and held it to Ty’s mouth. Ty drank greedily. Kahmir walked over to the wall and stared into the stone. He could see the Asian dragging Brick through absolute darkness. He was screaming and thrashing, but it was useless against her unearthly strength. Kahmir licked his nest of fangs and turned to see Ty finishing his meal. Few would have ever imagined the sight of the faded, dried dark brown flesh, the empty, rage filled black eyes, the gray, bristly dreadlocks and the blood pouring down the thin chest. The blood rushed through Tyler’s body, rejuvenating him. It was a magical moment to see the dead corpse return to the livelihood of youth in a matter of moments; gray turning to deep, rich black, the muscles filling out the shriveled flesh and the dryness fading as if someone dropped dry dirt into a pond. His eyes burned and he slung the emptied creature aside. Kahmir nodded.

James awoke. He was in a dark chamber with more torture devices than he would ever allow himself to stick around to count. He wanted to get the hell out of there even before he saw Jessica. She was watching him from the shadows. He stood up and shivered. He was aching. He walked toward the door and it opened.

Brick stumbled in as if pushed from behind. Then the Asian followed. James stepped back. She glared at him. Brick ran over to James and turned to stare at the beautiful demon before them. Then he saw that James kept looking away from the Asian. He saw Jessica and looked at James with question all over his face. James nodded and said, “Jessica, we found her.”

Brick just shook his head yes in acknowledgement. The Asian crossed her arms and nodded. James took a longer glance and then asked, “What the hell happened to her?”

“Kris and I tried to fight her, it didn’t work.”

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” was all James had to say to that.

Jessica stepped out of the shadows and rushed the two of them. James jumped to the side and Brick dove over a table with straps on it. Jessica stopped and looked at James. He was on the floor and scurrying away. She started crawling toward him, a gleam in her eyes. It would have been almost sexy under most other circumstances, but something about eminent death killed the mood.

He spun and clamored to his feet. He ran and then he felt her hands on his shoulders, he fell back from the power in her. He hit the floor hard. He saw her deep blue eyes looking down at him, her full red lips parting slightly, as if to kiss. Then he saw a shadow, Brick stabbed a two by two into her back and she screamed, partly wheezing from the chunk of wood in her lung, blood splattered from those welcoming lips all over his face and he rolled to the side, wiping the red, sticky fluid from his stubble and his eyebrows. He could feel it cooling on his cheeks and when he licked his lips, he could taste it, irony and stale. He wanted to puke. He wanted to see the sunrise.

He pulled himself up on top of a sensory depravation chamber that was only high enough for someone to lie in, barely. He turned and saw Brick get slung ten feet, into a closed iron maiden. He hit the floor and almost passed out as the large iron casket of death teetered and then settled. Jessica was watching. He kicked her in the head and then rolled to the other side of the sensory depravation chamber. He scurried on hands and knees to get away.

He wished he could see far enough in the faint light to see everything, but he could not. He looked back and saw Jessica pull the wood out of her back. She threw the pine to the floor and winced as she focused on the quickly healing flesh. Then something caught his attention. Brick was making his way across the floor.

James was under a table when Jessica landed only a few feet from him, in a feral, hunting stance. He rolled backward, feet over head and then kicked forward, knocking the table toward her. Scalpels and knives flew at her and she dodged each one with her newfound agility. James turned and leaped over strange devices that he only saw as dangerous and painful, trying to get away.

Brick looked up, his head still reeling, and he saw a sword, it was a Damascene Scimitar. He stood and took it from its perch over a stone with rings, no doubt to hold the chains that would be holding a thief’s hands in place for that fateful blow. He turned and ran at the new vampire. She stood, knives and scalpels glistening on the floor at her feet, and waited. When he swung she caught his hands with one of hers. She twisted and the scimitar hit the ground. She forced Brick to his knees before her by twisting and squeezing his arms. She smiled wide, and then the grin grew wider until it was a snarl that bore her beautiful but deadly two inch fangs and her perfect pearly whites.

James stopped, delayed as he thought and then said to himself, “Fuck it.” He jumped, with wood in hand toward her. Jessica turned to see James coming down on her with a plank of wood. She threw up one hand and the dark, hard oak shattered over her little, delicate hand. James stumbled when he landed and then stepped back. “Shit.”

She turned and kneed Brick. He dropped, wheezing and clenching his stomach. He coughed and tasted blood. He was almost in tears. James kneeled and picked up a large surgical knife in one hand and a shard of oak in the other. He stood like a knife fighter and watched as Jessica’s fingernails grew into three inch claws, even the hair on her arms and neck bristled. He hated looking at her and knowing that he would kill her or die.

He swung and she dodged. She swung and he caught the first strike on the stake, the second raked his ribs and he stumbled back. He slashed out again and she cut his arm, four stripes of open flesh, leaking red all over the knife handle, making it slick. He tightened his grip. Then, she slashed and he felt his chest burning. He tried to stab her with the stake and she put four claws into his gut and grabbed his wrist. The stake dropped to the floor, but he stabbed the knife into her back and twisted it several times, pulled it up and shoved it down and in. He jerked from side to side even as he felt the blood pour from his abdomen. Then he stumbled back and landed on a table. There was no knife, no stake, and no claws inside him. He clenched the wound and waited to die.

The light was fading. The shadow was growing all around. The room seemed colder. It was quiet. The pain was fading. He tried to sit up. It felt like he did, but he was unsure. It was too dark, too cold, and too quiet. Then he could see again. The shadows rolled back and he saw Ty standing in front of Jessica. He was wearing a tattered pair of khakis and held a six foot staff with both ends sharpened. He raised it up over his head and grabbed it with both hands, then plunged it into Jessica’s flesh. He drank from the staked vampire. James wept, a tear rolled down his cheek, only one, more than he had cried in years.

The Asian was looking at Ty, watching as Jessica was drank away. Then the shadows that were left swirled together in front of her. The corpselike Kahmir stood in front of her as the shadows unwrapped from him. James heard him growl, a low, almost inaudible but rumbling presence more than a sound. Kahmir seemed larger, darker, more dangerous, more frightening. It was not a good tempered and slightly perverted ally; it was an evil rage, a dark presence like a gate had opened to Hell and he was standing before it.

Brick pulled himself up and walked over to James. They watched as Ty fed and Kahmir stared coldly at the other vampire. Ty walked to them. He started checking James’ wounds. Then he turned to watch Kahmir, “You be fine in da morning, man,” was all the Jamaican undead said.

The Asian made no move for a long time, and then she was a flurry of movement. Ty could barely see her movements and knew that only one vampire in the city had a chance of surviving a flurry of blows such as that. Kahmir was a shadow, insubstantial and untouched, by the time the first blow would have landed and he waited until she was finished. Then he became flesh and grabbed her by the throat. She tried to hit him but he had already taken the blood of Allison and many undead. He was stronger than her for the unholy blood he had imbibed. He stopped her kicks and punches until she was thrashing like a small girl against a grown man. He reached up with his other hand and sliced her head from her body with his claws, slowly sawing through the flesh and reveling in the blood that poured over his hands. His rage was pure and raw. He drank.

The woman’s body was tossed aside like a used rag and the ancient vampire turned to the two mortals and Ty. “Now, we go to help Kris. Come”

The two battered mortals and Ty followed the Egyptian vampire down the dark corridors, sometimes hearing the rain on the stones above and at other times hearing absolute silence. James felt the blood still flowing from the wound and kept looking down and seeing the red all over his hands as Brick helped him along. Brick’s lips were still sticky and the blood was turning black. His abdomen ached like he had been stabbed repeatedly. Ty walked behind them, keeping an eye out for things from behind.

They walked behind the ancient for some time before coming to a large room that Kahmir stepped into and flipped a large switch. James heard a slow humming that accelerated. Lights buzzed to life and showed that they were in a large room, furnished with two sofas, a table with a thin pad long enough for a man to lie on, and several chairs and there were two large, metal safes in the rear wall. Ty rested his stick against the wall and walked to a large, stainless steel sink and washed his hands then went to a cabinet and started rummaging through things.

Kahmir gestured for James and Brick to sit on the table with the mat and then closed the door which had a large steel bolt lock and a three inch metal bar that was three feet wider than the door and bolted into the wall to seal the door shut. It would not keep out a mist, James thought, then Kahmir grabbed a small wheel on the bottom of the door and he heard the thing seal air tight.

Ty walked over with a stainless steel tray with several sterile needles, thread, gauze, iodine, scalpels, scissors, and a few bottles of pain reliever, ointments and other first aid tools. He handed a bottle to Brick, “Drink this, it will be helping.”

Then, he turned to James and ripped his shirt off. He started wiping James clean with a warm washcloth and then wiped him dry with a towel. He put pressure on the wound and then waited before applying a cool ointment that coated the wound. He then took a tube with no label and applied it to the wound. It sealed the flesh together. Ty took then a needle and thread and began to sew the wound together. He finished and handed James several pills and then gave him an injection. James took a glass of water and swallowed.

Kahmir opened a door that James had not noticed and went in. He was back in a few moments with cold cuts and bread. It was not much, but James could not wait to eat anything. He ate slowly, but determinedly. Brick ate little by little, it hurt, but not as much as he thought it should. The drink he had had must have been doing something, and his pain was fading. Kahmir disappeared again and came back with several gallon jugs filled with red, thick liquid. He handed one to Ty and they drank.

They all feasted and replenished. James and Brick washed up and tended to their minor wounds on their own. Ty pulled out some tee shirts and jeans that would have been for Kris if he were there. Ty changed into a set of black kick boxing pants, tied with an elaborate belt and some soft leather sandals. He then went to one of the safes and put in the combination. He opened the door and pulled out two sheaths with fighting knives in them and put them on. Then he went to the other safe and opened it, “Take what you be wantin’, there be plenty for all.”

James walked over and grabbed two Desert Eagles, two shotguns on slings, and then saw a chain gun for one on a sling. That would put a damper on anything’s day. Brick started with a sword, they seemed to come in handy and then packed on an elephant gun and a couple of high powered automatic rifles with collapsible stalks and short barrels. He grabbed extra ammo and turned to see Kahmir downing the last of about a hundred gallons of blood. He shook his head.

Kahmir sat down the jug and looked at each of the three with his dark orbs, “We will not be separated. She is too powerful for any one of us, perhaps all of us together.”

“But, you killed the others so easily,” Brick said.

“Yes, but those were her children. They have been growing weaker since the nights they went through the Red Baptism. She is more ancient than I. She has feasted on the blood of vampires and even on a mummy. She will be more powerful than we could have feared before, yet we must do what we can to expend her strength so that if Kris makes it, he can finish her. Let’s go.”

Brick looked at James and James just nodded.

The four seemed to be completely out of place with each other as they walked down the hall. One was a kid who had no clue what he was getting into. One was a weathered hunter who could kill the woman he cared for because she was undead and yet he was walking with two of the enemy. One was a Hoodoo Priest from Jamaica who had hunted zombies and was turned into a vampire for spite. The eldest was a vampire through and through, a demon Nosferatu who could kill his own for survival and manipulate a friend to meet his own ends. The four were allies, if only for a moment while God overlooked the evil in the shadows on yet another night in New York. The vilest and the most pure of an age walked in unison through the darkness toward a cathedral where an undead pagan had held mass to a God he would never see.

They stepped out through a door and the rain splattered onto their faces and soaked their clothing. The ground was slick and mucky. The rain came down in slants and stung mortal flesh. Even Ty was holding up an arm to block the water droplets. They started walking toward the cathedral. They walked slowly, like priests in mourning. Then lightning arced and James saw something reflect the bright flash of light. He turned away from the trudging path of the ancient.

He stopped and looked down at a katana. It was Kris’ sword, half under the mud. Brick dropped nearby, his knees causing splashes. Ty walked over and pulled something up out of the mud. The body was limp, cold and stiff. It was covered in blood and shards of glass. Ty wiped the muck and lead glass mixture from the body and they saw Kris’ cool blue stare, lifeless and dark. Ty looked at Kahmir and shook his head ‘no.’

James looked at Kahmir, “Now what, without him we don’t stand a chance.”

“We must continue on. We must try. If we don’t, you’ll be a slave and I’ll lose my unlife. I’d rather lose it on my terms and I doubt you would prefer slavery to death, despite how little I know of you.”

James stood up. “Let’s do this thing.”

Ty laid Kris’ body back down in the muck. “Till morning, man, just till we finish this.” Ty’s voice was on the verge of cracking. He stood and watched as the mud seeped around the body. Then he turned and followed Kahmir. James turned away and followed the vampires. Brick lingered for a moment and felt like he wanted to cry.

The three that showed the pain all felt the shadows around Kahmir darken and the air grow colder, staler and the aura of horror that surrounded the ancient deepened. They knew that he was hurt by the revelation as well. The four trudged onward and came to the large doors of the cathedral. Kahmir flung them open and saw the crushed pews, the spilled candle wax and the woman hanging in the Christ’s stead on the cross.

Ty whisked up the wall in a heartbeat and brought the red haired beauty down. She was weak, underfed and had passed out. She was still absolutely gorgeous, or at least Brick thought so, after all, she was alive. Ty laid her on the floor and James grabbed a tapestry and wrapped it around her. Kahmir went to the baptismal and opened it to expose the bottle of wine that would be for Communion. He brought it over and handed it to Ty who poured some on the girl’s lips. The wetness made her lick her full lips and the bittersweet wine made her wince. Another sip and she was almost conscious. She drank a quarter of the flask. There were five alive, only none of the five were the right one, Brick found himself thinking as he watched her drink.

Brick saw something on one of the pews. It was a trench coat. He walked to it and picked it up. It was Kris’. It still had most of his weapons in it and had plenty of fire rounds for the shotgun. Brick took the coat and pulled it on. It was bloody, but the weapons would come in handy. He found the shotgun not far away. The others watched as he walked back over in the oversized coat. He looked foolish, but he seemed darker, stronger.

James helped Rachel along as they went back to the castle. The trip through the rain and mud was not as taxing as the trip past Kris’ body. The two together was down right depressing. The mood fell again, even after the small victory of finding one alive among the many dead bodies. There was little hope on that dismal night; the rain pelted down, the mud slowed them, the castle had no electricity even where it was supposed to, there were only five of them left and the best was half buried in the mud. They all felt as though they walked toward a castle where they would all meet their impending doom.

Rats gathered at their feet. Kahmir was calling them. Brick was no longer fazed by the strange ways of the undead. He had seen enough, the scars were now calluses and he was numb to the ugly and demented behavior of the undead. They walked into the castle and walked through the halls quietly. Kahmir was set on what was ahead, but Ty seemed nervous. Brick did not like the idea of a nervous vampire.

They turned corner after corner, or so it seemed. Then they walked up a long flight of stairs. Then Kahmir stopped. He was staring into absolute darkness. Brick saw Ty walk up beside the ancient and settle into a fighting stance. Then Ty was a whirlwind, the staff moving so fast that it was a blur against the darkness. Kahmir was slower, more deliberate. Each of the rotten, stinking corpses came to him and he slashed it with wicked claws until it fell at his feet in a pile of bones and dust. It continued for a while and then the onslaught of zombies stopped.

They went on, James stepped over the flesh and the bones left behind from the zombies. Brick raised an eyebrow as he walked through the remains. They followed Kahmir into the darkness and trusted him until finally they came to a stairwell and followed it up three flights of stairs and then they came to a door. Kahmir pushed it open. It revealed the flat roof and the beautiful Ekatarina staring up into the rain. They stepped out and she turned to them.

“You killed my daughters,” she said simply and calmly. It was almost unsettling.

Kahmir rushed at the woman. She took one step back and the corpse met the beauty in a flurry of slashes. Blood splashed and splattered and then Kahmir was thrown back. He rolled up into a crouch. Ekatarina walked forward. She was more powerful than they had thought. James started firing with his Desert Eagles but the bullets did not pierce the creature’s skin. Ty ran at her and she caught him in one hand and tossed him aside as though he were a toy.

James started firing the chain gun and Brick started firing his machine guns and it distracted her as Kahmir rushed in and stabbed her in the back. She faded to mist and cats came from everywhere. Ty attacked in a flurry with his knives and rats flooded the roof from every opening to eat the cats alive. The mewling was surreal.

Kahmir turned to shadow and surrounded the white mist, forcing it together and then the mist turned green and faded. It was gone and then Kahmir fell out of his own shadows. She was crouched over him, smiling. He reached up and sank his claws into her throat as Ty leapt onto her back and sank his fangs in and held on with the knives stabbed into her back.

She jerked her body and Ty went flying through the air and her throat ripped out in Kahmir’s hand. It healed back and she pulled off her coat and drew her sword. She began fighting the two vampires at the same time. She blocked Ty’s blows with her coat and slashed at Kahmir to keep him at a distance. All Brick saw was a blur of movement and blood.

Ekatarina slashed at Kahmir and he clawed at her. Their movements like some strange dance. Then she turned and her sword cut through Ty’s chest. He fell back and writhed as the eighteen inch opening resealed around the flowing blood. He leapt to his feet with his staff in hand and slashed away at the woman’s coat until it was useless. She was slowing, but Kahmir and Ty were fading faster.

She cut Kahmir and he did not even take time to heal the wound. He wanted her to expend blood. He did not bleed like others. His flesh was dry and so was the blood he stored in it. He caught her sword and yanked and twisted, his withered hands being sliced but he cared little. Then he ripped it out of the stronger vampire’s grip and tossed it aside. He felt her claws in him and he wrenched around, his flesh ripping over her fingers and he pulled himself in, clenching her back in his claws to draw blood and sinking his maw into her shoulder. She cried out as he sucked the blood out of her. Ty began to plunge his sharpened staff into her over and over as she struggled against the Egyptian. Blood poured from her wounds and Kahmir felt strength growing in him. It was fueled by his loss of Kunzul.

Rachel watched in awe and disgust. She could not believe that the creatures before her were real. She looked at James and Brick and saw men who seemed to understand the creatures. She was lost, or maybe she was dreaming; no, she was having a nightmare.

Ekatarina dug her fingers inside Kahmir and thrust him away. His fangs ripped a huge gash in her shoulder and blood poured freely. She turned and kicked Ty and he doubled over and dropped to the ground. She walked toward Kahmir and he slashed, opening her forearms. They healed and he realized that he had not drank enough. The two slashed at each other until she faded to mist.

Brick saw the trick and shot an incendiary round into the fog. It exploded as it hit the roof and the flames were enough to shock her. She transformed from the white wisps to a large panther. Rats crawled toward it and it pawed at them, killing them as quickly as the swarm came. It was amazing to see a cat of any type, an animal of any kind, move so fast. Then Kahmir grabbed the cat’s head and sunk his claws in. The cat roared and changed back to the woman. Lightning flashed wildly, arcing through the night sky and thunder sounded sending chills down Rachel’s spine.

Ty stood slowly as Ekatarina slashed Kahmir’s stomach. The elder Nosferatu stepped back, pain obvious on his face for the first time. The wound was difficult to heal and he had to focus on it. It seared, it bled slowly, inky black ooze coating his flesh. Ty started to spin the staff and walk toward Ekatarina. She turned and began dodging each blow as if it were nothing. Her shoulders rolled and she stepped as if to a slow dance rather than in a fight. Ty was in a fury, slashing as quickly as the quickest vampire in New York could and still it was to no avail against the ancient demon. She moved out of the way with the ease of a young warrior avoiding the blows of a decrepit old man.

Finally, she stood her ground and caught the staff by her face in both hands. She wrenched the wood away from the large, perfectly built black warrior and spun the staff in an arc that showed she knew what she was doing and crushed the younger vampire’s ribs, thunder rolled as if in applause of the attack. He doubled over and she swept his feet out from under him, he hit the roof with a splash. Then, she slammed the staff through his chest so hard that it splintered on the stone roofing beneath him. She kicked the body out of the way and turned to the healing Nosferatu.

He stood and ran at her. She caught him by the throat as the lightning flashed again. He turned to shadow and passed over her, her eyes blazing through the inky living darkness like pinpoints of eldritch flame. He formed behind her and slashed, opening eight huge wounds in her chest that crisscrossed. He continued slashing until she turned to mist. As soon as she reformed, the rats started swarming up her legs in a huge mound. The smell of wet rat fur was everywhere. They were biting and gnawing, but it was useless against her stony skin. She roared and grabbed the Nosferatu’s hands. She pulled him forward and sank her fangs into the dry, crackling flesh of the corpse.

Kahmir’s eyes rolled back, exposing milky white and then he thrust his fingers under her ribs and pulled until the sternum gave, cracking and splintering in the ancient’s grip. Her flesh ripped and then the shirt was all red. Blood flowed like a waterfall of thick crimson from the massive, gaping wound. Her claws dug tighter into his arms but he did not care. He pulled more and heard the cartilage of her spine snapping. The flow of blood seemed endless. Then she smacked Kahmir and he fell to the ground, his face slashed open.

She winced as the bones snapped back into place. Then, Brick started firing incendiary rounds at her as she healed. Flaming explosion after explosion rocked her back. Her flesh caught and started to burn. She thrashed in the flames. Brick did not stop firing the Ithaca until he had to reload. He reloaded and heard James firing shot after shot into the flames. He dropped the chain gun and then started pelting her with the Eagles until Brick started firing the incendiary rounds again. The gouts of flame encased her, a dark shadow struggling against the heat.

Then, they were out of rounds and she was healing. Kahmir stood slowly. He was exhausted but not yet ready to give up. Ekatarina smiled. She knew that she was already the victor. Two mortals and an expended Nosferatu would be no challenge. She stretched, the new skin felt good, but it was cool and tired. She felt like she had been challenged more in one night than in several thousand years. Too bad the mortal with the strange blood did not put up as good a fight as she thought he would. She slashed Kahmir across the throat and he clenched the gushing cuts. She punched him and he bled more and doubled over. She tore into his back and ripped through his ribs. She felt them snapping and digging through his flesh as she raked his back. Then she stabbed her right set of claws into his skull and he fell, lifeless to the ground. She pulled her fingers out of the holes in his skull and gray clung to her hand, dripping and mixed with blood.

She turned to the mortals. She grinned like a girl who knew she just got the guy she had been toying with. She walked toward the three of them slowly, gliding as if to meet a lover and caress his face. It was a bizarre sight; the blood soaked, ripped tatters, the tangled hair, the brain matter on her fingers. Brick stepped back until he felt Rachel behind him and she dug her fingers into his arms. He still held the expended Ithaca in hand. James stood his ground only a few seconds longer. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain washed blood along the roof in rivulets from the unholy battle.

James looked over his shoulder to Brick and they saw the defeat in each other’s eyes. She was getting closer. Brick pulled out his sword and Ekatarina’s grin perked to a one sided smile, her lips curling up on one side and her amber eyes gleaming in the dark. She stopped and looked over to her own blade. She pranced to it and bent down.

Lightning flashed and James could swear that he saw a figure behind her. Then it was gone in the shadows of the night. Thunder clapped, rolling for several seconds and then James saw Ekatarina’s back arch and it looked like she was screaming, her amber eyes wide, her hair thrown back and her arms out, fingers in strained half curls against the night. Something gleamed, a thin line protruding from her chest and out of her back and a man was standing, holding that gleaming object, twisting it and thrusting it. Then, James watched as the man tore the sword through her sideways, cutting through lung, ribs, breast and her arm. She dropped forward into the water, splashing a mixture of rain and blood.

Lightning flashed again. James stepped forward and saw the man backing toward them. He wore torn blue jeans and black tennis shoes that were covered in mud. He was thin, but his muscles were toned and wiry. His hair may have been light brown or blonde, he could not tell in the rain and flickering light. He was bleeding from many small cuts and had shredded cloth wrapped around his left arm and hand and wielded a katana in his right. It looked a lot like Kris, but Kris was dead.

Ekatarina stood back up, the wound healing slowly. She had her long sword in hand. The man rolled his head around and James heard it crack several times. He dropped into a wide fighting stance. Ekatarina walked toward him and then there was a flurry of blades and clanging. Water splashed around their feet and the blades and water droplets shone fiercely in the lightning flashes. Occasionally the clangor of blades was drowned out by the crashing thunder. Then the man caught Ekatarina across the throat and she stumbled back. She was slow, weak, challenged.

The man cut her leg. She was too slow to stop him with the wound healing. The man slashed and it was too late, she was ready for his attack that time. They circled, dancing in the rain to a tune of bloodshed and hatred. James saw the ice blue eyes and the deadly glare of Kris and his eyes widened. Brick saw it, as well. A nearly silent, “Oh, my God,” passed Rachel’s lips as she realized who it was.

Kris slashed and caught the vampire’s arm, she winced. Her amber eyes filled with worry as the mortal cut her flesh and each time it was more difficult to heal. She was expending blood just to keep up with the maddened pace he set. His rage was evident, his muscles were swollen with adrenaline and his blood was pouring down the sword slowly. She fought just to keep the blade away and then it was too close, yet again. The flesh of her abdomen opened up and blood flowed. The wound healed slowly, almost scabbing first. It burned, it ached as it healed and it was tight and uncomfortable for a few seconds after the skin was reformed. She was losing it. She could not let a mortal beat her. She was too old, too strong to be defeated by a living, breathing man. Of all loathsome creatures, a man.

He was all focus. The lightning kept readjusting his night vision but he regained it quickly enough. He could feel the rain pelting down on his skin and washing away the blood, he felt the sting and bite of the claw marks in his arm and the cuts on his hands. He saw little else than the blonde haired, amber eyed bitch who had haunted him as he lay prone and weak in the hospital, the same face that had sent him over the side of a building once before. He only wanted to kill her and every little cut in her flesh was one step closer to the end of her as a threat to him and those he had sworn to protect with his life. He had felt the pain of breath returning to burning lungs as he fought against the very body that had given up on him. He had wiped away the mud that he had sunk into and took up the half buried blade to follow the screams and gunshots to the roof so that he could finish it. He had no choice and he was so close. He caught a pause in the slowing ancient’s pattern and ran his katana along his left arm where Allison had wounded him with one smooth motion that ended with catching Ekatarina’s sword blow. He had coated the blade in his blood and then he swung as hard as he could, she tried to block and she did, then he slammed his sword into hers over and over, her arms tiring and giving until the blade sank into her silky flesh, her neck splitting open slightly. Then he pulled back and swung, he swung to kill, he swung to end the nightmare, he swung and her head fell. The water splashed as her head plopped down, blood pouring out and turning the puddles on the roof red around his feet. Her body fell and blood ran from the open neck.

Kris stood, staring at the fallen foe. The lightning arced and thunder rolled. The rainwater on the roof was red. His eyes were locked on the body of the ancient vampire as the rain pelted down on it, slowly washing away the blood stains. A droplet of rain fell from his nose and in his focus he heard the individual splash among the countless rain drops. He felt the trickles from his hair that coursed down his face and found the lines of every muscle and seared lightly as they flowed over his cuts and slashes.

Rachel tugged forward, but Brick held her back. James was waiting patiently, even as Kahmir stood and removed the staff from Tyler’s chest. The vampires walked to the mortals and they all watched as Kris stood watching the lifeless corpse. He turned his head slightly and saw a shadow. The others were still focused on him.

He saw the red haired vampire step from the shadows. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth was open, trembling. He watched as she walked over to the corpse. She dropped to her knees and felt the face of the separated head. She looked up to Kris, “You bastard.” She turned back and looked on the amber eyed face again. “Natalia.” The scream was piercing. Everyone was in question. They were all convinced that it was Ekatarina who was dead.

The red head looked at Kris again, “She was the only one I ever loved. She cared for me.” The red hair faded and the pretty face fell away. The rat brown tresses and pock marked face that were left seemed far more befitting of the ancient Eastern European teenager that stood before him. She was chanting in some strange language. It was a banter that he knew was filled with more curses than he had heard in ages. The girl stood and her eyes widened as she screamed, spittle and blood frothing at her mouth. She looked at the heavens, the lightning, and the rain that was pouring down her face and she was cursing whatever gods she had believed in.

Kris felt no pity.

She slashed her wrists and tried to feed the maw of the severed head. She tried to place the head to the neck and there was nothing. No healing, no sound, no life. She bled and bled into the open mouth with the supple lips. Then she gave up, fell back on her rump and skittered back through the water on the roof, splashing and weeping tears of blood. She slowed. Her panic and rage was fading into a cool acceptance of what had happened. Then she turned to Kris and stood. She walked toward him, “Kill me, you bastard. I have nothing left, so kill me, too.” She stood waiting.

Kris’ blue eyes narrowed. He looked into the eyes of the thin, wretched creature before him. They were hazel, a bland, faded hazel. They were imploring, desperate and saddened. He gave a single nod and then sliced through the flesh of her neck with one swing. The body and head dropped to the rooftop in a splatter of blood and rain.

He turned and looked at the five watchers. He took a single deep breath and his body relaxed. He popped his neck by twisting it from side to side. He walked to them slowly.

Brick held out the coat to him. He took it and then looked at Rachel. Her dark brown eyes were filled with terror. He wrapped the katana in the coat and dropped it. He stepped toward her and slowly raised his hand to her cheek. She was trembling from both cold and fear. He rubbed her cheek gently with his thumb and then looked at Kahmir. His eyes asked the question and Kahmir nodded. She would remember nothing by morning. She did not need to know what he did. Not yet.

Night 12

He awoke with a start. His eyes popped open and his muscles tensed. He saw his apartment in quiet darkness. The door to his bedroom was open and his blanket was kicked to the floor. The sheet was wrapped around his feet. He had not slept that rough in a very long time. He felt tired, weak, and achy. He moved slowly to untangle the sheet. He slid around into sitting at the edge of the bed. He held his head. It hurt, a lot.

He heard something rustle in the next room and his eyes darted in that direction. Then he heard footsteps, they were loud, as if the person did not care if they were noticed. His heart jumped and his muscles tensed sharply. He was on his feet and to the doorway of the room in an instant.

Rachel stood there in red sweat pants and a plain blue tee. They were his and she made them seem far more appealing. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Kris felt relieved.

She walked to him and looked up into his eyes. There was fear in her. The kind that said someone knew that something was there that had not been before. She controlled it well, “Will they come back?”

Kris shook his head in confusion, “Who?”

“The vampires.”

He blinked and then he paused and his eyes rolled around as if looking over a shelf full of books for the answer. “Yeah, they always do. The night never ends for me. See, I told you. It would have been best if you would have walked away.”

“You were right, I didn’t know.”

“The only way to have made you leave would have put me back in the loony bin. I can’t tell anyone. See, most aren’t allowed to remember what happened, and telling anyone normal gets me in trouble.”

“Then why do I know, why do you know?”

Kris looked at her, puzzled, for a moment. “Because you’re a stronger person than most. They can’t beat us all.”

“Why do you do it?” she seemed concerned.

“Someone has to.”

“Why did it have to be you?”

“I don’t know, yet. Maybe I never will. But, I can and that’s enough reason for me.”

“Can’t you quit?”

“Walk away from a job and the boss won’t send people to kill you. Walk away from the undead and the existences that you’ve ruined and they will track you down and put an end to you. I can never quit, I can never walk away. All I can do is fight and hope my time doesn’t run out as quick as most. And that I don’t hurt too many others along the way.”

She looked to the floor, understanding. “You should still give them the choice to believe in you, and to be there for you.”

“I always had Kahmir and Arthur, Ty and Autumn. I never needed anyone else.” His gaze went distant.

“Never?” She looked deep into his eyes, trying to bring him back from wherever he was.

His eyes refocused and he stepped toward her. He hugged her and she held onto him. Her wrists stung but she did not care. She felt his breath on her neck and listened to his slow, controlled heartbeat. After a long while he let go and she slipped back a step.

He turned and walked into his room and came back out a moment later in his typical outfit. He walked past her and she watched him brush past with a look of hurt on her face. He opened the door and turned back, “I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” she lied.

He walked briskly to the warehouse. The night and its denizens were mere backdrop. He could see the occasional undead change plans as he passed and ignored them as he went. He felt people stepping around him and avoiding him. He had that glare in his eyes.

He walked into the large warehouse through an open garage door and saw James and Brick loading a Wrangler. James stopped after positioning a box in the back. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Kris stopped ten feet from the Jeep, “Just checking.”

“You’re the one we thought was dead.” James said

“I wasn’t dead.”

“Ty said you were.” Brick poked his head out from behind the Jeep.

“I remember not wanting to be found while laying there in the mud. I was hurting like hell. If Ekatarina would have found me first, I would have been done.”

James grabbed a duffel bag, “Must be one nice trick.”

“It works. Where are the two of you headed?”

James dropped the duffel in the back seat and leaned on the side of the vehicle, “Me, I can’t take this anymore. I figure I’ll go back home, really home, and see if I can still make a board, maybe open a shop out in California. Always did love the sun and the surf. Brick, he’s been having headaches, almost blackouts. Keeps saying he needs to go to a rainy place and sort things out. Don’t know why, but I figure Seattle is as good as anywhere else, so I’m going to take him up there. What about you, what’s next?”

“I’m not quite sure, but I know I’m staying here for a while, at least until the dust settles. The city has had my help for a long time and I think now might be a bad time to leave.”

Brick walked around, “What about Rachel?”

Kris shrugged.

James smiled, “Hey, whatever you do, good luck and clear skies.” James waited for Brick to climb into the Jeep and then got in himself. He started it up and then grabbed a key chain with several key rings and dozens of keys from the dashboard and tossed it to Kris. “Figure you could look after the place awhile. Don’t worry, we won’t mind if a couple of things are missing if we get back.”

“No problem, I got it.”

The two drove off for the west to chase the sun and leave the shadows behind. Kris stood there for a long time taking in all the things he had at his disposal. He tossed the keys up a few inches and caught them. He chuckled and walked over to the van and got in. He did not know why, but he thought he liked it.

He drove out of the city and back to Arthur’s mansion. The ride was slow. There was no one to talk to and no one chasing him. There wasn’t even a radio. It was peaceful. He drove past the gate and saw that the pikes and canines were gone. The place was beautiful in the light of the moon with the tall trees and the moss, the breeze rustling the full thick foliage. The smell of soil was coming back as the rot faded. Then he saw the mansion.

He noticed many cars parked in the drive and that there was a fire blazing in the yard to its right and a man was standing before it, a shadow on a backdrop of flames, in a robe and holding his hands up to the sky. He knew that Anis was giving the last rights to dozens of zombies.

He parked and walked up to the front door. A large man with light hair and a crisp gray suit opened the door for him. He walked in and was led down the hall by Autumn. She was smiling and chatting. He figured it was her way of dealing with Arthur being gone. She walked him to the courtyard in front of the cathedral.

One window was broken, almost seventy feet up. The mud had dried. In the center of the courtyard, he could see Kahmir, Ty, Octavia and a few others standing in something close to a circle. He walked over and saw that the vampires were there to talk. There were eight in all and they represented the different kinds and groups of vampires in a somewhat reasonable form of a republic. Arthur had always liked to know what his people wanted so that he could run the city easier and Domitius had always kept Octavia to himself. It seemed that the wars of the immortals might be over.

They all turned to the mortal as he strode into their midst. He was not altogether out of place. He was as strange a creature, in truth immensely stranger for he was one and only one, as they. Kahmir stepped toward him, “Kristian.”

Kris looked at the ancient for a moment, “Is it over yet?”

Kahmir shook his head, “It will never be over. There is a peace for a time, yet unrest already boils under the surface. There will always be those that fight the majority. My younger kin are cleansing out the city of all those who went through the Red Baptism that should not have. The numbers are staggering. Domitius’s followers have split up. Some are joining us and others want to fight even harder against us. They will find a leader, or one will come for them. There will always be those who want to own New York. Arthur’s estates and properties will be consumed by others and the strength and influence he possessed will fade. It is likely that without his leadership, the whole city will fall into separate factions. It has only begun.”

Kris looked at Ty and Ty nodded his consent and grimaced. Then Kris looked to the others and saw that they stood defiant, or afraid. His gaze returned to Kahmir, “What can we do?”

“Little, I am afraid. Besides, is there still a unity between us?”

“I am a man alone, no one controls me. If you try, I’ll kill you.”

Kahmir nodded, knowing the mortal was more than capable.

Kris turned to walk away.

Octavia called after him, “Where are you going?”

“To do my job.”

“But, what about Arthur, we still haven’t found him.”

“Things happen.”

“You don’t care.”

Kris stopped and turned back, “You know, I’m not really sure why I came back. I don’t know what’s next.”

Octavia walked toward him, “You know.”

Kris looked at all of them. He had befriended the monsters. They knew his life better than those he protected. It was odd. He was still alone in the night, mostly. He looked to Kahmir, “I will be watching you, all of you. I will not hunt you down for no reason, but I will let nothing slide.”

“Nor will I.” The voice that came from behind the circle of vampires was thunderous.

Kris looked into the night and then he saw the figure walking out of the shadows. The man was slightly taller and wider than Kris. His dark, thick hair was in tight curls close to his face and his eyes were dark brown. His skin seemed as though it should have been dark brown. He was a Spaniard.

The vampires turned toward the visitor. Kahmir knew the man, “Julio.”

Kris knew the name. The ancient was an ally of Domitius for centuries. He was the source of the Roman’s power and supplies from the Old Country. The vampire was nearly as influential in the states as Domitius was and he had not even set foot on the continent. He had immense power throughout Spain and France. Morocco was under his control and he controlled many shipping lanes. He wanted a piece of the pie after seeing how it had increased Domitius’s power.

“Ah, old man Kahmir. I’ve heard a great deal about you. I also know that you are growing tired.” He walked through the circle and glared at Octavia. She knew that her name was on his list. She would die soon without Kahmir’s protection. Ty also caught a glance.

He strode up to Kris and looked over the man. “I’ve heard tales of you. Your name has traveled far. I heard that you are the one who beheaded both Domitius and Ekatarina.”

Kris glared at the creature.

“Commendable, but I don’t plan on ever letting you get that close again, now that I’ve had a good look at you.”

Kris was flung to the ground by some invisible force. The shadows pulled back and a man stepped forth. His long dark hair hung over dark brown eyes that seemed to burn with intellect. He wore a pair of loose blue jeans and a dark blue tee shirt with a long coat with straps on the sleeves and a belt with a buckle that was dark brown and had drug the ground so long that the edges were worn to shreds. He held a long sword in one hand that was etched with strange markings.

Julio laughed, “I want you to meet Armikov, a new companion of mine.”

The man pulled the sword back and then Kris felt the blade press into his sternum ever so slightly.

“Call him off, Julio.” Arthur’s voice boomed.

Julio turned and saw the Scot standing atop the cathedral, hair long, beard full, bare-chested and wielding his claymore. “You’re dead.”

“I have been for almost two thousand years, now. Natalia’s bite stung, but she left me alive. Her puppets did not finish what they started.”

Julio’s eyes went cold and he waved Armikov back.

“As long as I am master of New York, no vampire touches Kris Bane without my permission, whether he is on Kahmir’s leash or no. He is my friend.”

Julio’s eyes narrowed. “This city will be mine.” The words were little more than whispers.

“The Easterner is strong, but Kris is stronger still. No vampire will rule the people of New York so long as Kris Bane walks the night. He has found his path and knows that he will not falter. Trust me; he is no fool and a mortal to fear. He is destined for more than the sword of a pathetic boatman or village farmer. He is under my protection and so long as this is my city, he will be free to judge any vampire in it. We let vampires pick long enough, now, let men choose.”

Julio shook his head slightly, as if he might hide it. Arthur knew that Julio thought that he was weak. He had been beaten once. He would not let it happen again.

Kris stood. Armikov eyed him. Kris could feel power in that glare. It was stronger than Arthur, perhaps even Kahmir. Armikov might be a problem. It seemed that things were going back to the way they were before Ekatarina, balanced. Kris stood defiantly. There was a new enemy, one to fill Domitius’ place, which was to be expected. In their world, there was always someone waiting to take up the slack for a fallen vampire. His friend was back, too. His friend was defending him. He was still part of the team, he guessed, only he was a stronger part, the strongest. He would never be the leader; he would never be the wisest. He would always be the humanity that Arthur longed for, especially after finding his independence, and his heart. And that would guide him through the nights to follow, all of them.