Dark Tidings: Volumes I & II

by Gregory M. Smith

  Her earpiece buzzed and she answered.

  “Mistress Tang, Mr. Riordan would like to see you when it’s convenient for you,” a voice at the other end of the line said.

  “Tell him I will be over immediately,” she said, curtly. “Bring the limousine around. I’ll go in style.”

  Time for us to be subservient. We’re not so much different from Diane, are we?

  She went into her bedroom, changing from her silk robe into black, battle, dress uniform. She slipped into black combat boots and strapped on her specially-designed back harness. She walked into the living room and over to the fireplace. From the mantle, just below Chang’s portrait, she removed two samurai swords from holders and gazed at the light gleaming off of each one.

  She received them as a special gift from Lo Chang, the man who had made her the lethal assassin she was today. With the thought of Lo Chang, she grew a little sad, thinking of his demise, especially of the cruel, torturous way it had been done – staked to the ground in the blazing hot sun, both knee caps shot away. Chang deserved far better from his enemies. What made her sadder – and angrier – was the knowledge that those responsible for his death already paid the ultimate price at someone else’s hands, denying her the revenge she’d craved.

  Silently, she took each blade, sliding them into the leather scabbards hand-stitched to the sheath on her back. Sure she was properly attired, she left for her meeting with her boss. It would not do to be late for Louis Riordan and she never disappointed her master.

  Heidi fluttered her eyelids open and closed them quickly. She very slowly opened them again getting used to the light streaming in. Suddenly, she jumped up and began to scramble backwards, desperate to get out of the sunlight. She couldn’t, however, the whole room was bathed in sunlight.

  She cringed into a tight ball and waited for the burning and the pain. Nothing happened. Confused, she slowly uncurled and sat up. She looked at her hands and then felt her body. There was no burning sensation. Quickly, she ran her tongue over her teeth and felt no sharp tips or long fangs. She heard her stomach grumble but she had visions of steak, well-done, and it didn’t sicken her.

  “Confusing, isn’t it?” a deep male voice asked.

  She looked up to see Cantrell Ryker, stepping into the room through a door she hadn’t heard open and hadn’t even known was there as it blended perfectly with the dull gray of the walls. Suddenly, she remembered him holding that long knife up to her face, right before she passed out on the walkway under the bridge. She cowered, meekly.

  “It’s not sunlight,” Ryker explained. “Ultraviolet lamps in the ceiling. Works like the sun – sun tan, melanoma, disintegration for vampires.”

  “B-but why?” she asked, weakly. “B-because of what happened to me? W-what that man…Kane was his name, wasn’t it? What he…made me?”

  Heidi tried to create more saliva to wet her throat but couldn’t. She wondered if the overhead lamps had anything to do with it. She desperately wanted answers and, for that, she desperately needed to talk.

  “Don’t worry about that now,” Ryker replied. “You’re cured. And he definitely won’t be bothering you again.”

  He held a tray of food and a small drink. The smell of steak wafted into her nose and she smiled, weakly, though she was still confused and more than a bit frightened. He set the tray down before her on the floor.

  “Wait,” Heidi said, after gulping down half the water in the cup. “Don’t leave.”

  Ryker stopped at the door, turning to face her.

  “You said I was cured? Then, why these ultraviolet lights?”

  “Just making sure,” Ryker replied.

  “But, what if I wasn’t…cured? Heidi asked.

  “Eat your food,” Ryker said, blankly. “You’ll need your strength.”

  He turned and walked out without saying another word.

  No one in his right mind messed with Travis Pratt. Standing six-foot-four and weighing two-hundred and ninety pounds, virtually all of it chiseled muscle; he could intimidate most men with just a quick stare. He was a master of the mixed martial arts disciplines of Muay Thai and Krav Maga, the martial art of choice for the much-feared and respected Israeli Mossad, which only reinforced his reputation.

  He was in charge of security at the Nyman Building, one of the tallest towers in Fort Worth. It cut an imposing figure into the skyline of the city historically known as “Cowtown.” Inside, the city’s biggest wheelers and dealers made connections and contracts that controlled the future of most of Tarrant County’s two million-plus residents.

  It was into this cauldron Lin Tang stepped. Climbing out of the passenger’s side of her limousine, she approached Pratt, who bowed in deference, and opened the front door for her. She smiled at him and sashayed inside the foyer. Another man tried to follow, claiming business, Pratt stopped him cold with a hand to the chest that knocked him to the ground.

  “Sorry, amigo,” Pratt snarled. “As I recall, you still have a month before your exile ends. Come around here again before then and you won’t have to worry about it. Got it?”

  Lin smiled when she saw the man scramble to his feet and run down the street as fast as he could. She looked at Pratt and nodded once. It was good to have power, she thought as she continued inside.

  Inside the foyer, Lin Tang strolled past the front desk, winking at the cute blonde receptionist, making the woman blush with the memories of their sensuous times together. She stepped into a waiting elevator. The receptionist made a quick phone call.

  “She’s on her way, sir,” the woman reported.

  The elevator stopped at the top floor and Tang stepped out. Two large men, in three-piece suits, moved aside for her. Both knew how quickly she could kill them if they so much as looked at her the wrong way. One of the men opened an oaken door.

  “Ah, ma cherie, how nice of you to come so quickly.”

  Lin Tang smiled broadly as a tall, imposing man, with jet black hair and a regal air rose from behind his solid oak desk and came around to meet her, his arms wide open. He’d lost most of his French accent over the years, but still let a few colloquialisms slip through, especially when Lin was near.

  Though she barely came up to his chest and, despite her intense manner, she let Louis Riordan take her by the shoulders and plant a kiss on each cheek. She looked at him, taking in the fine lines on his face that did not tell of his unnaturally long life. She focused on his intense, blue eyes and his shocking, black hair that only now seemed to be losing the battle against graying.

  “My pleasure, sir,” she said, bowing in deference to her superior. “How may I assist you tonight?”

  Riordan turned and went back to his desk. Sitting down, he nodded his head to the right. She turned and saw Porter Coleman step out of a side room. He looked rather nervous, which was appropriate, for he knew of Lin’s sinister and well-deserved reputation.

  “I must apologize for the abruptness of this meeting,” Riordan said, in a voice that did not sound happy. “But, it was necessary. You have been careless, Cherie.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Lin Tang countered, defensively. “I keep a tight rein on my people.”

  “On the contrary, your half-deads are obedient, but they are cocky,” Riordan retorted. “For instance, my people tell me that Diane Simmons led a man named Michael Anderson into your residence tonight. Tomorrow, he will be an unnecessary statistic. Since he is the only son of one of this state’s most powerful attorneys, this will have repercussions, and unwanted attention, that we cannot afford at this time.”

  Hear that, Lin. You are his chief enforcer and he is still watching you. Maybe he really doesn’t trust you as much as you think.

  Lin Tang took a deep breath, trying to control herself. She hated being dressed down by anyone, but could not show her displeasure at Riordan.

  “Please make sure Mr. Anderson is dropped off at the nearest hospital and make it look like an accident,” Riordan ordered, nonchalantly. “Now fo
r why I really called you here – I was going to have you take care of a certain pain in the neck named Kane. However, he was ashed last night.”

  “Ashed, sir?” Lin asked. “Who would dare?”

  “Yes, that is the question,” Riordan continued. “Oh, I know you would not, unless I requested it, but something even more disturbing has come up. Aside from you-know-who, our guests have arrived and are getting acquainted with the accommodations I have prepared. The rather plush accommodations, I might add. This…event is far too important for any issues to spoil it.

  “That said, I have brought Mr. Coleman here to relay some news – it seems he had a rather fruitful meeting with Detective Hernandez this evening. Most of the conversation I could care less about, but one interesting tidbit did surface. It is all the more interesting because Mr. Coleman confirmed it with Travis’ rather extensive network of insiders. A name is in the wind and I can tell you that I am not happy. Mr. Coleman, please tell Lin what Madamoiselle Hernandez told you earlier.”

  “Y-yes, sir,” Coleman stammered. “She was investigating the high number of murders and she came across a name. I-I told her it was nothing, but she said that it was a name being repeated far too often to ignore.”

  “So, a name was being thrown around,” Lin said, getting exasperated. “This concerns me how?”

  “The name was Cantrell Ryker.”

  “What?!” Lin roared.

  Immediately reaching back, she gripped one of her sword hilts. The blade out so fast Coleman barely saw it. In a second, she was upon him and pressed the blade to his throat. The blade had been honed so fine a slight cough from Lin Tang could have pushed the edge through Coleman’s jugular vein with no resistance.

  “Lin, stand down!” Riordan snapped, jumping to his feet. “No need to kill the messenger.”

  Lin Tang instantly obeyed her master, falling back, she caught her breath and sheathed her sword. Coleman, meanwhile, grabbed at his throat and backed against the wall. Casting a frightened look at Riordan, who shook his head with disdain and took his seat again.

  “Sorry, sir,” Lin apologized, prophetically. “Cantrell Ryker is supposed to be dead. He was part of Moonrise, Inc. – his team killed my former master, Lo Chang. They tortured him. They shot away his knee caps. They staked him to the ground to bleed to death, slowly and painfully.”

  “I can understand your desire for revenge, Lin,” Riordan said. “Three of my kin, though distant offshoots, died in San Antonio. What I want to know, though, is who is throwing his name around. I understand that Detective Hernandez is checking her contacts, but I need your half-deads on it as well. Is there any light you can shed on this, Mr. Coleman?”

  “Well, sir, a check of some of Travis’ contacts, outside of the Metroplex, reveals a slew of similarities,” Coleman replied, still rubbing his throat.

  “Similarities to what?” Lin demanded.

  “To Kane’s ashing. Piles of ash have been found in Mexia, Waco, Harlingen, Brownsville, San Antonio and Houston. And there were at least six ashings in and around Prairie View A&M University.”

  “And why am I just hearing about this now, Mr. Coleman?” Riordan asked, looking irritated.

  Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, Coleman found his throat suddenly dry.

  “I believe they were in your daily reports, sir,” he croaked. “But, being outside of Fort Worth, I don’t think they were rated seriously. Many of the vampires beyond the Metroplex have decided to remain independent and not come in from the cold, literally.”

  Riordan contemplated the news. He wondered if his preoccupation with the upcoming event caused him to overlook the ashings, as well as Kane’s transgressions. He really didn’t need more problems now. Especially not things that might undermine his authority in front of his guests.

  “Am I to surmise that, maybe, there are people out there emulating Mr. Ryker’s methods?” he asked.

  “Or those of Moonrise, sir,” Coleman expounded. “They were known to hook up with more independent hunters on occasion. From what I understand, they had quite a set-up. They communicated constantly and worked together against common enemies. It was one of the reasons why Travis restructured the security apparatus. Fortunately for us, I believe Moonrise’s system only worked well in rural areas and not in large urban ones.”

  “That’s not to say they might not be trying their model out in Fort Worth, as a test run, don’t you think?” Riordan commented.

  “You think there are some of Ryker’s allies here in Fort Worth, sir?” Lin inquired. “I will admit I never really investigated the man because he died along with the other Moonrise members, but I do know that he had a reputation as a loner, a loose cannon. Who could possibly have been his ally?”

  Shouldn’t you be asking that question of yourself, Lin?

  “There are some, Miss Lin,” Coleman answered. “Had Moonrise not wanted him, he would not have been part of their team for long. Off the top of my head, there are two potential allies listed in the Fifty. It is possible, they may be the ones tossing his name around. Perhaps, for leverage, or to make themselves bigger than they really are.”

  “The Fifty?” Lin remarked, tartly. “Is that still relevant?”

  “Please, Lin,” Riordan countered. “Most of us, believe the list of the most dangerous enemies to the supernatural world died out with Moonrise. However, we do tolerate its continued existence because the New York-New Jersey clan keeps it up. And, Giancarlo still wields a lot of power. It also can’t hurt to keep tabs on any future enemies. In fact, Mr. Coleman, please work with Travis on that.”

  Lin had walked away from the conversation, over to the nearest window. She looked out across the city. She did not know why she was suddenly so antsy. She knew her half-deads could handle this new mission and her skills would put an end to any fool stupid enough to be Ryker’s ally.

  Why so worried? Riordan’s clan owns virtually all of Tarrant County. What could a few hunters hope to do or don’t you have confidence in yourself anymore?

  “Lin, if you’d care to join us.”

  “I am sorry, sir,” she said, walking back to Riordan’s desk. “Pardon my insolence. But, how can these allies, if any, be of any concern to us? Maybe they got to Kane, but we could leave that to his master, Kuster, to solve.”

  “No,” Riordan snapped. “To do so would let the others know we cannot handle our own business. How then do we convince them we should be the ones to take the lead? Absolutely not. I will not have that – nor will I brook any interference, from anyone –vampire or human. And, I will definitely not have a dead man haunting me from the grave.”

  Coleman could not help but catch the irony in that last statement, though he wisely kept the thought to himself.

  “Yes, sir,” Lin finally said. “Whatever I may do to atone for my transgressions.”

  Now, that’s a good little girl.

  “Good,” Riordan replied, leaning back contently in his leather chair. “Mr. Coleman, that will be all.”

  “Now, for the reason I do not want to leave the issue of Kane in the hands of his master,” Riordan explained, after Coleman had left the office. “He is a guest in my town, yet he defies the rules, such as letting Kane run rogue.”

  “You want me to remind him you run things here,” Lin said, with a thin smile.

  “No,” Riordan retorted. “I want that message to go to the others.”

  “With pleasure, sir,” Lin said, pulling her lips back in a hideous smile and lasciviously licking her fangs.

  Chapter 4

  Marcus Van Niekerk thought he had seriously hurt Angelica Morales. While working on a new battle plan he hoped to take to Wesley, a hand grabbed his shoulder. Instinctively, he shoved an elbow at the source, only to see Angelica stagger back against the far wall of his small office.

  “Jou bliksem,” he said, as he checked her with a tenderness one would not expect of a mercenary. “I’m sorry, Angelica, are you okay?”

  She rubbed her chest,
looking pained, but nodded she would recover.

  “My fault,” she said as she got to her feet. “I should have knocked. By the way, what does ‘jou bliksem’ mean?”

  “Well, it’s Afrikaans for ‘good heavens.’”

  “Good nuff, gabacho,” Angelica said with a smirk. “That’s Chicano for ‘good heavens’.”

  “Touché,” Marcus remarked, with a sly grin. “What can I do you for, Love?”

  Angelica said nothing at first. She only spoke after fully gathering her thoughts. Part of that discipline had come from the intense world of competitive bodybuilding, only to be heightened by her second career as a professional bodyguard.

  Marcus knew something was wrong with his lifelong friend. Though he’d lost touch for a time with the girl he first met at an international school for the children of diplomats in Thailand, he’d made up for lost time when he’d run into her twenty years later. By then, he’d changed dramatically from shy schoolboy to mercenary after the massacre of his grandparents, during the Rhodesian Bush War in 1978.

  He’d developed eyes in the back of his head, to be aware of slight changes in the surrounding area. He knew when a fellow soldier was in distress, a situation that might endanger not only the person concerned, but anyone else nearby. Now, those “eyes” saw something with Angelica.

  “Come on, out with it,” he demanded.

  “Okay,” Angelica sighed. “I’m worried about us.”

  “Well,” Marcus replied, puffing up his chest. “I knew I’d eventually break through that shell of yours.”

  Angelica blushed and playfully slapped at him.

  “Not us us,” she shot back. “I meant the group. I wonder if they really know what’s going on.”

  “You mean – do they really know what they’re doing?” Marcus surmised. “We should. On paper, we’re a lot more organized than Riordan. On paper, we should be able to call upon allies from all over the southwest. We should be able to run rings around these vampire clans.”