by M. K. Gibson
Freeman stood by the car while Jessie checked the side of the bank, seeing nothing. Everything was locked. The place was closed.
“Are we too late?” Jessie asked, turning back towards the cruiser.
“No,” Freeman said. “We’re right on time.”
“Where are the vamps?”
“Oh, they’re here,” Freeman said. “But first, let’s have a chat. I want to know exactly how you got out of Zombie Squad so fast.”
“I told you.”
“No, you told me the answer the brass told you to give. You see, while you’ve had your eyes on the future, you failed to get to really know your fellow officers. And you see, hon, we like to talk.”
“What’re you getting at?” Jessie asked.
“I heard you sold out Temple and Flanagan to internal affairs. And that’s how you got your transfer.”
Jessie narrowed her eyes. But before she could answer, she sensed movement nearby. From the shadows behind the bank, three vampires in ragged street clothing came forward. Their teeth were out and their eyes had gone black.
Jessie’s eyes darted around. The whole area was clear, quiet, and seemingly abandoned. The bank was closed. There were no cameras that she could see.
No witnesses.
“That’s why this call wasn’t registered in the log record,” Jessie said.
“Good job, Superstar,” Freeman said with a wicked smile. “Okay guys, let’s get this over quick. I wanna be home in time to see my kids off to school.”
Before Jessie could respond, she was slammed hard into the blood bank’s brick wall. Even with her helmet on, her skull bounced against the immovable surface hard enough to make her vision blur. On instinct, she went for her sidearm, only to have it batted from her hand by one of the vampires.
A fist struck her in the solar plexus, and she doubled over as her breath left her body. Before she hit the ground, her hand went to her helmet. Rough hands grabbed her by the front of her uniform. Once again, Jessie sailed through the air. She landed in a painful, gasping heap.
“Ouch,” Jessie heard Freeman say. “Now if you weren’t such an arrogant asshole, I might have taught you proper procedure for handling a group of leeches.”
“Hey!” one of the vampires said. “Watch it with the L-word.”
“Yeah, not cool,” another said.
“Oh shut up,” Freeman said, walking away from the cruiser to stand with the vampires. “Just do what you were hired to do.”
“We’ll do it,” the third vampire said, “but you knock that racist shit off now. I was a count back in my day, and I’ve killed more than my share of would-be authority figures.”
“Please,” Freeman sighed. “Your name is Bill Gettys. An MMO programmer from San Francisco who was turned three years ago. We have files, idiot.”
“I was a count in the game?”
The voices sounded distorted and distant. Jessie’s thoughts came slower. She couldn’t focus. Academy training had put her though critical thinking and response drills during trauma and stress. Yet it was like everything was moving in slow motion. She likely had a concussion from the head trauma, but there was something else.
“W-what . . . what did you give me?” Jessie asked. “What was in that stim pack?”
“Hmm?” Freeman asked. “Oh, the stim pack was fine. Very hard to tamper with those, the official seal and all. The coffee you drank, on the other hand—well, that’s pretty easy to dose. Just enough arachne venom to slow you down. Some folks like to use it recreationally. But it does taste terrible.”
Jessie nearly laughed at the situation as she tried to push herself up and make it to the cruiser. “And you call me an asshole.”
“Never said I wasn’t,” Freeman said with a shrug. “But I’m an asshole who knows her place and how to be loyal to her fellow officers.”
“Y-you do see the irony in that, d-don’t you?” Jessie asked, continuing to crawl as best as she could.
“You may wear our uniform, but you’re not one of us.”
“T-think what you want,” Jessie grunted, making it up to all fours. “But—”
“Shut up, cop,” one of the vampires said, with a swift kick to Jessie’s stomach.
The sheer power of the blow lifted her several feet off the ground. The vampire swiftly snatched her from the air by the back of her tac-vest and then slammed her back down face first onto the hood of the cruiser.
“Ow,” Jessie groaned.
Slow and painfully, she reached for the tac-radio at her shoulder, but the vampire slapped her hand away, then crushed the transmitter with his bare hand.
“I hope you’re better at kissing ass than you are in the field,” Freeman said, crossing her arms. “Because your instincts are shit. You arrived on a scene where lesser undead outnumbered the officers. In less than three minutes you’ve been disarmed and you failed to secure a safe location to call for backup.”
Inside Jessie was screaming. There had to be a way out of this!
Freeman shook her head and gestured with a thumb over her shoulder. “If you can’t handle some minor leeches like these clowns, how’d you think you were gonna cut it on the Shifter Unit?”
“I told you to knock off the hate speech!” the vampire said, ignoring Jessie and storming over towards Freeman. “I don’t care how much blood and UV protection pills you promised us, I won’t tolerate the bigotry.”
“Take another step and you’ll never see another moonrise,” Freeman said, taking several paces back while raising her sidearm.
The vampires all hissed in response. Jessie used the distraction to roll off the hood of the cruiser, open the passenger door, and fumble at the radio.
Damn it, Jessie swore. No power to the cruiser, and Freeman had the ignition switch. Okay DeLeon, think!
An idea came to her. Quickly, she rummaged through the vehicle’s mid-console storage compartment until she felt a familiar wooden tube. She pulled it out, snapped it, and breathed in frosted air and fresh grass.
I knew that bitch had winter-spring mix!
The magic of the stim pack’s vapor hit her system like a surge of adrenaline. She no longer felt the effects of whatever Freeman had put in the coffee. Nor did she feel the concussion or injuries from the vamps. But she also knew that the human body couldn’t sustain multiple hits of the fey magic. For the next few minutes, her body would race like a jet, but then it would crash. Hard.
Jessie popped her head up to see Freeman still aiming her side arm at the vampires. Grabbing the shotgun from the storage rack, she sprinted towards the locked doors of the blood bank.
“Hey! Get her!” Freeman yelled.
Jessie didn’t dare look back. Aiming the weapon as she ran, Jessie fired all five rounds into the bank’s roll-down security mesh and glass door. Lowering her shoulder, she dove through the improvised hole. The broken glass and jagged metal sliced through her uniform and cut deep wounds in her shoulders and thighs. She skittered to a halt, leaving a slick, crimson streak on the tiled floor behind her. Breathing heavily, Jessie rolled over and held the empty weapon.
Just hold on, Jessie said to herself. The bank’s alarm was tripped and responders will be here soon.
From outside, Jessie saw the vampires coming. Attracted by her blood, they were worked into a frenzy. With the stim wearing off, she started feeling all the damage her body had sustained. Using the shotgun for leverage, she pulled herself up to a sitting position and dragged herself behind the blood bank’s front counter.
“We smell you, little cop,” one of the vamps said as he entered the bank.
“Oh, this is too sweet,” another said. “She’s hiding.”
“Not very well,” the third said. “She left us a trail to follow.”
With the last bit of her strength, Jessie stood on shaky legs behind the counter to face the three vampires. They all looked at her with wide mouths and hungry eyes.
“Y-you’re under arrest,” Jessie said. “I-if you stop now, I-I’ll go
easy on you.”
All three laughed.
“I t-take that as your unwillingness to comply.”
“Something like that,” the lead vampire said.
“Good,” Jessie groaned, and then hit the blood bank’s panic button under the counter.
The bank’s overhead vampire suppression system kicked in. Holy water sprayed down in a fine mist. The vampires screamed in pain as their skin began to sizzle. All three of them slipped and fell as they fought to escape the store, pushing one another over as they scrambled towards the door.
Jessie slumped over the counter and laughed softly to herself.
“You know what, DeLeon,” Freeman said as she stepped inside, ignoring the indoor shower, “I take it back. You actually have pretty good instincts. Tripping the bank’s alarm was pretty smart.”
“So was me recording all this,” Jessie said, tapping her helmet. “Started recording right after that first vamp sucker punched me.”
“Yeah, but too bad this area doesn’t have a working uplink station,” Freeman said with a smile. “It’s almost like a veteran cop picked the exact spot to take out a snot-nosed Superstar snitch.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself, Freeman,” the exhausted Jessie said. “If you’re gonna kill me, you’ll have to do it yourself. Good luck explaining the APD-issued bullet in my skull to ballistics.”
Freeman smiled. “Won’t be a problem. That second stim’s gonna leave you unconscious in a few seconds. And if you were to, I don’t know, bleed out . . . well, I’ll be sure to tell the med tech that I tried to administer first aid. But the cuts she took while running from the vamps were just too much.”
“If I come back as a ghost, I’m going to haunt the shit out of you,” Jessie said, her eyesight going dark.
“We have a whole department for that,” Freeman said with a smirk.
Jessie’s knees buckled. She fell on the floor behind the counter. She had to hold on. She had to . . .
As she began to drift into unconsciousness, Jessie heard Freeman say, “Who are you?!”
There was no response, but Jessie heard a slight scuffle followed by a flash of electricity. A body hit the ground, and then Jessie heard the unmistakable sound of zip ties. A moment later, an incredibly tall, blue-skinned elven woman with bright red hair, wearing a white leather coat, looked down at her with large black eyes. The tall elf cocked her head to one side, then with her four-fingered hand placed an envelope on Jessie’s chest. The elf smiled and waved goodbye.
In the distance, Jessie heard sirens as she slipped into darkness.
Chapter Three
12 May - 10:15 pm
The Causeway Club, District of Shadowlake
The smoky dance floor was filled with the sweet stink of sweat and synthetic fragrances. Affluent mortals and myths writhed against one another in a celebration of decadence. Green and gold laser lights flashed and swirled, creating a dazzling, mind-bending display. Despite the noise and distractions, Cassy felt every eye on her.
And she liked it.
She moved her body, not in time to the music like everyone else, but to her own internal rhythm. Her hands caressed the curves of her hips. She swayed in an expression of self and sexuality. She turned, arching her back and running her hands through her dark green hair. Her sleeveless green body suit was zipped to her throat, yet it was what they couldn’t see that they wanted. She pressed her ample chest forward with each serpentine roll of her body.
Despite the loud music, she heard the whispered comments. Or at least she thought she did.
Slut. Bitch. Whore.
Years ago they may have hurt. Now? Now she knew they were jealous words steeped in delicious envy. They wanted to be her. Or be with her. She was tall, strong, and most importantly, she was desired.
From the corner of her eye, Cassy saw a large black man enter the club with a small entourage. The newcomer was easily six and half feet tall, with the sides of head shaved and his long, multicolored dreadlocks pulled back into a knot. His beard was trimmed into a fade and his black suit was expensive. He was muscular, but carried a little extra bulk. Like a man who exercised but didn’t watch his diet.
It was time.
Cassy left the dance floor and made her way towards the small private table where three shots of tequila were waiting for her along with a muscular dwarf sporting a long braided beard and dark sunglasses. The dwarf inclined his chin as she approached.
“Sup?”
“Tell the big man it’s on,” she said, knocking back one of the shots.
“Might wanna go easy on that,” the dwarf said.
“Why? So I can live to old age? No thanks. Burn bright and leave a beautiful corpse.” She slammed down the second shot. “I’ll go collect our guests.”
“You got it,” the dwarf said as he stood up and made his way towards the back of the club.
Cassy knocked back the third shot. Let’s get this over with. She ran her fingers through her hair once again and turned towards the newcomers. Moving through the crowd, she caught eyes with the big man and nodded.
“A good evening to you, Mr. Franklin,” Cassy said upon approaching the group.
Two of the man’s entourage, a human man and a female satyr wearing matching black leather coats, stepped in front of her, keeping her from getting closer.
“S’okay,” the large man, Mr. Franklin, said with a slight Cajun accent. “I do believe this t’ be our escort?”
“Miranda Winters,” Cassy said, extending her hand, “personal assistant to the Brobdingnagian. On behalf of the Causeway Club, we welcome you and your associates.”
Mr. Franklin took Cassy’s hand and kissed it. “You, lil’ lady, are stunning.”
“I know,” Cassy said, raising her eyebrow. “Now, if you all would please follow me, the Brobdingnagian is waiting.”
“But of course,” Mr. Franklin said. “But, may I ask, do the rumors be true?”
“Rumors? Cassy asked.
“Is this Brobdingnagian a giant?”
Cassy looked up at the club’s vaulted ceilings, smiled, and said nothing more as she led the men through the busy club.
She looked up from time to time at the magical crystals in the corners of the club that served as cameras, which were tracking their movements. They moved past the dance floor and up towards the elevated, private VIP section, where two minotaurs stood guard. The bull men wore matching black tank tops and had flashy silver jewelry adorning their nose rings and dangling from their horns.
“Winters,” one of the minotaurs said. “Boss is waiting.”
Cassy turned back towards the group. “Mr. Franklin, before we meet our host, would it be safe to assume you have the merchandise?”
“But of course, mon cheri,” Mr. Franklin said as he accepted a leather briefcase from one of his men without asking. “I would not be here otherwise.”
“Excellent. Your associates may remain here by the private bar. Enjoy a drink on us.”
Mr. Franklin nodded and then addressed his group. “You heard la belle dame sans merci. You boys wait here.”
“You gonna be okay, boss?” the satyr asked.
“Oui. We are guests and businessmen,” Mr. Franklin said. “Ms. Winters, if you please?”
Once more Cassy nodded and walked past the minotaurs with Mr. Franklin following. The private stairs were exceptionally wide and large, built for the larger myths who worked in the Causeway.
“Watch your step, Mr. Franklin,” Cassy said as they made their way up. At the landing was a private balcony that overlooked the club. From below, the reserved spot was obscured by one-way mirrors. Atop the landing, the music of the club was muffled to tolerable levels by various magics. In the VIP section, one could see nearly everything below.
In the center of the private area was an incredibly ornate, circular wooden table with the carved relief of a coat of arms—the letter “K” done in the style of an illuminated manuscript beset with the symbol of a harp and a pot of gold. At t
he far end of the table, a massive, throne-like chair sat with the high back turned away.
Cassy walked to the far end of the table and took a position of honor to the chair’s right. She picked up a tablet-like device and tapped a few key sequences, and the private section suddenly felt pressurized as magical energies secured the room.
“Mr. Franklin, may I introduce you to Padraig Kilkenny, the Brobdingnagian.”
The chair spun around, and the three-foot-six leprechaun in a custom-made green silk suit smiled. “And a right good evening to ye, Mr. Franklin.”
Cassy watched as Mr. Franklin blinked several times, saying nothing. The large man pursed his lips, as if trying to formulate a cogent thought. The leprechaun leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“Would ye look at ’im, Ms. Winters,” Kilkenny said. “Big bastard is gobsmacked.”
“You do have that effect on people, sir.”
“I—” Mr. Franklin said, then shook his head. “Ma’ apologies, Mr. Kilkenny. How unprofessional of me.”
“Tis all right, boyo,” Kilkenny said with a wave of his hand. “I love fuckin’ with new people. Now, Ms. Winters here tells me you have certain . . . items for sale, with potential access to more?”
“That is correct,” Mr. Franklin said, pointing towards the table. “Mind if I sit?”
“By all means,” Kilkenny said. “But know, when a man sits a table with me, we don’t get up until business is done.”
“A man after my own heart,” Franklin said, taking a seat.
“Dear Miranda’s vouched fer ye. But I don’t know you,” Kilkenny said. “So, please, indulge me. Who exactly are ye?”
Cassy looked at the big man, watching his face for any deception.
“Well sir, my name is Luther Franklin. I’ve lived in the ’Lantis for, oh, the last twelve years, stickin’ mostly to obtaining objects in Brightway. I’m originally from Nawlins in the Lower Forty-eight, where I was running various . . . projects, let’s call them. But I moved up this way because I wanted to be where the real magic was. And I never looked back.”